#the shading for the uniform is horrendous

[ultimate-meowster]

i was literally in love with him

(the hair is a little too light, my bad)

[libraryofloveletters]

Back At It Again

Charles Leclerc x Fem!Reader

Warnings: unrequited feelings, childhood friends to something more than friends but less than lovers, mentions of charles' past relationships (charlotte and giada), hints towards there something being wrong in charles and charlotte's relationship, lorenzo gives reader a bit of a reality check, reader's lowkey delulu for charles (like some of y'all), a few time jumps, monaco curse, france 2022 DNF and my personal vendetta against ferrari is showing again sorry.

Word Count: 3.9k

Author's Note: I feel like I never write charles outside of the daddy & me + three series so here you go, sorry for breaking your hearts in advance :))

---

Attached at the hip. Everyone knew wherever Charles was, you were only but a few feet away.

It had been like this since you were children, Charles sat next to you in class when he was there. The boy leant over, peeking at your page before scribbling the answers onto his own paper and flashing you a smile.

If you stopped to think, maybe he had you wrapped around his finger since then.

You had always had a soft spot for the driver; except back then, Charles was just Charles. A sweet, soft spoken, smiley little boy with a horrendous bowl cut - something you still teased him about.

A photo hung on your living room wall; you and Charles as children on the front steps of your elementary school, the ice cream that Lorenzo had bought you two dripped all over your faces, hands and uniforms.

There's a big grin on Charles' face as he looks towards the camera but you? You were looking at him, the adoration written across your face.

Sometimes you wondered if you had stopped yourself then, if you would have ended up where you were today.

As much as you held a soft spot for Charles, he held one for you; you were his safe space.

When things got tough and he didn't know what to do or who to turn to, it was you he came running too and you took him in, consoled him with open arms every single time. You dropped everything and everyone the moment Charles came running.

The man had a hold over you, something everyone but you and him seemed to see.

You were madly in love with him and frankly, it clouded all of your judgement. You held him to the highest of standards, you just hoped that one day he'd see you in the same light.

---

You found yourself in his driver's room. Charles had invited you along to your home race in Monaco, he had just started with Ferrari and after his split from Giada, he needed some support. You being the good friend you were, well.. you were there for him anytime he called.

He was excited, his first home race with the team had always dreamt of racing with and you, as his best friend, you were just as excited.

Charles found himself starting in P16 but he was certain he could fight his way up, he held out a hope that he'd win but at the very least, get the car into points for the weekend.

Things were going okay in the race, Charles was slowly but surely moving up the leaderboard but it was barely the beginning of the race.

Lap 8 was unfortunately as far as Charles's Monaco Grand Prix went.

The Ferrari driver made his way back to the garage after an incident with Nico Hulkenberg. Charles passes by, quietly making his way to his driver's room to change and you wait for a few minutes before following him, knocking on the door that was shut.

"Charles?" you called from the other side, "can I come in?"

"Yeah," he says and you find him sitting on the bench in the corner of his room. He looks small, broken; it broke your heart to see him like that.

The door shuts behind you but you stay in place, your back to the door as you look around; various shades of Ferrari red, the logo of the prancing horse engraved into the wall.

It made you wonder if Charles ever regretted it.

He had barely started with Ferrari but he was young, so young and to have a world champion as a teammate, not to mention the pressure that comes with being a Ferrari driver on his shoulders at the age of 22 was a lot to handle.

He looks over at you, glancing at the empty spot beside him and you take that as a signal to join him, walking over and sitting next to the man.

"You okay?" You asked quietly and he shrugs. He won't look at you again but you don't miss when he brings his hand up to his face, the back of it wiping across his cheeks. "Charles," you whispered, your hand resting on his knee.

The driver finally looks over at you and it breaks your heart to see him like this. You tsked, arms open as he fell against you. Your touch brought him comfort, you rubbed his back softly as his breathing slowed, calming himself down. His skin was warm and sticky under his fireproofs, the material stuck to your hand and your chin rests on his head as he moves closer to you, holding onto you.

"It's not your fault," you whispered and Charles shook his head, you can feel it against your chest. "It is. If only I turned another way-"

"Charles, no." You stopped him, giving him a nudge to sit up so he could look at you. "Listen, I might not be a racer but even I could see that what happened was Nico's fault. You can't blame yourself for that, there's nothing you could have done differently. I'm sure the team knows that, ask Seb - I know he'd tell you the same thing."

He sniffled, pulling the collar of his top up to wipe his face. He pulls the thing off, tossing it in the corner of his room.

It's quiet again, the two of you sitting next to each other in silence, Charles stared at the wall and you, well you were looking at him - you were always looking at him.

He turns to you, his hand coming up to touch your face, cupping your jaw. You raise your eyebrows, waiting for him to speak. There's a small smile on his face, "thank you, y/n, for everything."

You return the smile, your hand wrapping around his wrist before giving it a small squeeze. "Anything for you, Charles, you know that."

---

Summer break rolls around, Charles is now in his second year with Ferrari and things are going reasonably okay.

He ended off the first half of the season with a DNF in Hungary but he was certain things would pick back up in Belgium after the break.

It's a typical Sunday in Monaco; sunny, hot, people were at ease, out for a stroll or a drive but the Leclerc's were having lunch at Pascale's.

She had invited her boys over for lunch, to have them all home at the same time was a rare treat these days. It was a family day, which meant no girlfriends but you were there but you were always there. Charles' parents, especially his mother, had always seen you like another one of their children; the daughter they always wished to have.

Lunch was on the balcony today, chatting with a side of people watching. Charles sat next to you, his arm stretched out over the back of your chair as you laughed at something Arthur, who sat next to their mother, said. Lorenzo eyes the two of you from the head of the table, his arm on the edge of the table, chin resting on the palm of his hand.

The plates were empty when you stood, starting to pick them up. "Let me help," Pascale goes to stand but you stop her, "no no, you relax. You made lunch, it's the least I could do."

She smiles at you, thanking you as you cleared the table and took everything inside. You had just put away the leftovers and were about to start on washing the dishes when Lorenzo came in, bringing in the empty wine glasses.

"Thank you," you smiled at the oldest Leclerc brother.

He nods, leaning on the counter as he watches you wash the dishes. "What?" You look over at him, setting the plate in the dish rack carefully. "Worried I'll break mama's good china?" You joked and he smiled, shaking his head.

"Are you okay?" You ask seriously, despite you two knowing each other for years, it was unusual for him to just hang around like this.

"Yeah, are you?"

Your brows furrow, setting the washed glasses into the dish rack. "I'm fine, Enzo. You're sure you're okay?" You asked, your back to him as you wiped your hand on the hand towel.

He shrugs and you take that as a drop in the conversation, about to walk back to the balcony but he grabs your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. "I love you like a sister, y/n, so this is why I'm telling you this." He starts.

Worried would be an understatement, all the possibilities spin around your head, from good to bad and you're still racking your brain as to what he wants to tell you.

"Don't let Charles stop you from living your life, y/n." You look at him confused, blinking a few times before you speak. "Wha- Lorenzo, he's not stopping me from doing anything."

"I know he's got you fooled, has you thinking that you'll be next, that he'll come running to you and never leave but he always does. I love him, he's my brother but he's a fuck up when it comes to relationships. He loves you, we all know this but in his own fucked up way, he think you'll always be there for him and that's why he keeps stringing you along. He's in a relationship, y/n, don't forget that."

"Lorenzo, why are you-"

"Listen, I just don't want to see you hurt. I don't want you to wait on him and then when you finally realize he's using you in his own messed up way, that it'd be too late and your whole life has passed you by."

You pause, unsure how to process what he's just told you. You know he's right, you wished he wasn't but he was.

You did the only thing you could think of, the only thing that could keep this going - somewhere in your own fucked up delusions, you knew couldn't lose Charles, doesn't matter if you got hurt in the process.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Enzo." You say quietly, the man nods, sighing. "I know you do, you know exactly what I mean, y/n. Just be careful, okay?"

You don't answer but he looks at you, "do you understand me?" He asks once more and you nod, Lorenzo finally lets go of your wrist.

"Hey," a voice comes from behind Lorenzo; Charles. "Tout va bien?" (everything okay?)

Lorenzo turns to his brother, a smile on his face before he speaks. "Ouais, je parle juste du travail de y/n." (yeah, just talking about y/n's job.)

The man nods, glancing at you for confirmation and you smile, giving himself a subtle nod. Charles hums, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. "C'mon, mom wants pictures." He sighs, grabbing your hand to pull you out with him.

You glance over your shoulder, looking back at Lorenzo who gives you a warning glare; he was looking out for you, despite his words cutting into you.

---

Laid to your left on the bed, your hand felt over the empty space to find your phone. Squinting, you checked the time - 4:53am.

Who the hell was knocking on your front door?

You pulled the robe on as you stood up, wrapping it around you and tying the knot as you begrudgingly followed the noise to the door. It didn't even occur to you to check who it was before you had already turned the handle.

Much to your surprise, it was Charles with his luggage in tow.

"Charles?" You blinked, rubbing your eyes to make sure you were seeing right. The man steps past you, letting himself into your apartment. He leaves his suitcase by the door, slipping his shoes off before heading to the kitchen. "Yeah okay, come on in then," you mumbled, shutting the door behind you.

He comes back, sitting himself on the couch. There's something in his hand, he pops one into his mouth - grapes. "I don't know what happened." He sighs, passing his hand over his face.

It takes you a second - who can blame you, it is 5 in the morning after all - but you finally connect the dots. He's home in Monaco, he raced yesterday, in France.

"How'd you get here? Isn't everything closed, wait did you drive?"

Charles shook his head, "took the last train out last night, well this morning."

"Okay," you hum, walking into the living room. "Do you want to go home? I can give you a ride -" "No."

"What's going on, Charles?"

You were genuinely confused and concerned about him. You had seen the race, you knew things went sideways fast and it's not like him to come home in such a rush, even if things did go wrong.

He sighs as he leans forward, his elbows on his knees as his face drops into his hands. "Things are bad."

"Meaning?"

"Charlotte," he admits.

This isn't the first time Charles had come running to you when things got tough between the two of them and frankly, it was often that he showed up at your doorstep with nowhere else to go.

"I can't see her right now, y/n." He looks up at you and you nod, walking over to sit next to him. "She's still your girlfriend, Charles. Whatever the issue is, you can talk it out."

"She doesn't understand, y/n - not the way you do." He turns in his seat to look at you, he looks so tired and broken; god, he's lost all the boyish joy you had always loved about him. Some would say it's age but you knew it was more than that. It was Ferrari and all that they made him out to be, the pressure of the world on his shoulders and he's trying, he's pushing and it never seems to be enough.

Ferrari is red; red like the colour of blood, the blood of their drivers, their broken hopes and shattered dreams. You don't escape that place without a fight, and a brutal one at that.

You can't help but reach out to him, your hand pressed to his cheek; warm, the stubble that's formed over the weekend prickled at your hand.

"You're my best friend, you understand me more than I understand myself sometimes." He chuckles, smiling at you.

"I'll always be here, Charles. You don't have to think twice about that."

He nods, smiling at you. "Can I.. stay the night?"

"Isn't.. she looking for you?" You asked hesitantly and he shakes his head. "She thinks I'm coming home on Tuesday, told her I'd be spending some time with Pierre and his family."

You think about it for a second, you know you really shouldn't let him stay. If you were such a good friend, as you had always claimed to be, you'd send him home, let him work out whatever issues he was having with his girlfriend but alas, you were but a woman and a selfish one that is.

Whatever you could do to keep him in your grasp, to live in this delusion for only a second more, you'd do it.

You justified it to yourself; he looks so tired and broken, you can't possibly kick him out.

"Yeah, stay as long as you need." You tell him and he smiles, pressing a kiss to your palm. "Tu es le meilleur," (you're the best.) he says, getting up and making his way down the hallway.

You assumed he was going to the bathroom but when it goes quiet in the hallway, you head over to check on him. "Charles?" You called, seeing that the bathroom door was open and the light was off but when you see your bedroom door open, you peek in to find him in bed.

Charles has always been comfortable in your space; too comfortable if anyone asked.

He was curled up on your bed, the duvet pulled over him with his socks left on your bedroom floor by the bed along with his hoodie and shirt discarded on the chair in the corner. You shook your head, tossing the robe on the chair before getting on the bed. You got into bed as quietly as you could but Charles must have felt the dip in the mattress, rolling over towards you, his arm stretched over your lap.

You smile to yourself, your hand reaching down to twirl a few strands of his hair.

As you looked down at the man, his brother's words rang in your hand.

Your blood runs cold and you feel sick, but you can't bring yourself to move.

---

Christmas has always been your favourite time of the year. Your apartment was decorated from the time November 1st rolled around. You had all out this year despite the fact that you were going to visit your sister in the states for the holidays.

You had just put the tray of cookies into the oven when there's a knock on the door. You make your way over, peeking through the peep hole to find Charles there.

"Hey," you give him a small smile when you open the door. He smiles, a bag in one hand and a bouquet of flowers in the other. "Can I come in?" He asks - shockingly.

You step to the side, letting him in. You shut the door behind him before turning around to face the man. "Happy holidays, y/n," he hands the stuff over to you," this is for you."

"Thanks," you take the flowers and the bag, setting it down on the counter as you grab the vase for the flowers.

Per usual, he finds himself on the couch as he looks around. He took in the stuff you had put up since the last time he had been there; a tree in the corner filled with ornaments, garlands, you've changed the curtains on your windows and the hand towels in your kitchen, even the throw pillows were different.

He's sure your bedroom has had a Christmas makeover.

"You okay?" He looks over at you when he notices you're quiet. You nod, setting the flowers into the vase, "I'm fine."

You take a seat on the couch across from him, your legs folding under you when you sit. Charles looks at you a bit confused, not sure what you're doing all the way over there. He pats the spot next to him, "come sit with me, y/n. I missed you."

Rolling your eyes, you scoff at his words.

Now he was really confused. "What's wrong?"

Your hands fold over your chest, looking over at the man. His white knitted hoodie was a size too big for him, swallowing him whole. He looked adorable, you wanted nothing more than to hold him in your arms but you can't let yourself fall into this again; things never change.

He never changes.

"I'm sick of this, Charles."

"Of what?

"This," you gesture between the two of you, the man's head tilting to the left, brows furrowed. He's still unsure what you meant by that.

