#AND PAYING ATTENTION TO A SINGLE LABEL IS SO FUCKING STUPID

[freckledsweetpea]

btw if you come on my blog to compare types of queerness in bad faith I'm blocking you. I don't care what you have to say at all and respect is gone. You are quite literally sowing division of community and doing THE EXACT SAME THING THAT THE LGB PEOPLE DO. Of COURSE different individuals will always have it worse than others. YOUR OWN EXPERIENCE WILL ALWAYS FEEL WORSE THAN OTHERS AND TO FIGHT TO MAKE IT SO YOUR LABEL IS SEEN AS THE WORST CASE SCENARIO IS ACTUALLY STUPID.

[solarwynd]

Yeah, the pjms that told that account to delete did fuck up, but it wasn't every pjm and there were armys too. But now of course it turned into a 'solos are useless and bad' thing. Armys always do this, they ignore all the good things solos do (like just this week getting filter that last n°1), but every little fuck up is used to prove that solos suck. And sometimes there's no fuck up at all and they straight up just blame pjms for things they didn't even do. And it's not like armys don't fuck up constantly too, with their inability to stay out of fights that have nothing to do with them which just ends up getting the members dragged. All fandoms are gonna have stupid people that fuck up in it, but armys sense of superiority and hate of solos means they can't seem to understand that solos are no worse than them. And it just really pisses me off, how dismissive armys are of everything solos do. Or worse, how they'll call solos useless and then take credit for things solos did. Calling solos useless when a lot of them don't do shit, but because they're an army that's okay. They think it's better to be an actually useless army than a very useful solo. It's really just a matter of pride, they wanna be the only fans the members have, they wanna be credited for every achievement. They say it's for the sake of members, but how? It's a good thing for an artist to have their own fans, especially when they're making solo music. Like, are you really gonna tell me that hyungline wouldn't massively benefit from having a sizable solo fandom? Nah, it's not for the members benefit, it's just army's possessiveness. They're like a single child that's about to get a sibling and starts throwing a tantrum because they don't wanna share their parent's love and attention. Like grow up, you don't own these man and you don't get to decide who can or can't be their fans.

I'm sorry for the rant, it just really frustrates me to spend money and time supporting an artist I like just to have stupid people online say I'm useless and not a real fan just cause I don't care for the music of 6 other guys.

I saw a tweet from an army quoting popbase’s repost that said “solo stans you will never win.” And I was just real confused.

I really don’t understand why armys believe that solo stans intentions are to purposefully sabotage who the stan? No real pjm is gonna take pride in something that hurts Jimin. All they’ve been doing is trying to find ways to help him because HYBE isn’t doing their jobs.

But I do agree with you and I’ll also say to not even pay them any mind. You don’t need their validation. Most armys haven’t supported Jimin in so long out of pure bitterness. It’s hypocrisy and their hyper focus on pjms specifically is just a way to absolve themselves of guilt of doing so. Don’t let them get to you cause at the end of the day, I’m positive Jimin is happy with any support he gets army label or not and he’d thank you for it.

[peacesells-imbuying]

Sami Yaffa with a girlfriend who comes off as blunt and uncaring but behind closed doors she's actually the sweetest and most affectionate girlfriend ever and actually gets really upset when someone says she doesn't love Sami, because she very much does. And one day someone gets mad at her for seemingly not caring or listening to Sami when in reality she is and so she just gets silently upset and Sami gets defensive of her. When they get home that night his girlfriend is just so upset so she's not as affectionate as usual. You can choose how Sami comforts her and in the end they just cuddle.

omfg I love u and this sm. 🙇‍♀️ Hope you’re doing great! thanks for the request! info blog | masterlist

The love you had for Sami was unbeatable. As a teen, you were labeled as very blunt and “unemotional”. No one bothered to know the real you, a kind hearted and caring person. Sami was the only one who broke your wall and tried to know you more as a person. 

“Hey, look at that guitar isn’t it so cool?” Sami pointed at the guitar happily like a kid receiving candy.

“Not really.”

You said straight forward and Sami laughed got distracted by the other fans.

“Do you actually love Sami?” The questions you constantly get was so stupid.

“Yes.”

If you didn’t would you be with him? No.

“Bullshit. You’re so heartless and Sami is the opposite. I swear you only with him for the fame.”

The “fan” laughed at you.

“And you call yourself a fan?”

You scoffed walking away to find Sami. Fans like that made you sick. Who are they to question your love for him. 

At home, you always gave Sami kisses and hugs. Which he loves a lot. Hell, you even bought him flowers or a new guitar whenever you received money from work. Sami had to stop you from purchasing something crazily expensive saying “spend it on yourself instead.” If he’s having a bad day, you do everything to make sure he relax and listen carefully as he rants. You were the listener and he was the chatter. That’s what you both loved about each other. 

It was a Sunday, as you and Sami were outside. Someone was with you both, as usual Sami is talking. You didn’t utter a single sound, paying close attention to his words but to others you look really bored. Somehow this pissed off the other girl.

“You’re not even paying attention. Do you even care? Just fucking leave already.” They sneered with an awful glare. 

No one said before. You stood there shocked and very upset. Sami’s arm was already wrapped around your waist. Pissed at the girl. “Leave her alone. You don’t know her like that, so stop assuming shit.”

“Sorry.”The girl walked away and Sami glanced at you with a slight frown.

Night arrived, you weren’t your usual self. Sami deeply frowned at your current state. He misses your hugs, kisses and yourself overall. “Hey” He sits next to you wrapping his arm around your body.

“Forget what that girl said earlier. Their opinions don’t matter at all okay? I know you do care and love me. No one can change that fact. They don’t know the real you.” He kissed your and placed your head on his chest.

“Love you.” You whispered.

“Love you too.” Sami smiled. Ending the night with a cuddle. 

[punkitt-is-here]

i know this sounds mean but i'm genuinely confused and curious so please at the very least hear me out

is it just me or are you either ignoring/in

getting angry with people who disagree with you about the bi-lesbian discourse (which i agree is stupid), even those who are trying to be respectful and understand your pov, while on the other hand when people agree with you you give them your full attention

like yeah i get it, some of the people in this discourse are just being jerks, but some people just seem to genuinely be trying to see your side

i just don't get it, why can't people try and like listen to both sides? we're all part of the same community

hey check this out

i get like a zillion of these every minute i want to answer em all but i am but one silly little internet person

the reason im angry is because I had several thousand people very suddenly start calling me a horrible person and telling me to kill myself. ive put out very detailed writings that get my point across clearly and tried to be as respectful as possible but when people immediately come at you with a sense of hostility and anger for not wanting to force people to stop using a label that makes them happy and comfortable you can only give them the time of day and the benefit of the doubt for so long. I know all the talking points, i tried understanding why people hated bi/pan lesbians for so long because I was worried i wasn't getting something, but the truth of the matter is i consumed every single angle of this stupid discussion and came out the other end still deciding that it doesn't fucking matter and the happiness of someone finding the words to describe themselves overpowers any person worried that somebody's description of themselves is erasing an identity or muddying the waters in any way. it just doesnt matter!!! it just dont!! there's old ass men that have been around longer than the stone age trying to actively genocide all queer people and I am simple a 20-something with rent to pay and a job to work and people to love. we have bigger fish to fry than listening to every single talking point of a bunch of people who can't grasp that queer people, surprise surprise, don't always fit into neat little boxes and definitely don't want to be put back in them again.

so please forgive me for only responding primarily to those who have a modicum of empathy and understanding and joy when I decide to peak into my public mailbox

[crmsnmth]

September Sky Chapter Three, Part 8

"I wanted to call the second you drove off, if we're being honest. See! That's what self-sabotage gets you."

"You could have. I don't think I would have minded. There's something about you," Addison said, standing and brushing herself off. I did the same, only making the gray smudge a little bigger. We pushed our way past the cocaine club and headed back to the table. Lily and Adam sat, talking between songs. The second act was almost over, and there seemed to be more people in here than before we had gone out to smoke. Maybe her roommate's band wasn't bad. It brought in a crowd.

I pulled Addison's chair out for her. It came naturally. There was no thought process into it. I saw down and took a sip of my quickly warming beer.

"So maybe this time you'll actually call?" Addison said as the band played their final song.

"Yes. I will. I'm feeling kind of stupid for not calling."

"You should feel stupid." That sarcastic smile.

I mocked a tear dripping from my eye.

"I have to get a new one, this one's warm," I said, standing up. "Do you want another or are you good?" It'd been a long time since I bought another person's drinks the entire night. I wasn't giving her the chance to pay for her own. Once again, it came naturally. I got the drinks quickly and headed back to the table as the final band finished setting up.

They were actually really good Just straight forward rock and roll. Addison ended up dragging me up closer to the stage. I wasn't really that comfortable that close to strangers, but she could have led me through the bowels of hell, and I would've followed her right down into the depths. While smiling.

We were pushed right up to the stage, and Addison danced next to me. I don't know how to dance, and even if I did I don't think it's something I'd enjoy. I'd rather nod my head, probably out of time. We stood there for three songs and I barely noticed the band. She had taken all my attention, as she moved to the music, quickly mastering the beats with her own steps. Her eyes closed as she moved. A smile glued to her face. I couldn't look away. It wasn't possible. She caught me and I didn't look away this time. I just smiled. A very real and very rare type of smile. She went back to dancing and moving.

At the end of the third song, Addison finally pulled me out of the crowd and back to the table. Lily and Adam were just getting up and it looked like they were leaving.

"We're gonna take off," Adam said, confirming. Lily stood next to him, their hands still clasped together. "You cool?" He asked Addison. He held his hand out again for the second handshake. "Nice to meet you." I nodded toward him. That one single move every single guy on this planet will use once. Acknowledgment without saying a word.

"I'll be fine. I'm sure I could find someone to walk me home, if I needed it," she said, looking directly at me. I shrugged and smiled. Of course I'd be glad to walk her home.

"Bye. See you later," Lily said and gave a small wave to Addison.

"See you later. Be safe you two! The worst STI is the one that cries all the time!" Addison shouted.

Lily and Adam both laughed as the stepped out the door and out into the night. A quick look outside said it was raining again.

"So, I'm assuming that you'd have no problem making sure I get home safe, like a proper gentleman?" Her voiced dripped with sarcasm.

"That's me. A regular old dandy," I shouted back. She laughed and grinned at me. I am so glad I came out tonight. So very glad. I would've let this girl go. I would've waited too long to call her and let her walk out of my life. I am so fucking glad I came out tonight.

We sat, watching the band play for a few more songs. They were actually really good. Like they could've easily been on a label. A couple songs passed before Addison finished down the last of her beer. Mine was already gone. She looked at me, not having to say a word, speaking to me in airwaves. She was ready to leave. I smiled, letting her know I heard her. I grabbed the empty bottles off the table, and headed toward the bar to close out my tab.

[cococowboah]

A review of The Dead Don't Die, because fuck this movie.

I can't figure out why in the world this is labeled as a comedy when the only funny thing about it is how awful it is.

Just to preface if you personally liked this film that's perfectly fine. But I have more than many gripes about it and I'm gonna talk about them now.

First off who on earth greenlit this? I consider myself a fan of Adam Driver and Bill Murray but if this was the first movie I ever saw them in I'd never want to see them in anything else ever again.

It was painstakingly slow-paced and lingered on scenes like a toddler waiting for you to stop doing the dishes so you could watch them do a Fortnite default dance. It demands your full attention without ever making any effort to earn it. It held itself like an instant classic without understanding what makes a film a classic, or even remotely good, to begin with.

My number one gripe is the fourth wall breaking. Adam Driver's character (I say the names of the actors because I couldn't be bothered to remember these extremely unmemorable characters names) apparently knows he's in a movie the entire time, keeps saying "this is gonna end badly" only to finally reveal at the end that he knows how it ends because he's "read the script."

Fourth wall breaking can work perfectly fine, in a comedy, of which this is not.

I don't know what this is. I don't even think this movie knows what it is.

My second gripe is the immense amount of characters we're introduced to who never pay off in any which way. Their introductions aren't funny or memorable or important whatsoever. They feel like they are merely there to add time to the movie.

You can cut out about 50% of this entire movie and you won't be missing a single thing. None of the characters except for Adam and Bill's ever hold any weight. For whatever reason Tilda Swinton is a sword-wielding Scottish mortician alien, who again, holds absolutely no weight to the plot. You can cut her out entirely and it wouldn't change a single thing about this movie. You could cut out Selena Gomez as the "cute hipster" entirely and it wouldn't change a single thing about this movie. You could cut out Steve "I'm the racist one" Buschemi and it wouldn't change a single thing about this movie.

Nobody in this movie matters. Nobody in this movie holds any weight. The plot goes nowhere, the protagonists -if you can even call them that- die at the end, nobody lives happily ever after, and according to the hermit in the woods, we "were all already zombies anyway."

There was this brief completely thrown away scene where the zombies were all shown walking around with smart phones and I wanted to throw my TV out the window after seeing it. It was such a heavy fisted nothing-burger of a scene with the exclusive goal of telling the audience they're like zombies if they use smartphones. Is it a joke? Is it societal commentary? Is it a mind bogglingly stupid scene that serves no purpose? The answer is up to you.

I hated this movie so much it's ridiculous. The fact that excellent scripts get passed up day after day after day because they're written by nobodies with no network or connections, yet garbage like this gets funded and filmed, is an absolute cinematic crime.

The only way I can suggest watching this is to do it with a buddy or two who will take the piss out of it with you. My husband and I did so and the only laughs we had were in making fun of how awful this movie was.

Rant over. Goodnight.

[haoaibai]

i need to rant and please don’t ignore all my posts, please pay attention to them.

warning : // homophobia, bullying, r4p3, assault, and a few things.

1), i feel like people don’t understand that i have a hard time liking men and being w men. when i say, i can’t get used to it, they think it’s a joke. they think i’m “joking” when i say, i cannot feel comfortable around them. every time i always think they’re gonna hurt me or beat me up.

2), i also feel like no one is listening to me. i can’t feel attracted to men. i can’t imagine myself having a boyfriend. i can’t picture myself being friends with them. i can’t do ONE thing without thinking negatively. i know not all men are like this and i am NOT generalising them either, it’s just that since i’m severely bullied by most of them, i get really scared thinking they’ll hurt me.

3), due to issues, i don’t understand the difference between sexual attraction and romantic attraction. i know this is stupid but im really confused and i have hard times understanding stuff so im just really ugh. i am sure i identify as aroace bc i just don’t like the attraction and it feels disgusting to me.

4), when boys have a crush on me, i get a ick really quick. when most boys would go up to me and say they got a “crush” on me, i fr cant tell if they’re being fr or lying. most of them don’t even say they’re serious but next thing I know, they talk shit and say horrid things about me. and most of that counts as s3xųal bullying (?) cause they harass me everywhere, hurt me, give me bruises, etc. this is why i cannot imagine myself w a man. i’m frightened.

5), when they act all sweet or when i reject them. if one comes up to me and i say no. they get all angry and start saying “you’re so [remark on how i look]” or “i never liked you anyway [horrid name]”. most of them call me that cause apparently i identify as neurodivergent. even worse. they knew about it somehow???”

6), i HATE how i can’t be w men. i get sometimes board when i only like girls and wish I can ditch labels but I don’t FEEL like that. yesterday, I went hotel and saw this white boy who was attractive. lesbians can find men attractive without wanting to date them right? you know when the realisation hits you cause you can’t feel like that cause that isn’t who you are.

7). i want male validation ofc but i identify as sapphic cause i only like women. but how to become friends w a man without having to feel like you wanna date him but that’s truly how you don’t feel? yeah. pain. comphet is getting my ass 😹

8). i am currently planning to stay single forever. i literally cannot handle myself being scared w men. what happened to me? i used to feel so comfortable w them but the bullying... 😕 + i’ve seen how women get abused and rap3d which scares me even worse. i’ve been sexually touched before by a man and at that same night, i dreamed of being rap3d. for no reason. deadass.

so when that my irls be saying, “you turned yourself gay”, “your fault”, la la la, it ain’t my fault. fuck them and tell them to fix up.

but end of my rant, thank you for listening to all that racket 😹 .

[dredshirtroberts]

I get it. I get why my aunt wanted to push back against the negative view I have of my parents and the family most closely associated with them. I understand why she wanted me to consider their side of things - she's a parent too, after all. And it's hard, it really is, to see a child disown their parents instead of the other way around. It's hard to see it the other way around too, don't get me wrong, but like. Kids aren't "supposed" to disown their parents.

I don't doubt that my parents believe with their whole chests that they love me and have done their very best with me - in fact i agree that they did their very best with me that they possibly could have.

Their best was just bad. Because I was self-sufficient it makes sense that they assumed i didn't need their help - wrong though that assumption may be. They were young, they were figuring out what to do next now that they both had a kid and a spouse they weren't super sure they were ready for. I get it.

Also that's her older brother i'm shit talking, and I do acknowledge the things they have done for me that were good. Because even a stopped clock is right twice a day.

But they ignored me, intentionally or not. They dismissed my interests or made fun of them so hard that I not only stopped bringing them up on my own, but I have a hard time engaging with some of them to this day because i was shamed out of enjoying it. They do not ask about what else I do because they do not care to learn if they have anything in common with me anymore.

Dad was passive aggressive as fuck about me setting a reasonable boundary. My aunt was immediately just "Sounds good, I can do that, I wanna hear about your personal life more anyway."

And you know what? I've literally never had any single person in my family do that for me and actually pay attention as I talked and asked me questions about things. And that's what she can't see, when I say that my parents see me only as a status symbol. That's why she pushes back and says that of course it's different - they wouldn't say horrible negative things about me being a leftist/"liberal", queer, Weirdo because I'm their kid.

Except i heard what they said about *her* and she's closer to center than I am. I heard what they said about anyone who was left of where they were. It...was not kind.

at best, they called people stupid for thinking the way they did. Brainwashed. I won't repeat at worst, for my own sake.

Anyone who falls away from their path is unintelligent or gullible or easily swayed and manipulated. Anyone who does not think the way they do after being presented with their facts is an idiot. I am likely labeled both, whether they say the words or not. I have received the patronizing smiles and the polite capitulations that say very clearly that i just don't know what i'm talking about, even if—especially if—i know more on the subject than they do.

I don't blame her, though. And it...didn't hurt as much to have her push back on it. I get it. I didn't want to know these things about my parents either. I didn't want to see it happen at me. I didn't want to realize how things were going.

My parents are not good people. At best they are polite. I will not say what they are at worst. Not tonight.

But tonight I will say that I had one of the most fulfilling conversations with a family member I've ever had. I will say that I felt loved and respected the whole meal. I am looking forward to getting to know her—and everyone else my parents spoke poorly of behind their backs—and have a relationship with her. I'm finally looking forward to the future and it...it looks safe. And filled with family—found and otherwise—who love me.

Tonight I had a good time.

Plus also we looked hella good for being out in a proper sitdown restaurant for the first time since moving up here lol.

