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tragedy-of-commons · 1 month

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composition

aventurine x gn!reader | wc: ~1k

He needs to go before he decides that he needs to stay.

tags/warnings: cute domesticity, but since it's aven it has to be a little angsty, skin drawing/inking, mentioned topaz

notes: standalone but i'm thinking of expanding on this universe in the future :3c sdfsdfsdf not happy with how it turned out but fuck it

The ballpoint tip of your pen glides over his hand, leaving another trail of red in its wake.

Aventurine watches with rapt attention. The intricate patterns of swirling ink that you insist on marking him with definitely make it harder to color-match an outfit - but he indulges the habit anyway. Perhaps it’s the artificially sweet aroma that’s typical of such cheap writing utensils; he’s now accustomed to the smell of chemically-grown raspberries while you use him as your canvas.

It’s tolerable, seeing you poke out your tongue in concentration while doodling with no rhyme or reason. Some strokes are thick and jagged, wrapping around the myriad of thinner ones to create a picture he can’t discern.

(However, when you usually finish, you beam in satisfaction. He doesn’t peg you as the abstract type, but he wonders what you see that he can’t.)

His phone vibrates twice in his free hand. The new messages that grace the screen are of no surprise:

Topaz The booking’s confirmed. I handled it and was able to score us better rooms ✨

Topaz Cruor V is too cold to skimp out on the suites with thermal heaters. Now if you could just be on time for once, that’d make my job a LOT easier.

You hum, sage. “Time to go?”

Aventurine makes a show of examining your handiwork after you pull away from him. “Unfortunately, the IPC’s gains take precedence. Although, I could argue that dedicating my time to the arts is much more valuable in the long run.”

“Hah,” you snap the cap back onto the pen. “If you argue much longer, you could make somebody mad. Don’t let my silly doodles keep you, okay?”

There’s a sad smile on your face, and though it doesn’t deter him from leaving right now, he knows that he’ll count each star separating you from him while he sleeps alone on business. He’ll do so with his gloves off, fingers tracing over the faded curves and dips of red - theorizing how many rainstorms it would take to wash you from his person completely.

He finds himself hoping that he’ll never reach a consensus. Aventurine really hasn’t gotten any better at fooling the wide-eyed child clawing at his insides.

“Yes. That Topaz is probably wishing unspeakable curses upon me right about now,” he lilts, the beginning of the end on the horizon. “See me off?”

“Don’t make it sound so grim,” you complain, “I’m just gonna miss you. You’ll be back on the 24th, right?”

You say it so casually. If he had any less restraint (or any more courage), he would let out a breathy laugh and then chase it with a kiss to your lips. In the past, honey-trapping had come natural to him when he was on assignment; wrapping an arm around the ambassador of an indebted planet, using the bells and whistles of his disposition to make friends with the right people.

You’re not any of that. You’re not any of that, and he knows. It would be pathetic if you knew how much sway you hold over him - how much sway that this pantomime of a relationship holds over him.

Though the scales are forever tipped in his favor, Aventurine finds that it’s woefully unfair. You appear as nonplussed as him; wordlessly letting him into your home at any hour, always cooking for two, and always decorating his skin with that accursed red pen.

If that makes you cruel, he cannot begin to imagine what it makes him.

“Keen memory,” he brings himself to stand, “Wonder what changed.”

“My memory is fine, thank you very much.”

He cocks an eyebrow.

You flip him off. “Forgetting a few deadlines isn’t substantial evidence!”

Aventurine chuckles, ambling over to the table by the door. On it rests his gloves, which he pulls over his hands. If the ink stains the fabric inside, no one will be able to tell. “Then I’ll make sure to amass a comprehensive portfolio of ‘evidence’ while I’m gone.”

He’s already dressed and presentable for this assignment. In truth, he could have spared Topaz the headache of his tardiness, but what’s the job of Director without a little challenge? He’s sure it will count towards her experience and character, and you get to scribble on him without the constraint of time.

You pad over, embracing him tentatively. Aventurine dithers between pulling you closer and pushing you away, before he settles on doing nothing. His heart isn’t racing, but it feels too small and too big and too full of you.

“That better be a promise,” you murmur.

(He smells raspberries. He can’t decide if it’s therapeutic or noxious.)

If he were a more selfless person, maybe he’d tell you that promises never go over well for him - that you shouldn’t bother with any of this. After all, ruling a gambler’s heart only serves to turn you into a bargaining chip.

But Aventurine basks in your warmth anyway, letting his shoulders droop. “If you’re so hung up about it, then why not?”

His phone buzzes somewhere again, and he’s cold as you pull away. “Perfect. Good luck on your.. uh, thing! Tell Numby I said hi.”

“What is it with you and that animal?” he heaves a martyred (fond) sigh.

You huff. “Warp trotters are cool, Aven!”

“Not when they mercilessly chew up your clothes.”

Your demands for more information fall on deaf ears, because it really has become time to go. Interastral travel is bothersome, but not so much anymore - meaning that if he’s not at least an hour early, he’s inconceivably behind schedule. His own reasoning tastes acrid.

That note of something has been with Aventurine ever since he woke by your side, searching your sleeping expression aimlessly. He’d chased the feeling with coffee in one of your stupid mugs, a conversation about your too-bright dreams, and letting you scrawl all over him when he desperately needs to go.

He’s ferried past the door, another farewell echoing behind him before he starts walking. The idle images that plague his mind are of stained gloves, the interior of your bedroom, and the calendar in your kitchen with the date of his return circled in red.

You wave to him from the window as he turns the corner.

He wagers he'll be back on the 24th.

taglist: @hanyi-writes, @karagatan02, @aphrodict, @nomazee

#—stellaronhvnters.#aventurine x reader #hsr x reader #hsr aventurine x reader #aventurine angst #aventurine fluff #honkai star rail x reader #aventurine hsr x reader #honkai star rail #star rail x reader #✧ my works

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fox-guardian · 1 year

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I am still thinking so hard about artist Jon.

Like. It's a hobby for him, purely, he doesn't plan to make money off of it. It's just for fun. He doodled a bit in his free time and then took life drawing classes in uni because Georgie insisted he needed to get out and do something more than studying so he. Kept studying. But just art this time.

He would describe his style as a kind of realism, but its definitely stylized in colors at least, as he's impatient and goes for bolder colors for lighting pretty early in his process so he doesn't lose the feeling of the piece, especially if it never gets finished. He wants to keep the vibes, just in case he wants to go back to it, so he doesn't forget.

He kinda falls of drawing after he starts at the institute, but I think during season 4 he picks it up again to cope with. Everything. He's not using his fancy drawing supplies since he doesn't have them anymore, just office pens and pencils. It's a lot of Martin, of course. But also Tim. He wishes he could ask Melanie to describe Sasha for him so he could try to draw her too, but he figures that wouldn't go down very well. Besides, telling his coworkers he draws is too much vulnerability anyway. Sometimes he even draws The Admiral, but he doesn't often draw animals so it never does him justice in his eyes.

Then at the safehouse, he works up the nerve and asks if Martin could sit for him for a bit. He doesn't need to pose or anything, just stay right there, Martin, keep reading that book, just don't move too much for a while, the lighting is perfect, he needs to capture it. He needs to map it with pen and paper. His phone camera could never catch the golden light on Martin's hair, and besides, the photo could lie to him later. But muscle memory and scratches in paper are harder to change, surely. He needs to record the moment like this. Hold it to his heart. Feel it in his wrist as he swipes strands of hair across the page, in his shoulder as his arm arcs down the curve of Martin's stomach, in his fingertips as he smudges the pigment he bought from the local craft supply shop to form a reddened cheek.

And Martin's cheeks are red. After everything that's happened, all the distance, his heart wasn't prepared for the intimacy of sitting before the man he loves being lovingly analyzed and having his likeness put to paper. It's exciting and agonizing at the same time, feeling eyes on him for hours as Jon stares down every curve, maps out every freckle, mole, and blemish. And when Martin sees the final image as Jon sheepishly presents it to him, he cries. He remembers feeling the fear of statement givers as he read their stories, living it through the words written. It was kind of like that, only instead of fear, he felt the overwhelming love pressed into every line on the page. Every stroke, every smudge, even tucked into the negative space, filling him up until it couldn't be contained, and he burst into tears. (Which worried Jon greatly until Martin reassured him with a hug and a kiss.)

He doesn't ask Jon to stop drawing him. How could he, when it was always with such love behind it? Not to mention Jon was getting back in the swing of it, oiling his rusty skills, and he was so happy doing it. But he will admit it was mildly mortifying seeing their home fill up with so many portraits of him, steadily increasing in their flattering composition. Jon was drawing from his imagination now that he had memorized most of Martin's form, and it was getting out of hand. He once caught a glimpse of a work in progress of Martin lounging and being fed grapes by cherubs. Good lord.

#ramblings with major #the magnus archives #tma #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jonmartin #jmart #artist!jon #this got out of hand. its fine. akdjsksjs

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ghosttotheparty · 1 year

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love me softly p3

@acitytokeepyoursecrets tags on this post she gets it god bless

@urmomification @legitcookie @deleataecount :)

Eddie doesn’t like that he’s into Steve Harrington, so he does what he does best: acts like a dick and annoys Steve into hating him even more than he already did.

But it’s doesn’t even seem to be working. Even when he stands on cafeteria tables and shouts about pompous rich kids and their shiny cars.

Steve just looks up at him, while the others sneer and throw insults and fries at him. He almost smiles a lot of the time, his expression light. Amused. He just watches, eating quietly while Eddie shouts and yells and cackles when Tommy H throws something at him and misses. (Steve covers his mouth. Eddie thinks he’s laughing too.)

When Eddie sits again, Gareth is almost glaring at him, his elbow on the table, his fingers to his forehead, like he’s watching a house fire. He tells Eddie it’s a bad idea. The others don’t know what they’re talking about but they don’t really care.

Eddie knows it’s a bad idea to taunt Steve and his friends. That he’s just painting a bright red target on his own back. But he can’t really help it.

