#so many of these questions are so hard to answer

[azzibueckers5]

take another drag (turn me to ashes)

synopsis: messy fwb pazzi, extremely unserious angst, alcohol usage, sexual content, situationship final bosses paige and azzi but they're like really really chill about it, um. the only hint that i'm giving in terms of the smut is possessiveness. enjoy!

wc: 6.5k (part 1/2)

a/n: title is from lana's diet mountain dew. you gay bitches won you get the first half tonight. enjoy the repercussions (sexual frustration). this was a tad rushed so i could get it out before the weekend so there's bound to be typos i am. Sorry. also roommate pairings are entirely made up #sorry

azzi tilts her head back against the couch cushions behind her and closes her eyes for a second, trying to assess what level of drunk she’s riding in their game of truth or drink in preparation for her next turn. 

her teammates are scattered precariously around the room, all twelve of them making themselves at home in evina, aubrey, and piath’s small living room, and the half full handle of titos sits in the middle of the lopsided circle like some sacrificial token, daring azzi to test it. 

she’s been spared from any truly invasive questions so far, only having to answer one about her first kiss (a random boy named carlos in the seventh grade after a movie date that had been nothing short of terrible) and what the most scandalous place she’d ever hooked up with someone was (she’d hesitated before answering this one, not because a hotel pool had been that embarrassing, but because her counterpart in that particular rendezvous was sitting directly next to her, fingers fidgeting in her lap and eyes refusing to make contact), so she hasn’t had to drink to avoid anything. 

this was a team bonding event though– and the last one before the season officially started– so naturally azzi had been coerced into doing two separate rounds of shots by nika, in addition to sipping on a drink with god knows how many more, and the buzz in her limbs was starting to make tipsy feel like a thing of the past. 

it was at least mildly reassuring that everyone around her also seemed to have reached that tipping point as well, and she could feel the atmosphere descending into that loose, rowdy environment that only happened on the rare nights when they didn’t have an early practice the next day.

amari is getting grilled about, like, her ex boyfriend’s dick size or something– azzi’s trying hard not to pay attention– which means azzi’s turn is next. she lifts her head up from the couch and ignores the slight dizziness that accompanies it, focusing instead on the feeling of paige’s hand repeatedly poking her thigh. 

she tilts her head towards the blonde lazily and sighs, exaggerating her exasperation, and catches paige's finger in her own, stilling her. 

“what.”

paige grins, crooked but blinding all the same, and azzi knows immediately that she is also hurtling towards drunk by the slightly dazed look on her face. she tries to smother the excitement that bubbles up at the idea of what usually happens when they get drunk together, and only halfway succeeds. 

“nothin,’” paige says, unashamedly fishing for attention. 

azzi rolls her eyes, and ignores the flutter in her chest when paige laces their fingers together instead of letting go. 

“you’re an attention whore,” she declares, trying to scrunch her face into something that resembles annoyance. 

“don’t act like you don’t love it,” paige drawls, and, yup. definitely a little drunk, because she’s slurring the end of her words a little, in a way that shouldn’t be endearing but always is anyways, and is flirting a little more brazenly than she otherwise would, especially in front of the team. 

azzi is spared from having to respond when dorka kicks her right leg that’s splayed out on the ground in front of her and informs her that it’s her turn. 

“you ready to drink, princess?”

she blinks away from paige’s face and scoffs, trying to catch up to the rest of the room. the last thing they need right now is for someone to accuse them of flirting again. 

she pulls her fingers out of paige’s with a squeeze and says, defiantly, “m’not drinking. hit me with your best, dorka.” 

the older girl smirks from across the circle, and anxiety pools in her stomach. she prays this question isn’t about her sex life. 

“last person you got with. out with it.” 

what a surprise. a sex question.

azzi internally sighs and tries to keep the panic off her face, tries to ignore the flash of memory at the question:

paige, kissing her in the dingy bathroom of ted’s, hands on the back of her thighs under her skirt; paige, dragging them stumbling back to azzi’s dorm, fingers tangled; paige, pressing azzi into her bedroom door, mouth moving down her neck; paige, fingers between her– she shoves the memory away, willing her face to stay unimpressed. 

her rescue comes in the form of paige herself, which is, admittedly, a little incriminating, but she’s grateful nonetheless. “ya’ll must be extra horny today. how bout you go get laid instead of interrogating all of us about our sex lives.”

azzi nudges their ankles together in thanks, just as christyn groans somewhere to her left and says “don’t be a loser paige. we tryna make it actually fun,” and piath throws a piece of popcorn at paige and says “of course paige is defending azzi.”

damn it. 

there’s a chorus of agreement from the girls around them, and azzi sighs, glaring at the glass handle in front of her and mentally prepping for the shot that’s going to curdle in her stomach. 

but then, evina, who’s already properly sloshed, calls out impatiently, “yeah, come on az, last guy you got with. not that hard,” and azzi smiles. 

blessed reprieve in the form of heteronormativity.  

before anyone can object to the question, she blurts out “last guy i got with was james,” and hopes everyone is too drunk to inquire further. 

got with is kind of an exaggeration– they’d kissed at the afterparty at prom and azzi had let it happen for approximately thirty seconds before his hands had started wandering and she’d broken away to run off and find her friends– but it's not her fault if people assume it was more than that. 

she knows paige is gonna be sulky about the mere mention of him anyways, but that’s her problem. they’ve agreed to stop the whole messy hook up thing, what with basketball really gearing up and the fear of making things complicated, and that includes getting jealous when other people are brought up. never mind the fact that they’ve been absolutely terrible at adhering to that new rule.  

christyn narrows her eyes suspiciously and asks “what do you mean by guy,” just as aaliyah says, rather shocked, “your prom date? as in not since may?” 

azzi takes a sip of her drink and smirks. she should probably be a little bit more careful at what she’s insinuating, but she’s giddy at getting away without having to take a shot for a third time and also definitely a little drunk.

“i haven’t hooked up with a guy since may. that’s what you asked. paige’s turn.”

but they aren't letting her off the hook so easy, and olivia’s voice rings out over the rest of them, loud and laced with disbelief. “you brought someone home last month after the bar. nika and i had to sleep with pillows over our heads.”

nika is one of the two other people in this room that knows that that had been paige. azzi expects her to help them out a little bit here. 

“yeah, azzi, what was that about?” she says instead, smarmy and annoying and so totally enjoying this. 

so much for assistance. 

dorka piles on with “liars have to take two shots to make up for it,” and azzi shoots a death glare at nika and sighs. 

“m’not lying. evina said who’s the last guy. i answered the question.” 

the room erupts again into shrieks of surprise and someone says “the princess is into women?”

azzi just takes a large gulp of her drink, pushes down the feeling of indignation at the thought that it's this shocking she’d be into women, and tries really hard not to look at paige. 

she fails. 

paige, for her part, is putting up a solidly mediocre performance on how to be nonchalant: lazy smirk, legs spread casually, and eyes refusing to look at azzi for too long. azzi knows her inside and out though, and can see the clench of her jaw and the shift of her fingers on the perimeter of her solo cup, the way her gaze is flitting around the room, cataloguing the different reactions to azzi’s sentence.

she pulls her eyes off paige’s silhouette before she gives them away and fixes her stare instead on aaliyah. “dunno why you assumed i’m straight, that’s your problem. somebody ask paige a question already. i answered mine.”

christyn makes a couple more attempts at getting azzi to spill on who this mystery woman is, but she refuses, and eventually the group moves on to start plotting on how to get paige to drink. 

tomorrow, azzi will worry about the consequences of inadvertently revealing that she’s into girls– both because it makes her rather intense friendship with paige that much more suspicious, and because coming out to some of her closest friends via a shitty question in truth or drink is a admittedly a little pathetic. she’s never exactly tried to hide her sexuality though, it just turned out that when you’d only ever kissed one girl and were also trying to keep the fact that you were kissing said girl a secret, things tended to stay under wraps. 

azzi breathes out a sigh of relief at her turn being over and shifts her thoughts to trying her best to prepare for paige’s interrogation, knowing that it’s fairly likely the question will pertain to her in some capacity, seeing as the team is hellbent on asking about sex escapades. 

honestly. you’d think they were at a sleepover with sixteen year olds.  

she hopes everyone around them is drunk enough to miss the tension in her shoulders, and the glances she keeps taking at paige’s face. she pointedly ignores caroline’s knowing gaze from the other across the circle, the only other one in the room besides nika who’s aware of the tangle of something more between them, and again, takes a rather large chug of her drink. 

the relief of being out of the hot seat does not last long. because somehow the question that’s almost unanimously decided upon for paige is, in azzi’s opinion, seventeen times worse.

“p, how many bodies you got by now?” calls aubrey from where she’s stretched out against the tv stand, glee evident in her voice, and azzi’s heart sinks into her stomach. 

she’s confident the answer is somewhere between three and five, but despite the fact that her and paige have never kept things from each other, azzi has made a point to actively avoid hearing about paige sleeping with other people. it was sort of an unspoken rule– they didn’t talk about the girls paige got with before azzi came to uconn, and they didn’t talk about the boys azzi had gotten with her senior year of high school. 

they had a lot of unspoken rules. 

they’d been each other's firsts (azzi stops herself from thinking too hard about the fact that she wants to be paige’s last, too), fumbling around in the dark of a hotel room (azzi reminds her self that that had meant more than any rushed hookup paige had sought out since), and though they’d maintained the conviction that the other was allowed to do whatever they wanted with whomever they wanted, they’d never been exactly good at sharing. 

as the group around her debates what, specifically, has to meet the requirements for a body when it comes to having sex with girls, azzi racks her brain and tries to remember the last time paige had hooked up with someone other than her. 

it had only been three weeks since she’d made one of her more terrible decisions to let the fear that paige had starting meaning more to her than basketball dictate the parameters of their relationship, and she’d initiated the rule that during basketball season (and the few weeks leading up to it), the two of them should halt the rather non-platonic aspects of their friendship for fear of making things too complicated. 

she’d been half expecting paige to push back, would have most likely caved with merely a few sentences and a makeout as a counter argument, but paige hadn’t argued whatsoever, and they’d since been mostly successful at pretending everything was fine. 

they’d only slipped up once since the implementation of the new rule– a rather heated makeout session in the locker room of all places when they’d been left alone post practice, sweaty and sports bra clad (they’d never stood a chance)– and they had somehow miraculously managed to spend just as much time together as they’d had before, so azzi doesn’t think paige has had time to add to her body count. 

(god help both of them if she had, because azzi’s crashout would probably cause world war three)

that left only the ones she’d accumulated over the course of her freshman year, because paige and azzi had been effectively inseparable (and effectively exclusive) since their arrival at summer session workouts in may. 

still, this doesn’t halt the twist in her stomach at the idea of paige with anyone else, and she fights the icky feeling in her stomach with a sip of her drink. 

but azzi can handle this, definitely, and she’s prepared for paige’s answer when she takes a lazy sip of her drink and drawls out “four.” 

what she’s not prepared for is the general disbelief that echoes around the circle, and the insufferable comments from various teammates about how “that can’t be true,” and “it’s gotta be more than that.”

azzi wants to hit someone. preferably all eleven other people in the room. 

and then, her irrational anger at the rest of the circle refocusses to just paige because she humors it, leaning back and smirking. “what can i say? i’m picky,” grinning at the comments about how much of a whore she was the pervious year. as if it’s funny. 

if azzi believed in things like auras and spiritual colors, hers would probably look like a christmas monstrosity right now– green for jealousy clashing with the crimson of her fury. 

she shifts over, removing her leg from where it had been subtly pressed up against paige’s, and tucks her glower into the rim of her cup, plotting several murders as the group around them howls with laughter and continues reminiscing on paige’s escapades like it was a hilarious, wonderful time, and not the root of many sleepless nights for azzi. 

she really has enough when evina giggles out something about how “paige needs to get back out there” and christyn agrees, slurring about how they miss “big daddy bueckers.” 

azzi coughs. hard. 

and then she finishes the rest of her drink in one swig, ignores paige’s searing gaze on the side of her face, and stands up rather aggressively to go fix herself another. if she subtly kicks paige’s foot on the way past, that’s nobody’s business but hers. she’s not doing a particularly terrific job of subtlety right now, but no one is sober enough to notice.

nika joins her in the kitchen, and bursts out laughing as soon as she sees the expression on azzi’s face, contorted into what is probably a rather hideous scowl. 

“someone’s jealous,” she taunts, as she watches azzi pour a healthy amount of vodka into her cup. 

“i’m not jealous,” azzi hisses. jealousy would imply azzi had a right to care about who paige gets with. which she does not. she adds another glug of tito’s for good measure.

nika eyes the amount of liquid in her cup and raises an eyebrow. “no?”

azzi glares. “nothing to be jealous over. paige can do whatever she wants.”

nika has the audacity to laugh at her. “ooookayy,” she drags out, hands raised beside her head like azzi is a feral animal. she sort of feels like it. “as someone who witnessed paige last year, it wasn’t nearly as crazy as they make it seem.”

azzi wishes this made her feel better, but in all honesty it’s information she already knows, which reminds her of how irrational she’s being, which in turn makes her more upset, at like, the world. 

she huffs. “that’s none of my business.” 

“uh huh. that’s why you were eye fucking eachother in the living room and are now pouring yourself a triple.”

nika muhl and her psychology degree can kick rocks. 

“we told you, we’re not doing that anymore,” azzi muttered, doing a terrifically bad job at keeping the contempt out of her voice. 

nika eyes her with exasperation. “and who’s fault is that.”

azzi’s frown somehow deepens at the accusation. “it’s no one’s fault. it’s just the right thing to do.”

nika blinks, disbelieving. “if you say so. when paige walks out of your room tomorrow morning with her hood up i’m going to say i told you so.” 

“not happening.” 

nika just raises her eyebrows. azzi decides she’d through with this conversation. 

drink made, she stalks back to the living room, nika following close behind with thinly veiled amusement. she’s officially been added to azzi’s shit list of the night, directly behind one paige bueckers. 

she plops back down next to the blonde, careful to keep the space between their bodies reasonable, and takes a sip of her drink, wincing at how strong she’d made it. 

paige looks inquisitively at her, and azzi tries to ignore it, but then her head tilts back against the base of the couch as she sideyes azzi, brows furrowed in an unspoken attempt at asking if she’s good, which exposes the long, pale, extremely biteable column of her throat, and azzi jerks her head away before she does something stupid like lick it in front of their entire team, and ignores her. 

she’s still mad at paige. not for having four bodies– that would be ridiculous. just for other, secret reasons. definitely. 

she listens intently as nika immediately gets interrogated about the football guy she’s down bad for instead– serves her right for accusing azzi of being jealous– and decides that if the next question she gets asked is about her sex life, she’s going to take the shot. paige doesn’t deserve the satisfaction of hearing an answer that’s probably about her. 

but then, when her turn rolls around and olivia’s nosy fucking question of “azzi who’s the best you’ve ever had and why” causes paige to smirk next to her, azzi decides that simply taking the shot would feed paige’s ego far too much. 

so, she lets a smirk of her own cross her face and slurs out a massive fucking lie: “this guy i got with last year- charlie- very talented with his tongue,” and lets the room erupt into madness. 

the look on paige’s face is delightful. 

paige is by far the best azzi’s ever had– by, like, a factor of ten– and charlie had only been a brief fling senior year to (unsuccessfully) distract azzi from paige. he’d been mediocre at best. by the look on the blonde’s, face she knows that too, so the offense and shock laced into the outrage of her expression is beautiful. her eyes bore into azzi’s, drunk and disbelieving and pissed, and azzi swallows at the intensity of her gaze.

serves her right. 

she’s forced to tear her eyes away when christyn calls out “i’m sorry, you got with a girl last month and you expect me to believe that the best you ever got was from a guy?”

azzi flushes, but she holds her gaz, shrugging, and then decides to pour metaphorical gasoline on the fire that is currently raging next to her. “wasn’t really impressed with her skills.”

paige honest to god chokes beside her, and the room erupts into hoots and hollers. 

azzi lets the drunk commotion roll off her back, and makes the mistake of turning back to paige, feeling heat pool in her belly at the intensity she finds. 

“i don’t believe you,” rasps the blonde into the admittedly small space between them, low enough that no one else can hear her over the chaos that’s taken over the room. 

azzi smiles sweetly. “too bad.”

paige scoffs, and opens her mouth to respond with something presumably filthy, but then it’s aubrey’s turn to throw popcorn at them, telling paige to “lock in” for her turn. 

paige’s anticipatory smile at aubrey is more of a pained grimace, and azzi lets satisfaction settle in her bones for now, knowing she’s gotten under her skin.

she knows better than to think this conversation is over. she’s rather excited about that fact. stupid stupid stupid alcohol. 

the older girls convene in front of them for a second whispering ideas, and then they all seemingly agree on one with a chorus of excited yeses and christyn spins back to the rest of the group and grins. 

azzi braces herself with a shaky inhale. 

“tell the class about your favorite sex position, paigey,” christyn singsongs, and azzi's mind goes blank for a second. 

she tries to stop herself from thinking about it, about what position paige might be thinking about, but fails miserably, and then a series of images are flashing through her brain:

perhaps how much paige loves to be between azzi’s thighs, used to beg the brunette to let paige go down on her, or even more so maybe how much she loves azzi between her legs, tongue tracing lines against her clit and fingers dancing inside, or maybe even that one time paige made azzi work herself back onto paige’s fingers, bent over the bed, and paige had come untouched just from watching her, or when they’d put the small bullet vibrator azzi had secretly bought between them, grinding on it and each other until they’d both fallen apart more than once, or when– jesus. 

she needs to chill the fuck out. 

azzi is not built for the sexually frustrated lifestyle. 

she takes a large, large chug of her drink, and tries to focus on the burn of vodka down her throat, and not her absolutely filthy thoughts, nor the flush that’s coursing through her veins and making her skin hot.

beside her, paige smirks– a daring, cocky thing that pulls at the inside of azzi’s stomach– and doesn’t even think about answering, instead pouring herself a hefty shot from the handle in front of them and ripping it back, clearly enjoying the group’s groans at her refusal to answer. 

azzi tries extremely hard to ignore the peek of her tongue as she licks the residual vodka off the rim of the shot glass, but her whole body feels hot anyways. she blames it on the mixture in her cup.

“bruh, you just wanted to take a shot,” accuses evina, off to the left, as everyone watches paige wince and grab for a chaser. 

when she collects herself, she rasps out “yeah, or maybe i just think some things should stay private.” 

she says it to the broader room, refusing to look at azzi, but she knows the words are meant just for her anyways, and as anger rolls off of the set of paige's shoulders and curls in the now much wider space between their bodies, azzi juts her chin out in defiance.

whatever– let paige be mad. that is not azzi’s problem. 

she sees amari eyeing them warily, and caroline and nika have switched seats, no doubt so they can giggle to themselves about the tension they apparently think is hilarious, and azzi decides she needs a break. 

when the group conversation derails a bit, partly due to the collective level of hammered and partly due to the boredom of the game they’ve been playing for an hour now, azzi decides a pee break is in order, both because she actually has to pee, and because the heated glares paige is sending her from beside her are fucking with her head. 

she stands up off the floor– very wobbly mind you, the head rush at her upright position reminding her of the abundance of liquor in her cup– and stumbles down the hallway to the bathroom, trying to ignore how positively sloshed she feels. 

the silence of the bathroom is a welcome reprieve from the chaos on the other side of the door, and azzi takes a deep breath as soon as she closes it, leaning back against it and cursing herself for letting paige get under her skin. 

she knows she’s being unreasonable– that getting mad about the fact that paige has hooked up with people other than her is entirely ridiculous, one because it's information she already knows, and more importantly, two, because they're allowed to see other people– but she just looked so smug bringing it up. and the team thought it was so funny. and azzi wants to hit someone.  

lying as payback had been fun– the look on paige’s face absolutely worth it– but now azzi feels like she’s going to crawl out of her own skin at the tension between them and the inability to do something about it. 

she paces the small space for a second (noting in that slightly hysteric, satirical way that only come from drunkenness that evina’s bath mat is a hideous shade of orange), reeling with entirely unwarranted jealousy and fury and trying to pretend that the copious amounts of alcohol have not hit her bloodstream. 

she stops short when she catches her own eye in the mirror. she’s flushed, the range of feelings that aren’t hers to have painted across her face, and she looks exactly like a movie character in a melodramatic shitty pg-13 romcom who’s realizing she’s too drunk and too sad in a party bathroom. 

stupid stupid stupid stupid.

she spins away from her reflection, remembering that she does actually have to pee pretty bad, and plops down on the toilet, content to wallow in sexual frustration and misery for the remainder of the night. 

but then, while she’s washing her hands– rather aggressively scrubbing as if she can wipe away the itch in then that yearns to be on paige’s skin– azzi’s peace and quiet is shattered by the arrival of the one person she’s currently trying to convince herself she doesn’t care the whereabouts of. 

because of course paige had followed her.  

she doesn’t even knock– the audacity– just barges right in like azzi’s not having a private moment to herself (a mental break).

“paige!” she huffs out indignantly, moving out of the way of the door and doing her very best to glare menacingly. “get out- i could’ve been peeing or something.” 

paige looks entirely unbothered by that prospect. she closes the door behind her gently without turning around, arms crossed and jaw tipped down.

she looks infuriatingly good. azzi wants to hit her. like. with her mouth. 

“nothin’ i ain’t seen before.”  she pairs this aggravatingly calm sentence with a step into azzi’s personal space, and it's outrageous how affected azzi is by simply being in close proximity to her in private. 

and how pretty she is. god damn it. 

even with the edges of her vision blurring from the liquor, and the fact that her feet feel rather unsteady on the hideous bathmat below her, azzi can tell that paige is mad. 

that type of focussed, heated anger that very rarely laces their interactions, not just simple annoyance. it unnerves her as much as it excites her, which is surely another sign that she’s going insane. 

she chooses not to respond to the insinuation that paige has seen her in every state of undress, for her own sake, and tries not to think about her and paige in states of undress at all. which is actually a supremely difficult task, particularly when, again, they’re in such close proximity. 

she’s starting to deeply regret that last chug of her drink. 

the silence hangs around them, tense, and she suddenly realizes that somehow paige has backed her up into the sink. which is odd. considering last time azzi checked they weren’t merely inches apart. so that’s. concerning. or exhilarating. who’s to say? not azzi. 

paige’s smirk is a little mean on her face, eyes wild, and she tilts her head, using the measly one inch she has on azzi to try and make her feel small. azzi refuses to let her. 

“charlie?” she says, voice unimpressed. her hands coming up to rest on either sides of azzi on the sink, caging her in. “really?” 

they’re not touching– not yet– but azzi feels the ghost of her hands anyways. 

“what about ‘m,” she breathes. their faces are really close. and paige’s eyes are really blue. 

“you expect me to believe the best head you’ve ever received was from a guy named charlie?” the and not me is unspoken, but azzi hears it loud and clear. 

she scoffs, spurred on by the fire in paige’s eyes. she delights in this game. “why wouldn’t it be?”

paige’s eyes narrow. “i don’t know, maybe because last time i ate you out you came so hard you cried.” 

azzi’s blood gets impossibly hotter at the reminder, but she stays strong, lifting her chin even higher. “was faking it,” she breathes. “like i said earlier, i wasn’t impressed.”

“really,” is all paige drags out, low and dangerous, and azzi feels the tension crackle between them like a physical brand on her skin. they’re not even fucking touching yet, and she can already feel the lining of her underwear growing impossibly wet at paige’s anger. 

she refuses to contemplate the implications of that. 

she hums in agreement and doesn’t say anything else, and paige just looks at her, lets the weighted silence settle around them.

and. okay. azzi’s not proud of this necessarily, but paige is looking like that in front of her and her mouth is turned downwards because she’s jealous and trying to hide it, and her sweats are slung low enough on her hips for azzi to see the waistband of her boxers, and.

and then they’re kissing because azzi apparently has absolutely zero self control. 

her hands come up to grip paige’s shoulders, immediately opening for it, and though azzi was the one to close to gap between them, the one to tug paige down into a kiss, it’s paige that sets the pace, immediately rough and unforgiving, pining azzi hips against the counter with her own and nipping at her lips. 

and god is it good, and god has she missed this in the last few weeks. 

she’s vaguely aware of their new rules, that there are reasons they’re not supposed to be doing this whole kissing thing anymore, reasons she came up with, but she can’t for the life of her remember why she’s supposed to give a singular fuck about that right now when paige’s hands splay out across the skin of her sides underneath her shirt, and her hips are pressing into azzi’s, and her mouth is doing that delicious thing where she licks into azzi’s mouth and slide’s their tongues together, and. 

and azzi decides that this can be an exception. 

she groans into the kiss, tangling her fingers in paige’s hair, and lets her press closer, relishing in the feel of paige all over her for the first time in too long. 

the kiss is mean, claiming, and azzi knows without a doubt that paige is trying to remind her why she will always be the best azzi’s ever had. 

it makes liquid heat pool endlessly in her stomach, and she lets out a strangled cry when paige shifts to press her thigh between azzi’s legs, letting the taller girl swallow her sounds and somehow press impossibly closer. 

fuck. 

it’s always so, so good with paige. it almost makes azzi angrier, and she lets her hands tug at paige’s hair a little rougher, bites into the kiss a little meaner. 

paige must be aware that they’ve only got a few minutes before people get suspicious, because she’s sliding a hand under the waistband of azzi’s shorts and boxers after only a minute or two of making out. 

which makes the fact that azzi’s completely soaked all the more embarrassing. 

she breaks the kiss to gloat, rasping out “you get this wet for charlie?” against azzi’s lips, and. 

azzi’s completely forgotten about why he’s relevant. and then she’s yet again reminded of why paige is insufferable, because why did she have to bring that up. azzi figured the whole kissing furiously against a bathroom sink thing sort of implied charlie didn’t hold a candle. 

however. azzi would never be the one to back down from what was clearly some version of a competition, and despite the fact that, no, she’d gotten nowhere near close with him, azzi locks eyes and breathes “yeah, you’re not special.”

her voice gets choked up halfway through because paige decides to slide two fingers down and circle the entrance of her cunt, because she’s a smug bitch, and. jesus christ. azzi is criminally wet.

paige knows that they’re both aware of this. 

“is that right,” she taunts, the hand that’s not currently working lazy circles on azzi’s clit coming up to grip the base of the younger girls neck. 

self-assured prick. 

azzi only has the brain capacity to gasp out “uh huh” in response, and paige smiles at that, wicked and. pretty, actually, even though she’s an asshole. 

“want me to prove you wrong?” she pairs the question with the breach of a finger at azzi’s entrance, and. 

god help azzi. 

she whines out a “please,” before catching herself– this is a game, afterall– and adds “can’t hurt.”

somewhere in the back of azzi’s vodka-and-paige addled mind, it occurs to her that paige is being suspiciously forgiving, but she lets that thought go in favor of the approving kiss paige gives her, their mouths moving together in that delicious, all consuming way that quiets every part of her brain. 

she has half a mind to protest when paige pulls away, slipping her hand out of azzi’s shorts and tearing their mouths apart, but before she can, paige is sliding down her body to be eye level with the tops of azzi’s thighs, knees cushioned on that horrible bathmat.

god. 

azzi lets out a strangled whine when paige’s hands come up to the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. the vision of paige below her is too much, and she has to close her eyes for a second.

“you wan’ it?” she asks, looking up at azzi like a fucking siren, eyes wide and pleading like she wants it just as bad. 

and. azzi should say no, considering their entire team is on the other side of what is surely a very flimsy door, and getting eaten out on a bathroom sink that isn’t hers is probably a little distasteful. 

unfortunately for said teammates, azzi is despicably wet and paige is between her legs looking like she’ll die if azzi doesn’t say yes, and, most of all, azzi is too drunk to give a single shit if someone hears them. 

she chokes out a “yeah, need it” and is too focussed on paige’s answering grin to care about how desperate she sounds. 

instead of tugging down her basketball shorts, paige rucks up the material around one of her thighs, and latches onto the inner most sensitive part, sucking hard. she’s merely inches away from where azzi desperately needs her, and the feeling lights azzi on fire, head thumping back against the mirror behind her as pleasure takes over. 

paige works on the mark, intent on claiming, biting the sensitive flesh and then laving her tongue over it to soothe, and azzi feels drunk on not only the vodka but the pleasure too, whining quietly when paige presses a kiss to the darkened skin and pulling back with a smile. 

and fucking then. 

paige breathes “too bad,” matter of fact and smug, into the mark.

azzi’s confused as fuck at her words, has forgotten what they were saying, and then. and then paige just. stands up. 

