#they ARE 100% down to chuck and hit shit at each other. they deserve this

[un-pearable]

things ninjago needs (non-comprehensive list):

- baseball episode

[xpeachesncream]

off the grid | six

summary: it was as simple as swapping places with a stranger from across the world to get away from everything back home. that is - until you meet Jimin. things become more complicated as he unfolds a new chapter in your life that you were initially trying to avoid.

pairing: reader x pjm

genre: post-college au, christmas/holiday au | angst, fluff, smut (to come)

words: 3.7k

chapter warnings: smut chapter! unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, fingering, oral (f. receiving), slight dirty talk, cussing, possible inaccurate depiction of transportation, events and whereabouts in South Korea since i only did my research thru the internet, fluff

notes: will be wrapping this up in the next few chapters!

> series masterlist <

Jimin was going to be busy for majority of the day with his parents, which left you feeling a little sad. But, you knew he had to do what he had to do and he had offered to come by and spend time with you tonight. As you were about to head out and explore on your own with the tips he had given you, a call from an unknown number popped up on your screen.

"Hello?"

"Y/N!" Jungkook's voice came through on the other line. "I hope you don't mind, I asked Jimin for your number not too long ago."

"No, you're good." You chuckled. "What's up?"

"Wanna hang out with me and Tae? We're gonna head to Common Ground."

"Sure!"

"Sick!" He exclaims. "I'll send you our address. Do you think you'll be okay heading over?"

"Yeah, I got it." You responded, remembering Jimin's directions to his place in the event you ever needed anything.

"Okay, just let me know if you get lost and I'll come find you." You chuckled before responding with a simple 'okay' to end the call. You were confident in your memory of the directions, which led you to their place in a matter of minutes. They didn't live too far from Yana, and you remember Jimin saying so since Yana doesn't drive and would simply take public transportation to and from places.

Upon your arrival at their apartment, Taehyung was cleaning up in the kitchen while Jungkook was throwing on a jacket. Jungkook gave you a little tour of their apartment, which was surprisingly clean and smelled of vanilla birchwood. Sooner or later, the three of you were off into town to visit Common Ground, which was considered Korea's first cultural space that was made out of shipping containers. The view and the entirety of it was pretty neat, and you kind of wished Jimin was here, but Jungkook and Taehyung were just as great of travel buddies. They talked a lot about their hometowns and what it was like moving to Seoul, plus how they truly value Korea and it's culture. You were coming to learn what a truly spectacular and beautiful place it was, and it was even more refreshing to hear from the boys themselves how much they loved being from Korea.

After navigating through the crowds and having spent more money on souvenirs and clothes, the three of you decided to eat up and grab some grub. For a minute, you lost Jungkook because he ran into some people he knew, leaving you and Taehyung to eat together.

"This place is neat isn't it?"

"Yeah, it's really cool. Thanks for taking me along." He nodded as his lips poked out while eating his food. You thought it was the most adorable thing.

"You know, Jimin's been really happy since you guys started spending a lot of time together."

"Oh yeah?" You giggled. Yes, Taehyung. Expose him.

"It's actually really nice to see." He chuckled. You knew him and Taehyung had known each other the longest out of their group, but he still held a very tight relationship with Jungkook, Hoseok and Jin. "He's always been the one to take care of people. I just wanna see him happy. He does a lot for the people he cares about."

"I know, he's really the sweetest person I've ever met. He's an angel."

"He was really destroyed over his ex." You continued to listen. "He loved her, a lot. He did everything for her and sacrificed a lot to keep her happy. But she couldn't reciprocate it 100% and that killed him time and time again."

"How long ago was that?"

"About a year ago? Even then, he tried not to have any bad blood with her after she had mistreated him. He has a good heart and mind. He deserves someone good who can take care of him." Your stomach fluttered with the countless butterflies, but most of the happiness you felt, also turned into anxiety. The days were counting down and you wouldn't be here for much longer. "He really, really likes you Y/N."

"I-I do, too. But-" Taehyung looked over at you, concerned. "I'm not going to be here for much longer." You shrugged. "It really sucks."