Especially not when Steve starts responding, flipping Eddie the bird while Eddie’s up on a table, tilting his head adorably when Eddie comments that he looks like a Christian summer camp counsellor.

Tommy just comments that at least Steve can buy new clothes. Eddie just fires back that money can’t buy better taste, bitch. Steve snorts even though it’s a dig on him.

It goes on for a while. The teasing. The stares. The suppressed smiles and laughter.

But it actually starts on a Friday.

Eddie has detention. (Shocker.) The only reason he actually goes is because Mr Peterson isn’t an asshole. He’s friendly, even to Eddie.

Greets him as “Mr Munson,” looks at the pink detention slip before raising a single eyebrow at Eddie and tells him to sit with a soft shake of his head and a smile.

And Eddie turns to find Steve sitting in the back, watching him. Eddie’s grin falters and then widens, his head tilting as he raises his eyebrows, and Steve’s face turns red. He looks away. Eddie goes to sit with him, still grinning.

The room is quiet. There aren’t many others here, a few of them doodling on tables or sleeping. Peterson doesn’t care. (Another reason Eddie likes him.)

“What’d you do?” Eddie asks quietly, sitting too close to him.

Steve just looks down at his notebook. It’s closed, a pen laying on top of it. Eddie wants to flip through it.

“Nothing.”

“Steve Harrington is in detention,” Eddie says dryly. “You did something.”

“Nuh-uh.”

Eddie snorts. Steve glances at him. He’s smiling, and his cheeks are still flushed, and Eddie might die.

“What’d you do?”

“Nothing.”

“Ste-e-e-eve, what’d you do?”

“Oh, we’re on a first name basis now?”

Eddie blinks. He’s only called him Harrington. Steve’s never called him anything.

“Yeah, I guess. Tell me what you did.”

“…Called Collins a jackass. In front of him.”

Eddie drops his head to the table.

“Incredible.”

“What did you do?”

“Forgot my homework.” He lifts his head. “Seven times.”

Steve snorts.

“Of course.”

They’re not allowed to talk during detention. It’s too quiet for them to even whisper with Peterson hearing, the room silent except the scratching of someone’s pencil and the occasional cough or sigh.

Eddie lowers his head to the table, ready to take a nap or zone out or something, but Steve opens the notebook. Eddie turns his head to look, his cheek pressing against the cold surface, and Steve doesn’t notice.

Eddie sits up to watch. Steve flips through the pages, and Eddie catches a glimpse of a drawing, so he reaches out and take the notebook wordlessly. Steve makes a small indignant ugh. Eddie shushes him.

Eddie flips through the pages slowly, looking at Steve’s handwriting. It’s pretty. Almost girly. Every page has random, half-understandable notes, without any kind of indicating header that might include the subject or date.

He thinks he’s getting closer to the drawing, because Steve reaches out to take the notebook again. Eddie swats his hand away, and Steve drops his head to the table with soft groan.

Eddie grins.

He finds the drawing. It’s a messy pencil sketch, scratchy snd scribbled and smudged and shitty, but easily recognisable.

His grins falters, and he blinks, his eyes tracing the lines of his own curls, the angle of his own nose, the curve of his eyelashes.

He turns to look at Steve, who’s now hiding his face in his shirt, looking away from Eddie.

Eddie lays back on the table, his chin propped on his arms as he gazes at the drawing again.

Steve lets him keep the notebook until the end of detention.

part four

read the whole thing ao3

#is this just gonna be a thing now #i rly like ppls tags yall are entertaining #love you guys <3 #i already have so many idea for this series (???)#steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steve x eddie #stranger things #ficlet #just realised i’m so used to ao3 i still code italics instead of just italicising them lmso #oopsies ✨#steddie ficlet #1k #love me softly

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kivino · 6 months

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MORE ROOMMATE!SOAP PRETTY PLEASEEE!!!!!

ROOMMATE!SOAP HEADCANONS

my masterlist

Word counter - ~900 words

Tags/Warnings - pure fluff!

A/n - ASK AND YOU SHALL RECEIVE ANON <33 i can't really post a complete fic rn because i'm working on another midterm essay so here y'all go! I also have another fic with Roommate!Soap planned out, so stay tuned sdkflskdfjs

You two met through his sister, you, being her college friend, visited her and her family during breaks many times, and that’s where you met Soap. You two were on pretty good terms, and he would sometimes call you when he or his family were not able to get ahold of his sister when she would go out to parties (usually accompanied by you). However, the two of you became roommates only later in the future, when he decided that he didn’t want to live with his family anymore, but leaving an apartment all empty for months on end would just be foolish. So that’s when he decided he needed someone to co-exist with, and you casually made your way into his life.

Whole Task Force 141 plus Laswell know about you, because of how homesick he gets sometimes! And you don't always respond to messages, you have your own life after all (plus, Soap knows you're not good with texting back, so he tries not to pressure you). However, unintentionally he starts to remember or mention you in unrelated conversations. And that's how everyone around him knows that it's time for him to go on his leave.

Not a lot of people are allowed to call him Johnny. He still gives his older sisters shit for calling him that sometimes. You and Ghost, however, are both allowed to do it. Not like his discontent would’ve stopped you though.

More often than not talks about you in a way that makes it appear like the two of you are together, with how he’s all smiles during these conversations. Describes you like he’s an infatuated teenager and then gets confused when someone assumes Soap is talking about his significant other. It's not that he is oblivious to his feelings, or a dumbass, of course not, it's that his feelings lasted for so long that it's very much normal to him and he doesn’t see anything out of the ordinary with it.

The love language that you both share is bullying and insulting each other relentlessly. Soap is less harsh with his words, but you’re just merciless. Sometimes it also grows into play fights and roughhousing between you. Soap tries to be careful, because he knows that he’s stronger (he’s in the military, duh), but he still won’t go down without a fight. So he goes easy on you.

We know that Soap has a whole sketchbook, filled to the brim with many drawings of various quality, his thoughts, and different garbage he picks up when he has the opportunity. A pretty leaf? Snatch. A random receipt from when you got groceries with him together? Snatch. A note you scribbled for him to finally wash his damn dishes? Sad snatch. When he's on leave he takes the opportunity to sketch you as much as possible, so he remembers every single detail of your face, the expressions you make, or the way you position your body. Soap does it to be able to replicate it when you’re not around him. He has millions of sketches where you’re napping on the couch.

When he’s absentmindedly doodling something during the briefings and meetings he draws small figures that resemble Task Force and you. One time he bought some colored pens so he’s not bored out of his mind on base, and the assigned color to draw you was blue, while he drew himself with a red pen. Gaz got green and Ghost he draws using a black pen, both Laswell and Price share the fact that Johnny draws them with a pencil.

One of the small traditions that you have when he’s on leave, is cooking something for each other while some show you’re not paying attention to plays in the background. The kitchen in the apartment is pretty modest, so two people cooking and moving around at the same time is a bit too much for such a small amount of space. When you get too into the process of mixing or cutting something and Soap needs to squeeze past you, he gently puts a hand on your lower back and you instantly know what he wants, because of how much he does it. It’s never arrogant or invasive, instead, it’s gentle and a bit playful.

Johnny’s very sociable and likes going out to drink frequently. You, however, prefer to not get involved in his escapades as often, so you stay home, instead telling him to call whenever he needs you to pick him up. On multiple separate occasions, when he came back home a bit tipsy, he would stumble into your room and fall on your bed, getting knocked out almost in a second. Soap’s snoring is pretty loud when he’s drunk or has a stuffy nose. Plus, he’s as heavy as a damn rock and you can’t move him because of it, so instead you sleep on the couch, sacrificing the health of your back for Soap’s sweet dreams.

Johnny is pretty good with his hands. If anything broken needs fixing, or anything heavy needs lifting he’s always happy to help. He’s also a decent cook, so if you’re not feeling like cooking dinner after you’re back home from work he’s ready to throw something together for you no problem. Partially because he knows that you’d do the same for him if he asked. And, well, he just cares about you. He’s ready to cook dinner for you for the next decade if it means you’ll feel better.

Your texts with him are filled to the brim with stupid videos and photos you send each other. If Johnny sees something that reminds him of you, what you like, or some random inside joke – you best believe he’s already snapping a photo and sending it to you.

check out my masterlist for more fics or send me a request/comment!

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zepskies · 5 months

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Miss Professor

Pairing: Jason Teague x F. Reader

(Love triangle: Jason T. x Lana Lang)

Summary: Jason has to make a decision. You, or Lana Lang.

AN: Here’s the sequel to “Assistant Hottie.” Hope you enjoy!

Song Inspo: “Look at You” by Screaming Trees

Word Count: 5,200 Tags/Warnings: Angst, love triangle, hurt/comfort, fluff and a tinge of spice.~

Jason finds you in the bowels of the university library.

Out of four giant floors of books and computer labs at Central Kansas A&M (CKM), they just had to put the Writing Center in the non-proverbial basement. There you have to wear at least two layers at all times, despite the late-spring swelter outside.

Like now, when he enters the Writing Center lobby and finds you at your desk, tapping your red pen on your lip as you work on revising an essay. Jason smiles at the sight of your fuzzy red and green sweater over your jeans and ankle boots.

“You know, Christmas came and went, like, five months ago,” he teases.

You glance up at him as he steals a chair from your coworker’s desk. She’s conveniently been on break…for two hours now. Leaving you with a mildly enormous stack of essays to edit and leave feedback on.

“Yeah well, I’m running out of winterwear. It’s almost summer, for God’s sake,” you grouse. And yet, you shiver when another pass of the AC vent above your head hits your back.

Jason smiles, but he also shrugs off his jacket and drapes it around your frame. It’s lighter than what you’re wearing, but he hopes the added layer helps. You can’t help smiling up at him, though your brows end up furrowing.

“Oh, don’t do that, you’re gonna be freezing,” you protest. You try to take off the jacket, but Jason stops you by wrapping it snugly around your shoulders.

“It’s okay, I don’t plan on being here that long,” he replies.

You raise a brow. “Oh really?”