“should call charlie to deal with that, hmm?” she pouts, fake pity lacing her words, and then she fucking pats azzi’s thigh in mock consolidation and walks out of the bathroom. 

azzi’s disoriented wail of “wait,” is too late, paige already out the door like she hadn’t been on her knees seconds prior, and azzi is suddenly alone with her muddled thoughts once more, breathing uneven, skin flushed, and rage bubbling up inside of her. 

along with, like. intense sexual frustration.  

what the actual fuck.

azzi should’ve known paige would be too petty to let that go, and she’s both furious at the blonde for setting a fucking trap, and herself for falling into it. but what an fucking self-inflated egotistical asshole.

god. 

azzi wants to march right out of the bathroom, knee paige in the stomach, pour the remainder of her drink on top of her stupidly perfect head, and then maybe possibly lick off said drink from the dip in her collarbone. and the line between her breasts. and perhaps her bellybutton. 

being mad at and being attracted to paige were two sides of the same coin on a good day, but on a drunk one? azzi wanted to solve their issues with bitemarks and bruises. which was entirely stupid and counterproductive and irrational, three qualities that seemed to follow azzi around almost as much as paige did. 

she inhales, several times, trying to clear the fog from her brain and calm the racing of her heart, and tries to push away the lingering disappointment that she won’t be coming apart at the hands of paige tonight, or anytime in the future really, seeing as– due to most of their roommates not knowing and the fact that azzi was far too prideful– she couldn’t exactly drag paige back to her room and have her way with her. 

this, coupled with the fact that it wasn't like she could just stroll in to paige’s room in two days time when they both inevitably got sick of the fight and wanted make-up sex because of the stupid fucking rules, meant that not only was azzi angry at paige for her little stunt, but she was also a little annoyed at her apparent disregard for their limited opportunities to have sex.

paige was wasting extremely precious time in which they were alone and drunk, guards lowered, and neither of them had had a singular orgasm.  

what a fucking stupid bitch. 

azzi checks her phone, happy to see that it was already past 11:30, meaning an acceptable time for her to feign exhaustion, and, with renewed anger, pushes herself off the edge of the sink and stalks out of the bathroom, intent on socializing for maximum ten more minutes before retreating to the solitude of her bedroom and getting herself off. 

to the thought of paige. 

which was something she’d unfortunately become quite familiar with ever since she’d had her awful, horrible, no good very bad idea to stop letting paige get azzi off instead, the much preferred but decidedly unavailable option. 

whatever. at least paige would probably also die of sexual frustration, and then they could rot in hell together.

a/n: sorry to edge you (paige and i will make it up to you <3) as always pleaseeee tell me if you liked it and i will die of happiness and probably kiss you <3 i hope to have the second part put early next week!

[moonlight-lillies]

jinu x reader submission for series by anonymous. prologue. 12:11 AM - saturday

“what ever did happen to the saja boys?”

you cringed at the mention of them. the saja boys, a demonic boy group that did minimal to destroy the honmoon. many people had forgotten about them, summing them up to a ‘one-hit-wonder’. but you knew the truth, you knew it all. from the demon world, to the hunters, to the honmoon. you were the only person who knew everything in full detail.

you weren’t a demon, and you sure weren’t a hunter. no, you were someone in-between. the gray area of the demons and the hunters. a paritegi. named after the goddess that leads people to the underworld, your job is to lead the hunters to their full potential, and to lead all that wish to help gwi-ma to his realm.

when the saja boys were banished behind the honmoon, you knew you would never see him again. kim jinu, your boyfriend.

you had known each other through your time in the underworld, but you were always a fleeting moment of jinu’s life. a passerby. when demons with an elaborate plan fail, they are ridiculed. many stay in hiding.

since the saja boys failed, they were definitely being ridiculed. you were already in gwi-ma's realm for strictly business, but if jinu never showed himself, you would rarely see him in passing.

you took a sip of your drink, "probably what happens to all nugu groups, one hit song and then disbandment."

yeojin, a long time friend of your was a journalist, more so a gossip columnist. she was looking for any trace of the once hit group. it was hard to keep a facade around her.

"i just don't get how people like that can just disappear," she looked at you, her expression worn from the late nights she has spent talking to you.

you shrugged, looking towards the street. and there it was, a rip in the honmoon.

it was just strengthened, it couldn't mean that gwi-ma was already planning something. but it wasn't the rip that caught your eye, it was the five men that came out of the rip.

no way it could be what you thought. different clothes, a different look on their face, it was them.

"sorry, i just remembered i have to do something." you said to yeojin.

"oh.." she responded, tucking her things away.

once she left you had many questions. and only one person could answer them.

gwi-ma.

a/n: really quick prologue but i'm excited to start a series! this is just some world building and minor character intro!

see you soon!

[salsa-and-light]

@spidersteelandsmile

Your story is beautiful. Than you for sharing, these sorts of things aren't talked about enough.

Knowing Queer people and Queer stories is the strongest antidote to prejudices like these.

I respect that you tried to approach this diplomatically.

I don't know if you were being brief to come off as non-hostile or if you genuinely aren't familiar with many of the tactics of homophobic Christians, but in my experience they do not have reasons for their beliefs.

Many have very rudimentary explanations which are either entirely untrue or fall apart upon examination. Examination that they can not or do not do themselves.

So I will admit that talking to them seriously can be taxing, even if they do have good intentions. It does not appear to me that that this person has good intentions.

I would be happy to explain more on the different ideas and sources surrounding this subject if you are curious, and you are more than welcome to read on. But in my opinion, I don't think you are going to get reasonable answers from someone like this.

>>>>>>> >>>>>>> >>>>>>> >>>>>>> >>>>>>> >>>>>>> >>>>>>>

@artist-issues

"But it’s kind of pointing out a flaw in your understanding of God’s Word to open your post with “give me verses” and then narrow it down to “but only the ones where Jesus is talking.”"

Christ specifically was operating in opposition to the religious norms of his day.

At various points both in his ministry and in the rest of the New Testament the Law and contemporary Jewish norms are specifically ended, removed or condemned.

Christian follow Christ, Christians focusing on Christ is the default.

We shouldn't be acting out the arrogant legalism of the pharisees who killed him, that's for sure.

"“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.“ John 1:1"

This is actually a good thing to mention.

As Gay Christian and historian of Christianity, Diarmaid MacCulloch put it:

"The Bible is not the word of God. Jesus is the word of God, it says so in the Bible."

So yes, Jesus the Christ seems to be the most important person to listen to in.. Christianity.

"“All Scripture is breathed out by God and profitable for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness..."

No one said that scripture was useless.

What you're doing is talking around the fact that the founder of our faith didn't have anything to say about homosexuality.

If you want to argue that it doesn't matter, then fine, do that.

Arguing against points no one made makes you seem defensive, or paranoid.

..

Though you have stumbled upon something worth mentioning.

The scripture is trustworthy.

But why would you be⸮

You can have your opinion of course, it's just that your opinion isn't worth much.

In a way it's telling that when questioned you cite the inerrancy of God and scripture.

As if the authority of God.. makes your argument stronger.

Difficulty with separating your opinions from God's is usually a problem.

"Peter, in his letter, said Paul’s words were Scripture"

..No..

but also,

"His letters contain some things that are hard to understand, which ignorant and unstable people distort, as they do the other Scriptures, to their own destruction." - 2 Peter 3:16b

It's odd that you decided to breeze past the part where he says people distort scripture.

I'm not even disputing the legitimacy of Pauls readings, but if I were, why would I trust Peter more?

And even if I did trust Peter more.. he doesn't use the word "scripture" in Greek, he said "writings".

["γραφὰς-graphas" is the Greek word in quetion, being the source for the English root "graph" as in "photograph", "graphics" or "grapheme" a linguistic term for a fundamental unit of written language"]

Even the English word "scripture" just originally meant writings but through the isolated exposure to the word through the Catholic church the word gained religious connotations. Spanish, French and other romance languages have a doublet of the term but have to specify "escritura sagrada", "Saintes Écritures" or holy scriptures, because their terms are the equivalent of "writing(s)".

This is mostly a English phenomenon.

So no one was arguing that Paul was unimportant, but if they were.. then your argument would still be bad.

"And if you doubt that the Apostle Peter had the authority to say what was and was not the Word of God, then you’re doubting that anything you know Jesus to have said was ever actually what He said"

Again, no one is disputing the accounts of Peter.

But if they were this would, again, be a terrible argument.

There are four Gospels and Peter didn't write any of them.

If someone wanted to ignore Peter's account they could and still have the majority of the accounts of Christ's ministries.

..

i think you're misunderstanding the problem here.

I don't think anyone here is saying that Christ is the only source of information.

Christians are people who follow Christ, it' not that deep.

But if we are listening to Paul we should listen to him.

Here's what he said.

"One of you says, “I follow Paul”; another, “I follow Apollos”; another, “I follow Cephas”; still another, “I follow Christ.” Is Christ divided? Was Paul crucified for you? Were you baptized in the name of Paul?" - 1 Corinthians 1:12b-13

We are not saved by the Law or by Peter or Paul.

Appealing to them to supplant the ministry of Christ is contradictory to the ministry of Christ and that of Peter & Paul.

"a lot of the eyewitness accounts of what Jesus said come from the Apostle Peter."

I don't even know what this means.

Peter didn't write the Gospels, at most he Wrote 1st Peter and 2cd Peter.. and that's disputed too.

This isn't even the topic, I don't care and you're not the person to talk to about this anyways,

but these claims are just puzzling.

"If you’re going to say Scripture is your authority, you have to answer the question “why.”"

Interesting that you didn't give a why when you were making things up about how being straight was a fundamental part of the faith.

"The only reason to make Scripture the authority for your life and how you live it is if, indeed, it is the Word of God."

"The Bible is not the word of God. Jesus is the word of God, it says so in the Bible."

"And you have to believe all of it is the Word of God. All of it."

This is called a false dichotomy.

Another lie.

Not that anyone was saying that they didn't believe the Bible.

Which again,

"The Bible is not the word of God. Jesus is the word of God, it says so in the Bible."

"Now that we’ve established that it’s all-or-nothing"

You didn't establish anything.

You said something insane and blathered for a bit.

No one is even arguing that parts of the Bible are untrue, your arguments are just terrible

It's amazing that language teachers can't correct this sort of thing.

"you can’t just pick and choose which verses have authority and which don’t"

No you don't get to choose.

If you're listening to the whole Bible then you are actually commanded to ignore certain portions of it.

Which I know that you know, because I know you're not making animal sacrifices correctly.

"here are the ones where homosexuality is prohibited.[Leviticus 18:22 & Leviticus 20:13]"

This is so embarrassing for you.

..

I'm going to ignore the hypocrisy of quoting a code of law that you don't follow and I'll even ignore that I count five mistranslations in just two verses and I'll focus something worse.

You're being dishonest.

Let's make this very, very simple.

Is two lesbians raising a child together a form of homosexuality?

Yes.

Is two men having sex together a form of homosexuality?

Yes.

Now,

Is two lesbians raising a child together a form of two men having sex together⸮

No.

This is the equivalent of saying that clothes are banned because hats are banned. You're exaggerating the meaning to match your personal feelings, not the semantics of the actual text.

This verse, which is A) mistranslated and B) defunct, still does not prohibit homosexuality.

It doesn't prohibit gay marriage, it doesn't prohibit gay parents, it doesn't prohibit anything that a lesbian might do.

It doesn't even prohibit all forms of sex between men.

Even in a defunct, mistranslated text you still felt the need to lie.

Because nothing about your views is based on reason, or honesty. It's certainly not based on text.

It's based on your prejudice.

"This is God...telling the Israelites in His Law"

It's Levitical Law, the law of the Levitical priesthood. Priests from the tribe of Levi.

And among its lists of laws, [which you do not follow], are laws requiring the execution of rape victims and systematizing the ownership and sale of women; among other things.

So I'm actually grateful that you spent so much time building up Paul so you can't backtrack when Paul writes about the Law.

"But now, by dying to what once bound us, we have been released from the law so that we serve in the new way of the Spirit, and not in the old way of the written code." - Romans 7:6 "So the law was our guardian until Christ came that we might be justified by faith. Now that this faith has come, we are no longer under a guardian." Galatians 3:24-25 "The former regulation is set aside because it was weak and useless" - Hebrews 7:18

But supposedly you got your conclusions from the text.

"It’s meant to reveal the standard that humanity falls short of, not condone falling short of that standard."

Sure the perfect version of humanity wears tassels.

Funny, Adam and Eve didn't wear anything.

"Jesus has not changed His mind about this. Homosexuality is an abomination. And ���️ [Romas 1:26-27]"

This is lazy.

I could tell you to just read the whole chapter; but who knows what you'd come up with.

If you had read the whole chapter.. you would know that this chapter is talking about a pagan sex cult.

And if you knew what you were talking about, then you would know that these men usually had sex with women.

Condemning a bunch of cultists is not a commentary on homosexuality even if the members were homosexuals, which they decidedly were not.

"⬆️ This was written in the New Covenant"

What would that even mean‽

Not everything in the New Testament, is a part of the new covenant.

You realize that the New Testament also includes the crucifixion and commands for slaves to obey their masters right?

"God hasn’t changed His mind. What He says is natural is natural...it’s not natural to be “consumed with passion” for the same sex as yourself."

You're talking about what's ""natural"" as if you aren't online. Be serious.

You want to know what else is unnatural⸮ Modern medicine, electricity, indoor plumbing, the written word.

If you had thought about this for more than a second you would have realized how stupid naturalism is as a moral standard

And if you had done that then you might have actually attempted to understand the meaning of the text.

The Greek term "φυσικὴν - physikēn" just means instinctual or inborn. It's a relative of the English word "physical".

It does not reference any such concept like an universal natural order.

It just means that these men were usually with women and not men.

This is the closest the Bible ever comes to describing orientation.

If Paul had intended to make broad sweeping commentary on homosexuality, a concept that would not exist for another eighteen centuries, then why would he be specifying that these men were acting out of character.

Probably because having sex for the worship of a pagan god is even more heinous when it's not even the sex you'd want to be having.

"Jesus talks about the correct view of marriage by quoting...[Matthew 19:4-5]"

Jesus does not say that this is the correct view of marriage, Jesus never even calls this a marriage, and neither does Genesis 2:24 which he is quoting.

You're compulsion to lie is troubling.

And because I actually know this topic fairly well I suspect that you're thinking that it must be about marriage because the verses mention wives.

But no

English translators added "wife", both the Hebrew and Greek terms of this quote(Genesis 2:24 & Matthew 19:5 respectively) just mean "woman"

And again, it's fortunate that you've spent so much time defending the validity of other scripture because if you want to argue that all scripture is equal.. then Jesus can't be claiming that the correct view of marriage is heterosexual monogamy.

Because the Bible frequently refers to polygamy and makes a distinction between marriage and other forms of relationship like concubinage.

So if you're claiming that no other sort of marriage can exist, then you're contradicting scripture.

"I know you said you don’t understand how what Jesus does say condemns homosexuality."

There’s nothing to understand, this is an imaginary problem.

Mentioning heterosexuality isn't condemning Queer people.

Queer people manage talk about heterosexuality all the time without being homophobes.

"Jesus was talking to people who were trying to trap Him by asking about the right way to handle divorce—a matter of marriage. And Jesus answered by explaining what the correct view of marriage is"

Assumption.

"We fall so hard that even what we desire is twisted and broken, and even our ability to know what brokenness is"

Clearly yours is.

"And that’s why it’s so good that you asked me to give you verses. Because when we can’t trust whether or not we know what’s good or bad, right or wrong"

You're a fool if you think feelings stop at the page.

Your feelings influence you.

You are not impartial, objective or even terribly knowledgeable.

Your interpretation is less reliable than the conscience of someone who actually knows something about the Queer experience.

"The Bible. God’s Word."

"The Bible is not the word of God. Jesus is the word of God, it says so in the Bible."

"You can’t base what God wants for you, what’s right and wrong, on your feelings"

That's what you're doing hon'

You arguments don't make sense and your behavior is more in line with an emotional outburst.

"Life experience is meant to be informed by what God says in His Word"

I'd love to see where you got that idea from.

All human communication is formed on the basis of past experiences.

Anything you could interpret must be transmitted through the lens of past experiences.

Which is why bias is an inherent part of the human condition.

"Because your analyzer, your mind, your heart, are broken,"

Oh look gaslighting.

Isn't it rich that you remember the basic reality of bias and fallibility only when they're using them to explain why you should be the authority.

"What I am telling you is that your interpretation of that experience, that it’s somehow “from God,” that He set it up that way and that’s how you know He approves of your homosexuality—that is what’s incorrect"

Cool story, but you can't prove it.

"Your interpretation of what you’ve lived through as “from God” is incorrect, and it is very dangerous."

Real quick, how many people died from being gay and happy⸮

It's "dangerous" because you can't disprove it. And you know that no one will buy the misery you're hawking without censoring any alternative.

"There are plenty of verses about that."

Oh yes there are plenty of verses about being wrong about scripture.

But history seems to indicates that that doesn't stop people frome being wrong.

One of us must be wrong don’t you think, but do those verses tell us who⸮

"This is against saying that “God placed a burden on me to do this or that” because you run the risk of perverting His words."

I guess you're also abstaining from the "burden of proof" too.

"Again, this verse proves[Jeremiah 23:25-27] you can think you’re hearing from God, or something is coming from God, and be wrong."

And you're exemplifying that problem beautifully.

"But you don’t have to read very far into the Bible to notice that God is a specific, existing Person with His own set of characteristics, wants, loves, and dislikes, and you can’t change them or decide what they really any more than I could change or decide what your characteristics,"

Says the homophobe using non-binary pronouns to blaspheme a God of Love.

This is a non-point.

No one is trying to change God here but you.

You're the one making the claim that God's grace is undone by homosexuality.

That's heresy.

"The only way to know is to line what you’re thinking about His will up next to Scripture. See if it matches."

Oh girl, don't you know better.

If your only standard for your base ethics is whether scripture "agrees with you" then it's no wonder you're so nasty.

For one you don't know much about the Bible, so basing your morality on your hazy recollections is.. not exactly ideal.

But let's suppose that you actually knew something.

You want to know who reads the Bible and comes away thinking they have God's approval⸮

Everyone who wants it

I'm sorry but even I and the other Queer people you so despise regularly come to the conclusion that the Bible supports us.

Your own pseudo-logic condemns you.

Queer people don’t usually go around bragging about it because anyone can get scripture’s approval: me, you, nazis, slavers, imperialists.

And lest you be confused, this is not because everyone else is lying to themselves and you are the one true Christian who reads the Bible honestly.

It’s because bias is inherent to the human condition and we can be wrong no matter how good or bad our intentions are.

"And if you’re living as if He does not think homosexuality is an abomination,"

Abomination is one of those mistranslations from the laws that you don't follow that I mentioned;

by the way.

"One more verse, because it’s the one where Hope is found.[1 Corinthians 6:9-11] See? Do you see?"

Another instance where some more research would have saved us both some time.

Please refer to the documentary about this

1946: The Mistranslation That Shifted Culture

Or if you can't find that documentary, you can look at this recorded presentation made by one of the presenters.

Both 1 Corinthians 6:9 & 1 Timothy 1:10 are mistranslations totally unsupported by historical analysis and even modern English semantics.

You don’t have to watch these videos, but if you want to claim to be informed with any honesty it would behoove you to actually be informed.

"Don’t be deceived - you can be wrong about this."

But not you is that right.

- negative self awareness -

"It is defined as normal by the Bible TO be deceived"

Yeah,

Which explains why Christians have proclaimed evil prejudices like racial hierarchy and imperialism for centuries.

Can you think of anything similar⸮

"You can be deceived—into believing that any of the sins he lists are somehow NOT sins"

And you were deceived into thinking that Love was immoral based on mistranslation.

"It’s in the verse. It’s plain. Nothing twisted or hard to see or understand about that."

You wouldn't be saying that unless you already knew that the translation is contentious.

If you had spent time trying to understand the situation instead of covering your own ass, then you might have been able to learn something.

"Homosexuality is a sin. But it’s not a super-sin. It’s not special"

Lie. You don't believe that.

And I know you don't believe that because you didn't write angry pouts about other sins.

You also didn't claim that the arrogant or the hypocritical stop being Christians.

Presumably because you aren't so stupid.

But you're not smart enough to not get caught in an obvious lie.

"Such were some of you - Christians have been homosexuals."

And Christians continue to be homosexuals.

Gay conversion is not possible through any ethical means, nor is it possible through unethical means, and we know this because we've tried all of them.

Advocating torture because you can't handle reality is evil.

"But it’s past-tense. It was who they were. It is NOT anymore."

Being gay has never been who anyone is.

And you would know that if you saw Queer people as your equals instead of as evil bogey man made to torment you.

"Homosexuals" is a mistranslation. And your wild conspiracism is embarrasing.

"The name of Christ? “Christian.” An identifier that is incompatible with the name “homosexual.”"

Prove it.

You have no credibility, your knowledge is inaccurate, you honesty is wanting and you're a minority opinion even among the bigoted.

This isn't an argumment, it's begging.

"You aren’t a homosexual. If you’ve been washed, sanctified, by the Spirit of God"

And we're still not heterosexual or straight.

Which is it. Is God's power limited⸮ Or are you⸮

There is a wrong answer.

"Please don’t jump right into responding to this reblog by saying things to me like “I pray that one day God opens your eyes to a world of love, not hate,”"

Oh.

So you do have an understanding of how impersonal platitudes are annoying.

So you weren't ignorant, you were a hypocrite.

"as if anything I’ve said is hateful"

- negative self awareness -

I don't know what needs to be done for you to have an attitude adjustment, but I teach rich pre-teens and they're not this bratty.

"or anything apart from what God says is love can be love. He is love."

Lower my expectations and keep digging.

You're somehow deluded into believing that Love can be evil.

I follow a God of Love, you’re doing something else.

Look at 1 Corinthians 13

You know.. Love is patient, Love is kind..

Ring any bells⸮

Why don't you read that chapter and let me know when you find a gender requirement.

"He says it is is better than the lies the world has convinced you is “love.”"

Oh so your evil.

Queer people are in fact capable of Love.

How you think you're not full of hatred is beyond me. Though I suppose you could be lying.

"Read what is typed in this post and weigh it and consider it, as if it’s the first time you’ve heard it."

So without all of your homophobic biases.

Funny, without assuming that homosexuality immoral and that Queer people are incapable of Love the Bible doesn't seem so prejudiced after all.

Way to tell on yourself.

Get real.

People aren't going to magically acquire your biases even if they could somehow get rid of their own.

You are not some blank slate interpreting without motive, you are dripping in bias, with a large helping of self-importance to boot.

"And THEN make the decision"

I did.

I got three degrees worth of knowledge and read a pile of books on the subject.

You can't even be bothered to read your own posts so you don't get caught in a lie.

Maybe you got off on being able to dominate the other boys and girls in Sunday school, I don’t know, but this behavior is terrible.

I once believed the way you do. Then I got better.

You could too. But you choose to wallow instead.

"Or are you going to stop trusting your deceitful heart and what the whole world says, and trust in God alone?"

You can't even Trust that God made a Love you don't experience.

Don’t bother talking about trust when you’ve shown that you don’t value it.

"If you’re a Christian, you chose to die to your old self and be Christ’s. Be what He tells you to be."

Which is a Queer fuck.

And if you don't like it, kick rocks.

"One is a traveling nurse who was engaged to another woman, the other is a 15 year-old girl who was dating another girl. They gave their lives to Christ in this past year and are happy, even though it’s hard, following Him."

80% of supposed "ex-gays" are openly Queer again within five years.

And that's according to the manipulated data of "conversion therapists."

But if you're hanging around we might be able to cut that time in half.

Wishing them a speedy recovery.

"“Let God be true though every one were a liar…”"

Well we already know which one you are.

I will say it again:

The LGBTQ+ person who asks Christians to "welcome and accept them without telling them they should change" is openly demanding that the Christians change. From being Christians, to being non-Christians.

Because Christ died to save you from who you used to be. When you become a Christian, you're choosing to change from who you were to who He tells you to be. That is Christianity. To tell Christians to stop talking and behaving like that is what they believe is to not only reject Christianity yourself, but demand that they reject it, too.

Do not listen to any influencer, pop culture icon, or person who says to you that Christians do not love LGBTQ+ people, because they say LGBTQ+ people should change who they are.

Christians change who they are. More accurately, they let Christ change who they are. That’s how they became Christians. Truth goes hand in hand with love—it is not avoiding it. Because love is not anti-rejection. Love rejects plenty of things! Love rejects hatred, self-focus, and lies. So of course Christians who believe in a God that says, “let Me change you into who you’re meant to be” can tell you that you need to change—and that is loving. They love you, and they’re not okay with leaving you the way you are. Because Christ didn’t leave them, the Christians, the way they were.

Don't listen to anyone, "Christian" or otherwise, who tells you different.

[inseobts]

When the Sea Gives You Tangerines

shanks x fem!reader

after years spent loving each other you have many stories to tell to the strawhats.

words count: 2.2k

a/n: I got inspired by the kdrama When Life Gives You Tangerines, I just hope it didn't come out too cringy honestly...

tags: childhood friends, storytelling, bickering, comfort, fluff

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

The fire’s warm. The moon hangs heavy above the ship.

Luffy leans back, arms behind his head, grinning “So, how’d you two end up together anyway?”

You blink “Us?”

Shanks smirks, sitting beside you on a crate “You wanna tell it, or should I?”

“Like hell I’m letting you tell it.” you mutter.

Nami leans in, curious. Sanji pours wine for Robin. Zoro pretends he’s not listening. Even Usopp’s wide-eyed. They’ve heard of Shanks the Yonko, but they never thought they’d hear him laughing like this.

You sigh “It started when we were kids.”

“She hated me.” Shanks says.

You shoot him a look “I ignored you.”

“Same thing.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“She’d walk past me every day like I was just a chair.”

“You sat like one. On the dock. All day.”

“I was watching the sea! I was thoughtful.”

“You were stupid.”

Shanks grins at the crew “See? True love.”

They laugh. You roll your eyes.

You look down at your hands “We were kids in the same village. I liked books. He liked trouble.”

“She liked pretending she didn’t care.” he adds.

“I didn’t.”

“You still don’t.” he teases.

Your voice softens “He followed me everywhere.”

Shanks turns to the crew “Everywhere.”

You smack his arm “Stop making it weird.”

He grins “I’m just saying. If she climbed a tree, I climbed it. If she stole an apple, I stole two.”

“And got caught.”

“I let them catch me so that they wouldn't catch you.”

You scoff “You cried.”

“I was seven!”

Everyone laughs again, but this time it fades slower.

You rest your chin on your hand “We grew up. He left first. Said the sea was calling. I said ‘Good. Don’t come back’.”

“But I did.” he says. Quiet now.

“You always did.” you say.

There’s a pause. The kind that only happens when people are listening too hard.

Nami’s voice breaks the silence “But when did you fall in love?”

You look at Shanks. He’s already looking at you.

You shrug “I don’t know. Maybe when he stopped being an idiot.”

“So never.” Luffy says.

Shanks chuckles “I knew before she did. I was always waiting.”

You swallow. Your voice is barely a whisper “I was afraid.”

“Why?” Luffy asks.

“Because he was everything I didn’t want to need.”

Shanks leans back, watching the fire “And I was just waiting for her to look at me the way I looked at her.”

Zoro snorts “That’s depressing.”

Robin smiles “It’s real.”

You toss a tangerine at Shanks. He catches it, grinning.

“You’re still annoying.” you say.

“And you still love me.” he says.

You don’t answer but you don’t deny it, either.

You throw another tangerine at Luffy. He dodges it, laughing with his mouth wide open.

“Why are you asking so many questions, huh?” you say, pointing at him “You’ve heard this story a million times.”

Luffy shrugs, still grinning “Because I love it!”

You squint at him “You didn’t even listen the first hundred times.”

“Yeah, but I remember all of it now,” he says “When I was a kid, I used to look up at Shanks like he was the sun. Strong. Loud. Impossible.”

Shanks rubs the back of his neck “Don’t make me sound too cool.”