"You do this every time, Charles. You don't miss me, you miss the idea of a relationship, someone to be at your beck and call. You know I'm always here for you and because of that, you use me. When things get tough in your relationships or you're single, like you are now, you come running to me and god," you huffed, shaking your head in disbelief. "It's like I never learn, I'm so stupid that I let you in every time."

Charles looks at you, his jaw hanging open a bit. "Y/n, come on- that's not true."

"Yes it is," you nod, sighing. "When you broke up with Giada, you clung to me, Charles. You spent every moment you weren't racing with me until you started seeing Charlotte. When things got tough with Char, you came to me, you hid here until you felt like you had to go home. Somehow you used me as an escape from your real issues, you made me feel special, like you loved me-"

"I did love you, y/n. I do love you." He says, his fingers poking into his chest to emphasize his words. You scoff again - the audacity of this man.

"Don't say shit like that, Charles. you know it's not true. You came to me when things got tough and no matter what was going on in my life, I dropped everything for you. I was always there for you and now that Charlotte's gone, you've come running back to me in hopes that I'll distract you until you find someone new."

"God, why are you making me out to be such a horrible person? I love you, y/n, I care about you. I really do."

"I know you love me, and that you care about me, Charles but I cannot keep doing this."

He sighs, passing a hand over his face. You take his silence as a chance to say what you have to say. "Either we become more or we're nothing at all."

"Y/n, please. Don't be like that," he looks over at you, shaking his head in disbelief. You give him a small shrug, unsure what else to say.

Charles stares at you for a moment, trying to figure out what exactly he's supposed to say. You were his best friend, the only person he had actually trusted enough to confine in, to turn to in times of hardship and you had the audacity to throw that back into his face?

He watches as you stand, walking to the door. "What's the answer?" You asked and his brows furrow, you open the door this time.

You clarify the statement for him. "Are we more or nothing ?"

You're standing there, the front door to your apartment wide open and Charles can't help but laugh when he stands. "You're not serious."

"I am," you nod, taking his words as an answer in itself. "You need to go, Charles."

"Y/n, don't-"

"Charles stop, we all know you don't want more with me, I can see that clearly now. You laughed in my face, that's enough. There's no need to humiliate me anymore, please just go."

He nods, walking over to you. The man stops in front of you, his hand cupping your cheek. "Look at me," he says but you look everywhere but at him. "Y/n, look at me."

You finally do, your eyes meeting his. "You're serious about this?" He asks. "Yes," you nod, "unless you want more."

A tiny piece of you hoped he'd say yes but he lets go of you, moving his hand from your face. "Okay."

"Okay."

Charles leans towards you, his lips pressed to your cheek before finally taking a step back. "I'm sure I'll see you around," he says to you quietly and you nod, chewing at your bottom lip. "Sure."

He steps out of your apartment, walking a few feet down the hallway before he calls for you. "Bye y/n."

You watch from the door, nodding towards him as he steps on the elevator. You've both got a clear view of each other. "Goodbye Charles." you call out to him just as the doors slide shut.

The front door to your apartment shuts as well, your back pressed to the cold wood. Your head tipped back as you sigh. You aren't sure how you're supposed to feel because right now you felt empty and lost; you hoped it wouldn't be like this forever.

That chapter of your life was over and you hoped that one day you'd find the happiness you deserve.

---

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[chronicdisasterwrites]

death is pretty but his eyes are prettier

pairing: gojo satoru x reader (gojo’s past arc)

genre + warnings: - blood, injuries, mentions of death, passing out and intestines spilling out of the body (it's a bit gory but nothing crazy), swearing, reader is shorter than satoru but other than that it's gender-neutral (i'm pretty sure), shoko smoking, protective satoru and suguru.

a bit angsty but definitely FLUFF !!

word count: 3,191 (yikes lmao)

authors note: okaaay, so i was inspired by taylor swift saying "you drew stars around my scars", and also i love slow burns and two idiots silently but obviously pining for each other; SO satoru and reader aren't dating here yet. but they very much do like each other.

also apologies in advance if i messed up any location descriptions :')

enjoy this chaos lol <3

I’m an idiot. 

The curse was dead. The special grade curse you were assigned to kill was dead and you were almost dead. 

As the dissipating remains of the curse mixed with the wind and faded away, you heaved as the blood from the gash across your stomach soaked your dark blue uniform and colored it an even darker shade. Taking a few steps towards the nearest wall, you lean against it, legs buckling and gasping for breath. The light-headedness was growing exponentially and you had to force your eyes to stay open and your legs to stay upright. Blinking rapidly and trying to regain focus, you press one hand to the gaping wound on your abdomen. Red bleeds through your fingers and you feel like you might just pass out. Or die. Or both. 

Feeling liquid drip down your chin, you lift your other hand to the right side of your cheek to assess the source of what you assumed had to be blood. Sure enough, your previously bloodless hand was now stained with sticky crimson. Slowly moving your finger on your cheek to figure out where the blood was coming from you felt a sharp pain when your hand made contact with what seemed to be a pretty large cut. 

Shit. That’s gonna leave a scar.

Your scythe was broken so you had no weapons to worry about carrying back to Jujutsu High. Sluggishly taking your phone out of your uniform pocket you pray to every force you know to let your phone be okay. The black cracked screen stares back at you and the reflection of your worn out, disappointed, and bloodied face is all you see.

Oh, you have got to be kidding me. 

Now the question is whether to go to a hospital and get questioned by non-sorcerers about the horrendous wounds covering your entire body or, to go to Shoko and get patched up and hopefully not get asked too many questions and look like an absolute idiot. 

Shoko will ask questions and she’ll obviously be concerned. If Shoko knows, Satoru and Suguru are bound to find out and they won’t be happy with the higher-ups about this… misjudgment.

So, the hospital sounds better. But the nearest hospital is further from my current location than jujutsu high. 

Your breathing is getting shallower and your head feels so light you feel like it’ll just fall off. Closing your eyes and taking the deepest breath you could take without feeling like your stomach will tear open from the searing pain, you decide.

Fuck it. Shoko it is.

Pushing yourself off the wall with one hand still clutched to your bleeding stomach you start moving towards Jujutsu High. You control your breathing and use every last bit of cursed energy you have left to staunch the bleeding and somewhat ease your pain. With that, you urge your legs to move as fast as physically possible without breaking down.

---

You don’t know how you made it without bleeding out in the middle of the road, but the gates of Jujutsu High have never looked prettier. But, the sight of the stairs was enough to make bile rise to your throat. Swallowing it down and heaving some more, you make your way up the neverending steps of your inevitable doom.

Upon reaching the final step, your legs give out and you fall, wounded cheek first onto the stoned pavement. The pain was like nothing you’ve ever felt before; shooting upwards to your neurons and all the way down your body, right to the tips of your fingers and toes. 

It feels so nice to lie down. No no, get the hell up and go to Shoko. Or all this damn walking would’ve been for absolutely nothing.

Hours was it? Or minutes? You’re not sure but you managed to get back up. After first turning from your side to your back and then bending one leg and then using one hand to help your body up and then finally sitting up. Then at a snail’s pace, managing to stand up on your two feet you start moving towards the morgue, where Shoko spends most of her time anyways. That was your best bet. And if she wasn’t there, well then death seemed like the next best option. 

Slugging your way to the morgue, one hand still clutched to your stomach, you aggressively slap your free hand on the doorknob and turn it with your full body weight on the door. The door swings open and unable to keep your balance, you fall again, right cheek hitting the cold floor for the second time that day. 

All you remember hearing before your eyes finally shut is the sound of a chair screeching on the floor followed by the sound of rapid footsteps and a string of unintelligible words you assumed belonged to Shoko.

---

Darkness. More darkness. Muted voices. Yelling. Some more darkness. Pain.

When you finally open your eyes, everything is a blur. You blink a few times and look around until your eyes find something to focus on. The white walls, the green curtains, and the smell of antiseptic chemicals all lead you to believe you are in the infirmary. Flexing your hands one, two, three times before slowly lifting your right hand up to gently caress your right cheek, you feel the soft cloth of a bandage taped to your skin. Bringing the same hand down to lay it flat upon the blanket covering your abdomen, you apply the slightest bit of pressure down until you feel a slight prick of pain. Lifting the blanket up you tilt your head down to check the situation. You’re wearing a flowy hospital gown and your stomach looks a bit bulky. Feeling around the wound site you realize there’s a bandage there too. Laying your hand back down by your side, you stare up at the ceiling, wondering how you were even alive.

The creaking of the door opening breaks you from your stupor. 

“That was fast. Thought you’d be out for longer,” comes the smooth voice, the smell of cigarettes and that familiar sandalwood sweet perfume you know only belongs to Shoko.

Turning your head to the side you watch her sit down on the chair next to you fiddling with an unlit cigarette and crossing her legs. Her bangs almost cover her left eye and you notice how tired she looks. She sighs and looks at you with a lazy smile, fingers still twirling the cigarette with ease, she asks, “How you feeling?”

You shift and push yourself up to lean your back against the headrest of the bed. With a loud exhale you look back at her with a half-assed smile, “I’m great actually. Good job, doc.” You give her a thumbs up and hope it’ll be enough to squash any more questions she might have.

With her smile still on her face, she looks down at the cigarette and hums, “You know, Gojo was about to unleash hell on the higher-ups for giving you that mission.”

Your smile is immediately replaced with a frown and you feel unbelievably small upon hearing this. With a scowl you ask, “I mean, the mission was a success, wasn’t it?" You shrug, "And I’m fine too so win-win.”

Finally, her smile fades as she stares straight at you; and you think this is the most serious you have ever seen Shoko look, “You could’ve died. That doesn’t seem like “fine” to me. For once I actually agree with Gojo. It wasn’t right of them to assign you on that mission, especially without warning.”

“I’m feeling unbelievably underestimated right now, Shoko,” your voice is small as you fiddle with the seams of the blanket covering the lower half of your body.

Shoko sighs and shakes her head, short hair swishing as she leans forward with her arms on her legs, “I’m not doubting your abilities. No one is doubting your skills. But your wounds were really bad, you know that as well as I do.”

It’s quiet for a bit before you speak again. You look at her downturned head as you reach out your hand to hold hers. Your voice is demure.

“I know. I’m sorry for worrying you, Shoko. But I promise I’m fine. And that’s all thanks to you.” You smile at her as she lifts her head enough to lock her eyes with yours. A smile she doesn’t return but her hand holds yours back and you know she believes you now.

“Yeah well try not to pass out with your intestines all over the floor next time, thanks.”

You laugh. “I promise. I hope you’re joking about the intestines though.”

Shoko huffs a short laugh and lets go of your hand. Bringing the cigarette to her mouth as she stands up she says, “Your cursed energy is the reason that’s a joke. It’s amazing you held out for that long. But don’t get too used to that luck.”

Bringing your hand back to your lap, you watch as she makes her way out and shuts the door. 

Immediately after leaving she pokes her head in again and says one thing before leaving again without waiting for your reply, “Please talk to Gojo and Geto. Go now actually.” 

You sigh and bring down one foot then the other. The light-headedness returns once you stand up but it’s manageable, so you look around for a change of clothes when you find a new uniform folded neatly on the side table next to your bed.

Changing into the new uniform, you make your way out to look for either Satoru or Suguru or if you’re lucky (more so unlucky) both of them.

---

Jujutsu High really is beautiful this time of the season. The cherry blossoms are in full bloom and the campus looks downright ethereal. You think while walking the halls how this place would feel if it were just an ordinary high school and not a place teaching kids how to wield weapons and slay curses. The classrooms would be filled with boisterous students and teachers talking in the courtyard. Canteens with flirting couples and students playing football outside. The gymnasium would hold basketball games with students wearing the school jersey and cheering for the school team. It would be different. It wouldn’t be Jujutsu High, you think.

“Well well, look who’s up and walking already,” the loud, smug voice you know only belongs to one white-haired, blue-eyed boy.

Stopping in your tracks you turn around and stand face to face with Satoru. You give him a sheepish smile and with the sweetest voice you can muster you say, “Hey there Satoru! I was just looking for you!”

Satoru scoffs and walks closer to you. 

"Drop the crap."

Oh shit.

Once close enough to touch you he waits for a few beats staring at your face, eyes locked with yours as he occasionally looks at the bandage on your cheek. He breathes your name.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he seethes.

You groan, exasperated but expecting this reaction. 

“I’m okay, Satoru. I don’t get why this is such a big deal honestly.”

You can see his eyes widen behind his sunglasses with pure rage as he scoffs yet again. His voice gets louder and his arms flail around trying to prove his point, 

“Oh, you don’t get why this is a big deal? Well for starters, you could have died. You’re a semi-first grade, why the hell would you even accept a job to kill a special grade curse?” 

“Okay, I didn’t know it was a special grade. And I killed it, didn’t I? Have some faith in me,” your tone matches his and you glower as you cross your hands across your chest.

He starts pacing back and forth, facepalming himself to oblivion as he goes on a rant,

“Oh my- that’s not the point! It’s not about having faith. You were all messed up and half dead and you could’ve been fully dead and we were almost about to kill those stupid old geezers but then Shoko stopped us and I swear if she didn’t we would’ve actually gone through with it. I mean seriously what the hell-“

You stomp forward mid-rant and grab him by the shoulders, forcing him to stop. Your voice is soft but steady like you’re comforting a child in distress.

“Satoru calm down. I’m okay. The curse is dead. It’s fine. Now please breathe.”

He stares at you through his sunglasses. His chest is heaving and fists are clenched by his sides, not trying to move at all even though he could easily shove you away and continue pacing and ranting.

He dips his head down and exhales deeply, shoulders slanted downwards and breathing slowing down. He moves forward as his arms encircle your body and his head rests on top of yours. Your nose is squished against his chest and you can smell his scent; a mix of sweets, laundry detergent, and his signature scent; the smell of dewdrops and what you assume would probably be some expensive brand of perfume. You relax against him as you breathe him in and your arms move to hug him back. Shifting your head to rest your cheek on his chest you hear his heart beat steadily. You close your eyes and get lost in the feeling of Satoru. 

Neither of you say anything, but say everything at the same time. All his thoughts poured into that one hug, and you silently hear them all as you hug him a bit tighter.

You can feel him gulp as his Adam's apple moves against your forehead. His voice is small and honest as he says, “I would kill them all. If you didn’t wake up, I wouldn’t hesitate to kill them all.”

You know he would, so it’s not really a confession. But it feels like a confession. Satoru would turn the world upside down for the people he loves. You know that too well. 