Jason grins. “You’ve got my British Lit. paper, right?”

You narrow your eyes at him, with a light grumble. “Some friendship this is. You only come to see me when you want something.”

Jason mock frowns at that accusation, but he plies you with raised brows and waggling “gimme” fingers until you relent. You reach back into your files with a sigh and hand him his ten-page essay, complete with your revisions and suggestions for the final draft.

“Here you go, freeloader,” you quip.

“Many thanks, Miss Professor,” Jason rejoins.

The nickname always manages to make your face warm a bit, no matter how you try to stamp down the butterflies in your stomach. It doesn’t help when he smiles at you like that.

His glinting green eyes soon dim, however, as he takes in the sheer amount of red marking up the pages of his essay. All 10 pages.

“Damn, woman. Was it that bad?” he asks.

“You’re actually getting better,” you say with a smile. “I’m seeing signs of improvement.”

Jason continues to flip through with a frown. “Right.”

Though when he actually starts reading your revisions, the familiar slopes of your handwriting, his disappointment begins to relent. You’ve made corrections here and there, but you’ve also written a lot of encouragements in the margins, like, “Good use of the word ‘solidarity.’”

And, “This whole paragraph perfectly explains your point. Just add a transition into the next section and you’re golden.”

Not to mention his personal favorite: correcting his typo on eggzagerate, and drawing a doodle of a fried egg above it. He doesn’t think you do that for all your customers.

It makes him smile.

Though he looks up when he hears you yawn. You try to stifle it, but he can see clearly now that you’re tired. It’s almost 9 p.m.

“How long have you been working?” he asks.

“Since I got out of my last class at 5,” you admit. Finally, you spot your coworker coming back from her break (and she’s still on the phone, chatting away to her boyfriend).

“Have you even eaten dinner?” Jason asks.

You shake your head, with a pointed glare at your coworker. “No time. I’ve been chained to this place all night.”

The girl gives you a fake smile when she returns to her desk and grabs one of the thinnest essays from the pile. After shooting her one last narrowed look, you give Jason your full attention. He’s trying to temper his smirk.

“Come on,” he says, nudging your arm. “Let me treat you to the Central Kansas delicacy of Chicken Finger Friday.”

You laugh at that; the university food court leaves much to be desired. You still have plenty of work to do, but you’re willing to push it off until tomorrow and take him up on his offer, if it means a hot meal and spending some time with your friend. It’s been a few weeks since it’s been just the two of you, hanging out.

After grabbing your backpack and clocking out for the night, you and Jason walk together across campus. The evening air is warm. It begins to defrost you as you two venture down the sidewalk. You smile to yourself and playfully bump into his side.

Jason shoots you a grin and bumps you back, though he grabs your arm when the heel of your boot catches on the edge of the sidewalk. You both fumble a bit and laugh.

You tuck a wily strand of hair behind your ear. Part of you wants to ask what he’s doing this weekend. Maybe he’d want to go to the lake with you, hang out on the dock, or go for a swim…

But of course, that’s when his phone buzzes. He fishes it out of his pocket and his brows raise. The text is from Lana, asking him if he can come to the Talon.

I really need your help with something.

Jason lets out a breath and looks up at you apologetically.

You know that look.

“Your girlfriend?” you ask, trying not to sound too disappointed.

Jason nods. “I hate to do this to you, but we’ve both been so busy, I haven’t seen her all week.”

And this is the first time this week that Lana has reached out to him first, wanting to see him… Well, she’s also asking for a favor, but she wants to see him.

“You know, one of these days I’d love to meet this mysterious girl,” you remark, lightly shoving his arm.

Jason smiles, but inside he’s clamming up. For obvious reasons, he hasn’t told you that he’s dating Lana Lang. Though it doesn’t make it easy to keep it from you, to lie to you. Over the course of the school year, you’ve become one of his closest friends here in Smallville.

You encourage him to explore his interests and keep focused in school, and you’ve often been a listening ear whenever juggling his classes and helping to coach the Smallville High football team stress him out.

And he’s done the same for you. With your time split between being a teacher's aid at Smallville High and working in the Writing Center to make ends meet between classes, you've done your share of venting, sometimes through frustrated tears. Jason's been more than willing to provide a strong shoulder to lean on.

Now, you don’t know that dating Lana is part of his stress, but he just…can’t afford to tell you.

It doesn’t matter that Lana’s 18, and he met her months before he took this coaching job. This is a small town, and he knows how people will talk if word gets out that he’s dating a high school senior. Not to mention, he’d get very fired.

“I’m sorry,” he says to you. “This seems important.”

Again, you have to hide your disappointment when you smile at him. “It’s okay. I should probably get back to work anyway—”

“Uh-uh. No,” Jason says, grabbing your arm when you start to turn in the direction of the Writing Center. "You’re done for the night. I wanna see you marching full-speed for those dry-ass chicken tenders.”

He nods toward the campus food court, making you expel a sigh.

“If I must,” you lament.

“And you’d better not keep working on your laptop,” he warns. “If you so much as crack open that Mac, I’ll know.”

He levels a finger at you as he walks away. You roll your eyes and head to the food court, with the promise of food just beyond the glass doors.

After a moment, you chance looking back at Jason. He catches your gaze, and he points two fingers from his eyes to your face in stern warning.

You giggle and shake your head at him, but you keep walking toward the food court.

Jason smirks in satisfaction. He continues on to the parking lot, and to his car.

When Jason gets to the Talon, he crosses paths with Clark, who’s just walking out.

“Hey, man,” Jason greets, with a jovial pat on the younger man’s shoulder. Though he can’t help but wonder why the guy is here at this time of night. “Little late for a coffee fix, huh?”

“Hey, Coach T,” Clark smiles. “Could say the same about you.”

Jason blinks at that. He cards a hand through his short hair and laughs it off. “Yeah, I was in the mood for a slice of your mom’s coffee cake. Any left?”

Martha Kent supplied the Talon with its baked goods, and they were most certainly worth driving across town for. It’s a pretty good excuse, if he says so himself.

Clark nods. “Yeah, should be.”

“All right. G'night,” Jason says. Clark nods and waves goodbye before he heads to his red truck in the parking lot.

Jason shakes his head and steps into the coffee shop, where he finds Lana alone. She’s cleaning up a large takeout bag from Gino’s, the Italian restaurant across the street. He silently takes note of it, but doesn’t yet comment when he kisses his girlfriend in greeting.

“Why’d you send up the Bat Signal on this fine Friday night?” he asks, wrapping her in his arms.

Lana smiles up at him. “Well, I’m probably going to be slammed all weekend with the shop, but I’ve got this huge speech for class on Monday and was hoping you’d help me practice.”

She pulls those doe-like hazel eyes on him, and Jason’s almost captured by them. This time, he lets out a small sigh.

“You know I’m always down to help you out. Always. But you know, we haven’t just hung out in a while now,” he points out.

Lana concedes to that with an incline of her head, but she still eases out of his arms to finish cleaning up.

“Yeah, I’ve just been really busy,” she says.

“I have too,” Jason replies. “But even with my crazy schedule, going back and forth from campus, don't I still make time for you?”

Case in point, he was willing to come out to her on the drop of a hat, late at night, and on the crunch week before his final exams. But he would be hard-pressed to remember a time when Lana went out of her way to see him.

Lana pauses, casting him a frown. "I'm trying my best, Jason. You know I'm graduating in a few weeks. Everything's ramped up to 11 this year."

Yeah, I know the feeling, Jason thinks, but after a moment, he caves with a nod, even though his gaze lingers on the Gino's bag.

“Have you eaten?” he tests. “Let me get us some takeout.”

He almost said, Let me take you out, somewhere nice. But he hadn’t been able to do that since before he got to Smallville. He’s beginning to wonder if he ever will again.

“Oh,” Lana says. Her eyes avert from his as she wipes down a table. “I already ate.”

Jason draws closer to her and dips his chin in order to catch her gaze. Eventually, she pauses and glances up at him.

“With Clark?” he asks.

Lana tightens up, just as he predicted. “Why would you say that?”

“I saw him when I came in,” Jason replies. He tilts his head at Lana, who never used to be a good liar. But ever since they had to start hiding their relationship, he’s noticed how good she also hides her thoughts and feelings around other people…maybe even to herself.

“Yeah,” she breathes. “He was here. But we were studying for finals, and we got hungry. That’s it.”

Jason shakes his head, but she grabs his hand with both of hers. He looks down at her tan, slender hands, and can’t help but be drawn back to her beautiful face.

“It’s not a big deal,” she says, as if that can dismiss the churning in his gut.

“Listen,” he says, rubbing at his face. “I know I’ve asked you this before, and I’m sorry but…do you still have feelings for him?”

“No,” she refutes, “I’m with you, Jason. How many times do I have to prove that this is what I want?”

She seems so annoyed and vehement that Jason has to believe her. He wants to, so badly.

Maybe too much.

The last straw comes just two weeks before the end of spring semester—with the coming of senior prom. Jason knows he can’t ask Lana, but she assured him that she wasn’t going.

He has a late class that night, but afterwards, he promised to pick her up and get dinner together in Metropolis. A nice date, a long-ass way out of town, so they’re unlikely to be recognized.

On the Friday evening, just hours before a high school dance, you and Jason sit together in the one class you have together: Introduction to Mass Media.

It only meets once a week, for three hours. Technically it’s an elective for both of you, but you’d told Jason to pick any class outside of his major that he was interested in. Anything to broaden his horizons, and you promised to join him. For some reason, he chose this one.

He thought it would be easy. Just a study of pop. culture stuff, with a mix of social media, maybe a dash of sports, if he was lucky. He’d actually been surprised with how much he was enjoying the segments on videography and broadcast journalism.

Right now, however, he's distracted. You can certainly tell, the way he keeps checking his phone.

“What’s wrong?” you lean over and ask in a whisper. He knows how anal Professor Jones is about cell phones in class. The man had a “contraband bucket” to collect them in, if he caught a student using one.