“But when he was with you,” Luffy continues, softer now, “or talking about you… he changed.”

You blink. The fire crackles again.

“It was like you were his captain.” Luffy says.

Everyone goes quiet. Zoro pauses mid-drink. Nami watches you closely. Robin’s smile grows just a little.

Shanks doesn’t look at you. Not yet.

Luffy’s voice drops “And that always made me feel like… maybe the Shanks everyone fears... wasn’t that scary after all.”

Shanks finally glances at you. There’s no teasing in his eyes now.

You don’t know what to say to that.

Because it’s true. All those years he was off sailing, getting stronger, louder, more famous... he’d write to you like nothing had changed. Like he was still that barefoot boy chasing after you in the mud.

You hated those letters. You kept every single one.

“He never stops talking about you.” Luffy adds.

Shanks groans “Luffy—”

“No, really! He’d be telling us about a fight or a treasure, and then... bam ‘That reminds me of her’ or, ‘She would’ve laughed at that’ or—”

“Luffy!” Shanks throws a cork at his head.

You hide a smile behind your hand.

“So,” Sanji says, leaning forward, “who confessed first?”

You and Shanks speak at the same time:

“He did.”

“She did.”

The crew erupts.

“What?!”

“Liar!”

You point at him “You kissed me first. And you were obvious since you were 6.”

“Yeah, but you said it first.” he counters.

“Only because you were dying.”

“I wasn’t dying!”

“You had a spear in your shoulder!”

“A tiny spear.”

“You fainted.”

“I was tired!”

Nami shakes her head “You two are a mess.”

Robin sips her wine “A beautiful mess.”

Luffy lies back on the deck, hands behind his head again “I just knew you two would end up like this.”

“You weren't even there... But yeah,” you say quietly as you look at Shanks, and he’s already watching you “I think deep down… I always knew too.”

“So you didn’t join Shanks on the sea from the start?” Usopp asks, still wide-eyed like he’s listening to a bedtime story.

You snort “No. I didn’t want to.”

“She followed me anyway.” Shanks says, puffing his chest like a proud idiot.

You roll your eyes “I studied. For years. Maps. Languages. History. Ship mechanics. All of it. I worked harder than anyone.”

Robin tilts her head “So you could sail?”

You pause “So I could stand next to him without being a burden.”

Shanks turns to you, slower now, like he doesn’t want to ruin the moment “You never told me that.”

You pick at the edge of your sleeve “Yeah, well. You never shut up long enough to hear it.”

The crew laughs, but it’s gentler now.

“You know what’s funny?” you say, turning back to Luffy “The first time I met you, you looked at me like I was your mom and Shanks used to make fun of me.”

“What?” Luffy blinks.“No I didn’t!”

“Yes you did,” you say “You followed me around, asked if I had snacks, and called me ‘Miss Cool Pirate Lady’ for three days.”

Shanks throws his head back, laughing “I remember that!”

“You sat in the corner and drew me with a sword,” you add “And then said I was cooler than Shanks. And you called me mom by mistakes multiple times.”

“I WAS FIVE!” Luffy yells, red in the face now.

You smirk “Still true though.”

Shanks puts a hand over his heart “He used to blush like crazy everytime he realised he called you mom.”

There’s a quiet moment as the waves lap softly against the ship.

“Going back to that question... I didn’t plan to go to sea at first,” you admit “I wanted a small, quiet life.”

Shanks smiles, listening.

“But then he left,” you say, eyes on the stars “And I couldn’t stop wondering if he’d die without me.”

“That’s romantic,” Sanji says, dreamily.

“No,” you shake your head “That’s just the truth.”

“I didn’t ask you to come.” Shanks says softly.

“No,” you nod “You didn’t have to.”

You turn back to the Straw Hats “I joined the crew two years after he left. I showed up with a packed bag and told Benn, ‘Don’t make a big deal’.”

“And I immediately made a big deal.” Shanks grins.

“You tripped running down the dock.”

“I was moved, okay?”

“You fell into a crate of bananas.”

“It was an emotional day!”

Everyone’s laughing again. The air is full of warmth now, wine and fire and stories wrapped around the mast like wind.

Luffy lies on the floor of the Sunny, staring up at the sails “You two were the first people I ever saw who felt like family.”

You go still.

He says it so easily, like it’s always been true.

“I didn’t understand it then,” Luffy goes on, “but… when you were together, it felt safe. Not boring. Just… safe. Like home.”

You glance at Shanks. He’s not smiling now, not in the big, cocky way. This one’s smaller. Quieter. Like he can barely hold it.

“I guess I raised two idiots” you mutter, wiping your nose.

“You did,” Shanks says “And somehow, we both turned out okay.”

“Debatable.”

He bumps his shoulder against yours “Speak for yourself. I’m perfect.”

“You’re loud.”

“You love it.”

You don’t answer.

You just lean into him, just enough.

Luffy’s snoring now. Flat on his back, mouth open, arms spread like he owns the whole ship.

You nudge him with your toe. Nothing. Just louder snoring.

“I guess storytime’s over.” you say, standing and brushing off your pants.

Shanks stretches, groaning a little too dramatically “Guess that’s our cue to go.”

“Yeah,” you nod, already turning to leave “Let’s let the kids sleep.”

“Wait—WAIT.” Nami’s voice cuts through the quiet.

You freeze “What?”

“You’re not leaving yet,” she says, standing with her hands on her hips “You haven’t told us the best part.”

You sigh “Oh no.”

“How did he propose?” she grins.

“Oh no...” you repeat.

Usopp leans forward “Did he cry?”

Sanji fans himself “Was it romantic?”

Chopper is bouncing now “Did you say yes right away?!”

Franky still crying over your romantic stories.

Robin smiles “You must share. We’re invested now.”

You turn slowly toward Shanks.

He looks like a man standing in front of a cannon.

“We were supposed to not to tell anyone” you whisper.

He grins sheepishly “I didn’t!… Yet.”

You groan into your hands “You’re a menace.”

“But a charming menace.” he adds, winking.

“Don’t wink at me. I’m still mad.”

You face the crew with a deep sigh.

“Fine,” you say “But it wasn’t romantic.”

“Yes it was!” Shanks says.

“No. It wasn’t.”

“I tried to make it romantic.”

“You proposed during a storm.”

“It was dramatic!”

“We were sinking.”

“That’s memorable!”

Robin’s eyes sparkle “Please continue.”

You sit back down, crossing your arms “Okay. So. We’re in the middle of this horrible storm, waves taller than the ship. I’m tying down barrels, he’s yelling commands, the usual chaos.”

“And she looks amazing.” Shanks adds.

“Drenched.” You glare at him “Hair stuck to my face, one boot missing, and I’m yelling at the crew.”

“Very commanding... and sexy...” he says dreamily.

“And then,” you continue, ignoring him, “this idiot climbs the main mast with a ring in his mouth.”

Gasps around the fire.

“You didn’t...” Nami whispers.

“I did.” Shanks says proudly.

“And he screams... screams ‘WILL YOU MARRY ME?!’ while lightning is literally striking the ocean behind him.”

“You said yes.” he grins.

“I said, ‘GET DOWN BEFORE YOU DIE, YOU LUNATIC!’”

Robin is laughing quietly now. Chopper is wide-eyed. Usopp is trying not to cry while Franky is bawling.

Sanji puts a hand on his heart “That’s the most pirate thing I’ve ever heard.”

Zoro raises a brow “So when did you actually say yes?”

You sigh “Two days later. Calm seas. Clear skies. I was brushing my hair.”

“She just looks at me and goes, ‘I guess I’m stuck with you now’.”

“And then I threw the ring at him.” you say.

“You missed.”

“I aimed for your face.”

Everyone laughs again. The fire’s burning lower now, but no one wants to move.

Shanks wraps an arm around your shoulders, casual. Warm.

“And you still married me.” he says.

You glance up at him.

“You forgot the ring at the wedding.”

“It was in my other coat!”

“You don’t have another coat.”

“Exactly.”

You sigh, shaking your head, but you’re smiling now. Soft. Quiet. Real.

“He’s a disaster.” you say.

“She’s the reason I survive it.”

The fire’s nothing but glowing coals now.

Luffy’s curled up like a kid. Most of the Straw Hats are asleep, heads resting on arms, backs against barrels, dreams thick in the night air.

You and Shanks sit side by side, knees almost touching.

He’s quiet now. Not laughing. Just watching the waves.

You look out too.

Then he says, softly, “You never really wanted this life.”

You don’t look at him “I didn’t.”

“You wanted quiet.”

You nod “I wanted peace. Soft mornings.”

“And you got storms. Blood. Chaos.”

You smile, just a little “And you.”

He swallows “Sorry.”

You shake your head “Don’t be. I said yes.”

Shanks looks at you “Even after everything?”

You finally meet his eyes “Especially after everything.”

The ship rocks gently.

“You know,” you whisper, “when we were young, I thought you were the kind of boy who would burn the world just to see what was under it.”

“I was.” he says.

“And I thought I’d spend my life trying to stop you.”

He smiles faintly “Did you?”

“No,” you say “I ended up helping you light the match.”

You both laugh, soft and low.

You reach into your coat pocket and pull out a candy.

Shanks raises an eyebrow “You still carry those?”

“I always do, they're my favourite.” you say. You hand it to him.

You rest your head on his shoulder.

He doesn’t say anything. He just leans into you, warm and steady.

And in the quiet, in the dark, with the sea all around you and stars blinking like old friends overhead, you think:

No, I didn’t get the life I planned. But I got the one I chose.

And more importantly, I got him.

[chericos]

DRAWN TO YOU. || s. ishigami

Rebuilding the world takes time. So does love. But gravity doesn't ask for permission. The tides don't apologize You've always been drawn to him. And him, to you.

| fic masterlist. | song of the chapter.

ii. beginnings | 12.8k words

You and Senku had always been inseparable—bonded in that rare, gravitational way, where one moved and the other followed without needing to be asked. If Senku was the moon, brilliant and relentless in his orbit, then you were the tide, pulled along with steady, unwavering loyalty; drawn endlessly to him.

It was a day like any other. Blue skies, drifting clouds, the dull thrum of school life filling your ears as you walked the halls. The headlines had started to blur lately—more reports of birds freezing mid-flight, swallows turning stiff and cold with no warning. Senku had been glued to the data, furiously calculating, trying to find a pattern, if any. He didn’t say much about it, but you knew the silence meant he was worried.

Classes dragged on in the way they always did—chalk squeaking against boards, the rustle of papers, the low buzz of bright fluorescent lights overhead. You sat through lectures half-listening, doodling chemical structures and Doraemon in the margins of your notebook, your thoughts drifting back to the lab. You caught glimpses of Senku during breaks, always hunched over a tablet or scribbling at a speed that made your wrist hurt just watching. In chemistry, he answered before the questions were done being asked. In math, he didn’t even pretend to pay attention, eyes locked on some equation only he understood. You passed him in the hallway once between periods, and without looking up from his notes, he said, “You better show up today to fix the distiller,” then kept walking like nothing had happened. You rolled your eyes—but the corners of your mouth tugged up anyway.

You always knew it was going to be a chaotic day when Taiju arrived early—and yelling.

The science lab was still waking up. The scent of ethanol and diesel clung to the air, heavy and metallic, the kind that stuck to your skin no matter how many times you washed your hands. Sunlight streamed through the cracked windows in sharp, golden slants, carving the room into warm, geometric shapes. On the workbench, you crouched in a precarious sprawl, legs folded underneath you, elbow-deep in the tangled guts of the distillation rig you and Senku had been patching together for a good part of the week. The metal frame groaned under your shifting weight as you tightened a bolt with one hand and braced a coil with the other.

Below you, Senku worked in silence—focused, precise. The sound of glass tapping metal, the hiss of a burner, the soft shuffle of a wrench in his hand—it all wove into a quiet rhythm, a kind of mechanical heartbeat. You didn’t speak much when you were both building. You didn’t need to. The silence between you was easy, normal, like something that took years to perfect.

Then—

“THERE’S NO STOPPING ME!”

The door flew open with a bang that echoed off the tiles. You jolted so hard the wrench slipped from your grip, clattering down into the mess of tubing with a metallic crash. Your foot skidded off the edge of the bench, and for a heart-clenching second, the world tilted. A sharp breath. A flash of weightlessness.

Then hands—two of them. One, a fist curled tight in the fabric of your shirt from behind. The other, strong and fast, catching you at the waist as your center of gravity gave out. You were halfway to face-planting into the ethanol tank when Taiju, grinning like a cartoon superhero, hauled you upright and set you back onto the bench like a ragdoll.

“I’m doin’ it!” he shouted, wide-eyed and red-faced, practically vibrating out of his body. “After five years—I’m finally gonna tell Yuzuriha how I feel!”

You blinked, heart still thudding from the near-death experience. Then your face broke out into a grin.

“About damn time!”

It burst out of you before you could stop it—your native accent slipping past the edges of your tongue, soft and familiar like salty ocean air and the summer heat. Your voice went high with laughter as you clapped your hands together.

“You absolute moron! She’s gonna say yes, and you’re gonna cry like a baby, an’ we’re all gonna pretend we aren’t watchin’ from the the windows,”

Taiju’s ears went bright red, but he looked like he’d just been knighted.

Behind you, Senku made a low noise—noncommittal—but his hands didn’t pause as he slid a beaker into the burner rig. “Hmm. Interesting. I’ll be cheering so hard I’ll snap my vocal cords.”

You could hear the sarcasm, of course, but there was a softness buried in it. Enough that your gaze flicked sideways, catching the barest twitch of his brow. He didn’t meet your eye—he never did when he meant it.

Instead, he reached up, without looking, and tapped a wrench against the leaky valve near your knee.

“You’re not done,” he said. “Get back to work.”

You groaned, but relented, sliding down to your knees on the bench and reaching for the wrench again. Still, you tossed Taiju a grin over your shoulder. “You’ve got this. I believe in that big, dumb, sincere heart of yours!”

“You’re the best!” Taiju bellowed, already halfway out the door in a rush of adrenaline and blind optimism. But before he could fully make it out, suddenly, Senku was holding something out to him.

“Here,” he said, tone too calm to be trustworthy. “Use this. It’ll give your pheromones a mega boost.”

The vial in his hand shimmered ominously. You narrowed your eyes. That was definitely gasoline, or at least a distillate close enough to set something on fire.

Taiju blinked. “Wait… is this some kind of love potion?”

Senku smirked. “Ten billion percent effective.”

You opened your mouth—then closed it. If Taiju drank it, he might pass out before even reaching the courtyard. But you trusted Senku’s moral compass more than you let on, and he wouldn’t have handed it over if he didn’t know how this would go. If anything, it was a test.

Sure enough, Taiju looked at the vial for a beat… and then poured it straight down the lab sink.

“I’m gonna do this my way,” he said, puffing his chest out, “with nothing but my honest feelings.”

For a moment, nobody said anything.

Then you sniffled, pressing a fist to your mouth.

“Ugh, why are you so damn pure…?”

Senku gagged quietly. “Disgusting,” he went on muttering something about hormonal idiots and emotional self-sabotage, but you didn’t miss the small twitch of his lip. The one that meant he was fighting a smile.

Taiju beamed at both of you, then turned and bolted. The lab felt strangely quiet after he left, like the air had gone still in his absence. 

Someone behind you muttered, “¥100 says she turns him down.” 

“¥500 says he chickens out.” 

You rolled your eyes. “You people have no soul.” 

“¥10,000 says she says yes,” Senku said flatly. 

That shut everyone up. 

You raised an eyebrow. “That much confidence?” 

“It’s just the logical outcome,” he replied. “She’s liked him for just as long.” 

You tilted your head, smiling to yourself as you tightened the last bolt in place. That was the thing with Senku. He always talked like everything was numbers and outcomes—but sometimes, just sometimes, he believed in people more than he let on.

You didn’t say anything else. But your foot bumped his knee lightly under the bench. He didn’t move away.

The vending machine outside the lab let out a mechanical whir and thunked loudly as the can dropped. You cracked it open with a hiss, the cold metal damp against your fingers, condensation running in thin rivulets down your wrist. Beside you, Senku took his own with one hand, sipping without ceremony, his other hand still faintly stained with copper grease and soot.

You both leaned against the wall, the tiled floors cool beneath your shoes. The breeze tugged at your sleeves, and you didn’t bother to pull them down. The fabric of your summer uniform clung to the last edge of heat in the air—clingy and damp from the work inside. Your pulse still hadn’t completely settled from earlier. You weren’t sure if it was from nearly falling, from laughing too hard… or from something quieter. Something heavier.

Down below, in the courtyard, the students had started to spill out like ripples on the surface of a pond—clusters of uniforms, half-eaten snacks, the glint of someone’s phone camera already out and trained on the old sakura tree near the stone path. Right there, Yuzuriha stood, her hands gentle and sure as she adjusted a strip of cloth tied around one of the lower branches—a little bandage of care, placed with soft precision.

You watched her. Watched the way she tucked the end of the knot with a kind of delicate focus, like she wasn’t standing under that tree on purpose. Like she wasn’t waiting.

Your voice came quieter than expected. “I don’t get how he’s not petrified.”

Senku glanced sideways at you but didn’t speak yet. The silence was soft, almost comfortable.

You kept your gaze on Yuzuriha’s hands. “Putting everything out there like that. Taking something so solid, so important—and risking it. What if she doesn’t say it back?—I mean, I know she will cause she's told me about her feelings for years but, what if i’m wrong? What if it ruins everything they already have?”

There was a pause. You could hear his can shift slightly as he tilted it again, the faint glug of liquid inside.

“Takes guts,” he said eventually. “Or stupidity. Sometimes both.”

You exhaled through your nose, lips curving faintly. “I mean, yeah. Taiju’s practically running on blind faith and protein powder. But it’s still…” You hesitated, then shook your head, a wry little smile curling at the corners of your mouth. “Kind of admirable don’t ya think?”

Senku didn’t answer right away.

You turned your head just enough to glance at him, expecting maybe a shrug or one of his usual dry remarks—but he wasn’t looking at you. He wasn’t even looking at the tree or Yuzuriha.

His gaze was somewhere else entirely. Distant. Focused, but unfixed. Like his mind had wandered off the map and was quietly calculating outcomes that had nothing to do with confessions under cherry trees.

Then he said it—quietly, but with intent. Like it was something he'd already decided, something he'd turned over in his head a hundred times and only now found the right moment to say aloud.

“Or it makes things better.”

Something in your chest pulled tight.

Just for a second. A flicker of heat, a breath caught too high in your throat—but you swallowed it fast, shoved it somewhere quiet and unreachable before it could settle in. Before it could mean anything. You didn’t know what to say. Or maybe you did, but couldn’t say it.

So you stayed quiet.

You looked away, skyward. The clouds overhead were too still. Too pale. You told yourself it was nothing. Just a weird mood. Just spring in the air.

The silence stretched.

Then, lightly—too lightly—you said, “Since when did you get all sappy?”

It wasn’t teasing so much as deflection. A half-smile curved your lips, bought you a second of distance.

Senku didn’t look at you. But his mouth twitched—barely. Not quite a smile, but something close.

“Must be a side effect of prolonged exposure to those two idiots,” he muttered.

The line was dry, textbook Senku. But underneath it, there was something gentler. Something real. The kind of softness he never said outright, but you could hear if you listened close enough.

The only sound was the hum of the vending machine and the gentle creak of the breeze in the courtyard trees through the opened window. His arm brushed yours as he shifted slightly, and neither of you pulled away. There was warmth there, in that single point of contact—real, and grounding, and somehow more honest than any words.

Down below, in the courtyard, movement caught your eye.

Taiju had arrived.

He was pacing, jittery and excited, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. Then he turned and started walking—no, marching—toward Yuzuriha like he was going to war instead of confessing his love. She turned at the sound of his footsteps, and the look on her face made your chest tighten. Hopeful. Nervous. Almost tearful.

“Here we go,” you breathed.

Senku tilted his head, eyes narrowing, calculating like always. But his jaw was tense. His shoulders, too. You noticed the way his hand had gone still around the can.

Then, before a word could be spoken down below, the sky cracked.

It didn’t sound like thunder. Not really. It was quieter, deeper—like the air was folding in on itself. The light changed. A sick, green hue swept across the courtyard, bleeding through the clouds like a curtain being pulled. The shadows warped. The buildings across the street shimmered at the edges like a mirage.

You froze. “What the hell…?”

Senku moved at the same time—sharp and fast—but not toward you. He stepped back, calculating, eyes narrowing as if he could solve it just by watching harder.

“Get away from the window,” he said, voice tight with a kind of urgency you’d never heard before.

You tried to move.

You really did.

It started at your fingertips. A numbing cold, like your bones were frosting over from the inside. You tried to breathe, but your lungs felt like they were filled with stone. Your legs buckled slightly—not from weakness, but from a sudden lack of response. You looked down at your hands.

Stone.

You barely had time to look back at him.

Senku stood frozen in place, not from the light—but from watching you. His eyes went wide, mouth parting like he was going to shout something, anything. But no sound came. Just a look—raw, unfiltered panic, punched through with helpless calculation. You could tell he wanted to move. Wanted to reach you. But he didn’t make it.

Couldn’t.

The last thing you saw was his face—unmasked, unguarded. The kind of look he’d never let anyone else see.

And then the light swallowed you whole.

No impact. No scream.

Just stillness.

And silence.

It was quiet. Too quiet. Time passed by differently in this state, an endless blur that seemed to run on forever. You tried to scream, move, cry— anything— yet, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t escape it. So instead of fighting, you started thinking. 

You thought of all kinds of things—your favorite songs, half-sung in the back of your mind; endings to shows you used to argue about online, never satisfied with how they wrapped up; you even thought of the times you were definitely in the wrong but never 

But most importantly, you thought back on your life.

The memories you held dearest to your heart. The ones that always seemed to be stuck in the back of your mind and never faded away with time. The ones that formed you into who you are today.

And the first one always came like clockwork—

You were five the first time you met Stanley, and by extension, Xeno.

It was late summer, the kind that was hot and sticky and tasted like freshly picked strawberries on your tongue, with the breeze rolling off the California coastline and carrying the smell of hot charcoal and pine sap. 

You didn’t really know who any of the guys here were—just that they worked with your dad and that they were the best of the best when it came to the military. The kind of people whispered about on the streets and online. Operators, he called them. Ghosts, some others did. But here, they were just sunburnt and off-duty, laid out in folding chairs and shit talking over the comforting sizzle of a grill. Someone had rigged a tarp between two trees. Another used a field map as a tablecloth. It was messy, loud, and smelled like grease and pine and smoke. They called it a “mandatory morale boost,” but to you it felt like something more—like catching the grown-ups mid-laugh, mid-life, when no one was watching but the woods.

You didn’t really expect to be brought along, but when your dad had excitedly barged into your room that morning—dry mud still stuck to his boots, face already sunburnt from whatever he had been doing in the garden, and grinning like a kid himself—you couldn’t help but nod yes. 

So that’s how you ended up here, in a pink Pokémon shirt mostly hidden under dark-washed overalls, the kind with grass stains too stubborn to ever fully wash out. You were crouched in the dirt near the edge of the tree line, a small stream trickling nearby, picking apart dandelions with quiet, almost reverent focus. Your dad had shown you how to find the root without snapping the stem, how to check for pest trails in the petals.

“Everything’s got a purpose,” he told you, that slow, Southern drawl stretching the words like molasses. “Even weeds. Especially weeds.”

Your hands were always stained green back then. Dirt under your nails. Your sleeves damp from rinsing leaves in the creek.

While the rest of the squad was crowding around the fire pit—laughing far too loudly, meat sizzling on the grill, the clink of beer bottles and sudden bursts of half-told stories—your dad stayed beside you. He unrolled a long, weathered cloth on the ground, revealing rows of dried herbs. He let you pick through them carefully, naming each one in a calm, comforting tone, like a bedtime story.

“Yarrow. Stops bleedin’. Smells like dust and old pennies.” “Chamomile. Settles the gut. Good for soldiers and screamin’ toddlers alike.” “Devil’s claw. Nasty name, but damn good for inflammation.”

You breathed it all in—nose full of crushed pine needles and mint—and felt like you were holding a secret the world forgot. Like magic your father never called magic—just medicine, just memory.

And in that moment, with dirt on your knees and the sun streaming through your hair, you felt like you were holding something sacred. The world had melted down to just you and your dad—your hands wrapped around crushed herbs, his voice low and steady in your ear. Everything else—the sizzling grill, the banter and beer-fueled laughter echoing from the clearing—had fallen away. It was just like old times. Just like always.

Then Stanley showed up— late as always.

You heard him before you saw him—heavy boots crunching gravel, the metallic crack of a beer can hissing open, and a voice that could've sliced clean through a sandstorm. Rough, dry, coated in cigarette smoke and something else you couldn't name at the time.

“What is this, a damn farmers’ market?”

You looked up, squinting at the figure towering over the campfire haze. He was all in black despite the heat—black shirt, black tactical vest, even black boots. Aviators shielded his eyes, but his smirk was sharp enough to cut glass. He looked like trouble, the kind your dad only ever shook his head at—but never really tried to stop.

Your dad didn’t even bother glancing up from where he was tying bundles of mint. “It’s called preventative medicine,” he drawled, “You’d know that if you stopped eatin’ like a raccoon.”

Stanley snorted but didn’t reply, he dropped into a crouch beside you, one knee bent like a spring about to snap. His movements were all angles—lean muscle and sharp edges, like someone who didn’t know how to relax if you paid him. He studied you with a quirked brow, the way some people size up a new weapon.

He tilted his head, giving you a once-over. “So this the sprout?”

You didn’t hesitate. “I’m five,” you said, fixing him with the most serious look you could manage. “Not a sprout.”

There was a beat. Then Stanley let out a short, barked laugh—like a misfired gun—punched out of him before he could stop it.

“I like her,” he said, flicking a piece of twig off your knee. “She’s got attitude.”

Your dad shot him a look then, pointed and sharp. “And I swear to God, Stanley, you better keep your damn language clean around her.”

Stanley just raised his can in mock salute. “Yeah, yeah. No fuckin’ problem.”

Your dad sighed through his nose, clearly choosing peace. You got the sense this conversation had happened before. Many times. Stanley would never listen. And your dad would never actually do anything about it—because underneath all the swearing and banter, he loved Stanley like a brother.

Before you could say anything else, another figure stepped into the clearing, tall and ghost-pale against the backdrop of dappled sunlight. Where Stanley looked like a weapon in human form, this one looked like he’d rather be anywhere else—his slacks were pressed, his loafers immaculately shined, and his expression pinched like he was smelling something offensive.

Xeno Houston. Civilian genius turned contract brain-for-hire. You didn’t really know what “aerospace engineer” meant yet, but even at five, you could tell this man ran on caffeine and an ungodly superiority complex. He didn’t crouch or kneel, just stood there with a cold, calculating look, like you were a mildly interesting lab specimen. 

“This is the one?” he asked, eyebrows raised, eyes flicking to your dad like he thought this had to be some kind of elaborate joke. “The child you said could tell the difference between medicinal herbs? She’s barely out of diapers.”

“Yup,” your dad said without missing a beat, still sorting through the herb pouch. “She's gettin’ better at anatomy s’well. Want her to identify a bullet exit wound next?”

Xeno looked faintly horrified. “That seems… medically irresponsible.”

Stanley, who had just cracked open another beer, snorted so hard he nearly choked. “Jesus Christ,” he wheezed through laughter, wiping foam off his chin with the back of his hand.

You, unfazed, reached into your little travel pouch—carefully sewn by your dad from an old camo sleeve—and pulled out two slightly crumpled leaves. You held them up to Xeno with steady hands and wide, unblinking eyes, mimicking your father’s steady tone.

“This one’s feverfew,” you said, matter-of-fact. “Tansy’s darker. Smells more bitter. Feverfew’s good for headaches. Tansy’ll put you in the ground if you don’t know what you’re doin’.”

A beat of silence followed. Xeno stared at you like you’d just quoted a medical journal instead of being, in his words, barely out of diapers.

Then Stanley muttered under his breath, voice laced with awe, “Holy shit.”

Your dad simply leaned back on his heels, a quiet, satisfied grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Like I said,” he drawled, full of pride. “She’s a natural.”

You beamed, cheeks flushed and chest full, as if the sun itself was sitting right beneath your ribs.

That day wasn’t the last time Stanley showed up, not by a long shot.