[josiebelladonna]

blocking the mutuals tag and the stranger things tag.

i can't take it anymore.

i don't care about how much you love your mutuals. these posts are like cancer cells. scratch that, they are cancer.

they're stupid on principle, too, like... why do you people feel a need to drive it home 100000000000000000x over? i'm a "one and done" kind of person: when i say "i love you" to someone, i mean it. love is not something i take very lightly, and it's usually because i don't say it over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and it JUST NEVER STOPS.

i've said this before, too, but there's something weirdly dehumanizing about these posts. forget the fact that you're following a human being (in many cases, human beings who aren't even fully developed yet) with flaws and everything. oh, no, you're following a perfect angel in every way possible!!! and to make shit worse? i see this snotty attitude that backs it all up, like "okay, fine, die alone and miserable :) we have mutuals, you don't :)" fuck off. knock that shit off. do you know how shallow you sound? when you frame it like this, i don't want to be anywhere near you because you're probably going to patronize about everything.

and unbeknownst to you condescending little shits, i actually have friends and i value them as they are, warts and all. i understand that they're human. i literally don't even think about them being my ~mutuals~ because that should be automatic. i don't pay attention to them being ~mutuals~ with me because it's a given. plus, i know i'm following live human beings here. so, it's completely baffling to me that this very intrinsic thing is being thrown around and done to fucking death to where it's absolutely obnoxious and i don't ever want to see it again.

hell, there's a lot of things that should be automatic are made painfully aware on here now and not only is it annoying, it's so fucking weird.

why do you guys make such a huge deal about otherwise complete strangers? i understand being kind to every kind, but this is complete overkill, and to the point you're actually not being very kind at all... if anything, you're being assholes with these posts. every single one of you.

why do you guys feel a need to see each other's faces so fucking much and tag each other to post selfies? see, that, i understand. i've posted selfies on here before on my own terms and i've actually had people unfollow me because of them. i see people on here tag each other to post selfies and i ask myself why. it's borderline cruel when you think about it: why do you bitches get all the swoons, all the ~mutuals love~ out the wazoo, but i get left behind?

it's so clique-y. this shit is so stereotypically high school when... high school isn't like this. it wasn't like this for me. we never had cliques at my school, as much of an outsider as i was then (and still am). hell, i don't think any high school is like this.

i'm an o.g. tumblr girl: i lived through 2014 tumblr and let me tell you. i remember there was a time, before 2018 and the nsfw ban, when there were adults on here, actual adults. people who acted their age. hell, i remember seeing 15/16/17-year-olds who acted mature for their age: they were genuinely smart, and curious about taboos and doing the right thing, not... clamming up whenever they see the mature label on a post and screaming "I'M A MINOR!!!" in the presence of an adult. we have a big problem in society, absolutely: i'm sure you've seen that viral tweet telling teenagers that that 20-something doesn't actually love them. but when you have this exact same demographic dressing like they're my age (late 20s looking at 30) and talking like they're 9 years old, it actually makes me very uncomfortable, like... that's not natural. if you're a teenager, you should act like one.

i mention this because it feels like everything is being whittled down and simplified... no better example of this than all the posts going ad infinitum about mutuals. plus, i'm seeing actual adults exhibiting this same behavior: people my age acting like they're still teenagers. so, this isn't just some gen z thing, although it primarily is.

hell, the whole new lingo of tumblr goes right over my head now. i see posts talking about "pieces of media" all the time, too. "enjoy this piece of media" "hyperfixate on this piece of media." there's something so corny about it, like... you know, speaking as someone who is neurodivergent, not everyone is like this. and i feel like those who are neurodivergent aren't this generic, either.

i just think about the utter glut of the ____ x reader fics on ao3 and on here now and how a trope like self-insert or, hell, even slash, is now a punchline. i remember it wasn't even that long ago when writing fic to get your own lust out and explore your desires that way was a normal thing. there's no healthy selfishness. there's no personality to anything. there's no desire to stand out from a crowd. it's all so detached, and it's the wrong kind of detachment, too: like there's being detached in helping someone broken so you don't get involved with their own emotional vomit, but this isn't that.

i feel like a lot of you have never been disciplined, like... properly disciplined, and taught that it's okay to stand on your own and truly be yourself and you'll attract the right people that way instead and you don't need to go on and on and on about your goddamn mutuals to the point you make everything and everyone so unpleasant. that's the best word to describe these posts, next to "saccharine": they're unpleasant. you might think otherwise, but when you look at the core of it, they most definitely are not. quite the contrary.

there's only a couple of mutuals i have who i consider good: otherwise, i feel like most of you don't even give a shit about me. it's bullshit. every last part of it. bullshit. "mutuals! mutuals! mutuals! mutuals! mutuals!" all i see is "bullshit bullshit bullshit bullshit bullshit."

you don't love each other, you only love the idea of each other. what's worse is i really don't know who's to blame here. i don't know if it's tumblr having dropped the ball with the nsfw ban (and imploring people to block people on the sole premise of finding them annoying, like bruh) or if it's a generational thing that i'm not getting or what. but this drippy, overly saccharine shit has to stop because they're soulless. STOP MAKING THESE POSTS.

most of all, everyone feels bored at some point. everyone hates their life at some point or another. everyone wants to escape. i haven't met a single person who says they love the world they live in right now in years (even with the opportunities that i've found with it, i don't feel the least bit safe in our current world). stop acting like you're the first generation to have discovered [insert thing most people have known for years with the justification that it hasn't been found by you yet... give me a break]. you're not better than me, so if you feel a need to patronize me for making a stink about these godforsaken posts, you can kiss my ass, especially if you wanted to be treated like an adult.

i can't stand these posts because they don't tell me anything, but they do tell me everything i need to know about the state of tumblr right now. there's no substance. it's all ego. there's no soul. i see selfies and there's too many people on here with a dead look in their eyes, so i know for a fact there's no soul. it's all fads. it's everything i found awful about being a teen with all the cliques and the nonsense that's not going to mean anything 5 years from now... but taken up several notches and made somehow worse.

like, i complained about my generation being full of idiots before, but it was often out of frustration. you know, like... "god, i'm surrounded by idiots!" and then i'd bunker myself up in my room with my books and my music, or i go out for a solo bike ride. i don't fucking get gen z, and i really want to, too. i want to get along with this age group and those who've come after me, especially since my own pretty much pushed me out. as for my age group, stop kidding yourselves. you know this is all bullshit. it's like those 50-year-olds who are trying act like us. knock it off.

most of all, there's no love, like actual love. you guys are taking actual human love and hollowing it out and cheapening it and boiling it down to ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~mutuals~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ thanks for completely killing that word, too. i can't see that word anymore without thinking of bloggers who are so hoity-toity and yet so childish at the same time who claim to love each other but they actually don't. it's all so saccharine and stupid and snotty that it makes hallmark look r rated. how awful is that? all of these posts that go on ad infinitum about mutuals are more white-bread and goody-goody than the most white-bread, goody-goody company in existence.

i could tell you guys to grow the fuck up and get over yourselves but i feel like with this post alone, i'm putting myself up to a line of patronization because that's what gen z likes to do, is lecture. you don't want to learn. you don't want to leave your comfort zones when real life and living is beyond those. you just want to be pathetic the rest of your lives. tiktok has completely scrambled your brains, anyway: for this reason, i'm going to refrain from saying "you'll learn" the way a parent does for their kid because i don't think any of you will.

but this tag goes right in the trash. these posts are brain-dead trash. "oh, mutuals! i luv u! i luv u i luv u i luv u" SHUT. UP. I DON'T WANT TO HEAR IT ANYMORE EVER AGAIN. yeah, tumblr implores you to block anyone that you find annoying. and i find the "mutuals" tag the most annoying thing in existence right now, and i'm blocking it because i'm about ready to lose it.

hm. how 'bout that? :)

as for stranger things... i hate how i can't go through virtually any tag and not see something that doesn't mention it. now this, i can blame primarily on tumblr. the tagging system on here has always been garbage, simply because of how weirdly fluid the tags are, but it's more so the case now. i went through the star wars tag yesterday and istg, after actual posts about the mandalorian and the classic trilogy, i ran into posts about eddie muenster cheese and will and mike... and op tagged star wars for some reason. so, remember: newton's third law states that for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. tumblr's tagging system was complete shit to begin with but you have people like this.

i used to really like stranger things, too. i was obsessed during the first two seasons, and then they made everything ~all about the music~ at the sake of telling a goddamn coherent story with actors who actually look their age: bro, millie bobby's going to be 20 next week, and you want me to believe that she's playing a 14-year-old? no. that's literally all i'm going to think about because it just makes the overall tone of the show so weird and borderline creepy, too.

hmmm... where have i heard that one before.

[mourning-again-in-america]

@youzicha​ said: I still have no idea what you post on each blog. Horny posts and Supreme Court quotes..?

this blog is specifically designed for me to be dumb as hell and do whatever the hell i feel like; i specifically posted some things in the past on this blog that i’d never admit to agreeing with in the absolute public of my main tumblr. i’m still pretty fucked up from the time i posted about incels, intending to say something like “calling for the genocide of incels is really fucked up! continuing to treat them as deserving of scorn or worse systematized murder isn’t going to help, will only hurt, and shouldn’t even be on the table in the first place!” but i worded things somewhat poorly by saying that incels aren’t “illegitimate, which people loved to use as a starting point to start with “well incels aren’t systematically disriminated against” and ended with “which is why we should kill them all”. (the phrasing is still something i stand by because 1. a person cannot be “illegitimate” 2. calling for entire classes of people to be “illegitimate” and not deserving of the systems we humans set up for each other is the first way that mobs instrumentalize their hatred) some responses that i got, completely conflating “incel” with “otherwise generic violent misogynist” (because i was reblogged with a certain neo-Jacobin rat-adj tumblr user):

their feelings of inadequacy don’t come from an oppression that can keep them single and feel unwanted (like disabled or black folks or trans folks) ... they want a sentient fucktoy that they can do whatever they want to whenever they want to and anything less is a woman being a bitch to them.but for the disabled, trans, and black people in my life, they genuinely want real fulfilling relationships where they not only feel wanted but feel wanting. they want to feel loved and feel love. ... but incels are violent misogynists who have and do kill women and fantasize about killing women who have scorned them. they are unwanted because they don’t want a relationship, they want a slave. so their feelings of scorn are illegitimate because to them, being scorned can mean something as simple as being told “i wish you would pay attention to my feelings more.” so they should be hated and othered.your average single person with social anxiety who isn’t a violent misogynist? they deserve to be cared for. but not incels. they shouldn’t be alive.

Illegitimate, and deserving of more than a stomping.

Very stupid hot take, OP. You’re setting up a simplistic and totally false either/or dichotomy. Incels aren’t an oppressed class of people, they’re a leaderless, self-radicalizing murder-suicide cult. Compare them to groups like The People’s Temple (Jim Jones), Heaven’s Gate, Branch Davidians.

So many of those creeps would have girlfriends if they practiced basic human decency. I have no sympathy for them.

they haven’t figured out [basic human decency], much like the Zucc in the opening scene of that movie about him, their problem isn’t that they’re nerds or w/e it’s that they’re terrible people

If someone seriously labels themself an incel then it is not only legal, but also everyone is morally obligated to beat the shit out of them

there was a point in my life where i would have identified as an incel if pressed on the matter. i tried my hardest not to be a creep, and i tried hard not to be a misogynist, but i legitimately wasn’t sure what was required in order to be a “proper feminist” so i wouldn’t be a “misogynist”; did i need to quit listening to the beach boys, because their brand relies on the fantasy of buxom women in swimsuits? did i need to swear off rush forever, because of their libertarian and Randian influences (influences is a light word)? did i need to renounce scott pilgrim and watchmen, because the movies & comic books objectify women? was i misogynistic because i enjoy d/s? i didn’t know!

i loved scott alexander’s essay “untitled” because it finally said what i was too afraid to ever admit to anyone; that i didn’t know what to do in order to be “good enough” to date someone without hurting them with my “toxic masculinity”, or if i should resign myself to an uncomfortable life of perpetual loneliness.

would all of that hate have been directed at me if i’d chosen different words, still conveying the same point? i think so. do i want this barrage of thousands of notes of hate ever again? not really!

so, this quiet little sideblog where i post about whatever i want and not bother with precise wordings, where i test the waters and see what i can get away a with posting before i get a torrent of hate poured on me yet again. i don’t want to ever again experience people, in significant numbers telling me i shouldn’t be alive 

[thetriggeredhappy]

in the dadspy au, what if jeremy was just going to be an assistant/cook/janitor at the base while his dad was being the mercenary (since spy didnt want him to follow the "career" but didnt want to be separated from him), but then jeremy turned out to be even better than the hired scout so they promote him to that position and spy is not happy with this at all

ok i was gonna put this in the queue to post but im impatient because im happy with this one. only thing i didnt have was spy being upset by this development

(warnings for canon-typical violence, discussion of mercenary-type things, paranoia, alcohol, and exactly one proper fight scene. consider this pg-13)

-

“Would you prefer the good news first, or the bad news?” Dad asked.

Jeremy looked up at him from where he’d snatched up the sunday comics from his dad’s newspaper and was doodling little hats on the characters while they waited for their food to arrive. “Uh,” he said, “good news first.”

“Alright. The good news is, do you remember that line I’ve been tailing? The one in New Mexico?”

“Uh, yeah,” Jeremy said, then nodded a little more confidently. “Immunity, safehouse, somethin’ like that, right?”

“...Something like that,” Dad agreed carefully, and that made him raise an eyebrow. “It went well, and I think there’s the very real possibility that I’ve all but closed the deal, all they want now is an interview.”

“...Interview, singular,” Jeremy said slowly.

“That’s where the bad news begins. Unfortunately... merde, how to phrase this?” He drew a hand down his face. “They’re fully willing to hire me on, but this is a more... corporate affair than I’m used to. They have rules, stipulations. Long story short, they will not hire you as a mercenary on the basis of your age.”

Jeremy tensed. “What?” he demanded. “That’s stupid, I’m old enough to drive and buy guns and whatever the hell else.”

“But not rent a car, at least in many places in the United States.”

“But—“ he started, and remembered they were in public, and lowered his voice to a hiss, leaning in. “We’re hired killers, thieves, criminals. Do they really think we’re above having fakes? False documentation?”

“Actually, that is one of their requirements,” Dad said dryly, taking a paper from his jacket and consulting it. “I’m not happy about it either, mon lapin, but those are their rules. Already they have slightly bent them for one individual, and already I am on thin ice. But I may have a way to manage this.”

“Yeah?” Jeremy asked, nervous now.

“I know the woman responsible for new hires and managing the team I’ve applied for. She owes me a favor—a fairly hefty one. When I go in for the interview, one of my demands will include you being hired on, not as a mercenary, but for... for custodial purposes, something like that. Cook, janitor, security guard, secretary—whatever job there is that needs doing there, and I am sure that there will be one. Something to allow you to live there. Pay will likely be her stipulation, and the play I hope to make is that really, you’re overqualified for the position and she’s lucky to have someone so competent available, and in the worst case scenario, the pay is still good enough even for just one of us that we will not cut too deeply into the savings.”

The savings. That made Scout blink, because they only ever brought up the savings when—

“You think this could be it?” he asked quietly. “Like, it it?”

A hard exhale, and he leaned his cheek on his hand. “Potentially,” he finally said. “I don’t want to get your hopes up, but the job promises a variety of things. Medical attention available, extremely low levels of danger, and most of all, confidentiality. The only people who will know any name we give them would be the woman in charge of hiring us and their singular medical professional. There is no mode of communication to or from the compound outside of emergency lines to the organization and a single secure payphone located two miles away, there is no civilization within a twenty-five minute drive minimum, and this operation has been going long enough that the local authorities have long since grown used to being paid off, and likely don’t even remember what for anymore. I cash in a few valuable favors and ask this employer to turn a blind eye, we’d have somewhere remote and secure to spend our time after our deaths are faked and once the contract is over, we can start over. No ties to the past.”

“Freedom,” Jeremy marveled.

Silence for a few seconds, broken only by the quiet chatter of the rest of the diner. “I want to warn you, this work may not be glamorous. It may not even be particularly easy. I’m giving you the option of saying no,” Dad said.

“What?! Yes, hell yes, are you joking? To get us to living like normal people? Steady work? Livin’ in one place? Count me in!” he laughed.

“What if the job is something you won’t enjoy? Long hours, boring work?” Dad asked, entirely serious.

“I’m still on board.”

“What if the other people working there are rude to you? Disrespectful?”

“Well most of the people I meet through our job now try to kill us, so really it’s an upgrade.”

“What if there’s no diner nearby?” he asked, and there was a glint of humor in his eye.

“Damn, sorry, that’s the dealbreaker,” he joked right back, and that made him snort, shake his head, greet the waitress as she came back with their coffee and soda and then informed them that their food would be out shortly.

“I’ll ask,” was what Dad said once she was gone again, and that was that, and they started driving to New Mexico two nights later.

-

“—A warm welcome to our two newest recruits. This is the Spy, and this is the Guard.”

“Guard?” asked one of the men at the table, his accent thick and distinctly Russian. It made Jeremy tense slightly, but he didn’t let it show.

“Night Guard,” Jeremy answered, voice clipped.

“He’s not technically hired on as a mercenary like you all, he won’t be joining you on missions,” the short woman apparently named Miss Pauling (Jeremy was fairly sure it was a fake name) said, hands folded in front of her neatly. “He’s here to work security. Keep an eye out during the night, filter through the camera footage, handle the archiving, things like that.”

“We’re hiring on a civvie now?” asked another man, thick Scottish accent a little harder to digest than the eyepatch and the grenade he was in the process of fiddling with the internal mechanisms of.

“He’s combat ready, and will still be armed. His job is to essentially make sure you’re all safe enough to sleep through the night,” Miss Pauling said.

“I’m not some chump,” Jeremy agreed. “I know my stuff.”

“How old is he?” another man asked, this one in a hardhat with a heavy drawl, looking concerned.

“Twenty, for your information,” Jeremy said, a little sharply, eyes narrowed.

“If you have any other questions, there’ll be time later on. For now, I do need to show our two newest recruits where they’ll be staying,” Miss Pauling cut in.

There was an audible scoff from one of the men at the table, a dramatic rolling of eyes. Jeremy glared at him. He unfolded and refolded his extremely tattoo’d tree-trunk-like arms, tugging the visor of his hat between. “Sorry,” he said, accent thick and distinctly Californian. “I just don’t have the most trust for some scrawny kid in slacks and creep in a ski mask.”

“Scout, don’t start,” Miss Pauling warned.

“Just saying,” this man, apparently called Scout, muttered under his breath regardless.

“Don’t,” she said again, more firmly, and ignored the second eye roll she got for the trouble. “If you two would follow me.”

And they were shown around the base, and Jeremy in particular was shown into a room stuck behind three locked doors, where he found camera feeds and recording equipment. She gave him a basic overview and a thick packet of instructions and policies labelled ‘highly classified’ and a phone number to call if he had any further questions, and a set of hours that were apparently meant to become the new standard for him (with the quiet addendum that if he finished early that was alright, and that technically he could turn in early if two or more members of the team were already awake for the day and he was caught up on the archiving of old tapes).

Then he was left to “get used to the equipment”, which he assumed meant his dad was getting a similar rundown of his job, and it took a pretty quick glance through the packet to understand that clearly this place ran on an extremely secretive and closely monitored series of systems. In the packet, between the sections on camera maintenance and operation hours, were a few sheets detailing what were apparently the movement patterns of the various members of the team, including frequented locations and previously recorded large-scale infractions (mostly on the part of the Soldier, the Medic, the Scout, and one from the Demoman).

He wasn’t the one with the title Spy, but fuck, it seemed like he might as well have it. His entire job wasn’t even necessarily to keep the team safe overnight—he was just meant to watch all of them to make sure nobody was anywhere or doing anything out of the ordinary.

The next time he saw his dad, waiting outside the infirmary to get some sort of physical evaluation, his face was arranged carefully enough that he could tell he’d figured out something was up, too.

“Got your job assignments?” he asked quietly in French, glancing towards the door into the infirmary.

A nod, a glance. “I’m intrigued by the methods used in employee evaluation,” he deadpanned. “Especially the fact that apparently, they’re willing to assign employees for the explicit task of doing them.”

“How often?”

“Weekly.”

“Thorough,” Jeremy deadpanned, and glanced towards the hall at the distant sound of laughter, echoing from somewhere else on the base. “That’s basically mine too.”

There was a long silence, and when Jeremy looked back over, his dad was giving him an almost expectant look, waiting. All he had to offer him was a shrug, which was returned after a moment with a vague shake of the head. “I don’t believe it will be a problem,” his dad said simply. “Not for us, at the very least.”

Jeremy nodded. “Yeah. Uh, anyways, good luck with the… physical, or whatever,” he said, and received a pat on the shoulder before he walked back off down the hall, hoping to figure out what exactly he was supposed to do with an entire room all to himself. He’d almost never had one before.

-

He was used to time changes and jet lag, to needing to switch his sleep schedule on the regular, but the switch to a straight up night shift was a rough one.

His nine-to-five was actually a ten-to-six, as in 10 PM through 6 AM. This meant that, assuming he managed to get his schedule in order, he’d be able to join in on the team dinners if he woke up early and could eat breakfast with them before he went to bed.

Very quickly he realized that going to dinner and breakfast with the team was going to become a staple part of his routine, because it didn’t take long before he began to feel extremely lonely all of the time. In a dark little room, everyone else asleep, scrubbing through tapes from during the day while half keeping an eye on the live feed from around the base that never showed much of anything, it was brutal. It was suffocating.