“I know,” your voice is quiet. You feel so safe in Satoru’s arms. You think it’s so embarrassing how safe you feel whenever you’re with him. You feel like a baby; guard down and vulnerable. You’re sure Satoru feels the same way. You’ve never once seen him keep his Infinity on when he’s with you. 

He hugs you tighter and you can feel his heart rate quicken. He takes a deep breath and exhales as he lets you go and looks at you. You tilt your head up and try to find those cerulean blues hidden behind the shade of his sunglasses. Lifting your hand up to push his glasses up to his head you finally look right into the swirling blues of his eyes. They’re like the ocean. Calm, but with an unmistakable power surging within them. Like the energy you feel in the water right before a wave is formed, the blues in his eyes seem to pulse and flow with power. But they’re also still and serene, and filled with so much emotion. His eyes hold so much more than just power. 

His hand comes up to your bandaged cheek and he slowly takes off one side of the tape and then another until the bandage flaps open. You suddenly feel smaller and even more vulnerable. You haven’t even seen your face with the scar yet (you’re positive there’s a scar). His eyes zone in on the cut as he traces the raised flesh lining the center of your cheek. As his finger runs down the scar, you envision just how large the cut really is; about 3 inches vertical. It didn’t hurt anymore. Shoko really is a fantastic sorcerer, you think. Not moving your eyes from Satoru’s even once, you see the whirlpool of emotions swirl around in those crystal blues. Anger, sadness, worry, relief, adoration, hope.

His jaw clenches as he furrows his brows ever so slightly, fingers moving across your scar with featherlight pressure. Moving his gaze to your eyes, he rests his entire palm against your wounded cheek. Adjusting his hand to hold the side of your face perfectly like two pieces of the same puzzle, his thumb lays on the scar with a gentleness you didn’t know Satoru had. 

It’s so quiet, you can hear your heart pounding in your chest. The occasional breeze and the mellow chirping of birds bring you back to the world, otherwise, you’re positive you’d forget all about the outside world and be content standing in the middle of the hall in Jujutsu High wrapped in Gojo Satoru’s arms. 

You and Satoru were friends. Of course, you loved him, but that love is no different from the love you have for Shoko and Suguru. They’re your home. You’re a family. You know they love you too. 

But right now, it feels different than all the other times Satoru has held you. Held your hand, held your face, hugged you, clumsily threw his lanky arms over your shoulders, ran his fingers through your hair, wiped the blood off your face, flicked you on the forehead, patted you on the head, messed up your hair, rested his head on top of yours. This particular instance feels different. More intimate, perhaps. 

Maybe because you really could’ve died. Your life was hanging by a thread and you don’t seem to understand that. You were so prepared to die, that such a close brush with death’s scythe didn’t affect you in the slightest. This job comes with a guarantee of death. Even though that is life in general; being a jujutsu sorcerer means your days are already numbered. Anytime you embark on a mission, your chances of dying are much higher than your chances of survival. So you always went out on the field with the thought of dying. Knowing you could die and leave everything and everyone behind. But this was the first time you felt you were one step through death’s door. 

You can feel Satoru’s breath on your face, and you think he might kiss you. You keep one hand on his back as you lift the other to hold his wrist near your jaw. As he leans forward you close your eyes bracing for the kiss to reach your lips. But it doesn’t reach the place you were expecting. Instead, the lightest kiss touches your forehead, almost chaste; as he lingers there for a moment and then moves back. 

By now, your heart is racing and you think you’re dreaming. Only when his hands leave you, do you open your eyes and realize this isn’t a dream. 

He exhales as he stands straight, with both hands by his side. Bringing his sunglasses back down, perched on the bridge of his nose, he gives you a small smile, “I’ll see you later, yeah?”

You try to mask your stunned expression with a smile and nod. 

As he turns to leave he says, “Suguru’s at the gymnasium, probably.”

You release the breath you didn’t realize you were holding, “Alright.”

He walks away and you go in the other direction.

part 2

[toastofthetrashfire]

Some ongoing theories on color in DFF: Ep 7

Another week another messy attempt by @slayerkitty and I to parse colors in DFF. I did a rundown of the colors in DFF ep 1-4 here and in episode 5-6 here. Let's look at and speculate on some colors in ep 7.

Our first shot of Phi gives us a mix of red, blue, and tans. We also have the purple product placement which mixes blue and red.

More red and blue in the background with Phi in tan. This show really likes to mix red and blue into the backgrounds so we have to wait and see if it is doing anything particular with respect to Phi (spoiler: him and Non are going to be swapping and mixing color).

Phi meets Non and now Non is in the same tan tone that Phi was in previously. Non is placed with the red and orange chairs, suggesting that the orange and tan are an extension of his red. Phi is in blue. Now this is the color mostly associated with our horrendous friend group, so let's see where this goes.

Phi's now in red with an orange drink (with a blue straw) and Non is in blue. The boys are color swapping back and forth. So we have non playing between red and blue similar to how he changes colors with the group.

Non has the blue writing on his shirt but the red backpack, meanwhile Phi has red lettering and blue shorts. Cuties!

More mixing of blue and red.

We get a montage of shots that move back and forth between them in these two sets of outfits. In one Phi is in blue and his teal bike and Non is in pink. The other they switch and Phi is in red and Non in green. Their color pallet seems more expansive than strict blue vs red. Non's red also includes oranges, pinks, tans, and yellows. While Phi's blue includes greens and teals. They're swapping and sharing color but also give each other flexibility. They're also both in brighter shades and more color than the tans they each respectively started the episode with.

And of course we have the bracelets which connect them with red. A metaphorical red string of fate but also a way for Non to hold onto his own color (even when becoming blue or gray under the pressure of the group) and for Phi to always mix their red and blue.

They continue to mix colors, making out in red, blue, and purple lighting.

Phi mostly wears blue outside of his uniform but he has the bracelet and red around him still.

Yellow still fits into the range of colors Non could wear. But it does strike me as perhaps different? Not sure what to do with it just yet if it is an outlier. It is quite up-beat. Perhaps it's another way that Phi brings out color in Non and the way they together open up their color pallets.

We're back to these assholes. They're all in blues and greys as usual (with Top giving a quick preview of his future adventures in yellow). Even the curtains match. Except for Por...what you doing Por? That's not blue, grey, or your green?

Non is back to a grey shirt, blending in. Or being drained really. The battery on the shirt plays with his color. Continuing to "get along" with the group is draining his color. Perhaps this is why Por is in pink in this scene, he's literally stealing Non's color.

Unlike Phi who wears Non's red and gives him his blue in a mutual and sustaining way, the group's blue drains Non's red.

Next time they go to shoot, Non has a tan or pinkish shirt. He's back to trying to be his own color even if it's very weak. This is when he will fight back and try to quit.

Non and Jin are matching in green. Now this could be Jin trying to match Non as he reaches out to him, but he's never really matched him before. I think this shows the way they're both struggling to break or stay with the group in a sense. Non's green pulls him out of the group's blue as he tries to leave and return to brighter colors like the yellow he last wore with Phi. It also is a piece of Phi's color in a way. Meanwhile Jin is often in either yellow (showing the way he thinks differently from the group), blue (like at the last shoot) when he's conforming more, or a mix. Jin is worried about Non, maybe trying to be kind, but here he's pulled back from yellow towards blue (the group) and he's trying to bring Non with him as he convinces him to stay.

Keng's office is a mix of color. The art on the wall mixes blues and greys with red/pink/tan. There's also the filing cabinet that has red, blue, orange, and green. Keng himself is always dressed in blue, another blue person trying to mix with Non's red (yuck yuck yuck I feel gross even saying that).

Phi is still mixing colors. Even the painting behind him mixes blue with oranges and pinks.

Phi waits for Non and we get lights in the background. I'm not sure about the green just yet. Red, blue, and green are the primary colors of light rather than for art (red, blue, yellow). But importantly, perhaps, the red and blue aren't mixing to purple here but staying in their separate primary shades. This is also where Phi sees Non and Keng. The red and blue are present, but Phi can no longer be sure if he's the blue or Keng is.

In eps 5-6 Jin mostly wore yellow. In the future he's in pink marking a color change. After he films Non and Keng he goes home and turns pink.

He even crushes his alcohol can which has yellow on top and pink on the bottom marking the shift.

At this point I don't think the pink is Jin matching Non, especially since he just had his rose-colored glasses metaphorically shattered in that regard. But perhaps it signals the guilt he now carries and/or the way it marks him out from the group in an entirely different way than when he just thought differently. Rather he did something horrible, but unlike the other's he has a conscience. Or perhaps it marks his shift from being more brave (reaching out to Non, as much as we can call that brave) to cowardly and ashamed. In any case he's lost his color and become another--what he did fundamentally changed him.

Phi shows up to the tutoring school again. His blue competes with the blue of the school (aka Keng). Blue vs. blue

Blue is once again everywhere with Non in a washed out tan or pink. Keng and Phi's blues continue to compete. But we also have a striking parallel to Phi and Non's first meeting with Non in tan and Phi in light blue. They've come full circle in a tragic way and Non has lost the range of color that he and Phi created together.

This loss is made clear with Non losing the bracelet just as he loses Phi. No more color exchange, Non is back to tan. He's left with Keng who clearly isn't about to exchange anything with Non without taking advantage of him (draining him in his own way just like the group does to Non).

As a side note, Non starts the episode with his shirt saying "Today will be a good day" and ends with "Always yourself"--from good times to hurting Phi because he was trying to save himself. Oooof!

[disastress-i-guess]

Ranking the Psichikers based on drawability instead of doing my homework. By drawability I mean how closely I can draw them to canon design btw. Criteria is:

1. Do I need a reference to draw this character?

If I do not need a reference = +1

Sometimes I need it= 0.5

If I do need a reference = 0

2. Are they fun to draw?

Yes = +1

Some parts are fun = +0.5

Not at all = 0

3. Do I want to draw them often?

ALL THE TIME = +1

Frequently = +0.75

Sometimes = +0.5

Not very much = +0.25

Never I only draw them when I have to = 0

4. Can I be creative with this character?

Yes = +1

Sometimes= 0.5

No = 0

That is four questions! Exactly the number of PSIkickers, what a coincidence! Totally not planned at all!

Ranking begins:

4. Reita Toritsuka (1.75/4)

Sorry tori. I need a reference for his hair pretty much everytime I draw him, which to be fair is so far like 4 times in total. Honestly I have a love-hate relationship with his headband because on the one hand, it's kinda iconic, on the other it's fucking horrendous I'm sorry.

Moving on from the hair, the most fun I have with drawing him would be his uniform (I like the rosary beads and Geta) and his face since he's an expressive character so I get to do a lot of fun stuff with that ( this technically does not count since it's not a part of the design but his points are already kinda low, I felt generous).

Lastly, no, I don't really have many "creative" ideas with him, I had maybe 3 but I never really felt passionate enough to finish them I'm sorry.

2. Mikoto Aiura (2/4)

This feels way too low but I can't really break the rules.

I do need to use references to draw her everytime I do ( which I think is...1 time? That is criminally low what the fuck am I doing) mainly due to her hair, speaking of which, I LOVE HER HAIR I LOVE HER NAILS I LOVE HER EYES I LOVE HER!!!! She is so fun to draw and it's so fucking nice to have a character with some fucking MELANIN OMG HER SKIN I AJDBDJ SHADING TANNED/DARK SKIN IS SO FUN WHY DONT I DO IT MORE OFTEN. This doesn't count since it's supposed to be about their canon design but there are so many outfits you can put her in it's crazy!!! I think it's mainly because she's kinda the only one with an aesthetic idk.

I WANNA DRAW HER ALL THE TIME I JUST DONT FOR SOME REASON WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME!??? Off topic I do not draw any of the female characters that often even though I regularly lose my mind thinking about them what's up with that?

Do I get to be creative with her? Not really but that's not her fault that's on me, she's perf I'm just uncreative that's all.

So sadly this is her rank. ATM anyway I'll draw her so often after this trust.

2. Saiki Kusuo (2/4)

He scored 0.5 on everything... How!??? Last I checked he is not Satoru Hiroshi.

Main reason I need a reference is due to the hair which for the most part is a bunch of zig zags and so I don't need it that often.

He is fun to draw, mainly his eyes they are very pretty. I do want to draw him often, I doodle him a lot. I think it's the limiters and glasses. I don't have to worry about him looking accurate cuz if you throw the limiters and glasses on it immediately looks like saiki so Im not that scared about drawing him.

Fun fact a lot of times when I'm drawing him he ends up looking like Kuboyasu. Until I put limiters on. Then all of a sudden it's saiki! Amazing! Chouno Uryoku who?

I guess I'm somewhat creative with him? I have a few ideas laying around, one or two animatics, maybe a fic and a couple crossover fanart ideas. Dunno if I'll ever get around to doing it though.

1. Akechi Touma (3/4)

I SO BADLY WANNA GIVE HIM A 4/4 MAN.

No I do not need a reference I drew him once and then his hair and face were ingrained into my long term memory for eternity in fact i remember it so well I subconsciously gave it to an OC.

Is he fun to draw? FUCK YEAH HE IS. Hair was the problem for all the other characters but not this one, no sir! because THIS MOTHERFUCKER HAS THE HAIR THAT GIVES ME GENDER EUPHORIA. It was my first 'boy' hair cut and I love how androgynous it made me look so looking at him gives me pure joy. And his eyes GOD I LOVE HIS BIG PURPLE EYES SJDIEBD.

I used to want to draw him all the time but I've drawn him too frequently so I need to take a small (miniscule really) break so I can continue liking it. Maybe that'll give me time to draw more Aiura. Anyways I gave him 0.75 on that part but that's entirely my fault for over drawing him. He did no wrong I take the blame.

Can I be creative with him? No not really since just drawing him covered in blood and/or eating sweets does not count as creative in this criteria. But I do have many ideas of just putting him in other universes and meeting my other favs and then the two of them ramble about an interest of choice and are just get to talk talk talk and talk I love them I love their yapping onjdhdiehd and I have a couple of animatic ideas I may never finish. GOD I LOVE HIM SO MUCH HE HAS A 4/4 IN MY HEART.

Oh god it's 1:22 am I should finish this homework.

[mx-flint]

So disappointed by ballad of songbird and snakes' costumes. They were so forgettable. Like they weren't bad but they weren't like. Good either. So boring. The half white half red costume Angela Davis wears is atrocius. The first costume with the white shirt and black vest is bad. Lucy Gray's arena outfit is so ugly. I liked the academy red uniforms because the red is such a good shade but the skirt-pant situation was like. Terrible. And the korean neckline was not it. And they were overall just forgettable.

