#MY LITTLE BRITISH COUNTRY GIRL

[futurejocksgf]

[in a british accent] HOWDY 🤠

[neroushalvaus]

Tumblr in the 60s

☮ monkeewholock follow

🎉🎉CONGRATULATIONS UNITED KINGDOM 🎊🎊🎉🎉🎉🎉BYE BYE GROSS INDECENCY!!!!🌈🌈🌈 62 countries have now legalized sexual activities between men🌈🌈🌈

🐞 homophilespock follow

SPIRK CAN FINALLY FUCK

🚀 starrfleet follow

They are American, not British... But I'm pretty sure spirk has always been able to fuck since the show is set in the future.

📻 lesbianbobdylan follow

Christ, this is not about your cutesy uwu yaoi otp, go outside and smoke some grass

10,8 t. notes

🌻 flowerpower follow

Politicians are not your friends but damn Kennedy is fine, I look at one (1) picture of him and my head literally explodes

🌻 flowerpower follow

...i just woke up, why is my askbox full

🌻 flowerpower follow

WHY IS HE TRENDING I'M SCARED

🌻 flowerpower follow

guys stop reblogging this it's been like five years i've changed

290,9 t. notes

🎹 nixonsafascist follow

do you think they call him little richard because he has a little. Richard

🎹 nixonsafascist follow

easy website

58,1 t. notes

🇻🇳 shirellesofficial follow

Being the only lesbian in your friend group sucks so bad. "beatles or stones??" i will kill you

🗣 lavendermenaceisreal-deactivated72537262

Disrespecting female social groups for male validation? Typical lesbian behaviour.

🇻🇳 shirellesofficial follow

Mike Jacker isnt gonna fuck you

🇻🇳 shirellesofficial follow

Oh no I think she couldn't handle that

77 notes

✌ draftdodgerdyke

DM me for the addresses of my Swedish and Canadian friends. Do not put your personal information in the reblogs.

🙍‍♀️ silvermilk follow

You should be ashamed of yourself.

✌ draftdodgerdyke

huh??

🙍‍♀️ silvermilk follow

I said, you should be ashamed of yourself. You disgust me. I assure you, when the commies attack us, you will not find your silly little post "groovy" anymore.

✌ draftdodgerdyke

Jesus, don't flip your wig

🙍‍♀️ silvermilk follow

My father fought in ww2 for you ungrateful degenerate.

✌ draftdodgerdyke

Don't see what your daddy's unsexiness has to do with me and my lads taking a sexy sexy trip to Sweden.

#anyway only hot guys dodge the draft

587 notes

🪕 prostitutesandlesbians follow

in every interview i watch of the beatles they are so DONE and trolling everybody, these fucking annoying BITCHES, i need them inside me so badly

🪕 prostitutesandlesbians follow

#this but not john lennon #i just can't forget the heinous things he said about jesus

idk I actually think it was very sexy of him, stop trying to cancel john in my post

✝️ jesusrevolution follow

The reading comprehension on this website is piss poor. John literally didn't mean he was greater than Jesus or better than Jesus, he was just trying to make a point about the world becoming more secular. Cancel culture has gone too far.

🚷 to-hell-with-the-beatles follow

How dare you say we piss on the poor?? Jesus died for Mr Lennon's sins and it's not "cancelling" to send him a few respectably worded death threats to remind him of that. He cancelled our Lord first!

✝️ jesusrevolution follow

Girl Jesus literally said it's cool, I dropped acid yesterday and saw Him and He told me.

🪕 prostitutesandlesbians follow

help the girls (christians) are fighting in my beatles thirst post

6,008 notes

🛼 donovandyke follow

I will be glued to the tv today. If you don't want to hear about it, just blacklist #moonlanding !!

0 notes

🗣 claudeberger4ever-deactivated98975287

Hi I'm new to the Hair musical fandom so I'm not super invested in the whole discourse, but I just felt like this needed to be said: Friendly reminder that not being against the war in Vietnam does not make you a bad person!

🥁 ringoforpresident follow

it literally does tho

✌ draftdodgerdyke

Another win for us hot guys

17,2 t. notes

[ellysdreamworldd]

dr ideas 𝜗𝜚

❥︎ 70s/80s/90s/2000s highschool (or any year these the ones i want to go to) to finally experience being a teenager without social media

❥︎a dr where you're in a haunted house but you're the ghost- i saw this on tiktok and it's so good i feel ashamed for not thinking of it myself. like it would be so fun to scare random people

❥︎a dr where you're the karma. like you're invisible and you can follow people and then give them what they deserve

❥︎ 90s high fashion model dr

❥︎2000s victoria's secret angel dr

❥︎ h20 dr/ mermaid dr in general (childhood dream)

❥︎rich british boarding school dr

❥︎a dr where you travel the world. like you're rich and unemployed and your biggest worry is which flight to book next or if the 5 star hotel is going to be comfortable enough

❥︎dead poets society dr (they let girls in the school too)

❥︎history drs- ancient egypt(i was lowkey thinking about shifting as a cat to be worshipped) ancient rome ecc. (maybe in these drs it's better to shift as a man yk)

❥︎a dr where you're a bird. idk i always wanted to fly (i mean you don't necessarily need to be a bird to fly but)

❥︎winx (the cartoon not the show)

❥︎pretty little liars (the 6th liar starting when ali is still alive and assembling her group)

❥︎zombie apocalypse dr

❥︎an equestrian dr where you live in the countryside and your parents have a horse ranch (i want to live like those girls in the 72728 horse movies my sister made me watch where they are city girls who have never seen a horse before and can randomly be able to ride the most wild and aggressive horse ever)

❥︎a dr where you are the actor of all your characters in your previous drs (also saw this on tiktok and omg mind blowing i can't wait to watch edits of my characters and what people would say about me)

❥︎1800 jane austen worthy romance dr

❥︎80s slasher movie (just script you're the final girl and we're good)

❥︎a dr for every country in the world (maybe leave out some where it wouldn't exactly be fun to live). it's such a nice way to see the world from the eyes of a local and learn about other cultures

❥︎pirate dr

❥︎vampire dr

❥︎ rockstar dr where you're in a popular band

❥︎a dr in which you can shrink yourself and live in dollhouses and stuff like that. I always wanted to do that as a child and having a life-sized dollhouse would just not be the same

❥︎a dr where you have a child and you're a parent (i fear i would probably get too attached to the kid to ever leave)

❥︎different drs for every single job that interests you so when you come back (if you're planning to) you already know what you like so you won't risk being stuck with a job you don't like in this cr (for example being an astronaut or a fashion designer would be so cool)

❥︎royalty dr

❥︎a dr where you are Santa's elf (saw it on tiktok too and omg so fun but what do they even do for the rest of the year?)

❥︎summer camp dr

❥︎outer banks dr (basic i know but rafe)

❥︎dragon academy dr (like riding dragons and stuff😍)

[norrisjpg]

─── ★ prologue

════════════════════════

series: my kind of woman, LN⁴

content: max being overprotective, mentions of unhealthy relationships, coffee dates 

pairing: lando norris x fem!oc

rora's thoughts: hi hi hi lovlies! i decided to keep the prologue short and sweet, just so you can get the idea of lily's dynamic with everyone (excluding lando, of course, that's for next time), and understand her personality and all. i really hope you enjoy reading this, and let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!

════════════════════════

THE BRITISH SUMMER time wasn’t usually the warmest. typically, it was filled with chilly breezes and cloudy days pretending to be a heatwave for the country. the atmosphere was brimming with floating pollen and the promise of a clear sky that never seemed to be fully fulfilled. but the best time of the day was arguably six o’clock, morning or evening. 

lily was on the balcony of her london apartment, the quadrant hoodie that max had gifted her for christmas last year wrapped around her torso. her legs were tucked up to her chest, chin resting on her knees as she watched the sunrise flood in over the city. the book she’d been reading for the past half an hour or so was carefully placed on the minuscule wooden table next to the beanbag she resided on. stray hairs cascaded out of the low bun her hair was squeezed into, tickling the back of her neck every time she moved, but she didn’t mind, lily was too engrossed in the orange and red hues painted on the horizon. 

there was a second beanbag next to her. it was empty. the only other person who had ever sat on that seat was pietra, she was the only person who’d watch the sun rise or set with her, usually with an orange juice or glass of wine in her grasp. 

“good morning,” max mumbled as he leant against the frame of the sliding doors, rubbing his eyes as he spoke to his sister. “what are you doing up so early?”

“watching the sunrise, as usual.” she said quietly to her older brother, glancing at him briefly. “sorry if i woke you.”

“woke me? you’re as quiet as a mouse, el.” the older fewtrell laughed softly, running a hand through his dishevelled mullet.

“what are your plans for today?” she rolled her eyes, with a laugh.

“i’m heading out for lunch with some of the quadrant lot, if you want to join us?”

“sorry, i’ve got plans with harry today, max.” lily pursed her lips, a slightly guilty expression present on her features. “i’ll try and come next time though, yeah?”

“harry?” max furrowed his eyebrows, perking up a little at the mention of the man. “you’re still going out with him?”

“oh, give it a rest.” she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest as she now looked at her older brother, his overprotective side clearly engaging at the mention of the boy from cambridge. “he’s lovely, you’re just too protective of me.”

“and i have a right to be.” he nodded, reaching forward and ruffling lily’s hair. “you’re still my baby sister, i don’t want you getting hurt by some knob who thinks he knows what’s best for you.”

“well it’s a good job that he’s not a knob then, isn’t it?” lily replied, slapping his hand away with no real force. “anyway, how long are you planning on staying for?”

“lando gets back on wednesday, so i’ll probably head back up then.” the boy nodded. “you can come with me if you want?”

“i can’t, book launch event on thursday evening, sorry.”

“it’s fine, at least i won’t have to watch lando drool over you again.” max laughed, referring to the holiday they went on last year, where the mclaren driver was thirsting over the woman in secret, max only finding out after ed accidentally let it slip to his best friend. 

“get a life, max.” the girl rolled her eyes, grabbing her book and standing up. “and even if he was, which he wasn’t, you wouldn’t let the poor lad near me anyway.”

“because i know lando, and that boy is not ready to settle down, and i don’t want him breaking your heart.” max pursed his lips, sighing softly. 

“i can handle myself, you know? i’m not a kid anymore, max.”

“yeah, and i’m going to be back racing next month.”

• • • •

AT AROUND lunch time, the sun was blaring down in london, casting picturesque shadows on the pavement as she walked through the city streets. harry and lily had arranged to meet at this adorable cafe, cozy and a relief from the humidity of the outdoor atmosphere. and he was there, waiting in a little booth tucked away in the corner of the establishment, aimlessly scrolling through his socials as he waited for lily to arrive.

“hi,” she smiled softly, sliding into the seats opposite him, placing her bag down next to her.

“ah, hey lils.” harry smiled, putting his phone down as she sat down in front of him. “how are you?”

“yeah, all good, thankyou.” she nodded politely, “and you?”

“i’m good, mhm.” he hummed, nodding his head as the waiter approached their table, placing the coffee he had ordered a few minutes ago down in front of him. “drink?”

“oh, yes please.” lily nodded. “could i just get a white coffee please?”

the waiter nodded, smiling before turning on her heel and heading off toward the till. harry’s eyes followed her, before darting back to lily. 

conversations between the two were pleasant, lily planning out responses in her head, overthinking a couple moments but overall it was nice. 

harry attended the university of london, studying medical science to become a doctor. the pair had met a few months ago, after lily had practically thrown her to-go cup of coffee all over him, down the light beige slacks he was wearing, and staining the crisp, white shirt on his torso. he’d insisted on buying her another coffee, and said that a date with her would make up for it. the two of them had been out together six times since then, but something just wasn’t quite right.

lily hadn’t ever really had a proper boyfriend. yes, she’d had the fling here and there, lost her virginity to a friend from secondary school, made out with one or two guys over the course of a few years - but never anything serious. harry did make her feel a little insecure - it wasn’t like he was a manwhore, but the boy was definitely experienced and a tiny bit too keen for her liking. the way his hand would linger on her thigh, the way he kissed her was a little too deeply for her liking, the way his palm somehow found her ass every time they hugged - it was all just a little too much for her.

not to mention, when the two of them did kiss, he made her feel a little insecure about her inexperience. was this what relationships were supposed to be like? she wasn’t sure, but her love life had been missing-in-action for so long, lily was going to take whatever she could get.

meanwhile, max fewtrell had just returned to his sister’s apartment, and was putting his shoes back into the white rack on the floor, when his phone starting buzzing in his pocket.

“‘sup bob?” the man said after swiping to answer the call from his best friend.

“alright, max?” lando replied. “wanna come to miami in a few weeks? bring p if you want, mate, all the other girlfriends are here.”

“oh, sweet, we’ll be there, thanks mate.” max nodded. “i’ll check with her, but yeah, should be fine.”

“cool, that was all, gotta go, see you on wednesday, yeah?” the british driver responded, the sound of someone calling his name in the background of the call.

“yeah, see you wednesday, bob.”

════════════════════════

taglist: @verogonewild @tvdtw4ever @shawnscurlz @f1fantasys

i do not give permission for my works to be re-written, re-published, or published on any other platform.

© norrisjpg 2025

[lorarri]

★ . . . 𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 , 𝐋𝐇𝟒𝟒

summary , a language barrier never stop them when they met and it evidently isn't stopping them now

pairing , lewis hamilton x fem! tukish! actress! reader

main masterlist | f1 masterlist | lewis hamilton masterlist

lewishamilton . 17hrs ago

seen by yourinstagram landonorris 56,278,478 others

yourinstagram

liked by lewishamilton charles_leclerc 68,862,623 others

yourinstagram bir yıl daha seninle çok daha fazla anılarımız olacak

another year so many more memories with you

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user my parents

lewishamilton Aşkım ❤️ my love ❤️

lewishamilton Umarım seni sonsuza dek parçalanana kadar severim I hope to love you till forever falls apart

user god I don't know if I wanna be their child or their little bitch

user step on me 😩

user mommy daddy? sorry mommy daddy? sorry mommy daddy? sorry

user god really does have favourites 😭

user iconic.

user my Roman Empire 🫡

user THE f1 it couple

user turkish people 🤝 british people

user the fact that lewis is rizzing my girl up in turkish has me so jealous WHEN WILL IT BE ME 😔

user god I have seen what you have done for others

user hot people stan Y/N and Lewis 😌

user the healthiest realtionship ever ✊🏼

user the fact that mercedes has 3 power couples is kinda iconic 💅

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─ requested by . . .

anon ─ Hello, could you please place an order? I would like something where Lewis H. and his partner are talked about on the internet about how they like physical contact and how loving they are towards each other. If you do, thank you very much. P.s. Your Lewis and the Princess imagine is my favorite. ❤❤

anon ─ ooohh imagine one of the drivers meeting someone in one of the countries they go to and immediately being smitten but readers english isn’t great and them using google translate and gestures to help communicate with eachother

[bishiedoll]

Western literature & shoujo manga.

