#middle picture third line.

[sainns]

dryheaving rn i cant breathe whriutyeriufnkds WAEEEEEEEEEE i capital n Need him. im im im im yeah no thanks like guys Stopwhat if i die I NEED HIM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! sorry im crazy i love sunghoon so much guys hes so special to me and he always will be like he makes me laugh and smile and hes the most gorgeous man itw and when he smiles an angel is born and babies laugh and double rainbows form and the sun shines and birds sing and hes like a the marias song or a stephen sanchez song or a sabrina carpenter song specifically from eyes wide open more specifically best thing i got and i hope hes happy always and i hope the world explodes when hes sad

[lock-my-feelings-in-a-jar]

[dekuneho]

reason ☆ ( thirdyear!katsuki x reader ) suggestive — your boyfriend breaks up with you, and katsuki doesn’t waste opportunities

The first fact Class 1-A learns about you is that you have a boyfriend.

Well — had. And now you’re third years, and it’s safe to say that you should’ve broken up long ago.

You had him since middle school, but they never met him. Your dynamic shifted from the perfect picture of high school sweethearts to something more toxic since you got into UA — 1-A, no less. Yuusei didn’t pass the UA exams and called you insensitive for asking him to come meet your ‘fancy hero friends’ while he was from some low-profile school, and back when you had sympathy for him, it was difficult to be peeved at his blatant jealousy. He had a compelling, teary face.

“That’s called manipulative,” Sero says.

“He was really insecure,” you confess. Not that it makes it any better. He was manipulative because he was insecure — but that wasn’t all. He’d been that way long ago. There was a different turning point.

Kirishima gives a gentle, understanding pat on the back. “We were busy enough as it is. But now we’re about to graduate; of course you started thinking more about your future.”

“And you got the perfect ending — a future without him!” Ashido cheers to that. You take a long, long, victorious sip.

Right. After your breakup, you phoned Ashido about it, unaware that she was out with the rest of your friends, but it wasn’t like you were on speaker. Ashido gasped and shrieked, and the rest continued in her apartment, bottles of fancy wine that probably came from Bakugou lined up on the table.

Bakugou had been silent the entire time, sitting on the far edge of the couch across yours. You didn’t even think he’d come along. He’d always been coldly indifferent when it came to anything related to Yuusei. He doesn’t offer a single word; you expected him to call you stupid for dragging it this long when you entered the room. He just stared, ruby tracing your every step.

“So? What made you snap?” Kaminari asks, nestling into the cushion beside you, slinging an arm over your shoulder. You feel like a prey as Bakugou’s gaze holds on Kaminari’s arm for a moment too long. “What shit did he pull this time?”

Bakugou had been the reason for your breakup, and it almost feels like he knows exactly that.

Yuusei despised him. Bakugou is the physical embodiment of everything Yuusei failed to be, and you were friends with him. It really didn’t help that Bakugou has an ego and can back it up; Yuusei didn't have either.

Yuusei was in a heated argument with a classmate, and you got irritated by his voice drowning out even your music at the loudest volume. So you got up, buried your feet in your outside shoes, and glanced back.

“Hey, I’m going out.”

Yuusei was already having an awful day, and came the bottled-up aggression that made him spit in seething venom: “What, don’t tell me you’re going out to fuck Bakugou behind my back again?”

You paused from where you had been tugging your jacket sleeves up your arms. And then, unadulterated fury. The rest is history.

But that’s embarrassing to admit to your friends. They’d ask why Yuusei would even bring Bakugou up — why he is even a recurring argument in your relationship. It wasn’t just Yuusei that was the problem. Somewhere buried deep that Yuusei could feel was your shame, the one that knew Yuusei wasn’t just threatened by Bakugou because of one thing.

“He was having a bad day,” you say instead, and the mendacious excuse slips so easily. Back then, you thought it was because you needed to defend Yuusei; now, it was because you feared them also knowing the truth. “And I realized I just couldn’t — uh, anymore.”

“Yeah,” Sero, Kirishima, Kaminari, and Ashido agree together.

Bakugou finally shifts from where he’d been unmoving, ducking down to fill his glass. “‘least you learned your fucking lesson.” His gaze flicks up; the intensity makes you feel so shameful. It coils in your gut. “Forget the losers who can’t handle themselves. Go for the best.”

Coming from him. Is he flirting? This has to be flirting, right? Every word he says feels so charged, blatant with intent.

“Whoa, fresh on the market and you’re already saying that? Give it a few months, at least,” Kaminari laughs, followed by some, but you and Bakugou aren’t laughing. You’re stuck in this weird staring competition — looking away feels like admitting defeat. Feels like you’d straight up confess that yes, it’s you! You’re the fucking reason why!

“Yeah,” you mutter, though you’re not sure if it’s in response to Kaminari or Bakugou’s. You drag on another sip but feel as sober as a judge. You feel like you’d need ten more before you could even deal with whatever shit Bakugou is pulling.

“Cheer up, baby,” Mina coos. “You know you’re a catch. Yuusei will know exactly what he lost.”

“I don’t care about him anymore,” you say, which is the complete truth. “I’m getting shitfaced because I feel like I’m about to make a very bad decision.”

“Um?” Kirishima voices worriedly. “Do we need to take you somewhere?”

Bakugou stands abruptly, jingling his car keys in between his fingers. “Come on.”

“Are you drunk?” he asks before you can even pretend to open your front door.

“I only smell like it, but I really am too clear-headed for this,” you swear.

The moment he pins you to the wall and buries his mouth into yours, you know you are gone. This is what Yuusei had been fearing, what you’d been hiding — and fuck, it feels so good. He kisses like he’s starving like he’s been holding back for as long as you are. The shame comes spilling out soon after.

“I just got broken up with,” you say in a futile attempt to ease your guilt. “Hey — Katsuki, do you even—”

“I know what I’m doin’,” he says, mouthing over where your jaw and neck meet. "I know you want me."

“God, this is so fucked up,” you say, trailing off in a whine that really says a lot about you. “I’m an asshole. You’re really good at kissing — Katsuki—”

“Try three years of patience and tell me again what’s more fucked up,” Katsuki rasps, breath searing a mark on your skin, inciting a shudder that came down from your toes to your dizzy head.

“You were waiting for Yuusei and me to break up?”

“I get what I want.” Katsuki pauses, his eyes flicking up, arresting yours for a breath. “And he was a dick. Was bettin’ since year one.”

You curl a strand of his untamed hair, unwittingly charmed. “Sorry for making you wait.”

He responds by capturing your lips in a kiss, prying your mouth open with his, licking in, biting, pulling, grinding, and —

Katsuki softens his hold on your hips, pushing off. “Hey.”

You pant. Wow, you think, lightheaded, you don’t think you’d ever been kissed that well. “Hey,” you exhale over his mouth.

Katsuki bears his forehead heavily down on yours. “This isn’t some one-night stand rebound bullshit, you hear me? I didn’t wait three years just to get my dick wet — we’re doin’ this shit, got that?”

“I know,” you say, smiling. “You’re the best of all of them, right?”

[daisiescomelate]

Prompt: Sukuna keeps getting tattoos because you keep kissing every inch of them.

Content: Mature, drabble.

div. plutism

He already had the dark lines running along his body when you met and they got a good amount of attention. Arms, legs, chest, back and face. And then one day he got a random tattoo after so long, a small thing over his chest that won him a peck every time he got off the shower.

He got a second tattoo after that because one of his friends saw that new one he got and asked him to accompany him to get one of his own. Already in the shop, Sukuna asked for a big piece on his arm that you traced every night in bed while waiting to fall asleep.

By the third one he started to notice the patterns.

If the tattoo was small it gained him butterfly kisses, and if it was bigger you took your time to trace every line. Kissing and kissing his skin. To get the line art, the details and the specs of color.

Then the third and the fourth and walking around the house without a shirt on were kisses garantied, and t-shirts stopped being a thing for him at home.

The neck tattoo was a great investment. Every time it caught your attention it gave him a solid thirty minutes of love and nibbles. You would climb onto his lap and trace the leaves and the roses and the skull with your lips and the tip of your tongue, and he would melt over the back of the couch or the pillow, keeping his head back and exposing his most vulnerable spot to you to bite and bruise it as you pleased.

At times he used his discovery to his advantage and with devious intent, like the quote that run from the middle of his ribs to his V line and down to his tight. It was a random line that you had mentioned in passing that you liked so he just put it there, and he shivered every time you kissed it letter by letter, rewriting every character with soft and warm kisses and pressing them with your teeth. No skips, no rush.

Yes, in the beggining he was trying to be hot about it and put more thought into what the pictures were, but he soon run out of ideas and even at some point it didn't even matter to him what the tattoo was. You mentioned you thought sharks were cool? Done. There is a type of flower that he noticed had caught your attention? Awesome. Some dumb lyrics that you kept repeating? Good enough for him. It saved him time and energy that way.

What was truly important? How would the lines flow over his body, where would your lips fall. Long lines dancing up and down, spiraling over him, thought-out for you to care for. Delicate, without rough edges so you would take your time.

A wink to one of your hobbies over his shoulder blade. A single feather of a bird you liked. A random drawing in your favorite color. A shrine because you had a date on a temple once. Of course he didn't tell you what they meant, and you couldn't tell because he was smart about it, only hinting at things in the images and waiting enough time for you to forget that you mentioned something before he got it, never picking something too obvious.

The picture didn't matter. Your breath over his skin, the sweetness of your lips, the way they locked your eyes all over him, were all the tattoos real purpose.

Ink, and ink, and ink, every tinted inch of skin was your conquering. A game that you didn't even knew you were playing, and where Sukuna was willing to give it all up.

[peppermintquartz]

Tommy is drinking alone at his and Evan's usual table, waiting for his boyfriend who says he is meeting an old friend, when he notices a handsome dark-haired man walk in. He's wearing a light khaki jacket over a dark brown v-neck tee, all over faded black jeans and hiking boots. Tommy doesn't mean to stare, but when a good-looking stranger appears in his line of sight, he's not going to pretend he isn't appreciative.

The man must've felt Tommy's observation, because his gaze locks in. There's a querying smile on his face, an eyebrow ticking up, and Tommy replies with a faint smile and a slight shake of his head.

To Tommy's surprise, the stranger walks over and takes the seat opposite Tommy. Tommy leans back into his seat, putting some distance between them. "I don't know you, do I?"

"Nah," says the man. "But you're the only friendly face I noticed when I came in, so I figured it would be less awkward to sit here than to stand in the middle of the room, looking for my friend."

He sounds like he may be from Texas, but that isn't a guarantee that he isn't living in Los Angeles - LA is the city holding people from everywhere, an amalgamation of strangers.

Bemused, Tommy scans the man again, and relaxes slightly when he notices a ring on the stranger's left hand.

"Here alone?" Tommy asks.

The man chuckles quietly. "Only for a couple of days while my husband sorts out some admin issues back home. You?"

"Waiting for my boyfriend," Tommy says. "He's supposed to be here already, but he probably got caught in traffic."

"Ugh, driving in this city is a nightmare." The stranger waves down a waiter and places an order for a whisky, neat as well as fancy branded water. "So thankful for Uber. I can't picture having to drive these streets every day."

"I like driving outside of the city," says Tommy. If he were single, he would have offered to show this handsome man some scenic views. As it is, he smiles politely and asks, "Is your friend coming soon?"

"Hopefully! I mean, all I've got is 'I'm on the way, go in first'." The man rolls his eyes. "Can't I hang here till he shows? I like having someone to chat with while waiting. I wouldn't seem so pathetic."

"Maybe we can help you get a table nearby." Tommy doesn't want to sound rude, but he is not risking Evan thinking he is flirting with another guy.

The man tilts his head and scrutinizes Tommy. "You're a good boyfriend," he remarks. "If you'd flirted with me at all, I'd have told Buck to drop you like a hot potato."

Tommy blinks in confusion and then realization. "You're the Texas TK!"

"And you're the LA edition," TK replies with a broad grin. He offers a hand and Tommy shakes it firmly. "Buck's always boasting about you. You do look a lot hotter in person, and the photo Buck sent was plenty hot already."

With an embarrassed duck of his head, Tommy says, "He always sends that one to people, I don't know why."

"Showing off, obviously." TK holds his phone to the side and his front camera is on. "Alright, smile for a we-fie. I'm gonna let Buck know I'm already here charming his man. Maybe that'll get him to teleport." He snaps a quick shot of them both, and as he types a message, he asks, "What do you recommend for a hungry visitor?"

"Lasagne. Or the carbonara, that's quite good too." Tommy slides the menu across.

Just as TK is deciding what he wants for appetizers, Evan materializes next to the table.

"I'm glad you think you can charm my boyfriend," he says, eyes twinkling, as he hugs TK and then sits beside Tommy, kissing him on the cheek, adding, "You are the best TK, by the way."

"Best?" TK asks.

Tommy shrugs. "Third one's an ex-girlfriend."

"So... Could have been, was, and is?" TK winks at Evan. "You appear to have a type, Buckley."

Evan blushes and takes the whiskey from TK's side of the table. "Let's order."

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

can you see the stars in your dreams (and do they have a lot to say about me) - Part 15

Or: a secret Admirer AU

PART 1 || PART 2 || PART 3 || PART 4 || PART 5 || PART 6 || PART 7 || PART 8 || PART 9 || PART 10 || PART 11 || PART 1 || PART 13 || PART 14

Steve wishes it was raining. Instead, it’s a crisply cold day, but the sun’s shining brightly, illuminating Steve’s dour mood as he walks, unsure of where he’s even going.