“Just letting my girlfriend know I’m gonna be a bit late,” Jason grumbles, though he’s looking at the screen. “Jones is droning on past the eternity mark, as usual.”

A man clears his throat above you and Jason. You both look up and meet the flat gaze of Professor Jones. He shakes the bucket in his hand with an arched brow. Already there's about three contraband phones inside.

Jason gives a wan smile. “Come on, Professor. We were supposed to be outta here 20 minutes ago anyway.”

The lines in Professor Jones’s face betrays one simple truth: he doesn’t give a shit.

“Bucket, Mr. Teague,” he says.

Jason’s lips press in irritation, but he’s forced to drop his phone into the waiting bucket. He doesn’t see two mixed text messages from his girlfriend.

You lay a comforting hand on Jason’s arm. “I’m sure she’ll understand.”

By the time Jason gets to the Talon, the lights are dark and Lana’s not home. Suspicion creeps in, making him feel a little crazy.

He decides to get back into his car and drive down to Smallville High. There the gym is decked out to the nines in some kind of underwater theme. It reminds him of his own senior prom a couple of years ago, complete with the punch bowl and cheesy snacks.

But soon enough, the nostalgia comes to a screeching halt.

A familiar ballad croons from the band on the stage.

"And how can I stand here with you, and not be moved by you? ...Would you tell me how could it be any better than this?"

He sees Lana on the dance floor, wearing one of the most beautiful dresses he’s ever seen. And she’s in the arms of one Clark Kent.

Jason's never hated Lifehouse so much.

On Saturday morning, before the Talon even opens, Lana opens the door to Jason while still wearing her robe.

“Hey!” she says, with wide eyes, though she lets him in.

“You seem real surprised,” Jason notes.

“Yeah, I mean, it’s early for you on a Saturday,” Lana remarks with a short laugh. But she still leans up to kiss him. She only manages to get his cheek, since he doesn’t bend down to meet her like he usually would.

She frowns. “Is something wrong?”

Jason doesn’t answer at first. The words are stuck in his throat. He gestures for them to move away from the glass doors, where anyone can peek in. So they travel up to her bedroom and close the door.

It’s not the first time he’s been in her room, though not much has ever happened on her bed. He’s waited completely on her signals for that one. Though now, he’s actually kind of grateful that their relationship has never progressed that far. It makes what he’s about to do easier.

“Where were you last night?” he asks. He figures they’d better start there.

“I tried calling you,” he adds, when Lana doesn’t immediately offer a reply.

“Well, I didn’t hear from you. I figured you were busy with your classes, so…I went to prom by myself,” she says.

Jason sighs. “You didn’t seem all that lonely.”

Her eyes widen. “What?”

Her confusion looks so real. A perfect face, and a damn near perfect lie.

“Look, I saw you and Clark on that dance floor,” Jason finally says. “Wasn't that just the perfect Hallmark moment?”

“Jason…” Lana finally starts to break. She doesn’t want to admit what’s broken, her gaze falling to the floor.

“No, let me say this,” he says. “Lana, I really put my all into this. I did whatever I could to be with you. To love you, to protect you. But in your heart, I think somewhere down the line you decided you don’t want that to be me.”

Lana’s eyes flood with tears, but she doesn’t deny it.

“I think it’s time to really call it quits this time,” Jason says, “for both our sakes.”

He can’t help but reach out to her. His thumb brushes her cheek. Lana’s watery gaze meets his as her lower lip wobbles. She grabs his hand.

“I’m so sorry, Jason,” she confesses.

He won’t say it’s okay, but he accepts that with a nod, and he kisses her cheek.

It’s a goodbye that’s meant to last.

Once he’s back in the relative safety of his car, Jason lets out a deep breath. He grabs his phone from his pocket on some unspoken urge; in that moment, he needs something. Someone.

He needs you.

You answer on the third ring, sounding sleepy on your day off.

“You’d better be on fire,” you say. Jason smiles at the sound of your grumpy voice.

“Hey,” he laughs a little, though he's surprised that it comes so easily. “You doing anything right now?”

“Besides sleeping?” you toss back. “…No. Not really. My life is boring.”

“Boring sounds nice right about now,” Jason says, more seriously than he meant to. “Wanna take a drive or something?”

You hesitate, just for a moment. Then your voice greets him again.

“Let’s go.”

When Jason arrives at your house, you come out to meet him. He gets out of his car, and already he looks wrong. He looks drained of all energy.

“What’s wrong?” you ask in concern, grabbing his arm when you’re close enough. His eyes find yours.

“We broke up,” he says.

It takes your brain a second or two to compute. (You’ve just finished your first cup of coffee, after all.) But then, you’re moving to wrap your arms around his neck in the tightest, warmest hug you can give.

He holds you back for a while, and you relish in the feeling of his hands smoothing around your back and pulling you in close. His chin tucks on your shoulder, and you rub his back.

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly.

He hums in response. Sometimes, what is just is.

He lets you drive him out to the lake near your house, in your beat up Volvo. This lake is your favorite place in the world, you tell him, as you two sit side-by-side on the dock. Your sneaker-clad feet dangle over the edge, next to his longer legs.

“So far,” he corrects. “There’s a whole lot of world out there.”

You smile. “Yeah, you gonna show me? Got a magic carpet tucked in your dorm somewhere?”

Jason laughs, and you’re grateful to see his smile so soon.

“Yeah, along with a dusty-ass lamp,” he says.

You smile, but you tilt your head at him. “Are you okay?”

Jason’s grin slips a little. “Yeah, I think so…is that bad?”

You bite your lip. “Depends. What was her name? I don’t think you even told me.”

Jason turns to you, and he sighs deeply. It takes him a moment, but he eventually answers while looking you in the eyes.

“Lana Lang,” he says.

The name rings a bell…and as it comes to you, it blares like a foghorn. Your eyes widen and your mouth falls open in shock.

“J-Jason…she’s a student,” you stammer. “Not like, us students. Like—”

“I know. We met before I got the coaching job,” Jason explains quickly, before you can blow up at him.

He can see you’re freaking out, trying to contain your reaction with a hand over your mouth. But the more he explains, the more you withdraw into a simmering silence. He can tell, however, that you don’t know how to feel about it.

“Do you regret it?” you ask.

It’s not the first thing he thought you would say, but it’s very you all the same.

“Well, being outmaneuvered by my own quarterback stings like a bitch, but I still think I’m better looking,” Jason jokes. Because that’s what he does when he’s uncomfortable.

Too bad that was the wrong answer.

You roll your eyes with a disgusted huff, and you pull yourself up onto your feet. You start to leave him there at the dock, but Jason hops up as well and grabs your hand.

“Hey, wait,” he implores. “Look, I’m sorry. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. It was just…easier.”

“Why, because you didn’t trust me?” you challenge. “Or because you felt guilty about what you were doing?”

The truth is, Jason doesn’t feel guilty. Not for his relationship.

“I was trying to protect her reputation,” he says. “I know how smalltown people think. She’d be the talk of the damn town. And for what? Because we’re two years apart?”

“And I’m smalltown, is that it? I’m sorry I’m not as evolved as you, Mr. Metropolis,” you snark. “Forgive me for being a lowly country bumpkin with some morals.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Jason says with an angry frown, throwing up his hands in frustration.

You shake your head at him and start booking it towards your car.

Jason follows. “You know you can’t leave me out here, right?”

“Just get in the car, before I change my mind!”

He obliges you, and it’s a painful ride back to your house. He really can’t believe you’re being like this. It’s the first real argument he’s ever had with you. He knew you might get upset, but he did think you’d be a little more understanding…

“Look, we met in Paris last summer,” he admits. And a hint more vulnerable, “I just…couldn’t help but fall for her.”

“I get it, Jason,” you reply. Your voice is flat.

“Just please don’t tell anyone,” he asks. “We’re done. She’s about to graduate.”

As mad as you are at him for lying to you, you begrudgingly see his point. You can also start to understand why he didn’t tell you.

But, regardless of how you feel, you don’t want him to lose his job. You know it’s the only way he can afford college.

“I wouldn’t do that to you,” you say, before you can reign yourself in.

Jason turns to you with a hint of a smile. “Thank you.”

It’s still awkward when you two get to your house. He turns to you, like he wants to say something that’ll most likely soften you.

You’re not ready for that.

So you kill the engine and get out of the car without looking at him. Jason takes the hint; he doesn’t say another word to you when he gets into his car and peels away.

The next weeks that follow are hard for Jason. As a member of the staff, he’s forced to go to Smallville High’s graduating ceremony.

He watches Clark and Lana graduate together with the rest of their friends. The two of them hug after she gets off stage, looking at one another with a moment of blushing smiles. It’s an inevitable look.

It makes Jason feel sick. He leaves as soon as he can, going back to languish in his dorm room. He lays on his bed over the covers with his hands folded over his stomach and his eyes closed.

He thinks about you.

He can see you in his mind’s eye, with a pen balanced between your teeth and your hair falling over to brush the pages you pour over.

He sees your fuzzy green sweater. Your smile. The shade of your hair, your eyes, your laugh, your furrowed look when you’re concentrating hard on revising a sentence.

The more he sees, the more he wants to call you. To hear your voice, even if you're just going to yell at him.

Jason sighs. He sits up in bed and has a thought that soon takes hold of his body, and has him swinging his legs over the edge of his bed and pulling his backpack closer.

He pulls out a folder for one of his classes and finds an essay you revised. His eyes scan over the encouragements you’ve left in the margins, along with the stray doodles. They still make him smile.

And it reminds him of the first note you ever gave him, which he keeps tucked in a small drawer in his desk. He tosses the folder onto his bed and goes to that drawer, where he finds your hastily written haiku.

Assistant Hottie

You flatter me, see through me

Smarter than he thinks.

You don’t know that those words have kept his head above water in times where he’s wanted to quit school.

Or even worse, in those times when he’s wanted to go to his father, tail between his legs, to ask for money and a job doing anything easy.

So now, Jason realizes that he needs to make another decision.

He gets out of bed, and he goes to see you.