If you're, like me, someone whose passion is old shoujo manga, you may have noticed that at least one or more of your favorite mangaka has written manga adaptations of famous American and European novels. But why ?

According to this essay by Kawabata Ariko and Murakami Riko, in the early 20th century, because there was no Internet, people had no choice but to rely on big bookstores to learn more about and to purchase foreign novels. It was therefore not common to read them. The Iena bookstore, located in Ginza, was a rare indie bookstore that sold art-related foreign books and, while unfortunately, the store has closed today, many shoujo mangaka remember going there often to look for reference material amongst foreign works.

This other essay by Oogushi Hisayo states that foreign novels were only broadly introduced in Japan for young girls in the 30s. Famous girls' magazines (which are to be differentiated with shoujo magazines) such as Shoujokai (created in 1902), Shoujo no Sekai (created in 1906) and Shoujo no Tomo (created in 1908) started introducing Western literature in their issues from the 1930s to the 1940s. Works such as "The Little Princess", "Heidi", "Little Women", "Daddy Long Legs" and more were published in these girls' magazines, making them more known to the Japanese audience and resulting in shoujo manga adaptations in the following years.

Little Women illustrated by Nakahara Junichi in the Girls' magazine Shoujo no Sekai.

Three works in particular seem to have gained a lot of popularity in the 40s: "Little Women" by Louisa May Alcott, "Heidi" by Johanna Spyri and "Anne of Green Gables" by Lucy Maud Montgomery. All three are coming of age stories of young girls, and all three have one theme that seems to stand out: family. In the aftermath of WW2, many Japanese lost their families and many young children became orphans. In such times, novels that showcased happy families comforted Japanese readers. The popularity of these three works did not end in the 40s though, since in the 70s and 80s, all three got their 50 episodes anime adaptation in the Calpis Gekijou series (also known as World Masterpiece Theater), which, by the way, I highly recommend watching.

It is to be noted that these three works also became popular because they showcased independent and developed female leads, which has since then become a staple of shoujo manga itself, regardless of genre.

Heidi by Macoto Takahashi, Anne of Green Gables by Sakamoto Midori (1977) and Heidi by Watanabe Masako (1966).

In the 70s, a few mangaka published works that reminded critics of the "Bildungsroman". The Bildungsroman is a literary genre born in the 1800s in Germany, and it is a sub-category of the coming-of-age story. The Bildungsroman stands out from regular coming-of-age stories by focusing on the psychological and moral growth of its protagonist. Examples of that would be Moto Hagio with The Heart of Thomas in 1974 and Takemiya Keiko with Kaze to Ki no Uta in 1976 (though she never intended to write a Bildungsroman). The West was still shown in a more traditional version in these works, as both stories take place in old catholic boarding schools.

Similarly to how Audrey Hepburn, a Hollywood actress, was seen as a fashion leader in Japan (more about that on my other post about her influence on shoujo), Japanese people at the time had an idealized view of the West and anything from the Western world seemed fashionable and trendy. A great example of that is Sanrio. If you look at early Sanrio characters, a lot of them are from the West: Hello Kitty is British, the Little Twin Stars were inspired by Christmas, My Melody by the little red riding hood, Jimmy & Patty are American etc.

This view of the West began to shift in the 80s and the western literature that inspired shoujo mangaka started to change as well. Instead of comforting, idyllic stories about family life in a traditional American or European country side or stories taking place in traditional European catholic schools, manga inspired by more realistic and contemporary works started publishing. For example, Banana Fish by Akimi Yoshida (1985) draws inspiration from "A Perfect Day for Bananafish" by J.D. Salinger and two of Hemingway's works: "The Snows of Kilimanjaro" and "Islands in the Streams". All three of these focus on either modern issues like overconsumption or darker themes like death and loneliness. The change can also be seen in the gender and age of the protagonists. Instead of being about young teen girls that shoujo readers could identify with, Banana Fish is about adult men. The inspiration is also a lot more loose, and instead of an adaptation, there are only references to J.D. Salinger and Hemingway's works throughout the manga.

The Heart of Thomas by Moto Hagio (1974), Banana Fish by Akimi Yoshida (1985) and Alice in Wonderland by Mutsu A-ko (1983).

To conclude my post, I really wanted to include this line from the essay by Oogushi Hisayo: If America (can apply to the West as a whole) was once the backdrop of stories for those who yearned to read about "somewhere that is not here", it has, from the 80s onward, become the backdrop of stories for those who yearned to read about "the now and here".

[j2hoes]

Foreign Exchanges. (Anthony Vaughn x Reader.)

Summary: Moving school in the middle of the year is never easy. Let alone from an entirely different country. Despite Y/N trying to garner the least amount of attention possible, she still manages to catch the eye of a certain brunette.

Word Count: 1.5k

Gif Not Mine . Requests are open!

Warnings: Mature language.

A/N: My first Ant fic and I’m debating making this a series but you’ll have to let me know what you think! Anyway just a short one to start us off but there’ll be more soon. Don’t forget requests are open!

“I’d like you all to offer a warm welcome to our new student Y/N Y/L/N, she’s moved here all the way from the UK! So let’s show her some of that Hartley spirit.” The teacher, who introduced herself as Jojo, announces to the class. All of them staring at me with blank stares. “Go ahead and say a few words.”

She nudges my shoulder gently before I can decline the offer. Encouraging smile on her face. There are no smiles from my classmates however, only bored faces who couldn’t be less interested in my arrival. For which I’m grateful. I’d seen this school on the news prior to my enrolment, I know these students are brutal. I mean, a sex map? Dad wasn’t too happy about sending me here though he didn’t really have a choice, no other schools were admitting students this late into the term.

“Um hi, I’m Y/N. It’s good to be here I guess.”

“Does anybody have any questions for Y/N?” Jojo offers, attempting to find a way for the class to get to me.

Numerous hands raise and I let out a groan internally. It’s bad enough that I’m stood at the front of the classroom like a new shiny toy but to now be subject to whatever ridiculous questions these teens can come up with is a new form of torture. One that I am really not looking forward to.

Jojo points to her first student, allowing them to be the first to ask. “Why don’t you have a proper British accent?” The girl seems genuinely curious, eyes focused on me as she combs her fingers through her orange hair. Stickers adorn her face along with colourful eyeshadow to match her bright outfit. She has a gentle aura surrounding her, which makes me relieved as I realise her question wasn’t meant in malice and more so pure interest. Maybe these kids won’t be so bad?

“Um, I think the accent you’re think of is the Queen’s English. There isn’t many people that talk like that really, maybe a few down south but I grew up in the North East. None of us talk posh.” I tell her, watching as she seems to take notes as I speak.

“Thank you Quinni, Spider what about you?” Jojo asks, pointing to the tall blonde that is hunched over at the back of the class.

His eyes flicker up to me, giving me the once over though he doesn’t seem too impressed by my presence.

“Yeah, what is it with you and all the other poms having bad teeth?” The boy pipes up, I notice the two boys next to him laugh. Though the one in the baggy outfit makes eye contact with me and a flash of guilt appears on his face.

“I don’t have bad teeth actually. Nobody I know does and to be perfectly honest, that stereotype is deeply rooted in classism and while the UK faces a major cost of living and wealth gap crisis, I don’t think it’s funny to joke about things like that. Do you?” I retort, causing h the pink haired girl and her friend to applaud my mini speech. Both offering cheers.

“Okay any more questions that aren’t going to cause arguments?” Jojo asks, a few hands lowering as they don’t want to get in trouble. “Yes, Amerie?”

“Do you miss home?”

“Yeah, yeah I really miss it.” I start, thinking of everything that I had to leave behind. I know this was the best decision for my family, but I do hold a slight resentment towards being here. “Don’t get me wrong, Sydney’s great and all, but I miss my friends, my house, my pets, I even miss the shitty pub from down the street.”

“Thank you Y/N, I feel like we’ve got to know you a little bit more now, so feel free to take a seat and we’ll get started.”

The only open seat is next to the girl that Jojo called Amerie. Smiling as I take my place, I open my notebook and begin to doodle swirls and other patterns across the page. Focusing on that rather than the subject being taught. It’s some form of sex education by the sounds of it. However, it seems very outdated and heteronormative. Nothing worth listening to anyway.

Upon hearing the bell ring, I begin to pack away my things and watch as a few students mutter things towards Amerie. “Map bitch.” “Cunt.” and “Crazy bitch.” Just to name a few. I realise that may be the reason she had nobody sat next to her and figure it may be best to avoid her if I want to stay under everybody’s radar.

Finding my locker, I begin to turn the lock with great difficulty. Back home, the numbers simply connect and the door clicks open, that doesn’t seem to be the case here though. Fiddling with the dial, I hear the bell signal the beginning of the next class and I huff, annoyed that I’m having this much trouble with a stupid locker.

As the hallways clears out, I continue to twist and pull at the lock. Bag dumped on the floor as I try with all my strength to pry the door open. With no such luck, I throw a quick kick to the locker beneath mine, leaving a dent in the door slightly. Slumping with my back again the metal, I find myself face to face with the boy in the baggy outfit.

Not previously noticing how cute he was, dark hair hidden beneath a beanie, a couple of curls escaping. Boyish grin plastered across his face and piercing brown eyes staring directly at me. I won’t even try to deny that Australia has one up on the Uk in terms of boys, they’re just so much cuter over here.

“What did the locker do to you?” He jokes, taking the slip of paper with the locker code out of my hand.

“Bloody thing won’t open.” I mumble, stepping out of the way as he demonstrates how to open it with ease. My cheeks tinged pink as I fear my outburst may have been unnecessary.

“I thought you Brits were supposed to be good at containing your emotions anyway.” He leans against the locker beside mine, watching me as I stuff countless books into the small space. Normally this would make me uncomfortable, yet there’s there’s something about him that makes me feel warm and calm.

“Nah we love our fair share of violence.” I tell him, smiling as I do so, remembering the amount of fights that used to take place on my estate daily. Providing free entertainment for all the neighbours. “We’re polite, but piss us off and we’ll knock you into next week.”

He laughs, folding his arms across his chest as I close the locker door. His eyes gaze over me as I turn to face him properly. Noticing the small cross necklace hanging from his neck, I can’t help but imagine what it would look like against his bare skin.

“You religious?” I ask, nodding towards the chain.

“Nah, I’m Ant.” He brushes off my question and tucks the necklace beneath his shirt. Clearly a touchy subject that perhaps I shouldn’t have brought up. So instead I attempt to lighten the mood.

“Ant?” The word escapes my mouth as a slight giggle, unable to hide the amusement his name brings. “And your mate’s called Spider?”

“Yeah, stupid right?” He chuckles, playing with the straps of his bag. Almost as if he’s nervous. “We’ve been best mates our entire lives. My real name’s Anthony but nobody calls me that. Same with Spider, his name’s Spencer. Kids started to call us Ant and Spider when we were like six, guess it just stuck.”

“That’s cute.”

Picking up my bag, I throw it over my shoulder. Figuring I should probably head to my next class despite being extremely late already.

“Hey, about Spider.” Ant reaches for my arm, clearly sensing that I’m about to leave. “I just wanted to apologise, he can be a bit of a dick but he’s a nice guy deep down.”

My arm tingles where he’s touching it, feeling the slightest of move of his fingers. As though my nerves are on fire. Suddenly hypersensitive to any little movement he makes. I know I shouldn’t be feeling things this intensely, hell, I’ve just met the guy. Yet he sparks an excitement in me that I haven’t felt in a while.

“Honestly it’s sound. You don’t need to apologise.” I assure him, offering a smile, I see his shoulders relax. “I can handle a prick like him any day.”

“Yeah you certainly shot him down quick.”

As he removes his hand from my arm, I’m quick to begin walking away. Cheesy grin on my face as I recall the interaction in my head despite it only happening seconds ago. I feel dizzy with excitement, my feet feel like they’re walking on clouds and I almost miss the shout from behind me as I go to turn the corner.

“Hey, do you wanna get high?”

[girlactionfigure]

The British fought the re-establishment of the Jewish State. They prevented Jews from rescuing Jews from the Nazi inferno, closing the borders to our ancestral homeland and turning away refugees who managed to escape and reach these shores.

The British said they were keeping the peace, instilling law and order but it was their soldiers laughed and betted on my grandmother’s life when they saw her, a little girl running for her life, desperate to escape a lynch mob of Arab men with knives. Who would run faster? The men or the little Jewish girl?

They didn’t expect proud Jewish freedom fighters, men and women who refused to accept foreign occupation in the land of their ancestors. New, defiant Jews, very different from the Jews of the Galut.

These Jews were real freedom fighters, not terrorists. They did fight, blow things up and some people were killed – but it is crucial to understand that their targets were military installations and infrastructure, not babies, women, and elderly. They targeted buildings, bridges and railroads, not people. The point was to make it uncomfortable and impractical to be an occupying power, not to hurt individuals.

And they succeeded – but not without a terrible price.

Today, I stood in the room where the British executed Jewish freedom fighters. Their names are written on the wall.

Also written are the words some of them sang to their killers. The words others imprisoned sang to their British jailers, knowing their friends were being hanged.

Hatikvah. The 2000-year-old hope to be a free nation, in Israel, in Jerusalem.

They sang the national anthem of the Jewish State, not yet re-established.

And this is what the terrorists of today and their supporters in Britain and other Western countries do not understand – an occupier can be scared and incentivized to leave land that is not theirs.

This land is ours. We are hers.

We dreamed, taught our children, sacrificed and fought 2000 years to come home – and neither murderers nor the “civilized savages” of the Hague, the UN or the BBC will ever make us leave.

We are #ZionHomeToStay.

The 2000 year old dream is real.

The children of the Maccabees LIVE.

[octuscle]

Four T and one C

On campus, they were known only as TTTT. Tanner, Thad, Trent and Trey had known each other since childhood. Their parents were all members of the same country club, their parents all had summer houses in the same area in the Hamptons. It was clear that TTTT would all go to the same college together. With a lot of money from their parents, they had all made it to Yale. Even if not everyone was actually clever enough for it. Fortunately, as Yale alumni and successful investment bankers and lawyers, their fathers and mothers were able to fix that. And so the party at the high school became an Ivy League party. And TTTT were the guests of honor at the party.

Chad's parents weren't in a country club and didn't have a house in the Hamptons. But they were wealthy enough that Chad had somehow managed to find favor in the TTTT's picky eyes. He lived in the same dorm, they had talked at some point. And the fact that Chad was smart and could help them with an exam or two wasn't a disadvantage, of course. The TTTT were all studying business studies, Chad biochemistry. But with an IQ of 142, he was easily able to pick up what little knowledge he needed for an MBA in a lunch break.