It was easy, at least. It didn’t take long before he got efficient at it and could start zoning out, and it wasn’t like he was under much pressure. His was the only room without any cameras in it. Security risk, apparently. 
And to be honest, what small amount he and Dad interacted with mercenaries and other criminal types, Jeremy didn’t really tend to like them much. A lot of them were loud and rude and had the potential to turn around and try and kill them whenever they felt like it. He didn’t expect that he’d like the team as much as he did. He especially didn’t expect to like them so much without ever really talking to them.

But watching the camera feeds from throughout the day, seeing what they were up to, they were just... nice people. Soldier out by the dumpsters practicing rocket jumps and wrangling raccoons and apparently trying to learn how to spin a rifle, Pyro’s regular minor explosions in the kitchen while cooking and the surprised and frantic way they cleaned it up every time, the Demoman’s tendency to whistle wherever he went, watching through the feed as they all played cards and argued and jostled each other. They all seemed really nice. Really cool. Really dorky, too, but mostly just really nice and really cool.

And there were a few of them he was less sure about—he couldn’t get eyes on the Medic most of the time, what with the one camera in the Medbay being tilted down at an angle that made it hard to see much of anything but the occasional bird (probably by those same birds). The Heavy tended to just sit and read, and was pretty much silent most of the time otherwise. The Scout tended to leave the base pretty often. And the Sniper didn’t even live on base, he had a van outside that he could only occasionally see movement in when he squinted at the far edge of the camera leading outside. But even then, Heavy and Sniper mostly just seemed quiet, and Medic just seemed busy, and the Scout just seemed like a little bit of a dickhead.

But then one day when Jeremy was at breakfast the Heavy caught him leaning to try to get a look at the cover of the book he was reading, and he blurted that he was just wondering what book was so great that he’d stay up until like four in the morning reading, and then the entire team was gawking at him and asking questions and insisting that it was insane that there was someone actually watching all those cameras, and he shrugged and said there was always supposed to be someone watching the tapes back it was just usually some office worker type a hundred miles away. And they seemed almost... upset with him. And maybe that was fair, it wasn’t like he ever talked to any of them much, mostly he just spent breakfast and dinner half-asleep and listening to their chatter. And Demoman admitted that he’d honestly assumed that Jeremy slept his entire shift, he just always looked so tired at breakfast. There was almost this discomfort. This distrust.

And so, now that the jig was up, he made it a point to say some things to certain members of the team. To tell the Medic that his camera was tilted down so that he couldn’t see most of the room, and to very pointedly say that it was weird how that happened and that he didn’t know why they set it up like that in the first place, but it was really none of his business. Made it a point to warn the Engineer in the morning that the previous night, Soldier had been doing something in the fridge for a while, and to maybe check the labels before he made breakfast. Made it a point to tell the Demoman that the camera in his workshop was right in plain sight, and that if he moved one of his blackboards an inch or two to the left, it would obscure the room a pretty hefty amount. Made it a point to tell the Sniper that the camera on the rooftop seemed to be glitching out, and it’d just sort of lost the tapes of the previous two nights, and that it was really unfortunate since for all he knew there might have been someone ignoring the signs about there being no personnel allowed up there.

In return, he found that Pyro would sometimes make little sparkly notes with smiley faces on them and stick them to the door to the security room. That Sniper started tipping his hat at the camera above the door into the base from the garage. That on occasional drinking nights, the team would suddenly turn and start waving at the camera, laughing the whole way. On one night in particular he could hear through the low-quality and tinny speakers that they were trying to cajole him into leaving the security room for a while to join them for cards, and god, but he wanted to.

And he noticed more things. Soldier walking with a slight limp some days when rocket jumps had rough landings. Being able to count the doves in the infirmary and even tell them apart to some extent through blurry close-ups. The Engineer making it a point to sweep really regularly regardless of what project he was working on.

And then he noticed a weird thing.

It took him a long time to get used to the patterns of hallways, the cameras not really lined up linearly after a while, too many branching paths. He learned to follow progress, to flick from one camera to the next as someone walked around corners. And for a while he thought maybe he wasn’t very good at it.

Until he realized two things. First of all, that in a hallway where he knew there were five doors, he could only see four—apparently the door to Pyro’s room was just barely out of sight of the camera. He only figured it out because one day it swung open wide enough to almost bang against the wall.

And then, when he realized there was somehow that massive blindspot, that there was a corner with a blindspot too. One where that Scout kept disappearing.

He watched a few more times to make sure, and yep. He’d see the Engineer walking around the corner, flick to the next screen, and there he was, continuing down the hallway. And then later that same day, the Scout, walking, and flick to the next camera, and he wasn’t there.

One of the worse parts of the job was that he never got to see Dad anymore, never got to just sort of hang out the way they did all the time when he was growing up, and he knew he would miss it but he didn’t know how much. And he found it was even worse when he had something important to say, doubly so when he had something important to say but no idea if it was actually important.

He tried to bring it up casually, in the like ten minutes of time he ever got alone to talk to Dad. Dad was fighting the kettle trying to make some tea and he was trying to stay awake long enough to figure out how he was going to say this.

“Uh,” he said, and Dad looked at him. “So, uh, what’s the read you’re getting on that Scout guy?”

“Lazy,” Dad shrugged, looked back at the kettle. “Arrogant. He seems to care very little about doing his job correctly and has horrible communication on the field.”

“Right, right,” he nodded, fought a yawn down. “Uh. So like, kind of a dickhead.”

“Indeed,” Dad said, nodding vaguely.

“So uhhh... not the best.”

“Where are you going with this?” Dad asked, arching an eyebrow at him.

“I, I dunno, the guy just likes hanging out in this one blindspot in the cameras, and it’s kinda freaking me out,” Jeremy said, scratching at the back of his neck.

Dad frowned. “Strange. I wasn’t aware that there were any blindspots in the cameras.”

“There’s only a few, and only for pretty small spaces I think? But apparently he just likes hanging out in one of them.” Jeremy scuffed his shoe on the ground, glancing over as voices started echoing down the hall towards them. “Just thought it was weird.”

“I’ll look into it,” Dad muttered, voice quiet, and then raised it again slightly. “I refuse to keep up with sports.”

“C’mon,” Jeremy said, knowing this game well, changing subjects into something more normal as people entered earshot. “I’m not even asking you to keep up with sports, I’m just saying, I’d kill to go to a baseball game right about now.”

“The American Pasttime!” Soldier called from the room over.

“Exactly,” Jeremy agreed, nodding at Soldier as he also entered the kitchen, a half-asleep Demoman in tow.

“Any ghosties or ghoulies on the cameras last night, lad?” Demo had enough energy to ask, blinking blearily at the contents of the fridge.

“Oh, a billion,” Jeremy said.

“Guard!” Soldier barked, the most awake person in the room. “Should these ghost-ghouls appear again, don’t be afraid to point me in their direction! I have significant experience with them already and do not fear the likes of them!”

“Yeah sure,” Jeremy shrugged.

“You’re a champion, Guard,” Demo said with what was either a really disoriented blink or a wink, slugging him on the shoulder and wandering back out into the common room with the entire carton of milk in his other hand. Jeremy gave him a mock-salute that Soldier copied with absolute conviction. He and Dad shared a glance after the two of them left, and Jeremy was the first one to break, snickering under his breath.

“I’ll look into it,” Dad said, and also left the kitchen, and Jeremy nodded and started trying to remember what else he’d been planning on doing before bed.

-

“So,” Dad said a few days later, materializing next to Jeremy when he was in the middle of his jog and making him almost jump out of his skin, skidding to a stop.

“You’re enjoying that new watch way too much,” Jeremy panted, out of breath and still very much startled.

“Maybe,” Dad said, and he was smiling. “But as I was saying.”

“All you said was ‘so’,” Jeremy pointed out, giving him a look.

“There’s a juvenile joke here about how I’m your father and so of course I say ‘so’, but if you wouldn’t mind it, I did have something important to say, mon lapin,” Dad replied, and Jeremy rolled his eyes hard at the horrible joke and cheesy name, fighting back a smile of his own.

“Go for it,” he said, and took the opportunity to bend and tighten his shoelaces.

“So. Regarding that Scout and his habits. You mentioned he spends time in blind spots of the cameras, oui?” Dad asked.

“Yeah. Keeps, uh, I guess he keeps getting infractions for going off base too much, too. I’ve logged him leaving like three times this week already,” Jeremy nodded.

“Indeed. Well, considering how new we are to the team, I did not want to jump to conclusions, and so contacted Miss Pauling and asked on your behalf for any older records, and I found out something very... intriguing.”

Jeremy looked up at him, blinking. ‘Intriguing’, historically, had always been a very, very bad thing.

“Apparently, it has been two years since they last had a Guard situated on base. The previous one was a much older gentleman, retired from being a full member of the team due to health complications but not entirely ready to part with the company. The previous guard was somewhat strict, and the Scout—the same as we have now—very much disliked the man. He continued acquiring near-constant infractions under the man’s watch for leaving when he was not meant to, so much so that the previous Guard proposed enstating trackers on the team when they went off-base. And before this policy could take hold, the previous Guard left the base one day and did not return, and finally was found dead a state over, one month later.”

Jeremy blinked once, twice. “Holy shit,” he said, and took note of the wary look on his face. “Okay. So we’re thinkin’ the same thing, right?”

“I would assume so. And…” Dad hesitated, moved to fidget with his cufflinks. “And I would not be particularly concerned about this, as I’m confident that you wouldn’t have gotten his attention from what you’ve been up to lately, and therefore wouldn’t be in danger yet should history attempt to repeat itself, but… he’s already taken a disliking to you.”

“What?” he asked, eyebrows shooting up.

“I believe it’s something as simple as some sort of shallow jealousy. Another American on the team, also relatively young, filling the position of someone he disliked previously. He regularly complains about the fact that you don’t need to go do the same job as the rest of us.” Dad shrugged, glanced over at him. “That, combined with the fact that you have somewhat conflicting duties, well, he tends to rather tetchy. He claims that considering he’s meant to be the first line of defense, they shouldn’t also need a guard at night.”

Jeremy had a number of opinions about that, but he stuck to the most relevant ones. “I really don’t like this guy,” he said. “Might be, uh. Worth keeping an eye on.”

“Agreed.” Dad glanced back over his shoulder towards the base, then at his watch. “Enjoy the rest of your run. Don’t forget to eat.”

“Yeah yeah yeah, hit the bricks already, old man,” Jeremy scoffed, waving him off, and Dad rolled his eyes, disappearing again in a cloud of smoke. “You’re gonna be using that thing all the damn time now, aren’t you?”

“Oui,” came a voice from nowhere, and Jeremy huffed a laugh, meandering his way back into the rest of his jog.

-

Jeremy hummed along to the radio, flicking between cameras on autopilot and wondering when exactly to take his lunch break.

He didn’t face the clock or anything, so he wasn’t sure, but he thought he had a pretty solid rhythm at that point. Click, click, click, between the camera to the road, the camera to the main entrance, and the camera in the hall towards the middle of the building, for about one second each. At just about any time after 11 or 11:30, those were the only three in real time that he needed to keep an eye on, mostly for people coming back late from bar hopping or if Miss Pauling was rolling in on a delivery. All the other cameras he could see out of the corner of his eye, and any movement he’d pick up on pretty quick, even if it was usually just the doves fluttering on the camera to the Medbay. After he cycled through those (and there was almost never anything there) he’d cycle back through to the tape he had in, put it on high speed, and watch it for about two or three minutes, get through a chunk of that time. Mostly he’d just be making sure nobody had been in the base while the team was away ni o(which indeed there never was), so there wasn’t much of a reason to take it off high speed, and the second part of the night would be watching the tapes for the time the team was back on base.

Movement on a camera made him click the pause, and he glanced off to the side. One of the doves had shuffled to face the other direction. He rolled his eyes, looking back at the bigger monitor again and pressing play.

The second half of the night was a little more interesting. He just had to look at the tapes for the time the team was there, check for discrepancies that might point to Dad messing with the disguise technology off-the-clock or the enemy Spy having infiltrated. For the most part things were straightforward, but he at least got to see his teammates up to funny things sometimes. Pyro’s antics were usually entertaining. Soldier he only caught some of, on the basis of him often walking off out of range of the cameras when he went on his excursions. Demo was funny sometimes. Honestly, just seeing the Sniper anywhere but as a fuzzy distant shape was interesting.

Movement on a camera. Same dove. He ignored it. Click, click, click, all three cameras clear, back to the fast-forward of the same empty hallway as before.

He really needed to figure something out, for the Scout. Maybe he and Dad were just being paranoid. It would be insane for him to try to outright kill anyone who inconvenienced him, not to mention reckless, and stupid to boot. Acting like that in their line of work would make him a lot of enemies extremely quickly. It would make more sense for the old Guard disappearing to be unrelated, to be honest.

Yeah. Hell, he barely knew the guy, and here he was assuming he’d straight up whacked a guy for getting a little too on his case about something. Maybe they were wrong.

Movement on a camera. He glanced over and froze outright.

It took him five seconds to come to his senses enough to pause the playback on his screen.

Figures. Shapes. Not at the front entrance, in the hallway, there next to the back way, by the garage. At least three, moving carefully, hard to make out in the darkness.

Okay. Okay, don’t panic, focus.

Jeremy ran through a few things in his head. He’d already done a headcount, the only people he wasn’t sure about were the Sniper and the Medic, but he hadn’t seen the Medic in any of the hallways out of the infirmary. Three figures were two too many to be any of the team, and besides that, they didn’t look like the Medic. Too short to be the Sniper, moving differently. Different clothes.

Three people. He hopped up, rushed over to the wall, yanked open the panel he had there. Three buttons, which he needed to hit in order. The first would send an alert to Miss Pauling, the second to whoever was assigned to be on alert that night, the third would set off the alarm.

He hit the first, hit the second, and hesitated on the third.

Okay. Technically if he didn’t hit that third button, he’d be breaking protocol, which was, according to the manual, ‘grounds for termination’. He was pretty sure that meant a long swim with some concrete shoes. And it was apparently recorded every time he hit these buttons, so they could deduct from his pay on false alerts. So they’d know if he didn’t hit this third button. He needed to think fast.

This was a different button than the alert button. The alert was more subtle, set for just one person. The alarm was throughout the entire base, over every loudspeaker. Louder than a fire alarm. If he hit this one, these intruders would hear that there was an alarm going off. Anyone smart would book it, high tail it the hell out of there. But he still didn’t know where they came from.

There hadn’t been movement on any of the screens, and he looked at the camera feed facing the road already, a few times even. He should’ve seen them. And if they found their way in once, they could do it again.

If he didn’t hit the button, on the other hand, whoever was on alert would wake up and wonder why they’d gotten an alert but the alarm wasn’t going off. If they were clever, which they probably were if they’d lasted this long, they’d come to the security room to see what was up and they could work from there.

He closed the panel again and moved to wait.

A minute later, still no movement from the hallway where most of the rooms were. That was fine, they’d just woken up, and probably needed to get dressed and grab their guns.

Another minute later, no movement, which was fair, they just needed a second to get their bearings. The intruders, meanwhile, were just lurking, slowly making their way down the hall.

Another minute later, no movement, and he opened the panel to press the button again before he continued waiting. Maybe they didn’t hear him the first time.

Another minute later and he took to standing next to the panel, mashing the button rapidly, eyes on the screen where the intruders were passing the kitchen, starting to get pretty far into the building.

Another minute later and he stomped his way into his sneakers, grabbing his flashlight and gun and guard cap from where they were hung on the wall. “Fine, I’ll fucking do it myself,” he grumbled, and carefully shouldered open the door, taking one last glance at the camera before he shut the door behind himself.

He kept his footsteps quiet, squinting into the darkness, waiting for his eyes to finish adjusting as he crept towards where he’d last seen the figures. It was near-silent in the base at night except for the distant, quiet hum of generators and occasional shift of plumbing. It was getting more and more familiar, and he found himself able to tune it out somewhat, instead listening intently for footsteps besides his own, making sure to click the safety off his gun while he was still alone and not when he was close to whoever had decided to break in.

Okay. Dad did this all the time. He could handle this.

He slowed as he approached the corner near the kitchen, peering around as carefully as he could, tugging down the brim of his cap to try and hide any potential shine from his eyes. He caught sight of a vague shape standing near the doorway, hesitating before it crept inside, into the common area.

Not ideal, on the basis of that being their goddamn kitchen, but at least there would be cover.

By the time he managed to sneak up to the doorway, he could make out the sound of vague whispering. It was far enough that it gave him the boldness to peer into the room, and just slightly lit by the glow of the clock on the oven he could see two shapes there in the kitchen, the third lingering nearer to him, there by the table.

Jeremy was only just starting to make a plan, relieved to have the jump on them, when there was the distant sound of a generator humming to life, and all the figures stopped, paused for a moment.

“Fucking spooky here,” one whispered, barely audible.

“Calm down,” another whispered. “What, scared of ghosts?”

Jeremy inhaled, exhaled, shifted onto the balls of his feet and started creeping a little further into the room. If he could just get all three of them to one side, so he wouldn’t need to pivot so much…

“You don’t know, maybe there’s ghosts here,” the first protested, and swore quietly at what sounded like their winging their elbow against the corner of the tale, and Jeremy tried to stick near the wall, managed to creep half-behind one of the chairs, trying to keep his silhouette indistinct. “These guys kill people.”

“So do we,” the third mumbled, moving out of sight in the kitchen, and Jeremy bit down on a swear, starting to inch behind the couch. “Don’t be a coward. And stop making so much noise.”

“You can’t shoot a ghost,” the first pointed out, moving a bit closer to the kitchen, giving the table a wide berth now. “Or punch it.”

“I can try,” the second said, and stopped at the sound of a rustle.

Jeremy held his breath, weight half-balanced against where he’d tried to step, newspaper trapped beneath his foot.

“That one wasn’t me,” the first whispered. There was another, more significant rustle throughout the room, and Jeremy could see a glint as the intruders drew their weapons.

Jeremy inhaled, exhaled, and just barely managed not to swear out loud.

The first one was the closest by, lingering beside the arm of the couch Jeremy was crouched in the shadow of. “Do they have a cat here?” they asked, voice quiet.

The second was approaching into the main room more carefully. From the sound of the footsteps, trying to keep a shoulder closer to the wall, clearly paying more attention to the door. “Are you stupid or something?” was the reply, voice also quiet.

The third didn’t speak, but huffed out a laugh, which was enough to tell Jeremy that he was out of the kitchen.

Jeremy inhaled shakily, exhaled shakily, shifted his grip on his handgun and flashlight, and took a split second to think. Inhaled one more time.

He leapt to his feet, swinging his flashlight like a billy club and clobbering the first figure across the side of the head, sending them tumbling to the ground. From the sound of the impact, a dislocated jaw at the very least. One down.

A shout from the other side of the room, arms moving to try to aim, clearly struggling to see him, but that third figure was in the doorway, silhouetted against the faint light from the oven’s clock, and that was enough to figure out where the head and chest were. He aimed, fired, got what he was pretty sure was the neck considering the brief spray of blood that splattered against the oven, darkening the room completely.

A swear from the second figure, and Jeremy wanted to swear too, because he’d hoped that second figure would be stupid and try and charge him, but now he was ten steps away and didn’t have time to fiddle with and cock the gun again, other hand full with a flashlight and no way to—

Oh, duh.

“Stay where you are,” the second figure ordered, but Jeremy’s eyes were a little better adjusted and besides that, he wasn’t the one talking. He lifted his flashlight and clicked it on.

The second figure cried out, recoiling at the sudden blindingly bright light in what had been near-darkness, and Jeremy had time to finagle his thumb up to cock his gun again, now able to aim with absolute accuracy, this shot connecting with the figure’s head.

He exhaled.

It took Jeremy two minutes to remember to fire a bullet into the chest of the unconscious guy, and another minute for the other mercenaries to start showing up, half-dressed and armed. Dad, presumably to prove a point, showed up pretty close to the middle of the pack almost fully dressed. Jeremy wasn’t entirely sure how long it took before Miss Pauling showed up, but he wasn’t even halfway through their questions by that time.

“Guard, headcount?” she asked before she even bothered saying hello, still wearing her motorcycle helmet and looking more than a little bit miffed.

“Uh,” he said, eyes drawn away from where Medic was assessing the bodies on the kitchen table, “seven present and accounted for. Sniper’s probably out at his van, don’t know about the Scout.”

“Alright. Pyro,” she said, and Pyro stood at attention, bunny slippers squeaking at the movement. “go wake up Sniper and get him in here.”

