#I jest I jest. this is funny and accurate

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

[First] Prev <–-> Next

Hair Revealed. Heir Rejected.

[changbunnies]

Coy (18+)

♡ Pairing: Inexperienced!Bang Chan x Experienced Fem!Reader

♡ Genre: fluff and smut with a lil plot :)

♡ Word Count: 7.7k

♡ Summary: What occurs when joking about sex with your roommate leads to a shocking discovery about his lack of experience in the bedroom. 

♡ Smut Warnings: not intended to have overt dom/sub dynamics but you can infer vibes if you want lol, chan is rlly insecure but reader is here to help!!, nipple play, handjob, oral (m rec), fingering (f rec), protected piv

♡ Notes: hey yall, i wanted to write something small and fun before my next big fic so here we are :’) honestly i was torn between writing this for chan or bin and ended up choosing chan but lmk if you'd want to see a fic like this for binnie! i went super perfectionist mode and rewrote this several times…. like at least 7 fsdgdsfg but i don't want it in my drafts anymore !! just take it !!

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

All you said was a lighthearted joke��� something said in jest to make your roommate-turned-best friend’s face flush red and burn all the way to the tips of his ears.

That was always the reaction Chan had when you brought up having had sex, you noticed; cheeks flushed red, eyes darting away from yours to look anywhere else, thumbs nervously twiddling where his hands rested in his lap. You assumed he had plenty of experience, but was more of a “heat of the moment” kind of guy– where you imagined he’d be confident and sure of himself with his partner, but talking about sex outside of the moment turned him into a shy, stuttering mess. 

And it’s not that you purposely went out of your way to imagine what Chan was like during sex, but your mind would often wander there on its own. He was attractive, to put it lightly– devoted to fine-tuning his muscles with diligently followed routines and strictly maintained effort. You were witness to his toned body on more than one occasion, as he often wandered around the apartment shirtless while having just woken up or doing his laundry.

It was a treat for the eyes for sure, but you were respectful. You never drooled over him– at least not anywhere but in the privacy of your bedroom. But it wasn’t just his body that you adored; he had the absolute cutest smile you’d ever seen, eyes crinkling into the prettiest crescent moons as dimples showed on his cheeks. You loved his fluffy, natural hair, and the deep brown color of his eyes, and the way warmth radiated off him when he pulled you into a hug.

So maybe you have a crush on him– but you aren’t going to act on it. You live together in a careful balance, in which you are close enough to him to become good friends while also hiding your attraction to him to maintain the peace. God forbid he doesn't return your attraction, or he does and down the line it makes things complicated. The last thing you need is to scramble for a new place to live after things between you don’t work out– you’d never be able to afford it, and you’ll gladly swallow your feelings for home security. 

But just because you couldn’t have sex with Chan, didn’t mean you couldn’t talk about it with him.

Chan is shy– that much you knew for certain. And sex, while a natural and fun part of life, is something that some people are embarrassed to be open about despite the normality. That's what you saw Chan as; a shy, easily embarrassed person. You thought it was so cute, and just a teensy bit funny; and with all that in mind, it was fun to tease him– to watch his eyes widen in surprise before he let out an awkward cough and looked away, hoping to hide the red forming on his cheeks.

So today, after bringing up how your last date ended, and seeing how brightly Chan’s face burned when you talked about the way they touched you, you couldn’t help but joke around with him. “Oh, c’mon Channie, don’t be coy. I know you’re drowning in pussy when I’m not here,” you teased him with a smirk. Considering your crush on him, you didn’t like to think about it too hard, but you did believe it– surely he brings people back to the apartment while you’re out on your dates.

“O-Oh, no, I’m not– I don’t–” he started to stutter out, and you giggled, because really, how could you believe anything else? He’s perfect– intelligent, funny, talented, as adorable as he is devastatingly hot; obviously he can get whoever he wants, and you believe he does– because Chan is certainly a fucking catch. But still, he continues to stammer and shake his head, blush spreading down his neck as he refutes your statement.

He isn’t a virgin, you have that much right; but he also isn’t some smooth operator hitting hookups with the classic “my roommate isn’t home 👀” text like you seem to think. He doesn’t even know why you think he’s secretly so cool– he’s only ever shown you the most embarrassing version of himself, much to his own chagrin. He’d like to be the person you think he is, but that’s simply not reality.

And as your giggling comes to a stop, and you really look at Chan and take in his expression, you can tell– he's being serious. "Oh," you blink in surprise, smacked with the realization that all your assumptions about him may have been entirely off base.

You frown, wondering if you've actually been making him uncomfortable this entire time. It was always meant to be in good fun, as you thought his bashful reactions were incredibly cute and endearing; but now you realize the truth. Chan isn’t shy about sex because he’s a private person– he’s shy about sex because he isn't having any.

Suddenly, you feel really embarrassed about all the times you talked about yourself; maybe it's karma for all the times you've subtly teased him. "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable or crossed a line or anything, I didn't mean to, really–" You start to apologize, but Chan interjects, quickly shaking his head.

"N-No, no, you're fine! I just, uh–" he nervously stumbles on his words again, not even sure what he’s doing at this point. He doesn't even know why he refuted your joke so strongly– sure, it wasn’t true, but wouldn’t it be better for him if you believed it? 

Chan likes you– like, really likes you; but he can't imagine someone as experienced and confident as you will go for a guy like him. Because while he isn't a virgin, his past experiences have been woefully cringe-inducing to even recall.

He was always so eager and clumsy, with trembling hands and face so red he was sure he looked like a tomato. He was embarrassingly sensitive, every touch feeling so overwhelmingly good that he could hardly contain all the noises threatening to leave his throat. He came so fast that he didn’t even know what to do with himself when it was all said and done, hiding his face beneath his arm while he muttered a string of low apologies. 

And subjecting you to all of that? No thanks, falling off the face of the earth would be more preferable. You're the most sex positive person he's ever met, and you won’t make fun of him, he logically knows, but there’s part of him that fears it anyways. On top of that, apparently you had an extremely positive perception of his skills, and now he's ruined it.

While he's unsure what about him led you to believe he's desirable enough to have people biting at the chance to be with him, that impression, for better or worse, will never come back. So should he just be honest? Admit that he's actually really down bad for you but nowhere near confident enough to think he's enough for you?

That sounds like a bad idea. Terrible, even. Chan swallows as he looks at you, doing his best to ignore the way anxiety builds from deep in his gut. You're looking at him so patiently, caringly, that it makes his heart squeeze in his chest. Fuck it– he doesn't have to be completely honest and bear his heart on his sleeve, but he can trust you enough to admit a little bit of what he feels, right? If he can't confide in you then who else can he confide in?

"I just, uhm, I'm not very confident, I guess," he says after a careful breath, nervously scratching at the back of his neck as he darts his eyes away, "like.. in myself, or.. my skills, you know. So I just, uh.. don't have sex." You don't respond right away, simply blinking as you process the information, and regret starts to flood over the anxiety as Chan begins to overthink everything he’s admitted to you.

Really, you’re just shocked; Chan is sexy– like, really sexy. So the revelation that he isn’t confident in himself enough to enjoy sex to its fullest extent is baffling. He has such effortless charisma in other aspects of his life despite his shy nature, and you always assumed it carried over into his sex life; where his bashful looks and timid grins would melt away into someone confident and assured once the moment kicked off. 

“I could help you,” you finally offer once the initial surprise wears off, and instantly his brain is short circuiting, not even realizing that his astounded “huh?” left him audibly. You didn't really plan on confessing your attraction to Chan this way, if ever, but well.. here you are.

"It's just– you're like, the hottest person I know. Seriously. And I don't care if you lack experience, I'd have sex with you regardless," you explain, a rare blush of your own beginning to heat your face, "So, yeah, you know– if you want me like I want you, then.." You start to trail off, but you think he gets what you were intending to say.

It's a bit embarrassing to be blushing yourself considering all the casual sex you have, but it's not your fault– Chan is the only person you've caught feelings for in years, so you can't help but blush a little. Chan, meanwhile, is still stunned; you're attracted to him? You want to have sex with him? Really?

On one hand, it's exciting– you want him, he wants you, and you don't care that he's inexperienced. But still, on the other hand.. With all the experience you have, don’t you want to sleep with someone who matches your energy? He can't imagine that you'd enjoy watching him fumble his way through your time together, or that he’d bring you any pleasure with his lackluster skills.

And what would your relationship be afterwards? Just friends and roommates who happened to fuck once, or something more? Will the mutual attraction die off the moment you realize his insecurities are way more than you signed on for?

“You don’t have to answer right now,” you assure him, offering all the time he may need to think about your proposition. Maybe it won’t be the most casual of your experiences considering your massive crush on him, but how could you pass up the chance to help him? Especially when helping means having sex with the guy of your dreams– because really, that’s what Chan is.

He wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans, swallows the lump in his throat, and takes a breath– because despite all his fears, he really likes you, and of course he wants to fuck you. Chan always figured he’d never have a chance with you unless you experienced a huge lapse in judgment; and maybe this is one and done, maybe it doesn't mean as much for you as it does for him, but he’ll still take that chance, insecurities be damned; he’d be a fool not to.

“I want to,” he tells you, soft and timid, but certain. You smile, equally as soft, as you inch closer to him on the sofa. “Can I kiss you?” you ask him, giggling when he quickly nods. It’s cute– equally as cute as the small, involuntary noise he makes from the back of his throat when your lips touch his. You start slow, pressing long, lingering kisses to his plush lips– as soft as you always imagined.

His breath hitches when you crawl onto his lap, pulling away to look at you with widened eyes. “Too much?” you ask, ready to pull yourself off of him but he quickly shakes his head. “You’re just–” he pauses, licks his lips as his face flushes a deeper pink, but continues “..so pretty. Really pretty. Can't believe this is really happening."

It feels a bit silly being so shy to tell you how pretty you are to him when you’ve been kissing him and are quite literally sitting on top of his dick, but he can’t help the way you make him feel. It’s a simple compliment too, one that normally wouldn’t affect you very much, but makes your heart pick up ever so slightly in speed regardless; you suppose because Chan is the one saying it.

You can tell he doesn’t know what to do with his hands when you kiss him again, keeping them clenched and firmly stuck to his side. You take them in your hands, guiding them to your body and resting them on your hips. “Touch me, Channie,” you breathe against his lips, “anywhere you want.” 

“Anywhere..?” he questions with a shaky exhale, hands trembling where they rest on your body. “Mhm, want to feel you,” you tell him sweetly, and God, he already feels like his heart is going to beat out of his chest before he’s even really begun. But he listens, hands carefully traveling up and down your body as you lean back in to continue kissing him.

You let your own hands wander as well– over his arms, across his chest, down the toned abs you can distinctly feel even beneath his sweater. You lick his bottom lip, feeling his body shiver beneath the tips of your fingers as he opens his mouth for you, letting your tongue inside.

He brings his hands to your chest, palming your breasts before he carefully squeezes them. You bring one of your hands to hover over his, encouraging him to continue by squeezing your hand atop his. He’s only touching you over your clothes, but he already feels impossibly dizzy from the excitement– he can’t even focus on how pathetic that would normally make him feel either, because your tongue in his mouth fogs his brain. 

The next time you pull away, it’s to grab the hem of your shirt, pulling it up and over your head so swiftly that Chan barely even has time to process what he’s about to see. He sucks in a breath as he looks at your tits; it doesn’t even matter that they’re still contained by a bra– it’s still more than enough to send him reeling. Pretty, pretty, pretty, is all he can think, his mind unable to conjure a thought any more complex than simple words.

You move your hands behind your back, ready to unhook your bra and expose yourself to him entirely, but he briefly stops you. “Can I– Can I try..?” he asks, clearly nervous but eager to try and prove himself in whatever way you’ll let him. “Course, Channie,” you smile at him as you let your arms fall back to your side, “go ahead.” You lean closer to him, bringing your hands to his shoulders as he brings his own to your back. 

You press kisses to his jaw as you wait for him to act, eventually trailing down to his neck. It makes him gasp and bite his lip, the skin of his neck evidently more sensitive than he ever even realized. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, trying his best not to get too distracted by the feeling of your lips on the sensitive spots of his neck before he continues.

His fingers fumble with the hooks of your bra, his trembling hands causing his grip to slip more than once. It’s embarrassing how badly he’s failing at this simple task, but you pay no mind to it, continuing to kiss him as he takes his time to figure it out. You caress his arms, pulling away to reassure him when his shaking fingers mess up for the third time.

“Relax, baby, you’ve got it,” you tell him, the affectionate term unintentionally slipping out– but Chan seems to welcome it, offering you a soft smile and nod as he timidly tries again. He lets out the breath he was unconsciously holding when he finally succeeds, watching attentively as you bring your hands to the now loose straps, sliding them down your arms.

You toss your bra aside when your arms are freed from the straps, and Chan can’t help but stare at your now bare chest. He can count on a single hand the amount of tits he’s seen, so his thoughts may be a bit biased in your favor, but he firmly believes yours are the prettiest he’s ever looked at. Chewing on his bottom lip, he looks to you for permission to touch them again, which you easily grant him. 

The soft noise you let out when his thumbs brush over your nipples both surprises him and makes his cock throb; he can still hardly even believe you’re really letting him touch you. “Is that good?” he asks as he does it again, intoxicated by the way you whimper and squirm. “Mhm, feels good. Feels better when they’re wet, though,” you tell him, watching as the gears turn in his brain. 

He licks his lips and leans down, bringing his face to your chest. He sticks out his tongue, slowly swiping it against one of your hardened nipples, eyes glued to your face as he does. “This what you want?” he asks, repeating the action when you gasp and nod. You thread your fingers through his hair, another whimper leaving you as he wraps his lips around your nipple and swirls his tongue around it.

You reach for his other hand and bring his fingers to your mouth, licking and coating them in your saliva. He whines at the feeling of your tongue sliding against his fingers, his imagination running wild with images of what it’d feel like on different parts of his body. Once satisfied with the wetness of his fingers, you take them from your mouth and bring them back down to the nipple currently not in his mouth. “Use them to touch me, please–” 

Chan wastes no time in doing what you ask, a soft whine escaping him when you gently tug on his hair. His cock is painfully hard and straining against his jeans that are now uncomfortably tight around him. You can feel it pressing against your ass, his eyes fluttering shut when his treatment of your nipples cause you to squirm and rub against his erection. The friction is overwhelming, your noises are intoxicating, the combination makes him dizzy with need for more. 

More of your touch on his skin, more of your pretty whimpers in his ear, more of anything and everything you’re willing to give him, he wants it all. Soon you’re reaching for the hem of Chan’s sweater, and he separates from you, allowing you to pull it up and over his head, discarding it to the floor with the rest of your clothing. You admire him, trace his pecs and his abs with your fingers, smiling at him sweetly when he shivers beneath your touch. 

“You’re so handsome, Channie,” you tell him as you continue to run your fingers along his torso, “so hot, you have no idea how bad I’ve wanted you.” He whines and turns his face away, a vain attempt to hide the heat that rises to it. “That’s– I-I.. didn’t know..” he mumbles shyly, hesitant to meet your gaze again– mostly because he thinks his heart will burst if he looks at you while you’re saying things like that to him.

He doesn’t know how he’s ever going to be able to look at you without going red in the face after this, or how he’s going to be able to hear your voice again without his cock getting hard. Better yet, how is he going to look at you without thinking about how bad he wants you to be his, or for him to be yours? Either way, that’s a problem for the future– because your hands and lips are all over him, and that’s what he wants to focus on now. 

Chan sucks in a breath when your hand brushes his erection over his jeans, bites his lip when you start to undo the button, lets out a shaky exhale as you begin to pull down the zipper. He’s not sure what you’ll think of his length, but he hopes you like it, prays that it’s enough to satisfy you. “You should have more confidence in yourself, Channie,” is the first thing you say as you take it in your hand, “you’ve got the prettiest cock I’ve ever seen.” 

“W-What? No way, that’s– you’re just saying that,” he pouts, the blush covering his face and ears becoming unbearably hot. You can’t mean that– he almost refuses to believe it; because he simply can’t comprehend that you would prefer him to anyone else. “I’m not, baby. I mean it,” you tell him, and the way he throbs in your hand gives away that he likes the compliment, even if he doesn’t entirely believe it’s true. 

You really are being honest; it’s not the longest you’ve ever had, but it’s among the thickest, with pretty veins that accentuate it. You want to trace them– with your fingers, your lips, your tongue, everything. And then there’s the way his pre-cum leaks from the tip, steadily dripping and pooling where it falls-–all you can say is that it’s mouth-watering. The look in your eyes makes Chan feel impossibly shy, and it takes everything within him not to cover his face when your eyes meet again. 

He never imagined that look would be for him; that he would ever be deserving of your touch and affectionate words. And the sweet smile you offer him when you start to earnestly stroke his cock– he’s done for, absolutely done for. He’ll never be able to hide how bad he wants you after this– maybe he should listen to you and gain some confidence, ask you to be his before someone else steals you away. 

Chan quickly loses his ability to form coherent thought once you start picking up your pace however, your hand having quickly become slick from his pre-cum. His head falls back against the sofa, breaths growing more and more labored with each stroke of your soft, warm, wet hand. You can feel his thighs twitch beneath you, and the way his hips jolt up to try to seek further friction from your hand, though your weight atop his legs prevents him doing so. 

“Want you in my mouth,” you tell him, pleased with the way the words make him gasp and squirm, “You want that, Channie? Will you let me suck you off?” Fuck, do you even have to ask? As if there is any reality in which he would ever say no; you can have him, all of him, he doesn’t care as long as it’s you– he’ll never deny you any part of him. “Yeah, yeah, want that, please,” he breathes, an almost shameless plea for you to do whatever you want with him. 

You offer him a pretty smile, placing a quick but affectionate kiss to his lips before you remove yourself from his lap. Sinking to your knees, you pull Chan’s jeans and boxers down his legs and to his ankles, and wait for him to step out of them and spread his legs wide enough for you to fit between them. There’s an apprehensive look in his eye when you scoot closer to him, and you pause, looking up at him with concern. “Are you nervous?” you ask, ready to stop at a moment’s notice if he needs you to.

“Ah, yeah, sorry, I just–” he pauses, an awkward, nervous laugh leaving him as he averts his gaze away from yours, “I just.. ‘m worried I’m gonna cum too fast when you.. Uh, yeah, you know.” He feels a bit pathetic admitting it, and he keeps his eyes locked on a random corner of the room, still holding onto the irrational fear that you’ll judge or laugh at him. Of course, you do neither– you simply lean forward on your knees, reaching a hand up to touch his face and bring his eyes back to yours. 

“Don’t worry about that, I won’t mind if you cum fast, okay? It won’t bother me, and I won’t be mad. Just enjoy yourself,” you tell him earnestly, smiling sweetly at him when he slowly nods. You want to show him that you’re more than happy to take care of him until he gets the confidence in himself he needs, that there’s no shame in feeling so good that he can’t help but let go, that you’ll want him regardless. 

You settle back on your knees, rubbing your hands up and down his thighs until you feel like his nerves have settled. He nods to you when he’s ready, and you give him one last smile before you bring your face directly to his waiting cock. The kisses you place to the tip are already enough to have him gasping and squirming in his seat– soft, delicate, and wet. Your fingers hold him at the base, keeping it held in place even as it twitches in response to every kiss you leave behind. 

You stick out your tongue, let spit dribble down and further wet his leaking tip, and it’s positively the most erotic thing Chan has ever witnessed; he has to cover his face to stop himself from losing his mind. Head fallen back against the sofa with his arm thrown over his face, he gasps once more when he feels your tongue press against his skin. You lick slowly– whether to savor the taste or prolong the moment, Chan is unsure, but he welcomes it either way. 

He can’t suppress the throaty groan that leaves him when you drag your tongue across the entirety of his length, tracing the veins with it just as you wished to. “O-Oh my god, baby–” he gasps when you finally start to take his cock into your mouth, too far gone to realize that he too let the pet name slip out. You don’t seem to mind, at least; after all, despite this “casual” encounter, you’ve already done the same, and been more affectionate than he ever anticipated.

Chan wants to believe you’re affectionate just with him; that none of your other casual partners have ever been looked at the way you’ve looked at him, that you never called them sweet names or given them such caring glances. Maybe he’s feeding himself a delusion, but he wants to believe you want him as bad as he wants you– beyond just the physical. He wants to believe this isn’t just a one time thing, and most of all he wants to believe that you’ll fall in love with him. 

Is it normal to think about love when your cock is deep down your crush's throat? He doesn’t know– but all he can think about, apart from how amazing your mouth feels, is how much he loves and adores you. Letting his arm fall back to his side, he lifts his head from the sofa to look at you once more, and fuck, what a site you are. Eyes glassy and pretty as you gaze up at him through your lashes, cheeks flushed red, saliva dripping from the corners of your mouth.

The sounds you make as you bob your head are so salacious it makes his head spin, his thighs tremble with each motion of your tongue on the underside of his length, and every time his tip touches the back of your throat he can’t help but let out a moan. His fingers struggle to find purchase on the sofa’s cushion, so instead he clenches his fist, knuckles quickly turning white. You notice, of course, so you bring one of your hands to his, intertwining your fingers and letting him squeeze your hand instead. 

God, that fucks with his heart– but he hardly has any time to dwell on it. He’s barely been holding back his orgasm, and he’s not sure how much longer he can last. “Babe, baby, feels so good, I can’t– o-oh, please, ‘m gonna cum–” he babbles his warning, whimpering when you hum in response and continue to take him as deep into your mouth as he can go. His eyes roll back, cock throbbing and entire body trembling– and one more swipe of your tongue and swallow around his length is all it takes to have him cumming.

“O-Oh my– fuck, fuck, sorry, ‘m cumming, baby–” he rambles, thankfully too far gone to be embarrassed by all the things he’s saying to you. You swallow all he has to give you, not pulling off him until he starts to come down from his high and cock begins to soften. He’s dazed and breathless as he looks at you, chest heaving as his brain tries to recalibrate itself after how good you just made him feel.

You rise from your knees and set yourself back on the sofa, leaning towards Chan to kiss him after he’s caught his breath. He can taste himself on your lips, but he doesn’t hate it; there’s a strange part of him that even enjoys it. “‘m sorry,” he mumbles with a nervous pout when you pull away, “I tried to hold it back, but..” 

“Channie, I told you not to worry about that. It felt good, right? That’s all that matters,” you tell him, directing him to look at you when he tries to avert his gaze again. He swallows the anxiety down, trying to look at you without feeling like disappearing into a void. But he can tell after just a moment how sincere you’re being, and it spreads relief through his veins. It’s not that he really doubted you, but his internal dialogue is far from rational.

You’ve been so good to him since the start, and though he’s incredibly shy and equally as nervous, there’s nothing more he wants now than to return the favor. He still doubts he’s good enough to give you what you deserve, to skillfully make you cum and cry out for him, but he’ll try– God, he’ll fucking try. 

It takes all the confidence he can muster to speak what he wants to say, but he thankfully manages alright. “I want, uh– ..w-want to make you cum too,” he admits, doing his best to hold your gaze despite the way shyness claws at him and his blush burns his face. “Yeah?” you smile, honestly pretty eager to let Chan touch you more. 

While you were more than ready to keep taking the lead, to guide him along and take care of him, you’re happy to see a surge of confidence in him– even if it’s a small one. “Touch me then, Channie. Make me cum,” you tell him as you beckon him closer, letting out a soft, content hum when he kisses you. You let him guide you back until your back is flat against the sofa, spreading your legs so that he can nestle between them. 

You can feel his hands trembling again as they travel your body, but Chan doesn’t let the nerves prevent him from hooking his fingers into your pants. He continues to kiss you as he slides them down your legs, along with your panties– not just because he loves kissing you, but also because he’s not quite ready to look at your bare pussy; he genuinely thinks his heart will give out if he doesn’t mentally prepare himself first.

Pretty soon though, he does have to separate from you so he can let you slip your feet out of your clothes, and subsequently toss them to the floor with all the rest of your discarded clothing. He tries to keep his eyes locked on your face, but he can’t help but let his eyes trail down and roam over the rest of your exposed body. He’s mesmerized in an instant; you’re so impossibly pretty, every inch of you breathtaking and beautiful and– God, just perfect.

He knows his words will fail him, so he hopes his lips on yours will do enough of the talking for him, hopes that he can show how bad he adores and desires you with actions alone. You intended initially to let him take his time, but you’ve been impossibly wet and worked up this entire time; and besides, doesn’t he need a little push? 

So you take one of his hands, guiding it to your dripping center. Chan lets out an involuntary whine from the back of his throat, body shivering in response. “Y-You’re so– oh my god, how are you so wet?” he asks, as in awe of you as he is surprised. “You, baby,” you answer, voice growing shakier now that he’s rubbing his fingers between your folds, “I told you, you– you’re so handsome, you know? Get me so hot, ‘ve wanted you so bad.” 