The first semester came to an end. TTTT had done reasonably well, Chad already had a job as a working student at a biotech lab and had a good chance of finishing the semester at the top of his class. Nevertheless, he was at every party and if you saw the five of them in their Polo Ralph Laure and Abercrombie & Fitch outfits, you would have thought that all five of them were nothing more than spoiled and stupid frat boys. Until the day the last marketing exam was written. TTTT treated themselves to a beer in the sun on campus in front of the football stadium to celebrate the end of the semester. And then Chad came by. But he wasn't dressed like Chad. He looked like a British hooligan. At least almost. Tight jeans, DocMartens and a tight Fred Perry polo shirt that showed he obviously didn't just spend time in the library and lab. The tight shirt showed off his pecs and biceps pretty well.

“Bro!” said Tanner. “What do you look like? What's with the chav look?” Chad grinned. With that cheeky grin and his haircut, he was still one of them, even if he was dressed differently. “I got this invitation from my new employer. Sick party, all for nothing. And the employees were asked to come in the company colors. And they are yellow and black. And because I didn't have time to change beforehand, I wore the only thing like that I could find. I had it from my exchange year in Berlin. Everyone at my school walked around like that.” Trent grinned. “Sounds sick, dude! Do you think you can get us into the party?” Chad grinned and pulled out four ribbons. “You think I'm forgetting my best bros? Put on your wristbands, they'll get you into anything you want. And here are the tickets for the entrance.” Chad took a look. The nerd still had to study, he still had two exams to write. TTTT did a collective high five. The evening was saved. It would be just the right end to their first semester at university.

The bouncers had had their hands full. The party was an event of the year, crowds of people wanted to get in. TTTT had problems even getting through to the bouncers. But when they showed their tickets, they were waved through. One of the bouncers said to a colleague “What boring philistines!” Fortunately, TTTT didn't hear that. And fortunately, the four of them were so sure of themselves and their appearance that they didn't feel they stood out among the party people.

The party was good. There was plenty to drink, there were hot girls for the four of them to dance with. But the real kick was missing. Trey noticed that the most attractive people were heading towards a door with another group of bouncers in front of it. Trey waved his bros together and headed for the door. “Ribbon only,” grunted one of the gigantic bouncers, pressed into a black and yellow leather suit. Trey grinned. He had pocketed the ribbons and had almost forgotten about them. TTTT put the wristbands on their wrists and passed the gorillas with a grin.

Loud bass thumped at the end of the corridor. Strobe flashes flashed. There was much more yellow and black on the dance floor than on the last dance floor. And the people here were different. Beautiful. But not New England at all. Thad was reminded of Berghain in Berlin. He'd tried to get in once, but even with a wad of dollar bills he hadn't been able to get past the bouncer. But those who had managed to get in often looked like the people dancing on the dance floor here. Thad turned to look at his bros. The three of them had rushed straight onto the dance floor. In their outfits, they stood out like colorful dogs. At least their hairstyles matched the crowd on the dance floor to some extent. Thad rubbed his head. He loved the feeling of freshly shaved sides. Fuck, Trent really looked good with that badass undercut. Thad's cock was getting hard.

The four of them danced in a trance to ecstasy. The hard techno beats thumped through their bones. Every now and then, one of the TTTTs went to the bar and provided the four of them with an energy drink. Last time, the awesome bartender had also slipped Trent a few colorful pills, which the four of them washed down with the candy-sweet drink. I have no idea what time it was. But the party had only just started. According to his watch, it was 06:00 in the morning when Tanner had to go to the toilet. The room was overcrowded. A few of the athletes who had gathered here sweating were actually pissing. But most of them were sucking cock or being sucked. Damn, there was a muscular guy at the front wearing nothing but a pair of black and yellow chaps. Tanner had already noticed the guy on the dance floor. Without giving it much thought, he dropped to his knees in front of the Adonis. And sucked the first cock of his life. But no one, not Adonis, not Tanner would have thought that. It was as if it was routine on a club night.

Tanner had swallowed every drop. He wiped the rest from the corner of his mouth and made his way back to the dance floor. Maybe with a detour past the bar. There was a guy sitting at the bar who made Tanner want to get down on his knees again. The guy's bulge in his latex pants looked almost painful. The guy almost grabbed his crotch, kneaded the bulge and asked, “So, Tanner? Do you like sucking cock, you pervy pig?” Tanner winced. He knew that voice. That was… Chad!

Chad grinned, took a swig of beer and unzipped his pants. A monster jumped out of his prison like a jack-in-the-box. Tanner first licked the skin-tight latex-wrapped nipples and then ran his tongue over Chad's washboard abs to the shaved cock. Shit, Tanner was addicted to hot guys' cum. Chad leaned back and enjoyed Tanner's practiced tongue. For a semester, TTTT had taken advantage of him. Always made him feel like a second-class human being. But now? The substance he'd soaked the ribbons with seemed to be working excellently. The dumb college jocks had become techno disciples who followed their DJ gods around the planet from party to party. As guinea pigs for Chad's new employer, they would not become lawyers or investment bankers. But thanks to a lavish expense account, they would be able to lead a very hedonistic lifestyle. And whenever Chad was horny, one of the TTTT would be at his disposal.

Tienn, Tyrus, Tai and Taren were in top form. The party was far from over. They were the stars of the dance floor. Hardly anyone moved to the music like the four of them. When they weren't in the washroom servicing a hot guy they had picked up on the dance floor. One of them always had his eye on Chad. When Chad needed their services, he always had priority. All they were, they were only thanks to Chad.

Pics by @ki-kink

[asnowperson]

I recently got this book, 少女漫画家「家」の履歴書, which has interviews of 12 shoujo manga artists who debuted in the 1970s where they talk about their homes and families. The book's pretty interesting. They were originally published in a Japanese magazine over a span of time, Shuukan Bunshun.

I wanted to share this little bit from Aoike Yasuko's feature (first published on January 16, 2020). It gives a nice insight about the shoujo scene of the time (and what a queen she is).

Sons of Eve, which started its serialization in January 1976 issue of Akita Shoten’s Viva Princess magazine when I was 27 was the turning point for me. My interest in world history, familiarity with Christian culture, glam rock, ballet, movies, literature, humor… I poured all the things I loved, I was knowledgeable about and the curiosity which I had kept bottled up inside of me to The Van Roses, the band of homosexuals, and let it all out into the wild. Before becoming a freelancer*, things have been really harsh for me. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t draw the kind of manga the editors and the readers wanted to see for the life of me. If I hadn’t start freelancing, it would have been the end of me. But Sons of Eve even made me ask to myself: “Is it okay to put all this stuff into a shoujo manga?” The response of my editor at Akita Shoten was “More. MORE!” That really encouraged me (laughs). *She used to have an exclusivity contract with Kodansha, which stipulated that she only drew for their magazines.” I did From Eroica with Love with the same editor. The first chapter was released in the winter (December) issue of Princess in 1976, then it got a regular serialization. I adopted ideas from what was happening in the real world, and started drawing how fate brought a British master thief (Earl) and a German who works at the intelligence bureau of NATO (Major) together. The shoujo manga tradition at the time was to set the story in a foreign country, which young girls admired so much. At the beginning, From Eroica with Love was one of those stories too. Which is why the Earl who got introduced in the first chapter has the image of a stereotypical shoujo manga character, with flowers in the background. However, Major who got introduced in the second chapter is someone who is miles away from what comes to mind when you think of shoujo manga. Drawing a straight-laced character like Major who says what he’s thinking with no filter whatsoever was extremely fun. With how international affairs escalated, I got a very positive response which allowed me to draw what like even more freely.

[yourstrulyrani]

reader x ghost except reader is middle eastern and kinda self conscious of how her arms are lowkey as hairy as his and thinks shes “less feminine” for it (im projecting)

simon riley x sergeant/woc!reader summary: you hate your arm hair amongst other things, but simon couldn't care less. & a little banter about colonizing w/ simon bc he's a british babe LMAO a/n: OMG YES PLEASE I'M PAKISTANI AND I HAVE ARM HAIR SO THIS SPOKE TO ME OMGGGG YESSSSSSSS PLEASEEEE i love your mind. i had so much fun writing this btw.

If Simon Riley was given the chance to describe you, "unfeminine" wouldn't be on the list. You thought otherwise, however.

"I mean look at this, LT. I have as much arm hair as you at this point." You huffed in frustration. You were in the fitness center on the treadmill, trousers and short-sleeved shirt showcasing your arms. You knew you had hair. You didn't have to use eyebrow pencil because your eyebrows were already thick enough. You didn't have to use mascara all the time because your eyelashes were long enough. You barely even used any hair products because thank goodness the hair on your head was healthy enough.

You loved your hair until it came down to your arms. You extend your arms out in front of you, showing your lieutenant the hair growth on them. He was on the treadmill beside you running. While you huffed in frustration at your physical appearance, he was huffing because of physical exertion.

He slows down the speed to a brisk walk before talking to you. "It's just hair, you know." He shrugs his shoulders, "Normal."

You squint at the tall man in annoyance. Why is he so nonchalant about this? "Easy for you to say." You bite back. "As a woman I shouldn't have this much hair on my arms. It's weird and not even feminine."

"Said who?" He tilts his head. If he had the courage. (which he still has yet to build up even after working with you for several years) he would take you by the arms, pin them over your head, and make out with every inch of your body until he gets in between your legs. Hopefully then, you would feel like a woman. tell you how beautiful you were. That you were, to him, the epitome of being a woman. You were strong-willed yet kind, fierce yet ethical, and had a job that most men would rather scurry away from than ever think of pursuing.

"Said the models on social media." You let out a breathless exhale. "Said the girls on Youtube who give you 'tips and tricks' on how to get a guy."

"The only thing that isn't feminine are the women telling you that you aren't feminine because of some hair, Sarge. Hair is hair. Never hurt anyone." You give him a glance. Most men wouldn't say that. They'd tell you to shave or wax it off. But not Ghost, you can see the truth in his eyes. He truly doesn't mind.

He continues on, "Also, it's normal because of your genetics. People in the Middle East, Asia, and generally warmer areas are genetically designed to have more body hair because it provides thermal protection. Your ancestors had it so it was just something that has passed on." Ghost continued on his reassurance that your hair was perfectly normal.

You never thought about it that way. You never saw it in that light, that it was simply for your protection. You then thought about the other things you thought were weird, like your nose. You knew that a nose job wouldn't hurt, but some of your ancestors had this same nose.

What would you gain if you altered a piece of their history that you literally, physically, had on you? You wouldn't be any better than the colonizers who stole from them.

You decided to banter, "That's rich coming from a Brit you know. The only reason so many countries have an independence day is because of Britain."

Ghost lets out a throaty chuckle, "I'll take care of the reparations then, Sarge." Ghost takes a look at your arms. Something human and feminine. "I meant what I said though, about the whole arm hair thing. Hair is normal. Don't be ashamed of something you have because someone told you otherwise." He paused, taking a look at your sweat-glistened body. "You're perfect the way you were made." The sentence came out in a mutter, fearing that it was too intimate for a man like him. He hoped you didn't hear it either, which was a success.

You gave Simon a warm smile, "I know you mean it, LT."

"Simon works too you know," he offers you his name.

"I know you mean it, Simon." His name escaped your lips in a pant because of your current cardio session on the treadmill and immediately Simon felt his shorts grow tighter in the middle. He tried to sneakily adjust himself by tugging at the ends of them, his body lowering and knees pointing outwards for a moment to adjust.

If Simon Riley was given the chance to describe you, "unfeminine" wouldn't be on the list. There would be feminine. Amongst dangerous, sweet, desirable, lovable, cherished, and so close to ruin yet so far to even have.

Sometimes as a white guy, specifically British guy, Simon would never think of pursuing a woman like you. Not in the sense that you were unworthy, but that you needed a man who was worthy of you. Your culture was rich and he was one of many witnesses of it. He saw the flag on the right shoulder of your uniform that wasn't the American or the Union Flag. He saw the way your lips would curl to speak your language that wasn't English. He saw you in the kitchen on base in the middle of the night cooking alongside little steel tins of various spices. He heard the way your accent coated your tongue when you spoke English. You were a woman to be respected. A woman of so much history. A woman whose ancestors fought his own people in resilience. Simon, because of this, saw himself to be a man with such little potential.

The professionalism between a sergeant and their lieutenant was a dynamic Simon never thought about sabotaging until you became that special sergeant.

(i need me a british man so he can pay his reparations by going down on me and licking my cl— OMG WHO SAID THAT)

[i9messi]

Silly smiles — Lando Norris

Lando loses his senses every time you are interviewing him, and keeping it professional is hard for him.

Word count — 412

a/n: a shortie one for all my lando girls

lando's masterlist

The race was over and your boyfriend Lando got P2 at the British Grand Prix. You were so happy for him. You knew how hard he worked and he had finally been lucky enough to lead the race. It was a very good result and you waited to be alone with him so you would congratulate him as he deserved. However, it was your time to work and you had to keep things professional.

Lando stopped in front of you, smiling as never before and you could see the happiness that overflowed after his victory. He had won in his country and that brought him twice as much happiness. And it cost you everything not to give him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. You just wanted to be there for him and tell him you were proud.

"Hi."

"Hi, Lando. Congratulations on today’s result. What a start. How did it feel to be leading the British Grand Prix?"

"Wow, insane. It was insane to lead. I'm very happy with the result." Lando did not stop smiling.

"How was your heart after that?" you joked.

Lando, however, wasn't thinking straight. He forgot everything, except that he had a good race and you were his girlfriend.

"It was beating as frantic as every time I see you."

You swallowed saliva and looked at it with a little seriousness, but at the same time, you were pleased. The thing was, he promised to keep it professional. As much as your relationship was no secret and you used to post photos together, at the time you worked you tried to keep your paths separate. Still, between the happiness that your boyfriend had of ending the race in a good position, and seeing you there, it was hard for him to not to lose his senses.

"Okay, Lando. So, my next question is..."

Lando was able to answer some questions, but he got easily distracted and you had to repeat your questions again. It was common for him to be easily distracted when you were the one asking him questions.

"Sorry— what? Can you repeat the question, love?"

Lando realized what he had said and laughed. "Sorry, I didn’t mean to call you love here."

"It’s fine."

"So I can call you love whenever I want? Even in front of the cameras?"

"Lando!"

"I’m joking, sorry. You make me lose my senses every time you’re here."

Well, Lando wasn’t good at keeping things professional.

[themousefromfantasyland]

Why are people not talking about this:

In the Little Mermaid 2023 remake, they changed the setting of the story.

Despite what many believe, the original 1989 animated movie wasn't set in Denmark. Judging by the architecture of Prince Eric's castle, the animals present during Kiss the Girl, and the landscape of the land itself, the movie is set in the European Mediterranean. Disney all but confirmed this in latter years. There were actual theories about Eric's kingdom being in Italy.

In the remake, Eric's kingdom is an island heavily implied to be on the Caribbean sea.