"Why don't you stay for a little more?"

"Work. My life is back in LA." He nodded. As much as it hurt you to say that, it was true. You wished it was easy to pick up your things and move around the world, but part of you felt silly for even thinking that over a holiday-solo-vacation love story.

"It's gonna be hard, but I honestly don't think Jimin cares. I think he'd make this work with you."

"But is that fair to him? Our time difference and-and, who knows when I'll get to physically see him again? Hearing what he went through.. what if I can't give him what he deserves?"

"I know all of it sounds like a mess and like it would never work, but don't you think you two meant for a reason?" He wasn't trying to be Jimin's right-hand at the moment, he was doing this because he truly could see how the both of you genuinely felt for each other. He hadn't seen Jimin have this glow, this type of genuine happiness to him in a long, long time.

"I don't know, I guess I'm just scared, and I would never want to put Jimin through anything he doesn't deserve."

"I get you." He replies. "But I do hope you know how much he cares about you. Like, I'm really not doing this because he's my bestfriend and all." He laughed. "But because I want to see the both of you happy."

"Thank you." You smiled at him toothlessly, the thoughts now flooding your head. All you wanted to do at this point was run into Jimin's arms and never let go. It would be your new safe haven. All you wanted was Jimin.

The rest of the day with Taehyung and (finally, again) Jungkook was chill, as you grabbed some desserts and played around at a nearby park before heading home to rest. You felt a sudden wave of exhaustion hit you, so you took a quick shower, threw on an oversized tee and shorts before retreating to the bed for a nice, late afternoon nap. You quickly texted Jimin that you'd leave the door unlocked so he could just walk in case you were deadass knocked out and couldn't hear the knocks or phone ringing.

Jimin had been helping his parents do a ton of revamping at their café, while also holding down the fort and doing what he can to help during peak hours. He was exhausted, nonetheless, but was excited to see you. He jetted off to the loft with food from the café to for some dinner, all while chuckling at the text you sent, wondering what the hell Jungkook and Taehyung had put you through today to knock you the hell out.

"Y/N?" He calls out softly. No response. He gently shuts the door and chucks his shoes to the side befofe laying the food out on the kitchen counter. It's peacefully quiet, even as Jimin climbs up the steps to the bedroom area. He smiles to himself as he sees you deep into the duvet covers, sleeping deeply like a baby longing for their afternoon nap. He sits on the edge of the bed, his fingers brushing through your hair, thumb softly caressing your cheek. You slowly open your eyes and smile, immediately sitting up to throw your arms around him. He laughs into your hug, pulling you in closer and running his hands down your back.

"Miss me?"

"I did."

"Aw." He chuckled. "Come here." He cups your cheeks and places a kiss on your lips.

"What a nice way to wake up."

"Yeah? What did TaeTae and Kookie do to you today?"

"Nothing, we just walked around Common Ground." He nodded.

"That's it?"

"We may have played around at a nearby park before going home."

"There it is." He laughed. "Are you hungry?"

"Starving, actually." You stretched.

"I brought some food from the café. Mom said I better feed you well." You chuckled.

"She's the sweetest." He had quickly brought you over to the café the other day, his mom and dad being the sweetest, and most loving people you have ever come across. You could immediately tell where Yana and Jimin got their mannerisms from. His mom couldn't stop holding onto you and telling Jimin how pretty you were, almost like she was telepathically communicating with her son and telling him to stop fucking around and get with it. You couldn't help but giggle at the look on her face.

"Come on." He nodded for you to follow him downstairs. He had paninis laid out, freshly toasted, with chips and more dessert. You pushed the coffee table in the living room forward a bit so that you both could sit on the floor and enjoy a good movie while eating the food. He had asked you more about your day and if Taehyung or Jungkookie had talked shit about him while you guys were out. You couldn't help but chuckle, remembering the serious conversation you and Tae had.

"Mm, actually," You finished up your sandwich and quickly washed your hands before heading back to the living room area. "Me and Taehyung had a pretty serious talk."

"About?"

"You, what else?"

"God, what did he say?"

"Nothing." You laughed, seeing his facial expression change.