Jason travels down to the basement of the CKM library, to the Writing Center, where you’re sitting at your desk as always on a Thursday night. You have a pile of essays stacked high next to you, and your forehead is wrinkled while you read a problematic passage.

The smell of coffee makes you look up first, before you realize who brought it. Your eyes widen at seeing Jason, along with his small smile and peace offering.

“Hey,” he says.

His voice washes over you, his eyes that always manage to disarm you, even now.

Despite your better judgment, you take the coffee from him and revel at its warmth. It has to be 60 degrees in this damn room (you’re one step shy of bringing your winter gloves next time).

You sip at the coffee and hum in delight at the taste of caramel and cinnamon—a combination that only your family, and Jason, would know you loved.

Your gaze flits up to his, more begrudging as you sigh.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Teague?” you ask.

Jason grins and takes your coworker’s empty chair to sit across from you.

“I’ve got a little haiku for you,” he says, handing you a folded piece of paper. You eye him in confusion, but you set down the coffee on your desk and take his second offering. You unfold it and read something that genuinely takes you by surprise.

Hey, Miss Professor

I’ve got a question for you…

Want to get dinner?

You can’t help but laugh. It’s most definitely not a haiku, but you also know that it’s his best shot. His smile is sheepish, making yours deepen.

“So, what’s your answer?” he asks.

You glance down at the page, then back at him. You bite your lip, and your heart clenches. Is this it? you wonder. Is he asking you out, for real? You can’t quite tell what he’s thinking.

“What kind of dinner?” you ask.

Jason’s grin fades. “What do you mean?”

“Is this our normal kind, where we roll out like we’re Thelma and Louise?” you ask, making him snort. “Or is this the kind where I need to change out of my dirty sneakers and brush my hair?”

He shrugs; his amused grin is back. “I mean, however I get you is all right by me.”

You nearly utter another sigh, but Jason surprises you yet again—by grabbing your hand.

“But, uh…I’d like this to be the kind of dinner where we try something new,” he says, licking his dry lips. He looks a bit uncertain, you think, hiding the fear of rejection. “Maybe you’ll let me do my Cary Grant impression and get you some flowers. Box of chocolates.”

The corner of your mouth twitches. “Chocolates?”

“Whatever it takes,” he says. His tone is joking, but he seems serious. You know him well enough by now to spot the difference.

“Whatever it takes, huh?” you ask.

Jason’s hand tightens on yours, but his eyes never leave you. He really is serious, and it makes your heart stutter and trill with warmth. It feels a lot like hope.

He leans in, his head bowing towards yours…but you lay a hand against his chest.

It stops him, until your fingers curl into his shirt.

Your gaze slowly meets his.

When he reaches for your cheek, this time you let him pull you in.

His kiss is sudden, but it’s still a gentle test. You take in a deep breath through your nose as your eyes fall closed. You press your lips against his, answering him. His fingers slide into your hair and drag down the back of your neck. It makes you shudder and tug him even closer by his shirt.

Jason’s solution is gathering you into his lap, where you take his face with both hands and kiss him with unfettered passion. The locked doors of your heart are swinging open, and it’s a sweet relief to be honest with each swipe of your tongue against his.

He’s gripping your hip, his fingers pressing into your thigh, while the other hand supports your lower back and presses you flush against him. As the kiss slows, so does your hand in his hair, more soothing now than gripping.

When your lips eventually draw apart from his, it’s with panting breaths. You stare into his eyes, as yours brim with relieved tears. You touch his cheek.

“I better not be a rebound,” you warn him. “I can’t take that, Jase.”

Jason shakes his head, holding you a fraction tighter. “No, believe me. That's the last thing you are."

You bite your lip, and he encourages you to release it with his thumb brushing across your lower lip. You've been on his mind longer than he can readily admit. Since the first day he met you.

"I know I haven't made it easy, but will you trust me on this?” he asks. "I really wanna do this right with you."

It takes you a moment to decide, but you do. You trust him.

So you nod and brush your fingers along the apple of his cheek.

“Okay,” you concede. "Let's do this."

Jason grins. “Oh, thank God.”

You giggle softly and hide your face in his neck. His chest shakes with a chuckle as he holds you back. It feels very right to hold you, he thinks.

Just as it's a relief for you to finally be in his arms.

“Where d’you wanna go for dinner?” he asks.

You laugh, a bit giddy as you cling to him and thread your fingers in his golden hair.

“I don’t give a damn.”

AN: Haha, I hope you liked this! ❤️ These one-shots are kind of AU, in that I don't get into the Stones of Power arc of S4 just for simplicity's sake.

I do have one more one-shot idea rolling around in my head for these two...the reader meeting Jason's infamous mother lol (Genevieve Teague, played by the fabulous Jane Seymour)!

Smallville Masterlist

Main Masterlist

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JT Tag List:

@sleepyqueerenergy @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @ades106 @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @brianochka @branj19 @hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog @globetrotter28

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#Miss Professor #Assistant Hottie Sequel #Jason Teague #jason teague x reader #jason teague x female reader #jason teague x you #jason teague fics #smallville #jensen ackles characters #jensen ackles #lana lang #smallville clark kent #clark kent #zepskies writes

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lovedazai · 2 years

Text

LOVESICK DAZAI

p.s.! extended version of this post!! ty to my love michy for encouraging me to write this <3 muah

dazai feels so strongly towards you, it scares him a little bit. it takes a lot for him to become so infatuated by someone

dazai’s had very few romantic relationships with genuine feelings involved, if any at all

unlike his other love interests, he didn’t want to simply charm you; he wanted you to genuinely like him the way he likes you

that doesn’t mean you have to fawn over him all day, every day…but he wouldn’t complain if you did

even a simple “good morning, dazai-san, i hope you have a good day!” is enough to have him clutching at his chest

he’ll hold his cheeks and sigh as he daydreams about you like a schoolboy with his first crush

he’ll watch you from afar, hearts practically floating in his eyes. you could be picking your nose and he’d just smile like an idiot

you’re just too pretty! is his excuse. it takes a particularly hard smack from kunikida to bring him back to reality, and even then, he catches his gaze wandering to you

everything is just so mesmerizing!! how your hair falls when you tie it back, how your face scrunches when you’re confused, how you play with your fingers when you’re nervous

when he gets flustered around you, he’ll try to play it off, but you can see the way his cheeks turn the slightest shade of red before he gets himself back under control

follows you around like a puppy. oh you’re taking a break? what a coincidence, he was also just about to take one! it’s almost like it’s a sign for you two to go out on a date!

utilizes his talent for little white lies just so he has an excuse to talk to you. hiding your jacket so he can offer you his, stealing your favorite pen so you have to borrow one from him

and when you thank him with that pretty smile of yours :( it’s like an arrow went straight through his heart

when you see dazai add a single cup of coffee to his tab that morning, only for him to present you the biggest bouquet of all your favorite flowers that afternoon

he just can’t help himself when it comes to small touches. tucking your hair behind your ear when it falls in your face, thumb brushing away that stray piece of rice on your chin, nudging his feet against yours under the table at the cafe

and if you ever reciprocate any of these to him, he’s done for. sitting next to him instead of across from him, holding onto him when the street gets crowded, asking him how he’s doing

dazai’s weakness is people being kind to him; if a mission goes awry and you scold him to be more careful or offer to bandage him up, he’ll melt into a puddle on the spot

it’s always been obvious which paperwork is his: the unfinished ones!!

it’s even more obvious now that the pages are covered in little doodles of your name, scribbled around hearts and flowers

he knows he’s down bad when even the things he’s done for years somehow make his mind stray back to you

when he’s back at his dorm, he can hear your voice in his head as he pours himself another glass of sake, telling him he should take better care of himself. (his heart races at the thought of you taking care of him instead)

and when he’s just drunk enough, instead of wallowing in his futon, he thinks of you. were you sleeping now? he hoped so. what kind of drunk were you? would your cheeks flush? would you be clingy?

for once, he wants to sleep. at best, he dreams of you. at worst, he has nightmares about losing you, but time passes quicker and he can see you sooner. he’ll cuddle his pillow closer and imagine he’s buried against your chest instead

BSD MASTERLIST

#dazai: *studies you under a microscope*#dazai x reader #bsd x reader #dazai osamu x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #bsd imagines #dazai x you #dazai fluff #bsd scenarios #bsd fluff #dazai imagines #bsd headcanons #dazai x y/n #💌 . . . with love mai ⊹ ࣪ ˖

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ninja-knox-ur-sox-off · 4 months

Text

Wobbly Hearts AU

Summary: Kai doesn’t like soulmates. He doesn’t want them and he certainly doesn’t need them. High school is hard enough without all the extra stress of soulmarks and finding your soulmates. He decided at a young age he didn’t have time for soulmates and he plans to stick to that decision. Unfortunately, as always, the universe seems to take a lot of joy in messing with him. or Kai struggles with reading and it’s everybody’s problem.

Hi there! Yes it's the very fic I've been yelling about in vague posts and tags the last 6+ months! It's been so long since I've posted anything to ao3 I've forgotten how it works but I'm doing my best! This fic is an AU set in an alternate universe of the LEGO Ninjago Movie (2017) combined with a lot of the characterization and aspects from the original LEGO Ninjago show. It's over 100k so buckle up and prepare for some shenanigans!

the first chapter is UP

sample under cut

Kai got his first soulmarks when he tried to eat a marker.

Tiny, with fumbling fingers, freckles and barely two years old he didn’t remember that day in the slightest. But his parents told the story to him and Nya all the time when they were little.

It was the little red marker they said that he went for. His mom didn’t notice until he’d pried off the cap and stuck it into his mouth after several unsuccessful attempts that ended in red marker all over his face. She’d gotten it out of his mouth before he could really try to eat it like he’d been meaning to. He'd started crying at the abruptness of his marker being taken away, but those tears dried up fairly quickly after his mom scooped him up.

His mom laughed that maybe his soulmates wanted him to feel less alone because a blue marker appeared not long after they started to wash off the red.

His first soulmark.