I only liked Tigres' outfits and the light blue/gray uniforms the peacemakers wear. The last outfit snow wears is so horrendous. 3 sizes too big and cut terribly. It looks like grandpa's old coat not like a coat cut on his measurements. So disappointed tbh

[manufactoredxbyxdesign]

I want to see you wear something else than the horrendous leather suit you’re always clad in. Red might suit you, or a deep shade of Orange to compliment your eyes.

"I am trying to detract attention from my eyes - not make myself into a walking beacon pointing towards them.

And if you are that desperate to alter by wardrobe bring it up with The Entity.

The last time I received anything different I was given that vile STAR's uniform."

[reynemi]

i really wanted to draw fem bkdk in middle school aaaaaa

[1kook]

THE CHRISTMAS GIFT 

— AN EXPLORER UNIVERSE DRABBLE :)

SUMMARY So now there’s a present for him under the tree, but none for you. Apparently that’s up to Jungkook to purchase, which leads him to this dilemma: what did you want for Christmas? WARNINGS alien!jk, tentacle mention hehe, and uhhh nothing else its just dorky n sweet :( RATING e for everyone <3 WC 1.2k 

NOTES hello the other day i said something abt explorer jk not rlly understanding the concept of gift giving so here it is more in depth <3 just 1k of dorky alien boy trying to impress his human gf !! 

Jungkook thinks this Santa Claus fellow is quite possibly the oddest figure on your planet. A man who single handedly visits the home of every single child across the globe on a flying sleigh pulled by flying deer? Ridiculous. It’s even more ridiculous when you honor this man with a plate of cookies in the living room. 

“It’s just for fun,” you tell him, wobbling dangerously on a step stool in front of this massive tree you killed and then hauled inside to decorate its rotting carcass. The ornaments aren’t even placed in the most aesthetically pleasing pattern, a fact that greatly displeases Jungkook and his perfectionist mind. (You don’t see his extra arms slip out and rearrange them.) “It’s cute, isn’t it?” 

In all his time traveling the galaxy, Jungkook has had the honor of studying many foreign races. He’s learned the intricacies of their societies, the mechanisms of their anatomy, and the beauty of their cultures. Yet he does not recall ever seeing a society where one bearded man— who apparently gorged himself on cookies year round —held such superiority. The concept of gods isn’t exclusive to your planet, but from what Jungkook understands, this Santa Claus fellow is not a god at all. 

Oddly uniformed beings aside, there’s another thing Jungkook doesn't quite understand about this celebration, and that’s the bright red box beneath the dead tree with jungkook♡ written on the corner. It’s a gift, that much he gets, but he’s not sure what. Or why. You don’t tell him much either, simply warning him not to touch it until Christmas. 

Jokes on you, because Jungkook is no ordinary being. He knows how to gather resources from his surroundings and put them to use, an ability that is very valuable when visiting foreign planets such as your Earth. The projection box plays a variety of movies surrounding this Christmas event in the days leading up to it. It’s a festive day, primarily for large corporations to profit off of holiday cheer and convince people they, for some reason, must participate in the act of gift giving. And the thing about gift giving, Jungkook learns, is that it is reciprocal. 

So now there’s a present for him under the tree, but none for you. Apparently that’s up to Jungkook to purchase, which leads him to this dilemma: what did you want for Christmas?

The projection box says Humans similar to you enjoy being presented with jewels and clothing, occasionally electronic devices that are apparently ‘new’ for you Humans. 

But the jewels displayed are practically worthless in Jungkook’s eyes— a diamond ring? As far as Jungkook and the rest of the Sixamians were concerned, the sole purpose of a diamond was for recreational sports. Anyone could get a diamond in Sixam, they were as common as the avian beings on your planet were. But you and the rest of the Humans obsess over them, retail them for ridiculously high prices. 

Diamonds are out of the running, which leaves Jungkook with clothing or electronic devices. Similar to the diamond dilemma, the electronics don’t convince him much either. Smilodon had gotten into your room one day, completely knocked everything off your desk. While Jungkook had been able to revive your PC box, the cracked screen of your monitor was irreparable. Jungkook’s first trip to the city was that day, your visit to a Best Buy his first real outing. (You had sat him down in the kitchen and dabbed warrior paint, called concealer, over his facial markings.) The complete wonder he felt at seeing the city for the first time was shattered upon entering this Best Buy and seeing the horrendous quality of your electronic advancements. 

Needless to say, electronics are also out. 

By then, Jungkook can’t even fathom searching for clothing as a present. What did you like? He’s not sure, your preference in clothing varied everyday. Some days you enjoyed being bundled up in thick, cozy sweaters, but at night you would strip down to the thinnest materials. Did you like thick clothing or light? What was the most appropriate clothing for this season? Was there a specific size chart he had to refer to, or did Human clothing abide by the same form configuring rules that Sixamian clothing did? 

Christmas is tomorrow and Jungkook has not found a suitable present for you! His head hurts, but more importantly, his heart hurts. The projection box says Humans are greatly dissatisfied when they are forgotten in the gift-giving tradition, and Jungkook does not want that. He wants you to smile at him like the figures on the projection box do— maybe kiss him under the viscum album, or ‘mistletoe,’ plant —and just genuinely enjoy yourself. 

Time is running out and Jungkook doesn’t know what to do. Smilodon is giving him a rather disappointed look from the windowsill that Jungkook does not appreciate. It’s as he’s huffily shooing the creature away that he sees it. And by it, Jungkook means the flowerbed on your windowsill. The dirt is cold, the plants practically near death. But Jungkook knows you like flowers, these flowers in particular, because you spent all summer watering them and tending to them. You’re one of the finest botanists Jungkook has ever seen— and that’s saying a lot, considering Jungkook also considers himself an amazing botanist. Surely you like flowers?

He hurriedly gathers the last of the plants, hands shivering from the cold. He isn’t sure how to present them, how to wrap them like the Humans on the projection box do, so he’s left awkwardly hovering by the window with the dead flowers in his hand. He can’t set them down either because then they will unravel from the careful bouquet Jungkook had organized in his haste. 

You have extra limbs for a reason, his brain just about screams, and Jungkook snaps into action. Just as the tip of his limb touches your laptop, ready to watch as many instructional videos as possible, you come strolling into the living room. 

Jungkook can’t even play it off, he’s got one tentacle stretched over the entire length of the living room. 

“What are those for?” you ask curiously, casually stepping over his extended arm on your way over to him. 

Jungkook sighs, slowly retracting his limb until he can feel it slide naturally beneath the skin of his back. He wonders if his markings are that shade of pink again, the one that makes you kiss him and coo at him. “Felicitations on your Christmas,” he murmurs, handing you the bouquet of half dead, half frozen flowers. Your mouth forms a little circle, surprise and confusion painting your features. Jungkook hopes you are not as disappointed as he is in his atrocious attempt at gift giving. 

But Jungkook should know better; your Human heart is nothing like his. You’re not raised on perfection like he is, don’t even think there is such a thing as ‘the perfect gift.’ The flowers are taken from his trembling hands, clutched to your chest dreamily. “Did you pick these?” you sigh dreamily, gazing down at the dead bouquet like it’s the most beautiful thing in the universe. 

Jungkook doesn’t understand. Maybe it’s better this way. “Merry Christmas to you, too,” you beam, on your tippy toes to plant a kiss on his lips. “I love them.”

And he loves you.

Copyright © 2020, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

[kiiraes]

i love saiki but i have to say his color scheme is horrendous. i mean come on 😭 pink hair, a teal uniform (its like yellow on the inside) and BLUE shoes. BLUE.

THAT SHADE OF BLUE TOO...

[darkblueboxs]

Shades of Sunset

Twenty years in the life of Andrew Minyard

Read here or on AO3 (check ao3 for content warnings)

*

Andrew is five years old, and he thinks orange is the most beautiful colour in the world.

It’s the colour of his favourite popsicle flavour, or what he’s sure would be his favourite popsicle flavour if Mrs Dunnard ever bought them popsicles. Instead, she buys the same tasteless frozen meals over and over again, oven fries or chicken nuggets or potato smileys. Andrew lets the smileys turn to mush as he fights the other foster kids for elbow room at the kitchen table, but he doesn’t smile back at the wobbly potato faces. He clears his plate all the same, because the kids who don’t get smacked.

He presses his face up against the glass in the freezer aisle and imagines the taste of sunset on his tongue.

Andrew is seven years old, and the upstairs neighbours have a ginger tabby cat. It winds around his ankles when he’s hiding in the backyard, a bright beacon amongst the dirt and scrub of the cracked earth, and Andrew can’t help but reach for it like a moth drawn in by candlelight. For a single, fragile moment, Andrew’s trembling fingers meet something warm and soft, softer than Andrew can ever remember feeling. Then the cat twists around and sinks its claws into Andrew’s arm.

Andrew clutches his forearm to his chest, watching as beads of red well up and glisten before dribbling down towards his fingertips. It’s a new kind of pain, stinging, sharper than the bruises he has grown accustomed to, but he doesn’t cry. Crying never made it stop. The next time the tabby comes near him, Andrew throws rocks until it bolts for cover with a hiss. He watches as it scrambles over the peeling fenceposts and out of sight, wishing he could follow it into the wilderness.

 Andrew is twelve years old, and when Cass sees him staring at the creamy-yellow wallpaper of what will soon be his own bedroom, she asks what his favourite colour is. Andrew tries to remember the last time someone asked, the last time someone cared, and for once his perfect memory draws an absolute blank.

“Orange,” he whispers, and Cass lights up. Together, they coat the walls with marigold paint, and when Andrew spills it down his front, Cass just laughs. His room is so bright that it almost glows, painting Cass in warm, saturated hues as they sit side-by-side, puzzling through Andrew’s homework until the rattle of keys in the front door alerts them to the rest of the household’s return. The sunbeam colours of day paint his world into a hazy mirage of safety, and for that Andrew suffers the blood-orange nights that follow. Soon, however, the light and dark bleed into each other like watercolour paints, and Andrew decides that if he cannot have one without the other, then it is safest to want nothing at all.

 Andrew is fourteen years old, and he is sick to death of orange. The juvie uniform is offensively orange, as though trying to burn the observer’s eyes out, as stark a warning as possible: approach with caution. Andrew pulls the starchy, cheap cotton over his head, and it feels as though he has worn nothing else all his life. He lets himself tumble into the faceless sea of uniform faces, not caring where the tides will take him.

 Andrew is eighteen years old, and he wishes he could be surprised when Dan pushes the fox fur-orange windbreaker into his arms, but under the ebb and flow of drug-induced mania there is truly no feeling at all. Of course the universe would continue to taunt him with too-bright uniforms that cling to him like wet sand, scratching at his lungs as he breathes around a sewn-up smile. Minyard, it says in white lettering, as though the neat stitching can tie him into this ludicrous new life with the power of a name that barely feels like his own. If their coach thinks that putting them all in one horrendous colour will magic them into a team, he has another thing coming. Uniform does not mean unity, and Andrew stands in the goal and watches distant sunburnt figures grapple and tumble across the court, stick loose in his hand. When the ball shoots past him, he doesn’t even flinch.

They can tell him what it means to wear these colours and stand on this court until the cows come home; Andrew doesn’t care. Nothing gets under his skin anymore.

 Andrew is nineteen years old, sitting in the plastic stadium seats and watching as their newest recruit races across the court. He’s a blur of orange and white, quicker than a fox and twice as sly, and Andrew doesn’t trust him an inch. He may have grown accustomed to passing his days engulfed in the campus colours that scream school pride from every street corner, but Neil makes the colour new all over again. Off the court, he hides himself in washed-out blues and greys, shrinking into his oversized hoodies as though hoping to be swallowed by them. On the court, however, there is no hiding, nor any inclination to. Neil stands on the court like he was born to rule it, throwing himself into the game with the kind of whole-hearted determination Andrew believed only Kevin was brain-dead enough to be capable of. Off the court, Neil treats the Foxes’ luminescent oranges like he would a target painted on his back. Here, he wears them like a shield.

He suits them.

Andrew doesn’t know what to make of their newest recruit, not yet. But he will.

 Andrew is twenty years old, and something has gotten under his skin. The pipe dream in the shape of a man stares at him across the Easthaven hospital waiting room through unmasked, ice-blue eyes. Back at the dorms, Andrew takes him up on the roof, peels back the plaster to see the fresh tattoo bruising his cheek. Not if it means losing you¸ he says, and Andrew resists the urge to throw him off the roof then and there. His hair is a single drop of colour against the grey sky above, deep auburn like campfire embers. Andrew didn’t think Neil could have been any more of a danger until he returned from the nest beaten within an inch of his life, the new colours streaking through his hair like a warning, threat, threat, threat.

Andrew looks at Neil, and puts a name to the burn of sensation flickering in his gut.

Andrew hates Neil, hates how softly he looks at him, hates the molten want that Neil pulls effortlessly through his veins. Above all, he hates the deep orange tint that now flits in and out of his periphery like the wings of a monarch butterfly as Neil buries himself into Andrew’s chest and fills his lungs with smoke. In the dead of night, Andrew imagines how soft Neil’s tousled curls would feel between his fingers, and wants, wants, wants for something he cannot let himself have. He remembers the sting of claws raking across his forearms all too well, knows where the path of wanting will take him if he isn’t careful.

Andrew hates orange, and hates Neil for making him feel anything about it at all. But he knows how to protect himself, knows how to keep himself back from the cliff-edge of feeling that nearly killed him once already. He won’t fall again.

 Andrew is twenty years old, and Neil’s lips taste like sunset.

 Andrew is twenty years old, and Andrew is falling. He laps the stadium once, twice, the dispersing rioters and flashing police cars blurring into a black jumble of sound and movement, but it doesn’t matter, none of it matters, because he can’t find Neil, and he had forgotten, forgotten how it felt to fall, to fear, was this fear, was this-

He almost misses the racquet lying battered and forgotten amidst empty soda cans and discarded ticket stubs. He picks it up as though he’s never seen one before, and even though the team colours have been scuffed and dirtied in the fight, it’s still the unmistakable Fox orange peeling between his fingers, white strings torn and unravelling. He picks up Neil’s bag, thumbs through his phone, and parts of him unravel too.

Andrew finds his way back to the team bus, takes one look at Kevin’s expression – broken, wild, and filled with a grief that couldn’t be explained by anything other than-

Andrew sees red.