You couldn’t remember exactly when it happened, or how, but somewhere along the way, Stanley stopped being just your dad’s dirty-mouthed teammate and became Uncle Stanley. Self-appointed, of course. No one had given him the title—it was more like he claimed it, and no one dared argue. Especially not your dad, who had long since learned that trying to keep Stanley in check was like trying to stop a train with his bare hands.

He was over constantly. If he wasn’t dropping by the house, it was phone calls, or leaving half-empty six-packs in the fridge, or pulling up in his beat-up truck with some ridiculous toy he insisted you “absolutely needed.” Your dad would grumble under his breath every time about how he was “spoiling you”, but even at five you could tell it was all for show. He didn’t fool you. Stanley could do no wrong in your dad’s eyes, even if he drove him halfway insane.

“Don’t cuss in front of her, Stanley,” your dad warned him almost every visit, his voice sharp but already tired, like he was repeating it for the hundredth time.

“Shit, my bad,” Stanley would always say, grinning, completely unrepentant. “I mean—shoot.”

“Stanley.”

But the worst of it—at least according to your dad—was when Stanley decided you needed to learn some "practical skills." You didn’t even realize what you were doing at the time; to you, it was just another game. Sitting cross-legged on the garage floor, giggling as you followed his instructions.

“Okay, kiddo, take the little brass one—yeah, like that—put it in right here, nice and gentle. Look at you! Natural, just like your old man.”

It wasn’t until much later that you realized you’d been carefully sliding bullets into their chambers. Your dad stormed into the garage, face twisted into a look of pure anger.

“Stanley, what the hell—”

“Oh, come on,” Stanley always laughed, throwing his hands up like he was the reasonable one. “It’s better she learns it from me than some jackass out there who doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing. Relax, doc—she’s in good hands”

And you were. You found out—in Stanley's words— that your hands were perfect for handling something as delicate as this. Your dad blamed Stanley for that, but he never actually made him stop. Not really. After all, you were the safest five-year-old in California who could distinguish between chamomile and cyanide—and now, apparently, load a firearm even with your eyes closed.

And of course, Stanley spoiled you rotten. Ice cream at weird hours. That one overpriced doll you saw at the store, immediately bought. Cartoonishly oversized sunglasses he insisted were “just like his.” And whenever your dad wasn’t looking, a whispered:

“Don’t tell him I let you have this.”

You never did.

In some ways, thinking back on it, your dad had been outnumbered from the start.

And then, of course, there was Xeno.

He wasn’t around as much as Stanley, but when he was, you always knew it. The air felt different. A little colder—sharper. Xeno never quite fit into the noise and chaos the same way Stanley did—he stood slightly apart, like he was always observing, analyzing, cataloging everyone like little data points on some giant mental spreadsheet. Even his visits felt more like inspections.

“You’re still indulging in these… wilderness hobbies, I see,” he’d comment whenever he saw you with your dad’s herb pouches or books spread across the table. “Useful, I suppose. Primitive—but useful.”

You never really knew how to feel about him. He creeped you out sometimes, with the way his eyes flicked over you like he was running some internal calculation. But even at five, you couldn’t help but be fascinated by his brain. He was the only adult, other than your father, who spoke to you like you weren’t an idiot—just wildly inexperienced.

Sometimes, when your dad was out working at the base, Xeno would come over, sit you down in the living room with old aerospace schematics and basic chemistry books. He’d tap the diagrams with a pen and say things like, “Understand this, and you’ll understand why your father’s team doesn’t fall out of the sky.”

You never completely trusted him—but you listened. You learned. And Xeno, in his own condescending, self-important way, seemed to take an odd kind of satisfaction in teaching you. Although you think he’d get a kick out of teaching anyone who could even slightly keep up with him.

“Her aptitude is impressive,” you overheard him say to your dad once, as if you weren’t right there. “Far above average, considering her age. You might have something useful here.”

Stanley, standing nearby, had just rolled his eyes.

“She’s not a damn science project, Xeno.”

But Xeno only smiled—thin and distant, like he was already thinking six steps ahead. 

“No,” he’d said quietly, “but someday she will be important.”

You didn’t know what that meant back then.

Not until after your father left.

He didn’t say where he was going, not really. He never could. Operational security, classified, all the usual words you didn’t fully understand but had heard a thousand times before. But that morning, as he knelt down to your level, hands gently cupping your tiny face, rubbing circles on your cheeks, there was something different behind his eyes—something heavy and almost sad. Like he was memorizing you.

“I love you more than you’ll ever know, kiddo,” he whispered, voice low and warm. “And I’ll be back before you know it, okay? You just wait for me.”

You nodded, clutching his neck as tight as your little arms allowed, burying your face into the fabric of his uniform. You breathed in deeply,  the familiar scent of pine, sweat, and faint gun oil—your dad. And you couldn’t help yourself from the tears that started to form in the corners of your eyes. 

He rubbed your back affectionately, pressed a tender kiss to the crown of your head before pulling back and giving a look to your mother that you couldn't see. But you think you know what kind of look it was based on the sounds of muffled whimpers that escaped her lips.

He looked at you one more time before he left, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look back.

He didn’t tell you when he’d be back. Just to wait for him.

And you waited.

The days blurred together, one after another. You sat by the big living room window for hours, forehead pressed to the glass, watching every car that drove by, every shift of the wind that passed through the trees. You kept waiting to see his truck roll up, to hear the familiar slam of the car door and his heavy boots on the porch steps.

Not if he would come back—just when.

Because in your mind, there was nothing your father couldn’t overcome. He was strong. Unstoppable. He had Stanley. He had Xeno, in spirit, waiting in an operating room monitoring the air. He always came back. He promised you he would.

But the weeks stretched into months. And then longer.

You were too young to understand fully, but even you could see the change in your mother’s face. The soft lines around her eyes grew deeper, heavier, more hollowed. Her voice became quieter. The bright colors she used to wear slowly dulled into muted tones. She stopped smiling as much. Stopped humming while she cooked. Stopped talking about when he comes home. Stopped whispering reassuring words in your ears before you drifted off to sleep. Like she couldn’t keep up the act. Like she knew she was telling you a lie.

But you held on. Because he told you to wait. And waiting meant believing.

And you believed in him, more than anything. 

Until one day.

The phone rang.

Your mother answered.

You couldn’t hear much of the conversation from behind the wall—just muffled words, sharp breaths, and finally, a single, broken whisper:

“No... no, you said—he said—”

She collapsed onto her knees right there on the kitchen floor, the receiver slipping from her fingers and swinging on its cord. You just stood there, small and silent, clutching the stuffed bear he had given you before he left. The one that still smelled faintly like him.

That was the day you first felt something inside you crack.

— — — — — — — — —

You never really planned on coming here—not to this country, not to this school, not to this strange new life.

But sometimes life doesn’t care much about plans.

After the phone call, things blurred for a while. Your mom had packed quickly—like the house itself was too much for her to stay in anymore. She said Japan was a fresh start. That her family was there. That you could both heal. You didn’t know what she really meant back then. You just knew that your dad wasn’t coming home, and no matter how long you sat by the window, you wouldn’t see his truck pull up ever again.

Stanley had fought the move at first. Hard. Said you could stay with him. That he could raise you here. That your father would’ve wanted that. But your mom wouldn’t hear it. They argued and yelled about it a lot for the weeks leading up to the move, but Stanley eventually relented—though not before muttering a string of curses your dad would’ve scolded him for, and giving you the longest, tightest hug you’d ever had. Before you left, he handed you a small velvet pouch—inside was a tiny pocket knife, too dull to cut much of anything, but small enough that you could keep it hidden.

"Don’t tell your mom," he winked. "Just so you got somethin' of me with ya."

Xeno, oddly, but unsurprisingly, had simply nodded when you told him you were leaving. His expression was unreadable, as always.

"Japan has excellent academic institutions," he’d said. "You’ll do well there, if you apply yourself."

Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “You’ll keep learning, won’t you?”

You promised you would.

But no amount of promises could make the hollow part inside you feel any smaller.

Which is how you ended up here. Six years old, new school, new language, and already tired of trying.

You hadn’t expected anyone to talk to you on the playground. The kids didn’t like how you spoke, how you looked, how you didn’t seem to fit in anywhere. You weren’t like them. You were... different.

But then there was Senku.

The first person who didn’t look at you like you were broken, or strange, or fragile. The first one who didn’t tiptoe around the empty space that followed you like a plague.

He didn’t ask about your dad, or why you looked so sad, or why your accent was weird sometimes. He just... started talking about machines, and wires, and aerospace, like none of that mattered. And for the first time since you boarded that plane, you felt something almost like normal.

When you spoke about plants, about the little bits of knowledge your father had given you, Senku's eyes lit up—not with pity, but with curiosity.

You didn’t say it out loud, but a tiny piece of you recognized something familiar in him too. The way he carried too much in his head. The way his hands were always busy, like he didn’t know how to sit still. The way he didn’t fit perfectly with the other kids either. Different in a way that wasn’t bad—just… him.

And somehow, that made you feel less alone.

Truthfully, you wonder what he’s up to now. If he’s okay—if he’s alive.

If he’s still out there, working tooth and nail to figure out just what the hell happened.

Knowing Senku?

He’s probably thriving. Working endlessly with nothing but his own bare hands and that unrelenting mind of his, forging answers out of ash and stone like it's the most natural thing in the world. You can picture him clearly—dirt-covered, sleeves rolled, surrounded by scattered materials that no one but him could ever hope to make sense of. That familiar glint in his eyes, sharp and unwavering, the one that always burned a little too bright for someone his age—like his thoughts were already five steps ahead of reality.

It’s not hard to imagine him pouring over theories, dissecting every angle, retracing scientific history in his head like it’s some puzzle that needs solving and he’s the only one with the right lens to do it. He’s probably been awake—if you can call it that—far longer than anyone else, pacing circles into the dirt, chewing on god knows what for nutrition, repurposing tree sap into adhesives, somehow figuring out how to light a fire with two pebbles and a grudge. Because if anyone could, it’d be him.

And you bet he’s got a plan. He always does. Even when things fell apart, even when the numbers didn’t quite add up, even when everything looked impossible—he always found a way to move forward, to pull logic from uncertainty. He’s probably already narrowed it all down to a list of possibilities, with pros and cons scribbled in the ground and arrows leading to more arrows until the whole thing loops back into itself like some beautiful, insane science web. You can practically hear his voice echoing through the wilderness, smug and energized, rattling off a formula with that strange mix of glee and precision only he could pull off.

But above all, you know one thing with absolute certainty:

He didn’t give up.

He wouldn’t.

He couldn’t. 

Not until he figured it out—not until he brought everything and everyone back. Because that's just who Senku is. Rational to a fault. Ruthless with his own sleep schedule. Blunt, and impossibly insufferable. But underneath it all, he cares. Quietly, deeply, in ways he’ll never admit aloud.

And if there was even the smallest chance of pulling people out of stone, you knew—you knew—he’d find it.

There’s no transition—no gentle easing of consciousness. Just stone. And then not.

It’s not a graceful awakening

Your body lurches violently forward, like the universe suddenly remembered you were supposed to exist again. Breath snaps back into your lungs in a single, searing inhale, so sharp it feels like your ribs might crack from the pressure. You choke on it—air, real air, thick and humid and alive—and your chest tightens around the pain. And for a split second, it feels like dying again.

And then everything hits—

Grass. Dirt. Sunlight. Air.

You choke on it, hungrily, shakily, your hands instinctively digging into the ground just to confirm it’s real. Cool soil gathers beneath your fingernails. Your arms tremble beneath you—still half-numb and slick with some strange liquid you have yet to identify. Your head swims, vision blurred at the edges, but you force your eyes to stay open.

The sky explodes overhead in an endless sprawl of blue, so vivid it feels wrong. Too big. Too bright. And beneath it, stretching in every direction—

No buildings.

No cars.

No steel or glass or concrete. Just a raw, unfiltered wilderness. Trees and ferns and tangled underbrush, wrapping every horizon.

You’re awake.

And for one terrifying second, you don’t know what that means

Then—

“HEY—HEY! SHE’S AWAKE!!”

The voice hits you like a bus, loud, wild and unmistakable. And then there are arms around you—massive and shaking and warm—hauling you upright before your brain can even catch up. But they’re familiar. 

Taiju.

He’s laughing, but the sound’s ragged, breaking apart like he's been holding it in for so long. His face is streaked with dirt and sweat and—yeah, those are definitely tears—but he’s grinning like you’re the goddamn sun, and he’s seeing it rise for the first time.

You blink at him, dazed. Your head feels like it’s full of static, everything blurry around the edges.

“...Come back from where?” you manage, voice hoarse.

And then—

The waft of wind.

the realization hits.

You freeze. Your eyes go wide. And very, very slowly, you look down.

“...Why…” you start, voice rising with every syllable, “WHY AM I NAKED?!”

Taiju, bless his sweet, loyal soul, flinches like you slapped him. “W-WHAT?? Oh! Uh—Senku said you wouldn’t mind that!”

You stare at him. Blank. Disbelieving.

And then, at full volume:

“WHY THE HELL WOULD I NOT MIND BEING NAKED?! IN WHAT UNIVERSE IS THAT A THING I WOULDN’T MIND?!?” 

You’re seething, but it’s not clean anger—it’s messy and mortifying, tangled up in a heat that rushes to your cheeks so fast it makes your head spin.

You’ve known Taiju for years. You’ve been through school with him, walked home beside him a thousand times, seen him ugly-cry at, well, just about anything, heard every dumb thing he’s ever blurted out before his brain could catch up. You’ve seen each other at your worst, your weirdest, your most unfiltered. But this?

This is different.

You’re naked. Fully, absolutely, no-ambiguity, just-came-out-of-stone naked.

And he saw.

And now he’s standing there, hands awkwardly frozen in mid-air like he doesn’t know what to do with them, looking anywhere but directly at you—because he absolutely saw—and that makes it worse. You’d almost prefer he be oblivious. Or smug. Or anything but what he is right now: wide-eyed and horrified and completely unsure of how to fix this.

He panics. Fully panics. “N-No! Not—like—not in a creepy way! He just said you’d understand the circumstances! Like—like that you’d wake up before we could find you clothes and you’d be okay with it logically, not emotionally, which—uh—I guess—uh—wow, I’m gonna shut up now.”

You bury your face in your hands, groaning so loudly it vibrates in your chest.

And god, the worst part?

You do understand the circumstances. Rationally, sure. Logically. You get it. It’s not like they wanted to see you naked. It’s not like Senku prioritized your dignity when he was too busy solving the miracle of reviving civilization.

But that doesn’t mean it stings any less.

That doesn’t mean you’re not gonna remember this until the day you die.

And it definitely doesn’t mean you’re letting Senku live this down.

This sucks.

This really sucks.

You let out another strangled noise halfway between a scream and a cough, moving down into a crouch, knees up to your chest and wrapping your arms around them in a futile attempt at modesty while your legs are still barely working.

Then— 

“Tch. You’re welcome, by the way.”

You whip around. 

And there he is.

Senku Ishigami.

He’s leaning back against a tree, arms crossed, that infuriatingly calm expression plastered across his face. He raises an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth twitching upward like he’s actively restraining himself from saying something unbearably snarky. And you just stare at him.

He raises a brow. “You’re not dead. Congratulations.”

You stare. “Oh, I’m sorry, is my awakening not scientifically efficient enough for you?!”

“I’d say it was fairly efficient, given the complexity of the revival fluid and the 3,700-year-old petrification process,” he replies, deadpan. “You’re the one screaming about clothes instead of celebrating your biological resurrection. Talk about priorities.”

“BECAUSE I’M NAKED.”

“Yeah, so’s literally everyone when they wake up. You think we’ve got a wardrobe waiting in the bushes? You just got un-stoned. Figure it out.”

“THIS IS A BASIC HUMAN DIGNITY ISSUE, SENKU!”

“Are you seriously gonna stand there and argue with me over such a simple issue?”

“Yes! Yes the hell I am!?!”

Senku exhales through his nose—half sigh, half scoff. He doesn’t even flinch. “Okay. Great. Congratulations on rejoining the land of the living with your sense of outrage fully intact.”

You glare at him, mouth open, words on the verge of tumbling out and colliding into a feral noise of shame and fury—but nothing comes. You’re too busy trying not to combust. And Senku? He just stands there. Like this is normal. Like it’s fine.

Unbothered. Unimpressed. Annoyingly smug.

You slam your hands over your face. “This is a nightmare,” you groan. “I died. I died, and this is hell, and you’re here because of course you are.”

“I mean,” Senku drawls, “if hell involves me single-handedly reviving civilization with science, then yeah. Sounds about right.”

You drop your hands just far enough to squint at him through your fingers. “I bet this is because I cheated on that one math test in third grade,” you mutter. “I knew this would come back to bite me. I atoned. I never did it again!”

A moment passes.

Then, bless him—or curse him—Taiju, who’s been hovering awkwardly to the side like a six-foot-tall golden retriever who just broke your favorite lamp, leans in and says earnestly: “Wait… we’re in hell?!”

You slowly, slowly turn to face him. “No, Taiju.”

“Oh! Okay. Cool.” He laughs, relieved. “You had me worried for a second.”

You nearly choke on your own exhale. “Oh my god.”

Taiju, still hovering behind you like a panicked lifeguard, awkwardly holds out something bundled in his arms. “Uh—Senku did say to bring this for you! We made it from tree bark! It’s… not super comfy, but it covers your bits?”

You grab it with all the dignity of someone who’s just hit rock bottom and begun tunneling. “Thanks, Taiju. I’ll cherish it forever.”

Senku just raises a brow. “You’re not dead. You’re breathing. Congratulations. The human race is one step closer to repopulating the Earth.”

You scowl at him. “Oh, I’m so sorry I’m not celebrating the miracle of my scientific resurrection more enthusiastically. You know. On account of the nudity and emotional trauma.”

“Statistically, two out of three revived subjects haven’t had a problem with it,” Senku says without missing a beat.

“Because the only other person here is Taiju! And I’m sure he's used to it by now.” You throw your head back and groan, dragging the makeshift tunic tighter around you. “I hate this. I hate everything. If a bear eats me, I hope it does it quickly.”

Senku observes your struggle without an ounce of shame.

Once you’re covered—mostly—he exhales and takes a few slow steps closer. “You good now? No more shrieking?”

You open your mouth to snap at him again—but you stop.

Because now that the adrenaline’s fading, you’re seeing the truth in his face. His posture’s easy, sure, and his tone’s dry as dust—but his eyes?

There’s something raw behind them. Quiet, exhausted relief. He’s not the type to say it—he won’t—but it’s there. Barely veiled.

He didn’t give up. Not on you. Not on Taiju. You’re here because he figured it out. Because of that impossible brain, that stubborn heart he swears he doesn’t have.

So you guess you can look past this fleeting moment of embarrassment—just this once.

You sigh. Long and heavy, like it’s carrying the weight of 3,700 years plus one existential crisis and a dash of mortification. You run a hand down your face, trying to scrub the heat from your cheeks and the tension from your shoulders.

“…Fine,” you mutter.

Senku blinks, clearly caught off guard. “Fine?”

“Yeah,” you grumble. “I’m… fine. Just temporarily derailed by the whole ‘woke up naked in prehistoric hell’ thing, but otherwise peachy.”

Taiju immediately lights up beside you like a human sunbeam. “You’re really okay?!”

You glance at him and offer a lopsided smile—because yeah, his relief is too sincere to be annoyed at. “Yeah, big guy. I’m okay.”

He exhales so hard it sounds like a balloon deflating and promptly wraps you in another rib-crushing hug. “Thank goodness! I was so worried you’d wake up screaming and, like, run into a tree or something!”

You hesitate for a second before patting his arm. “…Honestly, that was plan B.”

From the corner of your eye, you catch Senku shaking his head, muttering something under his breath like “What a bunch of buffoons.” But when you look at him again—really look—his expression has softened.

Just a little.

Barely there, but enough.

You shift, wrapping your arms tighter around the bark-woven tunic. It's rough and itchy and smells vaguely like pine sap, but you don’t complain. You're alive. You're surrounded by two familiar faces in an unfamiliar world. That alone is something.

“…Thanks,” you say finally, your voice quieter now. You look at Senku, and despite everything—his maddening logic, his tactless bluntness, the way he somehow made nudity feel like your fault—you mean it.

He meets your gaze, the corner of his mouth twitching upward again. Not a smirk. Not quite. But something close to it.

“Yeah,” he says, voice a notch softer. “Don’t mention it.”

Then—true to form—he ruins it.

“Just be more useful next time you wake up. All this screeching’s bad for morale.”

You immediately chuck the nearest rock at his head.

He ducks, laughing under his breath.

Taiju yelps. “Guys! Play nice! We just got her back!”

And for the first time since waking up, you feel it:

The warmth in your chest.

The weird, lopsided comfort of being with them.

This may be the worst possible start to a second chance at life… but somehow, with these two idiots?

It’s exactly right.

It doesn’t last long however.

“All right, this is it.”

Senku turned on his heel, firewood tucked under one arm, his tone flipping from casual to razor-sharp in an instant. “That’s enough sightseeing—let’s put a pin in the dramatics and get to work.”

You stepped out into the clearing, feet faltering as your eyes widened. Everything froze for a second. The sunlight filtered through the trees, the leaves rustled, and the world continued on—but you?

You just stared.

“You… built all of this?” Your voice came out a little too breathless, a little too awestruck. “By yourselves?”

Senku didn’t even pause as he crouched to drop the firewood near the crude hearth, his tunic flaring slightly behind him. “I built this. Taiju stood around being emotionally supportive and sweating.”

“Hey!” Taiju called out from somewhere up in the treehouse, leaning over the edge with a lopsided grin. “I carried stuff! A lot of stuff!”

You blinked up at him, still trying to process the sight before you.

The structure wasn’t just functional—it was ingenious—well for post-apocalyptic civilization you suppose. Elevated on thick stilts and braced against the side of a massive tree, it rose above the brush like a hybrid between a lookout post and a survival cabin. A ladder, assembled from thick rope and wood, dangled from the platform’s edge. Clay pots were arranged below it in a half-circle, along with what looked like hand-carved drying racks and spears made from sharpened sticks bound with sinew and stone.

You let out a low, stunned whistle. “This looks like it took months…”

Senku straightened, brushing dirt from his hands, smug as ever. “Try weeks. Give or take a few catastrophic setbacks.”

“Like when a bird stole our flint,” Taiju added from above, resting his chin on his palm. “That was a day.”

“Or when you tried to cook fish in a container lined with fresh resin,” Senku muttered.

“IT SMELLED GOOD AT FIRST,” Taiju called defensively.

Senku clicked his tongue. “It was poison.”

You barely heard them. You were too busy drinking in every detail. The tools. The way the shelter had been engineered for efficiency. The foraged baskets. The fire pit lined with stone. The unmistakable marks of long hours and relentless trial-and-error.

And all this—done while you were still stone.

You swallowed, something settling deep and quiet in your chest.

They’d really been waiting for you.

Senku caught your expression but didn’t comment on it. Instead, he kicked at one of the clay pots. “This one’s for foraging. Mushrooms and roots. That one’s for storing filtered water. Don’t mix them up. The third’s for waste—we don’t talk about the third.”

You let out a weak laugh, shaking your head. “What happened to keeping things hygienic?”

“This is hygienic. You want the unsanitized version?”

“Absolutely not.”

Taiju grinned. “She learns fast.”

Senku smirked. “Unlike some people.”

“HEY—!”

You snorted, the tension in your chest finally starting to unknot itself. The warm smell of woodsmoke curled up from the pit. Birds trilled somewhere in the canopy. The place was small, rough, and entirely improvised—but it felt… .

Homely. Hard-earned.

And somehow, in a weird, post-apocalyptic way—it already felt like a kind of home.

Senku tossed you a small, worn basket. “Get comfortable. We’re going scavenging in the morning, and you’re behind on your survival training arc.”

You caught it, still half-dazed. “Right. Got it. Morning. Survival. Check.”

Taiju leaned over the edge of the platform again, smiling wide. “You’re really back, huh?”

You looked up at him.

Yeah. You were.

“Guess I am.”

And as night slowly fell over the trees, the three of you settled in under the shadow of firelight and science—and whatever future came next.

The first couple of mornings were the worst. 

You were still out of the loop, still kind of hoping that one day you’d wake up with your face smashed into a textbook, maybe drooling a little, while some teacher called your name for roll call. That this was just a bizarre dream triggered by stress, bad cafeteria food, and one too many wilderness documentaries. 

You got over that delusion just as quickly as it came. 

Reality didn’t let you forget where you were. Not with every step crunching on dried leaves, or the fact that you decided you had to sleep in a tree because “the ground belongs to the bugs now,” as Senku put it. You didn't ask what that meant. You didn’t want to know. Youjust watched eerily as Senku and Taiju prepared for slumber while you hiked up on one the trees' sturdier  branches.

You started going out on scavenging trips with Taiju—not because you were helpful, at least not in the supernatural strength department like Taiju, but because someone needed to stop him from joyfully shoving random berries in his pockets and accidentally poisoning everyone.

Your usefulness came in the form of basic plant knowledge—stuff your dad had drilled into your brain during those “fun weekend trips” that were just thinly-veiled survival training. He’d taught you everything from how to recognize foxglove to how to splint a fractured wrist using tree bark and cotton. And while you never thought it’d come in handy past passing basic biology, here you were.

And you slightly enjoyed it.

But plants were fine. Plants didn’t have legs.

Bugs, however? Bugs were a problem.

Every time you brushed past a bush and something skittered out, you swear your soul tried to exit your body. You developed a sixth sense for spiderwebs and refused to walk first down forest paths because, quote, “What if one tries to jump out and attack me!?”

Senku called it “evolutionary cowardice.” You called it “common sense.”

Still, you toughed it out. Mostly. With a lot of swearing and occasional screeches that probably scared off every bird within ten miles.

That particular afternoon was humid and bright, the kind of summer heat that made your tunic cling to your back and the air taste like wet leaves. You were cross-legged on the platform, a woven mat of reeds laid out in front of you as you sorted through the foraging pile Taiju had dropped off earlier. Mushrooms of various shapes and sizes were lined up like little suspects in a nature documentary, and you were midway through delicately peeling the skin from one of them when the buzz of wings dive-bombed your hair for the third time in ten minutes.

“OH MY GOD—STOP.” You swatted violently over your head with your forearm, squinting up at the canopy in full bug-paranoia mode. “I swear if that mosquito’s building a duplex in my scalp, I’m shaving my head.”

From somewhere behind you, Senku made a noise that could’ve been amusement or judgment—it was always hard to tell with him. Then came the muted clack of ceramics.

“That should be the last of it,” he said, holding something up to catch the light that filtered through the trees.

You swatted at your head again, suspicious a mosquito was building a summer home in your hair. “Last of what?”

Before he could answer, a familiar voice called from below.

“Wait—seriously?”

Taiju, flushed and sweating from hauling firewood through the forest, popped his head up at the edge of the platform. His arms were loaded with kindling, which he dumped into a neat pile before clambering up with the kind of energy only Taiju ever seemed to have at the end of the day.

Senku shifted slightly so the light hit the object in his hand just right. A small flask—rudimentary, clay-bodied with a wax-sealed mouth—glinted faintly in the sunlight. Inside, you could see the faint swirl of revival fluid catching the light like liquid crystal.

“Revival fluid,” Senku said, tapping the flask with one finger. “Enough to wake one more person.”

Your hands stilled immediately. The mushroom you’d been cleaning slid from your grip and rolled off the edge of the platform with a soft plop. You didn’t even look after it.

For a moment, no one spoke. Even the forest around you seemed to hush.

“I picked the last person,” he said, turning the flask between his fingers. “So it’s your call this time, Taiju.”

The weight of that moment settled over the group like fog. You turned your head slowly, watching Taiju’s expression change—surprise, then certainty. He didn’t hesitate.

“I appreciate that, pal. I know who I’ll pick. I mean—it’s obvious.”

Your heart jumped a little, not in surprise, but in the quiet rush of finally. You already knew who he meant.

He turned to you with a grin so wide it practically split his face. “Yuzuriha.”

You laughed, breathless from the tension leaving your chest all at once. “Finally. Another girl. I don’t know how much longer I would’ve lasted out here with just the two of you.”

“Oi,” Senku said dryly, “you should be honored.”