Eric is adopted and his mother, the Queen is super alive in this, and she is black. Grimsby here is portrayed by a Pakistani-British actor, making him ambiguously brown. Carlotta was replaced by a character named Lashana, and she is portrayed by a Trinidadian actress.

The island population is super diverse, with black and brown people everywhere.

They have a tropical climate and the only trees seen are palm trees.

Instead of waltzing when they visit the kingdom, Ariel and Eric dance Caribbean music.

When Eric shows several maps to Ariel, he suspiciously cites the names of a lot of South America countries, like Venezuela and Colombia, implying that the kingdom is closer to these countries than it is to Europe. He even cites my country, Brazil, referred as the Brazilian Empire, which dates the movie from anywhere between 1822 and 1889, when Brazil was indeed an Empire.

@ariel-seagull-wings @princesssarisa @angelixgutz @amalthea9 @thelittlehansy

[illiterateaffairs]

anything can happen | stiles x reader the holiday au

pairing: stiles stilinski x female!reader

word count: 13,365

warnings: language, smooching, parenental death mentioned, the reader being british but just for the sake of the plot,

summary: inspired by the nancy meyers film "the holiday", you swap homes with someone in beacon hills for the christmas season where you get to know your neighbor the sheriff, and his very cute son.

author's note: happy new year my friends!! this is my little gift for everyone, an idea i've wanted to do in some way for so many years based on the what i think is the best holiday film ever made. as mentioned, the reader is british for the plot because iykyk. this is also a "companion" fic with a jamie x reader story i'm working on thats the reverse. so you don't have to read that if you're just more of a stiles fan BUT it is meant to overlap slightly like the movie. so the reader may or may not know the richmond greyhounds ;) PLS LIKE REBLOG AND COMMENT YOUR THOUGHTS <3

₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ low point ₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

You weren’t one for spontaneity or going outside your comfort zone.

No. You stuck to what you knew. 

The same town. The same job. The same wardrobe. 

The same guy.

That one was your biggest problem. Despite nearly a decade of back and forth with the boy you’ve loved since high school, and the fact he cheated on you not once, but twice, you couldn’t shake him.

Hell, you even stayed friends with him for some reason you chalked up to nostalgia and for old time’s sake. 

All that did was just lead you into a false sense of security and worse…hope. 

Hope that was once again dashed merely a week before Christmas when you found out he was engaged - to the second girl he cheated on you with less than two years ago. 

You were letting yourself wallow in self pity for the weekend when you got a message on the home exchange website you put your modern Richmond townhome up on after a tipsy dare from your friend (sometimes with benefits when you were at your lowest). It was a woman inquiring if your home would be available for the next 2 weeks over the holidays. 

You glanced around. Your job in journalism allowed you to work from anywhere. You were on your own since you lost your father in college. You definitely had no romantic prospects keeping you here. So, what the hell?

After taking one large sip of Vino, you were agreeing to the exchange without even comprehending where you would be going. 

Lucky for you, when you came to, you were delighted at the prospect of spending the holidays in California, USA. And also terrified at being on your own in a foreign country for the first time in your lonely, sheltered, horrible life. Well…when in Rome, or…Beacon Hills?

₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ not the leading lady ₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

Less than two days later, given the nearly 12 hour flight to San Francisco, you were arriving in California dressed far too warm for December on the American West Coast. Donned in your wool coat and scarf, the Uber driver chuckled at you as you slid in the the back of his car, but you didn’t take it offensively. She even went ahead and lowered the windows for you so you could take in the California air and sights as she drove you out of the city into the quaint and admittedly mysterious town of Beacon Hills. 

Upon your research the night before leaving, Beacon Hills wasn’t known for being the safest town in California. A few years back there were an abundance of articles detailing several animal attacks and other…unexplained deaths. Every journalistic bone in her body shivered at the stories that just didn’t add up. But misfortune seemed to thin out in recent years, so you managed to not talk yourself out of the trip in fear. 

What had made you hesitate was when you told every necessary person about your departure. Given the last minute nature of your holiday trip, you left a handful of messages on your friends voicemails letting them know to not expect you at holiday parties or secret santa or Christmas dinner. However you did have to talk to your boss and get explicit permission to work remotely over the next few weeks. And then, despite every bone in your body telling you not to, you called him. Joel. The boy you couldn’t get over now matter how hard you tried. 

When he answered you managed to give him a forced congratulations on his engagement, which he accepted without missing a beat like it was normal for her to be happy for him despite everything he has put her through over the years. And then he suggested they get together soon, which gave her exactly the opportunity she was looking for, letting him know she wouldn’t be around for the holidays. That was the first time he faltered in their conversation, surprised by the out of character move.

You’ve never left this town let alone the country. Even when I suggested a weekend trip to Scotland you refused.

You rolled her eyes when he threw that in your face. Not only was he referencing their past romantic relationship, which he always seemed to do as if it was no big deal. That very weekend you refused to go away with him back in University was the first time he cheated on you. Which you thought about plenty on your own without a reminder, thank you very much.

You hung up not too long after that. And the next thing you knew you were on a flight across the world. And if you took a Xanax to get on the plane, well that was nobody’s business.

Now here you were, on winding back roads through thick green forests before arriving in front of a quaint, cabin-like cottage in a small neighborhood. You smiled to yourself. It was quieter out here than the bustling football town of Richmond. And not too far from the city if you wanted to experience more touristy things. 

You knew there was still a big chance of you having a mental breakdown if you got too lonely and overwhelmed out here, but at least it was peaceful and safe. After exiting the Uber and collecting your things, you immediately clocked the police car that seemed to belong to the town’s sheriff next door and that gave you a shred of reassurance in your latter assumption. 

You take in the inside of the house. It was just as cozy as it looked from the outside. Wood paneling. An actual fireplace. Warm quilts lining every piece of furniture. The woman you exchanged with told you it was formally her aunt’s home that she inherited and had moved into recently, and you admittedly loved the old fashioned tastes. It felt like being in the home of one of your own long since passed relatives. And honestly, that was exactly what you needed right now. 

You find your way to the master bedroom and make yourself at home, unpacking and storing what you can in the empty drawers, before taking stock of the kitchen. Keys to the cream colored volkswagen bug in the driveway were on display on the breakfast bar, along with a handwritten note explaining the locks, security system, and the wifi. Overly awake from your xanax-induced snooze on the plane ride, you decide to take a small adventure. (Once you figure out how to drive on the other side of the road).

With google maps as your co-pilot, you take the bug, apparently named Betty, into town to raid the supermarket and craft store. You needed something aside from binge watching television to keep you busy all on your own the next couple weeks. You buy ingredients for baking as well as supplies for painting - two of your favorite past times. 

But of course, also shopping on an empty stomach leads to less than strategic choices and you wind up with way more groceries than you would certainly need the next couple weeks. 

You’re doing your best to unload said grocery bags from the trunk and backseat of Betty when you hear a hoarse voice coming from the mailbox next door. 

“Looks like someone’s having a party.” 

You turn, too many bags around your wrists, and see a man, probably about 60 years old, regarding you in amusement while going through his mail. 

You chuckle in spite of yourself, “Oh, yeah I’m planning a real rager featuring mostly various flavors of Pringles.” 

His lips quirk up when he picks up on the slight accent, “Guessing you don’t have those wherever you’re from?”

“Not in so many options.”

He takes a few steps closer, “Would you like any help?”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that.” But he’s already at the trunk reaching for some bags.

“It’s no problem I don’t have any plans,” he assures as he follows her up the driveway. “You’re not one of Diane’s nieces too, are you?”

You shake your head, assuming that was the name of said Aunt who used to inhabit this place. “Nah, I’m actually sort of renting it for the holidays.”

He nods, though you suspect he’s probably confused about the arrangement, but he doesn’t press, “I figured with the accent.”

You guide him to set down the bags on the countertop before you both grab the remaining bags and lock up the car.

“Thank you again. Definitely cut that time in half,” You smile at him as you start unpacking the bags in the kitchen, and even though you want to protest the extra help, he begins unbagging as well. 

“No problem at all. I live right next door, so anything you need in the next couple of weeks let me know. A lot of people in this neighborhood keep to themselves but don’t be afraid to holler my way.”

You nod with a smile, sticking your hand out to formally introduce yourself. 

He smiles back as he shakes your hand, “Noah Stilinski.”

“I assume you’re the sheriff?” 

He nods with a huff, “That would be me. But if my son had anything to say about it, I’d be retiring as soon as yesterday.”

You quirk your lips up as you start to put some items in the fridge. “Oh yeah, you seem like you’ve still got a few good years left in you.”

He snorts, and you’re glad he took it as a friendly joke. “That’s what I tell him. He’s become a bit less persistent this last year since I agreed to downsize our house and move next door, but he still makes comments about taking a step back at the station.”

“What does your son do?”

“He’s a detective, working towards joining the FBI.”

You can’t help but laugh, “So, sounds like he has no room to talk.”

“Yeah but then he brings up my age and my health and the stress of it all,” he sighs, shaking his head, “In a way he’s probably right, but I’m not quite ready to give it up yet.”

“I think that's fair,” you smile softly, “Everyone should be in charge of their own destiny. Your son should leave you alone.”

Noah chuckles, “I’m gonna tell him you said that. Do you give your parents a hard time?”

Your smile falters as you focus on the last remaining grocery items. “Not really. Uh, it was just me and my dad most of my life until he passed away a couple years ago.”

He lets out a long breath, “I’m sorry, kid…must be hard during the holidays.”

You shrug, “One of the reasons why I came here.”

“I get it. I lost my wife…well I guess it's been over 15 years now but every Christmas it's still hard. And now with Stiles in DC it's hard to say when he gets time off to visit. Spending it alone makes it worse.”

You nod, “Yeah, every place you go and every TV channel loves to make it their mission to remind you of families and friends that actually get to be together.”

He chuckles dryly, “Right. Well, I don’t want to impose on you too much longer as you get settled in. But like I said, I’m just right next door if you ever need anything.”

I nod and give him an appreciative smile, “Thank you, Noah.”

He gives you a nod and smile of his own before he ducks out of the kitchen and sees himself out the front. 

You take him up on his offer to pop next door almost immediately - though you weren’t going over for help, not consciously at least. 

After organizing the rest of your groceries and putting away your art supplies, you make a quick and easy dinner before focusing on baking the rest of the evening. You start with brownies before making both chocolate chip and snickerdoodle cookies. After taste testing all three, you decide they’re all too delicious to choose from and package half of each batch on a platter under plastic wrap to bring over to the sheriff.

You knew he hadn’t meant to upset you by asking about your parents - it was a common thing to happen to you. But it was weirdly comforting connecting with him on his late wife. It was nice to know you had someone close throughout the holiday season you had anticipated spending completely alone, especially one that seemed to understand you to some degree. 

So you thought he might appreciate some baked goods - even if his son wouldn’t love the idea of you bringing him sweets. But he wasn’t here so he can suck it. 

After knocking on his door, it was opening less than sixty seconds later and Noah greeted you with a surprised smile. 

“Hi,” you say softly, holding out the platter, “I baked you a few things. Cookies, brownies.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” he says, but he grins and is already taking the platter out of your hands.

You shrug, “I was baking anyway. I enjoy doing it, but I definitely don’t need 3 dozen of them to myself.”

He studies the tray for a second before looking back up at you, “Do you want to come in and have some with me?”

Your eyes widen a fraction of a centimeter and you start to shake your head, “You don’t have to-”

“No, I insist,” he side steps into the foyer to make room for you, “I have plenty of milk, and if my son asks, its skim. Definitely not whole milk.”

You laugh softly and despite your earlier protest, you find yourself walking in. 

“Are some of these snickerdoodles?” he asks as he leads you through the house, into his kitchen. At your confirmation, “They’re my son’s favorite.”

From there, he grabs two small plates from the cupboard and selects one of each sweet for each of you, and pours you each a full glass of milk.

“You’re not vegan or lactose intolerant are you?” he asks after pouring.

You shake your head, already accepting the glass, “Nope. And thank God. I couldn’t live without ice cream.”

He chuckles in approval.

From there, the two of you spend the next hour or so chatting about random things. He tells you about the life of being a Beacon Hills Sheriff, and you do your best not to pry about the animal attacks from several years back. Instead, you tell him that you’ve been working in journalism for a paper in London but that one day you hope to write fiction. You also share stories about your father, and he of his wife and son. 

After laughing fondly over a childhood Christmas with your father where he totally meant well but bought you a terrifying off brand Barbie doll, Noah studies you curiously. 

“So, you said your family situation was one of the reasons you decided to spend your holidays abroad and alone but…was there another?” he inquired. 

You should have known the sheriff in the room would figure you out. 

“Uh, yeah,” your finger absentmindedly traces the rim of your now empty glass of milk, “Not to sound super cliche and sad, but it may have also been because of a boy.”

And after that, for some unexplained reason, you confide in this man that could have very well been the same age as your dad at this point over your failed love life. And yes, you divulge both cheating incidents and the fact that you still kept contact with him. 

Noah scoffs as you recount the way he reacted to your spur of the moment vacation plans, “And he still had the nerve to comment on your life choices after getting engaged to the other woman?”

“Yup.”

“What a schmuck.”

Your laughter surprises yourself, having rarely found humor in recounting your situation, “Oh yeah. He’s a total schmuck.”

He nods, “Don’t get me wrong, he’s definitely the one at fault and if he ever dared to step foot on American soil I’d have a warrant out for his arrest in an instant. But what I don’t understand is why you still give him even a shred of your time and energy.”

You sigh. That was the age-old question. 

Even you didn’t know how to answer that most of the time. But as you sat here and really thought about it, it was more than just an ounce of hope that maybe one day he’d change his mind. 

“I guess…he’s just comfortable. Familiar. You know…we grew up together and he was my first love…even if he was also my first heartbreak, I know him. My dad knew him. And even when he does things like cheat on me or get engaged, part of me still feels like one day we’ll get our happy ending because that's what's supposed to happen. I was supposed to be a journalist like my mom was and I’m supposed to stay in the town they met and with the boy I’ve always loved. I know it probably doesn’t make sense but-”

Noah shrugs, “I mean it sounds like the plot of a romantic comedy.”

That catches you off guard. “Um…yeah…”

Noah snorts at your confusion, “I’ve been watching a lot of movies since my son left for college, and that was six or seven years ago so I had to start watching something that wasn’t war or action movies. Admittedly most rom-coms aren’t that bad.”

You smile, “No, yeah, they’re pretty good.”

“Amazing even. I mean, When Harry Met Sally?”

“Oh, perfection.”

“And don’t get me started on 13 Going on 30.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

“Anyway, the vision you're describing is like some fairytale ending from one of those movies.”

“Yeah,” you nod, sinking back into your chair with your arms crossed.

“And you deserve that ending.”

“Oh, thank you-”

“But you’re acting more like the friend that always settles for the bad guy,”

“Oh-”

“Like Kathryn Hahn in How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days.”