 Andrew is twenty years old, and for the last twelve hours his world has been nothing but shades of grey shot through by occasional bursts of uncontrollable wildfire-red. Dragging Wymack along behind him like a ball and chain, he sees the men standing outside the motel room, and the final thread of his control pulls and snaps as he shoulders his way inside, not caring if he breaks a wrist in his desperation, and then-

White plaster. Blue eyes. Auburn curls.

Safe.

 Andrew is twenty-three years old, and his vision is swamped in sparkling bursts of confetti, a glittering shower of oranges and whites that tumble from the rafters like autumn leaves. The crowd is on their feet and screaming enough to shake the court’s foundations as the final score to end the season glows overhead. Neil collapses at the sound of the buzzer, striped orange bandana holding his auburn curls back from his face. They glow like embers in the stadium lights, which backlight his head like a halo. He turns to Andrew and smiles.

Andrew decides that orange isn’t so bad after all.

 Andrew is twenty-five years old, against all odds. His team’s uniform is green. Their team, as soon as Neil’s transfer paperwork goes through. Andrew won’t miss orange, much, but he will miss seeing Neil in it.

Or perhaps not. A blur of colour glides past his periphery, and Andrew pushes himself up in bed to watch as Neil pulls a jumper Andrew has never seen before over his head. He catches Andrew looking, and his lips quirk upwards.

“You like it?”

“No.” It’s something chunky and hand-knitted, perhaps a gift from one of the Foxes, and it hangs so long on Neil that the hems of his boxers barely peak past the bottom. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Neil glances down at his bare legs, then back up, smirking. “I don’t know, am I?” He rolls back onto the bed, which strikes Andrew as counterproductive to getting dressed, but he has no interest in complaining when Neil climbs into his lap, thighs pressing into him on either side. Andrew runs a hand along Neil’s leg against the grain of his hair, slow, pensive. His fingers soon collide with soft amber wool. Neil tilts his head teasingly to one side. “I thought orange was your favourite colour.”

Andrew tangles his fingers in the collar and uses it to tug Neil in against him. “I hate it,” he murmurs into Neil’s ear, and follows it with a brief press of his lips to the one point below Neil’s earlobe that always makes him shudder.

“Like you hate me?”

“Yes,” Andrew says.

When Neil’s lips meet his, they taste like sunset.

Andrew is twenty-five years old, and he thinks orange is the most beautiful colour in the world.

*

Thanks for reading!

[lunchador]

What are some of your favourite summer headcanons/tropes?

Oh man there's so many things. I think I'm an outlier to most people in that I really do like summer.

-Road trips!! Probably my biggest thing for a summer theme and fitting characters around that. Why/where are they going? The dynamic of who's in the car and how that effects them, furthered by in which seat (driver(are they controlling??) passenger in charge of music(does their taste suck??), back with snacks(back seat drivers??)). The arguments, the excitement, the stretches of silence on long empty roads. The pit stops. Sleeping somewhere unconventional. The intimacy of confined space and looking disheveled and having fun with the freedom. Taking shifts. The intimacy of staying awake so the driver isn't alone at night. Pulling over because you saw "Worlds Largest ____" and having to see whatever the fuck it is.

-Activities, specially sports. How are these characters playing outside in their free time, if they're even able to be dragged outside? Hiking? Sunbathing and reading? Kickball? Skating? Taking daddy's yacht for a spin? Such a fun way to add depth to characters without doing much. Squinting and going "yeah this fits your personality even though you've made no allusion to it".

-Snacks!!!! Snow cones/Raspas were my life and blood back home. How does the season excite a character in terms of like, being excited to see a ice cream truck or having a cook out. What you pick on an ice cream truck is a personality test. The simplicity of joy that comes from like...a refreshing drink or fresh fruit. 😋

- How to cool off. Does a character lounge in a hammock in the shade? Do they prefer a pool and accessories? Do they sit in front of a fan and moan about how horrendous the weather is?

-Camping. I've never been, going pretty soon and am excited. Do they over prepare? Carry almost nothing? Are they still fine or does that fuck them over? Fancy tents or ones that keep falling apart for comedic effect? Thinking about the characters smelling smokey from a campfire and appreciating the stars and being alive with one another nabs me in the heart. Overnight camps for kid shenanigans. Summer is ripe for coming of age stories and self realization.

-Fashion. How does a characters clothing change from standard wear to summer? Love the way p5 showed personality by characters looking different in standard school uniform from one another and then additional layers of character exploration by what they wore by season. I loved it. Wacky hats?? Shorts? Worn down dad beach sandals or boots no matter what??

- How a character sunburns. This one is purely horny 😔

-Anything to do with the beach. I miss it sorely.

-Summer flings - I know lots of people are invested in like forever and ever soul mate romance but I love something about stuff that is short and sweet and confined and explosives and the time limit that summer offers is perfect for that.

-Shitty summer jobs. Temporary and mindless and the biggest relief coming from your fellow coworkers and whatever shit you come up with to pass the time.

There's probably more but this is what comes to mind.

[knight-ingale]

Chapter 3, Angels

A/n: I... wrote this in like... three-four hours. Thanks again to my lovely editor friend, who took the time to look over this even though she had an appointment in two hours that I wasn’t aware of! Love her to death!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*---~---~---~---~--- *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You and Bella watched with what was probably an abnormal amount of interest as the horrendously perfect and angelic quintet made their way to a table in the corner of the cafeteria, far away from your own table on the other side of the long room. It occurred to you that if this was an intersecting line graph, they would be an exterior angle to match you, not that it mattered.

As you studied the five of them, you realized their nearly fantastical beauty wasn’t the only thing that made them stand out with such contrast. Three out of the five of them didn’t look anything like highschoolers, more akin to graduating college students or teachers, student teachers at the youngest. 

The first person you noticed was the tall blonde who clearly surpassed six foot in height in wedged-heel boots. She was absolutely gorgeous, heart-stoppingly so. She had shining, wavy golden hair that flipped ever-so-slightly at the end in the middle of her back that contrasted heavily with her dark, nearly coal colored irises. Another ridiculously perfect part of her was her picturesque body. A perfect hourglass paired with an equally amazing pair of legs, which looked amazing in the just above knee-length skirt she wore with the boots. She looked… well, beyond words, really. 

The next you focused on was also female, and the last girl, who was also bordering magical in her appearance, despite the polarizing styles. She was dressed more simply than her counterpart, but no less beautiful, and was her opposite in many ways. Small and slight in the way that had almost had you worried for her health, bordering faery-like in image. Her dark hair was cropped far above her shoulders, slightly spiked out in a way that looked like a mess but in the best way anyone could hope for. She seemed to be the shortest of the group as well.

By the time all of the students had sat down, you were onto the third, a ridiculously huge boy with curly black hair. Seriously, this guy was enormous, capping his height at over six feet easily, maybe six and a half feet. He was still ever-so-slightly taller than the gorgeous blonde girl.

Another blonde, speaking of, was a boy. Shorter than the ridiculously muscular boy and the blonde girl, which he slightly resembled in hair color, but certainly taller than the faery girl. His hair was blonde, like the Victoria’s Secret Angel worthy girl, but his hair was a deeper shade of honey rather than bright, nearly gaudy gold.

The last student was also the last boy who held a younger visage compared to the high schoolers around him. He was less bulky compared to the other two boys and was slightly shorter than the blonde, making him the second shortest in a theoretical line-up of heights. The only noticeable trait to you was his auburn hair, which shone in the horrible fluorescent lights with a nearly mystical copper quality.

All of these supposed high schoolers, you still couldn’t believe that, looked absolutely worn, like they had stayed up for three or more all-nighters to finish a group project. The dark semicircles that lined the lower lids of each pair of eyes contrasted with the extreme paleness of their faces. Were the five of them a club consisting of those with extreme anemia or something? They looked almost like printer paper, even paler than your notably pale sister Bella. You break your probably intense gaze away from the table of strangers to lean over to Jessica, 

“Hey, Jessica,” you call. You get her attention easily as she looks to you. “Who are they?” you ask. She looks over to Bella, easily following her gawking to the table of divine looking students and giggles. You look back with Jessica quick enough to see the bronze-haired boy look up in masked curiosity, dark eyes flickering from Jessica, you, and then your sister. He looks away before you can reflexively look away in embarrassment, but you all do anyway. Jessica giggles again, 

“That’s Edward and Emmett Cullen, and Rosalie and Jasper Hale. The one who left was Alice Cullen-” You hadn’t even noticed her leave, now that you realized she was gone. You had turned around for hardly a moment! She must be fast as hell. “They all live together with Dr. Cullen and his wife,” she says under her breath. 

“What’s her name?” you ask quietly, “The doctor’s wife, I mean.” 

“Esme, I think? I don’t think I’ve ever seen her, but my mom has, she works at the bank. She says she’s really pretty and nice.” Jessica raises her eyebrows, “But most people are that way in public, so who really knows?” Bella glances back at the table, seemingly at the bronze-copper-haired boy, who was picking a bagel apart like it owed him money. He also seemed to be speaking, but the other three at the table didn’t seem to pay attention to him. 

“They’re… very nice looking,” your sister manages, obviously in awe. 

“Yes!” Jessica giggles, “They’re all together though- Emmett and Rosalie, and Jasper and Alice, I mean. And they live together.” she states with an air of small-town judgment. Even so, it was a bit strange. Siblings, whether biologically related or not didn’t matter to you, really shouldn’t date, right?

“Which ones are the Cullens?” Your sister asks, “They don’t look related…”

“Oh, they’re not,” Jessica assures, “Dr. Cullen is really young, in his early twenties or thirties. They’re all adopted. The Hales are brother and sister, twins- the blondes- and they’re foster children.” So the blondes are related, makes enough sense. The girl was Rosalie, a vintage but fittingly timeless name. Jasper also sounded like an older name, but the only thing you could think of was that jasper was a kind of rock. What did jasper rocks look like?

“They look a little old for foster children,” your sister mentions.

“They are now, Jasper and Rosalie are both eighteen, but they’ve been with Mrs. Cullen since they were eight. She’s their aunt or something like that.” Jessica reveals.

“That’s kind of nice- for them to take care of all those kids like that, when they’re so young and everything.” Jessica shrugs off your sister’s words with a glance thrown in the directions of the Cullens.

“I guess so,” she admits reluctantly. You look at Jessica with guarded judgment. What was so bad about someone adopting kids? “I think Mrs. Cullen can’t have any kids, though.” You grimace, looking over to the Cullen table. Jessica was going to pull something in her arm if she kept reaching so far to find something to judge this family for! You notice the boy, who you have now mentally tacked the name of “bagel hater” onto, looks like he laughed. Of course, you can’t hear him for your vantage point, so you just see his shoulders move slightly and see him murmur quietly, seemingly to his three remaining siblings. You couldn’t see the face of the blonde boy- Jasper- but you can see Rosalie smile slightly, and the big one grins. 

“Have they always lived in Forks?” Your sister asks. You turn back to Jessica as she answers.

“No,” she practically scoffs, “They just moved down two years ago from somewhere in Alaska.” You can see Bella physically relax. You weren’t the only ones considered “new” here. Though it was obvious that the now quartet of beautiful students aren’t exactly accepted, though you couldn’t tell quite yet if their segregation from the rest of the school was preferable for them. 

“Which one is the boy with the reddish-brown hair?” Bella is still peeking over at the subject of her question when she asks. For some reason, he was staring at your sister with a look of frustration, maybe confusion. You sit up straight and scoot a bit closer to your sister, but you don’t wait for a reaction, instead choosing to look to Jessica as she answers yet another one of your sister’s queries. This girl really likes to talk, or at least gossip.

“That’s Edward. He’s gorgeous, of course, but don’t waste your time,” she huffs, “He doesn’t date. Apparently none of the girls here are good-looking enough for him.” Ah. Girl done got turned down, and apparently isn’t taking it well. Yikes. You purse your lips to keep yourself from smiling.

“Hey,” you try, “at least that means you can find someone else who isn’t such a jerk, right?” She shrugs, but your attempt seems to have smoothed over the sour blip in her mood.

You immerse yourself quietly in the conversation at the rest of the table, listening idly to the girls around you. One girl, quiet and fairly tall, introduced herself as Angela Webber. Apparently she had an oncoming class with Bella. She seemed much more genuine and sweet compared to her friend Jessica. Usually, you would have left to arrive to class much earlier with your sister when you shared lunch periods, but having people other than each other and a few acquaintances was a good reason to stay for you. Bella seemed content enough to stay as well.

Eventually, the bell rings to start passing period. You bid your sister farewell to make your way to P.E. Not your favorite class, but you’d deal. Apparently, Forks required four years of P.E. rather than your old schools two, which sucked. Coach Clapp signed your paper and let you sit out of the class for the day while he got you all your information for locker number and combo as well as your uniform. 

Your last class of the day was Introduction to Psychology. You were welcomed warmly by your teacher, a short brunette who's name you had yet to be able to pronounce, so you and other students just called her Ms. S. You were sat in the back of the class next to the only one other open seat. 

Right before the bell rings, you notice one last student walk through the door. You’re the only student looking back towards the door when you see Jasper Hale walk through the door. He wasn’t rushing despite his near lateness, and the teacher just looks up and smiles before going back to her work. That’s when you realize the only other desk was next to you. You duck down to your backpack to pull out a blank notebook and a pencil for the class. A notebook and folder were really the only things you were told to bring, so it was easy to get ready. When you popped back up, Jasper was sitting in his seat beside you with his arms crossed on the top of the desk. Despite the casual way he sat, he seemed ridiculously tense, his hands balled up into fists and tucked into his elbows. You shrugged it off and opened your journal to date and answer the bellwork question written on the whiteboard. Ms. S declared the day a workday and gave you your textbook and a few sheets of work. One was just a little packet to see what you knew and the other was a two-sided sheet questionnaire about yourself. You started on that first, which was fairly easy. Favorite colors and books, favorite foods, activities, and questions about family. You finished that about a quarter through the class. You worked on the packet until you answered all the questions you knew how to answer, which was just a little over half the packet. That took about half the class. During the last quarter, you just grabbed a page out of the back of your journal. You doodle little plants and eyes and mindless patterns. Shortly after you started you decided you wanted to try and draw someone. Naturally, the boy beside you would be the easiest to draw, so you decided to draw Jasper. By the end of the class, you had a nice looking, albeit stylized, sketch of your neighbor leaning against his desk.