“I am,” you replied, dusting your hands on your legs. “Honored. And starving for some normal conversation. Maybe even some new clothes.”

Taiju laughed too, the excitement clear in every word. And just like that, the three of you were moving. You packed the essentials, made sure the revival fluid was secure, and then started off into the trees with a pace that made your legs burn but your chest buzz with something akinned to hope.

The sun filtered down through the dense canopy in golden shafts, pooling across the moss-covered ground and glinting against every patch of stone and bark it touched. It was late afternoon, the light soft and warm, the forest humming with lazy insects and distant birdsong. But none of that mattered—not with what stood ahead.

There she was.

Half-swallowed by the massive tree, her figure wrapped delicately in thick vines and framed by the curling rise of bark, Yuzuriha stood motionless—just as Taiju had described. Frozen in place, eyes shut, her hands mid-motion. The years had been kind; the petrification had preserved her like a statue in a museum, untouched and eerily serene.

You stepped forward slowly, heart thudding a little harder than usual as your eyes swept over her. It didn’t feel real. “Oh my god,” you breathed, your fingertips brushing the rough edge of the tree beside her. “Yuzu…”

She looked just like you remembered. You almost expected her to blink and greet you with that soft, dorky smile of hers, probably teasing you for getting dirt on your face.

“I’m sorry, Yuzuriha…” Taiju said softly, stepping up beside you. His voice had that same tremble it always carried when he meant every word. “I didn’t mean to keep you waiting for thousands of years…”

He reached toward her but stopped short, like touching her now would shatter the spell holding her together.

Senku stood behind him, expression unreadable, clay container in hand. The revival fluid swirled faintly inside, sloshing quietly as he held it up between two fingers like it was nothing more than a cup of tea. “All right, musclehead. Let’s get this over with.”

But just as Taiju raised his hands to take it, he froze. His eyes went comically wide, panic blooming across his face.

“WAIT—HOLD ON, SENKU! SHE’S NAKED!!”

The forest fell silent.

You blinked. “...Are you serious right now?”

Taiju spun around so fast he nearly twisted an ankle on a stray root. “DON’T LOOK AT HER!”

You stared at him, deadpan. “Oh, so now you care about modesty?” you said, one brow rising. “Because if I remember right, someone didn’t think twice before waking me up stone-butt-naked in front of everyone.”

His face flushed a deep, embarrassed red. “W-we brought clothes for you!”

“Yeah, after the fact.”

“I—I turned around! Mostly!”

Senku sighed like a man used to suffering. He rubbed at his temples as Taiju frantically tried to use his own body to shield Yuzuriha’s stone form. “Again with your nonsense,” he muttered. “I know it’s tough, but would it kill you to use some logic for once?”

“She’s a girl, Senku!” Taiju said, scandalized.

Senku raised a brow, unimpressed. “No kidding.”

“I’m just saying—we can’t revive her like this! What if she wakes up and freaks out?!”

Senku threw a hand out, gesturing around them like the trees might back him up. “We’re in the stone world. The entire human population is statues. There’s no one around to care if your butt’s showing—or even if your dicks hangin’ out”

“YUZURIHA DOES NOT HAVE A DICK!!” Taiju roared, hands thrown wide in scandalized defense of her honor.

You couldn’t help it—you snorted, slapped a hand over your mouth, and coughed to hide the laugh. “You’re really missing the point here,” you managed, shoulders shaking.

Senku didn’t even bother dignifying that with a response. He handed you the vial, and you carefully tucked it into the satchel you'd slung across your chest earlier.

“If you’re so set on carrying her back to camp before we pour this,” Senku said with a roll of his eyes, “fine. But how heavy is her statue, genius?”

Taiju puffed out his chest. “You better not be calling her fat!”

Senku looked at the two of you, expression caught somewhere between unimpressed and done-with-this. He planted his hands on his hips with a groan. “I need new friends.”

“Too bad,” you said brightly, shooting him a grin. “You’re stuck with us.”

But the words had barely left your mouth before the hairs on the back of your neck stood up.

The forest had gone too quiet.

Then you heard it—low and guttural, a snarl that cut straight through the green hush. You stiffened. So did Taiju. The sound echoed again, unmistakable this time. Something massive moving through the brush. Crunching leaves, a growl like thunder muffled by trees.

Senku’s head turned sharply toward the noise.

Your stomach twisted. You didn’t need to see it to know—it was big.

Then the lion stepped into view.

Golden eyes. Muscles rippling beneath its fur. Its mane caught the light like flames, and as it bared its teeth, you caught a flash of red-stained fang. Behind it, more shapes. A pride. Moving together.

“Why is there a lion in Japan?!” Taiju shouted, already backing up with Yuzuriha in his arms.

Senku was moving too, fast. “Why do you think? It’s from a zoo, obviously!”

“A zoo?!”

“The staff must’ve been petrified with the cages open. They got out. And if they survived all this time, then so did others. Top of the food chain’s been turned upside down—humans are not at the top anymore.”

But you weren’t listening anymore.

Your instincts had already taken over—fight or flight on overdrive—and the only clear choice was run. Your breath came sharp, cold in your throat, and you didn’t hesitate. You reached out, grabbed Senku by the wrist, and yanked him into motion.

There was no more time.

Twigs snapped underfoot as you tore through the trees, your breath ragged, heartbeat pounding in your ears. Taiju, impossibly, kept pace despite carrying Yuzuriha’s statue like a sacred relic. He didn’t stumble once.

“They’re catching up!” you gasped, legs burning.

“Keep going!” Senku barked beside you, eyes narrowed, his brain likely already racing three steps ahead of the rest of you. Trying to think of any way to get out of this alive.

The trees seemed endless. The terrain blurred around you. Green and gold and shadow, whipping past. Somewhere to your right, a lion roared—close enough that you could feel it in your teeth.

They were gaining. You felt them gaining.

One wrong step, one slip, and you’d be nothing but a footnote in the dirt.

And then, ahead—nothing. The ground dropped away.

A cliff.

Too fast to stop. Too steep to think.

“Jump!” Taiju shouted, not even hesitating as he threw his full weight into the void, still clutching Yuzuriha like she was glass. You followed without thinking, body launching into open air with nothing but instinct and desperation propelling you forward.

For a split second, the world went still—just sky and open air and the impossible weight of gravity. Then you dropped into a mess of tangled vines that caught your fall like a net, snapping taut. The world jostled and rocked around you, but you were alive. You hung suspended, breathless, blood rushing in your head.

Above you, the lions paced the cliff’s edge, snarling down with frustration but unwilling to follow.

You hung there in the vines, swaying slightly. Taiju cradled Yuzuriha protectively, wedged beside you. Senku was above, clinging to a length of twisted branch.

“…Why aren’t they attacking?” Taiju voice shaking from the exertion.

Senku gave a breathless laugh. “They’ve never seen bipedals before. We probably look freaky as hell to them—running on two legs. They don’t know what to make of us yet.”

“We are the only humans in the world,” Taiju murmured, and there was something heartbreaking in the truth of the statement.

“But it’s only a matter of time before they do attack,” Senku replied, eyes distant now. “Even if we make it back to camp, we’re armed with nothing but stone-tipped spears. The odds are awful. Honestly, this was game over from the beginning.”

Silence.

His words struck harder than any predator could. A cold, creeping truth you didn’t want to acknowledge.

Taiju stared at him—at Senku, then you.

“…I can’t let you guys die.”

There was a tremble in his voice that hadn’t been there before. Not even when the lions first appeared. Not even when death had felt one breath away.

You opened your mouth, but he was already shaking his head. “Taiju—” you tried.

“I can’t,” he repeated, more forcefully now, and his eyes were glassy with something unspoken. “If either of you die now… it’s over. Senku—your big science-filled brain is humanity’s only hope. And you—” his gaze snapped to you, jaw clenched— “you’re the only one who can patch us up when we get hurt, how to keep people alive.”

Your throat tightened. You hadn’t asked to be that person. But in a world with no hospitals, no antibiotics, no backup... you were all they had.

“Even if I gotta be lion food,” Taiju said, voice cracking now, “I’ll save you both!”

And before you could stop him—before you could even understand what he was about to do—he turned and hurled Yuzuriha’s statue toward you and Senku. Not carelessly, not recklessly. Just fast and firm, like a torch in a rite of passage.

You stumbled, catching her against your chest with a grunt, the weight of her petrified body nearly knocking you off your feet. The vines creaked beneath you, and you gritted your teeth to steady both of you.

“Taiju—wait!” you shouted, breath ragged. 

“Go on ahead!” he called back, already turning to face the sound of heavy paws and primal growls rising through the trees.

“No!” Senku snapped, fury overtaking panic.

“I’ll hold them off—”

“Use some damn logic for once!” Senku roared, cutting him off. His voice cracked with something uncharacteristically raw. “You’re the muscle and we’re the brains! Humanity needs all of us if we’re gonna survive! If we’re gonna make a run for it, it’s imperative we do it together!”

Taiju faltered. 

He was breathing hard now, fists clenched, chest rising and falling like a drumbeat of war against his ribs. He didn’t want to back down. Everything in his nature told him to protect, to sacrifice, to stand between danger and his friends. But Senku’s words hit something deep—and your presence didn’t go unnoticed either.

Still, Taiju looked torn, shoulders trembling under the weight of that choice.

“Don’t make this a one-man story,” you said, your voice quiet but firm, eyes locked on him. “We don’t need heroes. We need survivors.”

For a second, the forest was silent except for the lions approaching—closer, louder, snarling through the brush like hunger incarnate.

Then Taiju let out a breath that sounded like defeat and determination all at once. “Yeah… I got it.”

“Besides,” Senku said as they began to move again, “I know you’ve never actually hit anyone. That’s been true since we were kids. You may be strong as hell, but you’re not a fighter.”

And it was true.

Taiju was brave, but he wasn’t violent. He had always used his strength to carry, to build, to hold. Not to hurt.

Still, even as they ran again—back into the trees, the statue secure in your arms and Senku sprinting beside you—you saw something shift in Taiju’s expression.

A resolve. A decision.

“Hey!” he called breathlessly as you dodged through low branches and tangled roots. “If we can’t outrun them—I thought of something we can do!”

Senku turned his head slightly, brow raised in exasperated disbelief. “Now’s the time you get ideas?”

“We found something earlier. A guy. Not just anyone,”

Senku’s eyes followed your line of sight. “Who?”

You skidded to a stop at the base of the tree, heart pounding in your ears.

Taiju turned, pointing. “Shishio Tsukasa. They called him the strongest primate high schooler!”

And there he was.

Petrified mid-motion, like a god frozen in time.

The last hope standing between you and the jaws of extinction.

“Here,” Taiju gasped, dropping to his knees beside the base of the statue. “This is him.”

Senku skidded to a halt beside you, doubling over with his hands on his knees, his breath coming in sharp gulps. “Hell of a time… to gamble… on waking up a teenage gorilla…”

You didn’t waste time with commentary. You dropped to your knees and laid Yuzuriha’s statue gently down in the safest spot you could find—nestled against a thicket of moss. Then you turned, rummaging through your satchel with shaking fingers until they found the cool clay surface of the revival fluid container.

Behind you, the growling hadn’t stopped.

The lions weren’t far. Seconds, maybe. You could practically feel the heat of them on your spine.

Senku straightened, reaching for the vial. “He was a fighter. A real one. If anyone has the strength to defend us, it’s him.”

“He’s also a complete unknown,” you said sharply, cracking the seal on the container. “We don’t know what he’ll do when he wakes up.”

“Right now,” Senku said flatly, “we don’t have the luxury of being picky.”

You hesitated—just a beat—before nodding.

Senku took the container from your outstretched hand, stepping forward without another word. There was no time left for discussion, doubt, or backup plans. He poured the fluid across the statue’s face in a steady stream.

The chemical hissed as it met the stone, trails of revival running down like molten silver tears.

Silence stretched thin.

Then—crack.

The first fracture split across his cheekbone like a lightning bolt. Another jumped over his brow. His fingers twitched. You held your breath as a final break splintered down his eyelids—then his eyes snapped open, sharp and golden and utterly alert.

“Sorry for the sudden wake-up call,” Taiju said breathlessly, hands on his knees. “Kinda bad timing.”

Tsukasa didn’t waste a second on confusion or panic. His gaze swept the three of you, then his surroundings, absorbing everything with razor-sharp focus. “What’s the situation?” voice unwavering like he didnt just wake up from an over 3700 year nap.

Senku didn’t blink. “Your body’s still covered in stone. There are lions circling from your nine o’clock to your two.”

Tsukasa followed the direction with a glance, still kneeling, still half entombed in stone.

“…Okay,” he said simply.

Then, he moved.

The stone around his limbs shattered like old glass as he surged forward, muscles flexing, bare feet thudding into the earth with shocking force. In one clean, explosive motion, he met the charging lion head-on—and punched it square in the face.

The impact echoed through the forest like thunder.

The lion didn’t just fall—it flew. Its massive body slammed into a tree with a sickening crack, leaving deep gouges in the bark as it collapsed, dazed and unmoving.

The rest of the pride froze.

You’d seen beasts with instincts before. Wild dogs, feral boars, even a bear once in your early while taking hiking trails or by watching one of the many Discovery channel documentaries. They all had a moment where they realized they’d miscalculated. Where they understood the pecking order had shifted.

That moment passed visibly through the pack now.

The second lion took a hesitant step back, amber eyes flicking between Tsukasa and its fallen leader. The third let out a low, guttural growl, its tail lashing with uncertainty—but it didn’t attack. One by one, the pride began to retreat, tension unraveling in slow, wary steps. Ears flicked. Tails dipped. Bodies slunk into the underbrush like phantoms.

Gone.

Just like that.

Your breath escaped in a slow, shaky exhale you hadn’t realized you were holding. Adrenaline still buzzed hot in your veins, but the danger—at least for now—was over. No one spoke. No one moved.

Tsukasa stood in the clearing like a god from another world, skin dusted with flaking stone, chest rising and falling with measured, deliberate breath. His eyes glinted in the soft, slanted light between the trees. He was completely bare—blood-spattered, dust-streaked, and totally unbothered.

“I don’t need all the details yet,” he said without turning. “But I’ll promise you one thing now.”

His voice was low, steady. Unshakable.

“You three will never be in danger again. From now on, I’ll do the fighting.”

Off to the side Taiju’s face lit up, breaking the heavy stillness with awe-struck joy. “This is great, Senku! Humanity now has brains, brawn, and brute force!”

You exchanged a glance with Senku, who was already shifting uncomfortably beside you, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

“I get that,” Senku muttered, watching Tsukasa with narrowed eyes. “But this Shishio guy… he’s way too strong.”

You folded your arms, mirroring Senku’s tension. “That kind of strength doesn’t come with a leash,” you murmured. “And in this world, there is no balance of power. No guns. No law. If he wanted to… no one could stop him.”

Taiju blinked, startled. “But he’s on our side, right? Isn’t it a good thing to have someone like him around?”

Senku looked at you, then at Taiju, his voice laced with that bone-dry sarcasm you’d come to recognize as a mask for genuine concern. “What if he turns out to be an evil bureaucrat with an insatiable hunger for women and control? We just watched him kill a lion with one punch. In a world without modern weapons, he’s ten billion percent unstoppable.”

“Eek!” Taiju yelped, his eyes darting to you and the statue of Yuzuriha. The thought clearly landed—him imagining either of you being forced to bow to Tsukasa’s whims. “We… we can’t let that happen!”

You didn’t disagree.

Just ahead, Tsukasa knelt beside the lion’s corpse. His hand was steady as he placed two fingers over its eyes, closing them with a quiet kind of respect. Then he turned to the three of you, his tone casual—disarmingly so.

“Sorry, but would any of you happen to have some butchering tools? A knife, maybe? Even stone tools would do.”

Taiju flinched. “You’re gonna eat the lion?”

You tilted your head slightly, assessing the carcass. “I mean… it’s not poisonous. Nutritionally it makes sense.”

Senku grimaced. “Although the meat is tough, it reeks of ammonia, and the taste is horrific.”

You wrinkled your nose, half turning toward them with a mutter under your breath. “Definitely not the only thing that reeks…”

Senku didn’t say anything, but he did flick a glance your way—dry, narrow-eyed, and unimpressed. The kind of look that said he heard you, even if he wasn’t about to dignify it with a response.

Taiju, oblivious as always, gawked. “Wait—when did you eat lion, Senku?!”

“When I went to Africa to research Ebola,” Senku said matter-of-factly.

Taiju looked like his brain had just blue-screened. “What kind of high school kid are you?!”

Tsukasa, still crouched over the downed lion, finally spoke again—calm, almost reverent. “Though it was in self-defense, I did kill it with my own hands. I want to give thanks to the circle of life by putting all of it to good use. That’s all.”

Taiju beamed, smile almost blinding. “He’s great! Aren’t you glad, Senku? He’s not some evil bureaucrat or anything—he’s a super good guy!”

Senku didn’t smile. He didn’t even blink. “I hope so.”

Then, shifting his weight, Senku added,loud enough for Tsukasa to hear, “I don’t have even a millimeter of interest in that whole gratitude crap… but I absolutely agree with not wasting resources.”

The sun was beginning to dip low behind the treetops, bathing the clearing in fading amber light. The lion lay still. Tsukasa’s broad silhouette was backlit, cast in shadows.

There was something uneasy in your gut—some instinct that hadn’t dulled, even after surviving thousands of years of stone. Something about his movements, his eyes. That strength was no gift.

But for now… you were alive. Alive, with fire to return to, and someone strong enough to bring back meat for dinner. That counted for something.

Still, as you watched Tsukasa’s expression cool and unreadable, a whisper of doubt curled behind your guts like smoke.

You just hoped you wouldn’t come to regret this.

an: cough cough... i know its been a month, no need to remind me. sorry for the extremely long wait! so much stuff has been happening to me behind the scenes and I never really felt all that happy about this chapter. (I fucking hate it omg.) but we shall prevail.

anyways this annoying maggot ( @lo1itado11 ) kept me distracted for a good 2 weeks straight. always messaging me like "coco, coco! we should call so you can watch me play and you can write!" knowing damn well I'm either gonna get distracted by her playing ENA dream bbq, or shes gonna beg me to join her on fortnite or roblox. i need her to be burned at the stake immediately. cant get shit done with her all up in my phone. and the ONE time i ask to her to be helpful and find a song for this chapter she takes 30 years and comes up empty handed. but I love her ig...

plus the ao3 curse lowk got me, on-top of the previously mentioned distraction. i also completely dissociated for a good week and then immediately after, i got dragged out to a 4-day family reunion (mind you i don’t talk to majority of my family so it was pointless given the age gap between us) and THEN i got a stomach parasite from this sushi place and wanted to die for a good 2 days… but alas, we are here now.

This is getting long, sorry again for the wait. I hope you guys like the chapter more than I do... cause honestly im ready to delete this and pretend I made this series a one-shot instead.

taglist: @jmclouds @hyperl0gic @gingerthorns

[superbassbuck]

Making Out for America

Chapter 5: Insure Domestic Tranquility

masterlist || one || two || three || four || five

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky Barnes x America's Sweetheart!fem!reader

Mentions: 18+, enemies to lovers, slow burn, set during thunderbults*, sexual tension, forced proximity, arranged marriage, panic attacks, mental health issues, angst (lots of it), no y/n

Word Count: 4.5k

gif by sebastiansource || dividers by cafekitsune

The next day came, and you stood at the podium, the same Jameson Foundation banners rippling in the wind gently above you. The first few questions were exactly what you’d anticipated, the press opened up with questions on your father’s legacy and the foundation’s continued growth.

But you knew deep down, you knew where everyone’s real interest lay. And that was with Congressman Barnes.

It was a strange kind of irony. You had only agreed to this engagement to shine a spotlight on the foundation, on your father’s work, his legacy, the cause he devoted his life to. And while the turnout today was bigger than usual, it was clear they weren’t here for that.

They were all here for the man with the metal arm and the headline-making engagement. And it was only a matter of time before they started asking the more personal questions. 

"You've spoken so passionately about the foundation, but I think the public is curious about something else too. How has life changed since your engagement to Congressman Barnes?" one of the reporters questioned from the second row. 

You forced your smile. “It’s certainly been… an adjustment,” you said smoothly, just like you practiced. “Our lives were already demanding before, and combining them has been both a challenge and a privilege—” 

Another hand shot up before you even finished. “Was it love at first sight?”

You recoiled slightly, trying hard to fight the cringe creeping on your face. You weren’t used to a crowd like this. They interrupted you before you could even finish your sentence. 

This wasn’t the Jameson Foundation crowd anymore. It was a crowd full of Capitol hounds, eager for a stupid headline. You actually felt bad for Bucky for dealing with all this bullshit. 

You laughed softly, and that sounded real enough to pass. “Let’s just say he made a strong first impression.” Not technically a lie.

The crowd chuckled politely, and the questions started coming faster now. 

“What’s something we don’t know about the Congressman?” 

You hesitated for a moment, not because you didn’t want to answer, but because there wasn’t much you could answer. Bucky never let you get close. Most of what you knew was already known to the public. You stood up straighter, trying to come up with something. 

“He makes very good chili dogs,” you say with a nervous chuckle. “And his vibranium arm is dishwasher safe.” 

That entices another round of chuckles and wholehearted laughter from the crowd. You sighed in relief. The fact that his vibranium arm was dishwasher safe probably made him look silly, but the crowd is eating it up. 

“Do you see yourself stepping back from the foundation to take on a more traditional role… say, as the Congressman’s wife?”

“Absolutely not,” you said firmly. “This foundation is my life’s work. Congressman Barnes supports that, and he always will.” 

He better, you thought quietly. You straightened yourself to mentally prepare for the next question, but then another voice cut through the crowd. 

“Are you two… truly in love?”

Your breath hitches. When Bucky was asked this question during his interview yesterday, the lie came so easy to him. It came off so naturally that you almost believed him. He and Voss warned you, reminded you how to smile, how to speak in a way that felt heartfelt without being too vulnerable. And still, for some reason, your words caught in your throat.

You hadn’t had many relationships. Your world has always been a little isolated, your focus locked on the foundation and your career. You’d lived in your own little bubble for so long, but then there were those moments with Bucky that burst the bubble. 

The way he looked at you while you comforted him during his panic attack, like you were the only person that could keep him grounded. The softness in his eyes once he slipped the wedding ring on your finger delicately. 

How natural it felt, sleeping next to him, held tight like he didn’t want to let go.

They were small things, maybe even meaningless to him—but they stuck with you. 

All these rare yet soft moments shared between you two would make any woman fall in love. 

You sucked in a breath when you realized everyone was waiting for your answer. 

“I do love him,” you said clearly. “And I truly believe that if my father were here today, he’d be proud to know I’m marrying someone as exceptional as Congressman Barnes.”

Once your interview was finished, George drove you across town to Bucky’s office for a quick “debrief” on the rest of the week’s agenda. It was the kind of thing that easily could’ve been handled over email, but of course, Voss insisted it be done in person.

In her exact words, she said, “I know you two can barely tolerate each other, but at least try to act like you enjoy being in the same room.”

So here you are. Both you and George walked into the building, and in George's nature, he insisted on waiting in the hallway. 

As you enter the room, you find Voss and Bucky already seated at the table, mid-conversation. They both stop talking as soon as their eyes land on you. 

“Well, if it isn’t Mrs. Barnes,” Voss says warmly, rising to her feet and pulling you into a quick, professional hug.

You return the gesture with a polite smile. “Voss.” You glance over at Bucky and he’s keeping his eyes down on the papers in front of him, not looking at you. 

“Bucky,” you say evenly.

He doesn’t look up.

“Have a seat,” Voss gestures to the empty chair, that was unfortunately, right next to him.

You hesitate for a moment. You’re not sure if you even want to sit next to him. A part of you understands that he just wants to keep his distance—but pretending you’re not even in the room? 

It was a new low. 

With a reluctant sigh, you take the empty seat. You glance in his direction, hoping for some kind of acknowledgment. Nothing. His eyes stay fixed on the papers, as if you’re completely invisible.

“Your interview was fantastic,” Voss says with a bright smile. Either she’s blissfully unaware of the tension between you and Bucky, or she’s choosing to ignore it. 

“You made our Congressman look like a dream,” she adds, nodding towards Bucky. “The way you two answered those questions was so convincing, I almost believed you were actually in love.”

“Yeah,” you force a polite laugh. “Bucky almost had me fooled too.”

Voss chuckles, and she pauses for a moment, looking at Bucky to see if he has any intention of adding to the conversation. 

Bucky finally looks up from his papers with a clenched jaw. “Glad to know I’m such a convincing liar,” he mutters, still not looking at you. 

Oh, so now he addresses you—and with a sarcastic remark at that. 

You raise a brow and cross one leg over the other, not looking at him. “Actually, now that I think about it, your ‘ I am very much in love with her’ line could’ve used some work.” 

Bucky shifts in his seat, propping one hand on the arm rest as he finally looks at you with a disbelieving look. 

Voss laughs nervously, glancing between the two of you like she’s not sure if she should be here or not. “Well, whatever you did, it worked. The public is starting to love–”

“You know,” Bucky interrupts her, his eyes glued on you now. “That’s rich, coming from someone who used the phrase ‘strong first impression’ like we met at a job interview.” 

You finally look at him with a tight smile that you know will get under his skin. “Well, isn’t that what this entire relationship is?” 

Voss clears her throat, clearly trying to keep the meeting from derailing. “Okay, okay,” she says, waving a hand. “Let’s focus. You two can bicker like an old married couple later—” 

“And what the hell was up with that dishwasher-safe arm comment? You’re painting me as a joke,” he bites back. 

“You can’t be serious,” you scoff, glaring at him now. “I’m not painting you as a joke. I made you seem approachable. It was a cute fact.” 

Bucky mumbles grumpily under his breath and sinks back into his chair. 

You tilt your head and sweeten up your tone, just enough to make sure you piss him off. “Don’t be so sensitive, sweetheart . It was cute.”

You see his jaw clench as he turns away, avoiding your gaze now. But the flush that’s creeping on the side of his face gives him away.  You lean in closer, trying to get in his face. 

“Something wrong, sweetheart?” you tease. “I thought we were supposed to be practicing with the nicknames… you know, to make them feel natural?”

Bucky opens his mouth to snap back, but Voss’s voice cuts through before he could even get the chance. 

“Okay, you two can rip each other’s throats later,” Voss says firmly. “This week we’ve got engagement photos scheduled, and after that, I suggest you two start locking down wedding plans.”

You nod, keeping your focus back on Voss. Even though you’re not looking at him anymore, you can feel the tension radiating off of Bucky next to you. 

“Ultimately, the wedding date is your call,” Voss continues with a serious tone. “But as your press secretary, I’d recommend holding it soon after the photo release—strike while the media is still buzzing.”

“Fine by me,” you reply with a nonchalant shrug.

Voss smiles at your response. Then her eyes flick between you both, her eyes lingering on Bucky a bit longer when she realizes he isn’t responding. 

“What about you, Congressman?” she prods gently.

He doesn’t respond. Bucky just stares down at the papers in front of him like they were more important. Voss lets out a long exhale through her nose and pushes on, undeterred.

She dives into a fully detailed rundown—rambling on everything from upcoming press appearances and engagement photos to how the two of you should present yourselves when asked about your relationship. Her words start to blur into one long stream, like background noise. But you do catch a few key points, something about Bucky making an appearance at one of your upcoming foundation events, something about “maintaining the illusion.”

Finally, Voss rises from her seat, collecting her folders with a dramatic sigh.

“Well,” she begins. “I’ll leave you two be to—“ she waves a hand vaguely between you, “sort out whatever lover’s quarrel you’ve got going on.” 

Then she strides out the room with her heels clicking, the office door closing behind her.

A very awkward and uncomfortable silence settles between the both of you. You glance over at Bucky. He’s still staring down at the papers in front of him, chin propped in his palm, doing a painfully good job of pretending you don’t exist. 

Again.

“Is this going to be a thing now? You ignoring me unless there’s a camera in your face?” you spit out. 

Bucky’s fingers twitch slightly, but he still doesn’t look up. 

“I get it, okay?” you go on, your voice getting shaky despite your efforts to remain poised. “This whole thing sucks. But I’m still showing up. I’m trying to make this work. I’m trying to make you look good. The least you could do is acknowledge I exist.”