"You can't say that you had a serious talk then not talk about it."

"Aw, is someone upset?" He pouted.

"Yeah, cause I'd like to know and I thought you cared about me." He dramatically responded. "I see that you don't, since you'd rather keep me hanging on a string like this."

"You're so dramatic, Park." You pinched his side, making him laugh. His laugh was certainly becoming a weakness for you. "He just told me that you've been really happy since we've been spending time together." He nodded.

"I mean, he isn't wrong."

"He also said that you really cared about me." You looked at him blankly, trying to read his expression and body language. He smiled at you, his cheeks getting hot and rosy.

"He also isn't wrong there."

"Taehyung really knows you, then."

"Since high school." He shrugs.

"That's about it, though." You spared him the rest of the details being that you really didn't wanna spoil the evening with such sad and negative thoughts about how your time was coming to an end here. Frankly though, you knew you had to deal with it sooner or later. That talk was coming either way.

"Hm." He says, pushing the coffee table up more towards the tv and throwing a blanket over both of your legs. He silently swung his arm over your shoulder and kept watching the movie on the tv. It was awhile before he broke the silence again with a sigh, his eyes still glued ahead of him. "I really like you, Y/N. I like you a lot. It's a little scary, but you don't know how much you drive me crazy with everything you do."

You held onto his hand that was hanging loosely from your shoulder and looked over at him. "I really like you too." At this point, you feel his eyes on you. They linger from your eyes, down to your lips and back up to your eyes.

"Then will you let me take care of you?" All self-control had gone out the window after seeing the look in his eyes. It was full of passion and lust, but nothing dark. He just wanted to be close to you and make you happy. He cared, and he wanted you to see that.

"Yes." You say breathily as his face edged closer to yours. He cupped your face with his free hand, instantly pressing a kiss onto your lips. The kiss began to deepen quickly, with Jimin tracing your bottom lip with his tongue, asking for entrance. You gladly let him proceed as your hand rests against his jawline. You took the initiative to pull yourself onto his lap and straddle him, your breathing slightly hitching when you feel his hardened member through his grey sweats. Your tongues are beautifully dancing around as he holds you tightly while you grind your hips against his.

"Hey, wait. Are you sure about this?" He pulls away, knowing the moment is intensifying by the minute. "You know I wanna do right by you, Y/N. I don't wanna do anything you aren't comfortable with."

"I'm sure. I want this. I want you." You respond almost at a whisper, your lips slightly grazing his. He simply nods and brings you back with a kiss. You gently palm his member, making him hiss and groan slightly at your touch. You continue to grind your hips onto him, slowly humping him into insanity.

"Fuck Y/N, honestly, you're going to make me cum if you keep moving like that." You chuckled.

"Don't." You plant kisses along his jaw line, watching as he shuts his eyes and tilts his head back. "I'd want you to do it inside me." You whisper in his ear.

"Y-You can't say things like that." He moaned.

"Or what?"

"You're an instigator, you know that? A really cute one." He says as he chuckles and gently lays you back down onto the ground. He whips your shirt and shorts off, quickly unhooking your bra and tossing it aside. His eyes widen at the sight of your exposed breasts. "So fucking pretty." He curses under his breath as he lightly sucks on your neck and around your breasts, before grabbing a nipple in his mouth and toying around with it with his tongue. You grip onto his hair as you slightly arch your back in pleasure. He bites onto his bottom lip before placing a trail of kisses down your stomach and down to your inner thighs before rubbing your covered clit through your soaked panties. He gently presses his lips onto your covered clit, making you yearn for more. "You're so wet."

"J-Jimin." You weakly call out. "Please."

"I got you, baby." He slips down your panties and inserts a digit into your throbbing pussy. You let out a small moan as he pumps his digit in and out of you, before inserting another two, with his thumb circling your clit.