The quarry’s miles away, holding his car and house keys hostage. So, he walks, and walks, and walks, aimless.

Chrissy’s probably still at Eddie’s, reading him the riot act, Jeff at her side, so she’s out. He doesn’t have anyone else—Tommy and Carol long since moving on to greener pastures, and no one on the basketball team would go out of their way to spit on him if he was on fire.

There’s always Nancy, but they’re ghosts in each other’s stories now, ships passing in the night.

He should walk to the quarry to pick up his car, and go home to his quiet, lonely house.

He calls Robin at the first pay phone he passes, digging around in his pocket for loose coins as he dials a number he hopes is hers. She picks up on the third ring.

“Hello?”

“Where do you live?” he asks.

“Shit, Steve?” her tired voice turns frantic. “Are you oka—”

“Robin,” he cuts in, voice cracking just enough to shut her up. “Can I come over?”

The other line’s quiet for a moment, only the sound of her muffled breathing assuring Steve she hadn’t hung up. “Robin?”

“Oh, yeah, sorry!” she cries, then rattles off her address. “When will you be here?”

It’s a small town, so it only takes Steve a second to reorient himself, figure out the quickest path from where he is to Robin. “About fifteen minutes?” he guesses, not used to accounting for walking time.

Robin sighs, “oh, good,” that frantic edge finally bleeding out of her voice. “Hurry up, dingus, okay?”

He runs out of time before he can reply, phone kicking the dial tone back at him until he hangs it back up, the barrel of the phone rattling as he puts it back on the dirty receiver.

The sun’s low in the sky when he finally stands in front of an unassuming house with a dingy white door. He’s numb, tired to his bones as he knocks quietly on the front door.

Robin flies out, arms wrapping around Steve in a tight hug before he even realizes she’s there. Steve shudders and buries his face in her hair, hands shaking as he wraps his arms around her and pulls her further into his chest.

She pats his back awkwardly but doesn’t let go as she asks, “you okay, dingus?”

“No,” Steve murmurs, afraid of how his voice will come out if he talks any louder. “Can I come in?”

Robin lets go immediately, but Steve holds on a second longer, not wanting to lose her warmth. “You can hug me again in my room, Steve,” she says, arms awkwardly held down at her sides.

“I’ll hold you to that,” he replies with one final squeeze to her middle.

When he finally lets go, fingers flexing in the cold air, Robin leads him into her house. She pulls him through the living room and up a set of stairs too quickly for Steve to get much of an impression past lived in and homey.

“I’ll be in my room!” Robin calls just before she shuts the door behind them, muffling what must be her mom’s response.

Robin’s bed’s messy, and there’s clothes all over her floor. The walls are covered in posters of bands he’s never heard of, pictures cut out of magazines, and little post-it note reminders.

While he gawks at his surroundings, Robin pulls him to her bed and pushes on his shoulders until he sits down on it. She then proceeds to wrestle her quilt away from her other blankets and drape it over his shoulders. Only then does Steve realize he’s shivering as the cold of the outside world slowly seeps out of his bones.

In here, as Robin sits down across from him, he feels safe, finally—safe and warm.

“Okay, spill,” she demands, taking any sting out of the order by reaching out and taking his hand.

Steve takes a breath, ready to heed her orders, before letting it all out. Where does he start? What does he say? Does he start with Jason? With the note to Chrissy? There’s just too much and it’s all tangled together.

But then she squeezes his hand and he says, “I told Eddie.”

He looks down at their linked hands, unwilling to meet her eyes as she prompts, “You told him…” in a hesitant voice.

“That I was the one writing the letters,” he replies. “That I like him, that it was never Chrissy.”

“Oh,” Robin says, scooting closer so their knees bump. He wishes, absurdly, that they were in that same boy’s bathroom stall for this conversation. “Oh, shit. Is he going to tell everyone? Oh my god, are you okay? What did he say?”

“Robin,” Steve cuts her off, knowing from experience that she’ll just keep on spiraling if he lets her. “He’s not going to talk to me anymore.”

And that, for the first time since everything started spiraling out of control, is what makes tears pool in his eyes. Eddie might tell everyone, and he might be run out of town, but that feels unimportant right now.

How can that matter when he’ll never go to another band practice or Dorks & Dragons session? How can that matter when Eddie will never smirk at something Steve says when he thinks Steve’s no longer looking? When he’ll never write another letter, or receive one back?

“I am so sorry, Steve,” she says, and she sounds it, even as she drops his hands to clutch at his face hard enough that his cheeks squish together. “But, are you stupid?”

“Hey!”

She loosens her hold long enough to wipe the few tears off his cheeks before clutching on tighter, nails digging into his cheeks. “I need you to listen to the words I’m saying,” she says, each word enunciated and slow like she thinks Steve’s stupid. “I know it hurts, but Eddie’s just some boy.”

She says the word “boy” like that in and of itself is some cardinal sin, mouth puckered up like it tastes bad on her tongue. Steve laughs, just a little, and she beams at him.

“He’s just a gross, icky boy, but you, Steve Harrington,” she says his name like it’s a revelation. “It has shocked me to my core, but I really, really like you, and I don’t want to have to kill Munson if he tells everyone in town about this, okay? Blood makes me squeamish.”

Steve laughs again, all tears and snot and gross-sounding phlegm. Robin grimaces, but doesn’t let go of him.

“Eddie won’t tell anyone,” Steve replies, pretty sure he’s telling the truth. “He’s too nice.”

She pulls his face closer, eyes boring into his as she says, “he made you cry,” like there is no worse crime. Steve loves her so much.

“I lied to him, Rob.”

Robin sighs, slumping into him until they both tumble down onto her unmade bed, quilts and sheets and comforters lumpy beneath them. “Okay, but that doesn’t mean I don’t hate him, alright?” she asks, shoving a stuffed elephant into his arms. Steve squeezes it to his chest and stares up at the little glow-in-the-dark stars taped up on her ceiling. “I don’t give a fuck about Munson—I’m here for you.”

And no matter how much he wants to defend Eddie, it’s a comfort to hear. With Chrissy and Jeff, he’s not sure where their loyalties will shake out. Eddie’s their friend, even if they’re Steve’s too. When their newly-forming group fractures at the seams, he’s not sure where they’ll land.

But, he’s got Robin, and maybe that’ll be enough.

“Can I spend the night?” he whispers. “I sort of left my car at the quarry along with my house keys.”

Robin spins around, her hair tickling Steve’s nose as she makes herself comfortable nestled into Steve’s side. “You’re a disaster,” she sighs, “but, yeah. Let me go ask my mom.”

*** 

In the morning, while Steve’s still starfished out on her bedroom floor, Chrissy calls. Robin’s mom is the one that picks up, but when she yells up the stairs, Robin comes running.

Chrissy’s tinny voice sounds frantic as she asks, “have you seen Steve?” quickly enough that Robin barely catches it. “He was at Eddie’s yesterday, but his car’s not at his house, and he’s not picking up his phone, and I’m so wor—“

“He left his car at the quarry,” Robin cuts in, relieved when it shuts Chrissy up. A small part of her burns that it took Chrissy so long to call her when she’d asked her to, like without Robin in front of her, she’d fled the other girl’s mind entirely. “He’s with me.”

“Oh, good,” Chrissy sighs, sounding so relieved that Robin has a hard time holding onto her grudge. “Did he…tell you?”

Robin glances at her mom, standing in front of the stove and stirring eggs around in a pan, well within hearing range. So, all she says is, “he told me.”

“Is he okay?”

Robin runs her fingers through her hair, trying to smooth down her bedhead. “Would you be?” Chrissy doesn’t reply—she doesn’t need to, not when they both know there’s only one answer to that question. “Look, I’ve got him, okay?”

“Okay,” she sighs, sounding relieved. Before she can make her excuses to get off the phone, Chrissy asks. “Hey Robin?”

Robin hums in reply, out of words.

“Thank you.”

With that, the girl that Robin likes hangs up on her, probably to call her own boyfriend and update him on the situation. Robin’s gut clenches, but she tries to take her own advice—Chrissy’s just a girl, but Steve? He’s her friend.

“I’m trying not to be nosy,” her mom prompts, and Robin jumps, having entirely forgotten she was there, “but is your friend okay?”

Robin tries to think of a non-outing way to explain the situation before giving it up as a bad job and just saying, “he’s going through a break-up.” Emotion-wise, it feels close enough to the truth anyway.

Her mom spins, spatula in hand as she raises an eyebrow at Robin and asks, “moves on fast, doesn’t he?”

“Ew, Mom!” Robin cries, stalking out of the kitchen to the sound of her mom’s laughter.

Steve’s up when she goes back into her room, rubbing his eyes blearily as he looks around her room like this is the first time he’s seeing it. “You want breakfast?” she asks.

They eat eggs, hash browns and toast, her mom keeping the invasive questions to a minimum, and then they commandeer the TV in the living room to watch shitty romcoms and complain about their disastrous love lives.

It’s fun—Robin can’t remember the last time she’s had a friend over, much less one she can be honest with, so when Steve makes no move to leave as afternoon turns into evening, she doesn’t mention it either, just shoves a baggy clean shirt and a pair of her dad’s sweatpants at him and demands he change.

It’s in the dark of her room that night that Steve asks, “can I sit with you at lunch on Monday?”

Robin smiles, picturing King Steve Harrington strolling up to the band geek’s table like he belongs there. “Course, dingus,” she replies, and is rewarded by Steve reaching up to take her hand.

“Love you, Rob,” he murmurs.

She stares down into the darkness, gobsmacked as his breathing evens out and he falls asleep. Tomorrow morning, her mom will drive Steve to pick up his car, and he’ll go home.

But right now, tonight, Steve Harrington loves her, and he fell asleep holding her hand.

PART 16

[rootedinrevisions]

Kinktober 2024: Day 12

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Sorry if this one's not as good as some of the other Kinktober things I've posted. I am running on a serious lack of sleep and an unhealthy amount of caffeine. So there may be some mistakes I missed proofreading. But hopefully you still enjoy it!

PROMPT: "Do you know how hard you make it to keep my hands off you?"

KINK: Uniform Kink

WARNINGS: 18+ SMUT. (Oral: Female Receiving, P in V Sex.)

WORD COUNT: 4.6k

TAG LIST: See Comments Below

If you would like to be added to any of my Tag Lists please feel free to comment, send an ask, or send a DM and I'll be happy to get you added! (I currently have one for Glen Powell & His Characters, One for Bradley/Rooster now, and then a third for WWE/Wrestling. I also can create one for Bucky & other MCU characters if there's interest for more of those characters!)

You weren’t nervous walking into The Hard Deck—not at first. You’d been in San Diego for the summer, looking for fun and maybe a little excitement. Matching with Jake Seresin on Tinder seemed like just that—a summer fling with a ridiculously attractive guy who, based on his profile, didn’t take life too seriously. All of his pictures were casual: him in a white or black T-shirt, jeans, and that one photo of him at the beach that had you staring at your screen longer than you’d admit.

You’d chatted for a few days—mostly flirty, nothing too deep—but when he invited you out to this bar, you figured why not? It was supposed to be just for fun. No pressure.

But the moment you stepped inside, all that confidence you’d walked in with started to falter. Your eyes found Jake instantly, standing near the pool tables at the back of the bar. Except he wasn’t in jeans and a T-shirt like you’d expected. No, Jake was in full Service Khakis, his uniform pristine and fitted in a way that made it impossible not to stare. He looked so different from the laid-back guy in his profile. Somehow, seeing him like this—with his blonde hair perfectly tousled, green eyes sharp, and that devastatingly handsome smile—took him to a whole new level.

Your heart skipped a beat, and for a second, you wondered if you were in over your head.

Jake was in the middle of lining up his next shot when he saw you step through the door, and his focus shifted entirely. Handing off the pool cue to Rooster without a word, he straightened up, a grin already forming as he moved to meet you halfway across the bar. His Service Khakis fit him like a glove, the kind of look that was impossible to ignore. And from the way his green eyes lit up as he saw you approaching, he was just as eager to finally meet in person.

“Seresin,” he said smoothly, offering you a hand. “Jake Seresin. But I guess you already knew that.”

You smiled, taking his hand, feeling the warm confidence in his grip. "Nice to meet you, Jake."

He wasted no time, gently guiding you over to the bar, his hand resting lightly on the small of your back. 

As the bartender approached, Jake’s eyes flicked toward you with a teasing grin. “So, what’s it gonna be? Let me guess—something fruity with rum or vodka?”

His voice dripped with playful confidence, clearly assuming he had you figured out. 

But when you raised a brow and said, "Whiskey. Neat," you could practically see the moment you caught him off guard. He blinked, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before that smirk returned.

“Whiskey, huh?” he drawled, clearly impressed. 

You raised a brow, leaning against the bar. “Why, what drink did you think I was?”

Jake chuckled, shaking his head slightly. “Honestly? I was expecting something sweeter.”

You shot him a teasing smile as you took your drink. “What kind of girl do you think I am?”

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping just enough to feel intimate. “I guess that’s something I’ll have to figure out.”

You grinned, your eyes glinting with mischief. “Guess you will.”