His jaw clenches, and still, he says nothing. His eyes remain glued to the paper in front of him, like if he just stares at it hard enough, you’ll disappear. 

“Nothing?” you whisper in disbelief. “God, I don’t even know why I bother.” 

You stand, pushing the chair back slightly. The sound startles him, but he still doesn’t lift his head. You get it—this was only for show. But if you were going to be bound to each other for the rest of your lives, the least he could do was treat you like a human being. Because the other night, when you stayed at his place, he did treat you like you mattered.

Now it feels like he’s built his walls back up twice as high as when you first met him. And no matter how hard you try, you can’t climb them. You can’t even see past them.

“I understand that this whole thing is for public appearance,” you say softly, your back turned to him. “But I didn’t sign up to feel like I’m some… some burden. I’m not your enemy, Bucky. And I don’t know what I did to make you treat me like one.”

You give him a moment to see if he’ll say anything. But he doesn’t. With a heavy sigh, you begin walking towards the door. 

“I’m trying,” he finally murmurs under his breath. “I’m doing the best I can.” 

You stop with your hand on the doorknob. You turn slightly to him and say, “Then help me understand, because I can’t keep guessing what version of you I’m going to get.” 

And then he’s quiet again. 

“I’m standing here trying,” you mutter with a voice crack. “And you won’t even look at me.” 

“I can’t,” he says quietly and broken. 

You turn to face him fully now, your heart pounding loudly in your chest. His eyes are unfocused, locked on some distant point in the office like he’s not really here.

“You won’t ,” you corrected him. “You won’t let me in.” 

“No,” he snaps suddenly, pushing back from the table and rising to his feet. “You don’t get it. You can’t get it.”

His sudden movement startles you, but you don’t feel scared—just surprised. His voice is rough and strangled, like the emotions are catching in his throat. His body is shaking again, and before you even realize it, you’re already taking small steps towards him.

“You think I’m keeping you at arm’s length because I want to?” he says, voice shaking uncontrollably. “You think this is easy for me? Sitting here pretending—when every time I look at you... I—”

He stops himself short, his breath hitching. 

He turns away with his back to you, bracing both hands on the table to support himself. His whole body is trembling as he tries to keep himself grounded. 

Your hand rests gently against his back, and he stiffens under your touch.

“When every time you look at me… what?”

He doesn’t answer. He won’t and he can’t. Because if he says it, if he tells you what he’s done, he doesn’t think he’ll ever see that softness in your eyes again. And that… that would break him.

As you’re standing there, watching him crumble apart again, your heart can’t help but ache for him. Even if Bucky isn’t really yours, watching him like this, hurting and haunted, it makes your heart crack wide open for him. 

No one wants to watch the person they care about suffer. 

“No matter how many times you push me away,” you say softly as you rub your hand gently on his back. “I will always be here for you. You just need to let me in.” 

Bucky shudders beneath your touch. “You don’t know what I’ve done,” he whispers. 

“No,” you admit softly. “I don’t. But I know it wasn’t really you. Whatever you did, you were controlled. You were used.”

He lets out a hollow, bitter laugh and shakes his head, lips trembling as he tries to fight back his emotions. 

Then, he finally lifts his head slowly. His eyes meet yours for the first time, and the look in them nearly knocks the air from your lungs. 

There’s so much pain in them. Guilt, self-loathing, and grief.

Your hand reaches up instinctively, cupping his cheek, tilting his face towards you, to make sure he sees that you’re still here. He doesn’t move away. Instead, his fingers come up to rest over yours, holding your hand there with a gentle squeeze. 

“Why are you being so kind to me?” he asks, voice so quiet and broken. 

You blink, forcing back the sting in your eyes. “Because I see you, Bucky. And beneath all the pain, I know there’s a good man trying to do the right thing.”

Bucky swallows, and his hand rises to gently cradle your jaw. His fingers are rough, but he holds you with a softness that makes your chest ache. He leans in closer—close enough to feel his hot breath against your lips. He hesitates, giving you every opportunity to pull away. 

Because what he’s about to do next will change your relationship forever. It would mean more than a stupid signature on a piece of paper. More than a stupid ring on your finger. And more than a stupid interview.

And yet, you don’t pull away. 

So he leans in closer and kisses you.

And it’s not for show. There are no cameras around. It’s not for press. That kiss was just for you . 

His lips are warm and soft. He moves slowly and carefully, like he’s scared you’ll disappear if he makes the wrong move. Once Bucky realizes you’re not pulling away, when your hand moves to the back of his head, something in him gives out. 

The kiss deepens, and his hand slides to the back of your neck, holding you against him. The kiss is messy, aching, and full of all the words he couldn’t say. 

When you two finally pull away, he rests his forehead against yours, catching his breath. He shuts his eyes as one hand is still caressing your face, thumb absentmindedly rubbing against your cheek.

“I’m sorry,” he says with a shaky breath. “I don’t know what possessed me to do that. I… I shouldn’t have done that.”

You might’ve taken offense to that once, but you don’t hear any regret in his voice, just fear. Fear of what this means, fear of what he’s allowed himself to feel. Despite his words, you knew deep down that that kiss wasn’t a mistake, it was real. 

And you know he felt it too.

So instead of pulling away, you gently reach up and tuck a loose strand of hair behind his ear. 

“Hey,” you whisper. “Don’t apologize, sweetheart. It’s okay.” 

Bucky was wearing a simple crisp collar button up shirt and some slacks. He didn’t have the usual tailored tux he was used to being photographed in. Voss had told him to keep it “classy and casual” for this shoot. Her exact words had been, “Wear something that makes you look domestic.”

Whatever the hell that meant.

The shoot location was set in a soft field of greenery. Tall grass swaying gently, flowers blooming in warm colors. It felt wholesome and peaceful. Any real couple would’ve loved to have engagement photos taken here. Bucky stood there, tense in the middle of it, waiting for you to arrive.

He had offered to pick you up himself, but you’d insisted George bring you instead. He didn’t blame you.

Things had been awkward, really awkward, since the kiss. He didn’t even know why he did it. It wasn’t the first time he’d wanted to. God . He’d lost count of how many times he’d looked at you and felt that same need, that dangerous and selfish need to kiss you. But it was the first time he had acted on it.

He couldn’t explain what it was about you. Your warmth, how inviting you were, the way you saw straight through him. It was so opposite of the life he’d known.

Bucky knew he shouldn’t have kissed you, that by kissing you, it would change everything between you two. That by kissing you, it’d only make the truth about your father hurt even more.

You deserved honesty, and he’d kissed you with a mouth full of secrets. 

But what made him feel even worse was that he didn’t regret the kiss. Not one bit. Especially after the way your hand slipped to the back of his head, pulling him closer. 

He shudders at the memory. 

He knew he was a terrible man, but he didn’t think he’d stoop this low. But when you reassured him and told him it was okay, then surely you must’ve felt the same way? Surely, the feelings are reciprocated—whatever feeling this was. He didn’t know anymore. Feelings are hard. And he hasn’t felt anything like this in over seventy years. 

Bucky was so lost in thought that he didn’t hear the car pull up. 

“Good morning,” your soft voice calls out from behind him, pulling him out of his thoughts like sunlight cutting through a haze of dark fog.

He straightens up immediately. He turns, and when his blue eyes land on you, he feels like his breath was knocked out of his lungs. 

There you were, standing tall, probably the most stubborn woman to ever exist. But despite that, Bucky knew with certainty that you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. 

“Morning,” Bucky mumbles, his eyes taking you in up and down, not even trying to hide it. “You look… good.” 

Fuck . Bucky mentally cursed at himself. You were standing there looking like a dream, and the best he could manage was the most generic compliment known to man.

She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid my eyes on, and still, the only thing I can come up with is “looks good?” 

You stood there with a raised brow. Your hair wasn’t done with a million bobby pins this time. It was made just how you like it. Your makeup was light, nothing camera-heavy, just you. And the dress flowing lightly in the gentle breeze topped it all off. 

Bucky swallowed hard as he watched you glance down at yourself, the softest smile tugging at your lips. That smile, God, that smile— it messed him up more than it should have.

“Well,” you say with a light shrug, glancing down at yourself, “if these are going to be framed and hung up for the world to see… I figured I might as well wear something that actually feels like me.”

Bucky nods firmly, agreeing. “Looks good.” 

“You already said that.” 

Goddammit. 

“Mr. and Mrs. Barnes,” the photographer calls, adjusting his tripod. “Right this way, please.” He gestures toward the center of the field.

Bucky clears his throat, extending a hand for you to grab, and you do. Your soft hand slips so softly and so easily in his as he leads you to the center. He watches as your eyes trail to his left arm. 

“You’re not covering it up,” you point out innocently. 

He glances down, then back at you. A small smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Guess I’m not,” he says quietly.

The photographer adjusts his lens, looking through it as he calls out, “Let’s start with something simple. Just stand close together and face each other—hold hands.” 

Bucky steps closer to you, his hand never leaving yours. With his free metal hand, he hesitates before grabbing your other hand. Catching him off guard, you reach for his instead, grasping it firmly. You angle your body towards him, and for a brief moment, your eyes meet.

His breath gets stuck in his throat. 

“Closer,” the photographer calls. “Let’s see some of that newly-engaged warmth.”

Bucky takes a step closer, swallowing nervously as he looks down at you. You also take a step forward until there’s barely any space left between your bodies. 

You glance up to meet his eyes again. “This warm enough for you?” you tease, your voice low enough for only him to hear. 

Bucky huffs a quiet laugh, his gaze steady on yours. “You tell me, sweetheart.” 

Now your breath hitches. You knew that he’s only saying it to keep things “natural,” but no matter how many times you two petcall each other, it always makes your heart flutter in your chest.

The photographer keeps snapping away, muttering compliments like “perfect” and “hold that right there.”

“Now let’s try one where he stands behind you, arms around your waist,” the photographer instructs.

Bucky feels you hesitate for a moment, but his feet is already moving before he can think. He stands behind you, his arms slip around you and you tense under his touch. His arms lock gently at your middle, pressing against your belly, pushing you closer against him. 

You’re thrown off guard at how natural this feels. 

“Now look over your shoulder at him—yeah, just like that,” the photographer praises. 

You turn your head over your shoulder, and the breath catches in your throat. Bucky isn’t looking at the camera. He’s looking at you. Only at you.

Your heart pounds loudly in your chest, and you’re pressed so tightly against him that you’re sure he can feel it. His arms around you are warm, solid, protective, and in this very moment, it doesn’t feel staged. It doesn’t feel fake. 

In this very moment, Bucky was yours. And you were his. 

Your voice comes out shakier than you’d anticipated. “Bucky—” 

But before you could get the words out, he leans in, pressing his nose against your hair, inhaling you, taking in your scent. You hear him let out a soft sigh as his body relaxes behind you, but his hold on you is still strong. 

“Excellent!” the photographer calls out, adjusting his lens again, completely oblivious of the tension between you two. “Let’s do one where you’re kissing now.” 

Bucky goes still. His hands are still resting gently at your waist, and you sense his hesitation. Like he's stuck between instinct and restraint.

You tilt your head back slightly to look at him. “We don’t have to,” you say quietly, offering him an out, even though your voice betrays a hint of hope. 

After everything, you didn’t want to push him, not after how weird things had felt since that first kiss that you two never even addressed.

Bucky’s gaze drops to your lips, then slowly finds your eyes again. He doesn’t say anything yet, just places his hands more firmly on your waist and gently turns you to face him. His lips part to speak, and when he finally does, his voice is low and hoarse.

“Tell me if you don’t want this,” he mutters, only loud enough for you to hear. 

You pause for a moment. Your eyes flick down to his lips, then back to those blue eyes that keep inviting you in—whether you liked it or not. 

“I want this.” 

Bucky breathes in sharply. Just like before, his hand rises to caress your jaw with a careful tenderness that makes your chest flutter. Then, he leans in and kisses you. 

He kisses you like no one was watching. He kisses you like you truly belong to him. He kisses you in the way he would want to, regardless if there was a camera or not. 

The camera shutter clicks in the distance. The photographer says something encouraging, but to Bucky, it’s just noise. He can’t hear any of it, not over the pounding of his own heart, especially not when your lips move so naturally against his. 

And that’s when it hits him. That feeling he’s finally come to recognize. 

The feeling he never knew he was even capable of having.

It washes over him now, and it’s undeniable and terrifying all at the same time. 

Bucky is in love with you. 

back || next (in progress)

[kaileyrose28]

Whimpering Virgin

Note.ᐟ.ᐟ.ᐟ.ᐟ: Whimpering Virgin is about two horny teenagers, of age of course, that haven't bumped uglies with each other, but one thing leads to another. (Both are 19 years old, college dorm sex)

18+ (I have to say this), this has sexual content, like seriously.

Kinks or fetishes: Innocence if you squint, teaching sexual acts, virginity taking, anatomy exploration, experienced girl/inexperienced boy, learning from porn, tit playing, riding, unprotected p in v but on birth control. (Wrap it anyway idk)

6,554 words. Female centered sex but no stated pronouns, second person POV oriented.

The textbook in front of him might as well be gibberish. He's read the same sentence six times, but he can't focus.

You. You’re utterly distracting.

You’re so close, your head bent over your notes, hair slipping over your shoulder no matter how many times you tuck it back. His eyes keep drifting, catching the way you chew on your pen, the way your lips press together when you concentrate. You’re completely lost in your world, oblivious to how he's been staring for five minutes.

He shifts, trying to focus, but then you lean forward, and he catches the faint scent of your shampoo. Sweet. Yours. His senses short-circuit. He should be studying—you both’ve got an exam in three days—but you’re here. You’re always here, in his space, in his head.

It's not just tonight; this has been building for weeks. Maybe longer.

Even closing his eyes doesn't help. All it does is make him hyper aware of you—knees brushing together under the desk, the sound of your laugh, the memory of your skin under his fingertips when you’re both tangled on the couch, kissing until your both out of breath.

But this feels different. Deeper. Permanent.

He glances at you again, watching the way your lips curve as you scribble something down.

Yeah, there's no way he's getting any studying done tonight.

Eventually, you can feel his eyes on you, how could you not when you’re so familiar with his gaze? It makes you feel a little bashful, a little flattered.

You write in your notes for a moment longer before glancing at him through your lashes. Your lips twitching with a little smile at how transfixed he looks.

There's been a lot of moments recently where you’ve caught him looking at you like that when you’re supposed to be studying or something like that. It makes your skin feel all tingly, in a good way. You shift, your knee bumping his again under the desk.

He feels the gentle bump of your knee against his, and it's like a jolt of electricity. He tries to play it cool, but his heart is pounding in his chest. You know he's been staring, and the fact that you’re smiling about it makes his stomach do a weird flip.

After a few more minutes of scribbling notes down on your notepad you lean back in your chair, setting your pencil down before stretching your arms above your head with a groan before standing up out of the chair, brushing a hand through your hair.

"Alright, I think that's enough studying for tonight, anymore and my brain might explode." You remark as you drop back onto his bed with a dramatic sigh, shirt ruffling up around your navel, lower abdomen exposed.

His eyes snapped to the strip of bare skin you unintentionally flashed when you’d stretched and flopped onto his bed. Swallowing hard, he tries to answer like a normal person instead of a horny teenager. "You always say that,"

"And I always mean it." You say jokingly, sitting up on your elbows. You look him over from where he's still sitting in his chair. His eyes, though, aren't on your face.

His gaze is glued onto your stomach, something a little new in his eyes. Your head tilts a little as you watch him, chewing on your bottom lip a little.

"You wanna make out?" You ask after a moment, grinning a little. He looked like he wanted to, plus you’ve already done the course work you needed to.

What's the harm in kissing your boyfriend?

His eyes snap up to your face. The question catches him off guard. "Like right now?" He asks, swiping his thumb over his lower lip unconsciously. Your suggestion shouldn't turn him on this much. It's just making out. You do it all the time.

You breathe a quiet laugh at his expression, a mixture of surprise and interest. It was cute. Your eyes drop down to his lips when he swipes his thumb over his lower lip, you’ve seen him do it before.

Your eyes move back up to his, shrugging your shoulders a little—something meek and playful in equal measure.

"No, like next week." You say, albeit sarcastically. You’ve made out plenty of times, it's what you do most often after study sessions. But you’re well aware you’ve never done anything past that.

"Shut up," he mutters, standing up from his chair. He crosses the room in a few quick strides. You giggle a little at his mutter, biting your lip when he gets up from his chair and crossed the room in those quick strides. He climbed onto the bed next to you, pushing you back down onto the mattress with a hand on the middle of your chest. "You're such a dick." he says, but his tone's teasing.

A noise leaves you when he pushes you back down onto the mattress after climbing up. Your hand moves up, fingers curling around the wrist of the hand on your chest.

Your lips turn up into a grin at his teasing words. "Wow, calling me a dick when I offer to kiss you." You remark jokingly, your gaze meeting his in the new position.

Feeling your fingers curl around his wrist sends a spark down his spine. Your grin makes him smile even wider in response. "I'm not exactly complaining about the kiss," he says, tilting his head down to yours. His gaze flickers down to your lips briefly before snapping back up to your eyes.

"Yeah, yeah." You mutter absentmindedly, focus elsewhere. You tilt your head up and press your lips together in one smooth motion. Your hands moving to his sides—fisting the fabric of his t-shirt. 

You can banter back and forth at some other point, right now you want this.

You tilt your head to the side to deepen the kiss like you usually do. You turn your body slightly to face him more with how he has you pressed to the mattress, one hand sliding up from his side to weave through his hair.

"Mmf," he hums softly into the kiss. Your body pressing against his is making thoughts fog his brain. Your hair spread out on his pillow looks good. Too good. His hands drop to your hips possessively. He slides his tongue against yours slowly, like he always does when you make out.

This is always the best part of the end of the day, getting to be close to him and kiss him until you’re both breathless. But this time it felt different, a kind of intensity to it that's heavier than it's been before, not that you’re complaining.

His hands dropping to your hips, holding almost possessively makes a shiver go up your spine. Your lips moving easily with his own—a dance you know effortlessly.

You meet the slow slide of his tongue against yours easily, the action familiar by now. Your hand in his hair tightens slightly and the one on his side does as well.

The hands gripping his shirt and hair sends a shiver down his back. He breaks the kiss to trail his lips down your jaw and neck, his breath ghosting over your skin.

You tip your head back almost immediately when you feel his lips trail from your own down your jaw and neck. Sparks of electricity thrumming through your body from the simple wet kisses along your skin.

"You're so fucking pretty," he murmurs, his hands sliding under your shirt to touch bare skin.

Your lips stay parted, glossy with shared saliva, as you catch your breath and lose it at the same time. His murmured compliment sends a tingle up your spine, a small noise escapes your throat when you feel his hands wandering.

Breath catching slightly as his warm skin slides along yours. This was new, this was definitely new and you were definitely not complaining.

"Lift your arms," He whispers, his voice muffled against your neck. He wants your shirt off. He needs your shirt off. His hands are already under it, splayed against your stomach. You always wear these baggy shirts that hang off your shoulders.

You shiver when you feel that whisper against your neck, his voice muffled. Your lips twitch at the ticklish sensation and from the tingling vibration. You can feel his hands splayed against your stomach, warm and new.

Exploratory.

You do as he says after a moment of your brain catching up, hands leaving his body as you lift your arms up by your head, back lifting off the bed slightly to do it.

You bite your lower lip to stifle a breath, you’ve never gone this far before with him. Hell, him kissing your neck wasn't something you’ve ever done before now.

He takes advantage of your raised arms, quickly tugging your shirt up and off. It flies somewhere behind him, landing on his desk chair probably. His eyes devour the sight of you in just a black bra, your chest rising and falling rapidly. "Holy shit,"

You shake your head to get the hair to settle back and off your face after he pulls your shirt off, watching as he tosses it somewhere behind him. 

The room is silent aside from the uneven breathing for a second as his eyes devour the sight of your upper body, your lips turning up in a smile.

A laugh escapes you at his words, well aware of the fact he's probably never seen a pair of breasts like this in real life. It's cute, and god, more of a turn on than it has any right to be.

"You can... touch if you want." You say, biting the inside of your cheek slightly.

"Fuck yeah I want," He mumbles under his breath, his eyes already moving downwards to admire the shape of your tits. They look amazing. His hands move without him specifically telling them to, sliding up to cover your. "So fucking soft," he murmurs, squeezing gently.

You inhale when his hands cup your breasts through the bra covering them, squeezing the soft flesh gently. Your eyes shift between his hands on you and his face, his expression was cute but his hands felt so good.

Being his first for this is definitely stroking your pride, but it's also something else—something warm in your body.

You press up into his touch involuntarily, your eyes hooded as you watch him. This makes you wonder why it took so long to step past just heavy kissing, aside from the obvious reasons.

He can feel you pressing into his touch, and it's the hottest thing ever. His thumbs brush over your nipples through the thin fabric of the bra, feeling them harden under his touch. "Jesus," he breathes out, his voice low and husky.

A moan slips out of you when his thumbs brush over your nipples, the hardened peaks sensitive to the touch. Your eyes slip closed for a second as you refocus, your eyes opening after a moment and looking at him.

You laugh slightly at how his voice sounded, although you'd be lying if you said it didn't sound good. He might be the first person who's ever paid so much gentle attention to breasts, it's cute. And hot, really.

"Firm your grasp just a little," you say softly, your hands sliding up and over his on your breasts.

His hands squeeze gently, cupping your tits more firmly. He leans down to kiss your neck again, trailing his lips along your skin as he listens to your breathing pick up. 

Your eyes roll back slightly, the mixed sensation of him squeezing your tits and kissing along your neck is far too good. Maybe it's because it's him that's doing it, or fuck maybe he's just some kind of born natural.

His hands slide up to your shoulders, pushing the straps of your bra down. "Can I...?" He trails off, unsure.

Your breath catches slightly when you feel his hands push the straps of your bra down, your eyes refocusing on him. His unsure question is as adorable as it is incredibly hot.

You shift your body weight, your legs spreading a bit with the movement. "Yeah, of course." You murmur, reaching beneath you to undo the clasps for him—most guys struggle the first time, he doesn't need the pressure.

He watches as you undo the bra, revealing your pretty tits to him again. Without wasting a second, his hands pull it down your arms, leaving it to hang from your wrists as he leans down to capture your left tit in his mouth.

He catches you wholly by surprise, breath stuttering in your throat when his warm mouth captures your tit into his mouth. Your hands fly to his head after getting the straps off your wrists, fingers curling into his hair as your head drops back against the mattress.

Your eyes roll back before closing as you moan, back arching slightly and pressing yourself against his mouth. You hadn't expected him to be so bold as to go straight for something like that, or even know how to do it. 

But fuck you are not complaining.

His tongue circles your nipple, learning from instinct what feels good as he sucks lightly. One hand stays on your tit while the other moves to support your lower back, pushing you closer to his mouth. He knows he looks inexperienced as fuck doing this, but he can't stop.

You don't even know how he's so good at this, or at least it feels good. Your heart's racing and your breaths getting stuck in your throat as his tongue circles your nipple and sucks at it.

One of his hands down to support your lower back is a sweet little gesture. You moan softly, lifting your head to watch him work your tit despite his inexperience.

Your fingers in his hair tighten slightly, keeping his hair out of his face so you can watch unhindered. "Jesus, Tim." You murmur before biting your lower lip, eyes hooded.

Pausing momentarily, he glances up at you with a sheepish grin, his lips brushing teasingly against your nipple as he speaks. "Too much?" He murmurs, eyebrows raised in playful innocence. 

Despite his attempt at nonchalance, his cock throbs insistently against his jeans, betraying his intense arousal.

Your lips part and your eyebrows furrow in pleasure, the teasing brush of his lips against your nipples as he speaks is just everything and too little at the same time.

The playful innocence on his face is cute, despite the fact he just ravished your tits like he's done it before, which you know he hasn't. 

Born natural, apparently.

You use your hands in his hair to your own advantage, pulling on the strands to tilt his head up. You lean yours down and capture his lips with your own, kissing him for a moment before pulling back a breadth.

"No, but I have no idea how you did that so well." You murmur, leaning back into your original position after.

He chuckles softly against your lips, his grin widening as he returns to sucking on your nipple gently.

You inhale when his lips return to your nipple, sucking gently. The sensation just as good as before, sending tingles through your body. You bite your lip and let your head fall back on the mattress again.

"I watch porn," he murmurs between sucks, his hands roaming over your breasts and back. His cock throbs again, and he shifts slightly to ease the pressure in his jeans.

His murmured words make you laugh slightly, of course that's how a 19-year-old guy would learn how to do this. It's not surprising but it's also a little amusing.

One hand leaves his hair to settle on his shoulder, the other still in his hair curls against the strands. "What else did you learn through that crap?" You ask, albeit breathlessly from his ministrations on your tits.

His tongue slides across your nipple as he answers, his hands moving to unbutton your jeans. You lift your head slightly when you felt his hands slide down there, followed by the tug on the button of your button as he undoes it.

How he manages to keep his mouth working your nipple while undoing your jeans is honestly impressive, to you at least.

"Mostly positions, I guess. Though honestly, I've never actually done any of this before," he confesses, looking up at you with honesty in his eyes, knowing you wouldn't judge him.

His confession is cute, but you already figured he was a virgin. Not that it was obvious, but guys their age flaunt their experience like it's a badge. He was so sweet and gentle over most things—it took them forever to even kiss. It just hinted at it a little.

"That's okay, you have to start somewhere." You say, your fingers in his hair thread through the soft strands.

He smiles slightly, his confidence boosted by your reassurance. His hands slide into your unbuttoned jeans, fingers curling under the waistband of your underwear. He looks up at you for confirmation before tugging both down, revealing your bare pussy to his eager eyes. 

Fuck, you’re beautiful everywhere.

Since dating him you haven't had sex, and he never tried anything past kissing, so you never really bothered with keeping up with the high maintenance like you used to do before. Shaving, sometimes waxing.

Though you’re sure a man who's only seen a cunt on a screen isn't going to care about how much pubic hair is there or not. Or well, no that’s not true. 

She’s sure a man like Tim wouldn’t give a shit.

Plus, he's not just some guy. He's her boyfriend, someone that matters.

You lean back slightly, dropping your hands from him to prop yourself up on your elbows. Your knees spread slightly to let him explore, it's his first time anyway. 

It's a little hot, the way he's so transfixed.

His eyes darken as he takes in your pussy, spread open slightly with your thighs apart. "Do girls usually shave down there?" He asks suddenly, genuinely curious.

His fingers twitch slightly, wanting to touch but also scared of doing something wrong.

You know he's rather inquisitive, it's one of many traits that drew you to him. That analytical thinking. But it's new to hear sexual questions, but it's also kind of nice. 

Most guys wouldn't bother, they'd just assume what they assume and go on with it.

He's untouched by all of that, nothing but what he's learned through research on a screen analytically. It's cute. 

You look down at your cunt, you’ve got some hair, well groomed but you used to shave completely. Not all the time, just usually when you expected to get laid.

"I mean it depends, some like the feeling of being bare, others don't. I used to shave completely but haven't in a while." You explain with a small smile, your eyes drifting back up to his face.

"Does it... feel weird? Like having hair down there?" He asks innocently, leaning closer to examine without actually touching yet. Your cock is throbbing harder in your jeans, but he wants to learn everything he can before diving in. "Has anyone ever... gone down on you with hair?"

You bite your lip slightly at his question, the corners of your lip curling into another smile. Your breath catching when he leans closer, the way he's so focused is honestly as adorable as it is so unfathomably sexy.

Who knew innocence, to an extent, was your thing. You know somewhere deep down in him there's probably a little freak, everyone's got something.

You mull his questions over for a moment, allowing your brain to form a good answer.

"I mean no, it depends on what underwear you wear. I like cotton or silk, nicer on the bits." You answer his first question, then move to his second one. "No, actually. Before we got together I shaved, most guys don't like the hair."

"I kind of like it," He murmurs, his voice dropping an octave lower as he finally gives in and gently traces the hair with his fingertips. His cock aches at the simple touch, wondering what it must feel like between your legs. "Like how some people have body hair, you know?"

You bite down on your lower lip more when his fingers trace your pubic hair, the faint touch almost teasing even when you know it's just him exploring. You refocus on his words, breathing a soft laugh.

God, he's just so cute and sexy and everything in between. Where was he your whole life? If he was your first sexual partner you might have had a better time back then.