"Ohhhh, fuck!" You squeal as you continue to feel his fingers stretching you out. You feel your wetness dripping out with every pump and covering areas of your inner thighs before Jimin releases his fingers and has you lick them clean. He lets out a small grunt watching your tongue circle and suck onto his fingers. He then latches onto your clit with his mouth. You feel his tongue swipe down your folds, teasing you with an in and out motion. You jut your hips upward but Jimin does a hell of a job preventing you from moving up any higher. You squirm in his grip, feeling your high coming close. "Jimin, fuck! You're gonna make me cum." You see his eyes look up at you, this time, full of lust. He simply nods as he continues to let his tongue suck you dry and explore the insides of you - the sight being enough to tip you over and make you climax. "Jimin!" You yell his name as your body twitches from underneath his grip. He gives your pussy one last lick, causing you to tremble at the sensitivity.

"You're so fucking pretty when you call my name." He says almost at a whisper. "How else can I make you feel good, baby?" He places soft kisses along your neck and jaw. You tug on his pants, causing him to chuckle and toss his shirt and pants off to the side.

"Please."

"Please, what? Use your words, beautiful."

"I want you deep inside of me. I wanna feel you." He bites onto his bottom lip and smirks. You run your hands down his chiseled abs and his V-line, completely in awe of how beautiful this man truly was. He was driving you crazy, everything about him. His eyes, his soft hair, his scent, his body. Good god.

He removes his boxers, making his hardened cock spring out. It was the most beautiful thing you've ever seen - perfectly long and thick, with veins running upward in various places. You pump him a few times, causing him to let out small moans, before placing your thumb on his reddened head to spread the pre-cum around his tip. He lowers his body back down onto you, his member teasing your entrance and gently grazing your folds. He kisses you passionately before you watch him grab his cock and place the head at your entrance. He inches in, lowering his body back down and bringing the blanket over your bodies while watching your eyes roll to the back of your head.

"You okay?"

"Mhm." You let out, your nails already digging onto his back. He kept a steady pace and slowly eased you into it. Your moans became breathy as he picked up the pace, his hands now keeping your legs opened wider for him. "Mmmmff, Jimin." You pleaded. "Just like that."

"Fuck, babygirl. The way you call my name." He quickly tilts his head back before ramming his body into yours as he became a little rough with it. Your thighs were folded up near your stomach as he held it there and continued to thrust in and out of you. With him picking up the pace, you felt yourself about to reach your climax and cum again.

"God, I'm gonna cum." You continued to moan loudly, until you were gripping onto the blankets and your eyes were rolling back once again. He greatly slowed down his pace, letting you ride out your high once more while placing kisses along your breasts and your lips. He wraps his arms around you and brings the blanket over while he sits back against the couch and lets you straddle him once more. The blanket comfortably sits below your waist, your eyes locked with his. He simply smiles at you, tucking a strand behind your ear and caresses your cheek. You gently and slowly ride him as you lean into his hand and place a kiss on his palm. His hands drop down to your waist, gripping onto them as you kept a steady pace while resting your hands on the couch behind him. You pick up your pace as you watch him squirm underneath you. He begins to call out your name, his hisses and groans accompanying the sound of your wet pussy riding him into the sunset.

"Y/N, fuck. Y-You're gonna make me cum." He tilted his head back, his hands losing grip around your hips as you rode his cock faster. "L-like that." He stutters. "Ugh, god." He hisses. You can tell he's about to let go with the way he's holding back his moans.

"J-Jimin, hmmmmph." You tilt your head back as you feel yourself about to cum for the third time tonight. "Please cum with me." You plead as your moans get louder.

"Oh shit, I'm gonna cum." He spits out as his fingers deep into your hips. You feel him fill you up completely as you ride out the rest of your high, Jimin's head now resting against your chest as you hold him close. You both stay in the position for awhile to catch your breath. After a moment, he looks up to meet your eyes and smiles, kissing you on the lips before helping you off his lap. He helps clean you up a bit before cleaning himself up and throwing his shirt and sweats back on. You fix the blanket onto the floor and drag some pillows down from the couch so you could lay on your stomach somewhat comfortably on the floor.

"You don't wanna get up to the bed?" Jimin laughed as he kneeled and rubbed your back.

"No, I'm too comfortable now."

"That good, huh?"

"Shut up, Jimin. Leave me alone." He laughed louder.