God, he still can’t believe it– how is it possible that you’ve wanted him as bad as he’s wanted you? And there’s no way his insecurities can make him believe you’re just saying it to make him feel good about himself anymore, because he can feel the proof of your words with his fingers. “Tell me– tell me what you like, what you want, please,” he softly pleads, “need to make you feel good.”

“Inside, want your pretty fingers inside me,” you tell him, shivering when you feel the tips of his fingers pressing against your hole. He starts slow and careful, gently pushing one of his fingers inside, alternating between watching his hand and looking up to your face. You’re so slick and warm, and the way you squeeze around even just one of his fingers makes his head spin– because he can’t help but imagine how you’d feel on his cock.

“Another, add another, please,” you all but beg once you’re adjusted to how one feels, and he wastes no time in obliging you, delighting in the way it makes your eyes flutter closed. You bite your lip when he starts to instinctively move his fingers faster, little whimpers escaping as your breaths become heavier. “You sound so pretty,” he says, gasping when he realizes it caused you to clench harder around his fingers. 

Do you like when he talks to you? He doesn’t know if it’s his voice you like, or what he said in particular, but if you like it then he won’t stop. “F-Feels so amazing, I can’t– can’t stop thinking about what you’d feel like around me, want it so bad, want to be inside you,” he starts to ramble, doing his best to voice everything that comes to his mind, anything he thinks you’ll like and will have you clenching again, even if it embarrasses him to say it.

He experiments with his fingers as he talks to you– changing angles and curling his fingers, trying to find what you like the best. You gasp when he finds your spot with the tips of his fingers, body trembling and back arching. “R-Right there, fuck, feels so good, Channie, your fingers feel so good,” you tell him breathlessly, and he can’t help the way he stiffens and throbs once more in response. 

And really, how is he supposed to look at the way you shake beneath him, hear your pretty voice praise the way he’s touching you, and not get hard again? He wants nothing more than to make you cum– to make you cry and writhe in pleasure for him, because of him; almost desperate for it, he hits your spot over and over again, hoping to bring you closer and closer to the release you both crave. 

He’s mesmerized by the way your eyes roll back, by the rise and fall of your chest and tremble of your thighs; addicted to the way your moans and whimpers grow higher in pitch, and the messy, wet sounds his fingers create between your legs. Chan glances down to your pussy, taking notice of your puffy, neglected clit. 

He wants to taste it, to wrap his lips around and let his tongue lavish it, but he doesn’t trust himself to be able to get down smoothly or without messing up his rhythm; so instead, he brings his thumb to it– something he’s seen done in porn that woman always seemed to like (and he desperately hopes you like it too.) Thankfully, he gets the effect he was hoping for– you let out a whimper and squirm, nails digging into his skin. 

Chan doesn’t let up even when his wrist begins to grow sore, running purely on desire and instinct. “F-Fuck, Channie, baby, ‘m gonna cum, you’re gonna make me cum,” you gasp out, voice whiny and strained, but still oh so pretty in his ears. He can’t believe he’s actually going to make you cum, can’t believe how lucky he is; and he's utterly transfixed on the way your body moves, drunk on the sounds that freely spill from you. 

He gasps when you reach out and unexpectedly pull him closer, letting out a soft, surprised whine when you eagerly crash your lips into his. It’s the messiest kiss he’s ever had, tongues dancing and drool falling from the corners of your mouth, hot and heavy breaths passed between each other. Your thighs squeeze his hand as your orgasm takes you, entire body shaking as your back arches off the sofa, arousal gushing and further coating his fingers.

Chan slowly slides his fingers out of you as you catch your breath, meeting your gaze shyly when you open your eyes to look at him once more. He’s so fucking hard, again, and you instantly notice, much to his embarrassment. He wants to fuck you, there’s no denying it– but he can’t help but continue to feel self-conscious, even now. 

You sit up and kiss him once more, as if to dispel all doubts and worries from his racing mind. “Want you, Channie,” you tell him, voice soft, sweet, and reassuring, “do you still want me? Wanna fuck me?” He whines from deep in his throat, knowing he’d never be able to deny it, even if he wanted to. 

“Yes, God, yes, wanna fuck you,” he answers honestly, nervously chewing on his bottom lip, “b-but I– I just.. don’t want to disappoint you.” He’ll never forgive himself if he fucks this up and leaves you wanting and unsatisfied; he wants to be nothing less than perfect for you and he already knows that he isn’t. 

“Channie, baby, look at me,” you say as you reach a hand to his cheek, urging him to meet your eyes again, “you won’t disappoint me, you could never.” You place soft, comforting pecks to his lips, holding his hands and rubbing soothing circles with your thumbs until you feel him start to lose his tension. “Remember what I said? Don’t worry about anything but feeling good. I want you to cum again,” you tell him, smiling as he nods, his face flushing a deeper red. 

Leaning towards the coffee table, you reach for where you dropped your purse before sitting down with Chan, digging around inside until you find one of the spare condoms you make sure to keep for your dates. He swallows as he watches you pull it out, beyond nervous but equally as excited to finally feel you wrapped around him. 

Even just watching you tear open the packaging is enough to have him trembling, and when you glance at him to make sure he’s ready, he ignores his insecurities the best he can to offer you a timid smile. You return the smile, taking his cock in your hand and giving it a few slow pumps to make sure he’s ready. He squirms and softly whines, still sensitive from his previous orgasm, but there’s no way he’s going to let that stop him from having this moment with you. 

He shivers when you easily roll the condom down his length, biting his lip as you crawl back onto his lap after you’ve finished. His heart is beating fast and erratic, and he wonders if you can hear how loudly it’s thumping against his chest. He lies half propped up by one of the sofa’s cushions, looking up at you with eyes akin to a puppy, watching your every move with bated breath. 

You reach between your bodies to hold his cock at the base, angling it with your still soaked entrance. You let go once you start to sink down on it, moving your hand to his chest to support yourself as his cock pushes inside. “Oh, fuck–” Chan lets out a choked gasp, already overwhelmed by the sensation even before you’re fully sat on his length. 

Even with a condom on, he can still feel how warm and wet you are, your walls squeezing him so tight it takes his breath away. “Fuck, baby, oh my god, it already feels so good, what the fuck–” he gasps again once your hips are flush together. He doesn’t remember it feeling this amazing the last time he had sex; is it because he’s more sensitive from before? Or is it because it’s you? 

No matter the answer, he’s certain of one thing– and that’s that he’s definitely going to cum fast; he just hopes you meant it when you said it’s okay. He lets out an obscenely loud moan when you start to lift and drop your hips– one that would normally make him extremely embarrassed, but he feels way too good to even focus on it; all he can think about is how fucking good you feel. 

His hands squeeze your hips, and he looks at you with stars in his eyes. How can you be so pretty, so beautiful? How can you feel this good? The way he’s looking at you makes your heart stutter and pussy clench, an act that makes Chan’s head fall back against the cushion as he moans. He’s so handsome, with the way his curly hair clings to his forehead with sweat, his bitten lips and flushed cheeks– it's insane that he can't see how crazy for him you are. 

You lean forward to kiss him, bringing one of your hands up to thread your fingers through his hair as your tongue slips past his parted lips. He feels dizzy with pleasure, each of his loud moans and whines muffled only by your lips on his. You’re both panting by the time you separate, with you falling forward and burying your face into his neck. 

Your legs and knees quickly begin to scream at you, but you ignore it as best you can in favor of chasing pleasure, bouncing on his cock with all the energy you can muster. You know he won’t last much longer– he was already sensitive to start, and you can feel him twitching and throbbing more and more with each additional motion of your hips. 

“Baby, ‘m so close–” Chan whimpers, eyes rolling back when you clench around him harder. “Yeah? Gonna cum again for me, Channie? Gonna cum with me?” you ask as you snake your hand between your bodies, rubbing your clit in quick circles so that you can cum together. He quickly nods and bites his lip, hands squeezing you tighter and hips rising to chase you every time you lift off him. 

It only takes a couple more rolls of your hips to have him cumming again, white, hot pleasure coursing through his veins and overwhelming every inch of his body, filling the condom with all he has to give. You follow quickly behind, hips stuttering and losing all sense of rhythm as you ride out your release. 

You collapse against his chest with a heavy sigh once you’re done, utterly exhausted from all the effort, but completely satisfied. You’re both breathless, eyes closed as you collect yourselves and racing hearts start to return to normal speed. Well, in Chan’s case it doesn’t completely return to normal; because you’re still naked on top of him, and even after having just had sex, he still can’t believe you’re here with him right now like this.

You lift your hips and let his softening cock slide out of you, laying on Chan’s side with his arm as support so you don’t fall off the sofa. You carefully remove the condom, tying it off and preparing it to be thrown away once you’re ready to get up– for now, you’re too tired to move, and you just want to stay next to Chan for as long as you can. 

You lay your leg across his body, cuddling close to him while he continues to support your weight with his arm. “How was it? Fun?” you ask him, smiling when he blushes and looks away, still unable to help being shy even after all you just did together. “Of course, you’re.. incredible,” he answers honestly, chewing on his lip before he continues, “But, were you– ..was I good enough for you..?”

“Channie, are you kidding? You were perfect, I promise,” you assure him, giggling softly when he breathes a sigh of relief. “You get stuck in your head too much, baby,” you continue, absentmindedly tracing circles in his skin as you speak, “I promise you, you could have anyone you want. I mean it when I say you’re perfect.” He still doesn’t quite believe what you’re saying is true, but he can at least accept that you believe it. 

But he wonders if you know– it’s not just anyone he wants, but you. He was only able to do this because it was you that offered-–anyone else, and he would’ve instantly turned them down, or wouldn't have been able to enjoy himself if he did accept. Looking at you now reaffirms what he’s long since thought– you’re the only one for him. 

“Baby, I want you to be mine-–want you to be my girlfriend,” is what he wants to say– but Chan is much too shy, and can’t bring himself to do it. “C-Can we– can we do this again sometime..?” is what he ends up saying insead. And you smile as you nod, sweetly running your fingers through his messy curls before you give him another kiss, “Course, baby. Anytime you want me, I’m yours.”

network tags: @skzstarnet @ksmutsociety

[writing-for-marvel]

In Situ

[He’s Hazardous To My Health Series]

Paramedic!Bucky Barnes x Resident!Fem!Reader

< < PART 8 | Series Masterlist

In Situ - meaning in the natural position (ie. Bucky’s place next to you)

Summary: You ask Bucky to accompany you to the hospital's fundraising gala.

Warnings: strictly 18+, unprotected soft loving sex, creampie, graphic depiction of gunshot wounds & significant bleeding to a major character, a bit of angst as they struggle to reveal their feelings, will we finally get an ‘I love you’??, certain ex-fling of Bucky’s makes an appearance, this part has a bit of everything, fluff, angst, smut all rolled into one; I will apologise in advance you have every right to hate me given the ending of this

Word count: a whopping 10.3k (buckle up)

A/N: this part is dedicated to the wonderful @treatbuckywkisses and @yenzys-lucky-charm, I haven’t updated this series in so long and I genuinely thought no one would care about it being incomplete but you both have left such sweet comments on the other parts that inspired me to continue with my vision for paramedic!bucky, so I hope you both enjoy my darling friends 🩵 banners by @vase-of-lilies

Main Masterlist | Ask me anything! | Taglist | Library

It’s the start of a very long shift when the person you least want to encounter, Dr Thor Odinson, approaches you with a glowering expression which looks like the most accurate embodiment of ‘I would rather be anywhere else’.

You would rather quite literally be in any other room of the hospital than in trauma room 2 right now, but as your direct superior, you have to constantly take direction from the same man who tried to compete with Bucky for your affection, and then blacklisted you at work after you turned him down.

“Before you say no to this, I need you to know this is a requirement of your employment here and you cannot get out of it, no matter how much you might want to.” Thor states with the same amount of joy as if he were inviting you to a funeral. His hands fidget almost unconsciously with a sealed envelope as he speaks, before offering it to you with a firm, outstretched hand. “Believe me, I’ve already tried.”

You consider him for a moment, his eyes not quite meeting your examining gaze and nervously grinding his back teeth. Taking the envelope, you notice your name written in messy, scrawled handwriting on the front.

“Not sure why I wouldn’t want to, whatever you’re inviting me to sounds like the absolute time of my life.” You jest in an effort to diffuse the tension between you. Thor, however, doesn’t seem to find it funny as rather than a chuckle, you elicit the most forced eye roll you’ve seen in a while.

“It’s a fundraising gala, mostly for the research labs associated with the hospital, but part of the proceeds go to supporting patients without healthcare who otherwise would not afford our help.”

Though the thought of contributing to those of the community who are less fortunate, and find themselves in the unfortunately common situation of being in debt to a healthcare system which was designed to further cripple the already vulnerable, the lack of enthusiasm Thor is conveying during the conversation makes you wary of what important information you’re likely missing about the event.

“You’re allowed to bring a plus one.” He adds with a rising inflection, almost as if it’s a question rather than a statement.

Silence falls between you two, and for a moment you fully believe Thor is waiting for you to confirm whether you will be bringing Bucky as your date, which would just make this uncomfortable encounter even more awkward, but thankfully he speaks again before you need to say anything.

“You’ll be representing the ED, and more importantly the hospital, at this event. You and whomever you bring better be on your best behaviour, I don’t want to have to write you up again.” A smirk curves on your face as he walks away. Although there is a finality to his voice in which you know you won’t get out of this work event, Thor has reminded you of the very public display of affection Bucky showed you in the emergency room which had earned you an official warning from hospital HR.

A formal gala, with Bucky dressed up in a suit and you in the most alluring dress in your closet, could be the perfect place to earn a second warning.

* * *

The night of the Gala, Bucky knocks on your front door, feeling rather uncomfortable in this taut suit with the unnatural feeling of the shoulder pads compressing against his already broad shoulders.

He tries adjusting them as he waits, he wants to look his absolute best for you, to rival even a fraction of the radiance he’s sure you will exude tonight. But they feel even more out of place now he’s fiddled with them and regrets the decision until he hears the pattering of your footsteps behind the door.

“You have to close your eyes before you come in.” You call out to him in a playful voice, without opening the door. “I’m not ready yet.”

Bucky’s positive that in any state of undress or stage in the process of getting ready you are the most beautiful girl in the entire world, but a warmth spreads through his chest at the notion you’re wanting to look your best for him.

“Okay darling, they’re closed.” He plays along, knowing that when it comes down to it, he would do anything you ask him without contest because it’s for you.

Bucky hears the lock click as it opens and a small giggle, before the light pressure of a pair of lips on his.

“No peeking.” You request as you take his hand and lead him inside. Bucky knows your place like the back of his hand already and doesn’t need his eyes open to know that you take him towards the couch. “I’ll be right back, don’t you go anywhere.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” With each beat of Bucky’s heart his anticipation of seeing you only grows. He’s seen you in every way imaginable, naked and writhing for him, vulnerable with sickness, beaming with pride and joy, and yet every time he sees you he is continually flawed by how stunning you are in every scenario.

“Buck, you can open them.”

Bucky is simply lost for words. Never in all his life has he been in the presence of someone so utterly breathtaking. Looking at you now, practically radiating golden light, a brilliant smile tugging at the corners of your mouth, and your body looking downright heavenly in a form fitting dress which compliments the colour of your eyes, Bucky believes angels do actually exist.

“You are so beautiful.” He manages to stammer out once he’s picked his jaw up off the floor.

“Not as handsome as you in this suit.” You grip the lapels of his jacket to pull him even closer to you, straightening his tie in an action that overwhelms Bucky with a need to kiss you.

“What, this old thing?” He attempts to brush off your flattery, because next to you, there is positively no way anyone could compete with your beauty.

Bucky gulps the excessive saliva pooling in his mouth as his eyes roam your frame once again, because he can’t help but literally drool over how stunning you look - can’t believe that he gets to be the one who walks into the gala tonight with you on his arm.

The only other time he has felt this utterly floored by someone’s appearance was the first time he laid eyes on you as you strolled across the ER on that now historic day when he could not believe someone in scrubs and a lab coat could look so breathtakingly beautiful.

“You are genuinely the most gorgeous woman I have ever laid eyes on.”

Bucky’s fearful that you won’t actually believe his statement, even though they are perhaps the most honest words that have ever left his lips. It’s no secret that before he met you, Bucky had enjoyed sleeping around - had entertained more than his fair share of attractive women in his bed, but after just one month officially as your boyfriend, becoming intimately familiar with your beautiful soul, he has zero doubts that you are the only woman he wants in that position for the remainder of his life.

You kiss him in the breath after he finishes speaking, in that luscious, sensual way that no one else has ever kissed him and evokes a warm, fuzzy, almost life-ruining devotion, dare he say love, in his chest.

“Let’s just stay here tonight.” Bucky mumbles against your lips, his hands finding the zipper on the back of your dress and slowly unzips to let the fabric fall from your décolletage.

He can feel you smile against his lips but then you bruise his heart by pulling away and saying “As much as I would prefer to spend the whole night naked here with you, I’ve already been told I cannot miss this event.”

However, they aren’t words which scare Bucky away from a challenge, he dives back into the kiss, the tip of his tongue tangling with yours. He thinks he has you convinced when your hands start playing with the hair at the nape of his neck - you know how much he likes it and do it constantly to turn him on, but then you pull back and Bucky sighs.

“You’re insatiable, aren’t you?”

“Only when it comes to you.” He responds with a chuckle. You’re the only woman who’s ever had him whipped before, and Bucky’s not sure you realise how powerful the hold you have over him is.

“I promise, all we have to do is last an hour at this thing, and then you can take me home and have your way with me.”

* * *

You walk into the Gala, which is already packed with hospital staff dressed to the nines, hand in hand with Bucky who, in your opinion, looks magnitudes more handsome than any of the other men all dressed in black suits.

You turn to him and he’s already looking at you with that sparkle in his eye, like you’re absolutely perfect, just as you are, and there is nothing about you he would ever dream of changing.

“What?” You ask when those twinkling eyes don’t look away, but instead study your features as if there’s words left unsaid on the tip of his tongue.

“Just imagining pulling you into one of the on-call rooms, tearing this dress off you and tasting every inch of you.” Bucky shifts his hand to rest on the small of your back, his breath warm against your ear sending a shiver down your spine.

“Well, we have done some of our best work in there.” Bucky hums in agreement, both of you taking a second to remember the first of many visits to the on-call room which left you with shaking legs, but was also the first time either of you acknowledged that your feelings were deeper than simply hooking up. “I think you need to grab us both a drink to quench that thirst of yours, James.”

You playfully slap his chest, giving him a kiss on the cheek, and then proceeding to rub your lipstick stain off, before pushing him along to get you a drink. He looks back at you as he walks away, almost bumping into the Chief of Surgery, apologising profusely with a guilty glance to you, before he shuffles off towards the bar.

While Bucky is busy with that task, you instead make your way over to the other side of the atrium to take a look at the items available for the hospital's silent auction. You have to chuckle to yourself looking at the prices listed on the bidding sheets - as if anyone with medical school debt could afford to pay for even one of the allusive holidays or artefacts they had obtained for the fundraiser.

But you suppose your job tonight isn’t to bid on the items themselves, but to shmooze the wealthy guests in attendance into bidding with their spare millions.

Searching out one of the items at the lower end of asking prices, you decide to put an almost embarrassing low bid on an all expenses paid weekend to Mexico, that you know someone will outbid you on, just to say you participated in the night without needing to lie through your teeth.

You stroll through the busy hall, keeping your eyes peeled for Bucky near the bar but it seems you’ve lost him in the packed crowd. It’s usually fairly easy to spot your tall, broad boyfriend, and your heart sinks a little that you’re forced to walk aimlessly around the event as everyone else is wrapped in conversation.

“Doctor, lovely to run into you like this.” You hear a voice you’ve heard before but cannot place from behind you. And though you can’t actually see their face, the tone of their voice contradicts their words - they don’t seem pleased to see you at all.

Turning around, a face that evokes prickly apprehension in your chest comes into view. She’s hauntingly beautiful, the type of beauty which artists spend hours trying to commit to canvas and which is just not attainable for regular people like yourself. She holds herself like she’s closing out a Victoria Secret fashion show and is fully aware of the enchanting effect she has on any man who sets eyes upon her.

“Jacqui… I didn’t know pharmacy staff were invited to this thing.” Even with her disagreeable inflection, you do your best to sound pleasant.

“Oh well you are when you’re heading up the department.” She boasts, with a little wobble of her head which you mostly think is to draw attention to her shiny, voluminous blonde hair.

So is she just here to rub her new job title in your face?

“Congratulations, I didn’t know you got promoted.” You try to sound genuine even though you really couldn’t give a shit.

“I saw you walk in with Barnes. Where did he scamper off to?” You are now actually very glad to not have found Bucky in the crowd earlier. Something about the way she is trying to control the curiosity in her voice, and that she was actively watching the two of you together, makes you cautious of her intentions.

“Not sure, I was just looking for him.”

There’s a long pause where both of you refuse to be the next one to speak. You just want this conversation to be over. But you aren’t that lucky.

“How long have you two been together now?” The inquiry is almost punctuated with sharp spite, and though you don’t want to indulge her line of questioning, there’s a voice in the back of your head that’s telling you you need to defend your Bucky from whatever she is implying.

“A couple months.” Is the defensive response you retort - it’s technically correct, though you’ve only been official for a month of that.

“Months… how much can someone really change in a couple of months? There’s so many of us around the hospital he’s fucked. You really think he’s loyal to you?” You recoil at her words, not having expected the conversation to turn into whatever this was becoming, nor so soon into your small talk.

Where the fuck was this coming from?

“I trust him implicitly.” You attempt to control the absolute bewildered facial expression that’s trying it’s very best to overtake your features.

“Oh you poor, naive thing.” She says with a tone you use when delivering bad news to patients' families. “Men don’t change, they just hide their true nature from you. Wait a few months, he’ll be back to his fuckboy ways, guys like him can’t resist cheating. I guarantee it.”

Most men are like that, at least in your experience. But Bucky has never given you any cause to believe he would treat you like that. Just because he had a reputation of casually sleeping around before meeting you, doesn’t mean once he’s in a relationship he’ll be unfaithful.

You can’t imagine the sweet man who walked into your place tonight with his eyes closed, waiting for your consent to see you fully dolled up in your gown and then proceed to call you the most beautiful woman he has ever laid eyes on, would ever cheat on you.

“You don’t know him like I do and have no right to speak about him like that.” You state firmly with a small humph. If you weren’t at an event packed with your colleagues, you’d slap her.

The look in her eyes appears like you’ve challenged her, but you don’t want to think about the connotations of that right now. Without saying goodbye, you turn on your heel, needing to get as far away from her as quickly as possible.

Rippling anxiety bubbles in your chest that in your experience only Bucky’s touch can soothe. You frantically search for him in the sea of black suits, trying to also keep half an eye out for Jacqui so you don’t accidentally run into her, but he is again nowhere to be found.

Where the hell is Bucky? Your mind practically screams as you bump into a strapping chest, but this one unfortunately belongs to the one and only Thor Odinson.

God, could he have worse timing?

You plaster on your best smile, trying your best to keep a calm facade as he introduces you to two older gentlemen he appears to be chaperoning for the night.

As wealthy and influential as they are, having made their billions from a tech empire started with a little trust fund from their families' generational wealth, you can’t find it in you to care at the minute. You just want to find Bucky. Need him to hold you until the tornado of anxiety dissipates in your chest.

But Thor doesn’t allow you to slip away unnoticed, instead he prompts you to talk up the work the team does in the emergency room, speaking about the people you save from all walks of life, from those without health insurance to the affluent who can afford the life saving medical procedures others fail to receive.

Knowing their donations tonight could mean the difference between many getting life saving medicine and not, you summon the will to engage in conversation, trying to push down the acidic bile bubbling in your stomach that had risen as result of your interaction with Jacqui.

The sharp taste remains on your tongue as you’re now caught in philanthropic discussion, silently cursing Thor who stands beside you for ever inviting you to this damn gala in the first place.

It’s at least fifteen minutes later when you finally excuse yourself from their presence, the two men having pulled out their cheque books, much to Thor’s delight, preparing to make generous contributions that would have the hospital naming wards after them.

You hate to think what trouble Jacqui could get up to in that time frame. But you don’t have to wait long to find out.

Finally, after searching near the whole hall for Bucky you find him. Goddess like Jacqui by his side.

She stands there, supermodel tall, blonde bouncy hair, beautiful, toned legs on display through the slit in her dress, a flirty smirk curving on her face, tucking strands of loose hair behind her ears like a schoolgirl with a crush.

The nerve of her, approaching Bucky at all, but especially after the words spoken between you earlier.

Just seeing them together, the most exquisitely gorgeous woman flirting with the man whom you love and confirmed less than half an hour ago to her you are in a relationship with, makes your insides tightly twist with jealousy, as if someone were wringing out a wet towel.