Pyro nodded, handing their weird unicorn plushie thing to Jeremy as they passed by, giving him a solemn nod before hurrying away.

“Okay. Guard, hit me with a rundown, then,” she said, and shot a glance around the room. “No peanut gallery needed. And Medic, please don’t take them apart too much. I gotta get rid of those later.”

“Uh. Spotted these guys on the cameras, hit the first and second alerts,” Jeremy said.

“And not the third?” she asked pointedly.

“They were, like, right next to the door, and—here’s the thing, Miss P, is I dunno how the hell they got in here,” he said, and there was a general balk from the room. “No, seriously. They didn’t come in on the main road, they were in one of the back hallways by the garage. There’s gotta be a hole in the cameras or something, because I seriously don’t know where they came from. And if they booked it, they’d take whatever vehicle they used to get here, too, and we might not figure it out. Thought I’d just wait for whoever the hell was supposed to be on alert so we could… I dunno, at least see which way they went.”

“Guard,” she admonished, and he shrank a little bit. “That was incredibly reckless. What if nobody had shown up to help you?”

“Uh,” he said, blinked, “but… nobody did show up.”

A pause. She blinked. “What? You’re the one who did that?” she asked, entirely shocked, pointing towards the three bodies on the table.

“Uh, yeah? Isn’t that my job?” he asked carefully, shifting the stuffed animal under his arm.

“No, you’re—you’re just supposed to be the Guard, you’re supposed to watch cameras, not—“ She paused, taking a second to push up her glasses and rub at the bridge of her nose, inhaling, exhaling. “Okay. Points for… going above and beyond, here, but Guard, don’t do that again.”

“Sure thing, Miss P,” he mumbled, tugging on the brim of his guard cap, and sighed to himself as Miss Pauling moved away to try and stop Medic from attempting to covertly steal a few organs from the corpses. Dad clapped him on the shoulder supportively, and that did make him feel a little better. He wasn’t expecting a clap to the other shoulder, and looked up, surprised to see Heavy there, looking just slightly less grim than usual.

“Little Guard man is credit to team,” he said simply, solemnly.

Jeremy straightened up slightly. “Oh. Hey, thanks,” he said. Heavy nodded at him.

“It’s true,” Demo called, and he looked over, got another approving nod. “Really saved the lot of us, lad.”

“I, I mean, hey, it’s… what I’m here for. Or, uh. I thought that was it, anyways,” he shrugged, glancing away. “I mean, yeah, I’m pretty cool, though.”

Dad bumped his arm for the last part, and he snickered. “My question,” Dad continued, doing his best to ignore him, “is primarily regarding who, precisely, was supposed to be present to help Guard with this. Who is meant to be on alert?”

“It’s meant to be Scout, ain’t it?” the Engineer asked from nearby, frowning. A general murmur of agreement. “Could he have slept through it?”

“Heavy doubts this,” Heavy grumbled, looking troubled.

“Why’re we awake?” asked Sniper from the doorway, and various teammates called out a greeting. Sniper seemed half-gone, and completely grumpy, but not as grumpy as Pyro, and not nearly as gone as the man leaning heavily against Pyro’s shoulder.

“Hey,” the Scout managed, grinning, speech garbled, visibly sloppy and unbalanced. “What’s up, guys?”

Groans from parts of the room. “Drinkin’ again, Scout?” the Engineer drawled, visibly irritated.

“That’s my trademark, lad, go on,” Demo laughed, but the enthusiasm wasn’t entirely there.

“Scout,” Miss Pauling said, voice firm in a way that made Jeremy almost flinch in sympathy. “Are you aware that we’ve had a situation here while you’ve been sleeping?”

“Weren’t sleeping,” Sniper murmured, and eyes turned to him. He scratched at the back of his neck. “Came stumbling in ‘round when I was heading in. He was out for the night. Bar, looks like.”

“What?” Jeremy demanded. “Why the fuck didn’t I see him leave on the cameras?”

“Alright,” Miss Pauling said, and Jeremy looked at her. Her expression was hard to read. “It’s possible he went through the back tunnel.”

“Back tunnel?” Jeremy asked, and glanced around. Apparently he wasn’t the only one who hadn’t heard of it.

“For emergencies only. Scout’s the only one who I’ve given a key card to. I have one too. It’s supposed to be used for transporting especially sensitive information, most of the team isn’t supposed to even know it exists. If there’s a gap in the cameras around the back of the building, he might have been using it to… sneak out to go to town, even though he knows he’s already in hot water for leaving the base so much,” Miss Pauling said, glaring at Scout, who was looking increasingly annoyed.

“Whatever, it’s not a big deal,” he protested, scoffing.

“That tunnel is for emergencies only,” Miss Pauling stressed. “I trusted you with the privilege of knowing about it account of having worked here for so long, and you’re using that privilege and key card to mess around?”

“He was coming back from around the front of the building, at least,” Sniper chimed in, and Pyro nodded. “Not that I’d understand the point of sneaking out if he’s going to just walk back in the front door.”

“Key card?” Medic repeated from near the table, eyebrows furrowed.

“Yeah, it’s, it’s a magnetized card, that can be read by a card reader, used like a key,” Miss Pauling explained, deflating a little bit.

His eyebrows furrowed further. “Would it happen to look anything like this?” he asked, picking up a lanyard from the table and holding it up, showing the room the card clipped onto the end of it.

Two beats of silence. “Spy, would you mind?” Miss Pauling asked politely, nodding towards the Scout, who had gone pale.

“Not at all,” Dad said just as politely, and walked over towards the Scout and Pyro, then circled around behind them, and sank a blade into the Scout’s spine. He promptly crumbled to the floor, dead.

“Well. At least that’s that mystery solved,” Miss Pauling sighed, and rubbed at the bridge of her nose again. “Now I’ve gotta block off time tomorrow to get rid of three bodies, and then hopefully that’s the last we’re gonna hear of this or else the Administrator is gonna kill me.”

“What about the Scout?” Heavy rumbled.

“…Scratch that. Four bodies,” she mumbled, face dropping into her hands. “And then I need to find his replacement. Ugh.”

“Can’t imagine you’d need to go far,” Demo said, and Jeremy looked up, and Demo was very obviously tilting a thumb in his direction.

“He’s proven himself to be better at this job,” Dad agreed, shrugging. “And I would say on a bad day he’s still a better runner than the previous Scout on a good one.”

“He can clearly handle a firearm well,” the Engineer noted, looking over one of the bodies.

“And a blunt object,” Medic chimed, just a bit too pleased. “This jaw is almost completely shattered!”

“Okay, okay, fine, sure,” Miss Pauling waved off, one hand still pressed to her face, clearly overwhelmed and tired. “We’ll get his paperwork in tomorrow. Congratulations, you’re the new Scout, any questions? Can the questions wait until morning? Great, thank you. Good night, everyone. Medic, have the bodies in bags for me at least, okay?”

A distracted thumbs up from Medic, and Miss Pauling was groaning, wandering back out of the room, and most of the team followed, yawning amongst themselves. Sniper half-attempted to ask again why the hell any of them were awake, but gave up halfway through. Pyro, for one, made sure to at least retrieve the plushie from Scout’s arms before wandering off, giving him an appreciative pat on the shoulder.

“So,” Dad said, and when he looked over, he was smiling. “A promotion, mon lapin. Congratulations, new Scout.”

“Do I gotta wear that stupid outfit he always wears?” Jeremy asked, entirely serious. His reply was a laugh and a pat on the shoulder before he disappeared in a puff of smoke. “Pops, I’m serious. Do I? Dad!?”

-

“—So that’s why I figured, y’know, might as well tell you guys,” Jeremy finished rambling, hands in his pockets, continuing down the hallway. “Because… I dunno. I could tell Miss P, but it’s nice having secret stuff, y’know?”

“You think this is how they actually got in?” Demo asked, looking dubious. “Little blind spot in the cameras?”

“Only a couple feet wide, you said?” Sniper grumbled.

“Sounds possible,” Heavy said hesitantly.

“I dunno. Maybe. But if I tell Miss P about it, they’re gonna fix it,” Jeremy shrugged, turning the corner and stopping. “There. I knew it.”

They stopped with him, following his line of sight. “You’re takin’ the piss, mate,” Sniper deadpanned. “You want to tell me he’d been climbing out a window like a teenager?”

Jeremy shrugged, moving to open the window in question. It swung open easily, just large enough to push through with only a little bit of a problem, barely needing to turn his shoulders. “He’s not much bigger than me, and what the hell else would he be doing here?” he pointed out.

“Heavy cannot fit through that window,” Heavy deadpanned.

“Yeah. Sorry, big guy,” Jeremy apologized, leaning back inside and closing it again. “But hey, mystery solved, right?”

“Well, if I ever need windows to climb out of, now I know just the lad for the job,” Demo said, nudging him. “Thanks, Guard. Or, er, Scout. Och, now that’s going to take getting used to, aye? Might just stick to calling you ‘laddie’, laddie.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he laughed, nudging him right back. And as much as they ribbed him for it, he did see a kind of appreciation there. Just like he’d figured, they seemed to take note of him taking their side and not just Miss Pauling’s.

Now he just needed to switch back over to the day shift.

[blahkugo]

Manual

Terushima Yūji x Reader (Haikyuu!!)

Word Count: 4.5k

TW: dub/noncon (noncon filming & voyeurism), manipulation, drugs (weed and alcohol), implied virginity, degradation, exhibitionism, daddy kink

A night of danger and debauchery with the city’s infamous drug dealer. 

It was a simple enough text that started it, but you’re not even sure how he got a hold of your number. A few days ago, a plain ‘hey’ had flashed across your screen and before you knew it, you were agreeing to go for a ride in his speedy car. ‘How fast is it?’ you had asked as an attempt to stall the conversation. But it was his reply that settled it for you: ‘As fast as you want it.’ 

It’s stupid how easily swayed you were, but the words left a knot in your stomach that you had never encountered before. Like a ship setting its anchor on the seafloor, though not one of anxiety nor tension caused by any of the usual stressors of your life—something entirely alien. The real issue wasn’t its unfamiliarity, but how much you took pleasure in it. And as ships do, the feeling set sail as quickly as it appeared, and you were left wistful and aching for its return. 

Never had you been like your classmates at the private school, who used familial wealth to excuse week-long benders and avoid lengthy jail sentences, because never had you felt that depravity necessary. But as you make your way down the block, you envision daddy waking up to find his little girl simply vanished, and you can’t help the wicked smile that spreads across your face.

When you arrive at the grimy, red sports car— music blasting through the open windows despite the dead quiet of the block— that ball of thrill settles in your gut yet again. As long as you’re in the company of Terushima Yūji, you’re well aware that the feeling isn’t going to go away.   

The car is low. So low, in fact, that you have to balance a hand on the roof and slide in legs first. How does he even drive around in this metal death trap without scraping the asphalt? Your leather skirt bunches and slips further up your thighs no matter how hard you tug it lower. 

“Alright?” It’s the only form of greeting he calls out to you over the ear-splitting music. Terushima eyes your lustrous, bare legs resting in the passenger seat of his beat-up Camaro, but doesn’t bother turning down the tune. He’s not very polite, but you didn’t exactly accept his offer to be drowned in refinement, did you? 

“I’m okay,” you shout, struggling to be heard over the booming voice rapping about ‘drugs and bitches.’ Typical. “How are you?” You’re not sure if it’ll break the ice, not even sure he wants to speak at all, but anything’s better than fidgeting awkwardly in your chair with nothing but the god awful music to drown out your anxiety.

He mumbles back a simple reply, fixing his gaze on your breasts straining against the tight, low cut tank. You fished the two-piece outfit out of the depths of your wardrobe, a revealing number borrowed from a friend that you never even bothered trying on before tonight. His stare has you itching to cross your arms over your chest, but you hold out. You can’t have him thinking you’re a prude, even if it is the truth. 

His hand grips the stick shift lazily and before you know it, the engine is rumbling and you’re peeling away from the curb. Terushima’s driving is every bit as reckless as you assumed, stop signs appearing to be soft suggestions rather than mandatory decrees. The residential roads are practically deserted, but the lack of caution has your heart racing wildly all the same, fingers clutching at your seat. As the adrenaline rushes through your veins, your stomach sinks further into the frayed leather seat. 

When the music is shut off abruptly, you believe he must finally want to speak to you, perhaps even exchange pleasantries— but the next words out of his mouth are a sly, 

“Do me a favor, yeah?” You nod, before realizing his eyes are still fixed on the road ahead. It’s not like it matters anyways, because he continues on as if you had answered him. “Grab the bottle under your seat for me, princess.” Princess. It’s uttered so nonchalantly, but there’s a certain edge to his tone— the tiniest hint of a teasing lilt. You don’t like it, but logical as your brain may be, your stomach still swirls with butterflies. 

Swiping at the floor, you search until your fingers make contact with glass. Low and behold, you pull out a bottle of– 

“Smirnoff,” your eyes scan the label intently, attempting to place the emblem among the liquors you’ve seen at the country club. While you weren’t exactly expecting a water bottle— that’d be much too off brand for Terushima— you aren’t too keen on the idea of reckless and intoxicated driving. He glances towards you once, but doesn’t make a move towards the drink at all. 

Only a few seconds later, he shoots you another look, single brow raised in quiet anticipation. The long-forgotten burdens of high school peer pressure washes over you again, fingers quivering as you unscrew the cap. 

You’ve never had vodka straight out of the bottle, never had vodka in general except for when it’s mixed into your cocktails. But his expectation weighs heavy in the confined space. So, fuck it. What did you come out with him for if not to live a little? 

Nail polish remover, children’s cough syrup, and liquid fire. That’s all you taste as the lukewarm fluid glides down your throat. The burn is unbearable, but a pool of warmth oozes through your chest and your hand relaxes a bit on the edge of your seat. You don’t even realize that you’re coughing.

“First time drinking?” He offers you a lazy smirk, tone edged in ridicule. 

“What?” Holding your breath, you silently beg the itch in your throat to disappear. “No, I- I have wine with dinner.” 

The laugh that rumbles through his throat is deep and hoarse, much too loud to be laughing at your comment— and thus, is only perceivable as taunting. Even so, you can’t deny the seduction threaded into his smoky vocals, or the wire deep within your core, pulled taut and ready to snap at any moment. 

“Wine,” he snickers again. “You’re funny, you know that?” He swipes the booze out of your hands and chugs. If there’s ever a proper time to start worrying, it’d be now. But at least he stops for lights? 

Besides, you can’t say you’re not enjoying the view. Terushima’s defined jaw ruts outward with every swill, his lips puckered towards the bottle as if his life depends on it. As cautious as you should be, he’s too pretty to keep your eyes focused anywhere else; your mouth surely knows it, practically salivating at his Adam's apple, bobbing as he gulps. If you reach your hand out just a few inches, you can run your fingertips against it and–

“Gross,” he pushes the bottle back towards you. 

“Black cherry,” you counter, as if it’s an explanation for the disgusting taste. 

“Is that the flavor I nicked? Damn, wasn’t paying enough attention,” he shrugs. 

“Nicked?” Mouth agape, you stare intently at the side of his face and hope for a valid answer. 

“Bottle looked lonely, so I swiped it,” he brushes a finger at the alcohol trickling down his lip; one of your own digits twitches in envy. “Is that too criminal for you, princess?” 

So he is mocking you. The vodka must be melting your brain, because all your body comes up with in response is a wind chime of a soft laugh— an entirely foreign noise to your ears. It must be a mistake, or the music playing tricks on your hearing, because you don’t giggle. 

Still, according to Terushima’s awful pet name, you have something to prove. Not sure how else to shut him up, you opt for the easiest way out. 

“I’m not drunk enough for this.” The bottle meets your lips and liquid fire waltzes through you again. Seconds pass as you chug, the haziness of your last sip urging you to down just a teensy bit more. Just enough to get you tipsy, just enough to prove him wrong, just enough to drown out the voice in your head claiming this is a terrible idea. 

This time, you don’t cough. 

“‘Atta girl.” 

Then, you’re drinking, and he’s drinking, and the two of you are having the grandest of times. Never mind the fact that he’s consumed far less alcohol than you have, or that lines are blurring and you’re no longer able to see straight. Gone is the anxiety you were plagued with upon meeting him and the worries that shadow you day and night in your regular life. And that’s all that really matters. 

He blasts the music once again. Maybe it isn’t as terrible as you originally thought. A deep, pumping bass resonates through every bone in your body and Terushima seems to be pressing the pedals harder with every beat. 

Up you go, higher, higher— higher?

Your eyes have been scouring the mischievous man next to you so intently that you never bothered to ask where you were going. But can you blame yourself? Even now, as you round up the side of a cliff, every thought passing through your murky brain pertains to him. 

His lazy half smile that won’t drop, as if he’s keyed in on a secret that’s all his own, lidded eyes that make him look entirely apathetic and alluring all at once. Hell, even his fingers are beautiful. Slender and graceful, one hand is placed leisurely at the wheel and the other is shifting the gear stick with meticulous precision. Terushima Yūji has always struck you as raw and vulgar, but now you see there’s a sense of finesse to him as well— and of course, you’d need to be halfway into a drunken stupor to truly notice it. 

You’re shaken from your thoughts once he cracks the windows, hair whipping around violently. If you only knew the lyrics to any of these songs, you’d be singing along. Instead, you settle for kicking your legs out the window and tapping your fingers to the beat. Who cares that your fingers are moving too slowly to match the rhythm? 

Terushima says nothing at your erratic behavior, only smirks when your head leans against his shoulder and you stare idly up at him. Relief. It’s the only identifiable emotion you’re able to place in the midst of this haze. Yes, the world is foggy and black spots take over half your vision. But you hold onto that feeling— the breeze, the weightlessness. All the while, the anchor in your gut makes its home further into the sand. 

“We’re here,” he chuckles, pointing at your windswept hair when you turn to him. It’s the first time his laugh sounds genuine, bubbling up naturally instead of forced and vicious. And he’s finally looking at you; not in stolen glances, with eyes glazed over in mockery or lust, but truly looking at you. You break out of the murkiness clouding your brain to catch what ‘here’ is, only to gasp at the sight in front of you. 

He’s brought you to the very top of a cliff, overlooking the city. Cars and buildings seem nothing more than blips on a map, insects to your God-like view. 

As beautiful as they are, the dazzling lights of the world below you pale in comparison to the deity seated inches away. It’s difficult to believe that you had never once taken notice of him, though your younger self filed him away as a troublemaker—an invaluable waste of space— based on gossiped knowledge and without a second glance. 

“Y’know what I never noticed?” You’re well aware the words tumble out a whine, drawn out and a bit slurred, but proper diction is the last thing on your mind. “You’re really pretty.” As soon as you’ve said it, your face is set ablaze. Control yourself. 

“Pretty? Haven’t heard that one before,” he throws his head back and you’re struck with that gruff, raspy laugh once again.

“But you are,” you’re unable to contain yourself at all now, all proper thoughts replaced by the cut of his cheekbones, the messy bleached hair tumbling over his sleek undercut— and best yet, the tiny piece of metal prodding through his tongue and now balanced between his teeth. “A pretty bad boy, with pretty teeth, and a pretty piercing, and you texted me why?” With the hurried words, another wave of heat spikes your body. 

Perhaps his eyes brighten at your little confession, or perhaps his face gives away nothing. You can’t really tell much of anything.

“You really wanna know?” You nod hungrily at his whisper, his hushed tone teeming with temptation. Terushima creeps closer, so much so that you feel his breath fanning your face. Underneath the overwhelming scents of cigarettes and booze, he smells a bit like tea leaves. Strange, but pleasant. “Are you sure?” He’s smirking now, obviously finding your curiosity entertaining. 

At the same time, one of his hands inches towards you— cautiously, deliberately, like a predator creeping towards its skittish prey. You tremble in your seat, unsure why the proximity has your heart beating out of its chest. 

All at once, his hand shoots past you and towards the glove compartment. Terushima lets out a snicker, flashes you a brilliant set of teeth, and proudly offers you nothing: “Sorry, not tellin’ you.” 

Your slurred gripes do nothing to sway the tease, who’s now engrossed by the itty bitty ziploc baggie he pulled from the glovebox. Though your head is spinning, you yourself can’t help but feel enthralled by his movements— staring shamelessly as he sprinkles the weed onto paper. His fingers prove precise yet again as he rolls the greens into pretty little cylinders. 

Almond eyes meet yours only when he brings the wrap to his lips, gazing directly at you while his tongue slides across the paper. A chill prickles across your skin, but there’s only heat within the parked car. 