The bell rings, and in a flurry of zipping backpacks and papers, students pack up and leave. You leaned down to put your pencil back in your pencil case before pulling yourself back up to grab your journal. When you sat up fully you noticed Jasper Hale standing up with his bag slung on one shoulder, head tilted in curiosity as he looked down at the lined paper down on your desk. Before you can stutter out any excuse, he speaks in a soft voice laced with amusement and a slight country tinge, 

“You drew me?” he asks. You felt like your face was hotter than the sun, 

“Uh, yeah, sorry, I was just bored an-” he interrupts your anxious excuse with a small smile, picking up the paper, 

“No no, it looks really good.” Did he really think it was good?

“Uh, thanks,” you mumble, grabbing your journal to keep packing up and refusing to make eye-contact. He offers a quiet thanks before disappearing out the door. Well, that was certainly strange. You finish zipping your backpack before standing to turn your work into Ms. S, who seemed delighted to see you had finished your work early.

“Thank you, Y/n. How was your first day?” You smile, 

“It was pretty good, considering I have no idea where I’m going,” you laugh, she laughs. 

“Ah, you’ll get used to it all eventually. By the way, do you happen to know Mr. Hale?” Ms. S asks. You blink in confusion, 

“Uh, no. This is the only class I have with him, I think? Why do you ask?” She shrugs, 

“I just haven’t seen him really interact with many students outside of his family, especially not on his own.” 

“He just liked the doodles I made near the end of class, I guess,” you respond. “Anyway, I have to go turn in my paperwork, See you tomorrow Ms. S!” You wave goodbye as you leave, following the streams of students out of the building. From there you were able to navigate your way to the office building with relative ease. You didn’t see Bella inside and waited outside until you saw her slowly making her way to the building, holding her arms around herself to hide from the cold wind. You laugh and wrap an arm around her and walk into the building.

You feel Bella freeze almost as soon as you enter. You notice the receptionist is busy but only realize why your sister is shocked with anxiety when you notice exactly who she’s busied with. Edward Cullen, the boy who gave her a strangely aggressive look during lunch. You pull Bella to the wall to wait, but she presses herself against you and the wall to make as much space between herself and this boy. Jesus, what did this guy do to scare Bella so bad, bite her?

The door beside your sister opens, blowing both of your hair around as a random girl came in to place something in the receptionist’s note basket. Then the weirdest thing happened. Edward stiffened before slowly turning to glare at your sister. You tighten your arm around her and stand up straight, rather than leaning on one leg. You glare right back at his scarily perfect face. This jerk had no reason to be looking at your sister like that! It was only her first day, she couldn’t have done anything to garter such a look of malice. Edward flicks his angry gaze to you for a moment, you still glared, before he turned back to the woman behind the desk. 

“Never mind, then,” he nearly growls. Such a nice voice certainly didn’t match to a vehemently hateful face, “I can see that’s impossible. Thank you so much for your help.” He turns sharply and practically marches out of the office. You pull Bella closer against you as he exits. What. A. Dick.  You help Bella to the desk on her wobbly knees, her face noticeably paler than before. You hand your slips into the woman with a shaky smile.

“How was your day, dears?” She asks kindly. You manage a much more believable front compared to your sister, who can barely manage a meager,

“Fine.” You grimaced at her answer, the receptionist didn’t buy it.

“Pretty good day,” you say, “Thanks for the maps, they helped a lot!” She nods as you leave. You climb into the truck, one of the last vehicles in the parking lot.”

You let Bella drive for a while before you bring up her day. She was crying which she never did when sad, only angry or embarrassed. 

“So…” You start, “What’s with that jerk? We literally just get here, not even Jessica McGossip-Face was mean, and she’s the most judgmental person we’ve met today!” you joked lightly, but no smile, 

“I… I’m not sure? I didn’t do anything. He seemed fine far away during lunch, but he was in my Bio two after lunch and… and he was so weird?! He was on the edge of his seat as far away as he could get from me during class. He froze up and got all angry when I first passed him to get to the teacher and-and I don’t know why?” You reach over and gently rub her shoulder as she drives. You were much better at emotional support compared to your sister and father, but you can only do so much while she’s trying to drive.

“Yikes. It sounds like he’s a dick, if you ask me. Maybe that’s why he didn’t have anyone sitting next to him. Too much of a jerk to work with, “ you speculate, “His brother Jasper is weird in class too if that makes you feel any better. Maybe the whole family is like that. Who knows?” Bella wipes her unreleased tears away with her sleeve, 

“Maybe…” You purse your lips before trying again, 

“Hey, it’s not good to take in the opinion of someone like him anyway. Did you see how he wasted that bagel? He picked it apart like it insulted his mother! He’s a bagel hater! He doesn’t seem like someone worth taking into consideration to me,” you grin when Bella smiles. 

“Ha, I guess you’re right.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*---~---~---~---~--- *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Tags: @twilight-loveer @rushiruby

[writer-dreams]

Love Potion (Part 5) (Draco Malfoy x Reader)

Part 5 is here now!!!! I'm sorry for the wait!! I hope all if you enjoy!

Prologue / Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / End

Update Tags: @celestialceci @marvelobsessedteen @imaginesforthepeople @danidomm @marvelrose @vogueworthy-barnes @glossysoph @stevesvibraniumshield @bi-mama @fiveisadorable @paulalucianap1 @drama-llama-04 @mellow-delight @hahaboop @awesomehannaha @stantalentstanclc @queenskyster @outsider-underwater @babebenhardy @imaginespnr5er @riddikuluslypotter @pitkins @bughug1999 @drawlfoy @onyxbunny22 @sorgenprinzessin @vivianhuynh77 @dauntlessdracarys

House: You choose

Blood Status: You choose

Warnings: Possible swearing

Note: The reader in this story is female / uses female pronouns

Word Count: 2,514 words

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

3rd Person POV

Day 5

Y/n walked out of the common room, feeling much better after a refreshing night’s sleep. She was glad that there were no classes today, which offered her some time to relax after the horrendous situation yesterday. Y/n scowled at the thought of Pansy. She was going to kill that pug-faced twat one day. Oh, that wench was going to get it someday- Caught up in her thoughts, she crashed into the hard chest of someone. Blinking rapidly in confusion, she looked up and noticed those familiar grey eyes and infamous blonde hair. Draco.

Draco grinned cheekily at her. "Hello, Love. How are you feeling this morning?"

"Oh, fine. My head has stopped spinning and I feel stable enough to be able to walk around properly."

"It’s good to hear that. I was actually looking for you anyway. Walk with me?" Draco asked, flashing a charming smile at her and extending a hand towards her. Y/n’s heart fluttered at his sweet smile, but she managed to return a small grin and placed her hand inside his. Maybe in the beginning of this, she would have been disgusted at even the thought of touching him, but now....it felt almost pleasant to do so.

She thought about how much she despised him in the beginning, and her new-found adoration for him. She wasn’t in love with him, but she wouldn’t mind being friends with him.

Draco ended up dragging her to the black lake. The water gleamed a deep shade of blue, concealing all the creatures that lurked below the surface. The bright sun already high in the cloudless sky, showering them in warm light.

"What are we doing here?" Y/n asked curiously.

Draco gestured towards the large wooden pier that overlooked the lake. He then tugged on her arm and pulled her towards it, like a child excitedly dragging someone to see their greatest creation. The old wood creaked under their feet but Draco didn’t seem concerned. He took a seat at the end of the pier, swinging his legs over the edge. He then looked at her to do the same. She sat down next to him, feeling oddly comfortable in his presence. She felt Draco’s warm hand rest of top of hers but she didn’t pull away. His grey eyes stared intently into her (e/c) orbs.

"Merlin, Y/n. I’m so glad you’re alright." Draco stated.

"Me too, Draco. I don’t think I can thank you enough for saving my life. I owe you." Y/n replied sincerely.

"You don’t owe me anything, Love." Draco took her hand in his as he placed a soft kiss against the back of her hand.

The moment was ruined when the pair heard some footsteps. The loud steps were accompanied by an obnoxious voice that caused Y/n to roll her eyes.

Not again.

"Drakie-Poo! Why do you constantly choose someone like her over me??" The annoyingly high-pitched voice of Pansy Parkinson whined.

"Excuse me, Pug-Face? I’ve had just about enough of you and your jealousy. How many brain cells does it take to understand that he’s not interested? Clearly, you prove it takes more than one."

Pansy’s face twisted into a snarl and she quickly turned to Y/n. She opened her mouth to retort but Draco quickly cut her off.

"Parkinson," He said Pansy’s name in such a cold, hostile manner that Y/n felt shivers run down her spine. "What the hell are you doing here? After what happened last time, I’m surprised you still have the guts to come near us."

"Draco, you have to believe me. She’s drugged you or cast a hex on you or something! Don’t you remember how much you despised her?! How much you hated the very sight of her in the same corridor as you?" Pansy cried out.

Y/n averted her gaze down to the floor. Pansy wasn’t completely off with her accusation. Technically, she had drugged Draco with a love potion. He didn’t really love her, it was all because of a stupid potion. This whole situation was changing her perspective of Draco. She was beginning to fall for a fake version of the blonde-haired prat.

"What is with your obsession with me and Y/n? Even creepier, you claim that I’ve been spelled to fall in love with her? How dare you! You’re just as annoying as Saint Potter. Now leave us be, Parkinson, or I will have my father know about this!" Draco snapped at Pansy.

Pansy gazed down at her black shoes. Her fists were shaking violently at her sides, as if she were trying to keep herself from shouting at Draco. She looked back up and her eyes were filled with pure hatred as she threw a burning look at Y/n.

"I’ve tried everything. I’ve been by your side since forever, I’ve supported you through everything. All of a sudden this twat waltzes into your life and you’ve fallen for her?! Where have all my efforts taken me?!" Pansy said through gritted teeth.

Draco rolled his eyes and nudged Y/n slightly. She looked back at him to see him getting up and walking towards the castle, his back turned to Pansy. "Come on, Y/n. Let’s just leave."

"I pushed her off the Quidditch stands for you!" Pansy shouted before gasping and covering her mouth with her hands quickly.

Draco stopped walking immediately, his whole body visibly stiffening. He slowly turned back around, his bangs covering his eyes.

"What did you do?" He hissed.

Pansy didn’t answer. She stood completely still, as if afraid that the slightest movement from her would cause him to attack. Her stance reminded Y/n of a deer caught in a headlight. Draco switched his gaze to Y/n, who was slightly taken aback by the intensity of his grey eyes.

"Is that true?" He asked slowly. Y/n could see he was trying to restrain himself from lashing out at the Slytherin girl. Pansy looked at Y/n with pleading eyes, begging her not to tell the truth. Y/n knew she couldn’t lie to him and Pansy didn’t really deserve to be saved from Draco’s wrath. She hesitantly nodded, watching as Pansy’s knees buckled slightly, a defeated look in her eyes.

With an enraged look, Draco swiveled back to Pansy, his wand whipped out and pointing threateningly at her. Even then, Pansy refused to move from her spot.

"I can tolerate you annoying us and interrupting our dates. However, I can not tolerate you trying to kill my girlfriend." Draco brought his wand closer to Pansy, who was still frozen with fear, "I wish I could say that this will not bring me great happiness."

With a wicked smirk, Draco shouted, "Densaugeo!" A purple light shot out of his wand and hit Pansy directly in the face. Pansy cried out from the impact and fell to the ground, screaming as she covered her mouth. From between Pansy’s twitching fingers, Y/n could clearly see that Pansy’ teeth were growing longer and longer. She looked almost like a demented kind of beaver. The Slytherin girl scrambled from the ground and rushed towards the hospital wing. Watching the girl’s form grow smaller and smaller, Y/n ran towards Draco and pinched him roughly on the arm. The Slytherin Prince let out a yelp, pulling his bicep out of her grip.

"What was that for?"

"How could you be so foolish? I understand that you only wished to protect me but you’ll be expelled for hexing her!" Y/n cried. She wasn’t sure why she cared so much if he was expelled or not.

"Oh, relax. Pansy would never want to get me expelled. She cares too much," Draco said, "Even if I don’t."

"I’m also sorry that I couldn’t do more." Draco continued, "I want to hurt her even worse than I already have but her family’s part of the Scared Twenty-Eight."

"It’s alright. I think you’ve done enough." Y/n smiled, "Now let’s just enjoy the rest of today."

Draco nodded, allowing himself to be dragged back to the pier. The pair sat down together, back in their original position. Y/n then leaned over and rested her head on Draco’s shoulder, admiring the water. Draco didn’t seem to mind and pulled her body closer to his. Y/n’s mind was swimming with questions. Why was she feeling so comfortable around him? Why did her heart feel so fluttery? Why was she literally leaning on him? Her mind screamed at her to get off of him, though her body didn’t move. Y/n silenced her thoughts, just wanting to enjoy the calming sight of the lake.

"Ah! I’ve almost forgotten!" Draco snapped his fingers, sitting up straight and rummaging through his uniform’s pockets. He then pulled out a crumbled piece of paper, unfolding it and holding it out in front of him. Y/n squinted her eyes to look at the words through the paper in the light. She could make out Draco’s fancy and neat handwriting, though she couldn’t actually read the words that were written. The blonde male caught her stare and flipped the page over so that she could see.

"It’s a poem." Draco smiled at her from the top of the paper. He flipped the paper back before clearing his throat and reciting the poem.

"(Y/n), we haven’t been together for long,

Yet, I feel obligated to write you a song.

To confess the deep affections I hold for you,

And I hope you feel the same way too.

This may seem quick, yet I know you are the one.

You may scoff at me, but my heart cannot be stolen by just anyone.

My feelings for you have changed so much,

Switched with a simple touch.

This love you have given me is a drug,

Intoxicating, addicting and given by hugs.

I assure you that my love for you is not fake,

No, there has been no mistake.

A goblet of pumpkin juice,

Raised to you in truce.

You return the gesture, as if it was planned,

A cup of (f/d) in your hand.

I love everything about you,

I could not say anything more true.

I love how clever you are or how beautiful you always look,

Merlin, if I could write it all down, I’d write a bloody book.

Know that this is no joke.

Your love envelops me like an invisibility cloak.

We’ve stitched our love together with needles and red thread,

It’s about time we’ve set aside our differences and learned to accept them instead.

The world has given me such an amazing girlfriend.

I never want our time together to end.

Love is often called weak, useless, something you should not feel.

You have shown me the hidden strength that love has concealed.

Potions class was where our love first began,

If I were to leave it now, I’d be a mad man.

I wrote this poem for you, filled with endless rhyme,

To show that I love you, (Y/n), until the end of time."