“Jesus, you really do know your rom-coms.”

“Nobody roots for the leading lady to get with the guy that's always treating her like shit.”

“Thats…fair,” you chew your lip, “But what if I’ve never been the leading lady. I never make bold and interesting main character-esque choices.”

“Well…” he smiles warmly. “You came here didn’t you?”

You squeeze the arms on your chest tighter, “Yeah…”

“Sounds like a leading lady's decision to me.”

You find yourself starting to smile again.

“Like Meg Ryan or Kate Hudson.”

“Okay well now I’m dying to know just how many rom-coms you’ve seen.”

₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ don't blow away ₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

After readjusting your sleeping schedule and making a conscious choice to stop thinking about Joel and his engagement for the remainder of your trip, you feel a lot lighter and a lot more confident in your decision to get away for the holidays. 

You spend your mornings and afternoons cooking or baking, as well as painting while you get yourself invested in a handful of miniseries you’ve been meaning to binge over the years that you never got around to. And pending his schedule at the station, you find yourself cooking lunch or dinner for Sheriff Stilinski. You indulge him in meals he told you he’s liked, all the well attempting to turn down your offer to do so, but you also make conscious choices to sub in low-cal ingredients when you can, knowing his son probably wouldn’t appreciate you over-feeding his father, even if he wouldn’t be here to witness it. 

When you’re there for dinner, Noah has even convinced you to hang out for a movie. Always a rom-com. The first time, you suggest a modern movie he hadn’t seen yet (Set It Up), and the second night, he shockingly suggests one you’d never seen (While You Were Sleeping). Apparently he was obsessed with Sandra Bullock, and he was right to be. The movie, also starring a young and gorgeous Bill Pullman was in fact a banger. His words.

After getting to know each other that first night over dessert, he had given you his phone number for ease of communication during your stay. And by the second rom-com movie night, he’d given you his extra house key for emergencies. You knew he was being nice and fatherly - you could always sense sympathy for your situation even when he did his best to hide it, which you appreciated. But you also suspected he liked the company and the caretaking you offered, even if he wouldn’t admit it. No one liked to be alone during the holidays, no matter how often they said they were okay with it. 

Having noticed the clutter in his study the previous night, you decide to let yourself in the following afternoon while he’s at the station. Maybe it was an invasion of privacy, but you hoped he’d take it as a gesture that you wanted to help out and tidy up the place. You knew how hard it was to take care of simple things like straightening up around the house when you were dealing with lonely holidays or seasonal depression. And to be frank, you liked taking care of someone. So that’s why after straightening up the study, you also organized the medicine cabinet in the bathroom as well as refrigerator. And while you were in the kitchen, you figured you could meal prep some lunches to take to the office. 

Even though it was California, it was still soup season in your heart so you decided to make a batch of baked potato soup - minus bacon, you’re welcome Stiles - and put on music to make the time go by.

That must be why you didn’t hear the sound of the front door open. Or the call of an unfamiliar voice looking for his father. 

It wasn’t until the owner of the voice was almost right behind you, scaring the living daylights out of you. 

“Who the hell are you?”

You jump, the ladle in your hand flying up causing hot soup to splash on your skin, “Ah, shit!”

As you quickly wipe the warm liquid off your skin with a towel, you glance over and recognize the brown-eyed brunette man from the pictures around the house as Noah’s son. 

“Oh, my God, you scared me.”

“Uh, yeah. You scared me, too. Who are you and where is my dad?” he asks, looking you up and down suspiciously, but also mildly concerned for the potential of third degree burns on your skin. 

“Oh, sorry.” You laugh softly, putting the towel down on the counter and going back to stirring the soup intermittently. “Your dad probably didn’t tell you about me - but to be fair he didn’t tell me you’d be here so...”

“Um,” Stiles frowns, putting his hands on his hips, “Should my dad have told me about you?”

You laugh softly to yourself, “I mean we’ve only been spending time together a few days so not-”

“Aren’t you a little young to be dating my dad?”

You nearly choke on your own breath at the accusation, “I’m sorry? What gave you the impression I’m dating your dad?”

Stiles sputters, his face flushing a bit. “I mean, I didn’t- you..but he-” Stiles shakes his head and points a finger at you, “Hey, I’m not the one under interrogation here. You’re still the one trespassing in my house!”

You laugh in disbelief at the entire situation, rubbing your face, “Okay, now Mr. Prospective FBI Agent is interrogating me.”

Stiles narrows his eyes, “Okay, who are you?”

“I’m your neighbor,” You let out a deep breath, telling him your name finally, “At least for the next week or so. I’m staying next door for the holidays.”

“Oh,” Stiles juts his bottom lip out, taking in the information while staring at seemingly nothing.

“And because I’m alone and he was alone for the time being, we’ve just been keeping each other company. And I’ve been trying to help him out with stuff around the house while he’s working. You know, home cooked meals are always nice this time of year.”

“Oh,” Stiles voice and expression softens this time, as he looks back at you stirring the soup. 

You glance over at him, taking him in completely for the first time since he walked into the kitchen. He was just in sweats and a hoodie, but it looked…exceptionally good on him. 

“Well, I’m sorry for getting so…defensive. Seeing a stranger making soup in your kitchen is sort of alarming, especially with all the shit that's happened in this town.”

He says that last part off hand, as if not thinking about it. You just raise an eyebrow, a part of you secretly curious if it has to do with the past mysterious attacks and disappearances. 

Stiles must realize what he said and that it sounded ominous, so he plastered an awkward smile on his face, “I just mean…my dads the sheriff, and now I’m a detective in DC so…always on edge about something, you know?”

You nod, accepting his answer. “Well, I’m sorry for scaring you, truly. Like I said, I knew your dad wouldn’t be home for another couple hours and he had said you likely weren’t making it for the holidays this year.”

Stiles' lips quirk up, “Yeah, I managed to get the time off and I wanted to surprise him.” 

You find yourself smiling at him, too. “I’m sure he’ll be very excited.”

Stiles' grin grows for reasons unbeknownst to him, so he quickly finds a reason to keep talking. “So, uh…soup?”

“Oh, uh, yeah! Wanted something easy your dad could bring to work for a few days.”

“What kind?”

“Baked potato.”

“A nice choice.”

“Yeah,” you shrug one shoulder, “I’ve recently been favoring lasagna soup since it's everywhere on TikTok, but I thought that might be a little too intense. Not that baked potato is any healthier, but I’m forgoing the bacon and I figured if I tried to force feed your dad chicken noodle he’d put me behind bars.”

Stiles snorts, finding himself smiling again at your understanding of his dad and that he must have spoken about his concerns for him…as well as your thoughtfulness. “Yeah, well, thanks for that. I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.” 

You smile and hold his gaze too long again. But instead of pulling yourself out of it, a hot splattering of potato soup catches you off guard, with one drop landing right in your eye. “Shit.” You curse under your breath, rubbing your eye.

“Jesus,” Stiles mutters, heading for the paper towels, “Let the record show that time it wasn’t my fault.”

You chuckle despite the irritation in your eye, “No, it was mine. Probably had the burner on too high.” You reach out to turn it off, “It’s probably done anyhow at this point.”

Just as you turn to find something to wipe your eye, Stiles is turning away from the sink with a damp paper towel and stepping closer to you. 

“Here let me see,” he whispers. You obey instantly, moving your hand away so he can see your eye and gently dab the paper towel against it, “Yeah, a little red but you should be fine.”

You watch him study you intently, and carefully wipe at your face. As soon as his eyes drift from your eyes to your lips he clears his throat and steps back, placing the paper towel in your hand, “Or, uh, I guess you could do that.”

You can’t help but chuckle at his awkwardness. Despite knowing him for all of five minutes, he feels familiar and very in character to what his dad had told you about him. “Thanks.” You say softly, dabbing your own eye. “Well, I just wanted to prep this for your dad. I can get it into some tupperware and be on my way. I’m sure you just want to rest and wait for your dad to get here.”

“You’re not gonna eat any of it?” he asks without thinking as you find two tall tupperware cups to fill up.

You shake your head, starting to ladle the soup into one. “Nah, I already ate lunch.” You glance up at him as he watches the soup pour into the plastic tub. “But if you want some…?”

Stiles shakes his head quickly, “No, you made that for my dad, I wouldn’t want to-”

“Psh, it's fine. I can always make more if it's such a hit. And it's your house, help yourself.”

You can tell Stiles thinks about protesting for about three seconds, before he gives in and goes for a bowl from the cupboards. You laugh softly to yourself as he pours himself a portion and then you proceed to put the rest away in the fridge for whoever wants it later. 

“You don’t have to go, you know.” Stiles murmurs, his mouth already full as he takes a seat at the kitchen table, before you even have a chance to announce your departure. 

You also briefly think about protesting, but you can’t deny the part of you that wants to stay. And not because you think he’s cute. No, that would be inappropriate. But it would be nice to talk to someone your own age.

You help yourself to a glass of water and join Stiles at the table who is already done with half of his soup. 

“So, you said you live next door?” 

“Sort of,” you decide he’d understand the situation better than his father, “About a year ago I drunkenly listed my home in London on this home exchange website. Where you and whoever in the world trade houses, cars, et cetera for however long…”

Stiles nods, “I’ve heard of that.”

“And a few nights ago, I got my first ever request. So I’m here for about two weeks while your dad’s actual neighbor is in Richmond.”

“Why would anyone want to do that alone this time of year?” He murmurs.

“Well, I think she made an impulsive decision to get out of the country. She seemed very impatient over our messages.”

“And what about you?” 

You study him. He seemed genuinely interested. But you also made that promise not to bring up Joel- he who shall not be named. 

So instead, you shrug, and lean back in your chair. “I don’t really have any family. And a holiday get away sounded new and intriguing. So I thought, why not?”

Stiles instantly understands and gives you a sympathetic but not at all pitying smile. “I’m sorry. About your family.”

You nod, “Thank you.”

“I don’t know if my dad mentioned but-”

You nod again with your own comforting smile, “I know. I get it.”

Stiles nods too. It feels good to be understood. 

Knowing neither of you want to linger in these feelings though, you change the subject with a deep breath. 

“So your dad mentioned you have a girlfriend.” A pretty one too, from the pictures you’ve seen of him and the redhead on the mantle, “Did she travel here with you?”

Stiles sits up straighter and smiles softly, “Lydia. Yeah. Well, no. She actually lives in Massachusetts. She went to MIT so we’ve been long distance since college. But she grew up here, too, she just couldn’t get away from her job long enough for the trip this year.”

You hum, “High school sweethearts?”

Stiles snorts, scraping the last remnants of soup before giving it up and bringing it to his lips to sip. “Yeah, is that dumb?”

You shake your head quickly, “No not all. That’s…romantic. I’m sure a lot of people long for a relationship that clicks so early. You’re lucky.”

Stiles licks his lips and stares at his now empty bowl. “Yeah. That’s us.” 

After a few beats of silence, you glance between him and the bowl. “Do you want me to take that for you?”

Stiles looks up at you quickly, before shuffling to his feet, “Uh, no! No, you've done enough. I mean- sorry, that sounded dismissive. I just meant-”

You cut him off with your laugh, “I know what you meant Stiles.” You follow his lead and stand. “I think I’m gonna head back next door.”

“You don’t have-”

“I know I don’t have to. I want to. You should rest from your trip and have some time with your dad when he gets home.”

“I don’t mind that you’re here,” he states earnestly. “I know he wouldn’t mind either.”

You give him a warm smile, “I know. I’m sure I’ll find my way back over soon.”

“Yeah, that’d be nice.” He says before overthinking how that could be taken again, “I just meant, it's always been just me and my dad for the holidays. That is, when I make it home. It's nice having more company.” 

You nod, “I agree. I’ll see you soon, Stiles.” 

You turn before he can sense the eagerness you feel to do so.

₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ square peg round hole ₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

You do see Stiles, quite often in fact. Over the next few days leading up to Christmas, you continue visiting the Stilinski household, making meals and watching movies. But when you do, Stiles offers what he can do to help in the kitchen, which is more often than not cleaning up after you're done with certain items. But you do manage to teach him a few things. 

The first movie night, you and your dad double team him and convince him to watch Miss Congeniality with them. Apparently something Noah’s been trying to get him to watch the last few years. A comment which he makes, after murmuring something about Stiles giving in so quickly this time to which Stiles protests without making eye contact with either of you. You try not to read into it. 

When his dad’s busy being sheriff, Stiles also pops over and hangs out with you. Even if you’re just working on a writing assignment he keeps you company. He also assists you in baking when you tell him you want to bring some goods to the local shelter. After trying some of your both equally tasty and adorable gingerbread cookies, he insists on helping you make another batch to bring to his friend Scott’s house. 

You off hand make a comment about dying to meet his friend Scott, after his dad’s repeated stories that co-star the two of them. And Stiles finds it pertinent that you know that Scott has a girlfriend. Which is great for him, but you’re not sure why Stiles needed you to be aware of it. Again, you try not to read into it. 

Maybe it's not exactly the perfect, rom-com scenario since Stiles lived a world away and had a girlfriend himself, but you enjoyed spending time with him and the way he made you feel while you did. It was just a hopeful reminder you had the ability to feel this way about someone other than you-know-who.

Which speaking of. 

It was as if Joel had a censor for when you were spending time with another guy. For the past few days, he’d been texting you or calling you throughout the day. The calls you did your best to ignore, and you placated his texts that were “just checking in” or “this meme reminded me of you” with half hearted responses. You were too nice to cut him off cold turkey, but every day you had half a mind to block his number. 

You can tell Stiles wants to ask who you’re ignoring when you hit the decline call button for the third time in his vicinity, but he respects your privacy. Even though every time your phone lights up, you can tell he’s dying to say something. 

With all the time you’ve been spending with the Stilinskis, they invite you to spend Christmas day with them. And at that point you didn’t even bother to protest. You’re looking forward to eating Christmas ham with them (which Noah had to fight for) and end the night watching Love Actually. And the two of them assure you they’ll have enough father-son time on Christmas Eve. 

Which gives you the perfect time to do the lastest-last minute Christmas shopping for them on that very Eve.

You’re at the Beacon Hills mall and by the grace of God, you find a white cable knit sweater in a department store reminiscent of Billy Crystal’s in When Harry Met Sally you Noah would love and laugh over. 

You found it harder to shop for Stiles. You think it's just because you’ve known him for a few days less, but really you felt more pressured to impress him. You couldn’t imagine why. 

Speak of the devil. 

Just as you were hopelessly pursuing a rack of flannels you’re sure he already had, the man himself was calling you. 

“Hey-”

“Oh, my God you have to help me.”

Your heart rate picks up at his panicked tone, “What’s wrong? Is everything okay? Is your dad-?”

“Oh, yes, yes, yes. He’s fine, I promise. He just got called into work.”

“Oh.” You let out a relieved breath but still frown, “On Christmas Eve? That sucks.”