With drinks in hand, you and Jake made your way back to the pool tables. The room was alive with chatter, but your focus was entirely on him—and his was undoubtedly on you.

He grabbed a pool cue and handed it to you, his eyes trailing down your figure with a smirk. "You any good at this, or should I go easy on you?" His voice dripped with teasing confidence.

You tilted your head, giving him a pointed look. "Oh, I can hold my own, Seresin. But I wouldn’t mind watching you try."

His eyes glinted at the challenge, and you felt the buzz of anticipation in the air between you, the kind that made your skin warm. He was everything you'd usually avoid—cocky, a little too charming for his own good—but in that uniform, with that grin, he was impossible to resist.

Jake leaned over the table to line up his shot, and your gaze flickered down to the way his biceps flexed beneath the crisp fabric of his uniform. He noticed, of course.

“Like what you see?” he asked, a low chuckle escaping his lips without breaking his focus.

You rolled your eyes, trying not to let on how much you did. "Maybe. Haven't decided yet."

He straightened up, walking over to you with that confident swagger, closing the space between you just a little too much. 

His voice was low as he said, “You know, you’re making it hard to concentrate over here.”

You grinned, biting your lip before responding. “Do you know how hard you make it to keep my hands off you?”

Jake’s smirk widened, clearly enjoying how flustered you were trying not to be. He stepped closer, his chest nearly brushing against yours. “Funny, I was just thinking the same thing about you.”

The tension simmered, unspoken but undeniable. You took a small step back, forcing yourself to keep the upper hand, and shook your head with a smile. “I’m not that easy, Jake. If you want me to take you seriously, you’ll have to work for it.”

He grinned, leaning casually against the pool table, his gaze never leaving yours. “Who says I’m not up for the challenge?”

Over the next hour, the flirting became a game of give and take. Every shot you made, he found an excuse to stand closer, to brush his hand lightly against yours, to flash that smile that made your stomach flutter. His eyes would flicker to your lips, lingering just long enough to make you wonder if he was going to kiss you right then and there.

You were acutely aware of every move he made—the way his fingers gripped the pool cue, the effortless confidence in his stance. He was making it hard to say no, and he knew it. The cockiness wasn’t overbearing, though; it was just enough to keep you on your toes, wanting more.

Finally, after another round, Jake leaned down next to you as you lined up a shot, his breath warm against your neck. 

“So,” he murmured, his lips almost brushing your ear, “how long are we going to pretend you don’t want me to take you home tonight?”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you managed to keep your cool, straightening up and turning to face him, keeping your expression teasing. “Maybe I’m just making sure you’ve earned it.”

Jake raised a brow, stepping even closer until you were almost pinned between him and the table. His voice was low and full of that confident drawl. “Trust me, sweetheart, when you’re ready, I’ll make it worth your while.”

There it was—the line between teasing and something more serious, and you could feel it shift in that moment. Your pulse quickened, the weight of the decision settling between you.

You gave him a playful smile, letting the tension linger just a little longer. 

“You know, I think I might just take you up on that offer,” you said, tilting your head. “But first, I think you owe me a win on the pool table.”

Jake’s smirk was instant, the cocky edge returning as he handed you the cue. “Whatever you say, darlin'. But just so you know, when I take you home tonight, it’ll be the best win you’ve ever had.”

The two of you were deep into the pool game, but you could tell by the way Jake was playing that he wasn’t giving it his all. You smirked to yourself, noticing how his shots always seemed to fall just short of the pocket, his moves just a little too casual. It was clear he planned on letting you win, and while you appreciated the gesture, you had no intention of dragging this game out. Not with the way your heart was racing every time he leaned a little too close or flashed that confident smile.

Lining up your next shot, you took a deep breath, feeling his eyes on you. You purposely missed, standing up straight and stretching your arms as if calling it quits. 

“You know, Jake,” you said casually, glancing around the bar, “it’s getting a little crowded in here. I think I’m going to head out.”

Jake’s brow furrowed for a split second, caught off guard by your sudden decision. You could see the flicker of confusion cross his face, quickly replaced by that easy grin.

“Calling it a night already, darlin’? I thought you’d want to finish the game,” he teased, though his tone carried a hint of disappointment.

You smiled softly, stepping back from the table and slinging your purse over your shoulder.

“Maybe some other time. Thanks for the drinks though,” you said, your voice light, as if you were genuinely planning on leaving alone. 

You gave him a small wave, turning toward the door. Jake straightened up, watching you head for the exit. His grin faltered just a touch, clearly not expecting you to walk away like that.

But just as you reached the edge of the crowd, you stopped. Your heart pounded in your chest as you turned your head slightly, glancing back over your shoulder. You met his gaze, holding it for a beat longer than necessary before flashing him a knowing smile. 

“You coming, too?”

Jake blinked, his surprise melting into something far more playful. His grin was back in full force as he handed his pool cue to Phoenix before making his way through the crowd toward you, his eyes locked on yours the entire time.

“You know,” he said as he caught up, that cocky edge back in his voice, “you could’ve just said you didn’t want me to go easy on you.”

You shrugged, biting back a smirk as you started toward the door, Jake falling into step beside you. “Where’s the fun in that?”

The heat between you had been simmering all night, but now it was undeniable. Every step you took together, side by side, had an electricity to it, an unspoken promise hanging in the air as you both headed out into the night.

The night air was warm as you stepped outside The Hard Deck, the distant sound of waves crashing against the shore filling the quiet space around you. Jake was close behind, his steps slowing as you reached a spot away from the crowd. You stopped and turned to face him, your pulse quickening when you met his gaze—those piercing green eyes that had been focused on you all night, filled with a quiet intensity now that you were alone.

Without thinking twice, you closed the distance between you in one smooth movement. You reached up, sliding your hands around the back of his neck, and pulled him down toward you, your lips pressing against his. The kiss was sudden and electric, all the teasing and tension from the night culminating in this one moment. Jake's response was immediate—his hands found your waist, gripping you firmly and pulling you closer until there was no space left between your bodies.

His kiss was just as confident as he was, but there was a hint of something more, something that made your heart race faster. You could feel the heat radiating from him, his touch strong but careful, as if he had been waiting for this all night.

When you finally pulled away, your lips still tingling from the kiss, you looked up at him, breathless but composed. 

“So,” you said, your voice teasing as you tilted your head slightly, “are you going to take me home…Lieutenant?”

Jake’s grin was instant—one of those slow, easy smiles that seemed to light up his whole face. The title sounded damn good coming from you, and he couldn’t help but chuckle at the way you said it.

“Yes, ma’am,” he drawled, his voice low and full of promise. 

His hand slid down to capture yours, and with one last look that made your knees weak, he turned toward the parking lot, tugging you along with him.

As you walked side by side, the charged energy between you had shifted. No more teasing, no more holding back. Tonight, you were both crossing that line, and neither of you was looking back.

Jake’s truck rumbled to life as the two of you settled inside, the low hum of the engine the only sound at first. He focused on the road ahead, but you couldn’t stop sneaking glances his way. Even now, after the kiss that had left your heart racing, the sight of him in that uniform was doing things to you. His broad shoulders filled out the khaki shirt perfectly, the crisp lines of his Navy service uniform making him somehow even more irresistible than you’d imagined.

Jake noticed, of course. After a few minutes, he smirked and glanced over at you, his green eyes catching yours as you quickly looked away, trying not to be too obvious. 

"You keep staring at me like that, darlin’, and I’m gonna start thinking you’ve got a thing for guys in uniform," he teased, his voice light but laced with that ever-present cocky confidence. "You know…you could just take a picture. It’ll last longer."

You rolled your eyes at him, biting back a grin. “Well, I would,” you replied, glancing at him again, "but something tells me no picture could really do you justice." That made Jake’s smirk widen, but before he could fire back, you continued, your voice a little softer now, more honest. "But...I have to admit, there’s something about you in that uniform that makes it hard to help myself."

He glanced over at you again, raising an eyebrow as if he hadn’t expected that level of honesty. 

"Oh yeah?" His tone dropped, the teasing giving way to something a little more serious. "And what exactly is it that gets to you, sweetheart? The authority? The way it fits?" He let the question hang, his voice like a low rumble as he asked.

You felt your cheeks heat up, but you didn’t back down. You leaned back in your seat, turning fully to look at him now. "Maybe it’s the way you carry yourself in it," you said, your eyes tracing his profile, "or maybe it’s just how good you look in it. Either way…it’s working for you."

Jake chuckled softly, clearly pleased with your response, though his grip on the steering wheel tightened just a little. "Well, I gotta say…I like the way you’re lookin’ at me right now," he said, his voice quieter, more intent, as he focused on the road. "Makes it real hard to keep my eyes where they’re supposed to be."

The tension in the truck thickened as your words hung between you, the atmosphere shifting from playful to charged once more. You both knew where the night was headed, but for now, the anticipation was building with every shared glance, every teasing word.

When Jake pulled up outside your apartment, you could barely wait to get inside, that teasing grin of his still playing on your mind. As you led him up the stairs, your heart raced, knowing exactly where the night was headed.

As soon as you unlocked the door and stepped inside, Jake wasted no time. His hand caught the door, swinging it shut behind him with a soft thud before his lips were on yours again—hot, insistent, and full of that same hunger you’d felt building between you all night. His hands were on your waist, pulling you firmly into him, his body heat radiating through the thin fabric of his uniform as he pressed against you.

You melted into the kiss, your fingers threading through his sun-kissed hair as you pushed up on your toes, giving into the intoxicating pull of him. The smell of his cologne—woodsy and warm—mixed with the scent of the sea still lingering faintly on him, a reminder of his life out there, on the edge.

Your back hit the wall near the entryway, but neither of you broke the kiss. If anything, it deepened, the urgency between you growing as his hands roamed your sides, finding the hem of your shirt and slipping underneath, his touch warm against your skin. Jake groaned softly against your lips, his body pressing harder against yours as if he couldn’t get close enough.

When you finally pulled back to catch your breath, your chest heaving, his forehead rested against yours. He was still holding you close, his eyes half-lidded but dark with want. 

"You sure you want me here, darlin’?" he asked, his voice rough and low, a mix of that cocky confidence and something deeper, a kind of restraint that surprised you after the way he’d been looking at you all night.

You met his gaze, your hands still tangled in his hair as you nodded, your voice breathless but certain. "Yeah, Jake. I want you here."

That was all the encouragement he needed. His lips were back on yours in an instant, his hands lifting you off the ground as he backed you toward the hallway leading to your bedroom. Each step he took felt deliberate, as though he was savoring every second, every touch, the intensity between you simmering just beneath the surface.

The moment you reached the bedroom, the tension that had been crackling between you and Jake finally snapped. His lips stayed on yours as you fumbled your way toward the bed, your hands roaming over the fabric of his uniform. When your legs hit the edge of the mattress, he pulled back just enough to tug at your clothes, his fingers moving with surprising gentleness given the hunger in his eyes.

Piece by piece, he undressed you, taking in every inch of newly exposed skin with that signature Hangman smirk. When you were finally bare in front of him, Jake’s eyes darkened, his gaze raking over your body in a way that made your skin tingle.

"Goddamn," he murmured, his voice thick with admiration. "You’re perfect."

Heat rushed to your cheeks at the compliment, but before he could strip out of his uniform, your hands shot out to stop him. You placed your palms on his chest, shaking your head with a teasing smile. 

"Keep it on... for now."

Jake raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening into that cocky grin you’d come to love. "Yes, ma’am," he drawled, his voice low and rough.

His hands found your hips again, and with gentle pressure, he guided you down onto the bed, your back meeting the soft sheets beneath you. His strong hands slid up your thighs, spreading them apart slowly as he kneeled between your legs.

You felt your heart race in anticipation as he leaned down, his lips brushing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. Every kiss, every touch, sent a jolt of electricity through you. He paused, just shy of where you needed him most, and looked up at you with that same mischievous glint in his eyes, as though waiting for you to say something.

But you couldn’t, not when he was this close, not when your body was already aching for him. Your breath hitched as his lips finally found their way to the space between your legs, and any teasing thoughts you had were replaced by pure, unadulterated need.

Jake didn’t waste any time. The moment his mouth pressed against you, a wave of pleasure hit you, and it became clear just how skilled he was. His tongue moved with purpose, tracing every sensitive spot, and you couldn’t help the small gasps that escaped your lips. He knew exactly what he was doing, and it felt as if every flick of his tongue was calculated to drive you closer to the edge.

The sensation was overwhelming, but what really did it for you was the sight of him—his head between your thighs, looking up at you with that same hungry intensity. His khaki uniform was still on, the sleeves pulling taut around his arms as he gripped your legs, keeping you in place. The combination of that pristine military uniform and the absolute sin he was committing between your legs made the whole experience even more intoxicating.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice low and thick as he pulled back just enough to speak. His lips glistened from his efforts, his eyes locked on yours. “You look so good like this. You’re close, aren’t you?”

You could barely respond, too wrapped up in the overwhelming pleasure coursing through you. He knew, though—he could feel the way your body tensed, the way your breathing quickened.

“Come on, baby,” he coaxed, his voice soft but commanding. “Let go for me. I want to feel you.”

His words were like a spark, setting off something deep inside you. The combination of his mouth and his voice, that low drawl filled with desire, pushed you right to the brink. His tongue circled you again, slow and deliberate, and your body responded instinctively, arching up off the bed as your release started to build.