Her heart swelled as he finished. Without thinking, she gave him a tight hug, feeling his body shake as he laughed lightly. Coming back to her senses, she released Draco, feeling slightly embarrassed. She wondered why this poem filled her with happiness while the first poem had disgusted her. What had changed? She used to gag at such a sappy poem, why was she suddenly feeling like she was flying? Why did her heart skip a beat whenever she looked into Draco’s grey eyes? Why did she feel completed whenever she was with him?

She was brought back to reality when she felt Draco kiss her cheek. He pulled back with a grin.

"Did you like it?"

Did she like it? Yes, very much. Even if it was written by Draco, Y/n wasn’t really bothered by that fact anymore. Nobody had ever wrote her a poem, as cheesy as they’ve been. Draco had been the only person to do that.

"Yes." She breathed out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They spent a few more hours at the lake, enjoying each other’s company. Although Y/n didn’t want to admit it, she truly did enjoy the date. (She also refused to call it a date). The sun was beginning to set, changing the sky from bright blue to a beautiful mix of yellows, oranges, pinks, and purples. Y/n’s eyes began to feel heavy as she watched the sun disappear behind the mountains.

"Tired?" Draco asked.

Y/n nodded, causing Draco to shift over to allow her to lay her head in his lap. He took off his robe and wrapped it around her like a blanket.

"Sleep." Draco whispered.

Y/n didn’t need to argue, as she found that she was quickly losing consciousness. Before she fell asleep, she let one last set of thoughts ring through her head.

You do realize this is fake right? This side of Draco, this feeling, it’s all fake.

I know, but I’ve already fallen in too deep.

**********************************************

Hello everyone! The long-awaited Part 5 is finally completed. I'm extremely sorry that it took so long. I really hope that this met your expectations. The poem was probably one of the most difficult things to write, though I pushed through because I wanted poems to be a special thing in this series. I'll try my best to be more on time with Part 6. Thank you for reading. Until next time.

-Jade

[smolbeandrabbles]

DJ Got Us Fallin’ In Love - Captain Emmett Dutton x Reader (Australia) Modern!AU

@mandy23b - I really wanted to surprise you with this one 💜💙

Author’s Note: SO. Basically, this is a combination of two things. THIS POST and the Modern!Dutton vibes it gives off, and Amanda’s tags on “Starlight” (Which also inspired the song, dontcha know?) *Note: Outfit based loosely on above pictures. Trust you, Amanda😉  .  Disclaimer: Lyrics / Characters not mine, as usual. Idea was a discussion with @3134045126​ so I’ma give her credit here too! ... And the song, as previous, is all Ms.Mandy23b 

Premise: Harbouring a crush on a superior officer is the last thing you’re worried about when he’s as sweet as Emmett Dutton is. If you can get him out this evening, who knows what else you can do...  Words: 2483 Warnings: Drinking / AU

__________ So we back in the club With our bodies rockin' from side to side Thank God the week is done... No control of my body Ain't I seen you before? I think I remember those eyes, Keep downing drinks like there's No tomorrow there's just right Now, now, now, now, now, now Hands up, when the music drops Put your hands on my body Swear I seen you before I think I remember those eyes 'Cause baby tonight, D-J got us fallin' in love again Yeah, baby tonight, D-J got us fallin' in love again So dance, dance, Like it's the last, Last night of your life, life Gonna get you right Cause baby tonight, D-J got us fallin' in love again ---  All it was meant to be was a night out with your girls at the karaoke bar. Sure that bar also gave everyone a break from horrendous (increasingly drunk) singing, because it also had a dance floor, but you weren’t here for that. Whether you would end up on it or not... was another matter... Being with your girls was only one of two reasons you were out here. Because you were hoping to catch the eye of someone else. You could tell just by looking at him that he wasn’t usually the type to come to something like this. But it’d been a couple of months since the far beyond cute Captain Dutton had caught your eye across the mess hall, and whilst passing him today you’d inquired as to if he was coming out tonight; “Oh I-” “I just know a lot of the barracks are going, so I thought you might...” “No it’s, just that I- it’s not really my scene...” “Oh... not even for one night?” Your look did your pleading for you, and he gave a soft sigh and a smile “Okay, one night... now go on, before your drill sergeant catches you.” “Yes, Sir!” You responded with a grin, back straight - before you jogged off to your next drill exercise. You were a tough girl by all accounts and had got into the army through no small feat. Your aim to always add a little feminine charm, and beat all the boys while you were at it. You’d already outpaced a few of them on both running, and obstacle drills - and stood at the end, arms folded behind your back with a little smirk; “What, too hard for you guys?” Sometimes that landed you a little in trouble, but, you mostly stuck to the rules. You did know what was good for you, sort of. And the Captain... He could definitely be good for you.  Emmett Dutton was the quiet type. And if he wasn’t where he was, and at the rank he was at, you would almost say he was the shy type. Maybe he was, maybe he was just good at this. He seemed to make friends with all his peers and you figured, once you started crushing on him, that it wouldn’t be too hard to make friends with him yourself.  Of course, your own friends figured out pretty easily (because you kept staring at him whenever he was in the same room... even when you were supposed to be listening to someone else brief you) that you had a crush. And the teasing became relentless. Luckily it hadn’t spread around the entire barracks yet but, every time you saw Emmett pass by and you gave each other a smile they would sigh dreamily, pretend to swoon and say “Oh captain! My Captain!”. Which only led to them getting punched in the arm - but it wouldn’t be long until people caught on. Especially since you’d started keeping Emmett up to date with your schedule, and he would come around if he had free time to watch you. You had figured out by now that it happened often enough for it to be more than just ‘passing by’ as you often heard him announce to the officer in charge that day. Which only made the girls wiggle their eyebrows and nudge you. “Shut up!” you hissed, “He’s clearly here for—!”  Except, when you’d finished up, he might also decide to catch you and say something akin to ‘great work’. And you had to listen to your friends try to hold their laughter and screeching in whilst still being respectful of his title. Of course, once he was out of ear shot you couldn’t help but laugh with them laughing at you. Emmett was going to get you in all kinds of trouble, and to be honest, you didn’t mind the prospect all that much.  ***  So half your night tonight had been incredibly fun - singing along to every song in the three of you’s repertoire. With the singing becoming screaming and both it, and the song choices, becoming increasingly cheesy & bad as the night progressed and you consumed a little more alcohol. In the end, half of the words were lost to giggling. To the point where, inevitably, they shut down the entire thing for the night and the DJ began pumping out hit after hit. Leaving you all to huddle onto a bench table and chat away. But it must have been at least an hour and he still hadn’t turned up yet... and you weren’t about to sit here and wallow in self-pity (even though you were).  But then in he walked. Looking about as shy and hesitant as you expected. And also better perhaps than you had even seen him in uniform. His shades were tucked into the front of his shirt, even though it was late evening. You wondered if he had managed to take some of the day off since you’d invited him out, then. As today even you had found time to lay on the grass and bask in the sun’s warm rays. It had been a good one by all accounts. It was about to get even better. You hoped. Emmett was wearing a black shirt over white, sleeves rolled up to give further effect to that contrast, dark jeans that looked almost stone washed, and black lace ups - you thought that was likely about as casual as he got. And yet you were almost surprised, with his hair still near perfect, that he looked that casual. Your mood instantly picked up, suddenly alert, you leant forward with a smile. He’d come, you’d asked him to come and he had! He looked around for a moment and to your annoyance, spotted his friends first. “...Ahhh—!!” Both your friends suddenly leant on you as they also noticed him. “If it isn’t your Captain!!” “Shut up!!” You pushed them to no avail but kept your eyes on him, still smiling. He smiled too, and then he laughed.  And your heart fluttered softly; damn this crush... damn him for making you feel this way, and want to fall so deeply into this. Emmett ordered his drink with his friends, still laughing with them - before he turned to admire the rest of the bar. And as his eyes scanned around you realised that he was looking for someone. And then he saw you, and the smile he gave was unlike one you had ever seen from him. He offered a wave “Hi!” “Hey-!” You mouthed back; knowing you were smiling in a similar fashion. “You’re blushing.” You turned back to your girls, both of them staring at you bluntly “What-!?” “Blushing—!” The problem was you knew you were, and now they had mentioned it you could feel your face heating up, but you swivelled back to the bar intent on ignoring their jibes at you... By this time he was sipping beer smoothly, and edging away from his friends. They were pushing his arm and laughing as much at him as your friends were at you. You noticed that he laughed back, and held his hands up like it was hardly his fault. Emmett took a few steps away, then laughed and turned back as they all began cat-calling to him. “Shut up!” You saw him say before he turned back to them and got a little animated as they all started laughing again. From over here you couldn’t hear them but you could imagine the banter. If Emmett was even half as proper in his down time as he was dressed in uniform, then this was likely to cause quite the stir with people who weren’t his friends. So he walked, all the way across the bar, to you. “Hey...” His voice was just as soft as his demeanour “Emmett...” it almost felt strange to call him by his first name, but, he wasn’t the captain when he wasn’t in uniform. “You came.” “Well...” he gave a gentle shrug, “You asked me to, didn’t you? Would you... like a drink?” “I...” you indicated to your own “Think I’ve maybe had... a few too many...” “Oh...” he looked a little disappointed, and took another sip of his own, “...Well then...” he held his hand out “... Dance with me.” “Wh-!?” You probably couldn’t have sounded more surprised as your friends stared at each other in disbelief. “Well, the music is up, if you don’t want another drink and you invited me here, I believe that I should at least offer you a dance...” You took a deep breath, hardly daring to believe this was real, and took his hand; “...And I will accept your dance, Captain...”  As he pulled you from your seat, both yours and his friends whistled - ear piercing enough to cut through the music and have you both laughing; “You must forgive my friends...!” Emmett took your other hand in his as he smiled, “But, um, things like this are a rare occurrence for me...” You giggled, “Maybe I should change that.” A slight blush crossed his cheeks as he bit his lip through his smile; “I - haha - wouldn’t be adverse to that...” You gave a sweet smile, and accompanying wink; “Me either.” “Be careful, you haven’t seen me dance yet!” You both laughed at that; “Oh, Y/N, you must forgive me my lateness... There were a few things I needed to attend to back at barracks, and I was waylaid a little longer than I ought to have been...” You shook your head, “I... I’m just glad you’re here... and I understand...!” It was his job after all, and you knew Emmett would have put anything he had to do for his men first. You gave a grin, “Don’t worry! You didn’t miss much!! Just karaoke!” He laughed, “Oh goodness! How could I?!” You returned a cheeky wink; “Exactly! It was the best bit!” “Well, hopefully you dance as well as you sing.” “Oh no!” You laughed harder “Then you’d be in trouble Emmett!” “Why!?” His smile was still sweet, “Because you would show me up?” “The complete opposite Captain I assure you!” He raised an eyebrow, “Nonsense!” The beat to the next song started and he grinned, “Time to put your money where your dance moves are!!” You had to raise an eyebrow yourself at that, because this man did not appear to you to be a dancer. But, here you were – in civvies – on a dancefloor in a tiny bar having the time of your life.  He took your hands and led you, through jam after jam, after jam. Sometimes he was your dance partner, and sometimes it was nothing short of a dance off. But then the DJ decided to turn it up a notch, and you noticed even his friends and yours, who had been watching you all night, clamour to get out on the floor with you. Emmett and yourself paused, looking around, you recognised the hit another club classic from 2010; “Is this DJ got us falling in love?!” “…That’s subtly ironic…” He mused, with a gentle chuckle. And his eyes fell back to you – your face read curious, even though you picked up on his meaning right away. But the smile on your face transformed into a grin; “…Only… subtly…” And so both of you sang along to every word – and became the literal embodiment of the phrase dance like no one is watching, even though you were both aware,that everyone in this little bar – even those also dancing – were watching you. He moved with you like you’d been doing this for more than just a few hours – but maybe you’d both somehow been able to commit each other’s movements to memory. You weren’t sure you’d enjoyed yourself this much in ages. Hands up, no cares or worries. Only him. Only each other. And this music. *** Top that! You would have said, as everyone stayed on the floor for the next few songs. But you knew it wouldn’t happen. You were having fun out here and although you realised the night was going to end, and likely soon, it was the last thing you wanted to happen. You were both seeing things in each other you’d never seen before. And tomorrow it would be back to formalities and calling him Captain – standing that little bit straighter when he walked by, and keeping everything as respectful as was commanded. No – apparently the evening could be topped. Because the DJ decided to end the night not on another incredible classic that would keep everyone out here. But a ridiculous slow dance. To which the majority of people groaned and evacuated the dancefloor – there were couples here though, that stayed – and friends that decided they hardly cared the type of song, they were determined to be the last ones out on the floor. You thought Emmett would be as likely to pull away too; but he didn’t. Instead he kept a firm grasp on your hand, and as you turned to leave, drew you to him. “No, no… Y/N? You’d leave me at the last song?” “This song?” “…Yes, this song!” “But… Captain I…” “…Emmett.” He held you closer as he corrected you, hand in yours to begin an faultless sway, you guessed this did seem like more of his kind of music, “…You need not be so formal with me.” “In a few minutes that’s exactly what I will have to be.” “Why?” “Because that’s who you are…” “But to you I don’t have to be. Not outside…” Your lips parted as your eyes flicked between his, “Subtly ironic…” “Mmm Hmm…” Emmett was serious. He was talking about dating. He was talking about real relationships. You & him. Not just a crush… “MM hmmm…” You looked away from his gently blue eyes, biting your lip, and could feel the blush raising on your cheeks instead. The song finished and he stepped away from you with a gentle bow. “Thank you.” “For dancing with you?” Your returned his bow with a beautiful beaming smile “…No, Emmett, thank you for coming...!” “It was nothing…” “To me, it was everything…” you let your hand slip from his, but the smile remained. “We should do this again.” “Yes…” He ran a hand through his hair; “And more than once.” “You asking me on a date?” He laughed, bashfully, “I think so…” “Multiple dates!?” you clarified. That laugh turned to a grin, aimed more at the floor than you; “…Yes. I guess…” You nodded in acceptance; “I suppose I should say I can’t wait to see you on the dance floor again?” You got to hear that gorgeous laugh from him again; “...My sentiments exactly!”

---

@dennismitchell @happyskywhale @wltz-bby #MendoTagSquad. 

[split-n-splice]

Last part to Distance! Now to procrastinate making a new banner for the next arc... pfft

[Chapter Guide]

12. Distance – 5

Drakken lay blinking up at the figure above him surrounded by a halo of light. But she was no angel. She was a far cry from angel. As he gawped up at her, he came to the very sudden and very shocking realization that he couldn’t breathe. There was something very wrong with him – and that damn demon had done it. She’d taken his breath away – literally.