Half of your mind is telling you to stalk over there and possessively claim your man in front of everybody, but the other half, the insecure side which believes Bucky could do so much better than you, who would want someone as beautiful as Jacqui by his side, and which is currently winning the battle in your mind, wants to run off crying into the furthest corner of the hospital.

Coming to a compromise, your brain instead decides that being frozen in place, unable to look away like an impending car crash, is the best place for you to be. But that is also pure torture.

Bucky smiles, not quite his signature cocky smirk that never leaves his face when the two of you are together, but it’s definitely a smile nonetheless and your heart sinks through the pit of your stomach.

Men don’t change. He’ll be back to his fuckboy ways.

You’re not sure why you’re letting Jacqui’s words penetrate your mind, burrow into the deepest crevices and allow them to make a home there. You suspect it’s because at one point in time Bucky thought she was desirable enough to take home and do unexplainably filthy things with. Does he still have that same attraction for her?

What if you are just Bucky’s practice run at being in a relationship, the one who fixes him up, teaches him all the valuable lessons, only for him to leave you and be the perfect partner to someone else?

Practically paralysed in place as you watch their interaction, it feels like your heart has stopped beating all together when Jacqui strokes his arm. But buoyant relief comes near milliseconds later when Bucky brushes her off. That’s your man.

You can’t hear what they’re saying, but you distinctly see him mouth the words ‘I have a girlfriend’, which relieves some of the tension in your tightly wound heart.

Bucky frantically searches around the room, and appears to have found what he is looking for as his eyes settle on your face.

There’s a split second where the whole world stands still, everyone at the gala other than the two of you disappear and it’s like you’re standing right in front of him, regardless of the space separating you.

But when your mind catches up to all the drowning emotions swirling in your chest, an uncontrollable sob bubbles up your throat and tears sting your eyes. You’re not even upset with him, but the fear of what Jacqui had been planning on trying with him still manifests as a choking lump in your throat.

The physical distance between you throughout tonight has let doubt and hesitancy creep into the only small space in your heart Bucky’s affection has not yet touched. Jacqui planted the seed and it’s already bloomed into a large tree, branches crowding space in your tightening chest.

The last thing you remember seeing is Bucky taking a large stride towards you, before your hands fly to cover your mouth and you take off, walking as quickly as you can in your heels, to where you know the nearest on-call room is.

* * *

Prickling panic fills Bucky’s lungs.

Has he inadvertently just ruined the best thing in his life?

Jacqueline’s voice calls his name as he chases after you, watching as you weave between guests and make your way to the nearest exit, which only takes you deeper into the hospital.

He was naive enough to think Jacqueline’s intentions were innocent when she approached him for conversation, just two colleagues catching up at an event that neither of them were fully participating in, but he was sadly mistaken.

He’ll never make that blunder again.

Watching you shuffle into the nearest on-call room, Bucky takes it as a positive sign that he’s not the one you’re upset with, at least not completely, when you don’t slam the door in his face but instead leave it open knowing he’ll follow you inside.

Bucky stays by the doorframe for a split second, watching as you work to steady your breathing, hands wiping the corners of your eyes, but the overwhelming urge and the need to comfort you wins out and he can’t help but hastily rush to your side.

“Darling…” He starts to say but when you look at him with big, wide eyes that are filled with tears, his mind goes blank and all he can think about is holding you.

You turn into his chest, face nuzzled into his lapel, and his arms instinctively close around you.

It’s the little sob which escapes your lips that does Bucky in completely. He hates to see you upset, but never in the months of knowing you has he been privy to this amount of genuine distress. He’s seen some not so great days, shaking frustration, even teary eyed with sadness, but never breaking down weeping.

He would move heaven and earth to ensure you never feel this way again.

He places a feather light kiss to your hairline whispering, “I’m right here. Nothing can hurt you.”

Though it was not his intention, his words provoke more sobs to escape your throat and Bucky pulls you ever closer. He’s practically holding up your entire body weight, and decides you’ll probably be much more comfortable on the bed this on-call room provides.

Even seated, you cling to him like he’s your lifeline, and Bucky can’t ever imagine letting go. He’d drown if it meant holding you safely out of the rough, relentless rapids currently flooding your mind.

As a paramedic, he’s so used to taking action, launching into a crisis with the equipment to be able to provide aid, to prevent further suffering. But right now all you need is his presence, to be the anchor grounding you to this world as a reminder that you have someone in your corner fighting for your happiness.

He hates not being able to do more for you.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?” Bucky asks after minutes of comforting you without words.

God, you feel so stupid. Crying at a work function because one of your boyfriend's ex-flings decided to flirt with him.

But it’s more than that - it’s the disrespect, the fact that she seems so entitled to Bucky’s affection simply because at some point in his history he slept with her, regardless of if she hurts you along the way to get to him. Do all the women at the hospital look at you like you’re an inconsequential ant they can step on to get what they want?

It doesn’t help that she's also the most stunning, physical personification of a man’s wet dream you’ve ever seen.

“It’s not you Buck, it’s her.”

He doesn’t answer immediately, just continues rubbing his large hand up and down your back, which tells you he’s confused by your statement. Perhaps you’re not making any sense in this outburst of emotion, you can barely keep your thoughts in a logical stream let alone expressing them eloquently.

“Jacqui, she… I told her we were together, she knew I was your girlfriend, and she still had the nerve to flirt with you.”

“I didn’t flirt back.” Bucky says defensively, and as much as you adore him, it’s making you frustrated having to spell it out for him how her actions have made you feel when your throat is aching from pure emotion.

You take a deep breath, allowing oxygen to diffuse into the deepest alveoli of your lungs, calming the constant stream of anxious thoughts, and letting you regain control of the tears falling from your eyes.

You lean your head on Bucky’s shoulder as he continues to rub your back. Why can’t the world just exist like this? Just the two of you in peaceful, quiet, solace. He kisses the top of your head and in that moment you know he’ll wait patiently, all night if that’s how long it takes, for you to explain how you’re feeling.

“I don’t know if it’s jealousy or insecurity. I genuinely don’t care how many women you were with before me Buck, it’s just a number, it doesn’t matter.” You sit up and look him in the eye, needing to convey just how vigorously you believe your statement. “It’s just… it's a soul crushing feeling that people in the hospital, people I have to work with every day, use the fact that you’ve slept with them to make me feel uncomfortable. That somehow because they know what you look like naked it diminishes our relationship and then they feel entitled to flirt with you and try and fuck you even though they know you’re dating me.”

The misery in Bucky’s eyes is almost tangible, and maybe it’s just an illusion from tears in your own, but seeing you hurting makes him start to cry too. His large hands engulf both of yours and his thumb strokes the backs of your hands resting comfortingly in your lap.

Previous partners have always brushed you off, gaslit you or raised their voice and called you crazy when you expressed an ounce of self-doubt or insecurity, but Bucky listens to each of your words with a determined focus, taking the weight of them on himself, as if they have just as much significance to him as they do to you.

“Darling, I’m so sorry Jaqueline made you feel that way. She had no right. But you need to know there is not a single woman on the face of this earth that could tempt me away from you, no matter how hard they try. No one has ever had me like you do.”

The panic beating of your heart starts to calm when Bucky places gentle kisses to your knuckles. His eyes brim with trepidation, as if he’s just realised how fragile relationships can be and he’s desperately trying to hold onto you, preventing you from ever letting go again.

“I can’t change my past, as much as I might want to, but all I know is you’re my future.” Tears trickle out of the corners of your eyes, but now the reason being due to happiness at Bucky’s sweet confession.

What did you ever do to deserve him?

“My life before I met you was dull, black and white reruns of the same shit each day. Since I met you, everything is in vivid colour. If I could go back in time and wait for you, I would. If I knew you were around the corner, there wouldn’t be any other women. But to me, you’re the only woman that matters. It’s so profoundly better with you because I-, because I care about you beyond comprehension. There were never any feelings with anyone else. You are the only person I have ever felt this way for. You have nothing to be insecure about or anyone to be jealous of, you’re the only woman in my eyes, and I-, you’re my everything.” For someone who constantly says he isn’t very good with words, Bucky always seems to know exactly what to say to make you fall even more in love with him. They are perfect words. Precisely what you need to hear from the man who has quickly become the reason for your being.

There’s a buoyancy in your chest as those familiar eyes, so blue you could drown in, examine your face for any non verbal cues of how you’ll react to his words.

“You really feel that way James?” You ready yourself, inadvertently grinding your teeth, waiting, hoping, wishing for him to say those three little words that will take your relationship to the next level.

But that hope pops like a bubble floating in the wind.

“Darling, I would never lie to you.” He punctuates with a kiss to your lips, slow and fervent, full of meaning. The look in his eye tells you he wants to reveal more, but it passes in a blink. “C’mon, let me take you home, and I’ll show you just how much I care.”

Bucky’s firm hold on your hand never leaves yours as he leads you back through the gala. You notice some glance at you, but all you’re focussed on is your boyfriend, his head held proudly high, not giving a damn what other hospital staff are whispering under their breaths.

* * *

Bucky slowly unzips the back of your dress, the material slowly falling away from your shoulders. A shiver runs down your spine as his lips kiss down the path of the zipper, starting between your shoulder blades, careful not to miss a single inch of skin as your dress bunches around your stomach and hips.

“You were the most beautiful woman there tonight. You’re the most beautiful woman in the whole world.” He whispers against your skin, in such a sure tone you can’t help but believe him. His hands roaming over the base of your spine before gently pulling your dress over your hips. “Can’t believe I got to be the man who walked in with you as my partner.”

Bucky turns you around to kiss you once you’re bare for him. The passion, zealousness of his lips feels like you’re drowning in a tender devotion he could not articulate with just words themselves.

You don’t need to break away from the kiss to push his jacket off, unbutton his shirt, nor unbuckle his belt. He’s as hard as a rock, standing at attention ready for you as soon as his trousers hit the floor.

“My darling girl…” He practically growls in your ear when you cup his balls with one hand as the other starts stroking him, using your thumb to spread the pearly bead of precum over his tip whilst placing kisses to his chest. “This will be a very short, one act play if you keep doing that.”

“I’ve barely touched you Buck.”

“Mmm, I know. That’s just how much you turn me on.” The signature smirk he shoots you turns your stomach to mush, and makes you feel like you’re the dazzling sun at the centre of his universe.

Bucky’s large hands pull you down on the bed, on top of him. He sits you on his thick thighs, tongue sweeping into your mouth, hands exploring your every curve.

You wish you could live in this moment forever, relishing in how much care Bucky holds you with, but still manages to make you feel like you’re the sexiest woman in the solar system.

It hits you square in the chest when his soothing, wide blue eyes look up at you with a familiar tenderness that gives life to butterflies in your stomach, that you would do anything for the man underneath you, the man you love.

“What do you want, darling?” Bucky asks between breaths as he sucks on your hard nipple, his tongue swirling, doing magical things that could make you cum just like this. “What do you need?” He adds, switching to your other breast, which makes it hard to control your stream of thoughts - but there is one thing at the forefront of your mind that you don’t have to consider to know you need desperately.

“You.”

He lets out a groan around your nipple and you suspect thrusts his hips up involuntarily, just to feel closer to you.

“I need you Buck.” You repeat, tucking your finger under his chin and bringing his lips up to tenderly touch yours, as the urge to kiss him overcomes you. If it were up to you, the remainder of your life would be spent with your lips locked with his.

“How?” His stubble scratches the tips of your fingers as you cup his face. The desire brimming in his eyes, the hunger to ravish every part of you, the yearning to have you so close to him you can’t tell where you end and he begins, leaves you breathless.

“Just like this, please.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, but your imploring tone inspires Bucky on, not wanting to waste a single second more where the two of you are not joined.

Your forehead rests against his, his eyes boring into yours as he simultaneously uses one hand to assist you lifting yourself to hover over him, and the other to line his tip up to your dripping entrance.

An obscene sound from the back of your throat topples from your lips as you sink down on Bucky's cock. He doesn’t take his adoration filled eyes off you for a single second, even to blink, as he fills you up completely. A whine escapes his lips once you’re seated on his thighs, appreciating how your pussy is swallowing his entire, impressive length.

“You enjoy sitting on your throne?” You can tell he’s trying to tease, a mischievous twinkle in those deep blue eyes, but his voice quivers slightly, almost as if it’s strained, which you know him too well to realise is a dead giveaway for just how aroused he is.

How aroused he is by you.

That fact alone is enough for you to start grinding against him, hips moving back and forth, working up a rhythm that has you seeing stars and him groaning your name.

Both of his large, calloused hands are resting on your hips, helping you keep the tempo, making sure each rock of your hips results in your clit being stimulated against his pelvis. His lips find your collarbone, teeth scraping your delicate skin, the sensation of which clears your mind of any coherent teasing response you could have come up with.

“Fuck, look at you fucking yourself on me. You’re a fucking dream.” Bucky’s mouth is one of the most arousing parts of him, not only for what his lips and tongue can do to your body but also for the salacious words he speaks in that gravelly tone which turns you on just as much as his body does. “That’s it, fuck me darling, this cock is all yours.”

“Buck you’re so deep.” Is all you can think, all you can feel is how his length is nestled within you, how much he fills you up. You’re bursting because of how satiated you feel with him inside you, but Bucky’s musky, woody scent, as well as his warm, tender touch surrounds you from the outside, you feel like he’s everywhere all at once, and it brings you right to the brink of coming undone.

“Be a good girl and cum for me.” In this moment you want to give him everything you have, give him everything he’s asking for and more. His voice is gentle the next time he speaks, a murmur just for you, and matches the softness in his gaze. “It’s okay, I got you. Let go for me.”

Bucky sucks the pulse point on the side of your throat and it’s the complete end of you. You shudder, feeling safe caged in his arms as ecstasy fires up from the base of your spine through every neuron in your body, your toes curling, fingers scratching down Bucky's back - you can even taste it on the tip of your tongue as you scream his name.

Your legs shake uncontrollably, unable to continue your pattern of movement grinding down against him, but Bucky takes matters into his own hands by wrapping his arms around your waist and fucking up into you to prolong your high.

Once you’ve finally stopped seeing stars, your vision coming back into focus, all you can see is the adoration, pure captivation as he looks up at your sweaty form trying to catch your breath.

“That’s the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.”

No one’s ever looked at you like this before, as if you’re the only girl in the world, the only person that matters to them, the one who holds their fragile heart in the palm of your hands and trusts you not to break it.

A dangerous thought flashes through your mind - do you dare tell Bucky that you love him for the first time right now, in the middle of the throes of passion. You have always wanted to let him set the pace of the relationship - he was the one who wanted to take it slow, not rushing into anything, but you can tell by the blooming warmth spreading through your chest, you have never loved someone more than you love him right now.

Bucky reaches up and affectionately brushes his thumb over the apple of your cheek, and before you can think twice about if you truly want to confess your devotion in this moment, he’s kissing you again.

Before you can even recognise what he’s doing, his toned arms have engulfed you in a tight embrace, and without pulling out of you, he flips you onto your back, making sure your head rests gently on one of your pillows. His body weight presses you deliciously into the mattress, it feels like being tucked in securely with a weighted blanket that just so happens to look like a Greek god.

“Need to feel you cum on my cock again, it’s so fucking addicting.” Bucky practically growls in your ear, his breathing heavy. His long chestnut hair falls into his eyes, but it doesn’t prevent him from gazing at you with a tangible combination of awe and lust.

The thrust of his hips is downright sinful. You feel the longing absence of each inch of him as he pulls out, only for him to split you apart again as his hips snap forward. Bucky starts out slow, his fingers intertwine with yours, forcing your hands above your head, but when he starts placing open mouthed kisses on the underside of your jaw, his strokes pick up momentum.

James Barnes has you in a trance, caged in by the sheer size of him, each languid, sensual thrust into you tightens the knot twisting into shape at the bottom of your belly.

He’s so breathtakingly beautiful, the most gorgeous person you’ve ever laid eyes on. As his shining pupils fixate on the pleasure contorting your face you ponder if he is possibly thinking the exact same way about you.

The moans dripping from his lips, mixed with grunted curses, along with the telltale crease in his forehead, and the fact that his teasing mouth can’t come up with anything coherent is evidence of how close he is. But you know Bucky’s generous heart better than anyone, perhaps even himself, and you are sure he’ll be determined not to cum before you.

One of his large hands continues to pin your wrists down as the other moves to wrap your legs tighter around his waist. Then he has the fucking audacity to rub the pads of his fingers over your clit in tight circles. You’re so done for.

“Bucky, oh fuck… yes, just like that.” You manage to stammer out, barely able to move with his weight pinning you beneath him, knowing your body is hurtling towards an inescapable, forceful orgasm, and all you can do is feel as Bucky plays your body like a fiddle.

“Please, need you to… I can’t last like this.” You can feel the desperate, animalistic timbre of his deep voice in your chest and his hot breath against your neck. “Darling please.”

And then you shatter.

Fracture into a million pieces, the fabric of reality tearing apart at the seams around you as euphoria flows through you like wind on the surface of water. Every single cell in your body feels like it’s been lit on fire, burning bright like a shooting star soaring through a galaxy assembled by your love for him.

Bucky speaks your name as a prayer, a vow, a promise. Over and over again. A reminder that you are who he is coming apart for.

It almost makes you dizzy how lost he is in the feel of you, how his hands spread you open as far as your legs will flex, but then you hear the wanton whimper as he spills his orgasm inside you and it’s almost enough to make you cum again.

As your heart rates slowly return to normal, Bucky lays down beside you, cupping your face tenderly as his tongue slips once again into your mouth. You would have thought given the display of passion just produced he’d have had his fill of physical affection, but he continues to surprise you.

Who would have guessed that Bucky ‘doesn’t go on second dates’ Barnes would now be clinging to you like a koala, not being able to get enough of your touch.

* * *

“Sweet dreams Buck.” You whisper in that tired, yet sickly sweet tone that Bucky associates with the contentment of falling asleep beside you.

”They’ll all be about you.” He responds with a delicate kiss to your forehead, fingers tracing gentle lines up and down the expanse of your back.

“Then I wish you nothing but dirty dreams.”

He rarely dreams of anything else nowadays, but it makes him smile nevertheless that your minds think in such similar ways.

You really are the girl of his dreams.

Even more than that, if there was an expression which captured just how significant you had become intertwined in his life after a relatively short period of time. His brain could not have concocted someone as perfect as you, even in his wildest fantasies.

He holds you close to him in the total darkness as your breathing slows, but there are too many thoughts racing through Bucky’s brain for him to fall asleep.

Tonight was perfect. Complete, utter perfection. Not that he expects any less of a night spent with you.

So why, even after building the courage all week ahead of the gala, (and if he was honest with himself, since the week he swapped to be on the night shift with you), had he yet to utter those three magic words?

Steve would say there was one final wall around Bucky’s heart he had yet to pull down for you, to reveal his deepest darkest vulnerability that he could barely admit to himself, let alone the flawless woman who consumed his every waking thought.

The insecurity he had been plagued with since he was fourteen years old and his father had wished death upon him.

The fear that he is innately unloveable.

Just because he loves you in a way that influences his every decision, impacts every aspect of his existence, and alters the chemistry of his brain, doesn’t mean you are as hauntingly consumed by devotion as he is.

And even though the rational part of his brain tries reminding him you would not have shown such patience and stuck around as he clumsily attempted to manoeuvre being in a relationship for the first time if you truly did not want to be with him, that nagging insecurity is always at the back of his mind like a fog that won’t clear, doubting whether after everything he has endured, if he is deserving of being loved the same way he adores you.

But at some point Bucky knows he needs to find the bravery to take that leap, even if your possible rejection would be his ultimate downfall.

“Darling?” Bucky whispers as quietly as he can into the still night air. You don’t stir, nor do you respond, which is exactly what he’s hoping for. “Darling, are you awake?” He questions slightly louder so that you couldn’t help but hear him considering his proximity.

You continue to rest peacefully, lips slightly parted and breathing steadily, which is precisely how you always appear when sleeping beside him, but given the gravity of what he is about to reveal to you, Bucky has to be absolutely positive you’re in a deep slumber.

“Chicken butt.” He says randomly, hoping that if you are feigning sleep this will cause a crack in your rather convincing facade. But to his delight, your expression doesn’t change in the slightest, no muscle in your face so much as flinches, and Bucky is finally convinced.

He takes a deep breath, readying himself even though he knows you’re unable to hear him.

“I love you.” Bucky confesses with a shaky breath, even though he is assured in his affection. Though you’re not conscious to receive his words, something about disclosing his most closely guarded secret to your beautiful face, finally admitting his profound feelings aloud, feels like an enormous step for him. Never in a million years did he think he could open his heart up far enough to allow space for these types of feelings to nestle within. “You are the most precious thing in my life. I’m never going to compromise what we have, never going to take you for granted. I’m going to love you and only you for every day I have left in this life and even when I’m no longer here, my soul will forever be yours.”

You provide no response, features stay perfectly still, breathing rate doesn’t change. Which is of course exactly the reaction he’s hoping for while you rest, but he can’t stop his mind from wondering what your reply might be if you were awake; if you’d profess the words back to him, or if instead you’d recoil, shying away possibly because Bucky was moving too quickly.

Nevertheless, Bucky knows better than most that life can be painfully short, everyone has their expiration date, and you need to tell the people in your life how much you care about them before it’s too late.

“I love you.” He repeats with a smile and a kiss to your bare shoulder. Though he is navigating the all consuming, anxiety riddled, life ruining feeling of falling in love for the first time, Bucky knows with absolute certainty that he would go through it all again, one hundred times over, if it meant getting to spend his life with you.

But now for the difficult part - he has to say those three life changing words when you’re actually awake to hear them.

* * *

When the irritating ringing of your alarm wakes you up the following morning, a wave of disappointment washes over you. The night before with Bucky had been nothing short of memorable; complete with overflowing emotion, devotion, and no hint of apprehension from the man who had previously told you himself he wanted to take the relationship slow.

It was the most tangible display of pure love you have ever beheld.

But now, you lay alone in a web of cold sheets, Bucky’s place beside you unnaturally empty. When he has an early shift, typically he wakes you before he leaves, and at the very least gives you a kiss on the forehead, if not a much more intimate show of affection. But today, you have no recollection of being woken, no memory of his pillow soft lips on yours.

You find it takes a much more determined effort to get out of bed without an energising kiss from your Bucky.

The gala is the talk of the hospital, those who did not receive an invite interrogating everyone who attended for all the latest gossip. You hear your and Bucky’s names dropped a couple times in passing conversation, but all that does is remind you of the night before, and Bucky proclaiming his devotion to you while extracting a pleasure from your body no one else has been able to produce.

Tonight, you promise yourself, those three small words that have been tugging at your mind for the last month, tonight you’ll tell Bucky.

His declaration of wanting to take your relationship slowly was all the way back before your second date, before you officially became his girlfriend, before you held him as his mother underwent life saving surgery, before you knew of his traumatic past, before he switched to the night shift just so he could see you more often, before last night where he told you you are his everything.

Regardless of if he says the words back, you need to tell him. Need him to know that he is the love of your life, that synapses in your brain have reformed so your train of thought always comes back to him, that he has rewritten the molecular code inscribed in your cells so that they crave him like water, drawing him in like osmosis.

Your thoughts are interrupted by your pager going off, calling an all hands on deck emergency.

The ER is a frenzy of nurses clearing trauma rooms, doctors discharging patients who have already been seen to and Dr Strange shouting at surgical staff to prepare the operating rooms.

“There was a shooting at the mall. Police and paramedics are on scene, but it sounds bad.” Wanda fills you in as you both wash your hands and put gloves on, getting ready for the volume of blood and carnage that comes with gunshot wounds.

Dr Strange gathers the emergency medicine team together to brief you all on what you’re about to face. His face is stoic, having treated too many disasters to even seem phased by the decimation of so many lives.

You have not mastered that, but you also like having your humanity, caring about people is what you do best.

“So far we know of eight victims being routed here. There will most likely be more. All G.S.Ws, five women, two men and a child, about eight. One of the men was a paramedic on scene.” The last sentence out of his mouth gives you pause.

A male paramedic was shot.

“A paramedic? Did they say who? Give a description?” All eyes turn to you and no one needs to say it aloud to know exactly what you’re thinking.

“No, that’s all the information we have at this time. They should only be a few minutes out.” You’ve never known Dr Strange to be very sympathetic, but the look he shoots at you is what you assume to be the most compassion he is capable of.

The nagging part of your brain that always finds a route to the most devastating scenario, no matter how unlikely, is screaming so loudly you cannot ignore it.

What if that paramedic is Bucky?

There would have to be thousands of paramedics in a city of this size, what would the chances actually be that Bucky is the one paramedic in critical danger at this very moment.

But the universe has always found a way to be cruel to you, with the exception of when it brought devilishly handsome Bucky Barnes into your life. But what could be more cruel than introducing you to unconditional love and then destroying your heart by taking it away just as swiftly?