"Yeah, I get it." You say with a small nod. Your eyes drop back down to where his hand is between your legs, opening them a little more for him.

His fingertips linger for a moment before he tentatively brushes against your pussy lips, feeling their softness. Holy fuck, you’re even wet. 

He glances up at you, biting his lip nervously. "Um, is this okay?" He asks, his voice crackling slightly with barely contained excitement.

Your eyes flutter slightly when his fingers brush against your pussy lips, against the soft skin and wetness gathering from everything he's done so far. You’re honestly probably the most aroused you’ve ever been.

You look at him again at his question, the seeking consent is sweet. The small voice crack makes you smile slightly, he's probably been waiting for this for ages.

"Yeah, it's okay." You say with a small nod, giving him all the permission that you can. And god, are you practically seeping with it.

He swallows hard, his chest heaving slightly as he carefully pushes apart your lips to expose your wet pussy. You inhale when his fingers push your lips apart, exposing your wet pussy to him and the air, a shiver running up your spine.

Fuck, you’re beautiful. His finger hesitates for a moment before he touches your clit, the small nub feeling firm and swollen under his touch. "Holy shit,"

Your eyes roll back when his finger touches there, just the slightest hint of pressure enough to send sparks through your nerves. A small noise leaves your nose before your eyes refocus and you try to watch his hand's exploration of your pussy.

You smile slightly at his reaction to what he's touching, it's cute and hot because dear god is your sweet, loving boyfriend slowly killing you.

"Does this feel good?" He asks softly, circling your clit slowly. His eyes watch your stomach muscles tighten slightly with each touch. "Or is this too much?" His brows furrow slightly as he adds another finger, spreading your lips wider. Holy hell, you’re wetter than before.

You love his questions, you really do. But getting your clit rubbed while he's asking them is like asking you to focus while you’re experiencing cloud 9. 

Your eyes roll back when he adds another finger to the one slowly circling your clit, thighs twitching.

Your lips part and your brows furrow slightly, hips arching to meet his touch involuntarily. You know you’re getting wetter, you can feel the cold air a lot more than you could before down there.

"It's good— good." You say as best you can, not wanting him to stop because he thought something was wrong.

"I'm sorry I'm asking a lot of questions. It's just... I'm kinda in the dark here." He says sheepishly, adding a third finger to spread you open more. His eyes widen as your pink flesh parts to reveal a small hole, slick with wetness.

You groan softly, your thighs spreading wider. You don't want him to apologize for his questions, you'd answer anything he needed answered, but fuck he was making you feel so good it was like he pulled every tangible thought out of your mind.

One of your hands fists the sheets beneath you, needing to grab onto something to anchor yourself. His motions were steady and soft but fuck, you haven't been touched by another person down there in ages and he's doing so good.

"Don't— don't apologize, baby. It's okay to ask... questions." You stumble over your words but manage to get them out coherently.

"Okay." He nods, relieved that you don't mind the questions. He takes a deep breath and slides his middle finger into you, feeling your warmth wrap around him. He gasps lightly, his hips involuntarily bucking forward as if seeking friction. His eyes lock onto yours, pupils dilated with desire.

Your eyes roll back and your back arches when he slides in his middle finger, you clench around the slender digit. Your hand fisting the sheets tightens slightly as you moan, thighs twitching as you stifle the urge to close them—not to stop but to keep him where he is.

Your eyes focus and meet his gaze that was already locked onto you. His pupils dilated with his desire, and god is it hot.

You bite your lip as your hips instinctively move to seek out friction. God, if he fucks you you’re never going to let him leave for a while.

"Fuck, you're so tight." He murmurs, slowly moving his finger in and out of you. He can feel your muscles clenching around him, pulling him deeper. His cock throbs in response, aching to be inside you. 

You moan as his finger fucks in and out slowly, your stomach muscles clenching. Your head falls back against the mattress, throat arched slightly as you exhale sharply.

Your thighs trembling and hips twitching with every slow, thrusting motion of his finger.

He adds another finger, stretching you gently.

When he adds that finger a choked moan leaves your throat, your hips rocking to meet his motions.

You’re fist grasping the sheets tightens as you gasp softly. He's the virgin here but fuck if he isn't reducing you to something desperate.

"Should I... add another?" He asks breathlessly, watching your reaction. His cock is painfully hard watching you writhe. Seeing you lose control is fucking gorgeous. He slowly moves his fingers in and out, stretching you deeper each time. "Or is this too much?"

You blink, attempting to focus on his questions. It's a bit hard to do while he's fucking you with two fingers, and so well for a first timer. You lift your head slightly to look at him, meeting his unsure, lust filled gaze.

It takes you a minute to form a coherent thought let alone a response, the slow in and out thrusts of his fingers going deeper each time is mind numbing.

"Depends on," you breathe out after a minute, "how big your dick is." You finished with a sharp inhale as your eyes fluttered and your pussy clenches around his fingers.

"Oh god," he mutters, watching your expression tighten with pleasure. His fingers pick up the pace slightly, sliding easily in and out of your wet heat. "It's average," he answers truthfully, though his ego takes a slight hit. "Like six inches."

You moan when his fingers pick up the pace, your thighs shaking as you keep them spread open for him to continue. You manage, somehow, to focus on his response.

Six inches isn't bad, most guys act like that's somehow something bad. A pussy is only so deep, average is pretty well endowed if used right.

You can tell his ego was slightly hit by having to answer, your free hand slides down to curl around his forearm. "Not bad. But I'm not talking about length, baby." You say, breathless from everything he's doing.

"Oh," he lets out a shaky laugh, snapping his hips forward slightly without meaning to. His fingers push deep inside you, making you arch your back. "You mean thickness?" He asks softly, watching your stomach muscles tighten again.

You groan when his fingers push deeper each inside you, your stomach tightening. He's far too good at this, he learns so fast it's almost disconcerting.

You clamp your thighs down around his hand involuntarily, your head dropping back slightly and your fingers curled around his forearm tighten. 

This is probably the best fingering you’ve ever had, maybe you’re biased because he's your boyfriend.

"Yes— yes, that's what I mean." You say after a moment, stumbling on your words.

"It's... average," he answers hesitantly, his fingers slowly curving upwards to hit that spot inside you that makes your hips buck. "Like five inches around," he adds, watching your face contort with pleasure. "Is that too thin?"

You moan and your hips jerk when he curves his fingers upward, pressing against your g-spot like he somehow knows where it is despite his virginity. 

This motherfucker researches too much. 

Your fingers tighten around his arm, leaving slight indentations.

You personally like average sizes, it's easier to take and less soreness afterward. But he wouldn't have that kind of experienced foresight, he learned these things from porn and forums probably. 

Guys with above average sizes. Guys with no knowledge on what women really like or want. 

"Five inches isn't thin, baby. You're perfect." You manage to get the words out rather strung together. "And it means you can fuck me at any point now." You add.

"Fuck," he breathes out, his heart racing at your words. He slides his fingers out of you and quickly pulls down his pants. 

You inhaled sharply when he slid his fingers out, leaving you feeling rather empty after all the drawn out pleasure. You get properly distracted when he pulls his pants down with fumbling hands, wrapping his hand around his cock and slowly strokes himself.

And fuck, was he pretty. Veiny, pale with an angry red tip that's leaking precum already. He's probably throbbing from holding off so long, pleasing you and asking his questions over gratification.

"Should I... do you want me to use a condom?" He asks, voice trembling with anticipation and nerves.

Your eyes drift up to his face, smiling a little at the tremble in his voice. "I'm on birth control, you don't have to wear one if you don't want to." You say, might as well let him choose for his first time.

"No condom." He decides quickly, wrapping his hand around his length again. "Do you... do you want to be on top?" He asks softly, watching your body carefully. "Or should I... God," he trails off, trying not to whimper. "Do you like it slow or hard?"

You breathe a soft laugh at all his questions, it was cute. He's always been inquisitive but seeing him so nervous while asking questions is new, but it's endearing.

Usually you liked to just do whatever, but he wasn't some random fling, he was your boyfriend and this was his first ever time having sex. You let your eyes roam down his body again, he just looked so good. 

Good enough to be appetizing really.

"It's your first time, baby. What do you want to do?" You ask, your eyes returning to meet his gaze. Letting him set the pace for this, considering everything.

"I want... I'd like you on top first," he admits shyly, biting his lower lip. "So I can see you and learn what feels good. Later, maybe I'll try being on top." He moves to lie back on the bed, stroking himself slowly as he watches you.

You can definitely do that for him, you’re well versed in being on top or on your knees. It's an easy position for the guy, and a good view too. You sit up when he lays back on the bed, gaze roaming him. The way he keeps stroking himself, slow and steady as he watches you.

"Yeah, okay." You say softly, turning to crawl up the bed, towards where he settled himself. You straddle him easily, hips elevated above him.

"We'll go at your pace, promise." You reassure, your hands tracing along his sides before moving between them to pull his hand away from himself.

"Holy fuck," he breathes out, his free hand gripping the bedsheet beneath him as you positions yourself. He can feel your warm pussy right above him, and seeing you naked like this... god, you’re gorgeous. His cock throbs against your inner thigh.

Your eyes roam his face for a second, looking for any sign of discomfort before looking down and guiding his cock to your entrance. You’ve never been someone's first before, it's kind of an exhilarating feeling. 

Especially since it's him, and you love him.

You align him properly and slowly sink down, his dick sliding into you. You moan softly, hands planting on his chest for balance. You can feel the fast beating of his heart against your palm, like a hummingbird.

"God," You breathe out, your eyes fluttering slightly.

"Oh-oh god—" He cries out, not able to contain his own voice as you sink down on him. He's touched himself a million times but the sensation is completely different. It feels like you’re crushing him in the best way possible.

He feels so good in you, nestled inside and touching everything like a live wire. Your eyes drift up to his face after a moment, taking in his expression. His pretty blue eyes overtaken by his dilated pupils, the sounds he makes.

You bite your lip, hands on his chest pressing slightly as you move your hips. Feeling his dick slide out a little bit and sink back in as you move slowly, a soft moan leaving your throat.

You savor the feeling of him inside you, eyes watching his face carefully just in case. It's his first time, you don't want to end up doing something wrong.

"Holy fuck—" He gasps out, his hands gripping your waist tightly as you move your hips. You feel so warm and soft inside. He knew nothing could really prepare him for this, nothing compares to actually feeling it. His back arches involuntary as you move your hips, moaning loudly.

His tight grip on your waist is an unfairly attractive move and he isn't even trying to do it. The way his back arches as you move, the loud moan that leaves him, is addictive.

It almost amplifies every sensation of him inside you, your nerves on fire in such a good way.

You pick up the pace slightly, slight sounds coming from where you’re connected. Your breasts bounce and thighs jiggle slightly each time you’re seated fully on him.

"You feel so good, Timmy." You moan, mostly to encourage him since it's his first time but also because fuck, he does feel so unfairly good.

"Fuck, I– I think I'm gonna—" He cuts himself off with a loud moan, his grip on your waist tightening even more as he starts to come inside of you. He knew this would happen pretty fast, it's his first time after all.

It was going to happen sooner rather than later, usually does, but fuck if it wasn't still hot to watch him come undone beneath you. Feel him shoot his load inside, filling you up with the searing warmth.

You don't stop though, mostly because you know you can get more out of him. He looks so pretty like this.

The slapping of skin meeting filled the room obscenely. Your breathing grows more ragged, breasts bouncing as you ride him. Your moans grow more consistent, mixed with softer, more whimpering noises that come out of your nose.

"You're doing so good, so good, baby." You praise breathily.

"Holy shit... that feels..." He trails off with a whimper, his senses overloaded with pleasure, still sensitive from his first orgasm. Your dirty talk is doing something to him, especially mixed with those sweet praise words. 

Without warning, he sits up slightly, wrapping one arm around your back to pull you closer, using the other hand to guide your movements.

He throws your focus off a bit when he suddenly sat up slightly, the change in position makes your hips open more. The sudden boldness takes you off guard but it's sexy as hell.

One of his arms wrapped around your back, pulling you closer as his other hand guided the movements, it was sweet and hot all at once. And helpful.

You wrap one arm around his shoulders as the other flattens on his knee. You keep your hips moving, albeit faster and harder. Rolling them inward to account for the new position. 

"Fuck— you gonna make me come, baby? You feel so good." You say, breathless and followed by a moan.

He nods, trying to speak and failing as a loud whimper leaves his throat. Your head drops back, exposing the arch of your throat, moans choked off. The sound of his whimpers are addictive, you want to keep hearing them.

You don't change your rhythm because he sounds so close again, and it sounds like heaven to your ears to listen to it. Your stomach tightens, the coil builds fast.

He starts to move his hips upward, meeting you thrust for thrust, pushing deeper inside of you. He can feel his second orgasm quickly approaching, and he's eager to find out if it'll be just as intense as the first.

When his hips start to move up into you, the coil in your stomach snaps. "Oh, God. I'm coming— fuck, Tim." You reach your orgasm with a cry of his name and a moan, your cunt clenching around his cock.

He lets out a strangled groan as your tight walls clamp down around him, triggering his own intense orgasm. His hips jerk erratically, pushing deep as he pours himself into your welcoming heat.

"Holy fuck!" He nearly shouts, burying his face against your neck to muffle the sound.

Your hand around his shoulders slides up to his hair when he buries his face against your neck to muffle himself. You slowly come to a stop, your breathing heavy and fast, skin glistening with a thin layer of sweat.

You were hot, sweaty, and thoroughly satisfied. Your cunt tingly and throbbing with your pulse, still stuffed full with his cock—the warmth of his cum filling your cunt and leaking out around him is a welcomed sensation.

You rest your cheek against his sweaty hair, breathing still rather heavy. "You can officially throw your v-card out the window." You murmur jokingly, threading your fingers through his sweat-damp strands.

He nods weakly, still basking in the afterglow of the intense encounter. His heart is pounding in his chest, and his body is limp with exhaustion. He nuzzles against your neck, planting soft kisses along the column of your throat. 

"That was fucking amazing.”

[technofeudalism]

Have US citizens been deported by their own government? After investigating this question for our exclusive report on Al Jazeera I can honestly say yes they are. Research by Jacqueline Stevens, a political scientist at Northwestern University, shows that up to one percent of all detainees at immigration detention centers are US citizens.   It’s hard to know exactly how many citizens get deported every year. If that one percent figure was constant throughout all deportations – that would mean 4,000 US citizens a year are deported. While that’s a high estimate, the fact that it’s happening at all demands clear and urgent answers.   Stevens says it’s an indicator of the abuses that are rife throughout the deportation machine. “It’s a symptom of the lawlessness of the deportation legal system. If US citizens go into the system with their full civil rights and they’re unable to challenge their unlawful deportation that tells us a lot about the more precarious situation of everybody else who may not have the same rights as a citizen.”

...

Despite their records, both also have strong evidence of their citizenship.  Andrés’s evidence was so strong that the government eventually let him back into the US and issued him with a passport card and certificate of citizenship. The certificate says he became a citizen in 2002, six years before he was deported. But that was only after he spent nearly three years in Mexico.   An Immigration and Customs Enforcement, or ICE, spokesperson told us that Andrés never mentioned in his deportation hearing that he was a citizen. But he did mention it in his interrogation. Still ICE officials didn’t look into his claims – despite viewing with him a photo of his father showing he was a citizen.   Andrew Free is Robles’ lawyer. He says alarm bells should have sounded for those asking the questions during that interrogation but that it’s hard to stop the deportation machine once it begins: “When you look at the records that ICE created where Andres is claiming he’s a US citizen, and then not three months later the US is putting him on a plane and walking him across the US-Mexico border, it seems that something had to have broken down.” Free also blames deportation quotas. “Right now the Obama administration wants to deport 400,000 people per year. It wants to put 34,000 people in detention centres per night because Congress has mandated that,” he said. “People were looking for a reason to detain him. That was what they were measured by and that’s what the government and Andrés got.”

15 Jun 2014

[denial-permanente]

Hello Mrs Edge and Tom. I don't have an account here so I'm using my husband's. I am the "ebony goddess wife" of KC. You posted his message here a few weeks ago.

I want to echo what he said about your blog being so helpful to me (to both of us really). When he showed me this chastity stuff I was turned off by just about everything I saw and I really did not want to think about my husband as a sissy or abused or anything like that. I have read a lot of your answers to questions and I love how you have made chastity about your husband's devotion and not just some kinky sex thing. That is where I am hoping to bring our marriage. Also I am guessing it must be Tom who picks out the pictures but it really has been nice to see images of regular looking black women (and Asian, Indian, etc) and not images that look like cartoons. They help me feel more comfortable about seeing myself the way my husband sees me.

I did want to comment about the crazy changes that have been happening to me for the past few years. I go from feeling cold to getting hot flashes that make me want to tear off my clothes and not in a good way. And I don't "feel like myself" anymore. I want to be intimate with my husband but sometimes I can't even stand the thought of having sex.

I go from feeling guilty for keeping him locked to thinking that if I feel this bad then maybe he should too! lol I've read the questions from other women in "no penetration" marriages. I had no idea that this was a thing until recently but now I understand why. The few times I have tried are just uncomfortable and don't really do anything for me for some reason.

Sometimes when I feel like an orgasm would make me feel better I do make him worship my pussy. It also helps to keep him interested which helps make me feel less guilty about leaving him locked up all the time. I also remind him that he asked for this but I have to admit that he rarely complains.

I am happy to see that you still get pleasure from PIV and you still allow your husband to get pleasure from intercourse although I'm not sure how much pleasure he gets if he has to wear a strap on lol. But I am seriously wondering if I will ever feel like having sex again - I mean intercourse - with my husband. If you have any advice on getting through this I think it would be helpful to a lot of us! lol

Thank you for following up on your husband's post. I totally understand what you mean by you "don't feel like yourself." My change came a bit earlier than most, and it was several years of hot flashes, night sweats, cold spells, and crazy appetite swings. Nothing felt right, and I started gaining weight. My doctor says that my metabolism slowed way down, I was tired, and the last thing I wanted was my husband bothering me for intimate time. When you are not comfortable in your own skin it's just so hard to relax and enjoy intimacy.

It really did take several years for me to get past the perimenopause and have things start settling down. Yes, my husband was locked up for most of it, not that he really needed to be because sex just was not on the table (or anywhere else 😆) anyway. I don't want to say that he was "locked and forgotten" but honestly he might as well have been. A few times I did offer that he just unlock the cage and take it off, more out of sympathy or pity or something. To his credit he remained caged on his own.

When I finally started feeling better, we did get back to intercourse and foxing. Fortunately I did not get the vaginal pain that so many women get after menopause. However, things were definitely different. My lubrication was very thin, and I would get sore more easily. We went through different lubes (and now we us organic coconut butter from Trader Joes lol). Oh, and I'm a lot more prone to UTIs. I used to think it was the vixskin, but boiling and disinfecting didn't help. My gyno told me that it was a common condition, and she gave me some antibiotics which I take a dose of whenever we have sex.

Now, if you are not enjoying intercourse and your gyno can't make any suggestions, it's okay. You already keep your husband locked, so he has already learned... or is learning... how to manage his own libido and how to turn his energy into pleasing you instead of worrying about his own orgasm. This is why I tell women who message me that they do not need to feel guilty about this change in your sex life. He asked for this... to be locked and for you to take charge. This is one of those things that happen in life that you have no control over, so all you can do is control how you deal with the situation.

I am learning that there are more "no penetration" marriages than I ever would have guessed, and while a lot of them are done out of some kind of kinky game, some of them, like yours are more because Mother Nature was not kind. If this is the way you are leaning, please remember that your husband wants all the best for you. You can still reward him with your hands or by letting him rub himself on you (he must have a favorite place lol), and then lock him back up. Or you can use a vibrator to help take the pressure off of him. If you have read some of the other women's stories that have written in, some men find the idea of being denied penetration to be a turn on.

Finally, please keep an open mind. You may come out of this once again being able to enjoy intercourse, at least, when you start feeling somewhat normal... or rather, when all these things that are happening start settling down. And there are a lot of resources and articles for you to check online. You may not feel better about it but at least you'll know that you are not alone. Best of luck hon and let me know how you're doing.

[absolutebl]

This is a BL Challenge for you (if you want to accept them) :

1.) Is there a BL that you finished even when :

a. You love the story but not really fond of the actors (maybe the acting or other reasons)?

b. You love the acting (the series as a whole) but not really fond with the story?

2.)

a. Is there a BL that you dislike at the beginning but when you finish them, it became one of your favorite?

b. What is your fav BL cover?

3.) Please write your top 3 or top 5 favorite tropes in BL.

From each trope, write at least 2 BL that you love.

4.) Who are your top 5 (or top 3) top & bottom from your favorite BL media, the top and bottom don't have to be from the same BL.

5.) What are you favorite BL from the 1990s and 2000s?

6.)

a. BL you finished that is just bizarre but you still enjoy them?

b. BL that have stayed with you (special for you) or influenced you (at least 5 titles)?

7.)

a. BL that you love only (mostly) because of the sexy scenes?

b. BL that is your guilty pleasure?

8.) Your fav non-canon BL ships from any media?

9.) Your top 5 or top 3 fav each for Green Flag BL couples & Red Flag BL couples.

10.)

a. What is your first BL that made you got into BL?

b. What BL that made you cry (happy or sad)?

Thanks if you want to answer all of the above! Feel free to answer how many that you want...

Also, thanks so much for your BL recs & reviews! 🤩😆

OMG this is so fun! Exactly what I wanted to do this morning (and not work). Challenge accepted!!! (I also added a few for s&g)

The BL Challenge Questions

1.) Is there a BL that you finished even when :

a. You love the story but not really fond of the actors (maybe the acting or other reasons)?

This is hard, very rarely does BL get me on story alone. It would likely be from Korea or Japan. Picks up an examines Life Love On the Line. Sets it back down gently. Maybe Blueming? Don't kill me stans, but Bump Up Business? Would I put some of the first season HIStory in here.?

Honestly? I'm super hard pressed to name a BL that got me on story alone.

b. You love the acting (the series as a whole) but are not fond of the story?

One instantly springs to mind for this, Eternal Yesterday. I knew what I was in for with that story from the start. We all did. But it is still horrible.

Also My Stand-In, The On1y One, and The Time of Fever. Oof.

I would put a number of second seasons into this category too like Minato 2, or To My Star 2. And quite a few of early BLs with missed or muddy endings like I Am Your King. All the true dark BLs and moody artshouse stuff have to be set aside, I think, because I knew what I was in for. Well, except The Effect and HIStory3: The BL That Shall Not Be Named. Never forget. Never forgive.

c. You're not fond of either just some kind of BL masochist?

Cupid's Last Wish and Ossan's Love in all iterations. (WHY did I do that to myself)

If I had a do over I would have dropped CLW. Now that I have a solid DNF policy in place (and there is so much BL airing I can be picky) there are quite a few BLs I wish I had simply never wasted time on in retrospect.

2.) Is there a BL that you dislike at the beginning but when you finished, it became one of your favorites?

Ooooh another easy one! Bad Buddy. It started as a trash watch and became a praise watch and it stuck that landing like nobody's business. I live blogged it, so you could all watch my CTJ moment in real time.

There are actually a few others in this category like My Beautiful Man, DNA Says Love You, even Love Sick but I wouldn't say I disliked them as much as I did BB at the start.

3.) What is your fav BL cover?

You mean OST? Oh good, another easy one (I have so few songs I like from BLs).

Eternal Yesterday's Sunshower by Ayumu Imazu

Ooo, now I'm listening to it. Yay!

4.) Top 5 favorite tropes in BL. For each trope, write at least 2 BLs that you love that represent it.

Whipping Boy - My Beautiful Man, My Personal Weatherman

Stepbrothers (or similar family taboo) - Unknown, Cherry Blossoms After Winter

Age Gap (specifically were the younger is the aggressor) - Minato's Laundromat, Old Fashion Cupcake

Student/teacher - Private Lesson, Love Class 2 (side couple)

Kink - KinnPorsche (side couple), The Next Prince (side couple) - neither of these are BLs I love, but I love these couples in them.

I know I have some other rare topes too, but I wanted to choose 5 obviously recognizable ones.

5.) Who are your top 5 top & bottom seme/uke from your favorite BLs, they don't have to be from the same BL.

I specifically tried to pick not from the same BL as a challenge.

a. Top 5 seme

Dean in Until We Meet Again

Solo in Oxygen

Shin in Minato's Laundromat

Togawa in Old Fashion Cupcake

Karan in Cherry Magic Thailand

Gotta say I eliminated a number of favorites because they were too toxic (my bad) and others because they did not come from a favorite BL. But most went to the wayside because they didn't fit the ideal of seme well enough. Bye bye Taiwan.

b. Top 5 uke

Taekyung in Light On Me

Sangwoo in Semantic Error

Kakeru in I Cannot Reach You (possibly my favorite of all time)

Amagi in Takara & Amagi

Won in Unintentional Love Story

Different reason for eliminating favorites with the uke. Blushing maidens and super tsunderes don't make my cut.

Gotta shout out My School President for satisfying both.

6.) What are you favorite old BLs?

a. From the 1990s

I would argue that BL as a genre (defined as such by watchers and critics) did not exist until after 2000. So instead here is a blog post on some 90s movies that, in retrospect, have certain QL leanings. Old Guard Queer Cinema for BL Lovers.

b. From the early 2000s

Seven Days

Another easy one. Always shows up somehow. Someday everyone on this hellsite will have watched this show and it will be primarily because of me.

And then I will disappear in a puff of smake and accomplishment.

But here are some early BLs you might not know about that I also enjoy.

7.) 5 BL you finished that is just bizarre but you still enjoy them?

The Sign

To Sir With Love

Secret Relationships

Pit Babe

Laws of Attraction

8.) 5 BLs that have stayed with you (special for you) or influenced you?

We Best Love

Dark Blue Kiss

Until We Meet Again

Seven Days

Old Fashion Cupcake

9.) BL that you love only (mostly) because of the sexy scenes?

This Love Doesn't Have Long Beans

The Sign

Deep Night

Love in the Air (sigh)

Jack & Joker

10 more here from 2023 and prior. My Stubborn might get into this category too.

10.) BL that is your guilty pleasure?

2 Moons Ambassador probably. But I don't really feel guilty about BL. Here are some of my all time favorite Trash Watches,

11.) Your fav non-canon BL ships from any media?

I try not to ship unless strictly called for so, Devil Judge probably.

12.) Your top 5 fav each:

a. Green Flag BL couples

ThamePo

WandeeGoodday

Monster Next Door

My Ride

Your Sky

Just to name a few. I have MORE. 2024 was very good to us.

b. Red Flag BL couples.

My Personal Weatherman

Our Youth

The Time of Fever

the stepbrothers in HIStory 4 (I KNOW)

far too much MAME

13.) BL that got you into BL?

Until We Meet Again

I had seen some before it from Japan (Takumi etc..) but I thought of them as a rare one offs (not a genre). Which they kind of were. I think it took Thailand really entering the field to drag my arse in whole hog.

Honestly, my memory from 2019 Bl is so Hazy it might have been Love By Chance instead. But UWMA is my origin story and I am sticking to it.

This is one reason I advise, if you keep a spreadsheet, to have a column for "date you watched" as well as "date it aired."

But I didn't even have a spreadsheet back then. Early days...

14.) BL that made you cry (happy or sad)?

A hard one, since it isn't charted on the Spreadsheet of Doom. And I cry A LOT. I'll just pick 10 recent ones:

Unknown

Love For Love's Sake

Let Free the Curse of Taekwondo

When it Rains it Pours

See Your Love

Our Youth

Secrets Happened on the Litchi Island

Caged Again

Heesu in Class 2

The Time of Fever 

(source)

[nordsea-horizons]

hey, i just checked out your nixie island and like... how? you've probably been asked this before, but how on earth did you get so good at it? did you follow tutorials for terraforming? follow inspiration pictures? i always get really stuck terraforming and end up spending hours on one small chunk. how fast do you usually work on things? like.. just how!

hi, thank you for visiting nixie🍃 its def a hard question to answer, bc the main thing is just practice i think? ive done so many islands in this game its only natural i’d get better and better at making my ideas come to live, i promise you i did not start out like that at all! however i do have a few things ive actively done, since i also like challenges in themes and terraforming projects. So i can at least share that!