“That’s it,” Jake whispered, his fingers digging into your thighs as he held you steady. “Come for me, sweetheart. I want to hear you.”

With a final flick of his tongue and the pressure of his lips, you felt yourself unravel. The world seemed to blur for a moment as your climax hit you hard, your moans filling the room as Jake worked you through it, never letting up until every last bit of pleasure had coursed through you.

Jake climbed onto the bed, hovering over you, a teasing smile playing on his lips as he brushed a few stray strands of hair away from your face. The warmth of his body radiated down to you, and your heart raced as he leaned in for a kiss, his mouth moving softly against yours.

Your hands instinctively moved to his uniform shirt, fingers deftly working to undo the buttons. With each one that came undone, his kisses traveled down to your neck, teasing and sucking softly before he pulled back, leaning closer to your ear.

“You know,” he drawled, his voice thick with that signature Hangman cockiness, “I know you like the uniform on me, but I think you’d like it even better off.”

With that, he sat up, leaning back on his heels, and you watched, entranced, as he slowly undid the buttons you hadn’t gotten to. The fabric fell away from his shoulders and arms, revealing toned muscles that made your breath hitch. Then he pulled his white tank top over his head, and your hands instinctively reached out, running down his chest and abs.

You’d seen the beach pictures on his profile, but seeing him in person was a whole different experience. The way his muscles flexed beneath your fingertips sent shivers down your spine.

He moved to the edge of the bed, his fingers deftly removing his belt and sliding down his pants. When he was finally undressed, he joined you back on the bed, sitting on the edge as he pulled you gently to straddle his lap. His hands found your waist, grounding you as your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer.

“I want to feel you,” you whispered, desire lacing your words.

Jake’s expression shifted, a hint of hesitation flashing across his face. “I don’t have any protection with me,” he admitted, the cockiness momentarily replaced by sincerity.

You felt a wave of relief wash over you. Thankfully, you still had some condoms in your nightstand from your last relationship. Leaning over, Jake’s hands steadying you, you reached into the drawer and pulled one out. He slid it on himself with ease, and the moment felt electric, anticipation crackling in the air.

You positioned yourself over him, lifting your hips slightly. As you slowly slid down, both of you let out moans, the feeling of him filling you making your body tingle with pleasure. His hands on your waist began to guide your pace, but soon he decided he wanted more, thrusting up into you with urgency. Your head fell back as waves of pleasure washed over you. 

“God, that feels so good,” you breathed out, lost in the moment.

“Let me hear you,” he encouraged, his voice deep and low, urging you to speak.

You called out his name, breathless with desire, but he smirked, challenging you. “Uh uh, what’s my name?”

In that moment, the realization of what he wanted ignited something within you. You moaned out, “Lieutenant,” and the satisfaction in his eyes made you feel even more exhilarated.

He picked up the pace, thrusting into you with a hunger that matched your own, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. 

“That’s it, baby,” he breathed, his hands gripping your waist as he continued to drive you both higher, the world outside forgotten as you focused solely on each other.

The rhythm between you two intensified, each thrust igniting the fire building within you. As you felt the heat coil tighter in your core, Jake's hands gripped your waist, guiding you as he drove deeper, his breath ragged against your ear.

“Let go for me,” he urged, his voice thick with desire, urging you to reach that peak with him. You felt every nerve ending come alive, the pleasure building to an exquisite tension that threatened to consume you both.

With a few more powerful thrusts, the dam inside you broke. A wave of ecstasy washed over you, sending you spiraling into bliss. “Jake!” you cried out, feeling yourself unravel as pleasure coursed through you. Your body tightened around him, pulling him in deeper as he met you, the two of you surrendering to the moment together.

Jake let out a low groan, the sound sending another shiver through you as he hit his own release, filling you as the heat radiated between you. You could feel the tension dissipate, the world around you fading into the background as you both lost yourselves in the afterglow of your shared climax.

The two of you collapsed onto the bed, breathless and entwined. You lay there, bodies still connected, as the warmth of the moment enveloped you. Jake’s fingers traced gentle patterns on your skin, his breath gradually slowing as he smiled down at you.

“That was…” he started, searching for the right words, his grin wide and genuine.

“Unforgettable,” you finished, looking up at him, a satisfied smile spreading across your face.

He chuckled softly, brushing a lock of hair behind your ear. “You’re not too bad yourself, you know that?”

You rolled onto your side, propping your head up with your hand as you gazed at him, feeling a mix of affection and exhilaration. The energy still buzzed between you, a reminder of the passion you’d just shared.

As you both lay there, the reality of your summer fling washed over you. Jake wasn’t just some guy you met on a dating app; he was the kind of man who took your breath away, and for tonight, you were grateful for every moment you’d get with him.

[simpjaes]

mtl in hyungline to be into public (like actual public) sex

MTL: hyung line + to be into public sex

most

★ heeseung: oh, yeah for sure. he's more the type to fuck you right there on a kitchen table in the middle of a college party as a way to assert dominance. the type to fuck you on camera during a live on instagram, the type to bend you over and cover your mouth in a library, whispering words of "shh, no talking in the library babe." then immediately making you moan intentionally just so he can look another person in the eye while giving it to you juuuust right........oh man, fucking you in the back of his friend's car after a night out too....like yeah sunghoon looks in the rearview mirror and just sees straight pussy getting pounded by his shameless moaning best friend. heeseung is definitely risky enough to fuck you just about anywhere if he can get away with it without catching a charge

☆ jay: will absolutely fuck you on any date he takes you on. especially mid-day picnic dates, where you're isolated enough but passing cars and people out and about walking their dogs could easily tell if they look for longer than ten seconds. he's the type to pull you onto his lap and make you ride him, while the sun is warming up your skin and the breeze is giving you little goosebumps along with the way he ruts his hips up, trying to make it more than just cock-warming.

★ jake: probably prefers it to be more private because he's loud and wants you to be loud too. does not like having to be quiet. probably has gotten caught and banned from a store for fucking you in the dressing room lmfao. i don't think he'd be against car or bathroom fucks though, nor do i think he'd be against letting a third...or fourth...or fifth....watch him fuck you in the privacy of his own space.

☆ sunghoon: oh, you thought he would let people notice you getting fucked by him? absolutely not! he's the one that will stop anything and everything he's doing the second you tell him you're horny he could be mid-meeting at work and get a text from you with a picture of your fingers buried between your folds and he's like "sorry, my grandma just died" just so he can rush home and fuck you the way you need. there may be a rare occasion where he steals someone's room at a party to fuck you in their bed, or maybe behind a locked bathroom door, but yeah, no, he's not letting anyone see you like that. he's possessive, and doesn't need to boast about his girl by letting people watch him please you. they already know he fucks you good with the way you cling to him 24/7.

least

[supernovafics]

•*⁀➷ ❝ 𝐈’𝐋𝐋 𝐁𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔. ❞✧∘ ✭・.✫・゜·。.

supernovafics!

✭•*⁀➷ a bestfriend!steve harrington roommate au slightly inspired by the tv show “friends” ·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

a year in the lives of you and your best friend steve harrington. you never thought that you would be living with this guy you’ve known since you were ten— although it was a hypothetical topic that was discussed at length during the many sleepovers you had over the years. but somehow on a hectic day in august, the stars managed to align, and the next thing you know a lease is being signed and the two of you are moving into a two-bedroom apartment. so far it’s been two months of countless late nights and too many really early mornings where you’re running late to class or steve’s rushing to get to his shift at family video. for the most part, though, it’s a perfect situation. until the lines that felt as if they were clearly drawn in the sand— and had been there from perhaps the moment you and him met— start getting blurrier and blurrier

warnings: bestfriend!steve, roommate!steve, childhood best friends to (eventual) lovers, two idiots in love (but neither wanna admit it), Big Big slow burn, besties being besties, minimal angst, mainly just a lot of fun vibes, eventual smut (minors dni!), many familiar faces (robin, eddie, sometimes the kids), no use of y/n, specific warnings will be tagged per chapter

important note! this will be a very “low stakes” series (there’s not really a super specific storyline happening in this), and i’m really just gonna post for it whenever i’m in the mood/feel inspired for it. i already have a bunch of random ideas for this universe that i wanna eventually do, but requests are open for anything you wanna see with these roommates/besties<333 (also oneshots/blurbs will be posted non-chronologically but will be listed chronologically, so you can pretty much read in any order you want to!)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

fall 1985

love is a game (the one where you and steve have a “housewarming party”)

let’s forget it (the one where steve sees you naked)

third street (the one at the diner in the middle of the night)

silly promises (the one at dairy queen)

take a picture (the one with batman & robin)

from the dining table (the one with the early thanksgiving dinner)

never talk about it (the one where you see steve naked)

just a feeling (the one with steve’s date)

winter 1985/1986

the first fall of snow (the one where the kids spend the night)

care for you (the one where you’re both sick)

maybe this year (the one with the bet)

closing time (the one at family video)

while you were sleeping (the one with steve’s epiphany)

only for you (the one where you and steve play basketball)

in the middle of the night (the one with the ski trip)

worth waiting for (the one after the ski trip) (18+)

spring 1986

between you and me (the one where you and steve are secretly dating)

tell me a secret (the one where everyone finds out)

take my hand (the one where you and steve are chaperones at a school dance)

stay with me (the one where you come home drunk and steve takes care of you)

much better (the one with the "celebratory dinner")

summer 1986

one more second (the one with the barbecue)

out for the night (the one with the party at the lake)

[takenbypeter]

Leading Up To Now

Rodrick Heffley x reader

Words: 407

Life was funny sometimes. 

One moment you’re a middle schooler worrying about grades and fitting in and the next you’re at a college party, making out with a random guy. 

Well it wasn’t a random guy, it was Rodrick Heffley. 

Yes Rodrick, the guy you’ve been in the same grade with your whole life and who you’ve seen practically everyday yet never had a conversation with. Somehow, here you were kissing each other in a crowded room surrounded by a bunch of other college students. 

But it didn’t matter, with your lips locked you barely noticed anyone else. At least not until you separated for some air. 

You grinned back at an already smiling Rodrick. 

He opened his mouth saying something, but was easily overpowered by the noise. 

“What?” You shouted. 

He leaned closer to you on the couch, “I said I’ve always wanted to kiss you!” 

You rolled your eyes at his line that was obviously a pick up line.

“No, I'm serious! I’ve always had a little crush on you since like the third grade, when you drew a picture of everyone in Mr. Anderson’s class and you made sure everyone got their own copy.”

Your face contorted from disbelief to surprise, “you remember that?”

“Yeah, I mean I thought it was cool.”

Rodrick leaned close once again linking his lips to yours and after a moment of bliss you pushed him away. 

“Wait, you actually liked me?”

“Yeah,” he said with a single nod, his hair bouncing as he did. 

“Well, why didn’t you say anything?”

He leaned back, “at the time when I did build up the courage, Jason asked you out and you rejected him,” he shrugged, “I guess I figured you’d just reject me too.”

Your mouth dropped open to argue that that wouldn’t happen but then you shut it, nodding because honestly you would’ve definitely rejected him at the time. 

“Okay, that might’ve been true back then, but…” you grinned back at him, “not right now.”

His lips slowly curved into a Cheshire Cat-like smile, “oh yeah?”

You nodded, prompting him to ask, “okay. How about you, me, tomorrow night? We can get ice cream.”

You pressed your lips together and turned your whole body to him, “nah I’m good.”

His mouth dropped seemingly offended. 

“I’m kidding, yes I’ll go on a date with you, now come over here,” you tugged on his jacket once again, attaching yourself to him. 

[connanro]

quick reference post for artists because i'm a violinist and Suffer Every Day

the bow:

the bow hold:

there are two main schools of violin bow holding--this article goes into more detail if you're interested--but the general shape is pretty consistent. the thumb and middle finger oppose each other and are where the main weight of the bow is held; other fingers are for balance and direction. the wrist is generally above the bow itself when playing closer to the frog, level in the middle, and lowered near the tip. note the lines below:

(pictured: nicola benedetti, midori, gil shaham, and nicola benedetti) the angle of the arm changes depending on how the violin is positioned and what string is being played.

the violin:

adult performers all use full-sized violins, which have 36 cm (14 inch) bodies.

the violin hold:

the violin is ALWAYS held on the LEFT SIDE. it doesn't matter what your dominant hand is, it still goes ON THE LEFT. this is because the violinist's natural habitat is the orchestra, where they must sit close to other violinists while playing. it prevents stabbing accidents. trust me.

the instrument is held underneath the chin--sometimes with the additional support of a shoulder pad, as you can see in the fourth picture--and away from the centre of the body. note that the instrument looks bigger in the first two pictures (with midori) than it does in the third and fourth (with augustin hadelich and gil shaham). the instrument is the same size; the performers are not. note also that the position of the left hand varies radically in all the pictures i've shown.

you'll sometimes see performers who have a cloth under their chin, like the second midori picture. this has been more common in the past six or so years--i don't use one myself, but it can help prevent irritating the skin on your neck (because when you spend 4+ hours a day rubbing your delicate neck skin on wood, it adds up). whether or not a performer uses a shoulder pad depends both on the length of their neck and personal preference. i have a long neck and consequently have a custom chinrest AND a tall shoulder rest; my professor, who is built similarly to me, uses an extra tall custom chinrest and no shoulder pad.

most importantly: violinists traditionally make really weird faces when we play.