Wanda, sensing your paralysing worry beside her, comfortingly strokes her hand up and down your upper arm. “He was working the morning shift today, his shift will be well and truly over. He shouldn’t have been working when the shooting happened.”

“Yeah… he was on morning shift today.” Reminding yourself how you woke up in bed alone. Your lips tremble as you attempt to talk yourself down from the ledge of sheer panic. But your best friend can tell this fact doesn’t convince you.

“Call him.” Wanda instructs with a level voice, only a small glisten in her pupils gives away that she too is worried for his safety.

Your hands are shaking uncontrollably as you locate his contact in your favourites, accidentally dialling your mum first before you see the picture you have of the two of you together set as his contact pop up as it starts ringing.

Time stands perfectly still, the bustling hospital which is always full of movement, the constant beeping of patients pulse oximeters, announcements sounding over the PA, it all goes dead silent and all you hear is the ring tone of a phone call which Bucky isn’t answering.

Pick up. Pick up. Pick up.

It goes to voicemail, his voice filling your ears but it’s of no relief because it’s only a recording.

You press his contact again.

And again.

And again.

The fourth time you’re forced to listen to his infuriating voicemail, you leave a panicked message. “Bucky I’m so worried about you, please ring me back as soon as you get this. There’s been a shooting. Please, I need to hear your voice, hear that you’re alright. Please.”

You thought he’d pick up the phone and relieve you from this torment, but now knowing he hasn’t answered after multiple calls, you’re more convinced than ever it’s him that’s been shot.

“Wanda if it’s-”

“You can’t think like that.” But that's all you can think about. Your job, the duty you have to these patients who are en route to the hospital, none of that comes close to the need to know Bucky is unharmed.

The world starts moving in slow motion as the first of the patients arrives. Time runs like molasses, but the anxiety in your chest turns up one hundred fold, as if flashes of lightning strike your chest one after another.

A woman gets pushed in on a gurney, light brown hair stained with blood, and even from the sight of how the paramedic needs to hold her skull flap to her head to prevent her brain being exposed, you know she won’t make it as much as the surgeons will try to save her.

There’s a child, not much bigger than Sasha who you treated the day you first met Bucky, that gets pushed through next. In complete juxtaposition, she’s sitting up talking to paramedics, arm in a sling, but mostly looks unharmed.

And then you see it. The thing that flatlines your heart.

Chestnut hair and an EMT uniform.

You’d know those thick, wavy locks anywhere.

“Bucky!” You don’t even recognise your own voice with how much terror it is consumed with. This can’t be happening. This can’t be real.

In a flash you’re by his side, keeping pace as they wheel him deeper into the hospital, your lungs and throat scorching with distress.

You try not to break down seeing the sheer amount of blood, Bucky’s blood, soaking the gauze they are pressing into his shoulder wound, how pale and fragile he looks strapped down to the gurney. You’re an emergency medicine doctor, you’ve treated wounds like this before, confronted much more blood than this from a patient. But nothing in your training prepares you for observing your soulmate barely clinging to life, their claret staining your gloved fingers as you help maintain pressure, how cold his skin is to the touch, how his face looks almost serene even though these could be his final moments on earth, that he could be abandoning you for the warm embrace of death.

Not your Bucky. They can’t take your Bucky.

“Buck, can you hear me?” Your hand cups his cheek, and he’s as cold as ice. His eyes are shut so he can’t even look at you to give you one last chance to memorise the astonishingly blue irises which have been your source of solace since meeting him.

A mask covers his mouth and nose, delivering rescue breaths. You try to place a block in your mind to stop it from retrieving the medical knowledge you have spent years memorising - you don’t want to know how catastrophic a situation his body must be in to be needing rescue breaths.

“I love you, James. You hear me? I love you!” It almost ends your existence when he doesn’t answer, doesn’t even so much as flinch at your confession. You hope any part of him that is still alive inside the casing of his cold body manages to hear those words.

Dr Strange and Wanda have to physically restrain you from following the team treating Bucky and prevent you entering the operating theatre.

Dr Strange’s voice sounds like a hum, too far away to make sense of even though he’s pushing you away from the OR. All you’re focussed on is keeping your eyes on Bucky for as long as you can.

Is this the last time you will ever see him alive?

It’s only once he is out of sight, that your brain starts to catch up to the realisation of what has actually happened.

Bucky was shot. A bullet ripped through his skin, tearing muscle and fascia, lacerating his organs, possibly fatally wounding him.

Bullets are designed to kill. To end the life of the organism the gun barrel is aimed at. There is no mercy from a gunshot wound, you had seen too many to believe better.

A guttural cry forces its way out of your parched windpipe without you being able to prevent it, your kneecaps sting as you fall to the ground. Hot, large tears cascade onto your cheeks as Wanda’s arms engulf you.

Any second now, James Buchanan Barnes’ heart could be taking its final beat and you wouldn’t be any wiser. His lungs would stop breathing, preventing oxygen from binding to hemoglobin in his blood and reaching his brain. Everything else would shut down quickly from there.

One second he’d be here and the next he wouldn’t.

James Barnes simply wouldn’t exist anymore.

You had seen it too often, heard from bereaved family members time and time again how quickly it had all happened, but it wasn’t until this very moment that you understood the magnitude of that sentiment.

How could he go from telling you yesterday night that you were the most beautiful sight he had ever laid eyes on to now possibly his cold, lifeless body laying on an operating table with his soul having crossed over to the afterlife?

You’d never hear his voice again. Or his laugh.

Never see his dazzling sapphire eyes as they regard you with overwhelming affection.

Never feel that warm rapture blooming in your chest when he’d proclaim himself as yours and kiss you in the same breath.

He’ll never get to know you love him.

It feels as though you are tumbling wildly down into an abyss, waiting for the inevitable crash at the bottom that would either end this eternal suffering or that sudden jerk, the lurch as you wake up from this cruel nightmare.

Neither comes. You are fated to live in excruciating limbo, your lungs burning, as if you can’t take a breath until Bucky’s destiny has been sealed.

Oxygen would be the gift you’d allow yourself once your love was awake and talking again; cracking stupid jokes with his signature cocky smirk and flirting with you like you were on your first date again.

And if he were to pass into the next life, taking your heart with him, then you would simply refuse to take another breath until you were reunited with him once again.

Part 10 coming soon

Be added to the series taglist here

He’s Hazardous To My Health [Paramedic!Bucky Barnes] Taglist: @lavenderpenumbra @crazyunsexycool @eralen @buckbuckyoongs @blackwidownat2814 @crayongirl-linz @ozwriterchick @desert-fern @misshale21 @chalesleclerc164 @rookthorne @janineb86 @emmabarnes @scarletbich @princezzjasmine @thebuckybarnesvault @doasyoudesireandlive @solitarioslilium @iamfandomwasted @tanyaspartak @pop-rocks-818 @Dumdidditydumdoo @missvelvetsstuff @kayden666 @amiimar @katheryn1 @safew0rd @kentokaze @thewackywriter @lady-loki-barnes-djarin @badasswlthafatass @loveoldmenlikelana @00cmh @pointless-girl @honeyglee @nerdxacid @ashhsage @prettylittlepluviophile @otomefromtheheart @sjsmith56 @mandijo17 @lokidokieokie @oceansandblackhearts @rebeccapineapple @soorwellystan @excusememrbarnes @lofaewrites @snapcapquartet @wishingwell-2 @aya-fay @lowkeysebby @redbarn1995 @lex-is-up-all-night-to-get-bucky

[woneuntonzz]

greatest comedian ≈ s.es, o.str

popularguy!eunseok x afab!reader x bestfriend!shotaro

“god must be the greatest comedian I know.”

contains: angst, fluff, comfort, cursing, pining (ig), mentions of alcohol, slightly suggestive jokes, humor (lmao)

wordcount: 10.8k

a/n: i'm back :0 (kinda) i'm gonna try and get to my asks soon pls wait for me :<

songfic inspired by:

“You’re funny!”

He’s heard it countless times. And he truly was. Truly, he was a delight to be around. He reveled in the laughter and amusement of others. Your image of him was no different from everyone else’s. You’ve always thought he was funny. But somehow he’s never made you laugh. Well, all he’s ever done is bring your self-doubts to afloat, and served a great part in creating this big barricade in your academic life that you’ve been trying to get through for over a year now. 

“You still like that guy? For real?” you breathe out a chuckle to your friend’s query, in harmony with the sounds of the keyboard’s clicks as you make yourself busy.

“Yes, Natty.” your voice was soft as you replied and as you did you felt Natty’s hand landing calmly on your shoulder. 

“Ever thought of confessing?” —I have, I do all the time— you say to yourself. “I mean, who knows, he might like you too.”

You almost guffawed, but Natty would only lay her head on your shoulder and she’d snap her head up at you when you answered, “On another universe, maybe. I don’t exist in his little theater show.”

“What a way to refer to someone’s blooming social life.” you darted your eyes at Natty’s poking, turning the both of you into a bundle of laughter. 

If only he could hear the melody that sounded from your lips. “Why’d you say it like I don’t have a social life?”  

“Miss Y/n, I did not say that at all. You’re delusional!” your friend gave you a light push, your arms crossing on top of one another on your chest. 

“I am not delusional!” you kept the kid in your tone whilst appearing offended. 

In fact, you truly weren’t. While as a youngin you’d hope every coincidence bore meanings, you grew up to face reality, though not accepting it entirely. A part of you hoped there was a small spark that went off every time you met his gaze, that he was just as withdrawn with you as you were with him because he was shy, that he only pretended to not care about you because he liked you too. But a view of him from afar —how his life was a movie in itself— told you you’d be nothing more but a mere extra in the extravagance of his daily proceedings. 

So when prom came around, while everyone else scurried around to find their dates, you just stood still —more accurately, sat and waited for anything interesting to happen in your life— and watched the pretty girls being picked out by men of all kinds like flowers on a nice green field. You just hated that by the end of prom night, this nice field of tamed green grass will turn into a rowdy, muddy mess stepped on by those men —if you could even call them that. The view wasn’t as sweet to you like how everyone else saw it, but perhaps it was because you were bitter. 

“Aren’t you excited for prom night? I heard Jacob will DJ this year, I bet it’s gonna be awesome.” you shrugged at your friend, unsure if you were even gonna go to prom. 

“I bet you’ll have loads of fun.” your friend was quick to pick up on your masked expression, much to your surprise.

“Hmm, is this about…” he looks you right in the eyes,“Bingo! code Eun—”

“Shh!” you bit your lip after shushing him, containing the laugh that threatened to escape from you. “Keep it down!”

“Oh, sorry.” a jesting evil chuckle was evoked from him making your face scrunch up. He laughs at you and motions like he’s about to pinch your face. “But, hear me out. Why don’t you ask him out?”

You sighed as an array of reasons popped up in your head. “Even if I had the courage to do that did you really think he’d say yes? To me?” your friend snorted at your tone, and again, looks you right in the eyes. 

“Why not?” you raised your brows as a way of asking him if he was being serious, “Look, just being for real here, you’re pretty enough to overthrow those ‘popular girls’, your cute, your talented, your actually interesting —I mean what’s there not to like?”

You gave yourself a second to think and your eyes followed the lines separating each tile on the floor, and from the distance you saw him. You were in the cafeteria, and for some reason not with Natty. Some guy named Eric had asked her to meet him in some classroom, you’ve heard from some of his friends that he was asking Natty out to prom and planned a surprise. Meanwhile your dream date was sat five tables away from where you were. Laughter filled the table he and his friends occupied. He must be so funny then.

“Y/n?” Your friend’s voice was all it took for you to avert your eyes from Eunseok. “It’s kinda rude to just stare at your crush and daydream mid conversation, just so you know.”

You can’t help but laugh, at your friend’s jovial banter and at yourself for being so pathetic. “Sorry, Sho.”

“I was kidding, it’s totally fine Miss scared-of-confrontations.” you playfully rolled your eyes at him. 

“I’m not scared of confrontations.” but his words took you a step back and you thought maybe you truly were scared of confrontations. 

“Yeah? prove it! prove it! prove it!” and he kept repeating it like a kid and you had to shush him again. “Ask him out!”

“Shotaro, I've never wanted to punch someone this bad in my life before, just stop.” and he just laughs at you again. You look to your side, and coincidentally right into his eyes. It would’ve been the highlight for your day, the best day of your week —your life even— if not for the flowers he held in his hand. And no, they weren’t for you. You thought they could never be for you. He held them in his hands whilst he wore that grin that drew everybody in his presence. You looked away, not wanting to see the events waiting to unfold before you. 

“Let’s go, Sho.” you took hold of Shotaro’s wrist, dragging him out of the cafeteria with you. Once you were out of the bustling atmosphere, you started sprinting, still not letting go of your friend.

“Where are we going?” and then suddenly you stopped. 

You could see Natty holding hands with Eric from the other end of the hallway, and some of Eric’s friends tagging along from behind. 

“Oh, so that’s where Natty’s been. No wonder.” you hear Shotaro utter quietly from behind you. 

“Yeah. No wonder.” your lips spread to a small smile, seeing how happy Natty actually is. You just hope Eric isn’t just another guy.

“Hey, Y/n, why’d you pull me out of the cafeteria? I was trying to skin the fried tofu with my tee—”

“Sorry, I just didn’t want to see it —them, I mean.” your friend just stared at you, confused, and it showed on his face. A soft, but bitter laugh came out of your mouth. You figured Shotaro might’ve not seen what you saw, or maybe he didn’t care. “‘You-know-who’ was gonna ask some lucky girl to prom.”

“Really? Lucky?” he promptly shakes his head, and now you’re confused. “I don’t even know why I asked —anyways, I saw Mr.’Funny-Guy’ holding a bouquet. You know, for a second I thought you became Flash and just gave him those and asked him out to prom at ten times speed.” you laugh, and in all honesty just wanting to look past everything you saw, and everything that might’ve or did happen after the two of you ran off.

“Yeah. Very lucky.” Shotaro shook his head again, keeping his eyes on the smile that he could recognize from all the times you have found yourself on a disappointing stand. 

“I’m sorry to say this, but, Eunseok isn’t all that. You can have fun without him. You have Natty —or maybe not her because she’s probably gonna spend time with that guy— me! you have me! and Minji, though I’ve heard someone had asked her out, that's probably why she’s not around right now…”

With pursed lips and crossed arms, you searched for the sense in his words, and when you had found it he was already looking back at you. Tilting your head to the side, you hum, a nod following shortly after. Shotaro was once again confused. 

“Shotaro, how do you feel about going to prom with me?” you almost guffawed when he shrugged.

“Well, my plan was to just stick by you the whole night so we could have fun, so, technically…” he was suddenly stuck. “We’re best friends and all…”

“Yeah, but like, I’m actually asking you to be my date. Since we’re best friends and all.” you mimicked the tone that displaced his playful one when he spoke earlier. He scrunches his nose at you as some sort of counter-attack. 

“Okay. That’s great.” he mirrors your pose and crosses his arms as well, and you both tilt your head at the same time —and it was soon followed by laughter.

Osaki Shotaro is probably the third funniest person I know, or, should he be second? —you jot down on your notes app. You now lay on your bed, just a few nights away from prom. Your notes app became a little get away for you as it was easier to type than to write things down. You swear that the world will burn once someone has seen the things you’ve very diligently typed in the app. It was your safe space, locked away from everyone. Even from Natty. Even from Shotaro. I wonder what I should wear. I wonder what he’s gonna wear, what his date would wear. She for sure said yes. Who wouldn’t? I would, a hundred percent. I’m gonna have to make sure we don’t wear the same dress, not even the same color. What’s a rare color? —your thoughts were a river with no end. It just flowed, especially when you lay alone in your room paying mind to nothing with being in such a secluded and quiet place. You were there, the cold air against your exposed skin, but you would feel nothing of it. You were deep within the depths of your perception. You itched to know. Who was the girl? —and if you were being honest, you missed any signs of him being infatuated with someone else. Who am I kidding? It couldn’t be me.

For the days that followed, you kept your mind on what to wear. Of course, not without crossing paths with Song Eunseok. He seemed his usual self —if not happier. You refuse to see it that way, to accept that whoever she might be, she’s making him twice the smiley guy he is. You’d reunite with Natty and Minji eventually. They asked if you were attending prom night because they’ve heard of the news. It had seemed as if everyone saw it coming. Maybe they are a match. Maybe they just look that good together. Maybe they’re made for each other. 

“Maybe he just asked out a friend, you know, for a friendly date of sorts. Like you and Taro!” as sweet as Natty could be, you just truly wanted to avoid conversations regarding you-know-who. You’d just smile, not sparing her a look.

It was your way of telling people to stop talking about something that upset you, and Shotaro noticed right away even though you were late to catch up on your sides pressed against each other when he scoots closer. “Natty’s right.” he was regretful of that reply, so he’d quickly avert from the topic of you-know-who. “By the way Y/n, what are you gonna wear? the color and stuff, we can match.” your head snaps up, being reminded you should’ve been getting ideas for your outfit instead of being dazed over a boy that has never even bothered to acknowledge your presence. 

“I don’t know yet. I don’t have ideas right now. Do you?” you finally look over to Shotaro, and for a second you’d jolt seeing the tip of your nose and his only a little over an inch from touching. 

He backed away almost instantly with a swift reply of, “I don’t have any either. I mean, it’d be fine by me to take charge if we didn’t have to follow an attire.”

Smack. Timely, you both gasped hearing such a loud sound coming from one of your friend —Minji, who was looking a little more enthusiastic than usual. “I have an idea. Let’s all shop together. Natty and I can work on both of you.”

Natty’s beam infected you when you looked over at her because you knew they got your backs. And that was one thing off your checklist of worries. Only a few hundred more to tick. 

“My mom said she wanted to help you get ready for prom night.” —and with a few flips of a textbook you were already off and walking back home with Shotaro, like usual.

“Really? I mean, I suppose it’d be easier if I was there, then you wouldn’t have to pick me up.” you reply with a slight pout, giving his offer —or rather his mother’s— serious consideration.

“I mean, it could be that or you join us for dinner tonight. I kind of figured Auntie would prefer it if she was the one who helped you, you’re her daughter after all, aren’t you?” your hand came to catch the laughter from your lips as he spoke. A laugh, and a sneeze, to which Shotaro responds with, “Ew.”

“Don’t ‘ew’ me!” his giggles slid through your ears, filling it up with his sweet melody. “Ew.” and of course you had to bite back. 

“What? 'ew' what?” and he kept giggling.

You could only chuckle to yourself, biting down on your bottom lip. “Nothing” you breathe out. 

It couldn’t be just nothing. Or at least he hoped. And so like every rational and mature man, he snatched the hairpin that held your poorly cut bangs from your face and ran. He was lucky it sled off easily. You chased him whilst calling out for his name, threatening him with actions you would never do. You could never. All while he giggled to himself like a little boy. 

♪ ♪ ♪

[A week ago…]

Everyone tends to only consider what’s on the surface of the water, unknowing of the storm that lies underneath the seas.

“What about Shotaro?” “Forget him.”

No apparent aggression, but betrayal could be sensed with the constant fall of his intonation as he continued to speak, “He chose her over us.” and his breath falls along with his hands that got done with smoothing out the wrinkles on his uniform.

“I mean, you would too. Isn’t that why you two got into a fight?” he shrugged at his friend.

And then laughed.

“What’s so funny?” The friend had furrowed eyebrows as he inspected the demeanor of the man before him.

“He’s talking to her everyday now. Me on the other hand?” he looks to his left, the body-length mirror of his room. “I’m so close, yet so far. I don’t even think I amuse her.”

“Why not? you’re Song Eunseok, the funny —and insanely hot guy, come on now.” 

“Yeah. That’s the problem. Funny, insanely… hot?” 

The two laughed in chorus. 

“What’s the point of being so admired by so many people if the one I’ve been admiring doesn’t even give a flying fuck?” Eunseok shook his head as he spoke, facing his mirror and checking his reflection. “If anything she probably hates —no, not hate, but she doesn’t like me. For sure.” he straightens the collar of his shirt. 

“The popular guy stigma.” he laughs at his friend’s sigh, and he replies,

“It’s true for some people. I could see why she might think I’m like them.” he smiled but his movements would be a complete contrast to it as he kept fixing nothing and dusting off nothing on his uniform. “Say we weren’t friends, and you’re a transferee, how would you see me?” he turns around to face his friend who was flummoxed with his sudden question. 

“Well, I’m an extrovert myself, so I’d probably ask you to hang out first and foremost. You’re fine as hell, you’re quite the character.” Eunseok’s eyes traveled to the ground after hearing his friend’s response. He couldn’t quite tell if it was genuine or was just a guise to amuse him. This friend was not like the ones he once had in his life. Not like Shotaro. Not like you. 

“Character?” Eunseok chuckled to himself. “I wonder if this… character was why we grew apart.” 

“You and Shotaro?”

“Yes, and no.” Eunseok’s heavy sigh almost startled the other boy. “I’m talking about the girl.” a silent ‘oh’ was exuded from the boy’s mouth as he watched the other who moved to take a seat next to him. “I don’t get how moving schools cut our ties. Shotaro and I were still friends after I moved. I mean, we were neighbors. But still. Did she really not care about me?” 

“Probably. Girls do that, don’t they?” Eunseok laughed again, with knitted brows this time.

“No. We’ll never know.” he says, running his tongue over his top lip before he continued, “We’re a bunch of dicks. How would we know?”

And they guffawed. 

“Just ask her out to prom. Before Shotaro does.” Eunseok nods at his friend. “I bet you fifty bucks you can get her to say yes empty handed.”

“Dude, it’s not in me to not give her anything.” 

[Present Day]

If I can make you laugh, you’re going to prom with me.

It would’ve been raining diamonds if he was able to carry out his plan. He would make her laugh then she’s all his for prom night, and hopefully for the days that follow. 

But now he stood —oddly quiet— with his friends in a corner shop near school buying whatever shit they had to buy. “Hey nice guy! What's up? Is your mouth glued shut? stapled?” 

One of his friends had laid their arm over his shoulders, tightening his hold when Eunseok didn’t answer immediately. “I’m fine. I think the store ran out of condoms.” the other snorts at his answer, a poor attempt at a joke.

“Do virgins eat condoms?” a loud ‘tsk’ would follow after, “If you’re getting fucked it’s by something up there in your cranium. Tell me.”

Eunseok sighed as he mustered up the guts to tell. “I didn’t get the girl.”  

Surprised, and quite perplexed, his friend removed his arm from him to look him in the eyes saying, “What do you mean? I thought Gaeul said yes?”

“It was never Gaeul.”

“Then who?”

“You.” Eunseok grabs his friend's face, pretending to pull him in for a kiss. His friend —like every straight man— would counteract his actions. 

“Ew dude, I’m not fucking gay, for the last time!”

“It’s always been you.”

Eunseok would let go of his friend hearing another one of their friends approaching as she laughed. “Hi nice guy!”

“And hi to you too, Miss Korea.” the girl giggles at Eunseok’s reply. 

“Is it true? You and Heeseung have been sleeping together?” Eunseok smirked, hearing the girl’s jesting.

“What?” Before Heeseung could speak again, Eunseok butts in with a quip. 

“Oh, yes! But he hides it, he must be ashamed of me —ashamed of loving me!” dramatic, and exaggerated, still it was one for the titters.

“I hate you, Yuna. Have a nice fucking day.” and Heeseung walks out whilst the two continue laughing amongst themselves. 

The cackles died down once the two were left alone as their friends continued to roam the shop.

“Hey, not to be nosy or anything, but did you seriously not mean to ask Gaeul? sorry I just heard —I promise I wasn’t actively listening in.” Yuna even waved her hands in front of her face to dismiss any misinterpretations. 

And with a small smile, Eunseok breathes in to reply to her. “It’s okay. We weren’t exactly being discreet about it at all.” his eyes shifted along the shelves that sandwiched the two of them. “But yeah. I asked Gaeul because, I don’t know, why not?” 

Yuna nods at a broken pace for a couple of seconds as she tries to understand, getting caught up in some holes as she went through what he told her one more time before asking, “So, then, who were you meant to ask?”

“Doesn’t matter. She’s got a date already anyways. I got a date, she got a date, you got a date, everyone gets a date. It’s gonna be fun.” he displays a wide smile, but it was almost robotic in a way that made Yuna huff trying to get over how ridiculous he looked at the moment. “Do you mind me asking about your date Miss Korea?” 

“Well, I was hoping this guy would ask me. But I don’t think he had me in mind at all. But yeah, I’m going with Sungchan, you're going with Gaeul, we all have dates. Let’s be happy.” Eunseok chuckled at the way her voice imitated his in some way. 

“Yeah. Let’s be happy.”

♪ ♪ ♪

It’s been an hour or two of Natty and Minji flitting around the boutique to find you and Shotaro some nice outfits for prom night. The theme? “Retro romance.”