Before you know it, he’s extending a large hand towards you, silently willing you to take the first hit. Somewhere far away, you hear your own voice mumbling, ‘I don’t know how to.’ As hard as you try to put up a front, to exude sex and confidence in front of this well-versed man, you’re not quite sure you can pretend your way through this one. 

A wispy laugh, a sly comment and a wink later, two of his fingers have the joint pressed between your lips. ‘I’ll teach you,’ he promises, instructing you on precisely how to breathe. You barely register the palm fastened at your chest. Is he being a creep? Maybe he’s just trying to help. Either way, you don’t pay it much mind. 

And then, smoke fills your lungs, fills your head, fills the already-depleting air of his tiny car. You’re coughing again, but he warned you of the burn this time, and ‘besides, it’ll get you higher.’ 

You were hoping to see chalky hues of pinks and blues, but the drug does nothing but provide you with lidded eyes and a tingle that runs from head to toe. A single stroke of your finger against the leathered seat sends waves of shivers throughout your arm. Your palm splayed against your own thigh feels unfamiliar and ticklish. 

The buzz is only truly worth it when you finally turn to look at the wicked man next to you; Terushima has a slick smile dancing across his face, eyes heavy and probing you for any sort of reaction. The bleached blonde hair at the top of his head pales under the moonlight, suddenly seeming impossible to resist. When you reach out to grasp a strand, he moves quicker, gripping your fingers tightly between his. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” His low drawl is lazy, more amused than genuinely angry. But your fingers twitch beneath his grasp all the same, completely embarrassed and still itching to touch his locks. “Princess doesn't know how to ask for things politely?” You don’t have to look into his eyes to feel the smugness radiating off of him. 

“No, I-” There’s no saving face now, and he knows it as well as you do. 

“Or are you just so used to getting what you want?” Even as he taunts you, his digits thread through yours, pulling you towards him so that your hands hover over his lips. “Is this what you wanted?” 

You shake your head, but the thought of grazing his pillowy lips— of your trembling fingers exploring that tiny metal ball in his mouth— is now etched into your clouded brain. 

“No? What about here?” He trails your digits down his crisp t-shirt, stopping only when you’ve reached his midriff. You should stop, should adhere to the yellow tape bound around this entire encounter; instead, you stare at the blonde with wide eyes, tongue poking out of your mouth as you debate your answer. He breathes an airy laugh, “use your words.” 

But before you can, his lips are meshing into yours. And here are the hues of the pinks and blues you so desperately wished to see, hidden in his caress all this time. There’s heat, and heat, and more heat— and a quiet hum traveling from the very tip of your mouth to your toes, as you melt together. 

When he releases your hands, they fly towards his hair, finally tugging at the soft pieces. A simple clasp of your waist and you’re moaning into his mouth, a warm welcome for his tongue to slide in. Embers spread through the tiny space, setting your lungs ablaze far quicker than any drug could. His cool, metal piercing tickles the roof of your mouth; if you were coherent enough, you may wonder what it would feel like skimming other stretches of skin. 

But your thoughts are cotton candy melting at his touch and allowing one, singular thought: him, him, him. 

Your sugar-spun mind loses track of the time he spends pressed into you. Seconds, minutes, hours later, he finally pulls away, the long string of saliva between you the only remnant of your lip-locked endeavors. 

“It’s getting late,” his words are a whisper, a break in the heavy silence of heaving chests and spinning minds. You’d have thought the infamous heartbreaker would urge for more, and a part of you wishes that he would. But instead, he drives you back down the cliffside in silence, his hand on your thigh rooted in place, keeping you longing for another taste. 

Only when you’re coming down from the high, still a bit tipsy, do you realize you’re almost home. Terushima’s fingers still play at the hem of your skirt, stroking at the fire deep in your gut. With all his teasing, you figure you may as well make your move now. 

“You can pull over here,” you instruct, happy to have found your usual domineering voice. Perhaps it was buried under the weight of weed and wandering lips. 

“Your house is another block away,” he refutes with a grumble, but heeds your demand anyways. When he turns to you, you’re caught in that bewitching gaze, finding yourself at a loss for words yet again. “Anything else you need?” The words are laced with possibility, a dangerous challenge. But any gall you felt coursing through your veins has vanished without a trace. 

“No- I- I should get home,” your eyes drop, staring at a loose thread on his pants— and all at once, moving to leave the car. “Daddy’ll be mad if he catches me out.” The words are barely out of your mouth before he’s chuckling, repeating them.

“Daddy will be mad? You still call your father daddy?” And there’s the Yūji Terushima you thought you knew, mockery and taunts always at the tip of his tongue. You throw a weak punch against his chest, huffing in confusion. 

“What’s so wrong with that?” 

“Nothing,” He exclaims a bit too smugly, climbing out himself.

Next thing you know, you’re caught between his body and the hood of the car, sturdy arms trapping you in place. Chilled air nips at your bones; a single skim of his knee against your thigh and that cold is forgotten. You really should be at home. 

“Terushima.” It’s funny how a single word— a person’s name— can contain a thousand different meanings. You’re not even sure how you say it, questioning the inflections of your cracked voice and wide eyes. He whispers your name right back, the gleam in his eyes magnifying tenfold. 

You’re well aware he has you right where he wants you, a little bird caught in a cage, though you’re more than happy to be singing any song he asks. 

But there’s only silence as you stare at each other beneath the flickering street light. So much so, you can hear your hearts pump blood, can hear the engine of a car rumbling by, can even hear your neighbor’s pesky dog barking a block away. 

“Do you need something, or do you just like saying my na–”

You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him in. 

It feels different now. Perhaps your nerves aren’t frenzied, and you don’t attain euphoria with every graze. But you feel him. You can taste the smoke on his tongue as it knocks against your teeth. Black cherry floods your brain, the same flavor that drifted you up that cliffside to begin with. 

Terushima’s hands grab at your waist before you’re hoisted up and placed on the hood of the car. Gone are the lazy kisses of two heads in the clouds. His movements are quick and decisive, aggressive even. A hand roams your body, trailing under your tank and across your breasts. The other shoves aside your panties, nimble fingers circling your bud. 

A low whimper leaves you when he runs a digit across your slit. 

“Careful,” hot breath fans your lips as he chuckles, “too loud and he’ll hear us.” 

But you can’t stop your wanton mewls. Not when he dips into you, curling his fingertips to hit a spot that has you seeing stars. Not when his teeth nip at your jaw, your neck, the shell of your ear— leaving soft marks behind. And most certainly not when you can feel his cock straining against your thigh. 

“Fuck, Teru I–”  Within minutes, your entire body trembles, hands clutching at soft hair as you chase your high. 

“Tell daddy what you want,” his eyes pierce into yours, completely unashamed of his perversion of the pure term. You try to shake your head no, to refuse his order— but he simply flicks his wrist quicker, pumps into you faster. You’re so fucking close, too near the edge to care, so you simply allow the words to tumble out, 

“Daddy p-please, I want to cum.” 

A few circles on your clit, and you’re putty in his hands. The high hits you with a loud, leg-shaking cry— far more dizzying than any of the debaucheries of hours past. 

You’re flipped over without a moment to breathe, breasts rammed into the frigid car hood. Terushima pulls your skirt up with one hand, the other nudging your cheek firmly against the metal. 

Never would you have thought you’d be one for such public indecency, but the elation of your last orgasm still hasn't even completely resided. For the third time tonight, you find yourself drunk off the ambrosia of this wayward god.  

“Beg for it,” he slides his cock up your slit, coating his thick member in your slick. 

“Please Teru,” you whine helplessly. A loud slap echoes through the empty street as his hand meets the globe of your ass, the pain more shocking than painful. 

It reminds you that anyone could walk out of their homes to see you being railed against a beat up car— and the thought of one of your neighbors waking up to that sight wracks your body with a twisted pleasure. 

“What was that?” The bastard actually laughs, gruff and hearty, as you writhe against him. 

“Daddy, I need you.” And then he’s thrusting into you, pushing into the tight ring of muscle. Though he prepped you, you claw at the car, searching for any sort of relief from the overwhelming pain. 

A few snaps of his hips later, you relax as the stretch becomes bearable. He takes his time rutting into you, spreading your legs further, making sure you feel every inch of him deep inside you. 

Only when you begin bouncing back to meet his drives does he quicken his pace, a single hand gripping your waist— five finger-shaped bruises you’re sure will be evidence for days to come. You barely recognize your own voice; high-pitched wails spill from your lips, curses and pleas and cries of ‘daddy’ like a broken record on replay. 

“Look at the little slut, creaming all over me,” a particularly hard thrust sends you reeling, tears flowing freely down your face as you blabber mindlessly. “Who’d have thought the city’s very own ‘prude princess’ would be blacking out over some dick?” 

You should be ridiculed, would be utterly offended by the insult, if not for the fact that his cock has you teetering the delicate line of consciousness. Those words are precisely what send you over the edge for the second time tonight. 

“Fuck, stay right there,” a low, gravelly groan as Terushima continues pounding into you. Then, a few more prods and he’s following suit, pulling out to spill his seed all over your backside. 

Vision still spotty, you finally turn to look at the beautiful man, hoping for rosy cheeks and that soft smile you believe is a secret saved just for you. Instead you’re met with a dull frown and a look of pure apathy. 

He won’t even meet your eyes. 

“Can you walk the block or should I drive you?” Though he poses the question, the lack of his typical liveliness tells you everything you need to know about his preference: he doesn’t have one. 

Somewhere far away, you hear yourself tell him you’ll walk. Your head’s still caught on cloud nine, or perhaps it was only ever the ninth circle of hell—twisted and contorted by black cherry and rotten greens.

“Are you sure? You look a little shaken,” he laughs, that same hoarse tone you once thought charming now seeming gnarled and vicious. The taunts once endearing, now simply malicious. 

From the corner of your eye you spot his phone, unlocked and teeming with messages. A flash of a familiar black leather skirt bunching, a flip of your hair, pieces of your purity plastered across his screen for the world to see. 

You walk back home in silence. 

[inskz]

lucky charm - lee minho

pairing - lee minho x reader

genre - college!au, best friends to lovers, very cliche fluff (lucky girl starring lindsey lohan kinda vibes???)

words - 4k

note - this is just a cute little drabble i wrote while im still waiting for my covid test results to come back so that i can leave my room and see the sun again 🤪 pls be careful everybody take care of your health 💚 enjoy!!!

- - - - -

“You must be kidding me,” you sigh when you see Minho’s hand has turned into a fist, his rock crushing miserably your scissors. Once again, you lost at rock, paper, scissors. And once again, you’re the one that is going to wash your best friend’s dishes that have piled up in is tiny kitchen sink throughout the week.

“Fuck that. This is so unfair,” you grumble, throwing the dishtowel in Minho’s stupid yet perfectly chiseled face.

You make a beeline for his bed, which is actually only a few steps away from the kitchen. Being a broke college student definitely doesn’t allow him to rent a spacious studio, let alone a two-room apartment. You throw yourself headfirst onto his uncomfortable mattress, whose springs always poke your back at night.

“Life is so unfair,” your friend mocks you, dragging out every vowel of his sentence dramatically.

No doubt, you would be strangling him at that very moment if you weren’t so busy playing dead, hoping he would forget about your pitiful existence.

But there is no way mister Lee Minho would miss out on an opportunity to have his gross plates cleaned by someone else. Grabbing onto your ankle, he drags you out of bed until you plop down on the dirty carpeted floor (Minho has the unfortunate tendency to procrastinate vacuuming too). At this point, you are fake crying, throwing a literal tantrum, like a 6 years old child would.

“Life is unfair!” you yell, your feet kicking in the air in pure anger.

At least it is to you. You can’t remember the last time you’ve been lucky. The only instance you got remotely close to it was when you found a four-leaf clover last summer. Well, only if you disregard the fact you stepped into dog poop  on your way to picking it. Oh and that you were wearing brand new white Converse. 

On the other hand, it seems like the boy has the whole crew of the Olympus gods on his side. Not one day goes by without his guardian angel manifesting its presence. 

Minho has always been the lucky type. The type to get an extra nugget in his box of 10. To find 20 dollars bills on the ground. To win every single Instagram giveaway he participates to (and lord knows how much he likes participating to them). 

But how can you be mad at him when he always happily shares his food with you, invites you to the restaurant without you even asking, and gives you his prizes, pretending he doesn’t need them? You don’t believe him when he says he see no use in a panda onesie or a waterproof bluetooth speaker. Deep down, you know it’s his way to silently love you. 

But well, you can still blame him for occasionally taking advantage of your misfortune to make you do his dreaded house chores, just like right now. 

Everyone thinks you are a bizarre duo. Even you can’t fathom how in hell you two became best friends, considering how awfully your first encounter went three years ago. 

On orientation day, he asked you for the time, probably because his phone was dead (or maybe because he was dying to talk to you?)

Without hesitation, you lifted and rotated your wrist so that you could see your watch. Little did you remember; you never actually owned a watch and you were holding a fancy 7 dollars iced coffee, which, of course, did not have a lid on because plastic is bad for the environment (duh). 

Minho couldn’t help but burst out in hysterical laughter when the whole drink spilled on your jeans. For your defense, you didn’t sleep at all the night before  since you were terrified of being alone in your new dorm room the first few days (weird stuff happens all the time in dorms, okay?). If he had asked you for your name, you probably wouldn’t even have been able to tell him. 

But Minho thought you were the funniest person on campus, and he really needed a clown like you to entertain him throughout his endless college semesters. That’s what he told you anyways. Not that he thought you were the cutest human being he had ever seen. 

Why would he when you are the literal definition of a mess: always having toothpaste stains on your sweater, bags under your eyes, messy hair, tripping and falling, missing buses, breaking things, losing stuff. 

Most of the time, you just forget your keys and Minho lets you crash at his place since he hasn’t got any roommate and he isn’t used to sleeping alone, especially without his cats. It surely isn’t because he loves waking up next to a very groggy but adorable you every single morning, no.  

Minho manages to bring you back to the countertop despite your reluctance. Positioned behind you, his arms trapping your body to make sure you can’t run away from your duties, he dips your hands into the soapy water, and you can’t help but squirm at the touch of an unknown substance sticking to a plate that has probably been soaking here for a week. You despise doing the dishes and your friend knows it.

You hear him giggle in your ear while he is playing with your arms like you are some type of marionette, making you to take the sponge and squeeze dish soap onto it. 

You’ve never been the kind to like proximity nor seemed to be Minho, but for some reason, you always end up glued to each other. You hate public displays of attention and pet names a little less when it comes from him. Or maybe you don’t hate it at all and actually crave it every single minute that goes by.

Before he has the time to come up with the Machiavellian idea to soak your pajamas in dirty water (because you know he would inevitably have at some point), you yank his hands off of you and start scrubbing angrily the dirty cups. 

Minho stays behind you anyways, observing your every move, his chin propped up on your shoulder like a curious little bird. To be honest, his presence is kind of getting overwhelming. But whatever, it’s not like his slightest touch makes your heart warm up in comfort or that he smells like fresh linen drying out on the porch of a cottage house on a sunny Sunday morning or anything. 

“You missed a spot. Here” he murmurs teasingly, his lips almost touching your earlobe, while he points at the handle of his hideous ‘world’s greatest dad’ mug Jisung gifted him last christmas. 

You know he has noticed the way you shivered violently at the feeling of his breath tickling your skin because he starts snickering loudly. 

“I swear to god if you don’t shut up and go seat on the couch, I’ll slap you so hard with this spatula you’ll regret you were even born,” you say, turning around suddenly to menace him with the plastic utensil. 

Of course, he isn’t afraid one bit. Right now, you really wish you could make the smug, but oh so attractive, look on his face disappear. 

“Alright, ma’am” he laughs, holding up his hands in surrender. “I’ll let you do your thing”. He lets himself fall onto his dingy couch. 

You can hear him humming one of his favorite songs above the sound of the water running. It would probably be getting on your nerves if his voice wasn’t so pretty.  

“Chan’s sick, so we’re not going to the gym tomorrow night. Do you wanna eat tacos? El Huero has even better deals than usual” he asks you, scrolling mindlessly through his phone. 

“Aren’t the deals supposed to be on Tuesdays?” You frown and scrub a little harder the frying pan Minho has burnt the night before while trying to make chocolate chips pancakes for diner, because why eat savory food when you can have dessert for every meal, right? It is one of the few advantages of living without your parents you both truly enjoy. 

“Yeah, that’s what I said. Tomorrow,” he yawns, probably exhausted after what you put him through last night. You forced him to catch up on the entire season of Love Island because you desperately needed someone to bitch with, and what better partner than Lee Minho.  

You take a quick glance at him and see him stretching himself across the cushions like a cat. You always thought there was something feline about his features. While you’re drying the mugs with the dishtowel, your mind wanders uncontrollably, thinking about his piercing eyes, his delicate nose, the corners of his lips that curl up a little… 

All of the sudden, your hands freeze. Minho is too immersed in TikToks to notice the stupor on your face. “Wait. Today is… Monday?” you stutter. 

Alarmed by the sound of your voice, his eyes finally leave his phone’s screen to look up at you. “Yeah” he repeats slowly as if you are the dumbest person he has ever encountered. 

And you truly are. You are pretty sure your heart has stopped beating. Minho’s “world’s greatest dad” mug you’re holding slips between your fingers and comes crashing on the floor with a deafening sound. The pieces are now scattered all around you, making you unable to make out what’s written on it anymore. Not a big loss, if you ask. 

“Y/N, you know that’s my favorite mug!” he exclaims, leaping up from the couch. “I’m sure you did it on purpose,” he mutters while he’s trying to collect the small fragments, in vain. 

But you’re too shocked at this very moment to pay attention to the glare your friend is giving you. To be honest, Minho has only two moods: glaring at you or teasing you.  

“My interview,” you finally manage to say, and Minho’s eyes go wide as he realizes the critical situation you’re in. 

You check the time on the microwave: 10:45. In 30 minutes, you’re supposed to be on the other side of town, being interrogated by boring businessmen that are going to decide whether or not you’ll be accepted for a paid internship in one of the most reputable music label of the country. Basically, decide whether you’ll live a happy and fulfilling life, working in the sector you’ve always dreamed of or end up miserable with a boring office job and a massive college debt. 

“Holy shit,” Minho whispers. You can see a wave of panic washing across his face for a split second, but, as always, he manages to find his composure back immediately. 

He has never been the kind to lose his cool, except to scold you when you forget the names of his cats and their respective coats’ color (which you unfortunately often did forget). 

“What are you doing? Get dressed!” He tells you when he sees you’re still standing there dumbfounded in the kitchen, like the famous Robert Pattinson meme, wearing an oversize Kermit the frog shirt with a dozen holes in it and his favorite Adidas sweatpants you always stole from him.

“No, it’s too late. I can’t make it,” you mutter, your breath short. You’re paralyzed, as if there is a 20lbs rock sitting at the bottom of your stomach, pinning you to the ground. 

This isn’t bad luck, you think. This is karma. This is what you get for skipping classes to watch telereality shows in your bed with your best friend and not even realizing it isn’t the weekend anymore.

“Miss me with that bullshit.” He runs to his closet and rummages through his drawers, throwing every piece of clothing that’s on his way to find an appropriate outfit that would fit you. 

“You’re gonna go do this interview even if I have to drag you all the way there.” He pushes you into his bathroom since you still haven’t moved an inch. 

You manage to brush your teeth and your hair, fighting through the nauseous feeling that is building up in your tummy. 

When you come back to the living room, Minho has found dress pants and a sweater that might not look utterly ridiculous on you. He lets you change in a corner, while he runs around the room collecting all your essentials. 

“You’re coming?” you ask him when you see he is already wearing his puffer jacket.  

“You really think I’m gonna let you go all by yourself when you’re literally not even able to put your shoes on properly”. You are, indeed, struggling with your laces, as if your fingers are suddenly made out of butter. 

Minho ties them up for you and you literally feel like he’s your babysitter. You know you’re gonna hear about this for months – what are you saying- years! But all you can think about at the moment though, is the fact that sneakers are definitely not appropriate for an interview. 

He throws your warmest coat at you, grab his keys, and by some type of miracle, you’re both out to the door in less than 10 minutes. 

You try to call the elevator, but Minho grabs your arm and leads you to the staircase. His hand never leaving yours, he runs down the stairs and you have no choice but to follow him as fast as you can. 