“I know. Especially for me.”

“And why is that?”

“Well, being the amazing son I am, I told him I’d have dinner ready for him when he got home.”

“That’s nice.”

“But I have no idea what to make him.”

“Ah.”

“That’s where you come in.” 

“I figured.”

“I thought I could literally just make pasta, but believe it or not we’re out. And now I’m at the grocery store and everything is like sold out.”

“Well you are shopping on Christmas Eve.”

“I didn’t see your car next door. What are you doing?”

“...Shopping.”

“Nice.”

“Would you be up for taking a trip to the city? I’m sure they’ve got at least one supermarket that hasn’t been picked over. I can meet you there and help you throw something together.”

“Really? I don’t want you to go out of your way.”

“As previously mentioned, I’m already out. It's not a problem.”

“Okay…if you’re sure.”

“I am one hundred percent sure.”

And that’s how you end up participating in a supermarket scavenger hunt in San Francisco for the afternoon. You split up at the first two grocery stores, and with your head start you have an epiphany that your Christmas gift to Stiles could be snickerdoodles, as his dad said those were his favorite. So you grab some extra ingredients before heading to a very barren pasta aisle. Damn what was everyone in California making?

You meet Stiles, after he had similar luck, at a third grocery store. This time you get lucky and find a box of fettuccine which had been your goal.

“Okay so you’re envisioning alfredo? Nice. I can grab a jar-”

“No, no, no.” You literally force stop him in his tracks, “Everyone knows premade alfredo sauce is never good.”

“Yeah, I agree with you. But you expect me to make it from scratch?”

“I can help you.”

“I don’t want to keep putting you out on Christmas Eve.”

“Stiles, it's literally fine. Who else am I gonna hang out with?” You say with a smirk so he knows you’re teasing.

He still feels a pit in his stomach as he follows you to the refrigerated section where your sights are set on heavy cream and cheese. 

“I guess I’ve just been curious…you didn’t have any friends to spend the holidays with?”

You shrug nonchalantly, “I have great friends. But honestly, a lot of them have families or significant others and it's not always fun being around that this time of year.”

Stiles nods, “Yeah, I get that. I hate when I get stuck in DC by myself and I get a pity invite to something from one of my friends.”

“Yeah, it's nice but it's also tortuous.”

“Exactly,” He chuckles softly, but still feels something nagging at him, “I’m just surprised that you’re single…”

Your stomach churns uncomfortably but you don’t let it show, as you lead him determinedly to pick up an extra pack of butter. “Guess I haven’t found ‘the one’ yet.”

Stiles once again scoffs and mutters to himself, “How does one even know when they’ve found that.” 

You try not to read into that and focus on making sure you get unsalted butter over salted, “I guess I’ll let you know when I find him.” Satisfied with your selection, you turn to him and stand up straight. “Do you guys have garlic powder?”

Stiles scrunches his face to think briefly and then shrugs, “No clue.”

You chuckle softly, turning to lead him toward the spice aisle, “Follow me.”

Wordlessly he trails behind you, and you’re thankful he’s dropped the topic of romance. For your sake and his, he’s the last person you should be talking to about relationships and dating when, fine, you’ll admit it, you’ve developed a very tiny and innocent crush on him. It was harmless but should he even get a single hint you had any sliver of feelings for him while he had a very long-term and serious girlfriend, then you’d lose his friendship. And worse. Your friendship with his dad. And you didn’t want to lose either. 

“Can you explain to me the difference between garlic salt and garlic powder?” he asks inquisitively as you pick up the former. 

You give him an amused look, “Uhhh, just general vibes I guess?”

Stiles nods and glances back at the array of spices, “And can you explain to me why nutmeg isn’t a nut?”

“Well, I’m not-”

“Or what the hell cardamom even is?” He asks with an incredulous look on his face as he takes a step back and takes in the whole aisle. “But seriously I’ve never heard of half of these spices.”

“Well that's because you don’t cook or bake.” You scoff.

“Hey, I thought I’ve been an excellent sous chef. Your words, not mine.” he crosses his arms, giving you a faux offended look.

“Yeah, thanks to my guidance.” You shrug, crossing your own arms.

“Okay then explain cumin to me.” He takes a step closer. 

“Hey, I don’t question the ingredients, I just use them.” You hold your hands up in surrender. 

Stiles scoffs, “Sounds like negligence in the kitchen to me.”

“Oh, what are you going to do, officer, suspend me from my post? In your hour of need?” You tease back, taking a challenging step closer. 

A smirk starts to creep up on Stiles face, liking you in this close proximity to him. “Well, I think…”

Just as he’s forming a witty retort, his eyes drift just past your head to further down the aisle where a familiar strawberry blonde is standing. He almost calls out to her…until he processes the fact that she is not alone. Technically he isn’t either. But Lydia’s hand is intertwined with her counterpart, and said man is leaning down to kiss her. Right there in the spice aisle. 

You squint at Stiles curiously just as the color drains from his face. You anxiously turn around in the direction he’s staring at and you instantly understand his expression. In fact, your heart breaks for him. You turn back to him quickly, his name escaping your lips in a quiet whisper. But before you can find any other words to console him, he’s side stepping around you and approaching his should-be girlfriend. You can barely stomach watching the scene unfold. In fact, you last the fraction of a second it takes for Lydia to realize she’d been caught red-haired and handed before you turn right around to give them privacy and vacate the aisle altogether. 

You make yourself busy by checking out the items you’ve gathered and waiting in the parking lot where the bug is parked next to his blue jeep. Lydia and her companion exit the store first, and you avert your eyes as if she’d know who you were at all. Then two minutes later, Stiles exits and walks slowly over to you. 

You’re once again at loss for words as he pulls his keys from his pocket and fumbles with them for a second. 

“Can we talk at the house?” he mutters softly, his wounded eyes flashing to yours briefly before turning back to his keys.

You nod, hoping the drive back to Beacon Hills would help relax him as much as was even possible. You don’t say a word. You just squeeze his arm before getting into your own car to follow him out of the parking lot. 

After a half hour, you’re both pulling into your respective driveways before you jog over to his front door. He waits on the porch for you before leading you both into the house you’ve become oh so comfortable in. 

The air feels different though, a sense of tension looming. You take it upon yourself to unpack the groceries, getting the necessary items in the fridge while he flops on the couch with a loud breath you can hear from the kitchen. You also take it upon yourself to pour some alcohol. You decide on one glass of wine and one glass of whiskey. When you sit beside Stiles on the couch, he chooses the whiskey. And then you wait for him to talk. 

“Is it bad that I’m not…surprised?” Is what he finally says.

You turn to him with narrowed eyes, “What?”

He groans and rubs his temple, “I just mean…I’ve had this feeling in my gut for a long time that the other shoe was going to drop for us at some point.”

“Why would you think that? I thought you two were…inseparable?” 

He nods, “We were. When we…got together in high school…it's a long story but we went through a lot together that sort of…bonded us. And I’d had a crush on her since elementary school, long before she even knew I existed. So when we finally got together, I just thought, wow I can’t believe this is finally happening. Can’t believe a girl like her would even want to be with a guy like me. But even that first summer after high school it felt…forced? Like we were just together because it made sense that we were? And then the distance thing…it was hard but it also…wasn’t? Like I didn’t…miss her as much as I thought I would. Or at least…I didn’t long for her the way you’re supposed to. Like…aren’t you supposed to ache when you’re away from the person you love?”

He turns to you after that, and it catches her off guard, as you’d been studying his face as he tried to explain his complicated feelings. 

Your voice is hoarse when you finally swallow and respond, “Yeah, I suppose…I mean, I guess I’ve never felt that either.”

Stiles nods slightly and studies her this time, “I guess what I’m trying to say is it felt like we were going through the motions for a while now and it was just a matter of time before one of us said it out loud.”

You frown, “But Stiles…even if it wasn’t working out or if she was unhappy, she shouldn’t have cheated on you. Or lied to you.”

Stiles closes his eyes and groans, “That's what pisses me off. All the times we’ve texted this week, which admittedly wasn’t much, she kept talking about the weather in fucking Massachusettes, when she’s been in San Francisco the whole time. Hell, I sent her Christmas present there last week!”

You close your own eyes at this. You had never been more sure someone deserves something less than the way Stiles deserved this. On Christmas Eve nonetheless.

He lets out another long breath and shakes his head, “But honestly it's still my fault.”

You make a face, “How in the world is it your fault?”

“For letting it get this far,” He shrugs, “I’ve known for years that our relationship was…off. And I never said anything. Or at the very least tried to do something to make it better. She probably felt me pulling away and jumped at the chance with someone else that actually gave her something. I think I just…held onto the idea of us. Or the idea I had of us when I was a teenager, pining over the popular girl in school. Like a part of me thought it had to work out and that whatever emptiness I felt was just how relationships were supposed to be because…what I always thought I wanted was her. And I had it.”

After a few beats of silence, Stiles glances at you again, “Did any part of that make any sense to you?”

You swallow thickly again and nod, “Yeah. I know exactly what you mean. I felt the same way about my high school boyfriend, too.”

His eyebrows raise, shocked to be getting a nugget of information regarding your romantic life. 

You take a deep breath and turn away from him, figuring it would be easier to say this way. 

“I’ve stuck by him longer than I should have too, because I always figured we’d end up together. Except…I’ve made the stupid decision to stick by him after he cheated on me. Twice.” You can sense Stiles eyes widen and shoulders tense beside you at this admission, but you force yourself to keep going, “And even after the second time, I’m still fucking friends with him. In fact, I called him before I came here. And he still reaches out to me almost daily even though he just got engaged to the girl he left me for. All because some twisted part of me thinks our stories still intertwine at the end.”

“He’s the guy that's been calling and texting you all week?” Stiles murmurs, almost not as a question. “Joel.”

The name sounds bitter coming out of Stiles mouth. You almost laugh as you nod. “Yeah. A huge reason I came on this trip was to forget about him, but it's like he knows and he doesn’t want me to.”

“No, that’s exactly what he’s doing. Stringing along while he gets to do whatever and whoever he wants. He’s an asshole.”

You snort, “Your dad called him a schmuck.”

“God, the biggest fucking schmuck.” 

You smile to yourself, “You already seem so much more self aware of your situation than me. Maybe you can avoid my fate and not be destined to love someone who’d hurt you like that.”

“I don’t think you’re destined for that…” Stiles whispers, “I think you were right earlier. You just haven’t found ‘the one’ yet.”

You manage a tiny smile as you and Stiles stare at one another with your heads leaning against the couch cushions. Instead of getting lost in his eyes while he looks at you like that, you lift up your wine glass in a silent request to clink it against his. “To both of us finding the one.”

The corners of Stiles' mouth twitch as he clinks. After another beat, Stiles forces himself off the couch with a surprising spring in his step. He turns to you and offers you a hand, “Okay no more wallowing. It's the holidays. We’re festive. We’re merry. We’re bright. Now let's go make some Christmas fettuccine.” 

Your smile grows and you take his hand, and you don’t miss the squeeze he gives you and the way he doesn’t let your hand drop until you’re well into the kitchen.

₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ only the good notes ₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

Your Christmas Eve took a sharp turn in a positive direction that night. The alcohol kept flowing, and maybe it was your brain under the influence of it, but you’re pretty sure the homemade alfredo you taught Stiles how to make was better than anything you’ve ever made in your whole life.

By the time Stiles’ dad arrives home that evening, he finds you both on your second bottle of wine, sprawled out in the living room, playing a very serious game of battleship. Noah doesn’t question it, and just heats up a plate of fettuccine and joins you when you switch to Clue. 

Of course you finish out the night with a movie, and Stiles lobbies for sci-fi this time, and you allow it - definitely because of the alcohol. 

However, you also definitely pass out within thirty minutes. But somehow, you still awake in your bed next door on Christmas morning. But you don’t dwell on it. 

You take a shower - after you’ve popped three advil and down a glass of water - and make the snickerdoodles for Stiles. Once they’re done you put them in a festive tupperware container and a gift bag, before wrapping the sweater for Noah in a gift box. 

After doing yourself up a little nicer than you normally would for a drop in at the Stilinskis, you head next door midafternoon, more excited for Christmas than you had been in recent years. Noah greets you at the door with a Merry Christmas and sweet kiss on the cheek before taking your bags and putting them by the tree in the living room. Stiles is already pouring you a glass of wine when you both meet him in the kitchen to get started on your grand meal for the evening. 

The sheriff took charge of the ham while you and Stiles were responsible for sides. Meaning, you made the mac and cheese while Stiles prepared the salad and rolls. 

You eat at the table and as always, enjoy lively conversation with the men who are quickly becoming two of your favorite people on the planet for welcoming you into their home for the holiday you otherwise would have spent alone. Your heart nearly grows three sizes when they announce they found Christmas Crackers to order online - a British holiday tradition - because they thought it would make you feel more at home. You really have to hold back from tearing up. 

The three of you tag team cleaning up the meal before retiring to the living room for the night, where you exchange presents. Just as you predicted, Noah loves the sweater and you equally love the vinyl record of the original soundtrack for 13 Going on 30. Stiles chastises you both for being too obsessed with rom-coms but there’s a fond smile on his face as he does it. 

That’s when you give Stiles his present and he’s both touched and confused that you were aware of his affinity for snickerdoodles. As he thanks you, he shares a wistful look with his dad. At your questioning stare, he smiles at you softly and explains, “My mom used to make these all the time.”

Your heart aches briefly, glancing at Noah who had left that detail out he told you that information. The man just shrugs, “Well, hers came out burnt half the time.”

Stiles and you both laugh, you in shock at the fond critique. 

“They were still incredible,” Stiles insists.

Still laughing, you look back at Stiles, “Alright, noted, I’ll bake them a tad longer next time.” 

Stiles’ stomach flips. Next time. 

Finally, since Stiles and his dad exchanged their gifts in the morning, the last gift of the evening was Stiles’ gift to you. He handed you a haphazardly wrapped rectangle you pretended to shake to hear something as if it were hollow, but you were already pretty sure it was a book. 

Stiles shrugs as you eye him while tearing the paper off, “It’s nothing really. You probably already have it.”

You roll your eyes playfully, “Stop it, you didn’t have it get me anything at all. I’m sure I’ll love it.”

You stare down at the book in your hands as you finally get the paper off. It’s one of those special edition books, with the shiny colored pages and gorgeously redesigned covers. The ones you always see in bookstores but never end up buying because you can never settle with picking just one. 

“Emma by Jane Austen?”

“Yeah, it's your favorite isn’t it?”

“Did I tell you that?”

Stiles nods, his fingers intertwined together, one of his nervous ticks you’ve picked up on. “Yeah, when we were watching Clueless. You said it's the book the movie’s based off of.”

You stare at the book in awe, before transferring that look to him, “I can’t believe you remembered that.”

He shrugs again, “Of course. Well. Sort of ordered the book on the spot. Amazon. Capitalism. The true meaning of Christmas.”