“It’s fun but I feel like there could be better themes. There’d be dozens of polkadot skirts, I can already see it.” Natty mumbles in between picking out a few dresses for you to try on. She holds out a shirt dress, yellow with hints of white in a gingham pattern. “This is pretty retro, right? we could pair it with a belt and a skimmer hat with a purple ribbon.” Natty scans the piece of clothing, moving closer to you and holding it out next to your figure. 

Your head snaps instantly when you hear an utterance next to you, “It looks cute.” Shotaro was a bit taken aback with how all three of you stopped just to look at him just because of his short little comment.

Minji approached, coming from a section of the boutique just a little farther from where the three of you were. She came walking with a few items at hand. It was a plain long sleeve shirt, white, a plaid suit vest —in the same color as the dress Natty held—, and some flared trousers in a darker shade of yellow, just a little muted. 

“Oh my god, oh my god, you guys need to get into the fitting rooms right now!” you giggled at the way Natty gushed and rushed to get you and Shotaro on your feet. 

Her giggles were all it took for you and Shotaro to speed to the fitting rooms. Once the dress went over your head and the skirt settled against your bare legs, your hands traced the shape of your waist seeing how perfectly the dress fits and hugs your body. You loved how the color complemented your skin. Like a perfect painting, freshly polished. You walked out of the fitting room, eyes glued to the flow of the skirt. Once your feet have crossed the line that separated the fitting room from the rest of the boutique, your eyes land on the floor. Your lone feet were now joined by another pair dressed in white Nike air force 1s.

Looking up to your right, smiling eyes greet your own. “Sho, you look dapper!” your exclaim lifted the corners of his mouth to their highest point. 

“Wait till I get my hair done.” he says with his chest up and then playfully biting his lower lip. 

You laugh at his face, slightly shoving him from where he stood with a light push. He —very gently— bumps his shoulder onto yours, causing you to tilt a tad. With a little chortle, you tell him, “You don’t really need to get it done. It looks good the way it is.” as you ruffle his hair.

He lets out a giggle, so soft and gleeful. “Whatever you say, pretty.”

Walking back to your friends, from a distance, their eyes welcomed the two of you. Their compliments almost fell from the end of their tongues. A gasp leaped over Natty’s words, her hand rushing to catch her breath. “You look cute together!” and you almost gagged from all the cooing. As opposed to you, Shotaro just smiled, his eyes were smiling too. Smiling at you. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary —you’d convince yourself. But your cognition went offbeat when you met his eyes, and yours would hastily look around for something, anything to subside the feeling that was simmering from within you. 

You were thankful that Minji made her comment before anyone noticed. “You look like twin bananas.” your face would scrunch up, and she’d slightly repel, speaking again, “I was trying to say the colors looked cute!” you hear Shotaro’s giggle again. Instinctively, you peered at him. Your best friend.

He used to be your best friend too. 

“Y/n?” 

You shook your head, your lips forming the best smile you could pull out of your blues. You raised your brows at your best friend who had called you out of your thoughts. “I like these outfits. Let’s get them, yeah?”

“Yeah. I like them too.” he nods along with his words. “Told you you’d look great in anything!” he gently nudges at you when he spews the acclaim.

Just days before he assured you that finding a decent outfit would be no problem, emphasizing that “you already look good with just our school uniform on.” —you’d dispense a hearty cackle, though, you knew he must’ve been sincere with it all, you only intended to humor the situation. All for the sake of not having to foster thoughts about everything he’s said to and done for you for the past two weeks after the ‘you-know-who incident’. 

All the while ‘you-know-who’ feigned folly. It was the only way he could ever allow himself to overlook the facts that unfolded from across the street in front of him. The fact that her happiness radiated in high magnitudes. The fact that she laughed with someone else, wore stupid banana-colored matching outfits with someone else —that she laughed with that guy as if he was the greatest comedian she knew. It was the fact that she was happier without him, and that he could never make her laugh like whilst she held on her tummy as her face formed creases of joy. She was only on her way out when he saw her. It’s the happiest he’s ever seen her. No matter how much he loathed the cause of your glee, seeing her smile, grin and giggle made him float to the skies. He daydreamed about what it could sound like, her laughter. Must be delightful with how tightly the other guy had clutched onto her hand. Eunseok looked away before he could fall any deeper. He crossed the road, and her too. He caught a whiff of her almond saffron perfume, and he fished for her gaze only to be met with the eyes he despised the most. “Osaki Shotaro pisses me off.”

Eunseok was now in a cafe to meet up with Gaeul for the first time ever since asking her out to prom —impulsively. She was yet to arrive, so he got on the phone with his dear friend Yeonjun. “We know, we know. But if you’re that competitive why don’t you make moves huh?” Eunseok breathes out a scoff after hearing Yeonjun’s taunting.

“If you knew me at all, you know i’m all but competitive.” Eunseok kept his gaze on the bell above the door, any moment from then it could sound Gaeul’s arrival, not that it was enough for him to pay mind to. 

“Yeah, you’re all that, aren’t you?” Yeonjun tittered from the other line. He calmed himself down at an instant when he realized that Eunseok was shut quiet. “You know, Sungchan told me something about his sister, Y/n.” Eunseok had parted his lips, but was unable to utter his next words —those which he had trouble finding— so Yeonjun spoke again, “He said she liked one of her best friends back then. It could be you or Shotaro, but what if it’s been you all along?”

Foot tapping at a pained tempo, Eunseok almost choked holding back a guffaw. “Me? Was I the one she’s been hanging out with? was I the one by her side when her dog died? or when she received such a shitty exchange gift when she had spent loads of time and money for her gift?” Eunseok swore he could see Yeonjun with pursed lips. 

The bell sounded just as Yeonjun replied, “It’s not entirely impossible—” *phone beeps* Eunseok ends the phone when Gaeul greets him with heart eyes. Like every girl would. 

It didn’t make sense to Eunseok. Every other girl liked him, stared at him for too long sometimes. You were —in his world— every girl. You were the girl that laughed at him when he skinned his knee while he raced against the wind with his bicycle. You were the girl that gave him your frosted animal crackers when he left his lunch box at home. You were the girl that hid her face when she cried after he had told her that he was moving away with his family. You were the girl that pretended not to recognize him at the themepark when he came around to visit again. You were the girl who continued to shun him everyday now that you were in the same highschool. You were all that —and more— to him. You were every girl in his life, in his story, in the little sit-com he lived in.

“So, what do you plan on taking for college?” he stared at the girl who queried him, though it was not clear to her —nor to himself what exactly he was staring for, or at rather. 

Eunseok clears his throat, digging around in his mind for the answer, “I plan to take a b-a —uh, public relations.” he chuckled seeing how she fought the grimace from spreading throughout her face. “Sorry if i’m not the computer science or architecture typa guy.”

Gaeul quickly wards off any misunderstandings by hastily shaking her head as she utters, “Sorry, I just haven’t heard that from anyone before. In fact, I'm quite unfamiliar with it.” he leisurely nods, his teeth subtly digging into his bottom lip at the last rise of his head. “Would you mind explaining it to me? your career path and all.”

He raised his brows, a low chuckle, barely audible, was trapped behind his pressed lips. “No, not at all.” maybe, just maybe, he could get his head out of the past, the memories of you. You. Maybe after he’s gotten to know this girl that actually acknowledged his presence and seemed to be genuinely curious to seek for what’s beyond his social persona. The talk was definitely long enough for their lava-hot coffee cups to run cold. And surprisingly for him, there was more gained than said.

♪ ♪ ♪ 

Prom night came around, but before it did you made sure to avoid crossing paths with him, or taking turns at the wrong corners and run into him and Gaeul —again. You were never able to be verbal with how grateful you were that Shotaro had been sticking to you ever since you’ve gone to the boutique. His puns and your exchanged banters drew your attention away from Eunseok. 

At prom night, Shotaro picked you up with his dad’s car. You scrambled around looking for your purse when you saw him from outside your living room window. He leaned his back against the driver’s seat door, waiting and anxiously fiddling with his fingers. You released a deep exhale once you were faced with your front door. Shotaro stared at the door mat, and when he saw that bright yellow skirt flowing with the cold wind of the night, he gazed up. His eyes lit up as if they had sparklers in them. He had seen you in this dress before —at the boutique, but somehow the atmosphere and the anticipation of taking your hand in his and dancing with you on the dance floor all night made him feel like it was his first time ever trying to catch your eyes behind that beige skimmer hat you wore. 

With only a few five steps distancing the two of you, you greet him. “Hi.”

“Hello.” after a minute of —unnecessary— loud silence, you both burst out laughing. “I’m Shotaro, and this pretty girl’s name would be?...”

Your hands settled on your waist, tilting your head —and finally locking your eyes with his. Your lips would curve into a small smile, giving into his little roleplay. “The name's Y/n.” you hold your hand out for a handshake, and you receive it in no time.

“Well, good eve Miss Y/n. It’s my first time seeing you around here, perhaps you’re from out of town?” you suppress your giggle, lips pursed as you composed yourself.

“I could say the same about you.” he chuckles at you, eyes all smiley, like always.

“It doesn’t have to matter pretty, would you dance with me tonight?” he asks with raised brows, and a voice silk like whiskey. 

Though his voice caused a short stagnation with your breathing, you cleared your throat, hoping that would ease the one-sided tension. Then suddenly, you gasped, “And for you to expect me to go out with a stranger? how bold!” and very dramatically too.

His eyes dilated, again, laughing against his lips. He gradually pulled his occupied hands from behind his back at the same pace at which he spoke. “Maybe, a little gift would change your mind?” and by then, a bouquet of chocolates —your favorite kind— was being waved, just slightly, right in front of you. 

“What? I thought you were saving up? those are expensive!” a hefty load of air went through your nose, taking in the sweet scents of cocoa and sugar.

“Not really expensive, just pricey—”

“Same thing!” Shotaro’s chest was struck by your gentle hand, and he’d hold it there. Your palm was pressed against his heartbeat. You kept your eyes on your hand as you felt for the thumps on his chest. It was paced and certainly not calm. “Sho… you okay?”

With your gaze up at him and a flick of your lashes, his hand found its way on top of yours. And for a while, he’d clasp onto your hand, his grip growing tighter with every count of a second. He gently guides your hand off his chest, lowering it on level with your waist. “I’m taking that as a yes, pretty.” he utters softly as he guides you to the passenger seat of the car. 

Once you were seated, you stared straight ahead, not minding Shotaro who went around again to get into the driver’s seat. You anxiously fiddled with the fabric of your skirt, and once you heard the driver’s seat door close, you patted down the cloth and smoothened it with your hands. 

“Are you okay Y/n?” the boy beside you asks, and you —obviously— had thoughts running in your head by the looks of your eyes alone. 

“Yeah, it’s just…” you were quite embarrassed to admit, “I don’t get why I’m like this either, but…” but it’s nothing Shotaro hadn’t heard from you, right? “I don’t know if I’ll enjoy it if I saw him there with another girl. I’m sorry, Sho.”

You watched as Shotaro’s hands took grasp of the wheel, his thumb grazing against the leather ever so slightly. “Prom is not about Song Eunseok. We can very much enjoy it without seeing him at all. How about we just pretend he doesn’t exist for the night? how’s that sound?” He was calm, and so sweet sounding. He held out his hand with his palm facing the sky, offering to ease your worries. 

You took this offer, just for the sake of feeling better and getting your mind off of who wasn’t there for you, and who hasn’t been for eight years. “Thank you, Sho.”

Now his thumb grazed over the skin of your hand. “Anytime. You know I love you, right?” 

“I know, you’ve been telling me that since we were kids.” you giggled at each other, before the engine started and you were both off to prom night.

♪ ♪ ♪

For most of the night, you stuck by Shotaro —as promised— and you two danced, even though you were quite the dancer yourself, he urged you to join him. It was fun, even more so for him. He was so kind to you tonight, so gentle. Well, he’s Shotaro, and he’s made you smile, giggle, titter with his little jokes, his compliments, his smile. 

“Thank you for tonight.” you were sitting at an empty table. You had laid your head on your date’s shoulder as your eyes wandered around the scattered bunch of attendees dancing the night away.

Prom king and queen were to be announced after the current song, you heard from one of the other attendees. “Thanks to you too. I had loads of fun.” the back of his hand gently bumps against yours. You caught the signal, placing your hand on top of his palm. He closes in on your hand, and opens it again, then closes, and opens again, “Look, it’s an alligator.” he giggles right into your ear, continuing the closing and opening motion as he brings your entwined hands to your face. 

“Sho!” you breathe out as a laugh follows shortly. “Hate to break it to you, but that’s not what an alligator looks like.”

“Oh, okay then.” he removed his hand from underneath yours, and soon your palms touched each other. You very carefully lift your head from his shoulder, and your eyes land on his face, observing the way his nose scrunched up when he started playing with your hands. “How about this?” he lifts your hands to your face again, showing the little alligator he had created with your joint hands. 

And then your eyes meet. Your smile was so soft, as well as your eyes. He thought he was going to melt into a puddle. He just hoped nothing would ruin this serene view. You’re so delicate and beautiful. The night went exactly like how he planned —for the most part. You two were all smiles and laughs when your sides were pressed against each other or when your hands were connected. But one instance of you separating to get drinks for both you and him, he wasn’t expecting you to come back with tears brimming at the corners of your eyes. It was his instinct to always be there for you, and so he rushed to take you in his arms. It hurt him that you weakly tried to fight off his embrace, but then you broke into a sob and meekly laid your weight onto him. His hand encloses yours as he takes you back to the car. He thought about driving you home, so you can rest and feel better. But he took a turn away from where you lived.

“Where are we going, Sho?” your dainty voice pricked his heart.

“Just, somewhere.” 

He didn't let go of your hand till he took you home, but until then, you both sat by the riverside with juice boxes and convenience store sandwiches. 

“What’s wrong with me? he doesn’t even care about me, or you —at least not anymore.” you munched on the cold sandwich salted with your own tears as you spoke. 

“Well, at least he doesn’t hate us, right? and look, I’m pretty sure if you asked him for help, or a favor or something, he won’t refuse.” Shotaro had his eyes on you only, even if he had asked you to take a breather and watch the river flow. He sighs softly, seeing your gloomy eyes blinked continuously to fight off the tears. “Friends grow apart, it really isn’t his fault he found friends he enjoyed being around with more than—”

“More than us. Yeah, I get it.” a bitter laugh escaped your lips, and you gulped as a single tear trickled down to the side of your face. 

Shotaro was quick to not let it run down to your neck, wiping it off with a gentle touch to your face. You took a hold of his wrist, calmy removing his hand from your face and moving it to let it settle on his lap, but before you could let go of him, he brought your hand back in his with one swift motion. Your eyes grew wider than before, blinking a few more times as you held eye contact. 

“Can I ask for a favor?” you blinked one more time at his question. 

“Yes Sho.”

“I know you like Eunseok —still, and I know you don’t have it in you to just forget him, especially when we used to be the best of friends.” 

You took a stuttered breath, eyeing Shotaro’s fingers as he drew shapes on your hand. 

“But please, forget him.” and another stuttered breath. “It doesn’t have to be now —what I’m trying to say is, if he managed to stop looking out for you, I won’t. No matter what happens.” your eyes soften, keeping it locked with his. “Even if you say no to my favor.”

You raised your brows, visibly confused. “Isn’t the favor to forget about him?”

You felt his grip on your hand tighten, and you could see the movement in his throat as he gulped. 

“Y/n, can I court you?”

♪ ♪ ♪

[Earlier that night…]

“And now, for prom king…”

It was undoubtedly,

“Song Eunseok!”

Great. Just great. Eunseok badly wanted to just drown in the crowds of people, but instead he allowed himself to be pushed onstage by his friends. And there he stood, next to the prom queen —thankfully, it was Yuna, and not just some other girl. The girl seemed to be ecstatic, giving Eunseok a high-five. Still, after being crowned and a brief photoshoot session, he hurried back to his date who wore rosey cheeks and a shy smile. 

“Hi prom king.” She greets him as he gets closer.

Once he was right in front of her, she wrapped her arms around her neck. He wasn’t surprised, not until she got on her tiptoes to place her lips on his. Just for a short while. 

“I like you, Eunseok.” he blinked once, biting onto his bottom lip.

He couldn’t quite figure out what it was, but suddenly his head was brought up —just above Gaeul’s head— where from a distance, he spotted you. Looking so sweet, so flawless in that yellow shirt dress. He loved how you just walked around with that smile he’d always daydream about. In those five seconds of him marveling in the sight of you, he never realized you were looking right at him, then at the shorter girl in front of him. And with a blink of an eye, you were gone. 

“Eunseok?” he cleared his throat, finally looking back at Gaeul. 

He ponders for a while, and he looks up again. Then he meets another pair of eyes. It belonged to the arms that held you that night as you sobbed. 

“I like you too.”

It was all too late, wasn’t it? There was no way Shotaro hadn’t already planned to ask you out after tonight. Right?

[Two weeks later…]

“How’s it with Gaeul?” Eunseok shook his head at his friend’s query, almost laughing at the tone of his question. 

“We’re fine, Chenle.” he replies with a slight sigh, which only drove his friend to question him more. 

“Yeah, yeah. But, are you really over… you know.” Chenle brought his eyes to the side.

Eunseok knew better than to look at where his friend’s eyes laid on, instead he’d just answer him, “I’m not. But it wouldn’t hurt to try. Besides, doesn’t she look happier?” 

“She does.” he almost broke into a pit of laughter with how fast Chenle responded to his words. 

“She really does.” Eunseok would repeat to himself, only very subtly looking over at your direction.

So close, yet so far. And now, completely out of reach. He watched from the other end of the hallway as you unload your locker, and right next to you was Shotaro who held everything you took out of it, filling his hands. After closing your locker, you’d take half of what he held. Then you laughed. To this day Eunseok was still curious. Did your laugh sound any different after eight years?

“Bro, don’t you think you’ve been looking for too long?” 

Eunseok finally parts his eyes from your sight, looking back at his friend with the smile he always wore around school, the one that no one could ever really tell whether it’s superficial or genuine.  

“What do you mean? It’s only been eight minutes.”

And eight years. 

♪ ♪ ♪

Highschool went by like a fly, so irritating that it lingered for a while. But you were happy that even though you’ve taken a dozen bites, you were still able to be the luckiest of the lucky. Especially with him by your side. Maybe it was too early to speak on things, but you are in your second year of college now, and he’s never stopped looking out for you. So you did the same for him. 

“Hey Sho?” you spoke into your phone after the ringing stopped. 

“Hi Y/n! sorry I can’t join you for lunch, but for dinner we’ll definitely—” he was cut off by your soft chuckle, finding himself freezing up for a second.

“I know Sho, you told me last night. So that’s why—” you took the steps up to his department’s building, stopping by the glass doors. “I’m here to drop off your lunch.”

“Lunch? Wait, I’m running down right now!”

“Entrance two.”

“Entrance two, got it —what did you get?”

“I cooked!”

“You cooked? holy shit, okay.”

You purse your lips as you suppress your laughter, and within under a minute, you see him running from the inside towards the transparent doors. He rushed out of the doors, greeting you with a hug. You were both giggling against each other. 

“Sho!” you almost dropped the lunch bag when he spun you once. 

His eyes smiled at you —like always— once he’s let go of you. You wore a wide smile, biting your lip as you extended your arm to give him the lunch bag. “This is way better than take out.”

You chortle and shake your head. “How would you know? you haven’t even tasted it yet!”

“I’ve tasted your ramen!”

“Instant ramen doesn’t count!” 

You wished you could just bask in each other’s little banters and laughs, but eventually he had to go back to finish what he was working on. 

“Natty will join us for dinner, she and Eric had another fight.” you tell him as you fixed his collar a bit. 

“Again? What's going on with Eric?” you shrugged at him, finally smoothing out his shirt. 

“Nobody knows.”

You understood why people fought, that sometimes, even the smallest things on the surface could indeed be plunged deeper than the depths of the oceans. Now all you could hope is for the couple to reconcile. You knew them both well enough by now to tell that both of them mean well at the end of the day and in some way are just trying to protect each other. 

That’s why at dinner, you were all eyes and ears for Natty as she went on with the details of how everything went down, and you held her hand seeing that it was difficult for her to let it all out. By the end of the day, she’d thank you and Shotaro, and the two of you would be left in the confines of your apartment complex. The talk lasted for longer than what you’d expect —not that you mind— and when you looked out the window, the sky was black and blank. The street lamps were all lit, coloring the streets amidst the darkness. You breathe in once, turning around, only to be met with Shotaro who was getting ready to go home. From what you can recall, he wasn’t gonna be busy for a while. 

“Sho?” his head snaps up from his shoelaces that he was only getting started to tie back up. He hummed you a reply, smiling so dearly and letting his eyebrows rise a tad. “Can I ask you a favor?”

He was a bit taken aback at your question, but he could never say no. “Yeah, of course! "What is it, pretty?”

That feeling you felt back at that old boutique was coming back to you, and in its fullest form. No longer something you would ward off and ignore, but something you wanted to accept and embrace. You thought maybe you were somewhat a bit standoffish, not being able to see through your best friend’s compliments and cute little nicknames —not to mention everything he’s done for you. You thought it was kind of funny. Then, it only took you eight seconds to spot Eunseok within a crowd, but it took you eight years to realize that your bestest friend of all saw you more than a best friend. Funny how you’ve kept Eunseok name at the top of your ‘funniest people I know’ list when no one had ever made you laugh as much as Shotaro did. You made a mental note to yourself to edit that later on, but for now,

“Stay for tonight. It’s quite late.” you glanced over to your wall clock. “A quarter till twelve.”

His eyes shifted around for a while, like he was looking for his answer around the space of your home. “If it’s fine with you, I would —but really, I can go home just fine. I can call you while I walk home.”

You chuckled, taking in his wide open eyes and slightly parted lips. You subtly chew on your bottom lip for a second before telling him, “I want you to stay, Sho.” 

He was a frozen stick of butter by the time those words left your mouth. And he’d let himself melt when you came close to remove his scarf off of him. He removes his shoes, then his coat. And for a while you both stood in front of your door, just staring at each other before laughing at each other's faces —with no particular reason. He takes both of your hands, keeping them warm with his own. 

“Now, about the favor…” your eyes shy away from him as he tilts his head.

He fishes for your eyes, asking, “Wasn’t this the favor?” a soft giggle escapes his mouth just as he finishes speaking. 

You can’t help but giggle too. This time you look him right in the eyes. “Sho, we’ve been best friends for fourteen years.” he gulped at your words, feeling a little nervous with the way you spoke. “And you’ve been courting me for two years.”

“And a half.” he sheepishly adds. 

You breathe out a laugh, “And a half.” you mumble as you intertwine your fingers with his. “I think we should stop being best friends.”

You can’t help but laugh at the way his face contorts at what you said. “Wait, what?” “Wait, what I’m trying to say is…” you both utter at the same time, still being mindful of your volume —you had neighbors after all. 

“Can I be your girlfriend already?” 

You were smothered with a hug, tiny pecks and his sweet giggles. The next thing you know, you were laying on your bed, all cuddled up against each other. He caresses your hair, something he’s always wanted to do. 

“You know we can be together and be best friends at the same time, right?” he whispered to your ear, holding you closer to him. 

You only hummed a reply to him, feeling too tired to open your eyes or speak up. You’d hear one last giggle and feel strands of your hair being moved out from your face before you drifted to sleep. 

♪ ♪ ♪

[Eight months later…]

It was a busy day. You were lined up to seize an opportunity of a lifetime, and you haven’t even graduated college. You were hopeful that they might consider your talents. A wise man by the name of Shotaro once said, “Fashion design is your thing, you can do it! I bet twenty.” you really hope you’d lose that twenty bucks. 

“Y/n?” you were spooked for a second, it’s a familiar voice. “Hi!” and a very familiar face.

“Gaeul?” your eyes dilated at the sight of her. 

She’s just as pretty as the last time you saw her. “Long time no see!” she opened her arms, inviting you in for a small hug, which you accepted gleefully. “How have you been?”

That single question brought you to lunch with her, and of course you had to bring Shotaro along. 

“I’ve always thought you two looked cute together, I’m glad to see the both of you happy.” she gives both of you a soft smile. 

“Thanks, well, how about you? still with Eunseok?” you quietly gasp, stilling yourself in your seat but still knitting your brows at your boyfriend. 

You felt that neither of you were really in the place to ask about her love life. “No, it’s okay!” Gaeul’s assurance helped calm your nerves. “I’m single.”

The two of you just nod, and you found that it was best to not pay much mind to it anymore. You engaged in constant conversation throughout your whole time eating, it was all very wholesome, and you were happy that Gaeul was making steps to achieving her dreams just like you were. The talk about relationships seemed to have sinked, well, not until Shotaro had to excuse himself in the bathroom.