(ray chen and gil shaham)

if you need more reference photos, look up A SPECIFIC VIOLINIST and use those. you can also find SO many live performances on youtube if video is helpful!

[withleeknow]

rue de rivoli.

pairing: hyunjin x reader genre/warnings: established relationship, fluff, semi edited lol, a little sappy and very self indulgent and inspired by a very specific instance in that one hyunjin vlog in japan 🤷‍♀️ word count: 0.9k

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation / masterlist / ko-fi

hyunjin might be the worst - and you mean it, the worst - travel partner.

it’s all because of that ridiculously expensive camera of his and the little hobby that he’s taken up on.

“hey,” he calls out softly, trailing a few steps behind you as he raises the camera up to his face again. “hold it right there.”

you huff out a breath in mild annoyance, blowing some hair away from your face as the air escapes from your lips.

“seriously? you’ve taken a gazillion pictures already. this is the third time you’ve made me stop in the past thirty minutes.”

“but the lighting is just perfect.”

“we’re only here for a few days! i can’t see all the places i wanna see if you keep making me stop every two seconds!”

it was cute at first, how he kept asking you to stop in the middle of the street to snap a photo of you. it made you blush every time he did, because he would take another brief moment to admire the final product on his camera’s display screen and tell you that even though the photo turned out great, it could never truly capture how beautiful you are through his eyes. then he’d press a kiss to your cheek or a swift peck to your lips before taking your hand and tugging you along, en route to the tourist attractions that you’ve yet to come across.

to be fair, it’s still cute, and despite your feeble irritation, you still let hyunjin take his photos every time he asks. mostly because he would start sporting a gigantic pout on his face, coupled with the way his eyes widen like a puppy begging for a treat.

“please? you look so pretty right now. pleaseee?”

you acquiesce - of course you do - because who can say no to a cute whiny hyunjin?

you roll your eyes half-heartedly, and a bright grin immediately spreads on his lips because he knows that he’s getting what he wants, the smile so brilliant that it brings out his whisker dimples and turns his eyes into adorable crescent moons.

he patters over to you on light footsteps once the shot has been snapped, proudly showing you his handy work even though you secretly think it looks the same as any other photo of you that he’s taken - sometimes it’s your side profile with your hair covering half of your face because you’re too awkward to look directly at the camera, sometimes it’s you in random poses because you’re never sure what to do with your hands while getting your picture taken.

“did you even take any photos of the scenery?”

hyunjin shrugs, pretty indifferent to your question. “yeah, a few.”

“a few? give me that, let me see... you’ve taken two hundred and sixty four photos so far and only a few are of freaking paris?!”

another shrug, then cue one of the corniest things he’s ever said to you in your entire life. “you’re prettier than paris.”

sure, it’s a massively cliché thing to say, and a teeny bit cringeworthy to hear if this were a sappy romance movie. but coming from him, you know the sentiment is entirely genuine because hyunjin is nothing if not one of the sincerest people you know.

it makes you short-circuit as you stare up at him. the sun behind him softens by a fraction as it starts to make its descent, and the slowly fading sunlight looks as though it’s found a home as his personal halo. to have someone as beautiful as him tell you that you’re prettier than the city of love itself is quite honestly a little surreal, no matter how long you’ve been together.

“that was the cheesiest shit ever,” you comment, pretending to gag but knowing perfectly well that he can see the rosy flush on your cheeks. you mutter something else - for good measure - along the lines of never going on a trip with him again.

hyunjin laughs that endearing signature laugh of his, then he twists the cap back on the camera lens and once again lets the device dangle from the strap around his neck. he pulls you toward him with ease and kisses you deeply with a smile on his lips, one that’s warmer than the parisian sun could ever hope to be.

no, hyunjin isn’t a great travel partner. yes, mostly because he takes up all of your time trying to take pictures of you instead of letting you freely wander to the spots that you’d spent a lot of time bookmarking on google maps beforehand. he might be the worst person you’ve gone on a trip with because when you’re travelling, you like to be productive with your time and be able to do everything you set out to do in the limited number of days you have.

but even then, maybe it’s not that terrible having to miss watching the sunset in front of the eiffel tower because more exquisite than all of the most renowned artworks displayed in the louvre and more enchanting than any view you can spot from montmarte is your hyunjin that you adore, who’s kissing you in the middle of a street which name you can’t even pronounce.

any irritation you had from before slowly melts away. you don’t even care (that much) that you’re in the city of love.

any city is love when you’re with him.

(even when he messes up your travel plans sometimes.)

permanent taglist: @onlyycb97wife @starsandrqindrops @borahae-reads @abbiestearsricochet @cutiespaghetti @anthropologykpopmultistan @moonlinos @mjnhoz @caitlyn98s @piercidh34rts  @stayceebs97 @linocz @yaorzu-blog @biribarabiribbaem @kayleefriedchicken @extrhotjne @caitxx1 @palindrome969 @todorokiskitten @azuna-sz @meanergreener @nxzz-skz @jazziwritesthings @poutypoutybin @bookyeom @jisuperboard @wyzminho @amarecerasus @channection @lastgreatamericandynasty1 @judeduartewannabe @chanshyunjin @firelordtsuki (italicized = can’t tag)

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 04.03.2024]

[caesium-55]

—seven days. [ ii ]

pairing: max verstappen x manager! reader.

summary: as the third time world champion, max verstappen's manager, you function on the belief that whatever max verstappen wanted, max verstappen shall get. but this time, after four years of working as his manager, you can't give him what he wants anymore and that was to stay.

author's note: not beta-read. not edited. here's part 2 folks. part 3 is on the works now. did i write this fic instead of studying for my important quiz tomorrow? yes, yes i did. pls pray for my score.

masterlist.

For Christmas in 2019, Max has gotten you an apartment near his in Monaco. It is a loft apartment good for one on the 8th floor, a building away from where Daniel and Max lived. Originally, he wants to get you the unit a floor below his. You decline quickly, insisting that you are very fine with rooming with Julia and Kendall, who are both members of the Red Bull PR team whom you have gotten close with since your first year working with Red Bull. Max may have beef with the PR team for making him do a lot of embarrassing shit for the views but you're besties with most of them and actually thank them for making Max suffer through PR stuff because you cannot afford therapy and watching Max suffer through PR-related activities is a good form of free therapy. Also, Monaco apartments are fucking expensive. Red Bull might be paying you well but not well enough to afford an apartment in a country as expensive as Monaco.

“I want you close,” he tells you. If you did not know any better, you'd have butterflies fluttering in your intestines right about that moment. Sometimes, Max utter the most heart-fluttering of nonsense without meaning to. It causes your heart to stutter more times than you would like to admit.

“Well, I don't want you close.”

Max will never ever win an argument with you. He knows that. You know that. The best he can do is come to a compromise, a compromise that is usually tailored to suit whatever you want.

So you got that small loft apartment a building away, good for one person only. It's easy to clean and it's cheap, Max already said that, which makes you happy because you can set a payment plan for that. An apartment as a Christmas gift is already too much, borderline giving you a heart attack already. Rich people spending their money give you, a person of the middle class folks, heart attacks. Why can't Max be normal and give you a normal gift? A bracelet? A bag? You’ll even accept it if he gave you a slice of cheesecake. Not even your parents can buy you an apartment.

It has only been three years since the keys are passed on to your ownership and people say three years is enough time for a person to make a place home. But your apartment doesn't even feel like home, only a place you’ll sleep in if you happen to be in Monaco for the evening.

Home is that humble, two-storey house painted in red and yellow in Lynnwood Avenue, Vista Del Pueblo, Austin, a total picture of a picket fence dream. Home is Abuelo's old farmhouse in El Paso where you spent your childhood riding horses and driving ATVs across the dusty dry earth. Home is the retro milkshake place owned by the sweet old couple that has been in the neighborhood longer than your entire existence. Home is the tree-lined streets where you walked the family senior dog, Niko. Home is the Austin Fire House, your Dad’s workplace that you visited a handful of times back when you were a child to deliver cookies that your Abuela baked so your Dad could share it with his co-workers. Home is your mom’s clinic in the middle of downtown, always smelling like eugenol, disinfectant, formaldehyde, and her perfume. Home is not glitz and gold and glamor and cash cash cash. Home is not seeing wealthy people left and right. Home is not Monaco.

And it is not like you stayed long in your place either. You're always off traveling around the world with the Red Bull team and accompanying Max wherever he needs your presence. You don't even spend your breaks in that apartment because you immediately fly home to your family once a break is graciously given to you before flying off again to watch Max collect trophy after trophy.

Six days from now, you're going to be flying off to Texas. That means you have six days—less than six days actually—to pack all your crayons and go. Of course you're going to pack up the day before you leave. Doing shit last minute makes your life exciting, and it's not like you had a lot of shit to pack anyway. All your belongings can be tucked into a total of three suitcases. Three years worth of belongings in three suitcases.

you: you doin good there?

Max has been holing himself up in his penthouse since your arrival from Abu Dhabi, probably dealing with his breakup with Kelly. A shame, really. You thought the two looked good together. (Do they really? the asshole part of your brain thinks.)

And P. Thank God for that child’s existence. You hate children but P is an exception. P brings the best out of Max. Max has gotten the chance to act as the father he never had. It's heartwarming, to be honest.

him: not really no

him: can you bring me coffee

you: on it champ

Fifteen minutes later, you’re knocking on the gigantic double doors of his penthouse, a tall styro cup of espresso from that cute café two streets down and a slice of blueberry cheesecake because you’re thoughtful enough to buy him his favorite cake. You experienced a breakup before. A cake and an icecream work wonders when it came to healing broken hearts.

“You're fast,” he immediately says after opening the door. You kind of expect that he’d look worse, snotty and messy and looking like he ran from hell and back. But no, he looks……fine? His sweater and shorts look absolutely neat and comfortable and dry of snot. His hair is a little fluffy from lying on his bed but not too messy. He doesn't even look like he was crying. No red-rimmed eyes. No red nose.

You fake gasp, putting a hand on your chest for additional dramatic effect, “The fastest racer in F1 callin’ me fast. Truly honored.”

A smile plays on his lips, sidestepping and beckoning you in.

You frequently come by Max’s home, for work purposes of course, but you still cannot help but be amazed by the enormity of it every time you enter. Max’s penthouse is twenty times bigger than the apartment you currently live in. One man and a big house—it must be very lonely now that P and Kelly are no longer around. Now, you’re even more worried about what will happen the moment you go back to Texas.

Oh… You still haven't told him yet.

“Coffee,” you hand him the warm styro cup to which he accepts gratefully. He utters his thanks, taking a whiff before sipping, letting out a pleasured moan.

You make your way to his gigantic kitchen, navigating your way through his cabinets in search of a plate and a fork. You slide the cheesecake on the plate towards Max, who followed you to the kitchen and sat on the empty stool in the kitchen counter.

“Thank you,” he says, picking up the fork and taking a bite. He glances at your feet, eyes trained on your YSL. The obnoxious sound of the heels clicking against the floor as you walk probably is the one that caught his attention.

“You know, you've been wearing the same shoes since 2019.”

Points for Max for noticing. These YSL Opyum heels are the first luxury items you bought for yourself after saving for three years to buy one pair. You saw a rich international student wear it once back in university and you liked how sophisticated it looked compared to all the pairs of converse or platform boots you owned. So you made it your life’s goal to own one. In 2019, after doing tons of part time jobs in university and working with Red Bull for a whole year, you managed to buy yourself one on your birthday and you’d been wearing them to work ever since.

Your regular work uniform consists of a Red Bull polo shirt, a pencil or a slit skirt, and that specific pair of heels. Around 2021, you bought another pair to replace the old one because the old one broke. And 2022 again.

“What's wrong with ‘em?” you ask, brows furrowing as you followed his train of sight. Your heels might be a year old already but they still look fine.

Max blinks, “No, there's nothing wrong. Just…Do you think you would want to wear some other design?”

“No,” is your reply. “I like ‘em just the way they are.”

“Okay.”

Your conversation drifts into something else as Max finishes his coffee and cake. You spend the rest of the day in Max’s penthouse, lying on his plush couch while a slasher movie from the 2000s played on his wide TV. He has given you access on his Netflix account so you abused it to your heart’s content because you don't even have. a Netflix subscription. You can absolutely afford one, you just choose not to. You have opted in using your phone mid-movie because the movie is beginning to get real scary but you do not want Max to think you're a coward so you acted like you're disinterested instead.

“Oh look, Charles is also back in Monaco. Do you want to hang out together?” you nudge Max with your foot, who swats it away from him, face contorting in disgust. You show him the post on Charles private IG—yes, you were mutuals in each other's private IG because whoever is friends with Max was friends with you by extension—on your phone.

“Stop makin’ that face, my feet are nice.”

Your toenails are a glorious red now. Ferrari red actually and they suit you better than the Red Bull red. Huh, maybe you should have considered applying for Ferrari instead of Renault in 2018.

“No, it isn't.”

You roll your eyes, pulling it away from him and sitting up, “Do you want me to schedule you a dinner with Charles? You might need the bro time, you know? Dad said bro times are also important, but not as important as family time, of course. My bro broke up with his sweetheart back when I was still in uni and his best buds were the reason he was back up in tippy top shape by the end of the week.”

Max stares at you blankly, “I think I understand the words individually but not the sentence entirely. I don't know if it's the accent or you Americans just have a strange way of structuring your sentences.”