Kai grew up with their scribbled colorful lines on his skin. At first it was the hazardous meaningless lines of a toddler and then, as time progressed, they became more purposeful doodles. They were just another part of life he didn’t fully understand but accepted as fact because his parents simply smiled and spoke over his head of soulmates. He didn’t think he really grasped much of the concept of exactly what a soulmate was until he turned five.

They were someone (or several someones) that could be his favorite person (or people) in the whole wide world if he let them. After Nya was born he argued she was his soulmate because she was his most favorite person in the whole wide world. His dad said it was a different kind of favorite. But Nya was family and that was just as important.

It wasn’t until he was seven and struggling to learn the alphabet that he realized there was more than one soulmate out there for him.

Words started appearing as they learned how to write, the letters slanted and wobbly and hazardous. He watched their writing change and improve and watched them start to talk to each other. There were two of them. Two soulmates all for him. They talked in the simple words that they could manage. One excitedly scribbled I <3 U when they learned how. Kai had to ask his mom what the lines meant and she explained it with a patient smile. It means I love you.

He was ten and still just drawing doodles while his soulmates spoke of their favorite cartoons and what they had eaten that day. Letters seemed to float around his head and laugh at him as he tried to read what they were saying, frustrated tears biting his eyes and blurring the letters. Seeing him struggle, his mom would let him sit on her lap and read him the words out loud while he rested his head on her shoulder.

Pens and markers felt awkward in his hands. The little doodles he managed never looked as good as the doodles one of his soulmates was always making. Their doodles were of cool stuff, like ninja and dragons and mechs. The doodles were so cool and Kai doodled little hearts and flames around them as best he could to show how much he liked them. But half the time he couldn’t tell the hearts from the fire and explosions, everything so wobbly and awful. He tried to write his name once and it was almost worse than the hearts.

Keep Reading

#knox rambles #KNOX WRITES (me)#LEGO Ninjago Wobbly Hearts AU #Ninjago #Lego Ninjago Movie (2017)#Lego Ninjago #WELL THIS IS EXCITING I'M #HGKL;SFJSDFSADF #HERE WE GO #AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA BUCKLE UP #won't be privating this work for a while so read away my good sirs #also i have like a discord set up for this if enough people are vibin with it i'll toss an invite link #]

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sysig · 30 days

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Looking his very best, as much as he can anyhow (Patreon)

#Doodles #SCII #Helix #ZEX #The Captain #The theme of this set is ZEX's hair! So I guess Max's hair really lol #But double really it's ZEX's hair because Max would never let this happen to his hair lol poor abused hair haha #Cute floofy ZEX is cute and floofy <3 #He can't control the hair - no hair bones here unfortunately lol - but at least there's something around his head eh?#Max with a buzz cut! Ah!!! The problem is I love him no matter what so I think he looks cute literally anyhow haha #S'cold! As if ZEX wasn't already sensitive haha - he gets a buzz cut and is just ''?????'' the whole time #And then someone pets his hair and it upgrades to ''?!?!?!?!?!'' haha #Weird to not have anything in his peripherals too :0 Always /some/thing to the sides of his head!#I think he looks quite silly in the third one lol - I would say I drew his hair too short but it's actually more accurate isn't it #Max's hair is like chin/shoulder-length! I just can't help myself haha long flowing hair is so fun and pretty <3 #No he's beautiful however I stand by it #ZEX with slightly damp but not actually clean hair haha of course it feels strange! Not just water in there!#Actually drawing his green ends for a change haha ♪ And the grey in his hair! ;; ZEEEX weh #You can just barely see I tried to use one of my skin-tone pencils from the Crayola set but it doesn't scan the best :P #Or apply the best honestly lol they're quite hard pencils - I'm used to a softer formula like the yellow and green there! Very soft and nice #Yaaay Captain hehe <3 This is what you get for trusting someone untrustworthy ZEX lol #Okay but the way I reacted to reading there was Yarn tied in his hair I had a Normal reaction and I'm Fine about it lol #I made it red for Funsies and no other reason lol - really it's just the pen I (still) always have on hand haha #There's some in my blue as well! Just not as obviously lol - no wait that's one of his colours too just ignore that <3 #ZEX is adorable ♪ The alien not understanding human traditions and culture trope is so lovely on him #And honestly the Captain is a very good sport hehe <3 He takes a lot in stride! Good for him

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sixeyescurseuser · 5 months

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(Headcanon)

Thinking about Geto who journals a lot.

He’s poetic in that he often writes in metaphors, referencing songs or movies or literature he enjoys.

He’s romantic in that 60% of his entries are about Gojo.

Geto would have written the mushiest thoughts after his and Gojo’s first official date.

“He holds galaxies in his eyes And I, a mere mortal, can only admire from afar and tremble in their sheer beauty” “Our hands brushed a total of three times before I had the confidence to interlock our fingers. I never want to walk down the street without holding his hand ever again”

“Satoru knows he’s the most charming and gorgeous person in the room. What he doesn’t know is I think so too.”

Cheeks burning, Geto slams his journal closed and is like “enough of that”

***

Imagine Geto's entry when they first kiss.

It’s a whole page just of “AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!”

And then Geto composed himself enough to explain in the next page.

“WE KISSED, WE KISSED I KISSED SATORU SATORU KISSED ME ON THE LIPSSS”

“I haven't known what breathing really was until it was you who poured your breath into my mouth. I pray you never stop.”

***

Sometimes, Geto writes directly to Gojo. Maybe it’ll be after a tough mission he had, and Geto is pouring out his burdens in his writing.

But the one highlight was of course:

“I didn’t expect you to have cleaned my room and done my laundry for me, but you’re just full of surprises, aren’t you, Satoru? All because you were bored when waiting for me to return from my mission?”

Geto taps his chin with his pen before adding:

“…that’s so gay of you.”

Geto chuckles, then continues on.

“But actually, it really warmed my heart. I think that as long as you’re around, my heart will feel full.” "Don’t change, Satoru.”

***

Then there’s also the entries like:

“GOJO SATORU, COUNT YOUR DAYS!! I HATED YOUR STUPID, CUTE FACE WHEN YOU CAME TO ME TO TELL ME YOU APPARENTLY FORGOT A RED T-SHIRT BETWEEN MY WHITE LAUNDRY - NOW EVERYTHING IS PINK. YOU’RE FILTHY RICH, REPAY ME AT LEAST YOU BASTARD!”

Geto writes and his pen leaves a trail of fire.

You know Gojo is in trouble when Geto says his whole name.

Geto's penmanship is usually so pretty and neat, but when he wrote this, the lines were angry and slanted. There’s also a little doodle of one of his curses chewing Gojo up.

On the next page, Geto’s entries go back to lovesick paragraphs about a certain white-haired menace.

***

Geto starts talking about marriage in his journal. His entries are his vows at this point.

“You better not get sick of me, okay? Better continue kicking ass on your missions and bringing back your cute souvenirs. Let’s go apartment searching soon, yeah? I’ve been looking up places already, there’s a couple that I think you’d like. I can’t wait to move in with you and continue to build our life together. It’s you and me against the world. I really can’t wait to spend the rest of my life loving you, Satoru.”

***

Geto’s journaling also helps when they’re sent on solo missions abroad.

“I can’t believe the first time I’m in Italy is for a stupid mission, without you by my side. We always said we’d come here to try the best pasta and sweets. I suppose I can be the navigator for when we do get the chance to visit together. There’s a few bakeries you would absolutely love…”

***

Geto’s journaling comes to light when years later, he and Gojo get into an argument about their first date.

Gojo: “There’s no way I was more than fifteen minutes late to our first date!”

Geto: “Yes you were!! I literally have proof!”

Gojo: “Where??”

Geto: 🤐

Geto: “Iweiebaboutinmtjeosual”

Gojo: “huh? What was that?”

Geto: “…I wrirhwabout it in my jaoruhal”

Gojo: “Suguru, speak properly, I can’t understand-“

Geto: “I WROTE ABOUT IT IN MY JOURNAL”

Gojo: “I-“

Geto: “Man, I was so pissed at you. How could you be late to your first date? With ME? You’re lucky I love you, or I swear to god I would’ve dumped your ass right then and there.”

Gojo: “You have a journal?”

Geto, walking away: “Nope”

Gojo leaps onto Geto’s back, clinging on like a koala: “Suguru~~ where can I find this little journal of yours? Have to make sure the proof you claim to have is sufficient and legit-”

Geto doesn’t react, resigned to carrying his human-sized backpack to god knows where.

No way is he sharing his journal entries until the ring hidden in his closet is finally on Satoru's finger.

***

w/ @no-one-says-hi

#jjk #satosugu #satosugu fluff #jjk headcanon #gojo satoru #geto suguru #satosugu fanfic #satosugu headcanon #fluff #journaling

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dailybetakidz · 18 days

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[id: two doodles of dave strider, a thin blasian transgirl with short curly hair. his hair is bleached with the roots growing out and she has braces, sunglasses, an a star of david necklace. the first image is a semirealistic sketch with her in a tank top with a flowy top half and skinny jeans. she puts her hand on his hip and looks at the viewer judgmentally. the second is a lot less detailed and shows a red pen doodle of her wearing a baseball tee with headphones on, labelled "dave (a girl)". end id]

her name is peepee ajd she sucks so bad

#homestuck #dave strider #dove strider #<== i dont use that name for her but thats gte typical transfem dave name so #transfem dave strider

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hrts4wonu · 6 months

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minghaos who takes his time when drawing any portrait of you, making sure to get every detail of your beauty

a/n: oh my god jasmine??? i just started reading your fanfics last night and let me tell you, i was so damn obsessed; i'm not sure if this is a hard thought or anything but i did try to make it smut (with a little bit of fluff and comfort)

wc: 1.7k

today was like any other day. well, not technically. today was your boyfriend's project's due date. he was supposed to draw a portrait of the person that means a lot to him; though he first thought of his very own mother, he remembered the first few words you said when you met him.