You huff a soft laugh, still shaking your head at his thoughtfulness despite playing it off. “Thank you. I love it.”

His lips curve up, “Good. I’m glad.” 

For his part, Noah watches the scene unfold hiding a smile behind his whiskey glass. As far as he knew, Stiles was still hanging onto his relationship with Lydia by a thread. But he had a feeling that thread was about to snap if it hadn’t already. 

At that moment, you seem to remember that the two of you weren’t the only people in the room and you clear your throat. “Well, speaking of rom-coms, is it time for Love, Actually?”

Stiles snaps out of it himself and jumps up, picking up discarded pieces of wrapping paper on the way. “Yeah, let’s do it!”

Two days after Christmas you find yourself alone with Stiles for the first time since the supermarket incident turned one of your favorite Christmas Eve-Christmas’s of your life. On the 26th Stiles went to Scott’s for their friend group Secret Santa. He had mentioned being stressed about it, having had picked Isaac who he for some reason had a love-beef relationship with. But during one of his pop ups at your place, you helped him order something simple for the other guy. 

You were excited to hear how it all went down the next day. On the morning of the 27th, Stiles texted you to inform you his dad was working all day and he’d order Chinese for them tonight if she was up for it. And she definitely was. He comes over around five, and they call the restaurant together, ordering way too much food for either of them to consume. 

As you sip wine in the living room and wait for your dinner, you ask about Secret Santa. Isaac, unsurprisingly, loved his gift. And then Stiles received his from his other friend Liam who got him a Batman crewneck. You quip it would have been better if it was a Ten Things I Hate About You crewneck, Heath Ledger’s finer work, and he rolls his eyes. Affectionately. 

Stiles also admits he had to tell his friends about him and Lydia. They were both shocked and appalled and glad she didn’t RSVP for the party this year. 

“It must be hard…sharing a friend group with her. I’d imagine they’re not just going to cast her out.” You comment softly. 

Stiles nods, “Yeah. And I wouldn’t want them to. It’ll just take some…adjusting.” 

You hum, “Take it from me…it's hard staying in close proximity. I mean, I know you’ve been long distance anyway but even mutual friends' instagram stories are a hard place to run into them.”

Stiles cringes, “Yeah like I said…an adjustment.”

You hesitate before asking one question lingering on your mind, “Do you think..there’s a part of you considering taking her back?”

His eyebrows raise in surprise but he doesn’t immediately deny it. “I mean…it's definitely crossed my mind. Like I said, I always just assumed we’d stay together but…at the end of the day I think both of us deserve better than a relationship we’re only in half way.” 

You nod, “Even if one day you both find yourself in the same place, or city?”

Stiles sighs, “I guess you can’t really plan for that.”

Still not a firm denial. You couldn’t really fault him for that. The breakup was still fresh. 

Once your Chinese food arrives, you set everything out on your coffee table and you dig in, while throwing a sitcom on the TV you’ve both seen a dozen times so you can talk over it. Ten minutes into your feast, Stiles glances at the vacant arm chair across the room, that wasn’t really vacant, because your stack of art supplies filled it.

“Wait, do you paint? Or draw?” Stiles asks, squinting at the items across from him.

You flush slightly, but it wasn’t like it was a secret. “Uh, yeah. A little bit of both.” 

Stiles sputters, “You’ve been here a week and I didn’t know that?”

“You say that like it's been a lifetime.”

As he stands he mutters, “That's what it feels like.” 

You choose not to linger on whatever that means.

Stiles hovers over the chair and then turns to you. “Oh, um..may I?”

Your stomach flips anxiously but you find yourself nodding. “Sure.”

Stiles smiles gleefully and picks up your sketchbook before plopping back down on the couch beside you. You watch anxiously as he starts flipping through. Like you had said, it contained sketches and some of which you painted. 

He gives you a sideways glance after he looks at a few, “You seriously drew these? Free hand?”

You laugh softly, shifting into a semi-fetal position. You can count on one hand the number of people that have seen your drawings, outside of classes you took at university. “Yup.”

“They’re incredible,” he murmurs, continuing to flip through. Then he lingers on one and you figure he’d found the drawing you’d been anxiously anticipating his reaction to. You lean over slightly to confirm your theory and you were correct. It was a detailed drawing of the exterior of Stiles and his dad’s home, complete with the patrol car and blue jeep in the driveway. You’d gone over it with watercolors, feeling particularly inspired that day. For some reason. 

He glances at you for a split second before reverting back to the painting. “That’s Roscoe.” 

“I’m sorry, who?” 

“Oh right. That's my Jeep’s name.”

“Does everyone name their cars?”

“What you don’t?”

“I don’t have a car right now. I live in a very walkable city.” 

“Don’t rub it in,” Stiles snorts, and doesn’t even take his eyes off of the painting. “Seriously, this is amazing.”

You feel your cheeks warm, “It's okay if you think it's dumb.” 

Stiles vehemently shakes his head. “Not dumb at all. You’re so talented. And this one’s my favorite, not even a little biased.” 

You smile as he grins back at you teasingly. 

“Seriously, would you ever consider doing something with this?” he inquires.

You shrug, “I don’t know. I think my real passion is writing. But I kind of want to get out of journalism and do more with fiction. I’ve sometimes thought it could be cool to write a children’s book and illustrate it myself.”

“That would be so cool,” Stiles says all soft and earnestly. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he nods, glancing back down at the page again, “Would it be too much if I asked to keep this?”

Your cheeks warm again, “You want to?”

“Yeah, I told you it's my favorite. And then I’d be the first person to have one of your originals.” He glances at you, “Unless you give these out willy nilly.”

You laugh, “Nope. You’d be the first.”

He grins again, “Thank you.” After a beat, another thought crosses his mind, “Could you draw me?”

“Are you asking me if I can? Or if I will?”

He shrugs, “Can you? Would you?”

You scoff, “Are you asking me to draw you like one of my French girls?”

“Depends. Would I have to be topless?”

“If you want it to be authentic.”

“Well, fine if it's for the sanctity of art, I shall.”

As you both laugh together, you finally register how close you’ve been next to him. In fact, you lean closer as you laugh. And for the first time, you don’t feel the urge to cut the moment short or pull away. Stiles seems to register the same thing as his laughter dies down. His eyes linger on your eyes for one, two, three more seconds…before they venture to your lips. 

As if by gravitational pull, you both lean closer until your lips brush against one anothers. Stiles reaches out and tenderly cups your face, pulling you closer to fully commit to the kiss, which you eagerly reciprocate. 

You’d admittedly thought about what this would feel like since pretty much every day since you met him. But you never seriously considered it actually happening. Not with the limited time you were spending here. Not with his dad is such close proximity at all times. Not with-

The girl he had broken up with merely 48 hours ago. 

Despite the kiss being better than your fantasies could have conjured up, you jerk back once you regain awareness of the situation. 

Stiles’ eyes shoot open as you sink back into the couch, away from his touch. His eyebrows knit together in confusion, as worry and guilt build in his chest.

“Shit, was that not okay?”

You move your head somewhere between a nod and shake back and forth. “It was okay, I just think…you’re fresh off of a breakup with your long-term girlfriend and I don’t want to take advantage of all the things you're feeling right now.”

Stiles nods but the frown stays on his face, “Admittedly yes there are a lot of feelings swirling through me right now, but most if not all are for you.” 

You swallow and close your eyes tightly, because if you keep looking at him you won’t have the strength to say or do the right thing. “I know what you mean but…I also think you’ve had a lot to think about in so little time and I don’t want to factor in and affect anything.”

“But-”

“And I won’t be here for very much longer and if anything, that should be what factors in the most.”

Anything Stiles was going to stay dies on his tongue in that moment, feeling the wind get knocked out of him. Yes, subconsciously he’d always been aware your time in Beacon Hills was limited. But after the last couple of days, after that kiss, the reality hit him twice as hard. Despite having known you for just about a week, he’d still had some of the most incredible days of his life getting to know you, cooking with you, laughing with you, watching you bond and look after his father in ways he hadn’t been able to do in recent years. He couldn’t stomach the idea of all of that coming to an end, before they could even start…something. Anything. 

“It doesn’t have to be…” Stiles manages to whisper, but it's a weak argument without anything to back it up. 

You give him a watery smile, “I’ve had a really amazing holiday with you. And your dad. But…I think for now you should just…sit with your breakup and think about what you really want. Hell, I’ve been sitting with mine for years and I still have yet to figure that out.”

Stiles’ face contorts at the mention of your ex, “But this is different.” 

“This is…fleeting.” You sigh with a tired shrug, “And not worth more than what you have here.”

Stiles wants to argue, say that what he’s had here for years pales in comparison to what he’s had the past few days with you. But he knows how crazy it sounds. And he knows his relationship with Lydia meant enough to him to at least think about for a little longer. 

He takes a deep breath and finally nods. But he can’t leave it like this. “I don’t want this to be our goodbye.”

You force a smile again, “It’s not. I’m still here for a little while longer. I’ll see you before I go. Just take a couple days.”

He nods again, comforted by the idea of seeing you again and that's enough to propel him to his feet and walk towards the door. 

“You’ll still come by if you need anything right? And I mean anything?”

You nod as you open the front door for him slowly. “Of course. I know where to find you guys.”

He nods, grinding his teeth. He brushes his lips against your forehead briefly, before ducking outside without another word.

₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ gumption ₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

Admittedly cutting Stiles and subsequently his dad out of your life for even one day was harder than you thought, especially considering they’ve been your only form of real life human connection the past week or so. 

Sure, you’ve spoken to your friends over the phone and FaceTime but when you’ve truly felt whole this holiday season, it's been with one or both of the Stilinskis. Even in such a short amount of time, they’ve become almost sort of…family.

And maybe that's your problem overall. Even without romance complicating your relationship with Stiles, you were still becoming overly attached to these two men who you would likely never see again in just a few days. Gaining and losing two more people in your life was not the goal of this getaway.

So for that whole day without them, you focus on yourself. You take yourself shopping and take advantage of those post-Christmas sales, but most things were well picked over. You treat yourself to a mani-pedi but of course you regret the color choice an hour later. Instead of cooking dinner, you order takeout but they forget two of the things you wanted. Even baking and drawing don’t bring you peace. 

Sighing against the couch, with a heavy poured glass of wine, you rub your head and wonder what else you could possibly be doing to take your mind off of the boy next door.

As if by clockwork, your phone buzzes from where you discarded it on the coffee table. You sit up a little faster than you should have when you consider it could be Stiles who is reaching out. But you face disappointment when you see that it's Joel. 

And for some reason…you pick it up this time.

“Hey,” you breathe out, unsure of your game plane here.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Joel’s thick posh accent glides through the phone. “Wanted to see how your holidays were. I haven’t heard from you in a while.”

You sigh, feeling yourself slipping back into the comfort of his familiar voice. He always claimed terms of endearments were how he spoke to everyone. But you’ve never heard him use them for anyone other than his significant other, or you even if you weren’t his. It had begun to bug you over the last couple months, but tonight, you’re falling for it. 

“They were really good. Sorry I’ve been missing your calls, I’ve been pretty busy,” You find yourself apologizing for some reason. 

“That's alright, love. I’m glad to hear you found things to do over there.” He muses and you almost hear the smile on his face over the phone. “You know…I’ve really missed you. Christmas in Richmond isn’t the same without you here.”

For once in your life, you find yourself saying what you’re thinking to him, “I’m sure you’ve got your fiance to keep you company though, right? First Christmas as an engaged couple?”

There’s silence on the other end, briefly. “I’ve actually been thinking about that a lot lately. I’m not quite sure that’s going to work out.”

Your eyebrows furrow, “What? Your engagement?”

“The whole relationship,” he admits softly, “Look, darling I’ve been thinking about you a lot the last couple weeks. Pretty much non-stop since you left. And I realized…maybe I made a mistake.”

Your heart just about stops. This is what you always thought would happen. He’d come to his senses and come back to you. 

But it doesn’t feel the way you thought it would. 

“What do you mean, Joel?” You ask and you hate how shaky your voice sounds.

“I mean…I fucked up when I let you go-”

“Yeah. Twice.”

“I know, darling,” he sighs, “And you know how sorry I was. And I think this time away from you made me really think about everything. And think about what I really want.”

Your heart is pounding in your chest, “And you want…me?”

He chuckles, “That’s exactly what I’m trying to say, love.”

You’re at loss for words as your brain tries to make sense of this information. Everything in you is screaming not to give into this, but there is still a small piece of you that reminds you how much simpler it would be. He was familiar. He lived in your town. He was a safer choice than a man thousands of miles away. 

Just as you feel your resolve melting, before you have a chance to respond you hear Joel’s voice again, but this time it's distant, accompanied by muffled noises. As if he was talking to someone else. 

“Give me one second, doll…” are the only works you make out…followed by footsteps and a door closing. 

“Darling-”

“I’m sorry,” you scoff, “Are you with her right now?”

“Sweetheart, I’m-”

“Oh, my God you are actually unbelievable,” You shake your head despite him not being there, “You call me to tell me you want me back from the house you still share with your fiance you are still very much with!”

You hear him let out a long, tired breath, “Darling, I wish you could understand how confused all of these feelings have made me.”

“You may be confused, but I’m not anymore. I am so done with this.”

He stutters, “Darling, what do you mean? You can’t be saying-”

“I’m saying I’m done with you, Joel. In every possible way. I’m done waiting around for you. I’m done allowing you into my life even when you don’t deserve to be in any capacity. And I am sure as hell done thinking I’m in love with you.”

“Darling-”

“Goodbye, Joel.” And without another thought, you hang up. And not a part of you feels guilty that that might very well be the last time you ever speak to him.

You start pacing the living room. You could not believe you almost fell for it again, even though he was doing the exact thing he always does. And that’s when you realize, he wasn’t the safe choice because he was a good choice. He was safe because deep down you know what you were getting yourself into with him. There was always a chance he could hurt you but you could prepare for it. With someone else, someone knew, it was unpredictable and that's what made things scary.

But you were tired of that fear holding you back. 

Suddenly coming to your own senses, you realize there’s someone you desperately need to talk to. And soon, while your adrenaline is still pumping.

You glance out of your front window. The patrol car next door was missing from the driveway. But the blue jeep was there. Suddenly remembering something, you grab your sketchbook and dash outside, straight to the neighboring front door, knocking quickly. Nervously, you hug the sketchbook to your chest as you wait.

Moments later, the door swings open and you’re greeted by those warm brown eyes you’ve grown so fond of the last couple weeks. 

“Hi,” you say breathlessly, like you’d been holding your breath since you knocked. Which you had been,

“Hi,” he says, sounding very similar. 

“Can I come in?” You ask quickly before you lose the nerve.

Startled by your assertiveness, he nods quickly and steps out of the way. You hurry inside and into the living room, Stiles following close behind.