“We were never together —at least it didn’t feel like it.” Gaeul’s utterance caught you off guard. You fell silent all of a sudden, and she noticed. “It never felt real. I cut ties with him after three weeks. And then he told me that—” she flicked her tongue over her top lip for a short while, “He liked you.” 

You took a second to take a sip of water, gulping like you were drinking thick sand.  

Despite parting with smiley farewells, her words dropped a heavy load on you. You carried it till you got back to your apartment and got settled on your bed. It was so heavy that you dropped it all on him, at a seemingly random moment. 

“She said he had a picture of me from our 8th grade yearbook in his pocket.” 

What you had shared with Shotaro struck him like livid thunder. He didn’t expect that Eunseok’s feelings for you would persist. He just wondered if it’s still there. But he could only hope for the best. Even after the whole conflict of two best friends liking the same girl —who also happened to be their best friend too— Shotaro still cared for Eunseok, even if he seemed entirely indifferent to him.

But it didn’t have to matter anymore. You chose him. He’s the one in your home, on your bed, always by your side, never to leave you.

♪ ♪ ♪

[Eight years later…]

What was once a small, dull colored room with faulty curtains and ugly flooring became a shared bedroom, in your shared house with the love of your life. Where the sunshine seeps at dawn, and the moon peeks at your dreaming bodies at night. It felt wonderful. Love felt so wonderful. Shortly after moving in together, you adopted a dog. You didn’t get that opportunity with that one clothing line back then, but now, you owned a line of your own. Your life couldn’t be anymore complete. 

Even if it wasn’t perfect. The flaws only proved your happiness to be real. After a night of too much alcohol at your highschool reunion, Shotaro would tell you exactly why he stopped talking to Eunseok. He cried about it all, saying that he knew all along that you two liked each other. But you were all over it now, and it was Shotaro who’s been by your side. Not everyone was able to attend that reunion —because apparently they were too successful to be there.

Yuna, you knew she was a friend of Eunseok. She approached the two of you at your table, greeting the both of you with a warm smile. “My boyfriend’s having a stand-up show this saturday, I was hoping the two of you could come. In fact, he wanted me to invite you guys.” then you were given two tickets for the venue. 

There weren’t any other details, the ticket was white, with not much but the title of the show. 

The next morning, you’d discuss it with Shotaro on the dinner table. You were sitting next to each other, his arm wrapped around your waist and his head resting on top of yours. “The time is pretty tricky, I have work scheduled at that time.” he plants a kiss on your temple before continuing to speak, “You should definitely go though! I’ll pick you up after, then —remember that dog cafe I told you about? we have to visit it after.” 

You giggled, looking up at him. He couldn’t resist by then, and would lower himself a bit to kiss you. And it wasn't a short one, more like a twenty-minute film. Nonetheless, it was beautiful, and you’ve never felt so loved. 

That Saturday, you went to the venue alone, but not without having the sweetest breakfast of your life with your lover. Pancakes with chocolate syrup, whipped cream and a few berries, and of course, a cup of coffee before proceeding to your own schedules for the day. 

You took the bus on the way there since Shotaro had to leave earlier. The show was a little later in the afternoon. 

When you got there, you looked for any familiar faces, but it was only when you got seated that Yuna came and sat down next to you. You two greet each other with inviting smiles, and a few minutes before the show starts, you’d converse and catch up a bit, after all, it’s been eight years.

“Gentlemen.” a voice echoed throughout the room. 

When you looked up at the stadium, “Gentlemen, may I have your attention —and ladies, I know I already got you.” 

What a surprise. And it was a pleasant one at that. He fits this line of profession. He seemed to enjoy being up there, talking and joking about whatever. It was just like meeting him all over again. He’s just being himself up there. Your best friend from childhood, that sadly didn’t even make it till middle school. Now, you were finally able to laugh at his jests, sometimes stopping for a while to process what he was saying. Still, the atmosphere was light and fun. The audience was truly alive, and so were you. 

At one point, he started talking about his girlfriend. Not quite hard for you to figure out since you remember Yuna mentioning at your reunion party that you were being invited to this show by her boyfriend, Song Eunseok.

“So, I finally decided to do something about it. I bought one of those electric blankets. Problem solved, right? Wrong. Now, our bed is divided like the Korean Demilitarized Zone. She’s over there toasty warm, and I’m on my side sweating like a marathon runner in a sauna. But you know what? I wouldn't trade her for anything. Because at the end of the day, it just gives me another reason to hold her close and keep her warm. And that, my friends, is how you win brownie points with your girlfriend.”

You can’t help but share a laugh with Yuna, letting her hold on to your shoulder as she titters. 

Eunseok saw you, how could he not when you were sitting next to his girlfriend. He was only a bit curious about Shotaro’s absence.

You’d explain it to him at the end of the show, “Sho’s got work, but he’s coming to pick me up.” you both stood just outside the venue, at the side of the building with a little less people going around.

“Sho? What happened to Taro?” Eunseok raised a single brow, and you’d chuckle. 

“Because you used to call him Taro.” you reply with a slight smile.

“Right.” he nods, his pace decreasing gradually as he tries to reach for something at the back of his tongue, “I’m just curious, did you actually hate me back then? like, when I moved and stuff.”

You chuckle a little louder, leaving him puzzled. “I liked you. I just avoided you. I just thought you didn’t care anymore.” you answer so simply, shrugging towards the end of your sentence.

“I thought you hated me, that’s why I wasn’t talking to you.” you took a sharp breath through your nose when he finished speaking. 

Then suddenly you both snort at the whole thing.

“It’s funny.”

“It really is.”

As your laughter died down, he’d clear his throat to ask you, “So, are you and Taro married?” you could see his eyes locked on the ring on your finger. 

“Engaged.” you nod, and he imitates your action. 

“Wow. I should propose to Yuna right now.” your eyes widened an inch, he could be joking, but you wouldn’t be surprised if he actually did. Besides, you could tell how much he loved his girlfriend just by that one ment he did earlier at the show.

“So suddenly?”

“Yeah, so then we’d be even!” 

It reminded you of a time in your childhood where you’d share your food with him because he forgot his lunchbox. You usually gave him more food, just cause you could, but then he’d give some back to you and he’d say, “Now we’re even.” it pulled on your heartstrings, but now you kinda wish you gave him just a piece or two of your animal crackers —and maybe two sips of your apple juice when the weather’s nice. 

“I’m afraid I'd scare her off and she’d say no.” 

“Really?” —you truly were a bit shocked that he was worried about being rejected. “Well, I believe she’ll say yes.”

“Really?” he imitates you again —the tone of your voice, “What makes you think that?”

You gave yourself a few seconds to think about what you were gonna answer to him. Suddenly you remember what you’ve written in your notes app. The funniest people I know. 1. Osaki Shotaro, 2. My dad, 3. Natty… he was off the list, but now, maybe it was for good reason. He was always known for being funny, now he has built a career out of it. Maybe, he was the greatest comedian of all. 

“You might just be the greatest comedian I know.” 

He laughs at your declaration of his greatness with his hands in his pocket, “I’m probably the only comedian you know.” —and more laughter.

He appreciated that you thought he was the greatest comedian. But as he looked back on the past, a past that was once painful, full of regret and missed opportunities, where you missed each other and realized only later in life. That period of your life would still prove to be pivotal. Right person, wrong time? maybe, but what else could it be other than silly memories when you find yourselves laughing about it. You’ve already settled for a love that you both deserve, a love that mended your hearts. It was all for the better, no matter how downcast all of it may seem. Worth a laugh, and a good story. 

The story started with oblivion, and a bouquet of flowers you never received, but it ends with two pairs of engagement rings, and two pairs of smiling hearts. That’s four people —in case you missed it. 

God did a great job writing their fate. And to Eunseok, God is the greatest comedian of all.

End.

cheers to a hundred peeps!! :3

[sungbeam]

𝐜𝐢𝐫𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐬

nonidol!lee hyunjae x f!reader

6.7k words (my hand slipped, sorry), fluff, angst, low-key e2l, ex friends 2 implied lovers?, low-key rich kid au, swearing, drinking and drunk talks/crying, a shitty situation, a bitchy ex gf, uhh very low-key hurt/comfort?, lots of mentions of pizza and soft drinks, THE PLOT IS SO RUSHED IM SORRY I CRAMMED.

a/n: requests now closed! whew,,, what a doozy 😭 im sorry if it feels rushed bc it low-key really was such a rushed and ambitious plot on my part. to the anon who requested it, ik it's not exactly what u asked for and im sorry ><

The pizzeria was like your second home. Maybe it was your home, but you weren't sure if calling a pizza place your home was the best word. It acted as your bubble away from academic responsibilities, family obligations, and anything else you wanted to forget. For the past three years of your college career, you made this place your comfort spot, while also picking up some spare change.

Your friend and co-worker Dae bumped her hip with yours as she passed by you with her hands full of empty plastic cups to refill. "Your group of banshees just walked in," she mused, slipping past you to the fountain drink machine on the bar counter.

Your head perked up and watched the front door on the other side of the room open to let a wave of your friends in. Dae liked to joke that your friend group consisted of a bunch of "banshees" from how loud they could be. You couldn't blame her at all; it was hilariously accurate. On a bad night, the group's volume could reach levels of a nightmare baby being birthed from the Devil's anus.

"Yn-ie!" Chanhee and Jacob waved to you as the group of five made their way through the tight spaces between tables.

"Hey, guys," you greeted them. "You're so lucky a group just left." You nodded toward the circular table in the back corner where your friends often made their home. It was big enough to seat seven—ten, if you squished—but it was almost always for you and your friends.

The pizzeria's owner and your boss, Mr. Moretti, usually didn't mind your friends occupying the space. You were pretty sure he was glad your friends were hiding themselves away in the back. (Not because of the merriment, just because of the noise. Some customers just wanted pizza and a quiet night, and you could respect that.)

"Waitress! Waitress!" Changmin screeched, waving one of his hands around like a lunatic.

You came up to the table with an unimpressed look on your face, and Kevin wrestled his neighbor back into this seat. "Okay, so Changmin doesn't get to eat tonight," you drawled and braced your hands on the backs of Sunwoo and Chanhee's chairs.

"I was just wondering how long it takes for someone to get service around here," Changmin jested. He feigned one of those pompous brushes of his hair, mocking one of the rich pricks who had come in here last month thinking that the RIGHT TO REFUSE SERVICE sign didn't apply to him. Changmin broke into a lopsided grin at your arched brows. "What? I think I'm funny."

Your eyes widened in a silent 'Can you believe this guy?'

"He's sugar high because someone let him get to the cupcakes," Kevin directed his flat gaze to his counterpart, Jacob.

Jacob's hands lifted in innocence. "What? No one was eating them, and he said he was hungry."

"Okay, drinks, folks!" You clapped to regain their attention. You did, after all, have other customers. "What're we feeling tonight?"

A chorus of drink orders flew up into the air—coke, iced water, Sprite, lemonade—and you nodded, stepping away to grab them those very beverages. Your friends had all been here enough times to know exactly what was on the menu, so while you stepped away briefly for their drinks, they could deliberate and get back to you as soon as you returned.

Like a well oiled machine, you delivered them their drinks, and Kevin doled out the lineup for tonight.

"You know, I was thinking of painting my nails black," Kevin said as he finished off the order. He held his hand out in front of him, inspecting the state of his bare nails.

Sunwoo straightened in his seat. "We should do it together, hyung!—I mean… you could probably paint my nails. I dunno if you should trust me with one of those thin ass brushes."

"You're right," Chanhee chimed in, "we shouldn't."

You snickered to yourself as you left your friends to their own devices and pinned their order sheet to one of the clips hanging in the kitchen window. There was a set of plates set out on the window sill, the bill reading for table three, and you picked it up to take over to them. Dae appeared next to you, tightening her ponytail, and grabbed the dishes for table four right beside it.

With both your hands full, you departed to deliver your respective orders.

As you set the dishes off food down onto table three, you heard the telltale swish of the door opening, and night air flooded into the room. On instinct, you straightened with a smile to greet them. "Hi! Welcome—" your voice died on your throat, and when his eyes locked with yours, you stuttered, "—in. For how many?"

Lee Hyunjae brushed a hand through his blond hair, his other arm wrapped around the shoulders of a girl who was unfortunately familiar to you. A couple of the guys with him, you recognized, too, but he was the one who had made you trip over your words.

One of them with jet black hair and kind, feline-like eyes, lifted four of his fingers in a wordless signal.

You nodded, lips set in a firm line, and gestured to the open four-seater at table eight.

You tucked your empty tray beneath your arm, mentally thanking anyone who was listening that his party was seated in Dae's section and not yours. Thank god for odd numbers.

Dae was swift to chirp out her usual cheeriness to the newcomers, and you scurried back over to the register to cash a table's check. As you did so, your eyes flitted up toward Hyunjae's table. He glanced over at you periodically, looking away whenever you were already looking at him.

What the hell was he doing here? You wanted to yell, scream. Out of all the places, out of all the nights, out of all the times… how long had it been since you last saw him, you wondered to yourself as you let the bitterness seep into your bones and meld with the marrow. It was a feeling you knew all too well.

You strode over to table seven to set their check down on the edge of the table. Everything in the pizzeria was so close together; it was near impossible not to catch the words being exchanged at table eight.

"—don't understand why you chose this dump, Hyunjae." That was the girl, the one who's face made you want to throw something at it. Her name was Kyla, and the last time you saw her in person, she had just become Hyunjae's girlfriend.

Sometimes you questioned how they even managed to stay together so long, but then again, people like them deserved each other.

"Eric just wanted pizza, babe," drawled the blond, his arm casually draped over the back of her chair.

The two others seated at the table consisted of the man with jet black hair, and another with a medium-toned brown hair peeking out of a gray hoodie. The latter said, "You guys'll love this place! Their breadsticks are literally the fluffiest things in the world."

A smile curled onto your face at that comment. Now that you thought about it, you'd seen him around before.

You slid over to table one and began stacking the dirty dishes left behind by customers who had gone. Table eight's conversation continued.

"Is it normal to be able to see grease in the air?" Kyla gagged, her nose wrinkling in disgust. She soaked in the close quarters of the restaurant with little appreciation.

The other third wheel at table eight, the one with black hair, lifted his eyebrows. "It's cozy in here, Kyla."

"Yeah, just give it a chance," Hyunjae chimed in.

You brushed past their table to grab table seven's check and hustle it back over to the register. You met Dae at the counter, her hands once again full with cups that needed filling.

A grunt left her lips. "Table eight," she began.

"Yeah," you agreed. "Sheesh."

Her head turned to you over her shoulder. "You know 'em?"

"Unfortunately." You pursed your lips. "It's been awhile," you amended. "I only know the couple at the table—enough to say, good luck, girl."

Dae made a face, but she pulled her shoulders back to solidify her posture. You always admired her work ethic and her customer service skills. As fellow waitresses during many a dinner rush hour, you both had to deal with your own handfuls of difficult people. At this point, it wasn't difficult to sniff them out from a mile away. There were some days you just wanted them to yell at you and get it over with.

Just as Dae left to go drop off drinks, your friends' order hit the window sill. You tucked the finished bill for table seven into your apron pocket and grabbed the trays to set on the table for your friends.

"You look like you're about to gnaw my fingers off, Jacob," you teased with a twinge of nervousness.

The man grinned at you, with teeth. "I'm hungry."

"Valid." You backed away from the table, and the carnage began.

You laughed, ducking your head, as you left your friends to their feast. You arrived at table seven and wished them a good night—

"Do you not have cherry coke? Isn't that, like, a universal fountain drink?"

You glanced over to see Dae's mouth twitch just slightly, but gave nothing else away. "No, we only have regular Coke and Diet Coke; I said that earlier, miss."

Kyla stared at her as if she'd just gotten her puppy revoked. "But they both taste like ass."

"You can have a fruit punch instead," Dae offered.

"But I don't want fruit punch."

You saw that the other two boys at the table fidgeted nervously. They were making eyes at Hyunjae, urging him to do something.

He seemed to lift his gaze to yours at that exact moment and you wondered what he saw in them. Something shifted in him, a silent acceptance of surrender.

The next thing you knew, he was leaning into the conversation. "Ky, you can just get a water or something and then we'll go get a drink after this. How does that sound?"

She threw a look over at him. "I really just want a cherry coke, Hyunjae. If I have to be forced to eat at this place, then the least you could do is get me a cherry coke."

Okay, that was enough.

"Is there a problem here?" You asked, sidling up beside Dae. You saw her loosen up out of the corner of your eye.

Kyla opened her mouth to retort something, but she halted abruptly. Her head cocked to the side, eyes narrowing, like she was trying to figure something out. You knew the moment she recognized you. A slow smile curled onto her mouth. "Oh my god… Yn Ln. Mommy and daddy kick you out or something? Why are you working at this dump?"

You were certain your eye started twitching.

Hyunjae grappled her shoulder. "Kyla."

"This is gold," she chirped. "Wow, I didn't think anything good could come of this dinner, but—" she sneered, "wow. You look awful."

"Takes one to know one," you said with venom dripping from your words. "We have a right to refuse service, ma'am, so if you don't quit badgering my friend and me, then I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

She didn't seem to catch your drift. "No. Get me. A cherry coke."

You suppressed every urge to fuck this girl up. To Dae, you murmured, "Can you cover my tables?"

"For sure, girl," she said, giving you a reassuring clasp on the shoulder. "Should I call Moretti?"

"No, I think we should be fine—"

"Wait until I tell everyone I know about how absolute ass this place is," Kyla ripped you back out into reality. She had her phone out now, and Eric, the guy in the hoodie, was reaching across the table to stop her.

You weren't allowed to touch her, you reminded yourself. You could do this with just words. No matter how much it killed you to not sucker punch her stupid, pearly whites in. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave," you told her through gritted teeth. "Either you buckle down with your regular Coca-Cola, or you get out."

"How about—no."

All breath dissipated from your lungs when you felt the carbonated liquid dumped in your face, the blocks of ice just missing your eyes. The entire establishment seemed to freeze with you.

You scoffed, slowly wiping the soda from your eyes and shaking out your arms. You couldn't seem to form coherent speech.

"What the fuck is going on here?" You recognized Kevin's hardened voice behind you, his hand squeezing your shoulder to tell you he was here.

As Kyla and Kevin dueled it out, you found Hyunjae's eyes again. To his credit, he seemed horrified and apologetic, his mouth parted in shock. But then again, he didn't have much credit anymore in your book.

Your hands fisted. You wanted to yell at him to get out. It had been a decent evening, a good evening, before he and his like came in and threw a drink in your face.

You didn't want to address the burning bitterness that coursed beneath all the annoyance and anger—out of everything, why didn't he say anything? Why didn't he try harder to help you? Why was he with her when he could be with y—nevermind. That didn't matter.

Even now, your back still ached from when he'd last left it stabbed.

"Are you okay, Yn-ie?"

You realized that Hyunjae and his party had gone now, and the shop patrons were slowly going back to whatever they had been doing before. Chanhee appeared before you with a couple napkins from the dispenser on the table, and Dae rushed over with a massive roll of paper towels. Your other friends had flocked over, too, to help clean up and also attend to customers while you pulled your shit together.

You gave a nod, finding your voice to tell them so. Your gaze casted briefly toward the front door where you knew he wouldn't ever be stepping back into.

You told yourself that was a good thing.

It was late when you finally pushed out of the back doors of the pizzeria building. Your car was parked out back with many of the other employee cars; it was just a lot more convenient and a lot less traffic. It had been a couple days since the fiasco with Kyla and Hyunjae, and you hadn't heard or seen him once since then.

That was a good thing. It was supposed to be a good thing. After all, why would he suddenly reappear in your life now? What purpose or what significance did that have?

You were going to try and forget about him again. Your life was plenty good without him, and yet…

"Yn."

Speak of the Devil. You swore under your breath as you nearly tripped over the curb. His voice was haunting, as was his presence, his whole silhouette. You'd once found a home with all those things—with him.

You and he stopped beside your car. "What are you doing here?" You asked him.

Hyunjae had his hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket. "I, uhm," he began, "I wanted to say sorry."

"Sorry?" You parroted. The word was sticky in your mouth and it clung to all the wrong crevices.

"Yeah, for the other night." He clasped the back of his neck. "I… I broke up with her, by the way."

Your eyes widened at his words. He broke up with Kyla? A part of you wanted to pump the sky and jump up and down—finally. Fucking finally! But there was another part of you, the rational one, who yanked you back to Earth and smacked you in the head to think about it. Three years of dating that girl, and just now he decided to break up with her? What was the tipping point? There was no way he didn't know she acted like a spoiled brat all the time.

What was so good about her anyway? You thought you had understood at the time—she had more money, more connections. Her parents were old money rich, not entrepreneurs like yours. It was stupid to think that was the reason, and you couldn't afford to go down that rabbit hole of methodology again.

"So?"

Your singular word seemed to slap him in the face. "So? I—" Frustration flickered across his face for a split second. Now he knew how you felt.

You couldn't wait for him to say anything; you had so much to say to him. "Listen Jaehyun," you said plainly. "I don't know what you want from me. You broke up with your girlfriend? Good for you. You're sorry for the other night? Okay. I don't know if you expect me to grovel and praise you for owning up for once—"

"Okay, what?" He cut in. "First of all, I don't expect you to grovel or praise me or whatever. Second, what do you mean 'owning up for once?'"

"I mean it exactly like I said it." You clenched the strap of your bag in your hand. Crazy how your car was literally right next to you, but you couldn't get into it. Your feet were glued to the street, and a part of you wanted to know how this ended. "The last time I saw you, Kyla laughed in my face, and you encouraged her. You dropped me like our years of friendship meant jack shit to you. I don't know what you're trying to pull, Jaehyun, and I don't wanna know."

Hyunjae leaned his head back, eyes closed for a second. "Yn, it's so much more complicated than that."

You stuck your tongue in your cheek. "That's such bullshit, and you know it. You don't get to come back and tell me this." There was a shakiness in your voice now, and you knew you had to get going or risk yelling. "That's just not fair."

"I know it's not fair."

"Good."

"Fine," he bit out. "I don't even know why I'm here."

Your hand found purchase on the driver's side door. Say something. Give me a reason to stay. "Maybe your sense of guilt has finally returned and your brain wanted to make amends."

He rolled his eyes, and it felt like a stab in your chest. "I'm going to leave now."

"Thank god." The words tasted sour in your mouth and you realized that he hadn't given you a reason to stay; in fact, it had been the exact opposite.

You both went your separate ways again. When you clambered into your car and watched him walk away through your rear view, it dawned on you that the entire conversation had been one massive circle. You wanted to hear him out—of course, you did.

You used to know him, after all. You used to know him so well. And perhaps that was why you hadn't just now.

"We need to talk."

A pair of hands slammed down on your desk and you nearly fell out of your chair. You tugged your earbuds out of your ear to give whoever this was a piece of your—

You frowned. "Oh. It's you."

Hyunjae frowned back at you. He was wearing a jean jacket today, hair styled presentably. He didn't have to look so good in this lighting, but you supposed even the sun liked to favor him. "Yes, it's me. Can you get up so we can—" He nodded out toward the library window beside you, "—talk?"

"So you want us to jump out the window?"

"You are so annoying."

Your smile was saccharine. "Not as annoying as you."

It had currently been around fifteen hours since he showed up at the back alley to confront you with that sorry apology. You'd woken up this morning less mad and more sad… smad. Sure, you were smad. It seemed that a night of sleep hadn't deterred your ex-best friend from talking to you, and you couldn't decide if that was a good or bad thing.

"You don't even go to this school," you told him in a pathetic attempt to wave him away without actually waving him away.

"This is a public campus, Yn." He pulled out the seat across from you before you could protest. "I don't have to go to this school."

You scowled. The organ in your chest was beating awfully fast—you really hoped you weren't about to get in a screaming match with him here of all places. "What do you want, Hyunjae? You can't just show up everywhere I go unannounced."

"I don't do that."

"I'm starting to think you're obsessed with me, actually."

"Will you just—"

"Heya, Yn." Relief flooded through you at the sight of Changmin and Sunwoo walking up to your table. The former narrowed his eyes behind his dark-framed glasses. "Everything okay?"

You flipped your notebook closed and swiftly packed all of your items up. "Yeah, perfectly," you said. Hyunjae didn't follow as you stood up. "Bye, Hyunjae."

As you walked toward the library exit, Changmin and Sunwoo converged on either side of you. "What was that all about?" Sunwoo asked, his head peering behind you at the boy who was no doubt still sitting at the table. "Why is he here?"

You shook your head and pushed out onto the university grounds, propping the door open for your friends trailing behind. "Dude, I have no idea. He dropped by on my way out of work last night—"

"He what?"

"It wasn't even a productive conversation," you told them. You didn't know where you were going, but you turned around to face them as you walked backward along the path. Maybe you shouldn't have just left him there. "I don't even know how he knew I was at the library."