(flashback)

those few sweet words that came out of your mouth like it was nothing; "i love your artstyle, maybe you should draw your future girlfriend, yeah?" you chuckle as he turned to look at you. "pardon?" he says, a little confused.

"i'm talking about me, hao." he laughs at your straightforwardness and displays a warm smile at you while he remains seated.

you laugh along comfortably, sitting next to him while staring at the canvas that was filled with colorful strokes of red, orange, yellow, blue and pink. "you assume too much, don't y'think?" he teased as he cups your cheeks, tucking your hair behind your ear. "well, you never know, do you?" both of you chuckle together before he picks up his paintbrush and finishes his artwork.

(end of flashback)

that was long ago, yet, the memory itself never fails to melt his heart. though, he couldn't deny; he has drew you before. a couple of times actually.

the problem was, all of them just seemed bad to him. he doodled and sketched your face everyday in class; thinking that everytime he drew you with a different pen or pencil, his sketches get more terrible each day. (and yet he still managed to get good grades even though he doesn't pay attention in class because he's always drawing you)

and so, he never showed you, until you found his sketchbook in his room on your 5th monthsary. he was pretty embarrassed about it, but your praises on his drawings were enough to boost his ego and confidence.

while he quietly sits down on his chair, staring into his computer, he slowly turns to look at you with a nervous smile on his face.

"darling," he starts off, standing up and approaching you on the bed. you hum in response, dropping your phone and looking back at him. "do you want to become my reference? it's for an art project."

you nod, changing your position on the bed. "what do you need me to wear? a dress, or--"

"need you nude, baby." the temptation from his voice was enough to electrify something inside of you; feeling a bit flustered from what he said. "..if you're comfortable with it, of course. i wouldn't want to make myself look like i'm into creepy things like this, yeah?" he adds. "if you really don't wanna, it's fi--"

"mm." you shook your head no. "it's fine," though it seemed aberrant to minghao (because of how much of a gentleman he is), the longing ache in you was basically killing you.

a few minutes later, you slowly got out of the bathroom with a robe on. you were nervous of him judging you, the way your body was built, your skin tone, or maybe that was just your neediness that's getting to you.

he puts on a smile and gives you a warm hug, "take it off when you're ready, hm?" minghao whispers in your ear, leaving a small kiss.

you nod, "yeah."

minghao slowly lets go and stands behind his canvas; squeezing out all the paint onto his palette. he quickly grabs his paintbrush and starts speaking up once more, "hey," he sat down on the tiny chair. "there's still time to back out if you're really not into thi--"

"minghao? is there something wrong?" you throw your robe to the side, crossing your arms which squished your tits from below a bit.

he shook his head, "no, not at all." he looks away and focuses back on his canvas.

minghao couldn't help but stare at you for a bit longer, he didn't know what to say or do at all. it's not like there is a problem- it's that you're there, with no clothes on, and you're on full display.

but besides that, you're gorgeous.

absolutely admirable and so, so, so, so, so beautiful. to him and only him. maybe even to the whole world.

countless hours pass by and minghao was finally done with his work, "baby?" he stands up and dusts his hands off.

"did you fall aslee- oh." you quietly let out muffled moans as you try fingering yourself on the sofa; if only you could see the greed and devotion in his eyes while he painted your figure, he would've dropped his paintbrushes to the floor and take care of you already.

the sweet smile on his face disappears and instead turns into a wicked yet sinister smirk.

minghao cups your cheeks. "let me help you baby, yeah?" he coos, crouching down to give you a soft kiss on the lips before falling onto his knees.

"p-please.." you beg, withdrawing your hand from your pussy but before you could wipe it on the couch, minghao grabs it and slides it in his mouth, licking your small digits that were unlike his long, veiny hands. "hao.." you whine at the sight.

"what is it, pretty girl?" he places his hands on both of your thighs, spreading them apart. "need me?"

you nod. "i've been longing, hao."

he starts kissing your inner thighs; wet lips enough to get you even wetter than you were 10 seconds ago. though your legs were now resting on his shoulder, he still had a firm grasp on them. his nails dug onto your skin, leaving temporary crescent-shaped nail marks onto them.

"so have i, darling." he replies, leaning in towards your pussy, his nose bumping with your clit.

you whine when you feel the pleasure; it's overwhelming, yes, but it feels so good that you can't even utter a single word. not even a single one, the only thing you can let out is a moan.

he licks your pussy's lips and starts eating you out, the sweet taste not leaving his tongue. "f..fuck, hao,"

"mind your language or i'm gonna leave you aching on this sofa, y/n." he threatens and you slightly look away in embarrassment when you saw his bloodthirsty eyes darken in lust. "you wouldn't want that, would you?" he leans back, away from you as the wind's cold breeze comes in contact with your skin.

you shook your head no gently, replying to his question. "well, it's not like you could ever leave me hanging like that, hao." you tease.

he scoffs; "there's always a first time for everything, sweetheart. you should know that." he stood up and quickly switches your position in missionary, pinning you down on the sofa and pressing your legs against your chest and his.

"but, hey." you look at him in confusion as he unzips his pants and pulls his cock out. it was long and veiny, t'was so outstanding and beautiful. something so out of this world. "contrary to what mingyu said before," he breathes, fixing his position on top of you as he leans close enough to your ear. "most of the greatest works of art don't know how great they are not because they're unreal, instead, it's because they don't see the talent in the artist's eyes that were enough to make the painting as appealing as it already is." his hot breath against your ear makes you tremble, "you're just like an artwork, you know?" he teases.

"really?" he nods. "you think so?" your cute puppy eyes, begging and pleading for his angry, red tip was enough to send him to the edge but as punishment, he will make you wait longer.

after a few more minutes of teasing, he finally gives in and thrusts inside of you.

you moan loudly, holding onto his body, yet it seemed so unfair because you were basically naked and he still had his shirt on. "mm.." he looks at you, stopping his thrusting as he felt a little confused.

"what is it, hm?" you slowly tug at his shirt and he finally gets it. "ah, i see." he smirks and takes his shirt off.

he goes back to thrusting inside of you and you let out another moan, "m-mmh!"; he grunts as he thrusts even harder, not stopping for even a breath.

you squirm, putting your hand over your mouth to keep your mouth shut yet you can't help yourself but moan even louder. he notices this and he stops for a moment, leaving you hanging which made you ache for more (though it's not like he could pull out because your pussy was basically sucking him back in), grabbing your hand pinning them over your head as he fucks into you.

"h..hao!" you moan loudly as you felt him hitting that 'sweet spot' inside of you. "hao.." you breathe, starting to pant as your legs start trembling. "i-.. i'm so close.." you whine continuously as his hand lets go of your wrists, traveling down to your nipples.

he rubs them gently, leaning in and licking them clean. minghao does the same for the other breast making you moan and yearn for more;

"i..i'm gonna cum, please.." you beg.

"please what, baby?" he smirks, pulling his lips away from your lips and staring into your doe eyes. "tell me," he starts. "tell me what you need, i'll give you everything. every single thing just for you, my lovely, pretty girl."

you look at him with desire and thirst. "need to cum, please.."

everything was testing him; no, no, no.. that's not the right word, is it? let's try that again-- everything was arousing him. it felt like you were tormenting eachother using their own bodies. everything was so tempting to him, he couldn't help but give in; "cum for me, princess," he says with a smirk on his face. "do it, make me proud, okay?"

it wasn't that long until you reach your climax and you came on his cock. he helps you ride your orgasm until he reaches his, planting his seed inside of you.

the both of you catch your breathes together before he pulls out of you and places a warm, loving kiss on your temple; "come on, let's clean you up, hm?" despite being exhausted, you shot him a smile and he stood up, carrying you to the bathroom to clean you up. "mhm.." you manage to say, still trying to catch your breath from what had just happened.

"hao, i love you." you say, with a smile on your face as you return his kiss back, instead, this time it was on his lips. "i love you too, baby."

a/n 2: sorry this took so long,, i had work and i was slightly busy.. but anyways, i'm FINALLY done! it didn't turn out how i expected it to be yet i still think it's a little better than what i usually write. besides that, i'm really, really glad to make a minghao fanfic so please ask / request for more <3

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obetrolncocktails · 1 year

Text

Karma Sutra | Sam Kiszka X Reader | Part 1

Warnings: In this chapter-slut shaming, objectifying women, use of alcohol. This series will include 18+ content. Minors DNI.

Word Count: 2.2K

A/N: This series is one of the first that I put out. It has been left incomplete for quite a while. I felt that it needed some updating and reworking, but it is one of my favorite plot archs...so get ready. There will be fluff, smut, and a WHOLE lot of angst, so pull up your panties and get ready.

Summary: Chasing after the boy who is easily known as one of the sexiest and cockiest on campus...what could go wrong?

You felt eyes on you as you walked across the quad between classes. For what reason, you couldn’t place, but you knew that you were being watched. Peering across the quad, eyes flitting in all directions, you attempted to find the source of your insecurity. Nothing. You bundled yourself tighter within the thickness of your peacoat, shielding yourself from the blustery December cold. Making your way under an awning, you smelled the familiar odor of cigarette smoke. It wafted in your direction, beckoning for you to turn your gaze upward. Ugh. Of-fucking-course. Sam douche-bag-extraordinaire Kiszka. “Cold as fuck out here,” he said, puffing out O-rings of smoke from the side of his mouth.

“Mm, so you decide to step out in twenty-four degree weather to smoke a ciggy?” You spat sarcastically.

“Bad habit, sweetheart. You know what they say…they die hard.” You couldn’t help but roll your eyes and kept walking away from him. “There’s a party on the row tonight–you coming?” your eyebrows furrow instantly, turning to meet his gaze.

“I haven’t been to a frat party in over a year, Sam. Why would I?” He threw his hands in the air, shrugging. His cigarette remained burning between two fingers, dropping ashes every few seconds to the ground. “Just thought it might be nice to see a refreshing face for once.”

What the fuck? Why was Sam taking sudden interest in me? “I gotta make it to class. See you around.” You waved him off and continued walking to class.