You can’t count how many times you missed a step and fell at this particularly slippery spot, between the 5th and the 4th floor, but weirdly enough, it doesn’t happen today. 

When you finally reach the ground floor, you exit the complex and Minho hops on his old and rusty bike that he had attached to nearest tree the night before.

“There’s no way I’m riding behind you on this death machine,” you laugh nervously. The memory of that one time Minho convinced you to seat into his bicycle basket (as if you could even realistically fit in it) and you both fell seconds after he started to pedal is coming back to your mind.

Sure, it was after a long night of drinking, you were both tipsy and it was the only way to get you home since you had spent all your uber money at the bar, but still! You’re pretty sure the bruise on your butt hasn’t disappeared to this day.  

“Hurry up,” Minho groans, ignoring your complaint. You unwillingly seat on his flimsy pannier rack and wrap your arms around his torso. 

You haven’t even left, yet you’re already holding onto his puffer jacket for dear life. A giggle escapes your friend’s mouth (which you think is very inappropriate in such a desperate situation) before he lifts his feet off the ground and starts pedaling. 

You try to ignore the loud squeaking of the bicycle drive by shutting your eyes tighter and rehearsing your introduction you have prepared over and over in your head. No matter how hard you are trying, you can’t remember what you are supposed to say just after your age (which, as you can imagine, isn’t really far into your monologue). 

By the way the wind is lashing your face, you can tell Minho has picked up the speed. His breathing is getting louder, his heartbeat faster and you can’t help but think you’re probably way too heavy for him to bike you around like that. Maybe he shouldn’t skip his gym sessions with Chan so often. Or maybe you shouldn’t have eaten the leftover pancakes for breakfast after all.

You find the courage to open your eyelids and are pleased to see you’re already halfway there, probably because every single one of the traffic lights you encounter is green, and your friend is going surprisingly fast. Is luck finally starting to smile upon you? 

Your mad race comes to a halt when you reach the address of your interview. You hop off the bike and so does Minho who, by the way, is a panting mess. He’s barely able to catch his breath, strands of hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, but he’s beaming at you when he realizes you’re just on time. 

“Go” he gasps, pushing you in the direction of the building’s hall. 

You walk up to the glass door but as your hands are about to push it, you pull a 180. Your friend sighs loudly, already knowing what’s coming next. 

“Wait. No. I can’t do this. I’m not prepared” you tell him frantically. “I’m freaking out. I think I’m gonna pass out.” You are now walking in circles, mumbling incoherently. 

��Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.” 

Your heart is racing in your chest and your hands are getting clammy at the simple thought of failure. But guess what? You can’t fail if you don’t even try! One more good reason to just go back to bed and forget about your sad life for a good 8 hours, right? 

“Y/N, you’re the most talented person I know, you’re gonna do just fine” Minho catches you in his arm to stop your endless pacing. You would probably think this gesture is endearing if it wasn’t just meant to make sure you couldn’t run for your life.  

“No, I’m not. What if I throw up in front of everybody like that one time during the Romeo and Juliet musical?” You look up at him and his face is only inches away from yours. You’re sure you would be swooning at how beautiful he looks if you weren’t so terrified at this very moment.

“You were nine,” your best friend says, and you swear you have never heard him speak to you in such a sweet tone before. His voice is like honey and lavander but it doesn’t soothe you like it should. 

You manage to break free from his embrace to crouch down, in an attempt to slow down your breathing. If only you had data left, you could be watching those short relaxing videos on your phone. They always work. But no, you had to spent it all on online games, just one week into the month. You really are beyond help.  

“Y/N I know you’re scared, but if you miss out on this opportunity, you’re gonna regret it for the rest of your life.” Minho is lowering himself so that you can hear him, even though you’re curled up in a ball. 

“And I’m warning you, I won’t want to hear you complain about it,” he adds, this whole situation obviously starting to get on his nerves. 

If you were him, you would have probably left a long time ago. But this isn’t your best friend’s way of behaving. You know he would never abandon you no matter how annoying you could be (and you could be very annoying sometimes). After all, he is always the one holding your hair while you puke in the toilets when you had a couple too many drinks.

It takes all your willpower to stand up but there is no other way, you have to do it. You can hear the time ticking dangerously in your mind, as if your brain had turned into a clock.

“You’re right. Slap me,” you say, looking at him straight in the eyes, dead serious. 

“Wha -“

“Slap some sense into me. They do that in movies when people are panicking. It’s like throwing a bucket of cold water in someone’s face. But clearly we don’t have a bucket and we don’t have cold wa- “ you start blabbering. 

“What the fuck are you talking about? I’m not gonna slap you!” Your friend isn’t usually that horrified at the thought of beating your ass. In fact, he has felt the desire to rip your head off more than once, especially when you’d steal all the duvet at night, but at this moment he is just scared you might have actually lost your mind.  

“Just fucking do it Minho!” you scream, your hands clenching the front of his grey hoodie he always looks so divine in. 

Minho has never obeyed you, and this is not the day he is going to start. 

He puts both of his hands on the sides of your face and crashes his lips onto yours. 

You would be lying if you said you have never imagined the day your best friend would kiss you. It happens pretty much every single time you look at his cute pout a little too long. But one thing is certain, it isn’t like you pictured it to be at all.

You were convinced your heart would go so wild it would burst out of your chest and your head would spin so furiously you’d lose your balance. You thought your stomach would fill with butterflies to the brim and your whole body would be on fire.

But none of that is happening. On the contrary, every single muscle in your body relaxes under his touch. The way his soft mouth presses gently against yours makes you calmer, almost at peace amongst all this turmoil. 

Minho is kissing all your tension and stress away and you catch yourself letting a sigh of relief escape your parted lips.

As if you have kissed him already hundreds of times in your past life, Minho feels like home. He’s a safe haven you can always take refuge in during troubled times. Ever since the day you met, he has never left your side.

When he breaks away from the kiss, you notice your breath isn’t so ragged and your mind isn’t so foggy anymore. You’re serene. His cold hands are still cupping your face, slightly squishing your cheeks, and you feel like an idiot sandwich for asking him to slap you seconds before.

“That can work too, I guess…” you mutter.  

“You’re okay?” he asks, staring at you with the softest eyes you’ve ever seen.

You just nod, unable to say one more word, and sprint to the entrance, not wanting to make your interviewers wait any longer than they already have.

“Good luck!” You hear him yell just before the door closes behind you and you can’t help but grin from ear to ear.

- - - - - 

Thirty minutes later, you finally step out of the fancy lobby to find a very bored Minho leaning against a tree, patiently waiting for you.

“You’re still here?”

“Of course, I am,” he says, his mouth full of croissant. He gives you a large iced coffee he probably went buying to kill time. Your lips unconsciously curl up into a smile when you notice it comes from the same chain that the one you spilled on your lap on the day you first met him. 

“How did it go?” he asks you, sticking his buttery pastry into your mouth so that you can take a bite.

“Way better than I thought” you answer, right after you swallowed. You hate the way flakes would always get stuck between your teeth. But Minho is always there to warn you about it before anyone else notices, and even pick them for you if you can’t manage to, which, when you think about it, is kind of gross. 

There are two things the boy knows about you: you’re the greatest pessimist on earth and you’d rather die than admit you were wrong (especially if it meant he was right). So for you to even say it wasn’t that bad, means it went phenomenal. 

“I don’t want to say ‘I told you so’ but I told you so.” He smiles so wide you can barely see his eyes anymore. You have to look away, otherwise you know you might become instantly blinded by love.

“Maybe I could use some more of your luck” you mumble, staring at your shoes and kicking the red leaves that were surrounding your feet on this sunny autumn morning. 

“Really? And what makes you think I’ll share it with you,” he teases you, leaning forward to incite you to look at him in the eyes. 

“That.”

Your hand finds the back of his neck and pulls him in, in order to close the space that is still left between your mouths.

At first, Minho stiffens, taken aback by your bold move. But soon enough, he caves into your touch. He kisses you back fervently, like he means it. 

His fingers entagle in your hair, his arm wraps around your waist and his chest presses against your body. You’re melting in his embrace, submerged by a wave of bliss which he alone seems to know the recipe. 

It feels new, yet so familiar. Like it was supposed to happen, like it was written in the stars. 

He tastes like croissant and Americano. Like fortune and fate. 

And you can’t help but think you’re the luckiest person on earth.

Who cares about winning the lottery when Lee Minho is your lucky charm? 

[invisibleanonymousmonsters]

heyyyy luv could you please bless us with a secret relationship and bucky :')

specifics: bucky is always disappearing from the compound and everyone figures that it's bucky being bucky.. but he's visiting his civilian girlfriend and knows that she'll be in danger the moment they go public so he doesn't even tell the team about her.. and their circumstances of meeting could be in the aftermath of some Avengers thing?

----------------------------------

Word Count: 2,837

Y/N had just hopped out of the shower and was now combing her hair and applying all your moisturizers. She was home alone in her small, one-bedroom apartment. She had some soft music playing from her laptop, trying to wind down from her day.

However, when she stepped out of the bathroom, there was a large man casually moving about her bedroom.

Y/N yelped and nearly dropped her towel from the fright.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Bucky! You nearly gave me a heart attack!”

He immediately looked guilty and tried to make himself smaller and less intimidating. “I’m sorry, doll. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I thought you weren’t getting back until tomorrow,” she pointed out, hand still over her heart as if it would calm its racing.

He stepped over to her and gave her a hello kiss. “Got home quicker than we planned. I texted you, but I can obviously see that you were in the shower when I sent it.” He pointed to her phone that she’d left on her nightstand.

Then Bucky cupped her cheek and kissed her again, slower and more passionately this time.

“I really am sorry for scaring you,” he told her as he pressed his forehead against hers.

He could clearly hear the rapid beating of her heart with those insane super-soldier senses.

“It’s OK. Should be used to your sneaky, ninja ways by now.”

He chuckled.

That’s when Y/N saw the bruise on his left cheek. His hair was wet too. 

Bucky always showered before he came to see her after missions. Y/N had told him time and time again that he could shower at her place. Bucky always just shrugged and said it was quicker to do it at the compound. But he was actually just trying to hide all the blood that was left on his skin. Y/N didn’t need to see it. Especially when it wasn’t his blood.

“I’m fine. Just a few bruises. Don’t you go starting…” Bucky warned when he saw the concern in her eyes as she stared at his bruise.

Y/N sighed and allowed him to brush over it.

Then she moved around him to hunt for some pajamas and underwear.

“What’d you tell the team?” She tried to ask in a nonchalant manner as she shuffled through her dresser.  

“What do you mean?” Bucky played stupid.

Y/N straightened and turned to give him a look. “I mean, what lie did you tell them before you came over here.”

She didn’t mean for it to sound so harsh.

“I didn’t tell them anything. I snuck out when they were all in the kitchen eating.”

Y/N didn’t say anything, just went back to find clothes.

Bucky was suddenly filled with guilt. “Y/N–”

“It’s fine, Bucky.” She threw on a crew sweatshirt without even realizing that it was one of the many items of clothing Bucky left at her place.

“It’s not fine. You’re upset.”

She was fully dressed now and turned around to face him. “I’m not upset. I’m frustrated.”

Y/N was always one to be direct with her emotions. Never lied about being fine when she was not. Always told Bucky exactly how she was feeling, even if it took her a bit to fully figure out what that was. It was one of the countless reasons he loved her. And it made him less shy about expressing his own emotions. His mental and emotional health only improved because of it. Because of her.

“OK…” Bucky said slowly, inviting her to continue.

Y/N sighed and plopped herself on the edge of her bed. He sat down next to her. 

“Look, Bucky…I know why this – us – is secret. I understand where you’re coming from. I know…” She took a breath. “I know you do it because you think it keeps me safe. But the team…they’re more than the Avengers. They’re your friends. They’re your family. And I might not have ever met them, but from what you’ve told me, they would die before they told anyone your secrets.”

Bucky swallowed and was wringing his hands in his lap, head hung in slight shame. “I know that.”

“So why are you keeping me a secret from them?”

“It has nothing to do with you, if that’s what you’re thinking.” Bucky immediately shot down. “I’m not embarrassed or ashamed of you, Y/N. Hell, every day I wake up and wonder how I even managed to snag a dame like you. If anyone should be embarrassed, it’s you.”

She waited for him to continue and explain.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” Then he reached over to hold her hand. “It’s just…I feel like as soon as you meet them, our little bubble of happiness is going to pop.” His metal hand ran through his wet hair. “When I’m with you, I just feel like Bucky. Sometimes I even feel like my old self, that naive bastard from the 30s.” He sighed. “But as soon as I introduce you to that part of my life, I’m scared you’ll see all the things about myself that I don’t want you to. You’ll be reminded that I am – was – the Winter Soldier. That I’m not just Bucky, your boyfriend. I’m a surviving POW, I’m an assassin, a soldier, an Avenger. I won’t be able to hide all my baggage once that happens.”

Y/N watched him for a moment, love was in her eyes.

“Bucky, I knew those things all along.”

“I know. I know, doll. But I just – I don’t want anything to change between us.”

Y/N laughed lightly. “Of course things will change between us. That’s part of a relationship. We grow together.” She laughed again. “Or grow apart.” Then her smile dropped and she got serious. “But I don’t see the latter happening for us.”

Bucky just nodded in agreement.

“They love you like I love you.” Y/N shrugged sadly. “I just want to meet the people that take care of you when you’re not with me.”

Bucky gave her a sorrowful grin.

Y/N sighed. “I’m not going to pressure you to do anything that you’re not comfortable with. I just wanted to tell you how I was feeling about it all.”

He leaned in and kissed her forehead. “Thank you for telling me.”

Their night went on like it normally did. Bucky had returned Friday night, so now he got to spend the whole weekend with his girl.

When he was gone from the compound for long periods like this, Steve was the only one that really showed concern. He thought Bucky was always on some weird mental bender, going night after night without sleep and just wandering around. Bucky figured Steve imagined him trying to get drunk from one bar to the next.

Obviously Bucky felt guilty for unnecessarily worrying his best friend, especially when he was actually doing better than OK. But letting Steve believe in the false ideas was a sacrifice Bucky was willing to make in order to have Y/N in his life.

Bucky couldn’t stop thinking about Y/N’s argument for her to meet his friends. He understood completely where she was coming from. He wished he could give her that. He wished he could give her normal – that he was a different person, who didn’t have to hyper analyze every single decision in his life in order to keep himself and the people he loved safe.

But that kind of life was taken from him when he fell off that damn train.

————————————————

“You’re a god damn idiot, you know that?” Steve snapped at Bucky as he started ripping bandages from a roll with his teeth.

Bucky was currently laying down on the quinjet’s operating table.

“Sometimes I just hate that Captain America gets all the attention,” Bucky joked.

But Steve wasn’t laughing.

Because Bucky was bleeding out. 

And he was in pain, yes. But he wasn’t about to tell anyone that.

“Well, dying on me is definitely one way to steal the spotlight, punk.”

“Captain Rogers, if I could interrupt,” Vision was looking at Bucky over Steve’s shoulder. “The bullet was a through shot and it thankfully hit no important arteries or organs. Do not be fooled by the blood, Sergeant Barnes’ super-soldier enhancements will heal him faster than the average man.”

Steve ground his teeth, thankful for Vision’s scientific encouragement but also still irritated with Bucky’s condition. “Thanks, Vision.”

“See,” Bucky started coughing. He could only imagine how pale and clammy he looked. “I’m fine.”

“Oh. Well, I do still suggest we stop the bleeding or he will surely die of blood loss.” Vision piped in again.

Bucky glared at the cyborg. “We gotta work on your delivery, pal.”

Vision winced, but got out of Steve’s way.

“You just had to go and get yourself shot. You couldn’t let me take a bullet for once,” Steve muttered as he put pressure on Bucky’s giant wound.

“Well, you see, your shield was still planted in a brick wall and I saw someone pointing a gun at you. I thought my metal arm would do the trick but the bastard shifted his aim at the last minute.” He glared at Steve for real now. “I’m not sorry. And I’d do it again.”

Steve exhaled, knowing that there was no point in scolding Bucky. The man would sacrifice himself for any of his teammates and any civilian. That’s why Steve was friends with him.

“Hey, Steve?” For the first time since getting shot, Bucky sounded scared.

“Yeah, Buck.”

“I need you to do me a favor.”

Steve nodded. “OK…”

“You can’t…You can’t ask any questions. You just have to do it, OK? I promise I’ll explain later.”

His tone was starting to worry Steve. “Bucky, you’re not dying on me, you hear me? If this is some final wish, I’ll smack you.”

“I’m not dying today. I’ve been through worse shit. Just tell me you’ll do the damn favor, Steve.”

“OK. OK. OK. What is it?”

“I’m about to pass out from the blood loss. So, listen to me carefully.” Bucky’s eyes flickered around him to make sure no one else was paying attention to him. “I need you to get my cell. Find the contact labeled Smithsonian Institution Offices. Text them that I’d like my dog tags returned from the museum. She’ll know what to do from there.”

Bucky’s body relaxed once his instructions were finished. His eyes fluttered close. Sleep sounded nice.

“She?” Steve asked.

But Bucky was already passed out.

——————————————

Steve had been pacing in the welcome lobby of the compound for a solid 20 minutes now. He was pretty sure he’d correctly put together the puzzle pieces. But Steve was having trouble believing that Bucky would do what he was suspecting.

All pacing stopped when he saw security escorting a young woman through the doors.

She was beautiful. Anyone with sight would notice that immediately.

Even if her eyes were red – which Steve suspected was from crying – they were mesmerizing.

She looked uncomfortable and clearly felt out of place at the Avengers’ compound.

Steve stepped forward. “Y/N?” He asked carefully.

She stared at him for a moment, taking him in like she was trying to match up the reality to how she had pictured him in her head.

Then she nodded.

Steve eyed the two security guards on either side of her. “I’ll take it from here. Thanks.”

Then he turned his attention to Y/N. “Follow me.”

They started their journey through the large and complicated halls of the compound. Every so often, someone walking past them would eye Y/N, not recognizing her or wondering who was lucky enough to be in the company of Captain America.

“So…” Steve felt the need to break the silence on their long walk. “You and Bucky. You’re…”

“This is not how I wanted to meet you, Steve.” She quickly rushed out. “I’m so sorry. It was Bucky’s idea, keeping me a secret.”

“Oh, I know there was no way it was anyone’s idea but his own. This has Bucky written all over it. I’m just still trying to…” Steve scratched the back of his neck, “wrap my mind around it.” Then he shook his head. “It explains a lot actually: the late nights, leaving for days at a time, keeping his phone on him at all times.”

Y/N smirked then. “I send him a lot of stupid videos during the day. Mostly cats.”

They were at the medical wing then. Steve turned to face her. “I get it. I get why he did it. But that doesn’t mean I’m not still hurt that he thought he couldn’t tell me.”

Y/N nodded in agreement, understanding where he was coming from. “Well, if it’s any consolation, I’m happy to be meeting you now. Obviously I wish the circumstances were better.” She gave him a sad smile. “He’s told me all about you. I feel like I know all of you actually.” She bowed her head. “I practically begged him to let me meet all of you. But Bucky – he’s very protective of me.”

Steve nodded. That same characteristic was the very reason Bucky was even injured in the first place.

“He might be sleeping. But he’s in the first room on the left. I’ll make sure no one bothers you.”

Y/N nodded. She was about to take a step forward, but then quickly changed her mind and hurriedly pulled Steve into a hug.

Steve was caught off guard by it, but quickly recovered.

“Thanks for always taking care of him, Steve.” She whispered into his shoulder.

“I think I should be the one saying that to you…”

Y/N pulled away and quickly wiped away tears with embarrassment. “Right. I should…” She awkwardly pointed to the room and walked away.

Steve was going to give them a moment. But his curiosity couldn’t be stopped.

Ever so quietly, he tiptoed to the edge of the room and stood hidden off to the side of the door.

“Doll, please don’t cry. I promise I’m OK. It’s all part of the job.” Steve heard Bucky trying to console her.

“When I got the text,” Y/N cried. “I just knew it wasn’t you who sent it. I knew something was wrong. I’d been feeling off all day.” She sniffed. “Bucky, I was so scared.”

“Shhh. I’m OK. Everything’s OK. Come here, Y/N.”

There was shuffling and Steve could only assume Bucky had pulled her entire body to him.

“I love you,” Y/N whispered.

“I love you too, doll.”