"I'll go grab another blanket." He says, going into the storage closet to grab another thick blanket to drape over your bodies. He lays next to you, his back resting against the couch as he propped his elbow up and rested his head on his hand. He continued to rub your back as you both looked over at the TV, the movie now nearing the end.

"I have to rewind the movie." You pouted, making Jimin chuckle.

"Go ahead." He watched as you flipped the remote up and brought the movie back to the last place you remembered seeing. You sunk your body into Jimin's, his lips lightly pressing on your head. Not even 5 minutes back into the movie, you felt your eyes getting heavy.

"Ah, I'm getting so sleepy though."

"You took a nap earlier. What do you mean?"

"I worked out a lot today." He laughed and lightly tickled you, making you hit his hand away.

"I see that. Go to sleep."

"Are you going to stay?" You mumbled.

"Only if you want me to."

"Of course I do." He smiled. "But what are you going to do?"

"Watch anime or whatever is on Netflix. Don't worry about me."

"Mmkay."

"Goodnight, baby." He whispers in your ear before kissing your cheek. The word baby made the butterflies come back (and the pussy throb, yet again, but you shoved that in the back of your mind because you definitely didn't have energy to go another round, as much as you wanted to).

Jimin watches as you quickly fall asleep, smiling to himself while he continues to play with your hair. He was happy. So happy. More than he's ever felt before and he wasn't sure how you were doing it. He was caught in your spell and he didn't even see it coming. You had him so undone. All he wanted to do was make this work with you and he was willing to, more than you knew. He didn't care about the time difference, he didn't care about your life being back in LA, he just didn't care about anything you've worried about because he believed you were worth it and he was going to put in this effort. You could figure everything else out later, but he just wanted this to be.

Alexa, play: Vibez x Zayn

[lifeinahole27]

CS ff: “Christmas Miss-mas” (au)

Summary: It’s been a year since they saw each other, after the previous year’s disastrous events, but what the two remember is hardly what it seems. One basement, three different events.

Rating: T

A/N: Hiiiii @ouatpost. I feel like you should’ve known it was me from the moment I went “Well, this is going to be laaaaate,” because that’s what I seem to do every damn year. BUT! I have this completed and just in the nick of time for the end of 2020! I hope you enjoy! I had much grander visions for this, but thanks to work (we have a trio of new employees we’re trying to wrangle and it’s uhhhhh not going well at all) and a slew of dumb complications (this morning’s was waking up to a pinched nerve in my neck) I was just happy to be able to get words on the page for you, hopefully in an order that pleases you, with some details you shared that you enjoy reading! It’s not as grand as I wanted, but I do hope it’s still to your liking. <3

Thank you @cssecretsanta2020 for another awesome year, and for knocking me back into my writing. You are a rockstar and deserve so many fruit baskets in gratitude. 

-x-

Christmas Party 2019

As far as parties go, Mary Margaret and David Nolan’s Christmas Party has always been Emma’s favorite. For as long as she’s been a Storybrooke resident, there’s been a party to go to. Back when she was fifteen and freshly adopted by David’s mother, Ruth, the parties were a little different. They drank sparkling grape juice and hung out in the farmhouse’s basement.

That’s where David met Mary Margaret his senior year of high school, where they officially decided to start dating the week after, and where he asked her to marry him four years later.

When Ruth passed away the year after they were married, David moved back into the farmhouse with Mary Margaret, and the two of them began restoring the house. Now, after all these years, the house is exactly what the two of them have always wanted with the recent addition of a nursery for their upcoming child.

What does any of this have to do with Emma? Well, with David as her brother, she’s expected to be at the party every year. She also offered to help with whatever Mary Margaret needed since she’s due next month and she knows the expectant mother is going to go overboard as usual. And while she’s never had the urge or need to cancel in the past, she fervently wishes she could this year.

 For the first time in a year, she’s going to be facing Killian – former best friend, complicated story… the man she thought was the love of her life, if she’s being 100% honest. Her stomach flutters, thinking about how David had casually mentioned Killian was back in town. They’ve done just fine avoiding each other since last year, but with Killian’s own invitation to the party implied, she knows that their streak is likely to end tonight.