“Point is, hang out with a friend because a friend can help you move on from a pussy.”

Max hurls a throw pillow at your direction, which you luckily avoided thanks to your non-racer level but still considerably good reaction time, but unfortunately, this action causes your center of gravity to shift and before you know it, you're falling from the couch. Unconsciously, you grab Max but then Max doesn't expect that you’ll grab him so now, you’re both falling off the couch and onto the floor.

You groan.

“Fuckin’ ass, man. That was uncalled for.”

He flips you off.

Nevertheless, Max ends up following your advice though and calls Charles to hang out the next day. Lestappen fans should be thanking you on Twitter the next day for bringing those two together on an off-day in Monaco. Maybe they'll hang out and eat together in a restaurant? Maybe they'll go on a yacht picnic?

Except Max sends you a message at high noon.

him: sos

you: is your kitchen burning

him: no

him: but this is still an emergency and you need to come quick

him: he’s with his girlfriend and i don’t want to thirdwheel

you: succ it up

him: you can’t do this to me

him: i just got my heart broken in abu dhabi

you: where are you

him: home

him: i also need help in cooking

Charles is the one who answers the door when you knock. He looks genuinely surprised when he sees you and you deduce that Max hasn't told him that you're coming over.

“Babe, who’s that?” you hear Alex’s voice behind Charles and you light up immediately, quickly moving past Charles to throw your hands around the sweet young woman.

“Alex!” Alexandra laughs and hugs you back. The sound of her laughter is as pretty as she and God definitely has favorites because why did he sculpt this twenty-one year old like the daughter of the Aphrodite while you look like you were born from one of Hephaestus’ sperm that lost the gene pool contest? The world is unfair. You always get the short end of the stick, may it be career-wise or appearance-wise, and you can't even bring your personality to the table because normally, without the whole act of professionalism and sophistication you put on, you act like an extroverted American frat boy on a good day and a sassy drag queen slash war freak on a bad day so yeah, you guess that's the short end of the stick, too.

“Seriously?” you look up and saw Max holding a frying pan, staring at you unimpressed. You roll your eyes and slowly pull away from the hug, gaze returning to Alexandra.

“How’ve you been, sweetie? Been a while since I last saw you.”

You didn't get a chance to talk to her in Abu Dhabi and in Las Vegas.

“Good,” she replies, smiling sweetly and ugh, you want to pinch her cheeks so bad. But Charles is pulling you away from Alexandra before you can do so.

“No, no, she is mine, yours is right over there,” Charles says, pointing at Max, who's still standing there in the corner. “Go on. Shoo.”

You roll your eyes before walking up to Max, “‘Sup?”

Max raises a brow at you, “So Charles’ girlfriend gets a hug and I get a sup?”

“Well, she's Alexandra Saint Mleux and you’re just….” you look him up and down. “Nevermind, what you trynna cook?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

“I thought you said you were cooking.”

“I said I needed help with cooking.”

Your eyes narrow into slits, “You’re going to let me do the cooking, aren't you?”

“You know that pasta you made in September that you said was your mother’s recipe?”

A sigh escapes your lips as you roll the sleeves of your button-up to your elbows and power-walked your way to the kitchen, the sound of your YSL heels clicking against the floor bouncing against the walls of Max’s kitchen.

Lunch goes great. Charles and Alexandra love your cooking. Max has even asked for seconds. Good to know that he's eating well. Somewhere down the line, champagne is served even though it’s mid-afternoon and the four of you're sitting in Max’s balcony, staring at Monaco scape below. Thankfully, it is a cloudy day in Monaco. The heat of the sun isn't too harsh on the skin. Despite that, you hand Max a sun screen.

“Sorry about Kelly, by the way,” Alexandra says. Your conversation has drifted towards Max’s failed relationship now.

“That is very nice of you to say,” replies Max, smiling slightly. “But I’m okay.”

You give him a look, clearly unconvinced. Admitting vulnerability gives him hives so he's definitely lying.

“You look too okay for a guy who ended a three-year relationship,” Charles muses and his words get you immediately thinking.

Oh? So they’ve been dating that long? You never noticed.

“Even [Name] looked worse when she broke up with that Williams mechanic two years ago and they dated for like what? Barely a year?”

“Unprovoked!” you exclaim. Alex and Max laugh.

But yeah, Charles is right. When you broke up with Leo in 2021, it was not the prettiest sight. He entered Williams mid-2020 as a mechanic and he immediately caught your attention. He's kind and handsome and a very sweet guy. You have similar interests—engineering—and a similar sense of humor and you just….work so well together, you know? You were sure he was your soulmate the moment he cracked up that Physics pickup line and you know it was the same with him. You swore to God that you’d run away from all the British charming assholes but Leo made you eat your own words and gave you a run for your money.

But alas, 2021 season came and Red Bull Racing became busier than ever because Max and Hamilton got crazily competitive and Max demanded your full attention, needing you as a support system to win.

And Leo. Well, he’s busy, too. Engineers are always busy. But he felt neglected because all your attention was on Max. He felt like he was competing with Max for your attention and it shouldn't even be a competition in the first because Leo was the boyfriend and Max was not. And you cannot even deny that you prioritized Max that year. You wanted Max to win. You needed Max to win, so he can finally ask Horner to move you to the engineering team.

Losing Leo is devastating but Max won the WDC title that year and while you spent nearly a month crying over Leo after the breakup, you're hoping that at least, in 2022, you’ll finally get that damned engineering position at the cost of losing your soulmate. That the tears you shed and the broken heart you carried inside your ribs will be worth it if it was in exchange for your dream. Then, it does not happen. The job isn't given to you and you spent the early months of the 2023 season wishing that you have chosen Leo instead of Max Verstappen.

“You’re still friends with him, right?” Charles turns to you.

“Of course,” you say honestly. You're still mutuals on IG and he still hearts your IG stories at times. You still talk, too, on the freer nights where there's a lot of time to waste. “We ended on good terms.”

“How about you, Max?”

“Can we not talk about this please?”

The four of you empty that bottle of champagne and once the sun has begun retiring for the night, Alex and Charles also left. You're soon to follow, fixing your tote bag and going through the mental checklist in your head so you will not forget anything and not waste energy returning here to pick it up.

“You can stay for dinner.”

Max’s offer surprises you.

“No.”

His face drops as quickly as your answer came.

“You're goin’ to let me cook again.”

“No, I’ll cook.”

You give him an unimpressed look. Clearly, you're not convinced.

“I swear, I’ll cook.”

“What if I get poisoned?”

“You won't get poisoned.”

When you continue staring at him, he sighs.

“Just stay please?”

Of course, you stayed. He asked after all.

You keep your eyes on him as he makes dinner with clumsy hands and a bit of unsureness behind his actions.

“You're goin’ to burn it, honey,” you point out.

“What honey? I didn't put any honey in it.”

You blink. He blinks back.

“You’re gonna give me aneurysm one day.”

Shaking your head, you walk into the bathroom at the end of the enormous hallway, lock the door behind you, lean your back against the door, and slowly slides down until your ass meets the cold bathroom floor. You slap a palm against your forehead and purse your lips to stop a scream from erupting.

God fucking dammit, Max is too adorable back there and this is not doing good things for your heart.

[mrchiipchrome]

The Museum

W.C. - 5.2 k

this is so the 'pookie looks absolutely fire' tiktok couple coded

thank you to the anon that requested this, much love to you:)

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

The skittles made a crunching sound as your molars bit down on them, it was an every day snack for you, tasting the rainbow more often than not. It was a relatively new habit, but when your ex had broken up with you, you promised yourself to become a better person.

It obviously had to be you who had something wrong with them, otherwise she wouldn’t have fallen in love with someone else and out of love with you. Quitting smoking was the first thing on your agenda, hence the skittles.

The next thing was to get away from the small southern town in Texas, move so far away that you left the country entirely. The only thing you’d taken with you on the plane was a carryon with 2 changes of clothes, your cowboy hat and a dream of bettering your life.

The third thing you bettered was your health, going out for a run every morning through the streets of London, going to the gym after work, doing push-ups before bed. It worked wonders, the tips you got from the ladies at the bar where you worked were simply incredible.

The fourth thing you wanted to improve was your cultural knowledge, the exact reason why you were standing in the middle of a museum, old renaissance paintings in every corner of the large room. It was something you appreciated, none of that modern bullshit where people just taped a banana to a canvas and called it art, it was back from when people actually painted.

Your hand slipped down your body into your jacket pocket, fetching another piece of candy, although a voice speaking up from your right startled you nearly enough for you to drop it back into the bag.

“You’re not supposed to eat in museums, you know?” The woman had a foreign dialect, just like you. You guessed it was from somewhere in the middle of Europe, maybe Germany or any of the neighboring countries.

“It’s not a problem if you don’t tell on me, no one has to know.” She seems just as startled by your accent as you were by her speaking to you, her cheeks dusted with a light pink at the wink you sent her.

“What are you going to do if I tell them? Take me back to your ranch on your horse?” The mystery woman teases, obviously making fun of the accent and the cowboy hat sitting perched on your head. In response you laugh under your breath, shaking your head in amusement.

“I’m afraid that I left the ranch back in Texas, Miss. All I have here is a small one bedroom apartment.” She looks up at you through the side of her eye, her half smile distracting you more than you’d like to admit. Her brows knit together when she notices a security guard eying the two of you curiously and her elbow digs into your ribs when you once again reach for the skittles in your pocket.

“Nice hat, my friend would be jealous.” You nod in agreement, plucking the stetson off your head and turning it around in your hand. In a brief moment of stupidity, you place the cowboy hat on the pretty stranger’s head, it falling down the front of her face to cover her eyes. It’s frankly adorable, the way she brings her hand up to push it back to the crown of her head.

The reassuring smile on her face tells you that she approves of your action, a relief to your entire being. She takes her phone out of her back pocket, turning it on and snapping a picture of you both, the cowboy hat still perched on top of her head.

In response, you snap a picture of her alone, the woman posing like a cowboy would for you. She was going to be the wallpaper of your phone for a while, even though you didn’t even know her name.

“So, do you have a name or am I just going to have to call you mine?” The cheesy pickup line just slips out, not at all consciously, it was like instinct took over, a pretty girl was to be flirted with.

“I wouldn’t mind being called yours, but for now you can call me Lia.” The woman doesn’t seem uncomfortable by your advances, in fact she embraces them, teasing smile telling you that she found it amusing how worried you got over a simple pickup line.

“Lia, a beautiful name for an even more gorgeous girl.” She gains her pink tint back, the compliment likely the cause of her blush. It wasn’t like she never got complimented, it was just the attractive zing your accent put over the words that made them feel more sincere.

“And how about you? A name attached to that pretty face?” Now it was your turn to blush at the other woman’s words, her lips splitting into a full toothed smile.

“Y/n. Y/n Y/l/n.” You imitate Bond to introduce yourself, sticking your hand out for her to take, a firm handshake and the tip of an imaginary hat letting her know who exactly it is you are. 

“Good to know my future last name.” She winks at you and the blush that’s already covering your face deepens significantly. The insinuation that you were to marry the girl beside you too much for your poor little heart to take. 

She starts to walk away from you and towards another section of the room, looking back over her shoulder when she realizes that you weren’t right beside her, walking. Waving her hand in a “come here” motion, you quickly catch up with the older woman. 

“So, why skittles? Is there not any other sweet you’d rather have?” She asks as you match her slow rhythm of steps, your hands shoved in the pockets of your coat with your arms forming loops. Lia threads one of her arms through yours, leaning her head on your shoulder, standing still all of a sudden to look at a painting. It didn’t feel like you’d just met, like you’d just introduced yourselves to one another, it felt like you’d known each other for decades, easily slipping into being comfortable with each other.

You gaze at her as she looks at the painting, making sure to map out all her gorgeous features and commit them to memory. She was like a breath of fresh air in a world of polluted oxygen.

“First of all it’s called candy, not sweets, candy. Secondly, they’re amazing for when you want to stop smoking.” Her cheek smushes against your shoulder as she turns her head to look up at you, her eyebrows scrunched together adorably.

“You were a smoker?” You feel the strong urge to place a peck atop her lips, soft and warm against your own. But in the end you resist, you’d only just met the woman for god’s sake, you don’t want to make her uncomfortable. Her eyes hold so many emotions that you just can’t read.

“Yeah, only for about a year. My ex stressed me out so much that I felt it was the easiest way to deal with it. But when she broke up with me, I decided to get my life back together, moved here, got a job at a bar and that’s it. That’s why I’m here.” Lia listens intensively at the story you’re telling her, the way she looks at you suggests that she’s hanging off your every last syllable.

“So no more smoking at all for you?” You puff your chest up, proudly displaying the grin on your face and your now discolored tongue. Lia looks on in amusement at your actions, a grin that could light up an opera house on her face. 

“Nope, I’m never picking up a cigarette again.” The amusement turns into a sort of profound proud feeling, a feeling that she definitely shouldn’t be feeling for what is practically a stranger. A stranger that in the matter of a mere hour had worked their way into her heart and made themselves home.

“Good, I’m really happy for you.” The softened look on Lia’s face makes you blush, it was the way most people looked at their loved ones. You couldn’t help but imagine what it would feel like to be one of her loved ones, how it would feel to see her first thing in the morning, to gaze into her tentative eyes and try to read her like a book just because you know exactly how it is she acts, how she feels at that exact moment, what she thinks.