“First of all, I realized you forgot this.” You shakily flip through your book before you get to the page with the same blue jeep that was parked outside. And inspite of your shakiness, you carefully tear out the page, thankful for the perforated lines. 

“Oh,” Stiles is surprised when you hand him your artwork, “You’re still okay with me having this?”

You shrug, “You’re the only one who should.”

He blinks at you before allowing a small smile to creep on his face. 

“I forgot something last night, too.” You continue softly. 

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nod, still feeling like you were short on breath. “I know I said me and you are fleeting, and that it was complicated with the timing of your breakup but I never told you that…I have feelings for you too. Lots and lots of feelings.”

Stiles’ smile wobbles, “You do?”

“Yes. And the truth was I was afraid of them. Not because of you. You’re probably the nicest guy I’ve ever met. But because the circumstances are hard and you’d have the incredibly anxiety-inducing ability to break my heart if I let you in the way I want to.”

His name escapes your lips breathlessly, taking a step closer as he prepares to deny your fear.

You step in the opposite direction, wanting to finish your thoughts, “No, no, it's true and that’s okay. Because neither of us can promise that everything will go perfectly. That's life. My dad promised he’d always be around and then he got sick, that wasn’t his fault. Things just happen. But I’ve spent the last however many years trying to prevent things from happening, that I’ve also stopped living my life to the fullest. Stop going after things I want. And right now, I really, really want you.” 

Stiles watches you intently, and you let out a deep breath to let him know you’re done. 

“I just wanted you to know that,” you finish quietly. 

Stiles nods and takes a deep breath of his own. “I talked to Lydia today.”

You breath hitches. “Oh? You did?”

He nods again, “Yeah. And we’re officially over.”

Your eyes widen, “You…are?”

Stiles walks closer to you again and this time you don’t move back. His lips start to curve up again. “I want you, too. And I know there’s a lot of variables, and we can’t predict the future, but here today, right here right now, I know that I haven’t felt this way about anyone, especially in such a short amount of time, and I’ll do whatever I can to make this work.”

Your lip quivers as he further invades your space, his forehead pressing against yours. He gently grips your chin.

“Does that sound okay to you?” He whispers.

You nod, swallowing a disbelieving laugh. “That sounds perfect.”

Stiles grins and finally presses his lips to yours, and not a bone in your body ever wants to pull away. In fact, you chase his mouth when he pulls away, and he fights a laugh of his own. 

“Hey,” he whispers, holding your face gently between his hands and looking at you amusedly, “Quick question. Do you want to go out with me on New Year’s Eve?”

Just as you start to beam at him, your smile falters. “I’ll be back in England by New Years Eve.”

He frowns briefly too before fixing a determined look on his face, not breaking eye contact with you. “You know I’ve never been to England. I’ve never even been to another continent.”

You squint, your heart racing as you chuckle softly, “Oh yeah? You sound like me.”

He starts to grin again, “If I come over there…then will you go out with me?”

This time you fully beam, “I’d love to.” 

Stiles kisses you again, more hungrily this time. And you count yourself lucky his dad walked in the house at that point, and not five minutes later when god knows what position you would have been in.

Instead you just pull apart slightly, to laugh after he exclaims, “I knew it!” 

Stiles holds you tightly in his arms, not wanting to let you go for even a second as his dad begins teasing them. You’re pretty sure you’ve never felt happier. Or safer. And even though you still had so much to figure out, you weren’t going to overthink it. You were content living in the moment, as long as many of those moments were spent in Stiles arms as possible.

author's note: can't wait to hear what everyone thinks!! and hope everyone has a wonderful start to 2025 <3

[lin-ay]

Hello guys!! This is my first fic and I want to make some things clear for you guys!

English is my third language, German my first and Russian my second. I’m going to try and involve the languages into the story. That doesn’t have to mean that the reader is German or Russian, it just means that they speak more than just English! Tho the reader will not be born in an English speaking country. If the reader speaks in their native language it will be written like this: “{Hi!}”

Please correct me if I use a word wrong, forgot a word or similar things.

I’m still trying to figure out how tumblr works so please understand if my posts don’t look to aesthetic!

~pretty girl~

Part 1

(Name) walks down the street of Cambridge, she was finally going to go to her dream university. She let out a breathy sigh, her trembling hand picked with the buttons of her black coat.

Her heels clicking as she wanders further and slowly reaches the Cambridge university.

(Name) feels her heart beating faster and faster, while she had an international degree, thanks to the international boarding school in Oxford she went for two years, she still felt like she didn’t deserve this. But she wouldn’t let that bring her down, she will succeed and make a big deal out of herself, opening her own architectural studio and be her own boss. She will help her family financially and will be the first successful person in the family and she is not gonna let anyone get in her way.

She arrived at the campus and went inside, she looked around for the receptionist, when she couldn’t locate anyone she pulled out her phone. The background of her phone, a photo of her and her little sister, Mikaela. Mikaela’s is 4 years younger then (Name).

(Name) heard a door open, she looked up and saw the receptionist she talked on the phone just a few days ago. She walked up to the desk and the older lady looked up and a smile made its way onto her slightly wrinkled face.

“Good morning dear, you’re (Name) (LastName)?”

(Name) nodded and gave a kind smile. “Yeah that’s me! I’m here to get my dorm room and my schedules.”

“Ah right! Not to step into your personal space, hun but where are your luggage’s?”

“Oh! I’m going to get them later, I stayed in a hotel and I just wanted to look around the campus and get my things so I can get myself organized before I start.”

The elder lady nodded slightly impressed by the young woman standing in front of her.

“Well come on darling.”

(Name) always liked the British accent and couldn’t help but also pick up some things over the years, her accent of her native language still being heavy but still.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“And this is going to be your dorm, your roommate should be already here! Here is your key and I hope you have a great time!”

(Name) smiled and thanked the old receptionist for giving her a tour and showing her her dorm.

The young girl opened the door and was greeted by a beautiful dark-skinned girl laying on what seems to be her bed, her boho braids being spread onto her cushion.

The not named girl didn’t seem to notice (Name), as she was wearing headphones. (Name) didn’t want to straddle the girl so she knocked load onto the door. The girl on the bed yanked her self up, clearly taking back and beamed as she saw (Name).

“Omg heyyy, you’re my roommate right?”

(Name) suddenly felt shy as the pretty girl stood up and walked towards (Name).

“Yeah my names (Name) (LastName) and what is your name?” (Name) just wanted to let herself be swallowed be the ground, god she sounded so formal, what’s wrong with her that girl was going to be her roommate for a few years.

The pretty girl let out a giggle and answered.

“I’m Mia Jones. Nice to meet cha!”

(Name) felt like she was blinded be Mias smile but quickly felt comfortable so she smiled equally as bright back.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

It had been a week since (Name) was last at Cambridge but tomorrow was the day the term started. She has officially moved into her dorm 3 days ago, she made her stay at the hotel not as long as planned, she liked Mia and couldn’t wait so she cut her stay and moved in.

Mia and (Name) were what you would call, “it girls” they’re both pretty, smart, kind but could get witty and snarky if it was necessary.

(Name) quickly catches a few eyes of boys and girls, her sexuality encouraging the girls to also try and make moves on her.

Mia told (Name) that today was a party to celebrate the last day before the new year starts and everyone even freshmen’s were invited.

The girls obviously wouldn’t decline such an offer and they got ready. Mias outfit consisted out a black mini skirt along with a purple top that clung to her like second skin.

(Name)s outfit was a low waisted flared jeans with a red, Spagetti string top. The fabric has a flora pattern across her chests area, kind of like a bikini form.

Mias silver jewelry glistening on her chocolate skin.

(Name) put on her gold jewelry and they both put on black heels, jackets, got some money into their purses and made their way downstairs.

Apparently Mia was friends with some guy who was going to bring them to the party. When they reached the car a to guys were leaning onto a black car and Mia made her way to the paler guy, hugging him.

“Jon!!” “Mia!!”

They both let go and seem to forget about their friends as they both talked and talked. (Name) noticed the other friend still leaning against the car so she made her way up to him and greeted him with a bright smile.

“Hi my name is (Name) (LastName)! What’s yours?” Tho (Name) obviously knew who he was, she didn’t live under rocks. Standing beside her was Damian Wayne the prodigy and Bruce Wayne’s youngest son.

“Damian Wayne.” His voice was deep but welcoming, (Name) didn’t know why but she felt his voice kind of calming and grounding.

Part 2

[nylqnder]

𝐒𝐎 𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐍 | 𝐑𝐔𝐓𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐂𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐘

word count: 1.35k

summary: on your way to the spend a weekend at the lake house with his teammates, you think about your future with rutger

warnings: british reader!, mentions of some other umich players (nick, duke brothers), brief sad thoughts

notes: based on 'so american' by olivia rodrigo. who am i if not writing fics based on songs.

The morning sun was beginning to rise, casting a golden hue on Rutger’s jeep that rumbled down the highway, its tires humming against the asphalt. Rutger sat in the driver's seat, his left hand holding a loose grip on the wheel, while you sat comfortably in the passenger seat, your feet were propped up on the dashboard. Rutger insisted you hit the road early to get to Jacob’s lake house around mid-morning. You felt that was a little too early, but he was excited to spend some spare time at the end of the semester with his friends and girlfriend, relaxing on the water. To make up for the early start time, Rutger bought you an iced coffee and promised that you could sleep in the car on the way over.

However, you couldn’t find yourself able to fall back asleep, instead taking over aux, the early morning air that flowed through the cracked windows helping to rejuvenate you. You tapped your fingers against the door handle, matching the beat of the song you’d selected. Dirt On My Boots by Jon Pardi filled the space, a contented smile gracing your lips.

“You’ve turned so American.” Rutger says, pulling your brain out of its brief daze.

“What?” You ask, your brows furrowing.

“I mean… look at you,” Rutger says with a chuckle. “You’re sitting there with your feet on the dash, you’re listening to country music, and you’re repping USA merch.”

Rutger motions to one of his hoodies that you’d thrown on as you were leaving. It was one given to him by the world juniors team he’d just played on, the letters U-S-A largely displayed on the chest.

You turned to him, adjusting your position in the seat. "Oh, please, don't say that. I'm still very much British, thank you very much." You retort, rejecting the idea that you’d become American in any way.

When you applied for an exchange to the University of Michigan, nothing could’ve prepared you for what would’ve come. On your first day of classes in the new country, you met Rutger. When a pretty girl sat next to him in one of his classes, he knew he had to talk to her. It didn’t take long for the two of you to develop feelings, Rutger soon being the ‘dreamy American’ that your friends had jokingly told you you’d fall for. And fall for him you did.

It was unfair of Rutger to make you feel this much when you both knew your future was uncertain.

“Hey, there is nothing wrong with being American.” Rutger points out.

“Yeah says the American.” You tease, rolling your eyes. “Thank god I’m going home soon. I need to reconnect with my roots if you think I’ve become American.”

Despite that being a joke, you couldn't shake the underlying sadness that gnawed at you. In just one week, you were leaving Michigan and returning to the UK. The thought of leaving Rutger and the life you’d established in Michigan weighed heavily on your heart. You knew that the bond you’d established with Rutger would withstand the miles and borders, however the prospect of being separated from him felt like tearing away a piece of you.

Rutger, sensing the shift in your demeanour as well as knowing that the inevitable move was weighing on you, reached over, taking your hand in his. His cold fingers lacing between yours quickly drew you back to reality.

“Hey,” He said softly. “Try not to think about it for now. Enjoy this weekend. We’ve got ages to figure it all out.”

You squeezed Rutger’s hand drawing comfort from his touch. With a gentle smile, you met his gaze, gratitude shining in your eyes. “Thank you, Rut.” You said softly.

Rutger returned your smile, turning his attention back to the road while keeping your hand in his. You continued the drive, doing your best to expel the thoughts of leaving from your mind.

Three hours later, Rutger pulled down a laneway that ultimately led to a large house on the water. Rutger’s teammates were already outside, eagerly awaiting your arrival.

“Hey guys!” Rutger called out as they stepped out of the car. Rutger’s teammates come over, greeting the two of them.

“This place is beautiful.” You comment, admiring the glimpse of the water you could see past the house.

“God, I will never get over the accent.” Nick said. Rutger shoved his shoulder while you playfully rolled your eyes.

You considered yourself lucky that you’d become friends with Rutger’s teammates. From the moment Rutger introduced you to them, they’d welcomed you with open arms. And as you spent more time with them, they weren’t just Rutger’s teammates, they were your friends as well.

“Alright, now go get changed, we’re hitting the water.” Luca said, ushering the two of you inside.

You headed up to your room, changed into the swimsuits you’d brought, and then headed downstairs to meet the rest of the group. The rest of the afternoon, you guys remained on the water. You all took turns on the tube, as well as some of the boys deciding to test their water skiing skills. When the sun began to descend towards the horizon, a golden hue being cast on the water, you headed back to the house to start dinner, which was a full team activity in which everyone was put to work doing something. You and Rutger were put in charge of the barbecue on the back patio, teaming up with Dylan and Tyler to grill the burgers and corn.

After dinner was demolished, you headed down to the fire pit, relaxing in the Adirondack chairs, talking about whatever came to mind. The flames cast flickering glows on everyone's faces as you discussed sports, your exams, and random childhood anecdotes whether relevant or not. After a while of drinking and chatting, both you and Rutger hit your limits and decide to call it a night.

The second that Rutger’s head hits the pillow, he’s out like a light, the day’s activities catching up with him. After a full day of tubing and waterskiing, combined with the drinks they’d consumed throughout the day, everyone was wiped. You, however, lay awake, the moonlight reflecting off the water and into the open window.

You traced your fingers through Rutger's hair, watching his bare chest rise and fall with steady breaths. With the tranquillity of the room enveloping you, you find yourself lost in a maze of thoughts, your mind swirling with visions of Rutger and the future they could share.

England was home. England was where you grew up, where your family and friends still resided. The thought of leaving them to be in North America made your heart tense. However, lying in the sheets and staring up at the ceiling, you couldn’t help but imagine moving to North America to be with Rutger. As you look over at him, still peacefully asleep, you imagine the prospect of uprooting your life for the American boy you fell in love with, of bridging the distance to be with Rutger.

Your thoughts continue to wander, picturing what could come of life in America with Rutger. Your mind entertains the notion of marriage, a distant yet possible milestone. That might be a little presumptuous of you, with your relationship still being in its infancy, but you practically couldn’t help it. The way he’d made you feel in the past 8 months was unlike anything you’d ever experienced before. Every moment with him felt like a moment torn from a romance book. Every moment with him was filled with laughter and stolen glances, creating an undeniable intimacy and connection.

You had to eventually force those thoughts out of your mind or else they would’ve kept you up all night. You rolled over, curling into Rutger’s side, and placing a delicate hand on his abs. Rutger stirred momentarily, instinctively wrapping his arm around you, drawing you closer. For now, you were content to simply be in this moment with him, cherishing the time you had left before you had to return home.