In the event that this is the case, Emma has spared no attention to detail for her outfit. She’s strong. She’s independent. And she certainly doesn’t need a man in her life to make it valid. So what if she wants to remind Killian of everything he’s missing out on? The red dress hugs her body, and is probably lower cut than she usually wears around her brother, but she doesn’t care.

Makeup? Perfect. Hair? Flawless. Jewelry? The earrings are from Killian, and she tries to ignore the way that makes her feel as she secures the backing. With one last fluff of her hair and a quick check to make sure she didn’t get lipstick on her teeth, Emma takes a bracing breath and grabs her coat as she walks out of her apartment.

-x-

Alone in a room in Granny’s B&B, Killian stares at his reflection in the bathroom mirror with dread crossing his features. He checks his pocket watch one last time, knowing he has to leave if he’s to make it there fashionably late instead of just plain tardy.

It’s been almost a full year since he saw Emma last.

He can hardly remember a time before that where they went more than a week without seeing each other, not to mention talking or texting every day. For years, the two of them had been inseparable, since the first time they met. He braces himself on the edge of the sink as he thinks about the series of parties they’ve lived through together, looking at himself only once he feels the pain fade from his expression.

While he’s always looked forward to The Nolan Christmas Party in the past, he’s sure Emma wants nothing to do with him after what happened last year. He’s still not sure how exactly he went from total euphoria one moment to losing his best friend, the woman he loves, all in the next moment.

Loves.

Bloody hell, but it’s true. He still loves her with every dark corner of his heart, not that it matters much. Etched into his memory is the look she gave him after… just after.

With one last heavy sigh at the lost moments and memories, Killian checks his reflection for the last time. He looks like shit, as he confirms as he glances over his reflection. At least he went for a haircut and shaved down his beard before tonight. Liam had taken to calling him Chuck, after Tom Hanks’ character on Castaway, and asking him if he’d lost Wilson again.

Right. Time to face the past. He slips on his jacket and heads out the door.

Christmas Party 2015

It’s not every day you meet your equal in the basement of someone else’s house, but that’s how Killian and Emma meet. 

Emma wanders down to the unfinished basement to quietly raid the cookies she knows Mary Margaret didn’t put out and finds a man sitting on the half-finished bar. By next year, Emma’s sure this area, too, will be up and running for the yearly party and she can’t wait.

But back to the stranger sitting in her brother’s basement.

“Hi there,” she says when she hits the bottom step.

His head jerks up and he lurches off the bar, glancing up to look at the door Emma shut behind her. “Bollocks,” he mutters, hanging his head again and dragging himself back to where he’d been sitting.

“What’s going on?” Emma asks, looking between the guy she still doesn’t know and the basement door. Was he waiting for someone else? Disappointed that it’s not another woman that wandered down here? Or man? She doesn’t know what he’s into, but far be it for her to judge.

“Welcome to the basement party. Population is now two, and you are also stuck down here.” He’s brooding, clearly, but he has to be lying.

Emma jogs back up the stairs and tries the door, surprised to find that the handle doesn’t budge. It’s locked. How is it locked? Why is it locked?

“David!” Emma yells out as she bangs on the door. “David, the door is locked!”

“He won’t hear you,” the man says from the bottom of the staircase. “The speaker seems to be precisely in a location that’s drowning out all sound from the door. And there’s too many people moving around for anyone to hear the ruckus I’ve been making against the ceiling for the last half hour.”

“Fuck. You’re not kidding?”

“Nope.”

“Great.”

“Aye. Well, nice to meet you, lass. I’m Killian Jones. I tagged along with Will.” He jumps off the bar again to hold out his hand to her.

“Emma Swan. Sister of the host. And apparently locked down in my brother’s basement with a complete stranger.”

“You can’t call us complete strangers if we already know each other’s names.” 

“That’s flimsy logic, and you know it,” Emma says, crossing her arms after extracting her hand from his. He’s flirting with her? At a time like this?

“Ah, but now we’ve got time to get acquainted, it seems,” he says, holding out his arms to indicate the empty space they’re occupying.