At your faraway look Lia nudges you in the ribs, giggling at the embarrassed expression that occupies your face. Her giggle could only be described as a ray of sunlight, lighting the glum room up in seconds, giving it a golden glow.

The older woman doesn’t miss the fondness in your gaze as you watch her laugh, your own lips splitting into a smile and soon after a loud belly laugh bubbles up in your chest, welling out of your mouth like water out a dam. 

Only moments later the both of you are doubled over in laughter, tears slipping down your cheeks and arms crossed over your stomachs. Some scattered guests give you two dirty looks, as if you were peasants in a house full of royals, but they are counter effective because it only makes you and Lia laugh harder.

The security guard from earlier approaches you both as you drop down to the floor with a loud thump, Lia bursting out into an entire new fit of laughter as you try to catch your breath.

“Y/n, I’ve already let you get away with a lot today but this is your last strike. Up you get, I’ll escort you and your lady companion to the exit.” He speaks through his thick mustache, his round beer gut bobbing up and down with every word like he needed every fat covered muscle of his stomach to get the words out.

Small giggles escape you both as Lia and you are led out of the building by a firm grip around both of your arms. You both watch in amusement as the fat man gets winded walking back up the stairs he just led you down, bending over for a brief second at the top before disappearing back behind the door.

“So, I take it you know the security guard then?” She sounds a little out of breath as she speaks to you, flyaways sticking out of her bun, your hand itches to reach up and smooth them out, undo her bun and run your fingers through her hair. But you don’t. 

“Yeah, he’s my regular. Comes in every day and buys a pint after work, a good friend of mine he is. He lets me get away with eatin’ in there every time I come.” You stand right in front of the brunette, hands again in your pockets as you smile at her tentatively. Her hand comes up to rub at your arm, and you feel as though you were going to pass out at any moment, the electric feeling of her ring covered fingers touching your arm overwhelming in a good way.

“Ah, a museum nepo baby then.” You can tell that she’s joking by the way her eyebrows raise all the way up to her hairline, and you imitate her by doing the same thing. Another fit of giggles ensues, Lia looking directly into your eyes, holding eye contact for a prolonged amount of time.

It makes you nervous, her somewhat challenging gaze locking on your face for a moment longer than necessary. When she grasps your hands in hers you finally look back at her, meeting her tender gaze with your own.

“I really enjoyed today, I was hoping we could do it again sometime.” The older woman looks at you sheepishly, nearly nervously. You’re mesmerized by her gorgeous simplicity, simple smile grazing her lips as you nod, a recognisable warmth behind the hug she gives you, the quick kiss she places on your cheek haphazardly before walking away, not looking back to see your rose tinted cheeks.

It’s only when Lia has disappeared far behind the horizon that you realize that you have no way to contact her AND that she essentially got away with your favorite cowboy hat. You aren’t as distraught about your hat as you are about not getting her number, it was a dumbass move from you.

You drag your feet all the way back to your apartment, not knowing that only moments after you left the museum, the girl of your dreams ran back all the way to get your number. And like you, she dragged her feet all the way back to her apartment, sulking and questioning her own intelligence.

Arriving at the bar that evening was strange, you felt almost empty without the girl you’d met earlier that day, no light brown cowboy hat perched atop your head nor a beaming smile. It was weird to everyone around you, you always had that damned hat on, but now it was a completely different one, black with a few white accents.

“What happened to you? It looks like someone ran over your dog.” Your co-worker and best friend Marla asks, placing her hand on your shoulder softly as if you were to break if she did it any harder. Shaking your head, your other friend and co-bartender Jason comes up to rub your back softly, the comfort from both of your best friends loosening you up significantly and soon after you spill everything that had happened up to that point.

They were both smirking at you when you finished up the story, knowing that despite only just meeting the woman in the museum you were already in love. 

“So do you have a picture of this goddess who’s making you drop to your knees?” Marla asks you, looking knowingly at your other best friend, who in return wiggles his eyebrows at her. You knew something would happen between them soon, and you’d rather be in hell than to watch it.

“Yeah, just give me a quick sec.” Pulling out your phone, you quickly unlock it and enter the photo app, not needing to scroll as the most recent photo was of her, Lia.

“Girl, are you fucking with me?” You look at the dark skinned girl in confusion, her eyes widening as she realizes that you had no fucking clue who it was you had met. She looks to her ‘boyfriend’ quickly in shock, who looks back at her equally appalled.

“Are you telling me you don’t recognise her?” The moment you shake your head is when the green eyed boy facepalms, not believing your stupidity. “Not at all? You haven’t seen her before.” When you once again shake your head the man sighs in disappointment, all faith in your intelligence practically gone.

“Girl. That is Lia Wälti, you know one of the best midfielders in the country? Arsenal Women’s player.” Now it’s your turn to look shocked, not at all knowing that she was a footballer. All the times you’d gone over to Marla’s house to watch footy, she’d probably been injured.

“Are you fucking kidding me? I didn’t even recognise her.” You lean against the door, sliding your body down until you’re sitting flush on the floor, head in your hands. Jason places his hand on your shoulder, smiling softly at you as he tries to reassure your overwhelmed mind.

“Hey, man, it was probably a good thing that you didn’t recognise her. She knows that you’re not some crazed fan trying to kill her, eh?” Marla’s hand plucks your cowboy hat from your head and runs her fingers through your hair, your shared shift started in mere minutes and yet they were there, comforting you.

“I’m okay, just a bit shell shocked.” They both laugh, pulling you up by your hands and bringing you into a group hug, patting your back before Marla gives you your hat back, smacking both you and Jason’s asses before disappearing out to her office.

“You know, we have an extra ticket to the Arsenal game on Sunday, so I mean if you want to see her again then you’re welcome to join.” You smile at the man’s kindness, telling him that you’ll definitely take him up on his offer. You didn’t have a shift at the bar either way that day so spending it looking for your … well you didn’t really know what it was she is to you. All you know is that you wanted to see her again.

Two days later you find yourself sitting as close to the pitch as you possibly can, waiting for the North London derby to start. 

Lia is in the starting lineup, looking determined as she waits for the whistle signaling the start of the game to sound. The shrill noise cuts through the air and the game starts.

It’s physical right from the start, loads of pushing and shoving coming from both sides, red and white. There are a few times where you nearly jump to your feet as Lia gets pushed but the fact that your friends sat there right beside you made you choose not to.

At half time the score is the same as the beginning, nil-nil. Despite not knowing much about football you join in on analyzing the first half of the game, mentioning all the times Lia went down. Marla makes some ‘innocent’ comments about how you’d much rather have her ‘go down’ somewhere else. The blush that overtakes your face is enough for you to blend in with your jersey, the red of the Arsenal shirt the same shade as your face.

When the second half starts, you’re basically on your feet all the way through, cheering loudly when Alessia scores, meaning that the gunners were up one-nil.

It’s particularly hilarious when Lia finally notices you, a pause in the game meaning that she had the time to look around at the fully packed Emirates Stadium. When those eyes you love to gaze into meet yours for the first time since Friday, her face split open in a smile, a smile reaching all the way up to her eyes.

It looks like she has to physically restrain herself so that she doesn’t run over to you, her body shaking slightly as she calmly inches her way towards you, the cheers of the fans around you becoming louder as the player comes closer. Lia tunes them all out though as she looks at you, the only thing cutting through her trance being the whistle signaling the freekick being awarded. 

Lia looks back towards you as she walks in the direction of the group of players and you wink at her, even though she’s far away it seems like she saw it, the deep tint of red dusting her face definitely more than exertion from the game. 

When the three loud whistles sound throughout the arena, it explodes in cheers as Arsenal manage to keep their one-nil lead and in doing so make London red again. But you don’t even acknowledge the win when there’s a speeding Lia Wälti heading straight in your direction.

She only starts to slow down as she reaches the barrier which separates the fans from the pitch and players, with you standing up behind it to watch her come closer and closer with every quick step she takes.

Lia throws her arms around your torso when she comes close enough, the way that she had been longing for your touch had been driving her crazy in the days since you first met. She also knew that it wasn’t smart to do it all out in the open, fans and professionals alike were probably going to know everything about you within a few days. You didn’t seem to mind though, content with having her in your arms again.

Pulling away from her, you quickly take her face in your hands, looking her over to see if her face was scratched up from all the times she’d met the ground in the game. 

“Shit, darling, I think you spent more time on the ground in this game than on your feet. You ought to be more careful.” Your southern drawl is especially thick when you speak to her, the worry you’d experienced the entire game bubbling to the surface.

“I’m perfectly fine, I think you’re forgetting that I do this for a living.” She smiles at you reassuringly and you calm down fully, her hand placed on your arm a sure factor of it. Lia’s head turns to your side, looking directly at your friends who both send her starstruck looks. 

“Hi, I’m Lia.” The footballer smiles in their direction and they both remain in their seats, completely unmoving. She looks back to you concerned and in response you just laugh, they were apparently not expecting her to actually greet them. “Are they okay?” 

“I think they’re just a bit starstruck.” Gesturing towards their gaping mouths, Marla quickly slaps your hand away from her face, biting at the air to show you that she wasn’t afraid to bite.

“Oh okay, well do you think they want anything signed? I can ask the team, or maybe if you want we can go meet them?” Lia sounds unsure of herself, apparently doubting that her first impression on your friends was good.

“I think that they’d love that sweetheart. But judging from all the looks we’re getting from that same team, I do think they want you back.” You glance towards the women gathered in a clung in the middle of the pitch, all of them staring at you and Lia interacting. She sighs at their slightly invasive culture, but alas there wasn’t anything that she could do about it. When you smile and wave at them, you’re thoroughly amused when every single one of them repeats your actions back to you, some in confusion and some in amusement.

“A guard is going to tell you to follow him, just do as he says and we’ll meet again soon.” By that point the stadium was almost empty, everyone wanting to go home and brag about their team’s win over the archrival. So as Lia walks away from you, you’re totally free to stare at her ass, only stopping when Marla slaps your arm harshly.

“Did that just happen?” Jason asks shakily, running his hand down his face in embarrassment.

“You’re damn right it did.” You laugh at their stupid expressions, their embarrassment clear on their faces. “Well look on the bright side, y’all are going to meet the team.” With that their embarrassment turned into excitement, meeting their favourite athletes quickly turning their mood around.

“Y/n Y/l/n? Come with me and take your friends with you.” Walking around the labyrinth of slinging hallways and narrow paths, you appear in front of the locker room in no time, the loud music escaping the door a clear indicator of the Gunners good match.

“Now just wait out here until they come out, they’ll probably be out in a few.” The guard tells you unbothered, not caring at all that he’s leaving people he doesn’t know outside of the locker room.

“Yes sir.” You speak up clearly, mock saluting him as he disappears down the hallway with a sigh.

“I can’t believe that you’re 28, you act like a 12 year old.” Marla tells you jokingly, leading to you pushing her away from you. In the span of a few seconds both you and Marla find yourselves on the floor, engaging in a wrestling match. It only gets broken up when the sound of the door opening echoes through the hallway, both you and your best friend quickly getting on your feet.

“Nah what’s going on here?” A very amused Irish accented voice escapes the player exiting the locker room, one Katie McCabe staring at you and Marla.

“It was her fault.” You point at Marla so as to gesture that it was her who started it, the woman vehemently denying it.

“So I’m guessing you’re Lia’s cowboy then?” Katie completely ignores the blame game currently going on in front of her as she talks to you. Blushing at being called Lia’s, you quickly start to stutter out an answer.

“I- uhm yeah, I think so?” Laughter coming from behind the Irish woman makes you glance in the direction of the sound. Seeing Leah Williamson of all people is not what you expect, a bit starstruck yourself.

“Of course it’s the cowboy you buffoon, who else would wear a cowboy hat in London? You have to tell me where you bought the one Lia brought home, I need a new one. Mylie-moo chewed mine to filth a couple days ago.” Leah throws her arm around your shoulder as if you’d known each other for years, the woman clearly having heard a thing or two about you.

“Oh well I’ll be sure to bring you one next time I go back to Texas, my buddy Carl, he’s 72 and he makes the most gorgeous hats you can imagine. Last time I visited him I made him an instagram page, I’ll send you the link if you want?” You speak enthusiastically with the England captain, her arm still resting around your shoulders casually. Both Marla and Jason are in a conversation with Katie and Lotte, who just got out of the locker room.

“Important question, so answer me truthfully now, do you like country music?” She looks at you skeptically, trying to deduce if you’re being truthful or not. The question itself makes you roll your eyes playfully, but alas it didn’t surprise you. It was widely known that Leah was quite the country fan.

“Ma’am I grew up in Texas, yeah I’m a country fan. I’d be disowned if I wasn’t.” Leah looks at you like you’re her hero, it was clear to you that she accepted you. The hinges of the door squeak as a few other players exit, namely Lia.

“Lia please let me steal her, she’s perfect.” Leah says jokingly, holding onto your arm softly like she was a little kid. Lia looks at her weirdly, but quickly catches on to the joke, walking over to the two of you.

“I know, that’s why I want to keep her.” Lia wraps her arms around your waist tightly, her newly washed hair curling up into adorable curls, head placed on your shoulder. 

“Sharing is caring.” Leah is on the verge of laughter as she talks, the statement a shocking one for sure. It was hilarious though so you also had to keep from laughing.