Changmin's mouth quirked downward. "Isn't this like… kind of creepy? What's with him anyway?"

"Yeah, Yn, how do you know him?" Sunwoo chimed in.

You sighed, face scrunching up as you thought about where to begin. Swiveling back to front, your friends clung onto you—both physically and to your words. "Our parents loathe each other, because they're business rivals, but Hyunjae and I went to the same schools when we were kids and we became friends."

It had been the two of you against the world—best petty friends. That first time his parents had driven him over to your house for a play date, the looks on both yours and his parents had been priceless. It'd been a wonder that they'd let you continue with the play date. From that point on, however, you both became friends for life, all despite the odds.

At least, that was how it had been.

Three years ago, just before both of you were going to begin your college careers, he had pretended that everything between the two of you was nothing more than dumpster fire. He ended up with Kyla, he became a jerk, and you'd spiraled. Had it been something you'd done? Had it been you? Did his parents open his eyes to your families' petty rivalry and get him to turn on you? That was what it had seemed like.

You'd survived, somehow. You had friends now—good friends, nice friends, un-petty friends. (But Hyunjae had been that person for you, too, once upon a time.)

You found yourself in your apartment at six in the evening the next day, staring at a half-drunk glass of wine and a crossword on your coffee table. You'd snatched up one of the newspapers in the lobby to busy yourself with in an attempt to take your mind off thrown cups of coke, bitchy ex girlfriends, and bitter ex friends.

It hadn't worked yet.

A knock on your front door drew your focus away, and you dragged yourself up from the couch to see who it was. Something panged in your chest at the face on the other side of the peephole.

You ripped the door open. "Do you want a restraining order?"

Hyunjae stood on the other side looking a little less put together than yesterday, but still more put together than you. "Yn, can we please just talk?"

"How do you even know where I live?" You asked him, not moving from the threshold, and thus, leaving him no room to come in.

"I literally helped you move in three years ago," he said, blinking. Oh. "Now, can I please come in?"

At least he was saying please, you reasoned with yourself. Begrudgingly, you let him in.

His shoulders seemed to deflate as he slipped inside, and he left his shoes on the show rack by the front door. Once you'd replaced all the locks, you swept past him to your kitchen area. "Want a drink?"

"Uhm, sure. Yeah, thanks."

You came back to the couch with another glass and poured him some of the red.

The two of you sat on the couch beside each other with a comfortable amount of space in the middle. He picked up his glass and chugged the entire thing, while you finished off your own glass and reached for the bottle. It felt so strange to be in his space again—or at least, for him to be in your space again. You didn't know if the jittery kick in your heart was from nervousness, excitement, or both.

What more did he have to say to you?

When you topped your glass off again, Hyunjae refilled his own.

"What do you want from me, Hyunjae?" You asked him for what felt like the hundredth time within the past week. You didn't have the heart to look at him now, the alcohol making your brain buzz and your chest heavy.

He nursed his glass, elbows braced on his knees. "I'm sorry," he said, clearing his throat when his voice came out rough. He fidgeted with the collar of his shirt. "You're probably so fucking tired of me, but I just… I knew I had to make things right."

You tugged your legs onto the couch and tucked them under you. "Why? Because you broke up with your girlfriend for throwing soda in my face?" For a moment, the thought amused you. Out of all the things to break up with Kyla for—out of all the things—it'd been over Coca-Cola.

Hyunjae swallowed down his wine. "No, that's not—that's not why I wanted to break up with her. I mean, part of it, of course. She'd disrespected you and your friend and the workplace."

His words and their sincerity drew your eyes to him on your left. His head hung, but you could see the glazed look in his eyes, dulling out those pretty, mahogany irises of his. He looked like your Hyunjae for once, not the one who had appeared in the doorway of the pizzeria with his arm around a girl who didn't appreciate him or anyone.

"And I'm sorry for that," he continued. "I'm sorry I didn't do more to prevent that from happening."

You stared down into the dark stillness of your wine glass. "Well, it wasn't exactly your fault," you said quietly.

You heard him huff, "Yeah, sure." He lifted the glass up to his lips again, and you did the same.

"The little altercation was recorded and posted online," Hyunjae suddenly said. "And when my parents saw, they pretty much backed out of the partnership between our company and Kyla's parents'. They didn't let me break up with her before because of the contract or whatever, but after that PR nightmare, they pretty much cut ties for me."

He took another swig, and you found yourself really looking at him this time.

"I was and have been an asshole to you, Yn," he said. "And it's no excuse, but it was… I was just trying to make it easier for both of us."

The wine was penetrating your defenses. Or maybe that was his story. But either way, the stinging in the corners of your eyes led to a watering of your vision, and everything was getting blurry. The lights, him, your whole view of the situation. His parents hadn't turned him, but shackled him instead.

"I thought," you began, lifting a hand up to wipe your eyes dry, "you hated me."

Hyunjae raised his head, shaking it, then hanging it again. He drank. "I couldn't hate you. I tried—I tried to make it easier to see you differently, but… Yn, you were my best friend." His voice broke at the end and he swallowed. "I thought about you so much these past few years, and it was so hard to get through it without you."

Your heart was sinking fast into your stomach and you could feel it hammer against your bones. You'd thought about him too much, as much as you loathed to admit. The man who you felt had simply thrown you away… how pathetic was it that you couldn't stop caring? But now, the lens was widening. Maybe your feelings weren't so unique.

Both you and Hyunjae moved at the same time, arms raising to drain your glasses of the last bits of wine.

You told yourself it was the wine that was making you want to cry, but when you and Hyunjae looked at each other, his eyes were lined with silver. He sniffled, setting his glass on the coffee table. "I'm sorry," he whispered, biting his lip when emotion made him screw his face up and turn away from you.

You put your glass next to his and clambered over the sofa to wrap your arms around him. He turned his face into your chest and sobbed, the sound coaxing a crest of emotion out of you, too, and you held him and rocked him through the oncoming waves.

It was the wine, you thought. God it was the wine. It had to be the wine.

But your best friend was here in your arms, where he belonged, you liked to think. He was home.

You curled your hand over the back of his head, your cheeks damp. "'m sorry they forced you into that relationship," you rasped. The bitterness was sweeping back in a different color. "I wish I knew."

He sniffled. "They threatened to do something to your parents' company. I couldn't—I couldn't let you and them get involved."

The confession stabbed through you. You had no idea what his parents had told him, and made him do, for the sake of business. You had no idea how unhappy he was, and god—you wished you'd known. Maybe things wouldn't have come to such hurt.

Hyunjae pulled himself away from you and wiped his eyes. "I think after all that shit, I'm a little fucked up."

The both of you shared a watery laugh, the space that had originally been left between you, nonexistent.

You cupped the sides of his face. "You made it though, and you've been so strong, Jae."

His bottom lip trembled. "Can you ever forgive me?"

"Yeah," you nodded. "Yeah, I forgive you." How could you not? And it was the wine—you swore it was the wine—that had you leaning forward and pressing a kiss to his hairline. His eyes fluttered shut as he leaned into you, his hand reaching up to cover your hand with his own.

"I like you a whole lot better than her," he murmured.

"I'd hope so," you mused, patting his cheek. "You deserve to have someone so much better than her."

He gulped, eyes searching your face. "You think so?"

"I know so."

Your heartbeat stuttered when he leaned forward slightly. You could smell the wine on his breath as it fanned over your skin. It felt as if the world slowed in that moment—the lights were dimmer, his eyelids low, lips shiny and plush.

And then he blinked, energy and alarm and… something else in his expression. He pulled out of your hold and his ears turned bright red. "I should go."

Your lips parted. "Wait—"

He practically leapt off the couch and banged his knee against the wall as he hobbled into his shoes. "Damn—I—" he opened the front door, pausing over the threshold. You didn't know why he was leaving; you wanted him to stay. Why, why, why was he leaving? "I, uhm, I've overstayed my welcome."

The door rattled as he closed it behind him, as if to tell you to not follow him out. You were left on the couch alone again, two empty glasses of wine, feeling stripped.

What the hell was that?

"And he just… left?"

You nodded, sweeping the apron around your waist over the hook in the back room of the pizzeria. It was late when yours and Dae's shift ended, as per usual. The shop was pretty much closed, leaving the two of you and two of the cooks who usually closed up the establishment when you both left.

For the entirety of your shift, you had been turning over yesterday's events over and over again. "I don't know what I did wrong, y'know? Maybe I crossed a boundary or something? I dunno."

Worry gnawed at your stomach as you recalled what happened to Dae. You both stepped out of the back of the building to head to your respective cars. It was dark out, as it usually was, with a few street lights along the road that you and Dae stuck to while walking.

As you approached your car, you noticed Hyunjae standing beside it with his hands tucked in his pockets and his head turned toward you. Rather than the sourness you'd felt for him at the beginning of the week, the feeling twisting in your chest was sweeter, but bitter still.

"I'll see you tomorrow then," Dae said to you softly with a gentle nudge of your arm. She walked ahead of you and passed by your car to get to hers, leaving you to confront the man plaguing your every thought for the past week.

You swallowed as you made your way over to the driver's side door where he was standing. "Hey."

Hyunjae gave a slight bob of his head. "Hey."

"Did I do something wrong yesterday?" You asked him, earnestly, searching his face for any hint as to why he had left so abruptly.

"No, it wasn't your fault—it definitely wasn't your fault," he told you. He sucked in a breath, carding a hand through his hair. "I had an epiphany of sorts."

"An epiphany?" You furrowed your brows.

His cheeks had flushed slightly, and he couldn't exactly meet your eyes. "I thought it was just the alcohol clouding my judgment, and in combination with all the emotions, and I just—" he shook his head. "It's probably not important, but…"

You bumped your elbow with his. "Jae, you're here. It probably is important."

A small smile curled up onto his face. "Y'know," he began, finally lifting his head to look you in the eyes, "she would have agreed with me and brushed me off."

You knew who the "she" he was talking about was. You frowned. "She was never good enough for you, Hyunjae."

"I know." He sighed. "I just wanna be enough for you though now."

Surprise lit across your face, and you could feel the butterflies in your stomach start to take flight. You couldn't think coherently with his words, and you were probably reading into it too much. The two of you had been away so long that you probably forgot how to read him; there was no doubt that something changed over the past three years, right?

When you failed to find a reply, he shifted slightly, his body facing straight toward you. "I've had a lot of time to think, and the whole time I was with her, I just kept comparing her to you." He stepped closer to you and his hand reached out to tentatively take your fingers with his. "She never measured up; maybe that made me even more bitter for ruining our friendship."

You met his eyes. There was that glimmer of the rich brown like what you'd seen last night. (Your Hyunjae was present and accounted for.) "What… what are you saying?"

"I'm saying that I," he said, fully taking your hands with his, "would like to start over on a slightly different note. But if you don't feel the same, we can start wherever you're comfortable with."

It would be different, you realized. But it would be a good different, right?

You found your voice, curled your fingers around his in the space between you. "Okay."

His smile slowly widened, his eyes squinting into upturned crescent moons. "Okay?"

You nodded, returning the expression. "Let's start over on that different note."

The pizzeria was as alive as usual. It was warm, smelled like tomatoes and cheese and bread, and it was still your home away from home. You had just finished your break and were tying your apron back on when Dae bumped her hip against yours as she passed by with a tray of dirty dishes.

"Your banshees just got in," she said, before disappearing through the kitchen doors.

Your gaze went to the door where you found your five friends, and the additional three, who were filing in altogether. You made eye contact with one person in particular, his smile softening into something fond at the corners of his mouth. He lifted a hand in greeting, grabbing everyone else's attention as they said their hellos to you.

The eight of them made their way over to the round table in the back corner, piling into the chairs around it.

"Waitress! Waitress!" The hyena-like sound set off an alarm in your head and you came over to the table to give Changmin a stink eye. He grinned innocently. "Oh yay, it worked."

You gave him an unimpressed look. "You sound like a chihuahua."

"Joke's on you, I think chihuahuas are cute," he huffed, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest.

You braced your hand on the back of Hyunjae's chair, the other one gently patting the top of his head. He acknowledged your greeting, his hand reaching up to cover yours on the chair back. "What's to drink, y'all?"

A chorus of beverages rang out, and you mentally counted the few repeats and the singles. You promised to be right back, and left to go grab them. As you went, you could hear your boys start up a lively debate about the multipurpose properties of the lemon. You wondered if that was what they had been bickering about on the car ride over here, and you heard Eric say something about lemons for cleaning; Juyeon just said lemonade; and Changmin said for inflicting "more pain." (No, you didn't want to know.)

When you returned to their table to pass out your drinks, you went around, leaving Hyunjae for last. You set his cup of coke in front of him and he passed you a smile.

"You're not gonna dump that on me, are you?" You asked, eyes narrowing playfully.

He grinned. "As long as you don't dump me, we're good."

Sunwoo made a face from across the table. "Yuck, get a room!"

Chanhee smacked him upside the head. "At least they have someone to be yucky with."

"This feels familiar somehow," Kevin pondered aloud. "Like déjà vu."

Jacob shrugged. "Maybe in another universe. I dunno, it seems like something we would have said to Sunwoo at some point."

"Hey!—"

You were halfway through a laugh when Hyunjae caught your attention, twisted around in his chair to smile up at you. "What's up?" You asked him.

His eyes, you could never get sick of his eyes. They glistened in the lighting here. "Nothing," he said swiftly, "I'm just… happy to be here." With you.

You understood, and you caught his hand on the back of the chair and gave him a little squeeze. "I'm happy you're here, too." It seemed that some things were just meant to come full circle.

tbz m.list

permanent taglist: @flwoie @vatterie @seomisaho @hqrana @ja4hyvn @tinkerbell460 @kaaimins @hyunjaespresent-deobi @otterly-fey @zzoguri @floatingpluto @winterchimez @ethereal-engene @gyulfriend @polarisjisung @jaehunnyy @shakalakaboomboo @loveliestfelix @bless-311 @zhaixiaowen @leaz-kpop-life @amourdsr @pxppxrminty @kqyutie @sseastar-main @kxthleen14 @fluorescentloves @mosviqu @justalildumpling @jaerisdiction @super-btstrash-posts @jundundun @http-gyu @mvvnsseul @outrologist @vernonburger @maessseongs @kflixnet @ericlvr

[lestappenforever]

I would like to throw in a couple things I noticed about lestappen that I think isn't mentioned a lot, and sorry if this is too long:

1. Often people say Max is more gentle around Charles and less jokey than he is with Dan/Lando. What I noticed a lot recently about Charles is that he's the type of person who often can't make fun of others for a joke. Every time an interviewer asks a funny question intended to joke about another driver, Charles shuts them down and won't speak poorly of another driver, even in jest. On the flip side you see Lando easily joking after quali that Max "ruins everything" and they both laugh about it. I think Max is gentle with Charles because Charles doesn't dish out jabs like Dan and Lando do, so Max doesn't jab back.

2. I also wanted to point out how Charles chats with Max vs other drivers. In the recent vid with him, Alex and Lando talking on the F1TV post race show, he asks about Alex's finishing position, but it almost sounded like a polite question rather than genuine interest to chat about each other's races. Maybe it's because he was being interviewed that he kept it professional and short, but he didn't seem all that interested to talk shop with Alex and Lando. Obviously we know they get on well, but I feel like they probably normally chat about other things. Whereas with Max, they're both EXTREMELY chatty after races, and I think Charles knows with Max he can get super technical and chatty about the intricacies of the tracks. Like every cool down room, Charles and Max are like "omg isn't turn 6 so hard to drive, how bad is the curb, etc." and they both won't shut up about it. But then he goes to chat with other drivers and it's just "how was your race? Good? Cool!" Like I think they both like how nerdy and technical they are about the race and know they can debrief with each other. Every other driver after a race just wants to move on and not talk about it more than they need to. But Max and Charles love the debrief, and so I think they enjoy each other's company more because they're the only two who can talk shop like that.

I don't even feel the need to add anything to do this because you've got this spot on, anon.

Thank you so much for adding these very accurate insights! 💕

[lakesbian]

okay, as i have been encouraged by the public (like 2 people) to go forward with this research, i present the very scientific Tier List of Blonde Wildbow Characters Ranked From Most to Least Likely to Have A Piss Kink. virtually no one wanted this post. i did not want this post. it is 2.1k words long. i wanted to inform you of that before you clicked read more in case you were just expecting a tier list image and did not actually want to read 2.1k words about piss kinks.

wherein:

the tier list exists because of this ask, which was written in jesting response to the subject of victoria dallon's canon piss kink (more on that below) and somewhat intentionally misrepresented by me as being contextless because i thought it was funny to crop it and reply with 'ok.' which led to a massive containment breach and several thousand people not realizing anon was trying to make a joke. sorry. my bad, anon.

here, "likelihood of having a piss kink" is defined as "likelihood of having a kink that involves primarily or significantly urine," and genre of piss kink shall be clarified for the characters where it's a possibility.

no pictures are included for the characters because not all of them have fanart and also there's a lot of them and the tier list is only so big and i'm lazy

characters i do not know well enough to vibe check are not included

rationally speaking it would make most sense to presume that unless a character has a canon or heavily implied piss kink it is heavily implausible for them to have one but this post would be boring and pointless if i went that route so i'm going to include some somewhat baseless vibe-checking/discussion of hypotheticals where it's not explicitly disproven or improbable. with my bestest attempts to remain reasonable levels of character accurate given the post circumstances.

our ranks here are:

canon: this character canonically has a piss kink

highly plausible: there is strong contextual evidence that could be used to argue for the presence of a piss kink

plausible: based on more vibes/less solid evidence than "highly plausible," but a piss kink is still possible

could go either way: there is a lack of evidence in either direction, there's no way to make a clear argument on the matter

not very plausible: there is decent contextual evidence or simply Character Vibes that could be used to argue against the presence of a piss kink

strong evidence against: it can be deemed nigh-certain that this character does not have a piss kink

The Chart:

the characters who were not included because i do not know them personally (opinions welcomed):

all three ashleys

bianca

The Analysis:

Canon:

victoria: stated by wildbow to have some kind of "preferred fluid" you shouldn't drink, knows what urine tastes like. canon watersports kink. i hate her. i hope she stands within 20 feet of fentanyl and overdoses and dies. i hope she goes down a slide too hard.

Highly Plausible:

citrine: we know that accord is certainly and without doubt enough of a control freak (<- said w/ deep affection) that he insists that his ambassadors refrain from Wanton and Unprofessional Bathroom Breaks, but also insists that they never indicate they have to pee (or engage in any other basic bodily function) ever because that's Icky and if they do he will want to Rube Goldberg Machine But The Machine Is A Saw Trap them about it. and we know that citrine gets off on him being a control freak. it can thus be reasonably extrapolated that she's constantly doing accidental omorashi w/ accord and is just as into that as she is all the other aspects of control. the piss is incidental--the main point is still whatever appeals to her about the control in general--but, like, The Piss Is There. extremely does not want to experience what would happen if she ever even remotely fucked up holding, but presumably enjoys the mortifying ordeal of attempting to politely excuse herself to the restroom and/or stoically holding so she doesn't have to excuse herself in the first place.

paige (pact): she textually, literally, canonically, For Fucking Real, is a lesbian who enters into the world of pactverse magic because she's tempted by a hypothetical dom/sub dynamic with a hot professor who is actually a sphinx. (if any of you who haven't read pact yet are reading this post. Please go read pact.) this extrapolation is less blatant than citrine, but it's by no means unreasonable to assume that there could be some bladder control going on here. she can go to the bathroom when she's a good girl and finishes answering all of isadora's questions. etc. hey do you think pactverse would have really hardcore RACK omorashi where you make a statement that you are NOT going to go until [x amount of time] and it's your karma on the line if you fuck it up. i bet people with executive dysfunction in pact do this type of shit a lot. they're like i am going to start my homework RIGHT NOW!!! and then they Have to. i digress.

Plausible:

peter: we have no information about his love life beyond him flirting with ainsley amidst a Serious Disaster involving Demons, so this is just vibes-based, but he's mean and manipulative and unpleasant in a specific way that could theoretically insinuate that he would enjoy accidentally-on-purpose preventing a girl from getting to the bathroom & watching her squirm. you'll have to trust me on this.

Could Go Either Way:

ellie: my consultant re the pelhams vibes-based ranked her higher than peter, but i don't see it. i could see her having one, but it'd be in a different and grosser direction than peter. i feel like blake's comparison of her to a weak, groveling dog in a pack may be relevant here.

rose (old): i don't strongly see it, but based on what we know about her sex life i wouldn't be surprised if she participated in any heat-of-the-moment watersports.

rose (young): somehow coming in with the exact right bizarre psychosexual complexes to score higher than both blake and pre-meiosis thorburn. i don't think it's likely, but i somehow don't see a reason to mark her down as entirely implausible. her theoretical psychosexual complex about blake is marked by a few facts: she says that he has a "hate-on" for her, she does that weird thing where she hugs him for comfort & lets him give her his jacket (what if the lamb you were leading to slaughter was the man you could've been, and for just a moment, you wanted to take kindness from The Man You Could've Been despite the fact that, because you are not him, you will betray him regardless), when he sacrifices himself to fuse with/bolster her the fusing is described in ostensibly sexual language (being Inside her, the two halves grinding, etc), and she does that whole noticeable twice-over to his almost-naked body. she would absolutely never admit to wanting to fuck her "clone," but were she to envision it, the scenario she would mentally craft would involve blake wanting to fuck her (he never would & she knows this) and, like, eating her out like he wants to kill her or doing some boot frotting with splinters. oh and she would give him the most awkward dry unpleasant handjob on the planet where she's very clearly treating him like a program to experiment with, press button A and find out if it gets result B. I digress. one could also imagine a theoretical rose thorburn piss kink which remains an entirely subconscious psychosexual fixation that she freudian-slips into conversation at least once a la "hate-on," wherein the ideal scenario for her earlier into the book would be wetting herself for reasons entirely against her control despite being so very brave and stalwart and stoic, and imaginary blake is like "wow you were so brave and stoic about that...it's ok everyone has gotten into an awkward spot once or twice in their lives. in fact, [personal recounting of relevant horrible memory]. here have my jacket i will tie it around your waist for you with a lingering amount of physical contact." and later into the book that would switch to just Making The Fuck Up that he'd be really mean and humiliating about it and then getting mad about her imaginary vision of him doing that even though he literally would not do that ever. (the hypothetical of him being mean about it would be a kink thing for her also obviously. Hate On, she says.) okay sorry for talking so much about rose thorburn's psychosexual fixation with blake thorburn i think it's really funny for her to be extremely abnormal about the clonefucking quandary.

fell: i don't actually know him well enough to postulate what genre it would be if he hypothetically had one but despite not Expecting that he has one i wouldn't find it wholly implausible if wildbow got up tomorrow and made an announcement declaring that he does. i think this could be utilized primarily for the humor purposes of, like. blake being like "hey i know we can't really pull over right now BUT could you pull over? i need to take a leak. should i say want to? is it technically lying if i say need but it's not an emergency yet?" and fell being like No. Do Not Say Another Word On This Subject And Also I Hate You. which is because he is desperately and fervently and furiously and with great and genuine anger and rage attempting to Not think about Blake Thorburn, A Conventionally Attractive And Very Annoying Man, having to pee. but blake interprets it as fell being an asshole for no reason and is like ohhh ok fuck you i guess should i just pee on your seat then. you want me to ruin your car seat? [accusatory, fully bluffing, would rather kill himself than piss in fell's car] you're a car guy who doesn't even care about your fancy white upholstery? and fell is like [desperately doing mental math on if blake thorburn, whomst is already covered in fleas and bloods and mysterious liquids, would be petty enough to intentionally piss himself to ruin fell's car] . I will make you walk. like you can see my vision right.

Not Very Plausible:

kathryn: i simply do not see it. she could have something weird going on but it's not a piss kink. the vibes are not being served.

sandra: also a simple matter of the vibes not being there. has probably been exposed to it at one time or another but sees it as undignified and so on

callan: not sensing it

lisa: bathroom shit is surely beyond mundane to her just like everyone elses private bodily workings thoughts feelings etc. i dont even think she has any kinks or interest in sex in general

crystal: this is the only interesting one in this section! she was described to me as "very laid back, but also kind of passive. she's a slob in her private life. sort of goes with the flow to the point that it led her joining a paramilitary force with no oversight." i think being in the dallon-pelham torment nexus sort of intrinsically adds +20 Not Likely points unless youre victoria but i can only assume from this description of her personality that if someone she was fucking was into it she would just roll with it.

neil: was described to me as "neil barely gets anything. he's kind of reckless? he trained victoria a lot. he cheated on his wife with her sister. he liked knocking toddler-aged victoria over as a form of 'training.'" probably not very likely at all but who knows. maybe "declines to fuck sarah and watches panty pissing porn instead" is on his list of secrets next to "cheated on his wife with her sister."