An hour later, Steve found both of them passed out. Even injured and asleep, Bucky had both his arms protectively around Y/N, holding her as close as possible. His nose in her hair. Her head on his chest.

——————

A week later, Bucky found Steve in the study.

He’d been discharged a couple days ago, but firmly ordered not to overexert himself. The team had let him heal, all of them slowly being told about Y/N’s existence and letting her be the one to nurse Bucky back to health in privacy.

“You want to talk about this?” Bucky asked as he leaned against the doorway.

Steve closed his sketchbook and rubbed his face with a sigh.

“You’re allowed to be mad at me, you know.” Bucky added.

“I get why you did it. I do.” Then Steve finally looked at him. “But that still doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.”

“Y/N…she was the only thing in my life that was all mine and no one else’s. Everything else about me is owned by the world. My story, my history, my imprisonment. It’s out there for the world to read and make unfair judgements about.” Bucky shook his head. “I just couldn’t bare to bring Y/N into that: to be judged and criticized.”

“It’s me we’re talking about, Bucky.” Steve argued.

“But it wouldn’t stop there. Next it would’ve been Sam, then Nat, then Tony. It’s a slippery slope. All I ever wanted to do was keep her safe, Steve.”

“I know. I know.” Steve sighed. “That’s why I’m not mad at you.”

“You’re not?”

“Of course not.”

“That means a lot to me, Steve.”

“You know, it all makes sense now.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed. “What does?”

“Why you’ve changed so much – and I mean for the better. You seemed happier, lighter, healthier. It’s because of Y/N, isn’t it?”

Bucky smiled even at just hearing her name. “Yeah, it is.”

Steve nodded and gave him a shy grin. “I talked to the team. They understand the situation.” His eyes grew heavy with earnestness. “Your secret is safe with us, Bucky.” He cleared his throat. “She’s one of us now. And we protect our own.”

“Thank you, Steve.”

“Can you just do us all a favor though? Can you start bringing her around? Maybe just properly introduce her to everyone at least?”

Bucky smiled. “I think we can manage that. Y/N would – that would make her really happy.”

--------------------------

I have a few more of these requests to fill. Honestly, they’ve been fun and a great palette cleanser.

Let me know what you think!

(My requests are no longer open FYI.) 

[emotionally-imbruised]

Santa Tell Me

“Don’t make me fall in love again if he won’t be here next year.” ❆

A/N: Oh wow, she actually wrote something. Who is she? HAPPY HOLIDAYS EVERYONE.

Word Count: 7k

A cool breeze drifted across the room, causing goosebumps to rise on Y/N’s exposed skin as she instinctively cuddled up against the warm body lying next to her. She tried to fall back asleep, but unfortunately, her thoughts refused such a luxury as she began thinking of how this really was the last place she should be.

She didn’t mean to spend the night, but after a few glasses of wine and a deep conversation instead of paying attention to the Christmas movie that played in the background, she was a bit more welcoming to the way Harry’s hand rested on her thigh; rubbing soft circles with his thumb before eventually leaning in to catch her lips with his. And she let him! God, why did she let him?

Y/N’s relationship with Harry was complicated, to say the least. The two of them have been friends for quite some time, however, things became a little difficult roughly a year and a half ago when they began sleeping with each other.

It started off casual, there were no strings attached whatsoever. The two of them were just good friends and single. One fateful night when she and Harry had gone out, he ended up at her apartment, with minimal clothing, and the rest was history. Well, kind of.

She wasn’t expecting to sleep with him for a second time after that… or a third… and most definitely not a fourth; but the universe has a funny way of working sometimes and soon enough, hers and Harry’s little arrangement became a rather common occurrence.

It was great, for a while. Although the two of them were quite literally just fuck-buddies, neither of them tried to really change the situation because they were both content with it. There was no labeling of what their relationship had become. They were both exclusively sleeping with one another, their friends were somewhat aware of what was going on but tended to stay out of it, and it just worked.

But then Y/N caught feelings.

She hated how easy it was to fall for Harry back then with his stupid smile and magnetic personality, but it was just so hard to avoid.  Especially seeing how being intimate with him seemingly brought out the significant feelings she felt towards him, regardless of how hard she tried to keep them hidden. But the thing was, it was almost as if Harry had caught feelings as well.

He was the one to address what happened after the first time the two of them slept together, even going as far as to blatantly say that he wouldn’t mind if it happened again. It was also him that hinted at Y/N being the only person he was seeing. He was still the kind, funny, sweet Harry that she knew and loved dearly as a friend; but this brought a whole new meaning to their relationship and they weren’t aware of how complicated things were bound to get.

Last Christmas was when everything started to fall apart. Y/N fell so hard for him and based on his very affectionate actions towards her, even when they weren’t just shagging, gave her the impression that he might’ve felt the same way. But for whatever reason, they were both too chicken to admit that they wanted more.

She had finally mustered up the courage to tell Harry that she loved him; but on Christmas Eve when she planned on actually telling him this, she never got the chance to do so.

He stood her up, to put it simply. The two of them had plans to go to a Christmas market together and while they were out, Y/N decided that she was going to tell Harry how she felt. She was pretty sure he knew about her feelings too and that made it even more nerve-wracking. However, after she arrived and waited for him for over half an hour without a text to say where he was, she went home and didn’t hear from him again.

The following day, all Y/N received was the obligatory Merry Christmas texts friends send to one another. Harry didn’t explain why he didn’t show, didn’t give any indication that he wanted to see her again over the holiday season, and she was too hurt to ask why. So, she let it be.

Then he jetted off to Japan and soon was caught up in the whirlwind of what it meant to be a celebrity. Which was fine. As his friend, she still rooted for him in everything he did, despite how stupid she felt for falling for one of her best friends.

The year came and went fairly quickly, and it was a rather significant one for Harry. Having co-hosted the met gala and putting the final touches on and beginning promo for his second album, it was no wonder he was so busy all of the time. Y/N was busy too, having immersed herself into work while trying to pan out what her future entailed and where she would end up.

Throughout the year, both Y/N and Harry remained in touch, which they were both extremely thankful for because of how they were such good friends, to begin with. What happened last year at Christmas was never addressed, and was kind of just dropped. Almost as if it didn’t happen. But then one night when Harry was back in London a few months ago, all of that changed.

She hooked up with him… again… and it soon began somewhat of a regular occurrence all over again. But this time she was careful. Y/N didn’t want to get hurt like last year because those feelings she had never really gone away, so she was a bit more hesitant on how often the two of them would shag.

Instead, she focused on hanging out and catching up with her friend because she really missed him this year with how busy he was; and luckily for her, Harry was seemingly ok with that.

However, that didn’t mean there wasn’t the odd slip up where one of them ended up in the others bed every once in a while... Kind of like what happened last night.

Harry was still dead asleep beside her, and Y/N’s want to just dip and never speak of this again was very prominent. There were only a few days left until Christmas and she needed to go into work that afternoon to finish up some last-minute things before she was off for the holidays, but leaving the nice warmth of Harry’s bed was proving to be rather difficult.

After a moment of consideration, she decided that she should use this time to escape. It would mean avoiding Harry, but she was pretty ok with that because no, she didn’t want to talk about what happened and as of late, it seemed like Harry has.

Letting out a sigh, she untangled herself from the sleepy hold Harry had around her waist and got out of the bed. She bit down on her lip as she took in the clothes skewed around the room before making a dash for the en-suite. If she showered at Harry’s, all she would have to do is run home and change before going into work. It was bound to save her some time, so she decided on that and stealing some over Harry’s oversized clothing instead of putting the previous night's outfit back on.

When Y/N took a look at herself in the large mirror above the vanity, a disgusted noise left her mouth. She looked rough, and the want to shower grew even more.

She quickly moved to the small cabinet and grabbed one of the large fluffy towels that resides within it so that she could wrap it around herself before brushing her teeth.

Yes, she had her own toothbrush at Harry’s. He had one at her flat too. It was something the two of them started years ago and just never weaned itself out. Whenever one bought a new toothbrush, they’d buy the other one too and put it in its respective place for them to use the next time they were over.

As Y/N ran some warm water over the brush before putting some toothpaste on it, she didn’t notice the presence of another being sneaking up behind her until she looked back at the mirror and locked eye contact with them.

“Holy shit!” She jumped, almost dropping her toothbrush in the process. “What the hell, Harry?”

“G’morning to you too,” he responded, sleep still lacing his voice as he walked up to the vanity to stand next to her.

He didn’t say anything else, just reached for his toothbrush and began brushing his teeth as if nothing happened. The two stood next to each awkwardly, each glancing at the other every once in a while and Y/N hated it. It was as though there was this huge elephant in the room separating them even though there was really only a couple of inches between them. So, as she finished rinsing off her toothbrush and waited for Harry to do the same, she slowly began stepping away from the vanity.

“I uh, I’m just going to take a shower if that’s alright? Then I’ll be out of your hair.”

He nodded in understanding before glancing I’m towards the door and biting down on his lip as if contemplating what he was going to say next. “You know you don’t have to leave, right?”

“What? Er- I, well.” His response caught her completely off guard and she wasn’t too sure how to respond. After a brief moment, she was able to recollect herself. “No, I do. I uhm, I have to go into work to finish up a few things before we’re closed for the holidays. Just a quick shower and then I’ll be on my way.”

Harry knew what she was doing, knew that she was trying to not discuss what happened between them the night before and avoid him as much as possible as a way to do so. He thought of a way to approach it but settled on just messing with her a little bit instead.

“Ok, I need to shower too.”

Without another word, he walked over to the large glass shower and reached in to turn the water on.

It didn’t take long for the warmth of the running water to create a steam-filled room and once Harry was done gathering a towel for himself, he finally made eye contact with Y/N from where she was standing in front of the mirror gawking at him in the reflection. A small chuckle escaped his mouth before he started removing the track pants he wore, all while not looking away; as if silently taunting her.

“I know what you’re doing and it’s not going to work,” she stated as she spun around to face him.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, love,” he replied innocently as he wrapped the towel around his waist before ridding himself of his boxers and stepping towards her.

“You’re trying to get me to shower with you.”

“M’trying to save on my hydro bill this month actually, but that doesn’t sound too bad either.”

She couldn’t think of a way to respond as he finally reached her, and gently linked their hands together. Harry was well aware that if he were to lead, she would follow. It worked both ways with them, seeing as he knew damn well of the lengths he would go for her... but it wasn’t the time to discuss that yet. He just wanted to be with her for a little while longer, so when he started walking towards the shower with her in tow, he decided that he’d use his time very wisely.

Once their towels were removed and they were under the warm running water of the shower, very few words were spoken between the two. Y/N wasted no time in being the first to wet her hair and start washing it, eventually switching places with Harry so that he could do the same.

Both would have been lying if they said there wasn’t an intense amount of sexual tension as their bodies brushed against each other with each movement, which Y/N tried greatly to ignore. She needed to get clean and leave; already feeling stupid enough to fall for his antics and join him in the shower at all but also very much so not wanting to change anything about her current predicament.

As she finished rinsing the conditioner from her hair and went to step out from under the water, her back came in contact with a sturdy force that she knew could be nothing other than Harry. Immediately, she turned around to face him. With the way he looked down at her, eyes sleepy and seductive, she knew that him standing that close was intentional, but still couldn’t help the tiny yelp that left her mouth as he leaned down to crash his lips against hers.

Her back soon came in contact with the cool tile wall the shower head was mounted on. That in contrast with the warm water that still poured on her and Harry, along with the firm grip he had on her waist, was all rather exhilarating. It didn’t take long for her to melt into the kiss, opening her mouth to allow him further access and tangling her hands into his hair.

Y/N smiled when he moaned against her mouth as a result of her tugging slightly on his dampened curls, feeling proud of herself for being able to get him as worked up as he manages to get her. His hands then began roaming, spending some time massaging each of her breasts before leaving a tingling trail of sparks as he moved them down to where she was throbbing to feel him.

“Harry-,” she gasped before he could do anything else, causing him to freeze. He leaned against her slightly and she felt his length against her. Felt just how hard he was with anticipation and although part of her wanted to reach down and help with that, her mind screamed at her not to as thoughts of what occurred a year ago started flooding her mind again. “Fuck, what are we doing?”

“M’not sure I know what you mean,” he mumbled before leaning down to latch his mouth and that sweet spot in the crook of her neck he knew would have her seeing stars. His hand then reached down to where she was basically dripping for him and rubbed a harsh circle on her oh-so-sensitive bud with his middle and ring fingers. Her knees buckled as she gripped onto him even more, and he made no effort to hide the smug grin he wore as he moved back to get a better look at her. “Seems like you’re enjoying whatever it is we’re doing.”

“I- I am,” she stuttered as his fingers continued their work and another gasp left her mouth just as his lips met hers hungrily.

“Then what’s the problem?”

She moaned against his mouth and felt herself fading into his touch again, loving him and how he made her feel. Then her eyes widened in panic as she realized what she just internally admitted to herself and began pushing him away.

“No, no. We can’t keep doing this,” she stated as she created enough space between the two of them so that she could worm herself around him and exit the shower.

“Y/N, wait,” he followed after her, only to be met with a towel coming in contact with his face after she chucked it in his direction.

“No, Harry! Last night shouldn’t have happened and neither should have the times before… I can’t keep being with you like this, not after what happened last year. I refuse.” Her voice cracked slightly at the last part of her statement as she worked on wrapping herself up in a towel again before turning to face him; eyes widening as she took in his still naked form. “For fuck's sake, please put on the towel would you?”

He fumbled with the item while reaching into the shower and shutting off the water before finally wrapping it around his waist, and stepping towards her. “Ok, ok. I, fuck, I don’t even know where to start Y/N. Please just stay and we can talk about this. All of it. We can talk about us…”

“There is no us, H,” she replied and Harry was sure he saw tears threatening to form in her eyes as she looked at him. “You ruined that last year when you just up and left without an explanation.”

“If you’d let me explain, I would be more than happy to,” he argued; becoming frustrated with how stubborn she was being.

“No, I have to go. I need to borrow some clothes to wear to my place so I can put something on for work. I’ll get them back to you somehow.”

“But-,” he wanted to try and reason with her but there was no point because in the next moment, she was rushing out of the bathroom and Harry knew better than to go after her.

Walking into the office, Y/N tried to avoid eye contact with her co-workers. It’s not that she didn’t get along with any of them, but her hair was still damp from the shower she just had and she very much so looked like she was coming from a place she shouldn’t have been.

She was overly frustrated with herself for staying at Harry’s longer than planned because, on top of everything that just happened between the two of them, she now had the attention of everyone in the office as she shamefully made a beeline for her desk. As much as she hated the thought, she knew she’d get grilled sooner rather than later.

“You look rough,” stated Candace, a fellow journalist and by far the best friend Y/N had made since starting work in that particular office.

“I really don’t want to talk about it C,” Y/N replied as she took off her jacket and sat at the desk next to her friend. “I’ve had a shitty morning.”

“I can tell,” she responded with a chuckle before spinning around and grabbing a still warm Starbucks cup from the tray located next to her. “You weren’t responding to my texts so I figured something was going on. Thought you could use a little pick-me-up.”

Y/N let out a thankful sigh of relief as took the cup from Candace’s hand and took a big gulp. “God, you’re a lifesaver.”

“I do what I can,” she chuckled and shook her head. “Boss woman is letting us go home early today once we’re done our piece for next week's column, but I just really want to know where it is you’re coming from and why you’re so salty because of it.”

“What makes you think I’m coming from anywhere in particular and that I didn’t just sleep in?”

“Well you are pretty much drowning in that hoodie you’re wearing, so I know it’s not yours,” she stated, causing Y/N to look down at her outfit and take in her pair of ripped jeans and Harry’s sweater she stole on her way out of his flat. “Is it a boy’s? Oh, it definitely is. You gotta spill.”

“I, well, this is Harry’s.”

“Like Harry Styles… as in your famous best friend,” Candace asked for clarification, a frown forming on her mouth when Y/N nodded. “Well damn, I thought I was going to get some juicy details about a guy you were sleeping with.”

Y/N stayed silent and shifted awkwardly in her seat.

“Wait… YOU’RE SLEEPING WITH HIM AGAIN?”

“Would you calm down!?”

“No, I can’t,” Candace replied and leaned closer so no one else would hear her losing her mind. “How? When did this happen?”

“It’s been off and on for a few months now,” Y/N explained with a shrug. “I’ve been wanting to just stop altogether because of what happened last year, but I don’t know.”

“You still like being with him, don’t you?”

“Of course I do. Pretty pathetic, right?”

“Not pathetic,” she stated. “Surprising, yes. I thought you didn’t want anything to do with him that wasn’t completely platonic after what happened last year.”

“I didn’t,” Y/N told her honestly. “But he sucked me right back in and I ended up falling harder than I did before.”

“Oh, to be in your shoes.”

“Shut up, I’m having an internal crisis over this whole thing.”

“I mean, you could always just tell him how you feel,” Candace told her with a wink. “Seems like a pretty easy solution to me.”

“Except it’s not.”

“Why is that?”

“Because what if he doesn’t feel the same and I just make a fool out of myself… again.”

Candace was about to respond to that but didn’t get the chance to when Y/N’s phone dinged with a new notification from her jacket pocket, causing them both to look in the direction the noise came from. “That’s him, isn’t it?”

“Even if it is, I’m not going to answer.”

“Quit being dramatic,” Candace scoffed and stood up from her chair. “I’m going to get some water and then we’re going to finish this article so we can get the hell out of here. Just respond to the man.”

Y/N knew she was being dramatic and although she was very hesitant in doing so, she reluctantly pulled her phone out to look at it.

Harry

Y/N, we‘re going to have to talk about this eventually.

Y/N

Doesn’t have to be any time soon.

Harry

I’d prefer if it was.

She stared at her phone for a second, debating on a response but didn’t bother writing anything as the typing bubble appeared on Harry’s side of the screen once again.

Harry

I owe you a trip to the Christmas market since we didn’t go together last year. Meet me there tomorrow night and we can talk?

Y/N

Are you actually going to show up this time?

Harry

Yes, I promise. Meet me there for say, 9pm?

Y/N

Ok.

Harry

Great. See you then. x

Y/N audibly sighed as she set her phone on her desk, but that soon turned into an internal groan when she heard a familiar voice call her name and looked up to see the literal last person she wanted to see walking towards her.

Connor was nice… enough. He was one of the I.T guys that helped around the office with any technical difficulties there may be, and also just so happened to be someone Y/N kind of, almost, hooked up with earlier in the year. It was a one-time thing. After continuously turning him down as a result of her relationship-ish type thing with Harry, he kept asking her out up until early spring when she finally agreed. They went for dinner, she had a mediocre time, then they made out before she denied his invitation to go back to his place and went home instead. The rest was history.

However, Connor didn’t see it that way.

She would continuously turn him down, but he kept coming on to her after that. Y/N was aware that she had not properly shut him down but just would come up with excuses as to why she was too busy and couldn’t go out with him instead, and hadn’t really got the chance to either. She didn’t want to tell him she wasn’t interested at work in front of everyone else, and she also didn’t want to tell him over text because both situations seemed pretty shitty. So, she kept on with the excuses.

“Uh, hey Connor!” She greeted with somewhat of a smile as he walked up to her desk and leaned against it.

“How’s it going?”

“Pretty good. Going to try to get my work done fast so I can get out of here ASAP. How about you? Any plans for the holidays?”

“Not really,” he explained. “I’ll go see my family on the 25th but that’s about it. Hey, listen, do you have any plans for tomorrow evening?”

And there it was. But at least this time, she didn’t need an excuse for turning him down.

“I do actually,” she told him. “I’m meeting a friend at the Christmas market.”

“I see,” he replied disappointedly.

Just tell him you’re not interested already, Y/N internally screamed at herself, but still couldn’t figure out a way to actually to just flat out tell him that; until she was struck with an idea.

“You know what,” she started. “Why don’t we meet up beforehand? There’s a little pub down the street from the market, we can meet there at around 8:30pm to grab a drink and… talk.”

“Yes!” He exclaimed, causing Y/N to jump as he pushed away from her desk and started walking away. “It’s a date, I’ll text you.”

“Wait no, it’s not a-,” she called after him, but there was no point as he rounded the corner and disappeared out of sight. “...date.”

“Oh, now you’ve messed up,” Candace’s voice sounded from behind Y/N as she walked back to her desk.

“No, I’m going to meet him for a quick drink and then let him down easy. Simple as that.”