“I mean I wouldn’t mind-” Lia shoots you a mean glare at your half serious words, and even though it was like being glared at by an adorable kitten, Lia already had you wrapped around her finger. “Actually I’m taken so I don’t think that would work.” 

All it takes for you all to break character is a shouted ‘WHIPPED’ coming from one of the players watching the interaction like it was a soap opera, the three of you laughing like it was the last thing you’d do.

“Alright, anyone want a drink? Not to brag but I can make a mean cocktail.” The women all cheer as you ask them, everyone rushing out to get into their cars and get to the bar. Just as you’re about to follow them, someone takes hold of your collar, making it so that you can’t go. 

Lia looks back when you don’t follow her but you just wave her off, telling her to go on without you. Turning back, you’re met with all the ‘scariest’ Arsenal players, looking like they’re about to beat you up.

“Listen carefully now, because this will only be said once, if you hurt a hair on her head, do anything to hurt her emotionally, if you do anything wrong that makes her sad, we will not hesitate to take your knees.” It’s Katie that speaks, all the others just nodding intimidatingly, glaring at you. 

“I’m going to try my best to make her happy, I know that she deserves the world.” They let up the facade of intimidation at your words, patting your back and pushing you in the direction of the car park. The conversation as you all are walking out of the building is pleasant, when you arrive at the parking lot there are just a couple of cars left.

Both of your best friends had left you to carpool with one of the remaining players, Lia called dibs though the second she looked at you, so it was with her you went.

“They weren’t too scary with you right? I know how they can be.” Lia says over the soft music being played from the radio, some Tyler, the Creator song. You look at her face, she was in deep thought and absolutely adorable. 

“Nah, it’s like being threatened by a pair of teddy bears. Let’s just say that I’ve had worse shovel talks.” She giggles as you start to tell her about all the weird shovel talks you’d gotten back in Texas, everything from being threatened with Chinese water torture to being hung upside down from a tree for simply speaking to a girl that wasn’t her.

When the bar comes into sight you see that multiple people have parked their cars right in front of it, telling Lia to just park on the curb.

“Y’all are such dickheads.” You laugh, slapping both Marla and Jason’s heads hard, they left you stranded. 

“Well you’ve got a girlfriend now who can drive your broke ass.” Marla shoots back, rubbing her head in pain. You roll your eyes at her dramatic actions, the slap wasn’t that hard.

“One-nil to me then, at least I have someone.” The sibling like banter was normal between you two by now, she was your best friend after all.

“C’mon cowboy, let’s sit down for a little.” Lia’s hand rests on your stomach as you both sit down on the booth, the place to sit being suspiciously small, to the point in which Lia had to throw her legs over your lap to get enough space.

It was nice to sit and talk with the team, they were regular people just like anyone else and it made you glad to see them just relax after a match. The atmosphere was calm, so calm in fact that Lia managed to fall asleep on your shoulder, quiet snores escaping her mouth.

Only moments later you fall asleep too, after having fought sleep for as long as possible. Your head rests on top of Lia’s and the girls think it’s absolutely adorable, some of them taking pictures of you both to send to their group chat.

“I knew being friends with her would pay off.” Jason jokes, thinking naïvely that you were fully asleep, getting a few laughs from the girls in the room. They get startled though as you utter a quick;

“Hey!” In protest, everyone soon laughed at your dramatic reaction to his joke.

Who knew that going to the museum would result in you getting a date?

[elexaria]

Simon Riley who had been on a lookout for a particular peer of his after high school, sweet little girl who normally did all of the schoolwork for him. Even behind the teachers back. Even when their handwritings never, ever matched up; but the teachers only let her off because, at the very least, he was passing with an A.

Sweet, somewhat nerdy!Reader who actually felt bad for a guy, in general just a person, going through such a rough time when in reality school would only fuck up people into being robots for the government and absolutely do no help for the post puberty and traumatized Teenager!Simon. She tries to have sweets on her for whenever he pops in, also tries her hardest to be nice to the other Riley. Sweet young lady Reader who somehow becomes well known around their high school after winning a last minute game in volleyball, followed by basketball, tennis, track, and soccer. Medals and whatnot. Even earned a goddamn picture in the Coach’s office — the female coach, the male one who seemed to be more like a father to sweet Reader.

Sweet!Reader who is suddenly gone. Desk of hers absolutely empty. No pens, no pink notebooks mixed with pastels. Not her signature backpack in sight. No scent of hers, no constant chirping, no glances that arrived at Simon once she caught glimpse of him in the hallways right before first period. Third period feels… loud. Ironic since there’s a pin-drop silence, even breathing. He normally has the rest of the periods with her from then out, until seventh period. He could recite her entire schedule.

Simon can’t help fidgeting, biting his tongue from asking where she is. Not to be nosy, not to be teased, outwardly and fucking pushed into the lockers teased. Perhaps she was coincidentally absent?

Years pass on, evidently screaming she was, in fact, gone. Even on missions, Simon can’t help but glance everywhere. He’s more fucked up, a bitter version, working exactly for the monarchy (almost forgot he’s British, for God’s sakes) and saving his people.

And just one day, one day that everything seemed normal for Johnny and the rest of Simon’s boys, he catches a goddamn glimpse of her. Her face, specifically. Rushing around, apron around her waist and down her thighs. Appropriate attire of a waitress serving a man with a comically huge cigarette and in a suit whilst speaking to another duplicate of his.

His grip on his whiskey tightens.

(Andddddd you continue!!!)

-🍓

ohoho, strawb anon you genius >:)

simon feels his chest tighten up, his grip on his drink tightening as he glances at the mom and pop diner across the street. no… could it..?

before he can indulge himself with another thought, gaz nudges simon gently. “you alright there lt?” he asks sincerely, an eyebrow raised as he tries to figure out what simon was glancing at. he just grunts in response, relaxing his shoulders as he downs the last remaining drops of whiskey. “thought i saw someone. ‘scuse me—“ he murmurs in response, standing up from the pub booth as he saunters past gaz and up and leaves. when one of the lads asks where he’s going, simon grumbles out a ‘goin for a fag’ while lifting up a ciggie and his lighter.

simon leans against the alley wall that faces the diner, deep in thought as he exhales plumes of smoke while glaring right at the restaurant. come on, he thinks to himself, show yourself. he begins to wonder if he was just seeing things, like you’re an oasis in the middle of the desert or something. wishful thinking, he muses to himself.

and just when he pushes himself up from off the wall, his lips drawn into a thin line in disappointment— he spots her.

she’s absolutely beautiful, breathtaking even. the faint crows feet around his eyes crease as his gaze softens. it’s funny how time has treated them both. one of the only friends he had considered himself to have during school has found herself working as a waitress, cute pinafore hugging her curves in all the right places— while he’s just a bigger, meatier version of the boy he once was. he’s just a husk of a man now. war’ll do that to a bloke.

he fidgets nervously with the zipper of his windbreaker, chewing the inside of his lip as he contemplates popping over to say hello. would that be weird? hell, would she even remember him anymore? his feet are itching to move, but he’s cemented right there— forced to stare at the diner, and the siren within that seemingly tempts him.

with a groan, simon pulls out his phone to text the group chat— “gonna head off, see you back on base” before shoving his phone into the back pocket of his jeans. and with a clear of his throat, he steadily paces across the road to the mom and pop diner. simon feels sick with anticipation, a feeling he’s never really felt before in his life. even when he had found the bodies of his family, even through the torture— he’d never felt quite a strange amalgamation of emotions before. and that really freaked him out.

the diner’s door bell rings, the dulcet tones of doo wop music playing in the restaurant greeting simon when he steps inside. he waits patiently in the small foyer, calloused fingers reaching out to smooth over the creased laminate menu on display. and his heart damn near falls out of his ass when the waitress greets him with a friendly smile.

“hi there! welcome to pop’s EZ diner! my name is ____ and i’ll be your waitress today!” you greet enthusiastically, beaming up at the stranger stood in front of you, awkwardly glaring right into your soul with hauntingly beautiful stormy blue eyes. it was kind of creepy, but weirdly endearing. you just wrote it off, assuming he was socially awkward— after all, he clears his throat and struggles to find the words to say for almost a minute before finally opening his mouth.

“uh… hello. you don’t—“ simon pauses, clearing his throat again as his hands continue to fidget with the menu, his gaze nervously flitting from the menu back to you. “you don’t happen to recognise me, do ya? simon? simon riley? from st matthews?” he says, the timber of his voice itching the back of your brain in a pleasing way. st matthews? how did he know where you went to school?

you shake your head politely, nervously tucking your notepad and pen back into your pinafore pocket. “oh, um. sorry, i don’t—“ you reply, offering him a sympathetic smile. the man, simon, turns bright pink— again, nervously clearing his throat as he nods, lowering his head as he turns on his heels to head back out the diner. “oh, sorry. nevermind.” he murmurs, raising his hand politely to you before his hand reaches for the door handle.

and then it clicks.

oh. my. god.

it’s been YEARS since you had thought about simon riley, and suddenly your mind was being overwhelmed with all these memories of helping a teenage simon out in school. your eyes widen, a hand reaching out to gently grip on his windbreaker sleeve. he freezes, half glaring and half shocked as he turns to face you. but the expression on simon’s face eases when he realises that he was right, it was you.

“simon riley? oh my god—“ you gasp out, eyes wide as you look up at him with a dumbfounded expression, one that sends a shiver down simon’s spine.

what an interesting reunion this would turn out to be..

[tanoraqui]

obviously the Historical Figure Episode(TM) of Doctor Who that I’d write would of the Noted Author subset endemic to the RTD Era; it’d be called “Spiders in the Trenches” and be set in the middle of World War One ft. one Lt. John Tolkien.

idk if the main aliens are spiders or if they're just using giant robotic spiders as soldier-minions. Either way, Tolkien is a little too defensive when he says he's not afraid of spiders.

The alien invaders want some sort of shiny mcguffin, maybe as a power source for their ship? Or for a mega-weapon? We do not want them to get it, at any rate. Race to find the Shiny Power Jewel-Thing which has been lost somewhere in this like 20-mile radius of the Western Front.

When our heroes narrowly beat the spiders to the SPJT, Tolkien realizes that the spiders only ever attack at night because light hurts them somehow, so he holds the SPJT up as it flares and shouts, "Get back, foul creatures! Back into the shadows from whence you came!"

(They're from the dark side of a tidally locked planet, and made for extremely low-light conditions? The SPJT flares because it's controlled telepathically and it connected to Tolkien's mind when he touched it?)

Ideally Tolkien's first encounter with the Doctor is that he wakes up in the trench one day (after losing some men to a mysterious monster in the darkness a couple nights ago?), and there's 2 random strangers in weird clothes idly singing and playing an instrument which they stole from someone a couple bedrolls down. (This works well with Fifteen & Ruby's established inclination to music!)

We do need an Eowyn Moment, because that's iconic, but I'd split it: for dialogue, at one point the head boss evil alien boasts, "No human can defeat the Tenebrarachnid Empire!" and the Doctor replies, "Good thing they've got me, then."...

[I don't know if this is a Fifteen line yet. I know it's a very Eleven line]

...and there's a soldier in Tolkien's unit who is revealed to be secretly a woman! Who disguised herself as a man in order to enlist for ??? reasons, and who dramatically pulls off her hat to reveal her long hair.

The third notable local character is the sort who inspired Sam Gamgee, "...the English soldier, [like] the privates and batmen I knew in the 1914 war, and recognized as so far superior to myself.”

^those two can have a romantic subplot if it fits (comrades-in-arms is also extremely good). Tolkien, however, at some point shows Ruby the picture of his wife Edith which he carries at all times, she of the black hair and bright grey eyes, and is obviously ready to monologue about how wonderful she is.

In the same scene(?), Tolkien looks up at the stars and says their brightness shining afar, clear of all the horrors on the ground, is always a source of hope and strength to him.

Maybe also in the same scene? Tolkien is shown to make up stories for fun, or to read them in his little spare time - fairy tales and mythological epics. Maybe he tells them to the men around the fire, maybe he keeps a little notebook, maybe he just admits to daydreaming... When asked why, he paraphrases his quote from later life, " Fantasy is escapist, and that is its glory. If a soldier is imprisoned by the enemy, don't we consider it his duty to escape?"

At some point (Star-watching scene? when the Doctor inevitably has to explain that aliens exist? when they're all saying goodbye in the end?) there's a line drawing attention to the Doctor's parallels with Eärendil - eternally wandering figure of hope, sailing the stars in a ship with a light on top, not quite mortal...

Tolkien DEFINITELY tries to figure out the alien language, in writing or speech.

Something the aliens are doing is making people sick. Maybe the attacking robo-spiders are venomous, maybe there's a toxic byproduct of the alien ship, maybe it's a deliberate first assault of the planned invasion... By the end of the episode, Tolkien is very ill. The Doctor has figured out an antidote and given it, but Tolkien says goodbye to him and Ruby only to stumble to a medical outpost - from where, the Doctor explains to Ruby, he'll be sent home with this bad case of what's assumed to be trench fever. Between the fever and the brief psychic entanglement, and unentanglement, with the SPJT, he won't even remember most of this, and what he does remember, he'll put down to fever dreams amidst the horrors of war.

But he'll remember some things! He'll remember an eternal wanderer of the stars, unaging and undying and ever-hopeful, heralded by light (and a vworrrp vrorrrp noise).