Strong Evidence Against:

carol, paige (worm) (this is canary in case you forgot like i did), cuff, theo, sarah: the club of generic respectable milquetoast cishets who would not do any of that shit and would probably judge someone at least a little for any amount of kink (or in some cases even vanilla sex <3), with paige coming on on the less-judgemental end of the scale and carol coming in at the high end of the judgement scale.

ciara: not generic milquetoast or respectable but the idea of her being into it is just like. silly to me. faerie queens aren't into piss that would be ridiculous. unless they're pactverse faerie queens, then it's a "got bored of it 31 centuries ago" situation, but ciara is not a pactverse faerie.

elle: already struggles with keeping up with hygiene and like...general Existence. surely would not associate any bodily function w/ anything but a task to complete or a mess to clean (<- other task). also presumably might need help going to the bathroom/being reminded that she needs to go sometimes so that certainly would not b anywhere near sexual to her

scion: uh. well. I don't think he knows what any of that shit is to be real with you. Does he even fucking count as blonde?

blake: is textually extremely triggered and distressed and disgusted by being dirty/unclean & losing control over his physical body, to the point where not being able to regularly shave is actively seriously detrimental to his mental health. his tragic character arc of having his identity degraded to the point where "is that still blake" becomes debatable a la ship-of-theseus question is viscerally represented by the fact that bogeyman-blake is just constantly filthy, to the point of turning snow into gray, stained slush when he walks thru it. struggling to deal with basic bodily functions & cleanliness while homeless absolutely severely traumatized him. he would react to someone else wetting themselves with, like, appropriately blake-like levels of kindness & concern, but he would still 100% find the actual piss disgusting. he would try to avoid showing it, but he would find it disgusting. we see him reacting with immense horror to conquest threatening to make him soil himself. if he were ever actually forced into a circumstance where he was genuinely worried about the possibility of pissing himself--let alone if he actually did so--he would have a Category 5 DEFCON 1 Mental Health Moment. all of which is a great reason he should have pissed himself at least once during pact! (<- i just elaborated on this point at such great length i had to force myself to backspace it all and move onto the next bulletpoint)

PMT: exact same trauma as blake. because you know. They were Blake before they got got. unlike blake, still capable of wanting to fuck people, but, like, We Know They're Not Doing Anything With Piss. leatherdyke piss kinkster pmt is a beautiful beautiful vision but its not true.

there you go. thats it. thats the tierlist.

[toskarin]

I just saw your most recent gundampost, and while its accurate and funny, I was overwhelmed by an immense pressure when I went to reblog it, and couldn't bring myself to do so. Its filled with a twistedness that, even in jest, is too dangerous. Even just typing up this ask caused my computer to freeze.

that immense pressure is my will casting a shadow over your spiritual core. that's the first step in getting hollowed out so I can move my soul to your body and continue my pursuit of ultimate heavenkilling power when this one expires. anyway thanks for liking the post

[simplifiedemotions]

Spring

The coming of spring starts well before the first petals form.

The seeds in the ground dance with each other, mixing soil and root as they sprout up out of the nurturing earth, a mass of green dotted by vibrant colours breathing in the welcoming wind.

Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy go through the same process.

—

Change is often accompanied by pain. 

The scar on the inside of her forearm burns fiercely enough that she grinds her bottom teeth constantly and aggressively.

(To the dismay of her gentle father, who no longer remembers her but who he has welcomed in the humble dentist’s office he and his wife own.)

The mark on his pounds sticky guilt through his veins and into the four equally pained chambers of his worthless heart.

(No, he will not write his father in Azkaban, nor the friends who reach out and seek a boy who is no longer there.)

An acrid stench, with notes of failure and sorrow, follows them through the corridors of a once comforting castle and seeps into the roughened pages they bow their heads over.

Loneliness, that ever pervasive bell that hearkens a weary heart, brings the two of them together in the same library one candle-lit evening.

Draco Malfoy is cruel, but not enough that she curses him with her wand. She has enough venom in her too, and they spit forked insults at each other for the first quarter hour they share a table.

She demands he use any of the other empty tables.

He insists he likes this one just fine.

Because she is stubborn, and he feeds off his own pettiness, they accidentally start a routine.

“I hate your guts—”

“The feeling is mutual, you twit—”

“You are so full of yourself, Granger, you know that?”

“At least I didn’t run to daddy every time even the smallest thing—”

“Careful—”

“I will not. You think you have any right to aggrandise me when your bloody aunt—”

“It wasn’t me!”

“It was enough that you watched!”

“So, what, you want an apology—”

“Don’t you dare utter a word of it unless you’re ready to mean it—”

—

“GET OUT!”

“YOU GET OUT!”

“I will not—hang on, you’ve written this rune down incorrectly. It’s meant to start with—”

“Granger, I swear to Merlin—”

—

“I suppose you think you’re funny.”

“I do, actually.” She laughs at the image of Malfoy’s pointy face engraved in the wood. She thinks she did a rather fine job getting each snobby angle. Wood, she has found, can be a rather tricky medium to use for creating an accurate portrait.

“Who knew the prim Hermione Granger would desecrate school property—”

The engraved drawing vanishes from the desk with a wave of her hand. The only marks left are the scuffs and scratches left by decades of Hogwarts students. 

He raises an unamused eyebrow. She gives him her first real smile. Her cheeks only mildly hurt from disuse.

—

Eventually, antivenin in the form of hesitant smiles and surprise gestures. They become friends of sorts, the type that have skipped over social pleasantries and have moved straight into criticising each other’s essays and finding jest in the activities of their fellow eighth years.

Neville And Pansy? Hermione is shocked. Draco only smirks and tells her of the rendezvouses he has unfortunately beared witness to in various corners of the castle.

Bill Weasley has accepted the proposition to teach the rest of the term in Defence Against the Dark Arts when Professor McGonagall decides she can no longer substitute the oft-maligned position along with her duties as Headmistress.

Hermione only cries a little when she thinks of poor Professor Lupin. 

No one is surprised when Lavender and Padma share a fiery first kiss born out of jealousy in the Great Hall.

Outside, snow defrosts. The stalk of a flower perks up its renewed head.

—

Spring is coming, and with that the tumult of plans of those whose last year at Hogwarts brings on a bittersweet effect. 

They were hard years, thinks Hermione thinks Draco thinks Ginny Neville Dean. So many of them were war heroes before their acne had cleared, and now they’re being thrust into an entirely new skirmish: adulthood.

But for now, the first flowers have bloomed.

Dots of blues, reds, and whites colour the landscape of dreary Scotland, overtaking the cold winter and its allies of hurt.

Hermione’s arm hurts less these days. Hagrid says it’s normal for injuries to hurt less in the warmer months. She agrees, and hides a smile when she sees a tall form with obnoxiously bright white-blond hair walk down the stone path, on the way to a meeting spot they’d just discovered last week.

This school never ceases to surprise.

Draco’s chest isn’t completely full, and he doesn’t think it ever will be, but he relishes in the uptick of his heart when he sees a certain curly-haired witch. She walks towards him, her long hair plaited to the side, the sun casting her eyes in its halo.

They sit on the leg of a moss-covered willow tree. Hermione tells Draco a story about a wood nymph who had waited three-hundred days and nights for her mortal lover who’d been seized by a hungry war, and it was only when the last of her strength was sapped, and the tree she called home lost all its leaves and its branches drooped, did her lover finally come back to her, his face ashen and his walk a gait from all the pain he’d endured.

His touch brought her back from the call of death in Hades’ great halls, and she encased his pain in her chest so that he would not have to bear it alone.

“Took him long enough,” says Draco, scowling.

“Love’s worth waiting for, I think,” says Hermione, smiling.

They look at each other.

The flowers flowing at their feet perk up, waiting, knowing a moment is about to come. Has to come.

When Draco leans in to kiss his nymph, she startles and, looking to grip onto something to stop her fall, grabs onto the lapels of his school robes, bringing them both toppling over onto soft grass.

The hanging willow groans in irritation. The flowers only mildly complain at being squashed by the two humans who are tangled in each other's arms, breathing in each other’s air, sweet, like spring.

[enbydykethoughts]

Feeling Undesirable as a Black Non-Binary Lesbian

This whole blog post will sound so incel-ly, and as comical as that sounds, it’s kinda accurate? However, I felt compelled to write this because so much of my life and self-worth has been shrouded in a fog of undesirability. Undesirability that stems from experiences in my formative years, and that even presents itself in every queer space I inhabit, but especially in masculine lesbian areas. Because no, queer spaces are not free from heteronormative norms and ideals. Now, I’m not a complete incel, I have a couple situationships and a long-term relationship under my belt. So obviously I have been desirable to a few people. But ultimately life is a lesson, and for so much of my life I have been taught that I am undesirable. Now how could a jaw-droppingly gorgeous, modelesque, face-card-has-never-declined bitch like me go through my life feeling this way? It started during my obligatory brief trip through hell, Elementary & Middle School.

I am proud to say I spent much of my formative years in Boyle Heights, a majority Mexican neighborhood in East LA. But going to school in a majority Mexican community meant I was one of two Black students that went to my school. And the other Black person was my brother… Beyond the usual comments made by good-intentioned yet still ignorant people, I was surrounded by the general belief of my peers that I was undesirable. While my friends were moving onto their 3rd boyfriend of the week, I could overhear my crushes laughing at the thought of dating me. I deviated greatly from the fair-skinned, long straight-haired, short, slim-thick expectations many of the guys at my school were looking for. Every single day I walked into school was a reminder I was different and because I was different I couldn’t possibly be attractive. That the thought of me being attractive was a very very very funny joke.

Now you may have two gripes with this already. You may be like “that was in middle school, you’re almost twenty, get over it” or “aren’t you a lesbian? why did you care what the guys thought about you anyways?” One, I'm sure you still have internalized an insecurity from middle school, so shut up. Plus the masculinization of Black women permeates every part of our society (Armond, J. at USC, Takinami, E. P. (thesis) at University of Vermont, Akintunde, O. (article) at Hampton University). And two, I didn’t always know I was a lesbian, the comp-het was very strong in middle school me. 

But now that I have grown up and come into my identity as a Black Non-binary Lesbian, I find I still struggle with these same issues. While people won't laugh and call me ugly to my face, I pick up on the subtle cues that remind me that I am not safe or wanted even in the queer community. And more specifically in masculine lesbian spaces. As much as the queer community likes to advertise that we are sooo far removed from heteronormative norms and ideals, my presence in queer spaces has shown quite the opposite. 

This taps into Lesbian Desirability. What is Lesbian Desirability? What makes one more desirable to other lesbians? Hairy underarms? Happy Trails? Bushes? I jest but I have never seen it concretely discussed. My observations have led me to suspect that certain aspects of Lesbian Desirability are attached to gender norms. The masc-femme dynamic is a great example of this. Mascs for Femme relationships are integral to the queer community, and have been historically celebrated (as they should). But I feel some in the queer community are overwhelmingly attached to the masc-femme dynamic in a way that mimics homophobia. When lesbian comedian Emma Willmann brags in her set about being “the man one” in her relationship it further proves my point (Willmann). I love the twist the masc-femme dynamic provides to heteronormative ideals. But I feel us queer non-men have truly lost the plot. Being a butch-for-butch or stud-for-stud lesbian does not make you the ‘wrong type of gay’(Butch Wonders). 

For starters what we deem as feminine and masculine is inherently formed through heteronormative and white supremacist ideals. That is not up for debate. And it can lead to the feeling that dating women that don't fit into that perfectly femme mold is not allowed. Tying this back into my experiences; I know as a tall Black “woman” I am already viewed as more masculine than a white woman. Attach my non-binary identity and mixed gender expression, I get absolutely no play in masc lesbian fields. I have noted the way masculine women interact with me. I’m seen as a masc buddy, even though my expression is quite androgynous. The non-black ones will also usually throw in some AAVE and mention rap music. With others I get the sense we’re in a competition I didn’t agree to . It’s like some masc women feel emasculated by my presence… and the gag is they aren’t even men!!! 

This especially sucks for me because of course I have a preference for masculine presenting non-men. I am not the target audience for this group and it is really isolating. Hence the omnipresent feeling of undesirability. Of course because I am even more of a loser and have felt this way for the majority of my life, I am excellent at altering myself to try to fit into the femme ideal. Yeah I’ll put on the makeup even though I feel like wearing my funky grandpa sweater today. Or, I’ll swap my platforms because I don't want to seem too tall. I do this at the expense of the freedom of the expression of my identity. Yet it never works! Here comes the most lesbian incel sentence ever: I have still never been romantically approached by a masc woman!

Comically enough, what gives me no luck in one area of the lesbian community makes me very successful in another. I seem to be popular amongst the femmes. Granted there is a “masc drought” and I think they are getting desperate… but I can't help but feel I am more acceptable in these spaces because my identity as a tall Black lesbian is already viewed as inherently masculine. And I’m not a femme hater, I love femmes because I love women duh. But I have to note that I have been exclusively romantically engaged with femmes despite my preference for mascs.

One thing I feel is extremely important to address, a feeling that followed me during my long-term relationship yet I could not explicitly name until that relationship ended. I felt valued and desirable for the first time. And I especially felt that way because my validation was coming from a white woman. She didn’t feel I was inherently masculine or feminine. Or that me not fitting the white-cis expectations of femininity was a problem. Not because I am Black, not because I am non-binary, not because I am tall, not even because I have a buzz cut. And that’s great and I am (I guess) grateful for that—I say I guess because that should be the standard— but the fact that I needed that validation at all is a problem. And the fact that it felt especially validating because she was white is an even bigger problem. A problem instilled into me at a young age, because white attention made you sPeCiAL. Obviously that is something I need to and have been unpacking, but is going to be hard to unlearn.

Ultimately, I have to restructure the way I view myself, and the things I am willing to do to be seen as desirable by people. Because as much as I can call out the queer community for being heteronormative, I still internalize those same views. I know I will never romantically or sexually be viewed in the same way a white-cis overtly feminine woman is. And that hurts, but also feels good? Because I definitely don’t want to be white. But I’m tired of being simultaneously desexualized, animalized, and jezebeled. (If you don’t know the Jezebel trope here: Jim Crow Museum (article))

Anyways, this is probably the most personal thing I have ever written outside of my diary before. And it’s pretty scary, because I am sure some of the things I say will be misinterpreted. And that's ok because I am sure I did not say this in the 100% most eloquent way. But I do know this is important to me, and regardless of how ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ my feelings or experiences are I know they are mine. I hope any other dark-skinned, queer, non-binary person can relate or feel seen in even a fracture of these thoughts. Feel free to message me on what you thought about this.

[anewdawnwithoutfear]

Chalkboard (Memory)

Warden stared at her long-time colleague blankly, “If you’re trying to make me laugh, try being funny.” Certainly, they agreed in broad strokes about the future, but as individuals, they were oil and water. It’d only been 6 years since they all finally cut their losses, and with a much smaller circle, he was that much more irritating.

“My apologies,” his voice was soft as ever, one of the few traits she appreciated him having, “I am somewhat disappointed I will be unable to return to my extracurricular vocation, so to speak.”

Conductor raised his hand before he began to interject, “If I may–”

“You may.”

“Professor.”

He nodded and gestured to Conductor for him to continue.

“Perhaps you could focus on using the free time to help us strategize a little? We can figure out how to help get you a job later?” Immediately as he finished, he looked between his wife and her rival nervously, as if expecting disappointment that never came.

The Professor rubbed the crease between his brows, “I understand that. I do think some classroom materials, such as a blackboard, could be helpful to us, if we can get any, though.”

“Well, considering they’re updating those–”

“Indeed. I dislike the new ones, aesthetically, and I find it strange that they are called chalkboards instead of greenboards, when the previous iteration also used chalk and were named blackboards.”

“Would you please be serious, here?”

“I am being serious.” He paused just long enough to make her think he was done, and before she could begin to respond, “I jest, of course. Put Liu on tracking down reusable materials for drawing up plans to be seen by large audiences, among other needs. We also need to start future-proofing my Engine.”

“Isn’t future-proofing its whole thing?”

“I meant it needs to have a safe home indefinitely. If some of my theories turn out to be accurate, that could have implications long-term.”

[combines]

are you srsly the person who coined butter pecan for freehoun... from what i read the fact you named it after a flavor you think is gross is so funny (as a fellow freemancer)

hello nice to meet you!!!! this is sooo funny dkfkko like my legacy lives on.....i don't even now how ppl found posts referencing butter pecan considering tumblr's search/tagging system is so shit but the half-life fandom was so much fun back then!!!! so many amazing/talented/funny people!! :') <3

tbh i can't remember exactly how it came about but i think i remember it being dubbed butter pecan bc "a lot of nuts"??? it being one of my least favorite ice cream flavors also sounds accurate LOL obviously, a lot of it was in jest, we were all just being super silly and literally made memes out of everything and anything. i say this now because since the 2020 hl resurgence i've caught wind of some side-eyeing me (and others) because i didn't actively ship freehoun based on posts from, at that point, nearly ten years ago. i don't know why it matters or why people care what i think. i was just having fun with my friends, and i don't know how those posts come across now but i never meant anything maliciously by them. i've reblogged/supported/liked freehoun content over the years alongside freemance stuff like it isn't that deep

the half life fandom discourse of 2020 seriously had people accusing those who shipped freemance of being groomers so i think me jokingly dunking on a ship in 2012 is very benign by most standards lol

thanks for your ask!!!! :)

[blackbutler-readerinsertsandjunk]

Major Joanne simp here..Joanne relationship Headcannons with a chaotic reader? Just a gal who loves him a bunch but gets into major hijinks

aaaaaa I'm a major Joanne simp too, I gotchu~

If you loved him, you wouldn’t draw attention to him—!! Of course, that’s all in good fun. He knows you aren’t trying to embarrass him or give him a heart attack or anything, so he really is a good sport about these things. After all, he loves you a lot too, so he’s not going to argue too much or anything. He’s just… easily flustered. If he ever does say something about whatever latest thing she does, he makes it very clear he’s only teasing. … Even if it does exasperate him from time to time.

What did you do this time, love…? Set some crickets loose in the library? Draw on Midford’s face while he was napping in a common room? Spread a silly rumor about Redmond reading scandalous poetry to two different girls? Aaaah… Joanne loves you, of course, but the sheer amount of apologies he has to make for you, haha! Even if your chaos is ultimately harmless, he also gently prods you into apologizing. You did cause someone a little grief, so don’t you think it’s only fair to say you’re sorry? Even if you’re not, do it for your small boyfriend’s sanity, please.

The other guys all snicker about him being whatever the Victorian equivalent of ‘whipped’ is, though always just in jest. He knows it, too, and sometimes he joins their jokes in lighthearted self-deprecation. Honestly, he thinks it’s both accurate and funny. He does run around making sure you don’t completely tarnish your own reputation, saving you from yourself and whatever nonsense you’ve started this week, so the descriptions aren’t exactly wrong. He’s made his peace with it, and he hopes to be running around protecting your honor for as long as his less-than-athletic self can keep up with you!

“Darling. L… look at me. Look me in the eyes. P-please.” “… Yes, Joanne?” “This is a very important night. M-my parents are incredibly tolerant, but if you cause mischief at their party, I… I guarantee their opinion of you will be tainted.” “I know, I know! What do you think I’m going to do, sweetheart?” Soft sigh in response. “(Name), my love, I read for a living! I-I can think of at least ten ways you could… oh. Oh, no, no. S-stop looking at me like that…!” “Ten ways, huh?” All you have to do to get your information is tickle and kiss him until he’s laughing so hard he’s crying, and he’ll surrender… whether or not you use the information is up to you. After all, Joanne’s assessment of his parents is very honest; they’re kind and tolerant, they’re not doormats who will laugh at your antics and move on like he usually does, and ruining their party is not the best idea if you want their blessing for your relationship.

He really wonders, sometimes, where you get your energy. Could you give some to him?? Although he does love watching you cause trouble (as long as it doesn’t affect him), just doing that tires him out! Honestly, after you’re done sowing your discord and all, he hopes you’ll be happy to cuddle up with him and read a book. Even though it’s simple compared to all your fun… perhaps it can be enough for you after a long day. He knows it’s certainly always the best part of his day.

[ask-ruikasa-official]

Eats all of Tsukasa's left shoes and eats all of Rui's right shoes

//answering this ooc

i have agonized over this for nearly 24 hours. i saw it the moment it was sent. i watched as the hours ticked by on the clock, pretending as if i could rewire my brain to no longer acknowledge it. but unfortunately, for my mind, a being of its own making, ever-starving for stimulation, that was not an option. i was forced to come to terms with the fact that not only was this asked of me, that i, for the first time in my many years of life, had no response.

it’s not that nothing i’ve come up with has been properly funny or interesting, or even of a quality equivalent to a shitpost. i have come up with nothing. the words didn’t leave my mind, they were never there. not a single sentence using my extensive knowledge of the english dialect would form. i thought about this for hours. it kept me up at night.

each timezone has had their appropriate resting hours in the time i have spent dissecting my neurons for a chance at coming up with something to say. i denied that this even existed. i contemplated deleting it just to have it gone.

to push someone to the point of intentional censorship is a feat completed only by the insane. there are people out there that crave this kind of madness, but i know you crave the mundane. the idea you used up to tell me this in a moment of jest was a stolen one — taken right from my very own mind. i was left speechless. i struggle to even come up with a word that describes accurately how i feel towards you.

i hope you wear this as a token of pride.

[genderparve]

Genderparve

I guess I can start by explaining my blog and url title.

What is genderparve? It's not anything, really. It's a term I saw someone use in jest on a Facebook post several years ago, which I thought was funny and resonant, and I've kept it in my back pocket since. (As a side note, someone else in that thread used the phrase "my gender is Kosher for Passover," which is also very good.) I don't actually know anyone (else) that really identifies as genderparve in earnest.

"Parve" is a word in Yiddish which means "neutral". It's "pareve" if you use Hebrew, which I normally do, but in this case I think genderparve just sounds better than genderpareve. Pareve is a term usually used in reference to food. Kosher dietary laws demand that some foods be eaten separately, such as meat and milk. Other foods, like eggs and fish, are considered pareve, neutral, and can be eaten with others.

The idea of being neutral like that really speaks to me. I guess I find it relatable, to mesh with all things because I am in fact equally none of them.

Terms like agender or gender neutral never really resonated with me, for whatever reason. I do identify, most strongly, as simply Me, Goat. But sometimes a medical professional wants more justification than that before referring you to medical transition, so here I am. :')

So, not agender, not gender neutral, but a secret third thing.

Genderparve! Simultaneously not any of the things, but in a way that goes with all of the things.

I also think it's a nice way to tie in my Jewish identity, which is something I am trying to get better about Being More and Being More Visibly. There are historical Jewish genders, but the ones I feel describe me most accurately are ones I've seen some Jewish people suggest are really meant to describe intersex people, and that it's not very polite for non-intersex people to use them. Besides, those gender labels were never meant to be nice and inclusive, unlike genderparve, which is a fake label that doesn't exist and I can make it mean whatever I want.

In my day-to-day life, I never actually tell people I identify as genderparve. I don't know that I really... do...? identify as such, as much as I just think it's a fun term? But either way, in real life I usually just tell people I'm trans, no further labels. Even nonbinary has always felt... technically accurate, but not as resonant, for whatever reason. I like the idea that I can be transcending, transforming. It feels very ephemeral. Gender is a journey, not a destination, etc.

This is something I would like to explore more, but is probably outside of the scope of this post. At a different time, then.

[imrananwar]

What A Combo! How About “Hospital, ER, Trauma & Burn Unit Exit 161”? - IMRAN™

I saw the sign. What a combination! Where there’s smoke(s {as in cigarettes}), there is fire… or at least an abundant supply of matchsticks and lighters to start a fire. How convenient that the next offering on the signboard is/are fireworks.

But wait! There’s more. If you really want to blow yourself up, along with anyone else nearby, we’ll also include a gas station nearby on the same sign. LOL.

This was on I 95 heading south in North Carolina. During my long two-day 1250-mile drive from my Long Island home back to Apollo Beach, Florida on Christmas Day and next, I saw and missed taking a picture of a sign like this a few miles earlier.

Since there were still several exits to go, I was pretty sure that there would be at least one more sign like that one. It gave me time to pick up the smart-glasses that were sitting on the console of the vehicle. I put them on.

When I saw this next sign showing up in the distance, I slowed down enough to be able to take a few pictures hands-free. Since it’s hard to be sure how accurate the framing of a picture from a pair of smart-glasses is going to be, as a precaution, I took three pictures from different distances. This was the one that shows the words most clearly.

Only in jest, it made me wonder. Should there be another sign that says “Hospital, ER, Trauma & Burn Unit Exit 161”!

© 2024-2025 IMRAN™

#IMRAN #humor #travel #USA #signs #weird #bizarre #funny #roadtrip #driving #SmartGlasses #highway #NorthCarolina #DarkHumor #Christmas