She had some nerve to smile and laugh, even as she reached down to pull him up by an arm, sitting him upright. He made a weak attempt to shove her away as he fought against a paralyzed diaphragm to draw in air. Horrendous wheezes coming from himself drowned out whatever words of ridicule or support she spared as she rubbed his back.

She’d hit him – hard – but maybe he deserved it. He deserved it for the smack he’d given her in the garage last week. Just maybe not so hard as to debilitate him.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t brought it upon himself though. “Are you going easy on me?” had been a slip of the tongue, but it was a serious question regardless of however teasing it came out. He’d known the answer though. She’d worked at a more intensive pace with the henchmen yesterday, and he was beginning to feel shamefully inferior. Until that point, she’d thrown halfhearted blows with next to zero force behind them in a lesson on blocking, moving just slow enough he could react after she’d explained what to expect and how to respond. Clearly it had been the wrong thing to say because she suddenly struck him in the middle with a jab like a viper to remind him what a real punch was like.

At least she hadn’t given him a black eye or bloody nose or split his lip, which had only just healed from last week’s robot mutiny. He was still thoroughly humiliated as he hung his head between his knees and heaved for air. He tried to ignore her crouched next to him as she reigned in her giggle fit.

No sooner was he breathing steadily again did Shego give him a rough pat between the shoulders. She hopped up, grappling at his arms to pull him up along with her. “C’mon, big guy, it’s not that bad. On your feet,” she said through stifled chuckles.

Drakken rubbed his sternum as he rose, blinking against the haze. “Glasses—?” he managed to grumble, trying not to look toward the shape of black-painted lips parted to flash pearly whites. Of course his glasses were pushed up atop his head, and of course she’d reach over to push them down because she’d been the one to push them up for safe keeping while he’d bellyached on the floor.

He glared back at her cheeky smile and jerked away the arm she’d been hanging onto.

Having the wind knocked out of him should have been a clue to call it quits. He didn’t know why he gave in to her goading to continue. Resuming the practice and letting her put her hands on him to instruct him on self defense was a big mistake from the get-go, but he didn’t learn his lesson.

He’d been knocked on his butt enough for one day, and even if there was a padded mat below him, it wasn’t padded enough. Drakken began to wonder if she was keeping tally of how many times she could take him down. He’d lost count himself. He just considered himself lucky she didn’t knock him out cold.

Breathing deep just to be absolutely certain he still could, he stared up at her blurry shape once more. The woman in green and black harlequin uniform knelt down next to him, returning his miraculously-intact glasses to his face for the umpteenth time so he could see her smug smile clearly. He glared past her instead.

It was then he finally noticed the gathering of henchmen lined up on the catwalk above, and he blanched as Shego twisted to look back herself.

Only two henchmen had been summoned to the gym this morning to sharpen their skills with Shego, yet the whole damn crew had come to spectate. They were chattering lowly among each other, passing cash, blatantly taking bets – on what, Drakken wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to know. Probably on how many times he fell.

He bolted upright so fast he nearly knocked into the superhuman leaning over him. He checked his watch – it was five till ten – the henchmen were early. And he had the sneaking suspicion they’d been there a while. Long enough to see him flattened one last time, anyway. Somehow that was worse than having the wind knocked out of him.

“Why didn’t you tell me they were there?” he growled over, tucking in his shirt neatly even though he’d be changing it in a few minutes anyway. Force of habit. He caught her sidestepping away, her face flushing a funny shade as she fidgeted behind her back, but the best answer she gave was a shrug to suggest their arrival was news to her too.

Drakken turned his glare up to the henchmen, barking at them to quit standing around and get to work. The two assigned to Shego came forth while the rest of the group split off to the workout equipment. He was conflicted between sticking around to oversee the session and hurrying off to avoid the peer pressure of watching his employees getting daily exercise he so regularly skipped out on. There was no reason for them to all be here, all at once, and he had the queasy feeling it was Shego that lured them to the gym.

But Shego was a skilled fighter. She could handle herself – she’d made that abundantly clear, both to him, and to the whole henchcrew. Worrying about leaving her to them made no sense when her knack for fighting played such a considerable role in why he’d hired her in the first place. They were no match for her. If anything, he should be worried for his crew.

With that in mind, he tried to leave her to it. He changed out of his sweats and T-shirt and tried to unravel scrolls of paper to work on blueprints to fill a custom order, but his mind kept straying from the unfinished page in front of him. He slumped over his lab desk and scratched behind his ear with the pencil, his knee bouncing away anxiously.

This morning, he’d made a point to park out front of her apartment a full hour before she was due to show up at the lair. He’d been just in time, because the civilian Shilo appeared a couple minutes later with her bag of gear. He’d had to honk the horn to catch her attention, because she almost hadn’t noticed him, but he’d seen her breathe a sigh of relief as she turned away from the bus stop down the street to climb into his van instead. He’d suggested grabbing breakfast at the Cow-n-Chow, but she’d vetoed it, reminding him of their arrangement by graciously informing him he’d puke if he ate beforehand. He hadn’t taken her courteous warning seriously then, but he didn’t doubt it now.

Skipping breakfast thanks to her was the only reason he found himself in the kitchen rifling through the cabinets. In the back of his head, he could practically hear his mother’s nagging voice telling him to make a proper breakfast of bacon and eggs and all the works, but he tuned it out, especially when the phantom voice insisted he be a good host and fix enough for a guest.

Popcorn was not a balanced meal.

Popcorn did not need to come with him to the gym.

But it did, and he stood on the catwalk, leaning on the rail and munching away at salty buttery puffs as he watched Shego at work. After a short while, he became aware of chatter behind him, and cast a glance back to the array of equipment the rest of the sweaty henchmen were taking a break from.

He caught one nod up at him as they chuckled amongst themselves, and he straightened up and turned his stare sharply back down to the matted corner where Shego had been tutoring the two newcomers.

But she wasn’t there – she’d already crossed the gym and was climbing the stairs in long strides.

Suddenly his mouth was too dry to even grunt a greeting as he watched her make a beeline straight for him, and she paused just in front of him, if only to snatch the bag of popcorn from his hands. The collar of her uniform was unbuttoned and unzipped enough to expose her throat, and for a fleeting moment Drakken was inclined to shoot a suspicious glare down to the two henchmen plopping down to rest. But Shego tugged the collar open further, her chest heaving, and he saw the sweat on her brow and glitter of green fire over her skin and realized she was simply overheating.

She nodded to the door and strode off with his bag of popcorn. He followed, but didn’t take the bag back from her as she filled him in on how promising or hopeless the dropouts were. She’d snacked through a good portion of it by the time they reached her room, at which point she passed the bag of cold popcorn back and asked if she was done for the day.

He wanted to say no. He didn’t forget that this was Sunday, that she’d be busy all morning and then some tomorrow, as she would every day for the rest of the week. But it would be a little on the absurd side to order her to continue exerting herself on a weekend after earning a day off. He checked his watch needlessly, confirming it wasn’t quite noon yet, and gave her a nod.

Before she ducked into her room, she wondered, “You gonna give me a ride back to town?”

“Sure,” he answered a little too quickly.

She gave him a small smile in a halfhearted show of appreciation, and disappeared inside.

Drakken made a point to drive slowly on the ride in. Broaching the subject of a schedule was disheartening in some way. More formal than he would have liked, maybe, but it had to be done if he wanted to see more of her than a few hours here and there whenever she decided she was bored enough to make the trek to the lair.

By the time he dropped her off at the local library, they’d come to an agreement. It worked in his favor that her apartment didn’t have the luxury of air conditioning, because that was the excuse she gave for agreeing to come to the lair in the afternoons to work with the boys for a couple of hours.

Drakken had no qualms with taking a break from the lab to personally make the trip to town every weekday afternoon. It was good to get out for fresh air to clear his head anyway, so he told himself.

He didn’t dare set foot in Buckley’s Brew that first week. Thankfully the civilian Shilo could be found waiting faithfully for him behind the shop, puffing away at a cigarette more often than not. She’d roll her eyes and snuff it out when she saw him coming.

Over the next few days, he diligently oversaw Shego’s mentoring sessions from the catwalk, though he had the courtesy not to bring popcorn to watch the show. It was still a tempting thought nonetheless, but one he resisted. The men were all business, to his relief, and Shego had more self-control than he would have guessed. He’d been worried for nothing.

After training, she’d spend an hour either on his couch in front of the television, or in a spare chair nearby while he worked on his blueprints and began applying them to prototype instruments of torture as the henchmen gradually supplied the parts.

Friday, she voiced her satisfaction with the progress of the henchmen she was tutoring as she met him up on the catwalk. It brought a smile to Drakken’s face – he was sure he’d seen improvement, but he was no expert. He expected her to follow him at a distance to the lab as she had the past few days, but instead she skipped ahead a few paces and walked backwards as she questioned him about Friday night plans, which he had to shake his head and dismiss. He was too busy to be thinking about Friday night merriment.

“You should really get out,” she said in a chiding manner, swinging around to fall into step beside him. “And I don’t mean grocery shopping. You can do that tomorrow.”

“I’m not being your getaway driver so you can rob a 24-Seven, or whatever you have in mind,” Drakken sighed.

“I wasn’t gonna rob anything,” she scoffed. It was hard to believe her when she gave a small laugh, especially when she shrugged and added, “Well, not really. Unless you’re down to dine and dash.”

“Pass.” He didn’t need to be banned from more businesses than he already was.

She was quiet for a moment too long, and he made the mistake of glancing over to see her chewing a nail and watching the floor in a way he’d come to recognize as meaning she was thinking. He snapped his head to stare straight down the hall again when she looked up at him and said, “You have to take me home anyway, so we might as well stop for Chow.”

“Actually I was going to ask Lux to take you,” he lied. It was reflex. It shouldn’t have been reflex. He regretted it almost as soon as he said it, but going back on his word was almost as bad.

“Fine,” she chimed, taking a swift step ahead of him. “Lux works. Goodness knows he’s a junk-food junkie.”

Drakken knew it was reverse psychology. She wasn’t fooling him. Yet he threw his hands in the air anyway, letting out a noise of exasperation as he quickly stalked forward to cut her off on the way into his office. He gave himself half an hour to get the henchmen sent off for the weekend before she was done with her post-workout grooming.

It was pushing it, but when she came trotting back down into the office to ask about her ride, he shrugged and deposited a folder into a filing cabinet. The henchmen weren’t all gone-gone, but they were officially off duty and therefore out of his control.

She snorted and turned on her heel, calling from the stairwell, “Fine. I’ll walk.”

Drakken hesitated behind his desk before hurrying after her. If he wanted to stay in her good favor, then effort on his part had to be made. He’d taken her home – or at least to the library – every night this week, and there was no reason to make the exception now.

Cow-n-Chow was out of the question. She complained as he drove past it, but hummed in consideration when they pulled into a bar and grill instead, only to groan loudly when she saw the karaoke sign in the window. No sooner had they climbed out did a red Beetle pull up alongside the van, and henchmen in casual attire greeted Drakken amicably as they piled out of the clown car. It came as a genuine surprise to him, and maybe not an agreeable one.

Cow-n-Chow down the street was looking a lot more appealing suddenly.

At the first sign of second thoughts, Shego – Shilo – grabbed his arm and tugged him along, smiling wickedly and reminding him, “This was your idea, Doc.”

So it wasn’t just the two of them, but half the henchcrew too. Big deal. She still sat next to him. And when he went up on the platform to take the spotlight, he still had her full attention. Unfortunately for him, she had his as well. She looked him dead in the eye from across the room as she plucked a chicken strip from his platter to munch on. He’d stuttered and slurred a couple lines, but he still earned a few claps for his rendition of Bad Moon Rising, just not from her.

He didn’t feel particularly dignified as he tripped down the stairs either, though that was on him for foolishly glaring at her rather than watching where he was going. His ego was taking a beating lately with her around. Judging by her look, he braced for her to grind salt into the wound, but instead she gave his shoulder a light thump with the back of her hand and rolled her eyes, nonchalantly complimenting, “Alright, that was pretty good.”

She excused herself to use the restroom then, and that was the last he saw of her until Monday afternoon.

She was found smoking behind Buckley’s Brew again, only this time she was chatting with a gal, one of Buckley’s henchgirl apprentices. Making friends wasn’t something he himself had been especially good at, but it was nice to see her give a hearty laugh at some joke and playfully shove her smoking buddy before Drakken ruined the moment with a beep of the horn. Her smile fell when she saw him – he shouldn’t have hated that as much as he did – but she waved goodbye to her coworker and came sauntering over to him nonetheless.

He didn’t linger as long in the gym to supervise that afternoon. He spent less time there on the catwalk the next day, but it was the same old dance as he’d been watching all of last week. He didn’t particularly want to be on the receiving end of her strikes, but he didn’t want to hover with an unreasonable growing envy of the henchmen either.

He had work to do in the lab anyway. She’d come and take her turn to hover soon enough.

At least, until Thursday came, and she didn’t pop up in his lab after the training session. He was determined to not notice, determined to focus on the special order. But after some time of building the framework and upholstering a seat in red leather, he yawned and checked his watch and realized it was nearing midnight and she’d never come around to ask him for a ride home. If he’d hoped to find her on his couch, he was disappointed, but he supposed he deserved her unannounced departure for not speaking a word to her since waving her off to train the henchmen earlier.

She wasn’t waiting for him behind the café on Friday afternoon. But he waited for her, no matter how impatient he was. He even risked venturing into Buckley’s to see if she was still working the counter, but when he asked about their coworker Shilo, the baristas there smiled nastily and feigned ignorance. He didn’t waste any more time there and left without ordering, although in hindsight doing so and tipping may have gotten him better answers.

He was completely caught off guard when Shego showed up in his lab hours later, startling him with the announcement, “Sorry I’m late. I caught a matinee.” It wasn’t a particularly heartfelt apology.

There was no reason for those words to wound him, but they struck him nonetheless. It stung he wasn’t invited after she’d been pestering him about getting out on Fridays all this time. But he knew if he complained, she’d just shoot him down with something along the lines of, “You wouldn’t have gone anyway.”

Just thinking about it, he twisted a bolt too carelessly with too much force. The wrench lost its grip and a pop in the face had him instantly too distracted to give Shego a proper greeting or complain about the exclusion. He had a bloody nose to tend to, and her laughter to run away from.