“Hey, Y/N, for old-time’s-sake, it really would be nice to see you there.” His eyes were the color of chocolate, which was ironic. His beauty could melt any girl on campus just like the confection–except for you. You would always be the exception.

“Bye, Samuel.”

Samuel. He liked that. He bit at the corner of his lip, his eyes following you as you disappeared within the halls. Mm, I’ll save her for later. Blowing out the last puff of smoke, he stubbed out his cigarette against the brick wall, dropping it carelessly to the ground before strolling away to the next entertaining encounter.

***

Philosophy class soon turned into Philo-so-fucking-boring class extremely fast. Your mind wandered from the lecture, unable to focus. Why the fuck was he watching me? The truth that you wouldn’t even admit to yourself was that you had feelings for Sam, and had since freshman year. They had remained in the recesses of your mind ever since. For one, he was an asshole. You and almost every girl on campus knew it; however, some part of you would always have a soft spot for him, no matter how cocky he was. He just didn’t know it, and you sure as hell wouldn’t show it either. Fuck that red turtleneck sweater. Why did he have to look so good in it? You caught yourself doodling random hearts and sparkles in the margins of your notes as you thought about him.

“Pssst, hey.” Your best friend, Paige jabbed you from behind with the top of her pen. “Pay attention, there’s going to be an exam tomorrow.” Your hands flew to cover your notebook from her view. “What are you hiding?” She whispered, curious as to why you were being so secretive.

“It’s nothing, just drawings.” You realized a little bit too late that mere drawings wouldn’t have elicited such a reaction.

“Doesn’t seem like it’s just a few drawings.”

“Ladies, would you like to share your conversation with the class? Is it more important than the material that will be on tomorrow’s exam? Would you like to take it today after class since you don’t seem invested in the review?” You fell silent and averted eye contact, heat creeping up your necks to your faces. The remainder of class passed excruciatingly slow. When three o’clock finally arrived, you filtered out of the classroom to meet up with Paige.

“So I was thinking…how would you feel about going to the Row tonight.” Meeting your expectations, she recoiled instantly.

“Uh, who are you and where is Y/N? You never go to parties.” You turn away from her and begin to walk down the hallway.

“I just thought it might be nice to do something different for a change.” Your cheeks were flaming again.

“You’re such a liar. Who is it?” You bit your lip.

“What do you mean?” you stalled. Paige stopped you mid-gait, grabbing at your arm.

“Who is it, Y/N?” You had no choice but to look at her.

“Ryan McClean.” Another Lie. It was a good replacement though. He was sweet, good looking and respectful. At least as much as could be expected for a frat boy. Paige stepped back with a hand on her hip.

“You’ve never mentioned him, let alone told me you have a crush on him.” You continued to walk, ushering her forward.

“Well, it kinda happened fast. I don’t know–I was hoping to see him tonight. I wanted to look cute.” You saved face by putting on an extra air of confidence.

“Okay, okay I see you!” Paige grinned, snapping her fingers left and right as she walked.

“Unfortunately, I have a date with Mark tonight–so I won’t be able to go.” You nodded, secretly relieved that she wouldn’t have to see you lose what little humility you had left.

“Stay connected to the phone, don’t drink too much, play safe, get home safe,” she counted off on her fingers.

“Thank you, Mom. Would you like to dress me, too?” you asked, grinning. Paige rolled her eyes playfully.

“Actually, now that you ask, let’s go pick out an outfit that doesn’t scream…pilgrim lost in the twenty-first century.” You eyed her for a silent moment, challenging each other not to laugh, but you were the first one to lose, throwing your head back and cackling at her.

“You are such a bitch!” You said, elbowing her. “Let’s go." Paige wouldn’t let you go to that party without looking your best.

***

“Lacy Monroe.” “Total babe, 13/10. Would fuck her any day,” Wyatt Sellars interjected, a massive grin pasted on his face.

“Okay, how about Holly?” Matthew asked the question from the ping-pong table, tapping balls back to Wyatt. Christian Hearst entered the room next, a towel wrapped around his waist, applying deodorant to his armpits.

“Wilson? She’s a bit of a bitch, but I'd chase her for a little while until I got bored.” He chuckled, walking to the fridge for a beer.

“How about Y/N?” The room falls silent, save for the fast bounce of the forfeited ping pong ball that was previously in play. Samuel Francis Kiszka. He sits cross-legged on a lounge chair in the corner, knocking back the rest of his IPA.

“You mean the sexiest girl at school?” Wyatt offered. “Is she Mormon or something? She could have easily made her way through the entire football team by now.”

“Jesus, you dumb fuck, she’s not Mormon.” Christian came behind Wyatt, thumping him on the back of his head.

“Well-I didn’t know, I–”

“I think she’s stunning,” Sam says, leaning forward to place his elbows on his knees. His grin was obvious. His cunning expression cut through the room.

“Okay, asshole. What’s with the look?” Christian moved to the couch, taking a seat across from sam.

“I saw her today. Walking to class.” He licked his lips as he talked. Christian rubbed his hands together, prepared to hear about some salacious romp.

“And?”

Sam’s eyes grow wider. “Oh, n-nothing happened, I just saw her.” A chorus of disappointed scoffs filled the room.

“You suck, man. You literally had us going, just for fucking nothing,” Wyatt whined.

“It’s not like anything would happen– I’m pretty sure she’s a virgin anyway,” Sam continued.

“Oh, so she’s the pick of the litter. Nice!” Matthew interjected. Sam looked at him with a minor look of disgust, shaking his head.

“So why are you being a pussy, Sam? I Bet–” Christian pointed his finger at Sam in a telling gesture. “I bet you…I bet you that she won’t let you take her virginity before the month is over.” Rising from his seat, Sam padded to the kitchen tossing his beer bottle across the room, where it clattered into the trash can.

“I bet you I can make it happen. Six hundred dollars and open supply of weed for one month–split evenly.” His grin emanated throughout the room.

“Aha, bet!” Matthew said, coming around Sam to slap him on the back in approval. “Paying up like a man.” Sam took a long gulp of his beer before retreating to his bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

***

Just as you finished your makeup, your hand slipped and your eyeliner streaked messily through the eyeshadow that you had just applied so effortlessly. “Fuck!” An exasperated sigh escaped your parted lips as you wiped at your eyelid to salvage the look. After several minutes, you emerged from the bathroom, fully dressed except for your top–you didn’t want to ruin it with makeup stains. Just as you pulled your head through the sparkly black crop top, your phone chimes. Paige.

Show Ryan what he’s missing, bitch! Shake that ass in my absence, too. Stay safe, I love you. Call me if you need me.

Right. Ryan. My little secret. You sent her a quick text wishing her well on her date. Pulling a pair of gold hoops through your ears, you got a notification that Carlos, your Uber driver, was waiting outside of your apartment. Grabbing a few last minute items, you made your way downstairs. Pulling up to campus, you noticed one thing first. It was loud. So loud in fact, that your head was pounding by the time you made it to the Row. The identical houses were arranged in a perfect square with a patch of green lawn in the middle. Adirondack chairs littered the grass, loosely thrown around a glowing brick fire-pit. Girls looped themselves around boys, chattering aimlessly with beverages that sloppily poured over the sides of their cups and onto their laps and into the grass. They giggled and slurred–their heels dug into the earth, causing several unfortunate partygoers to trip and lurch, earning themselves yet another spilled drink or bitchy laughs from gaggles of jealous and judgemental girls.

You rolled your eyes, debating on going after all, but your feet were already moving underneath you, carrying you along the sidewalk that led to each house. Who were you to think that it was smart to come here alone, especially when it was the first party you had attended in God-knows-how long?

“Y/N!” Your eyes darted upward, trying to place the voice that was calling your name. You found him. Your eyes met his and you instantly felt like you were drowning. A vignette seemed to filter out the unnecessary material around you; the blaring music muted, the giggles and shouts subsided into soft static. He was impeccably dressed in navy silk. A tailored blazer skimmed his bare chest, provided as a mere accessory rather than a true piece of clothing. His bottoms hugged at his frame, falling just above a perfectly shined pair of leather loafers. His hands were casually tucked into his pockets as he looked directly at you–with that fucking smile.

He strode towards you, knocking you out of the trance. Your breath hitched, sending bolts of panic through your system as he approached. Oh shit, what do I do? You thought, averting eye contact as you made every attempt to not look as awkward and helpless as you really were.

“You’re not a hologram, right? If I remember correctly, you acted like you would rather be caught dead than come to the Row.” His feet landed in front of you as he arrived. You met his eyes, crossing your arms defensively.

“Well, I wanted to see what I was missing–by the looks of it, it just looks like it’ll lead to meaningless sex and a bitch of a hangover.” He readjusted in his spot, cocking an eyebrow upward. He likes your sass. He likes it a lot.

“Well, it is a party, Y/N, what better to do than get drunk and fuck, hmm?” You scoffed at him, stepping off to the side, making your way to the first house. You heard his shoes tapping the pavement as he walked. Good. You wanted him to follow you.

“What is your drink of choice?” He asked, trying to change the subject to something more playful. “I usually stick with tequila–the citrus notes are just–” You heard him kiss the tips of his fingers in a “chef’s kiss” gesture from behind you. You couldn’t help but grin, careful to maintain your guarded disposition.

“Got any Pappy?” You asked, turning over your shoulder with a grin. “I’m an expensive lay.”

Sammy snorts. “Two thousand dollar bourbon? You know the fucking answer, sweetheart.” That earned him a smile. You turned to face him and were immediately tossed upside down at the sight of his dimples.

“Well, we do have some lovely white claw reserve that was bought at this very upscale store. Maybe you know it–Target?” You couldn’t help but chuckle at him.

“Shut up, Sam!” He smiled warmly, coming beside you, pulling an arm around your shoulder.

“Let’s go find something worth drinking, hmm?” You hadn’t processed what was happening, but you didn’t want to, either. You let it happen, weighing risk versus reward. You stepped forward into the party with him at your side, forgetting the lie you had told paige. So much for finding Ryan. Instead, you found Sam.

End of Part.

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