“You sound pretty confident for someone who hates confrontation,” Candace scoffed. “Need I remind you how you’ve been avoiding talking to Harry for this exact reason.”

“Ok, no need to call me out like that,” Y/N whined and leaned back against her chair dramatically. “It’s going to be fine… I hope.”

“You and me both cause I’m sick of hearing about your dating struggles when I can’t even get a text back.”

“You want them? Take them. I’m over these struggles more than you are.”

“Whatever,” she chuckled. “Let’s finish this article and get the hell out of here so you can go home and prepare for the shitshow of a night you’re going to have tomorrow.”

“Thanks for the optimism, C. Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

The pub was busy for a Tuesday evening, much to Y/N’s dismay. It really shouldn’t have surprised her though seeing as it was Christmas Eve.

Not everyone goes home for the holidays, hell she was a prime example of that with how she didn’t have plans to go see her family until Christmas was over. Also, some people just don’t enjoy the time of year… which was fair. But Y/N still couldn’t help but wish she didn’t have to aggressively use her elbows just so she to get to the bar and order a drink, all while hoping no one would take her table once she stood up to do so.

Connor was late showing up, and she extremely annoyed over it. She was about to leave when she glanced down at her phone to see it was almost 9pm, but then she got a message from him saying he’d be there shortly and decided to wait. Her phone battery was dangerously low, so she sent a quick text to Harry saying she’d be a few minutes late and apologized before the device died completely and she had to sit in boredom until Connor showed up.

She wasn’t sure how much time passed when U + Ur Hand by P!nk started blaring through the speakers of the pub, mindlessly tapping her fingers along to the intro beat of the song until a group of obnoxiously loud men bursted through the front door. There were four of them, and Y/N couldn’t help but roll her eyes as they began yelling over each other, but then she noticed that Connor was amongst them.

He locked eye contact with her almost instantly, and soon he and his friends were on their way to her table.

“There she is,” Connor greeted as they approached, immediately wrapping his arm around Y/N’s waist and pulling her closer to him.

“Uh, hey,” she replied awkwardly while lowkey pushing him away, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable.

He then looked to his friends, nodding towards one that was giving him a pointed glance before shrugging and climbing up onto the stool next to Y/N. He unwelcomely rested his hand on her thigh, and she was quick in moving away from him again; easily smelling the alcohol that wafted off him and his friends. “Guys, this is Y/N. She’s the one I told you about.”

“She’s hotter than you described,” one of the guys slurred, causing Y/N’s face to scrunch repulsively.

“Yeah, you sure you don’t want to share?” Another said, and Y/N never felt more disgusted in her life.

“Woah, unnecessary comments guys,” she spoke up, becoming rather fed up with how they were acting.

“Yeah guys,” Connor scoffed and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “She’s mine, back off.”

“Connor, m’not-,” she started and turned to look at him as she said this, but was suddenly cut off by his lips crushing against hers. Her eyes widened in alert as she quickly pushed him away and stood up from her seat. “Ok, you know what, I’m gonna go. I wanted to talk to you about something but it looks like I’ll just have to tell you at work when you’re not drunk.”

“Oh come on, don’t be like that,” he replied conceitedly as Y/N started putting on her jacket. “Quit playing hard to get.”

“Hard to get?” She looked at him as if he grew a second head. “What the hell makes you think I’m playing hard to get?”

“Well, it’s pretty obvious, Y/N. Why else would you make up such bullshit excuses to not go out with me after we hooked up a few months ago.”

“First off, we didn’t hook up. We kissed. Second, did it not occur to you that maybe I’m not interested because you’re an arrogant asshole?”

Connor’s friends ooh’d and began mumbling to one another as he looked at her offendedly. “That’s not the only reason. You and I both know that.”

“Excuse me?”

“I heard you and Candace talking about how you’ve been sleeping with that famous friend of yours again,” he explained and Y/N immediately felt the need to defend herself. “Harry what’s-his-face. Thought that after he left you last year you’d get over the idea of thinking he’d want anything to do with you.”

He can’t be serious, she thought to herself as she tried to figure out what to say to that. She was absolutely furious and all his friends did was laugh, feeding her anger even more. As she racked her brain from something to reply with, the bridge of P!nk’s song began and Y/N glanced down at her still half-full glass of vodka cranberry, before picking it up and throwing the contents at Connor’s face.

“Fuck you. You don’t know anything about my relationships with others and are in no place to comment on them,” she stated firmly as she slung her bag over her shoulder. “At least Harry doesn’t treat me or anyone like they’re just part of a conquest in order to get a good shag. He’s a genuine being and is worthy of my time, it’s no wonder I’ve fallen for him as badly as I have. You, on the other hand, are the worst type of person and I really hate that it took me this long to realize it. Don’t bother speaking to me ever again, especially at work because I will cause a scene. Have a terrible night, you fucking jerks.”

And with that, she stormed out of the joint without looking back. Part of felt stupid for blowing up on Connor, but a bigger part kept thinking of how he deserved it.

Once she was out in the cool winter air, she let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding and started walking down the street towards the market. She was still livid, but just the thought of being near Harry put her mind at ease a little bit.

As she walked through the market's entrance she saw that no one was taking tickets and it was much emptier than she was expecting. Owners of the stands scattered all around the area that sold food and Christmas trinkets had packed up and all seemed to be heading home.

“What?” Y/N mumbled to herself before approaching a lady who was busy counting money from a till. “Hi, excuse me. Do you know what time it is by chance?”

“It’s after 9:30pm, dear. The market is closed.”

Shit.

“Oh, ok, thank you.”

It felt like Y/N’s heart plummeted into the pit of her stomach as she thoughts about Harry probably thinking she stood him up entered her mind. She grew even more frustrated over what went down with Connor and how it made her so late, as well as the fact that she couldn’t even call Harry and apologize for not showing up.

Because the thing was, she decided that she wanted to. She spent the 24 hours leading up to the moment, hyping herself up and was ready to talk things over with Harry. She planned on admitting her feelings and expressing how what happened on Christmas Eve the year before really hurt her. Regardless of the outcome, she was ready to put herself out there for him, and then she felt like she lost that chance.

She was hopeful for a few moments, thinking that maybe Harry was still wandering around somewhere. But the further she walked into the market, the less populated it became, and that hope soon faded.

The lights were pretty at least. Y/N really enjoyed looking at them as she continued on her stroll through the area. There was an entire wall that was covered in twinkling lights, that continued upwards and hung over the cobblestone path she was walking down. That along with the light snow that was falling from the sky made feel warm and fuzzy inside as she took it all in; smiling to herself as she stopped to look up at the flakes coming down before continuing on.

Lastly, she came to a stop at the base of the huge Christmas tree that was located in the centre of the market. It seemed different from how it looked the year before with its lovely blue decorations, but she just couldn’t figure out how it differed as she was observing.

A Michael Bublé Christmas song played from a loudspeaker nearby as she continued staring at the tree and thought about how she waited in that exact spot for Harry a year prior. She felt rather silly thinking about it now, but she shrugged it off and decided that she should probably stop gawking at the tree just head home.

“I don’t like the ornaments they used this year,” a voice suddenly spoke up from behind her. “Sure, the blue is nice. But I liked the red ones they used last year much more.”

Caught off guard by the person standing behind her now, Y/N was hesitant on turning around to face them. But once she did, it felt like the wind was knocked right out of her.  

“Harry?”

“Didn’t think you could get rid of me that easily, did yeh?” He asked with a large grin.

“Of course not,” she responded with just as big of a smile. “Listen, I’m so sorry for being late. I know you wanted to talk, and I did too but-.”

“Who said we still don’t have the chance to talk?” He questioned with a skeptical look. “I’ve got all the time in the world when it comes to you, darling.”

Y/N sighed, inwardly melting at his choice of words but also becoming completely overrun with nerves all of a sudden.

“I don’t even know where to start, H.”

“Then let me start,” he said and stepped towards her. “Leaving you last year was a huge mistake on my part. I knew how you felt and had come to terms with how I felt as well, but then when I got here and saw you standing under the tree like you are now, I chickened out.”

“Wait, what?” She asked surprised. “You were here?”

“I was,” he nodded and pointed to a corner of a nearby building. “When I got here, I was already so late. There were still a lot of people around and I didn’t even think I’d find you. But then I saw you standing pretty much right where you are now. You were completely mesmerized by the tree, just taking it all in like you do every year. I remember you saying beforehand how much you loved the ornaments they used because of how pretty they were. They’re different this year.”

“So that’s what seemed off about the tree this year,” she replied and glanced back at it. “That was uhm, very observant of you. But if you came all this way, why didn’t you tell me you were here?”

“Like I said, I got scared,” he answered and immediately captured her attention again. “Seeing you was when it hit me. It was when I realized just how much I love you.”

Her breath hitched at his words, and she could feel a blush forming on her cheeks that most definitely wasn’t just from the cold air, but she played it off quickly as she stepped towards him and smacked his arm. “Why didn’t you say anything!?”

“I didn’t know how! I panicked…”

“What did you panic about if you knew I felt the same?”

“I was worried about what I’d put you through,” he explained with a sigh. “M’not an easy person to be in a relationship with Y/N. I’m either coming or going all the time, and as much as I’d love to just stay in one place; it’s very hard to do that sometimes. You have your whole life here and I thought I’d interfere with that.”

“You’re stupid sometimes, you know that? I wouldn’t have cared about that, Harry.” She told him while shaking his head. “How would we know things would or wouldn’t work out if we didn’t try?”

“That’s exactly what I thought after I left. I immediately regretted leaving you there, but I thought it’d be easier that way. I know you despise confrontation as much as I do, and it just seemed easier at the time. Once I was gone, I was terrified that you’d want nothing to do with me and hated the thought of losing you over me being a coward, but I didn’t lose you. You were always still there even after I did something so shitty, and honestly, it made those feels I had grow more intense.”

“But you still didn’t say anything.”

“When we first started… you know... seeing each other again at the end of summer, I wanted to,” he stated. “But I still couldn’t figure out how. After me just leaving you last year, I didn’t think you’d want anything more than what we were doing. I was just glad to be with you and was willing to take whatever I could get, and those feelings all came crashing back. Then yesterday when you were over, I thought maybe I’d finally admit how I felt then; but you left and I thought I lost my chance.”

“So then you wanted to tell me today?” She asked softly. “And I basically stood you up.”

“No, I didn’t think that at all,” he told her while brushing away a snowflake that landed on her cheek. “When you texted me saying you were running late, I still waited around. But then it was getting chilly so I walked down the street to a little pub so I could warm up a bit. You were there.”

“Wait, so you saw…”

“And heard everything,” he nodded. “I don’t need to hear about that other guy cause thinking of how he treated you back there will piss me off. I was about to step in to be completely honest, but I should’ve known you could handle yourself.”

“Gee thanks,” she chuckled and shook her head. “But that also means you heard me say-.”

“That you’ve fallen for me? Yeah, I liked hearing that part. Made me less nervous about my want to do this.”

Without another word, he leaned down to place the most delicate kiss on her lips. There was no hungry lust behind it like there had been when they had kissed before, just pure admiration and affection; Y/N melted into it right away.

She pouted a little bit when he moved away, but then he pulled her into a tight embrace and instantly felt better. The two of them stood there for a moment, just basking in each other’s presence; her cuddling into his chest and him resting his head on top of hers as they swayed to the music that still played. It was a quiet song, the ending instrumentals of it played before the upbeat intro of the Jonas Brothers’ Like It’s Christmas started playing and Harry started chuckling.

“What’s so funny?” Y/N asked as she pulled away slightly to look up at him.

“Nothing,” he smirked and leaned down to give her another peck. “It’s just that you really do make every day feel like it’s Christmas.”

“You’re so sappy.”

“Don’t act like you don’t love it.”

“I guess I do,” she told him honestly as he linked his hand with hers and started leading her away from the tree. “Where are we going?”

“Home. Want to spend this Christmas with yeh.”

“I like the sound of that,” she replied while cuddling up against him as they began their trek home.

The two of them made it back to Harry’s flat and neither of them could stop smiling. They just loved the feeling of finally being together properly and although Y/N was set on not falling in love during Christmas again, this time around she wasn’t worried about him not being there the following year, or all the ones after that too.

[pinelife3]

An investigation: if supermodels are so dumb and vapid, how do they pull artistic geniuses?

This is a picture of Nick Cave and his wife leaving the inquest into their son’s death. Their 15 year old boy fell from a cliff after taking acid and becoming disoriented. 

I cannot even conceive of how terrible it must be to lose a child. The drugs and the cliff make it an episode of Skins (or Euphoria for the zoomers) but that’s your little boy. It was a stupid accident and now you never get to see him again. A teenaged tragedy. Unendingly unfair. 

Ghosteen, the 2019 album from Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds, is a complex, existential album in conversation with the death of Nick’s son and his feelings of loss and grief. Nick Cave is an artist - his life’s work is to share how he feels and what he thinks. What he’s expressing with Ghosteen is sorrow and longing - and some larger angst about the purpose of existence.

Through all this tragedy, I’m sure you couldn’t help but notice... who’s the babe with the shiny hair and the fabulous gazongas? That’s Nick’s wife, man! Susie Bick - or sometimes Susie Cave. She was a major model in the 80s and 90s. A model and an artist - it’s actually fitting. 

And what’s more, Susie is the founder of The Vampire’s Wife - a label which has become super popular in the last couple of years. (Fashion people eyeroll The Vampire’s Wife because every dress has the same silhouette, but that’s out of the scope of this blog.)

There is a perception that models are are vapid and unserious. Their job is to look good, keep their mouth shut, and move merchandise. They cannot offer anything profound because their value is surface level. Men and women both push this way of thinking. 

For example, when Brad Pitt was recently revealed to be dating 27 year old model Nicole Poturalski, people were disappointed. Brad Pitt has been a cultural fixture for decades - after all this time, people still find him fascinating. And they expect him to date someone who is equally compelling. Clooney married a human rights lawyer - why is Brad dating someone who makes posts like this on Instagram...

This was Lainey Gossip’s take on the new girlfriend: 

A model, younger, it’s so predictable it’s almost boring.

Nice! I guess we’re all feminists until the woman in question is young and hot. 

It's easy to assume the worst of a person who is unknown to us, but is beautiful and hooking up with someone famous. A million mean thoughts spring to mind. “A model, younger”. That’s scorn. You know exactly what she’s saying: hot but dumb. An uninteresting person. We know what Brad really wants her for... 

If Brad Pitt is compelling to you, how compelling must Nicole Poturalski be to have won and held his attention? Brad Pitt has not been celibate in the four years since he separated from Angelina Jolie, but not until Nicole did we have confirmation of someone who he was definitely seeing. He allowed himself to be photographed with her en route to his French chateau. And what ensued was a weird story - she’s in an open relationship with some old German restaurateur and she has a son? She’s a sugar baby? Why would Brad fucking Pitt get publicly involved with someone who has a messy personal life: why hook up with a married 27 year old and weather months of stories about her open marriage if he didn’t actually like her? Why even be seen with her? The relationship is a little weird - but the reporting on it has been nasty. The new sugar baby angle which has emerged in the last week (late October 2020) is basically calling her a whore. This is the level of suspicion and derision directed at a model dating a public fixture like Brad Pitt. The notion that Brad Pitt would pay for female company or sex is patently absurd. 

If our assumptions about models are correct, why do so many models end up with artistic geniuses? I don’t care about the Victoria’s Secret models who hooked up with the bassist from Kings of Leon. I’m talking about beautiful women who made it with icons, the premier humans of the past century:

MUSICIANS

Nick Cave and Susie Bick

David Bowie and Iman

Kanye West and Amber Rose

Bob Dylan and Sara Lownds

Mick Jagger and Jerry Hall

Mick Jagger and Carla Bruni

Serge Gainsbourg and Jane Birkin

Eric Clapton and Pattie Boyd

George Harrison and Pattie Boyd

Madonna and Jesus Luz

MISC. POWERFUL PEOPLE

Salman Rushdie and Padma Lakshmi

Donald Trump and Melania (lol)

Nicolas Sarkozy and Carla Bruni

Evan Spiegel and Miranda Kerr 

Hitler and Eva Braun (What?! She had a brief career an artist’s model...)

Michael Jordan and Yvette Prieto

Rupert Murdoch and Jerry Hall 

ACTORS (perhaps not artistic icons... but still creative and interesting)

Matthew McConaughey and Camila Alves

Johnny Depp and Kate Moss

Bradley Cooper and Irina Shayk

Bradley Cooper and Suki Waterhouse

Robert Pattinson and Suki Waterhouse

Vincent Cassel and Tina Kunakey

Halle Berry and Gabriel Aubrey

Leonardo DiCaprio and half the VS roster

Huge congrats to all the models with more than one entry on the list. You’ll note that there is a dearth of female icon/male model pairings - this is kind of interesting but not something I feel like getting into.

To some extent, the prevalence of the artist and model pairing makes sense. Men like good looking women. Rich, powerful men are high status and have access to good looking women. Plus, an artist needs a muse.

Many of the models in the list above are actually iconic in their own right. Like, when someone is having a great day on RuPaul’s Drag Race and looking sleek and skinny and flawless RuPaul might compare them to Iman. People pay $10,000 USD for handbags named after Jane Birkin. 

Conversely, in the case of Amber Rose, she became the most desired woman in the hip hop industry c. 2010 because she was with Kanye. And most especially because she broke Kanye’s heart. Everyone wanted the girl from “Hell of a Life”. People point to that song as being about Kim - it was prophetic, yes, but not written about her.

Anyway. Could an icon, a legend, a genius, make it work with someone who had nothing to offer but a fast metabolism and a beautiful face? Do poreless skin and puffy lips make up for never finishing high school? 

Wouldn’t being with someone superficial or unserious mean the artist was fundamentally boring in some way too? This is increasingly the assumption about Leonardo DiCaprio - seen above photographing his 23 year old model gf for her Instagram. Even Reddit mocks him for his age gap relationships with models.

And here’s where I try to make my point: 

Kate Moss’ daughter, Lila, recently had her modelling debut during Paris Fashion Week. It was big news because she’s celebrity spawn - and of course her mother is one of the most iconic models ever. She was eviscerated. 

On The Daily Mail, the comparisons to her mother flowed. What’s interesting is that Daily Mail readers do not like Kate Moss but they will defend her 90s modelling career with their life. They laud her bone structure, her waifish figure. An irresistible, undeniable face. 

It seems silly to praise someone for the shape of their head and the way their skin fits over it... it’s not a talent, is it? Maybe it is! There is no shortage of hot girls in the world - but there may be a shortage of girls with preternatural charismatic beauty. Lila Moss (left above) is attractive - she even looks quite a bit like her mum. Perhaps in the pic above she even looks hotter than her mum (right above). But Kate Moss is more interesting: less perfect - half her eyebrow is missing, she’s less manicured. She exudes some kind of darkness, newness. Lottie Moss, Kate’s younger half-sister, is a similar story. Obviously attractive, obviously interested in modelling - but she’s lacking something. 

Bella Hadid came from a similar-ish background to Lila Moss (Bravoleb parents, frequent appearances on Real Housewives of Beverley Hills in her teen years, groomed by her ex-model mother) but Bella Hadid has it. She may have risen through the ranks due to nepotism and cosmetic surgery but she is someone people want to look at. She is sought after - not foisted upon us. Again, it’s not because she’s the hottest woman on the planet. She is gorgeous, but on top of that, there’s something beguiling about the angles of her face.

What’s this thing that clicks in your head telling you that Kate Moss’s face is more interesting than her daughter’s? It’s an intrusive thought: her skull shape is pleasing, let your eyes linger. A command: you will not forget that face. 

Iman has it. Look at her. On meeting Iman, Bowie said: "I was naming the children the night we met... it was absolutely immediate." How many beautiful women had Bowie met in his life? How many had this effect?

Can you imagine trying to keep David Bowie or Bob Dylan interested in what you’re saying? Or Madonna? Or Michael Jordan? Most of us do not have a single thought in our head which would be of interest to these people. The models I listed earlier transfixed them. Mick Jagger could have romanced every woman on the planet - but he only wanted Jerry Hall (pls disregard affairs so I can make my point). 

When a model hooks up with an artistic genius, it’s illogical to assume she’s vapid or that the icon is with her for shallow reasons. What we should assume is that she is the most interesting woman that icon has crossed paths with in a long time - which would make her very interesting indeed.