• making a plan ahead of time, a drawing or just in your mind(or an inspo picture from anothers island maybe) - and having a focus point! like if you wanna make a viewpoint you set up the whole build around that one tree in the distance that you wanna be able to see in the end and make sure you build everything else around it with that goal in mind(in general doing a small test build of layout before commiting has helped me a lot)

• checking out da’s with the kind of terraforming you want and looking at the creators maps! it can be hard to see how a build is made by just walking on an island but you can see a lot of the actual layout from the dream address map! for example on nixie i did a sunken landbridge..

so if you wanted to do a similar thing you could take inspiration directly from the way i made the double inclines or maybe the amount of space needed or whatever gives you trouble? (for my first forest island i had to do this for a sunken pathway bc i just couldnt picture exactly how much space i needed to clear in order to fit in everything)

but also just give it a go without holding back! you can always take it down again after all? all my final posts never reveal how many times i had to redo an area or that one time i ran out of space and had to move the entire build two spaces forward and almost ragequit animal crossing😅 it really is something you can practice and everyone works differently! and for massive builds and stuff like that, there were likely a lot more struggle than it seems behind it✨

[oklotea]

The Good King Megapost 🌊☀️

OKAY. HUMONGOUS RAMBLING SESSION UNDER THE CUT. IF ANY OF YOU CARE ABOUT THIS MAN. (or the evil queen lol)

first of all introductions, introductions,,, why did I decide to do any of this? Why, out of all the ever after high characters I could get fixated over, one of those special few characters include Mr King, who the amount of times he had been mentioned over the book series could be counted with a pair of hands. Why oh why, him? I've been in this cave for 5 years let me out

Well the answer is, the same that goes for every class of classics character. It's an interesting look at what came before in the eah world, and also it's just really fucking fun to explore a cast of characters who we KNOW to be doomed, whether that be in a subtle, mournful kind of way, or they're Literally in a current state of limbo and suffering as we speak and no one can save them

But I have a particular regard for GK for a few things. Mostly the precarious position he finds himself in the story of EAH.

He is Raven's father, and he played a huge part in leading her to value kindness and justice over everything else despite her destiny. He was The Evil Queen's husband, and he watched as his wife destroyed the lives of their old classmates, completely going off-script, and being unable to stop her.

What are his motives? What in the world was he thinking throughout it all? What was he thinking when he found himself betrothed to supposedly the evilest worst woman alive? What did he think when he saw the daughter he raised becoming the leader of a new revolutionary force? What did he think when he watched the two stand toe to toe?

I started asking these questions and pondering them seriously around 2022. And from the long hours I spent thinking about this man who didn't even have a face to take reference of, I've gathered a few things.

He was a good man. An earnestly good man, as it seems. It takes an immensely big heart to raise the daughter of someone who caused the kind of pain and wreckage so many people will be feeling the effects of for years to come. Especially if everyone is 100% sure that daughter will grow up to repeat the exact same things her mother did in a decade or so. And yet, he never even once believed what people said.

He's strong-willed, loyal, dedicated, and has a big heart with a lot of love inside it.

All these qualities are highlighted when you reckon with the fact that he's doing all this while being isolated on a barren and cold rocky island in the middle of a gray ocean. Like it's a punishment for loving his daughter. Or for the destiny he had no control over.

Speaking of destiny!!!!!!!! GEEHEHEEHEHHGHHRHGJH BRO WAS LITERALLY MARRIED TO THE DEVIL FROM THE BIBLE or in other words THE EVIL QUEEN FROM THE STORY BOOK OF LEGENDS

If I remember correctly, we don't get much insight on what GK thinks of EQ. We know vice versa, (EQ thinks GK is pathetic and useless 👍👍👍👍), but not the former. So a lot of his perspective is left up to interpretation. This isn't actually as hard of a task as it seems!

From how GK sees Raven, he very obviously isn't as avid of a believer in destiny as everyone else in EA at the time. He doesn't believe people are born in any inherent way. He believes people can grow to be kind, or cruel. He believes that people aren't born inherently similar or different from their parents. He believes in NUANCE is what I'm saying. This is an important thing to establish about GK's character. We gotta know where he stands on the royal rebel spectrum, and what his core beliefs are, cause it'll dictate a lot of his actions.

Perhaps some context, first. From what we could gather from Maid Marian's situation, as well as beauty and the beast's, It seems that when Royals eventually discover their destiny at a certain age, and it unfortunately belongs to a kind of fairytale that didn't fit most fairytale norms, (the princess saving the prince, a beast as a main character, a woman being allowed to be as heroic as her male counterparts etcetera, etcetera) said royal is ex-communicated from their royal families and forced to relocate somewhere else, far, far away. I believe this is what happened to GK as well.

He finds out that he's destined to be the bumbling, useless trophy husband, to the evilest villain in all the land, and immediately his family are collectively disappointed in him. Just imagine that for a second... Arrghhhh God, the grief, the heartbreak, the self loathing.....

He loses all the people he previously had in his life, and next thing you know he's marrying the mildly intimidating number 1 home evilnomics student that he hardly knew. He's seemingly backed into a dark corner, guaranteed to contain unhappiness and dread.

UNLESS he is established to be someone who believes in NUANCE and KINDNESS!!!!! That would mean a greater part of him, despite his worries, still has the decency to humanize EQ, see her as her own person, and give her the benefit of the doubt that things don't have to be so tense between them. And when you're literally severed from the rest of the world on a cold barren island with one other person, it's just the smart thing to do to establish some peace between the two of you.

So despite the bitter, venomous looks EQ had shot everyone who even glanced at her in the hallways of EAH, and despite her destiny that she will soon fulfill, and despite her generally unpleasant demeanor, GK is willing to try to build some rapport between them.

Regardless of how hard EQ's gonna make it for him.

(now here comes the part where I write literal fanfic)

To say EQ was treated unfairly growing up would be an understatement. All she's known her whole life was being the next evil queen. I think she grew up quite lukewarm about the whole thing. Numb to it, even. Until something broke at a certain point, and now all she ever feels is overwhelming anger and bloodthirst for the whole world to bow down to her rule. She feels like that might be the only thing that would make her happy... To destroy and rule the world that had molded her into this monster.

She could never put the pain into words. How it came to be. Why she believes what she believes. It's not like any of the storybook children were given words to describe these things. Now she just is.

She's been plotting world domination since the start of senior year, and so far all the pieces have been falling perfectly into place, all she needs to do now is to fulfill her destiny, be banished from the main land, and begin waiting for sleeping beauty's story to start, and then things would start to get interesting.... But she forgot to account for one tiny Itty bitty thing. Living the married life.

She's banished with some nobody with a nothing name, but worst of all is he's actually trying to be FRIENDS with her. Who does he think he is?!

And so, begins the classic journey of denial...... EQ tries to get GK off her back, GK is awfully endearing and warm and kind, and ALL these things that make EQ wanna throw up or kill herself when she thinks about it too hard, next thing you know, EQ's molded a bit of extra space in her life to fit GK in, just cause she definitely only sees him as a pest she can't wait to get rid of, and because he cooks some very good seafood dinners.

Uh oh! Now he's interrupting her evil world domination get together with her evil goblin henchmen, and she's DISMISSING THESE IMPORTANT MEETINGS????? TO HANG OUT WITH GK?????? CAUSE HE SAYS HE MISSED HER????!????

Oh dang it. Fuck. Now she's opening up to him. She's telling him she misses her friends back in the dark forest. Now they're gardening together. Now they share a bed. And whoops!!!!!!!! Now she's realizing no one will ever love her like this again!!!!!!!!! This is bad!!!!!! This is very bad!!!!!! This is not very evil of her!!!!!!!!!!

A lot of stuff happens, stuff I'm probably gonna share some other time

Like the intricacies of the relationship between these two, how they're good for each other, how they're ABSOLUTELY HORIRBLE for each other, why they're my parents, why they're my kids, why they're everything and more

But point issssssss that even though they shared some good times, and for a fleeting moment, EQ truly believed all she needed to be happy was this pathetic, useless man... She never truly lost sight of what really mattered to her.

Power. Dominance.

Not a day passes where she's not considering every single variable for her great conquest. She is still cooped up on her side of the castle, she is still plottin g. They're marriage was doomed to fail from the start, and the real tragedy is, that even though GK had hoped and prayed that it wouldn't turn out the way it would... It did. He forgot who he married. And they betrayed eachother.

Maaannnnnn I wish I could've talked more about my interpretation of GK. his flaws, his strengths, how his opinion of EQ had developed after all these years..... HIS ANGST!!!!!! THE OVERWHELMING AMOUNT OF PAIN HE HAD TO ENDURE WHEN ALL HE'S EVER BEEN WAS TRY TO BE GOOD AND KIND!!!!!!! IT WON'T CHANGE THE FACT EVERYONE SEES HIM AS A GOOD FOR NOTHING USELESS WASTE OF SPACE!!!!!!!!!! AAARHGHGHHHHHHH

Actually hold on. Maybe I can elaborate a bit. I mean, it's THIS SPECIFIC CHARACTER ASPECT that I've been microwaving in my mind for a few days now. And I suppose it would be a neat way to close this post.

*ahem*

EAH has a real knack of creating characters who represent different perspectives and experiences set in its world. It makes for a really fun story that I really enjoy!!!! Apple, the indoctrinated troubled teenage girl, EQ as someone selfishly morphing the system for their own advantage, Ashlynn and Hunter as a story of forbidden, star-crossed lovers. Etc.

What kind of story do I think GK represents as a character? What potential do I see in him?

Well, after everything that we've come to know of him, there's a particular story that I feel suits him. There's a question that his character tries to answer.

How do you be a good person in a system where kindness is so regulated, controlled, and even punished when it does not fit the right criteria of 'goodness' in said system?

Perhaps that's the question that has been haunting GK all his life. And it's not exactly a question he can answer very easily.

He is split between being submissive towards destiny, and theoretically being respected by the fairytale world, or following his heart and showing love and kindness towards the people the world had deemed undeserving of it. But the thing is, from the moment destiny had decided who he was always meant to be, he is thrown headfirst into a position that highlights the hypocrisy and superficiality of destiny.

He is the GOOD KING but he is looked down upon for showing unconditional love to people who are "inherently evil", who are only evil because the system deems them so. HE IS PUNISHED FOR IT.

GK is a rebel. That I am confident in. Even if he didn't have the words to describe it. He knows that deep down he thinks the entire system is bogus and unfair, and he just wishes this cruel world would just leave him and his little family alone, but he's just too scared for their own well being to take any direct action to change things.

But, whether he knew what he was doing or not, he was rebelling in his own way. a more meaningful way. he taught Raven to be good, and to be true to herself, which would eventually lead her to becoming the catalyst for a greater change in the world of EAH.

Siiighhhhh........ Godddddd godddddd something something you will never know the violence it took to be this gentle

I think ultimately, GK's story ends on a much more hopeful note. The most hopeful, infact! He watches his daughter make a world she and her friends could live in, a world GK wishes he could have grown up in. But now, he can finally be at peace knowing he won't have to lose Raven the same way he lost his lover. the end

regardless how you may feel about this post, thank you for getting all the way to the end!!! :DD i hope you enjoyed my enthusiasm as much as i enjoyed crafting this interpretation together.

and actually if you dislike everything i wrote here, thats fine too! cause little did you know this is all just an elaborate plot to get you to listen to my EQ/GK character playlist BITCH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

and ykw since you're already here, im also gonna advertise my artfight profile. EQ and GK are two out of three characters you can draw during July, and i hope to see yall on the battlefield!!! happy artfighting!!!!!!

[rabidline]

Shoma Uno's Interview, after Ice Brave 2025 First Day (14 June 2025)

Full Transcript in Japanese by World Figure Skating: https://worldfigureskating-web.jp/news/13417/2/

Nikkan Premium (paid): https://www.nikkansports.com/premium/sports/figure/news/202506140001795.html

— What are your thoughts after finishing the first day?

Honestly, I'm surprised to be surrounded by even more people now than when I won the World Championships twice (laughs). But setting that aside (laughs), we created this ice show from scratch, and it wouldn't have reached this level of quality through my efforts alone. I received so much support from so many people. And it wasn't just business-related support—people went above and beyond, doing more than what was required.

There are only seven of us performing this show, and it's that very fact—being just seven—that made it both possible and extremely difficult. But everyone stuck with it until the end, and because of that, we were able to have an incredible opening day.

Also, this kind of demanding ice show is really hard to get through physically, but the applause and cheers from the audience kept us going. Of course, we’re doing this to entertain everyone, but their applause and cheers made it enjoyable for us, too. I feel like we created a true win-win show.

— Was there a particularly memorable number or program?

After finishing, I was reflecting, and I’d say Ice Brave had no real "rest" moments. We put a lot of time and effort into every part of it. While I’m the main skater, the other six aren’t just supporting cast or ensemble. I think of them as equal teammates. So there’s no single highlight—I can proudly say, “All of it.”

— You had an ice dance scene with Marin Honda as well.

Doing it made me realize how different ice dance is from singles. I could only apply about 10–20% of the skills I developed in singles—it was really tough. It wasn’t just a collaboration piece; since this was my first time producing an ice show, I wanted to try new challenges and create something that stood on its own as a complete program.

I’m confident I can grow even more, but I also feel proud of how hard I worked. The applause felt like praise for all the practice I’ve done up until now (smiles). With singles, it was always about how much time you put into a program and what result you got. Of course, there were nerves back then too, but you rarely get moments where you hear that kind of cheering and applause. It felt amazing to skate today.

— How did it feel to open the show in your hometown, Aichi?

Even as I was exiting the rink, I felt so grateful that so many people came to watch. We held long rehearsals to deliver something truly special to the audience. Since this was my first time doing so many things, there were lots of mistakes, lots of trial and error. But thanks to a lot of help, we managed to create something wonderful.

For me to be able to say it was “wonderful” means I gave everything I could right now. Doing this show at Morikoro Park, a familiar place… ah, I’m no good (laughs). I’m too exhausted to speak fluently right now, sorry (laughs).

— Were there any programs you felt you were able to brush up since your competitive days?

The concept of the show was centered around my competitive programs. It’s about me in the present revisiting those past pieces. We even had a land-based dancer do some choreography, which pushed me into areas I hadn’t explored before. Since I’ve spent every day honing my skating skills, I decided to take on the things I’d been neglecting.

Ice Brave was created as the first step into that journey. I don’t know if I’m really answering your question, but every piece has its own memories—like “this was super hard, so let’s have Stéphane (Lambiel) do it” (laughs), or Boléro, which I finally felt came together after a year, so I saved it for the end. See You Again is super old, but it’s a good program.

Looking back at all the different styles I’ve done, I’ve discovered what I’m good at and what I struggle with. I also gained experience in how to teach programs I’m not even skating in myself, which was a valuable learning experience.

— Do you ever feel nostalgic for your competitive career?

Not at all (laughs). Honestly, when I was competing in singles, it always felt like I was being chased every day—that intensity was great in its own way. It’s not that I miss or don’t miss being active, but rather, skating alone felt lonely. I skated Loco (Balada para un Loco) solo, but I really enjoy working together with others, building something in the same direction. After today’s opening night, I felt like I now find more fulfillment and joy in that shared experience.

— How did Stéphane Lambiel’s skating look to you?

Stéphane is 40 now, right? And he’s incredibly energetic! The quality of his performance at 40 is amazing. I mean, he’s doing the programs I used to do as a competitive skater (laughs). That’s seriously impressive.

Before he joined us, we were all working hard, but once he did, everything lit up. It became a space full of laughter—and also, rehearsals stopped progressing (laughs). Half-joking, half-serious (laughs). But that’s how fun the space became.

Even though he jokes around, he picks things up quickly and puts in real effort. You can really see his determination to make the show great, even if it means pushing himself. He’s more than just a coach—he’s more like a close friend, and that’s how I’ve always seen him.

— When did you start practicing ice dance?

Around October of last year, I changed skates and started from there. Not every day, but I practiced when I could. From the beginning, I knew I wanted to include one ice dance piece in the show, so I made that request early on.

— Why did you choose Loco (Balada para un Loco) as a solo, and Legends as a duet with Lambiel?

For Loco, well… half the reason is that I liked the piece back when I was competing. I knew I wouldn’t be able to recreate the same quality right now, but I thought maybe I could bring out a different version that’s unique to who I am today.

Since Ice Brave is a show that traces my journey, I wanted to include programs that viewers have emotional connections to. Some were ones that left strong impressions; others were programs I struggled with, and that’s why I chose Loco.

As for Legends, I’m not sure—it just had a good reputation (wry smile). I’ve heard people say they liked it, but I can’t view myself objectively, so I don’t know how “great” it really is. But I’ve received positive feedback from others, including fellow skaters, so I figured, “Well, let’s include it.”

We were also considering skating Gravity together, but… ah, you can tell I’m struggling to talk about things I don’t feel strongly about (laughs). Through a process of elimination, and because it’s a good and popular program, we decided, “This works, right?” Something like that. Sorry (laughs).

— Any interest in returning to competition through ice dance?

When we decided to do ice dance, I didn’t want it to be seen as just a collaboration piece, so getting questions like this actually makes us happy.

What I’ve realized through trying ice dance is that everyone’s level is really high—it’s an incredible discipline. I don’t mean this in a disrespectful way, but I hope we can continue to build something that’s truly great as a pair in this show, to the point where we could be seen as real ice dancers.

— Who leads during ice dance? Do you call out to each other?

Not really. Especially during spins. Seriously, it’s harder than it looks. Just doing one rotation is a challenge. I hope people can understand just how difficult it is. It’s really tough. Everything easily goes off alignment.

— Who taught you ice dance?

(Kenji) Miyamoto-sensei used to do ice dance, so he taught us. We also learned bits and pieces from various people when we could. Kazuki Kushida had dabbled in ice dance too, so we asked him some things as well. That’s how it went.

[nebrasska-alasska]

Hello!!

Sorry if this is a weird question. If it's too personal you don't have to answer it haha

But you've mentioned before that you've written fanfics for other fandoms on a different account that your dad knows about and reads.

How did he find out? Did you tell him? Was his reaction funny?

Sorry I was honestly just curious cuz I would personally be mortified if my dad found out/read my fanfictions lmao

LMAO so back when I watched Encanto December 2021, I decided to write a fic for it on my alt account, UC_Glue. The title was 'The Mouse in the Walls,' and this was one of the first fanfics I ever wrote and the first one I completed. It was fairly popular and got a decent amount of attention, and I'm not going to lie, I had a hard time adjusting to so many people reading, commenting, criticizing, etc. my story, especially since it was one of the first fics I ever wrote. It was overwhelming and sent me into a depressive spiral, and so I ended up confiding in my parents one night how writing the story had been making me feel not super good.

Well, since my dad is a silly goose, he looked up an Encanto fanfic rec list published by some news company, went through all the stories they had listed out, and asked me if 'The Mouse in the Walls' was mine. And I was so shocked to hear him say the title that I couldn't lie, so since he had a link from the news website, he just went ahead and read it. Awesome!!! :D

Thankfully, all of the stuff on my UC_Glue account is platonic (for the most part) so at the end of the day, it's not like, that embarrassing??? I mean yeah it's embarrassing but it's not romance so we take the little wins. But him knowing about that account is the main reason why I created a new one to write Sonadow, because the LAST thing I need him to be doing is reading gay hedgehog yaoi BAHAHAHAHA

[lost-in-fandoms]

Hi ❤️ 20 for the June prompts

Hello friend <3

Prompts from here. cw: sort of infidelity, also Scotty is a dick.

It had meant to be romantic.

They just had two more days on the island, and Daniel had thought it would be nice to spend one of them on a boat tour around it. He had imagined it would all be very Mamma Mia, crystal blue water underneath them, the breeze in their hair, birds chirping, music playing.

And well, he hadn't been wrong about that, but he had learned that sadly the idyllic atmosphere wasn't enough to save a crumbling relationship, not even when you were on holiday, on a very nice boat. It wasn't a yacht, but Daniel had thought it would have been nicer to get the sailboat, to be able to watch the sails swell in the wind.

But now they're two hours into their island tour, the sun is shining, the seagulls are squawking, and Scotty has been below deck on his phone for both of them.

"How long have you been here?"

Daniel looks away from the horizon to glance to his left, where the guy driving the boat (do you drive a boat? Pilot? Guide?) is leaning against the railing, the picture of serenity. Daniel thinks his name is Max, and he doesn't know yet if he likes him or not.

"Five days," he answers, not really feeling like chatting but not wanting to be rude either. After all, he is stuck on this boat for three more hours, unless he wants to throw himself off board and swim to the coast, it doesn't sound like a good idea, to piss off the guy taking you back.

Max hums, taking off his cap to run a hand through his hair, before putting it back on. Daniel's hair has been a frizzy mess since he stepped on this island, the mix of salt water, sweat and limited products turning it into a disaster he's had to keep hidden under a cap for days. But Max's hair seems soft, and Daniel almost wants to touch it to make sure.

"And he's been like that the whole time?"

The question startles Daniel, not exactly the polite small talk he was expecting, and for a second he flounders for something to answer that isn't a complete lie or a very loud fuck off. His silence seems to be answer enough though, because Max hums again, pushing away from the railing to go loosen some of the ropes for...some reason. Daniel really doesn't know anything about boats.

"Do you want to learn?" Max asks, as if reading his mind, retying the rope after giving it a sharp tug. "Just the easy stuff, I am of course not going to make you work."

For a moment Daniel considers saying no and joining Scotty downstairs, maybe try and convince him to have very awkward boat sex, but then he finds himself nodding, joining Max next to the helm.

In the next hour and a half Daniel learns many things: Max is a very good teacher, the ropes are called rigging, you don't drive a boat, you sail, doing anything around the boat is actually really hard, and Max is very very attractive with his muscles bulging as he holds onto the sail to show Daniel again how to properly tie a complicated knot.

When Max makes him sit down to have some water, Daniel is breathless and even sweatier than before, but he feels better than he has since the vacation started, laughing loudly at Max's terrible jokes.

"Having fun?"

Scotty's voice startles Daniel, snapping his attention away from Max's sunburnt nose and waving hands, guilt dropping like a stone in his stomach, despite having no reason to be there.

"Daniel was bored, left alone," Max says, very pointedly, "so I offered to teach h..."

"Yeah, well, I don't care. You stay in your," Scotty waves a hand towards the vague direction of the helm, "place."

Max's eyes narrow and Daniel feels his cheek heat up even more because of how rude Scotty is being. Before he can speak up though, Scotty speaks again.

"We gotta go back to the hotel, I have a call and I can't get good service here."

Daniel's mouth drops open, ready to argue, but Max intervenes before he can. Again. He's getting pretty annoyed about being cut off, to be honest.

"I can't take you back to the hotel until 6. I can only drop you off at the coast, if you really need to get off the boat."

Something in his tone of voice tells Daniel that it's not the complete truth, but at this point he just wants to be done with the entire conversation, so he sits and sulks as Max turns the boat towards the coast, while Scotty goes back to his phone.

Max docks them at a small pier, jumping off the boat to extend the plank, but neither Scotty nor Daniel get off.

"Mate, what the fuck? There is nothing here!" Scotty snaps, waving a hand towards the small beach and the trees surrounding them.

"The closest road is about half an hour that way," Max answers placidly, pointing.

"I am not walking half an hour just to get to a fucking road!"

"Well, then I can of course finish the tour and take you back to the hotel at six. Maybe you could use my wifi for your very important call?"

Daniel has to bite his lips to not laugh out loud at the innocence in Max's voice, even as he winces when Scotty starts swearing again about "useless people" and "should have mentioned that sooner".

Max doesn't seem fazed though, taking the plank back and pushing away from the pier, guiding once again the boat into the open sea.

"Password is on the fridge," he calls behind his shoulder as he tightens some rigging, and Daniel swears he can hear him chuckle as Scotty stomps below deck again.

"That was very embarrassing, I am sorry about him," Daniel says, sitting down on the deck.

"You should break up with him," Max answers without ceremonies, dropping next to him and pulling up his shirt to wipe away the sweat from his face, giving Daniel a glimpse of a soft stomach and a blonde happy trail.

"Yes," he finds himself agreeing without really thinking about it, mouth dry and eyes still fixed to where the shirt has fallen again. "Consider it done."

Max giggles, a cute little sound that finally makes Daniel snap out of his daze, eyes moving up to Max's face, taking note of his red cheeks and his small smile.

"Does that mean that if I kissed you, you wouldn't freak out about it?" Max asks, leaning forward, stopping a couple inches from Daniel's face.

Daniel doesn't answer, but he closes the distance between them instead, crashing their lips together. Max's tastes like sweat, salt and coconut water, and kisses like he sails, strong and confident. He pushes a hand into Daniel's hair, knocking his cap to the side, breathing a moan between them.

"You are so fucking hot," he whispers, pawing at Daniel's open shirt to touch his abs, "if we were alone..."

The reminder of Scotty makes Daniel snap back, putting some safe distance between them, before rushing forward again when he sees Max's expression fall.

"Bring us back to the hotel. I'll send him to his stupid meeting and come back to the boat."

"I have a couple of questions first," Max says, pulling back himself this time, hand still on Daniel's chest, making Daniel shiver.

"Shoot."

"It will take a while to go back, so how focused do you think he is and how quiet can you be while getting your dick sucked?"

Daniel swears, dick kicking in his shorts, and Max laughs, leaning back in the sun with it, throat exposed and thighs splayed.

Daniel has never been the kind to be quiet, but he is always willing to learn new skills.

[harringtons-cupid]

idk if you're taking requests but i think it would be cute/ funny if joe and readers relationship was figured out by fans because they've been sharing jewelry and it was getting very noticeable in interviews and stuff

A/N: Thank you so much for the request, this was kept short and sweet! I did struggle with the fluff and I honestly think this would make a great fic!! A longer one!! 🤍

Please, like, reblog and send a request if you want to support me!🤍🤍

You and Joe had been secretly dating for a few months, managing to keep it under lock and key by careful curated disguises. Swapping clothes until safely inside buildings but during the Back On You Tour, you found it hard to be apart.

During one interview Joe attended whilst performing in Glasgow, a lot of photos were taken of him with the matching bracelet to yours.

There hadn’t been much mention of them until you were asked onto a podcast. With the camera set up directly between you and the host, you began to twirl your bracelet as you spoke.

You didn’t think much of it until you were told to check twitter a few hours later, photos upon photos comparing both you and Joe’s wrists were practically everywhere.

The moment you were on your own, you went to find Joe. Feeling slightly embarrassed about the fan’s behaviour, you were both snuck into a quiet restaurant nearby.

Hands reaching across the table, bracelets on display as you both hid behind sunglasses and caps.

But somehow, a few photos were taken and posted online. Which cause a surge of fans to examine the situation, you weren’t as a famous as Joe but you had a small fanbase.

You dismissed any question that mentioned your love life during interviews and Joe tried to bounce around it but you both knew that it would catch up to you at some point.

On the bracelets were both of each others initials but thankfully the fans had yet to figure out what the words meant.

During the next few weeks, Joe continued to play throughout his tour. You shadowed him by attending particular interviews before watching him perform, sneaking backstage for some alone time between sets.

You both hoped that the fans who were following the group, noticed that you were meeting them inside the venues rather than walking with them.

It was the only way that you both could hide without being seen, it was becoming a strain on your new relationship.

Joe was invited to do a few interviews, you were sitting off screen as he sat in front of the cameras. His eyes flickered to you numerous times, sending a wink your way.

“So, Joe. I think the fans want to know who gave you that bracelet” the interviewer asked him.

His cheeks flushed red, looking down at the bracelet with your initials on it. Playing with it as he was clearly trying to avoid the question.

“Woah, There are so many tweets coming through Joe” the interviewer laughed as they kept reading off their phone.

Joe was staring at you, deciding to encourage the comments. He leant forward, reading the comments off the screen.

The fans were blowing up at the fact that Joe hadn’t answered their questions, he was being @‘d by different people.

He looked at you for answers before speaking,

“It’s a friend, a very close friend” he stuttered as he laughed from being put on spot.

After the intense interview, he rushed off screen towards you. Pulling you away from the interviewers and cameras, his hands were on you as he laughed against you.

“What do you think we’ll able to hide the press and fans ?” He laughed with you.

“Oh baby, I think we could. But it’ll be much harder now” you kissed him, holding his face as you both smiled.

As he kissed you back, you realised that you didn’t mind if people figured out your relationship. You wanted to show the world that Joe Keery was more than a close friend.