She should be disappointed about missing the party, but it’s quickly obvious that all the good food is stashed down here, as are all of Emma’s favorite cookies. And while the bar and surrounding basement might not be finished yet, there’s a good selection of wine and beer already in stock. And, if she’s being honest with herself, he’s certainly nice to look at. She’s curious to see if the personality matches the looks.

Emma finds the cushions for the outdoor furniture and throws them on the floor as she and Killian graze the offerings like a picnic. They pass the time by talking shit about the people they don’t like at the party, and she’s surprised by how easily she gets along with him already.

As the time ticks by, she finds herself laughing, enjoying herself more than if she’d been upstairs getting shitfaced and avoiding said people she doesn’t like.

The music cuts out at 11pm, and while it would be the perfect opportunity for either one of the trapped guests to make noise to get rescued, both of them are fast asleep, stretched out on cushions with Killian’s suit jacket draped over Emma’s shoulders.

At 11:30pm when the last guests finally head out, David heads to the basement to get a fresh box of trash bags and finds Emma asleep with a man he only briefly met at the start of the party.

“Emma?”

She startles awake, sitting up and blinking at David in confusion.

“What are you doing down here?” he asks, noticing that Killian is still out solid.

“Killian and I got locked down here. Your door sucks,” Emma grumbles, just avoiding rubbing her eyes so she doesn’t smear her makeup. “Killian. Hey. Wake up.” With a few shoves of his shoulder, Emma rouses her companion. “David, I’m staying in the guest room. And you’re out of Malbec.”

“Noted,” David says, still very befuddled with everything going on. “Killian? Do you need to crash here for the night? I know you arrived with Will but he left with Belle over an hour ago.”

“I don’t want to impose,” Killian says, sounding more alert than Emma would’ve expected after how fast asleep he was.

“You’re not,” she tells him. “I’ll give you a ride home in the morning.”

It’s this, more than anything, which makes David raise his eyebrows in surprise. He hasn’t seen Emma take this fast to anyone… almost ever. Here she is falling asleep near and offering a ride to someone David knows by reputation alone. (Said reputation is a mixed bag from some questionable sources, so he will do his best to reserve judgement despite his protective instincts firing up.)

Even as David helps Killian get settled on the couch, Emma is puttering around with a blanket and pillow, explaining where everything is if Killian should need it. When David and Emma get upstairs to the entrance to both his bedroom (a single glance shows Mary Margaret face-down on the bed without even changing) and the guest room, he goes to ask the obvious, but Emma just smiles.

“Goodnight, David. Go tend to your wife,” she says with an affectionate smile. She hugs him and walks into the room, closing the door behind her.

What on Earth just happened? he wonders. 

Christmas Party 2019

 Getting to the Nolan household early means more than just helping set everything up. It also means getting to spend time with her sister-in-law before the chaos of the party begins. 

Emma heads straight to the office on the first floor and hangs her coat on the rolling rack they have specifically for this purpose. She takes a deep breath and goes to find Mary Margaret to get the other woman off her feet as much as possible.

As they finish the party preparations, Emma happily listens to the town gossip and the baby updates.

“You know Killian will be here tonight, right?” Mary Margaret’s question is tentative. She doesn’t really know what happened between the two of them, but she’s never pushed. Emma is pretty sure she knows the depth of Emma’s feelings for Killian, so the fact that she a) never told him (notoriously bad secret-keeper that she is) and b) never harassed Emma for any information she didn’t willingly give has been a huge relief.

“I thought I’d heard that rumor,” Emma says, trying to keep her voice calm and even. She can do this. She can come face to face with the man she loves… Loved? She stops herself from sighing, not even sure if she managed to shuffle that into the past tense.

“I just wanted you to be prepared,” Mary Margaret says, still doing her best not to pry even though Emma can hear that note in her voice that screams of curiosity.

Emma just smiles, shaking her head and putting the finishing touches on the charcuterie board she’s been painstakingly assembling. “How’s that?” she asks when she’s done, taking a picture of the whole butcher’s block and going to show her so Mary Margaret doesn’t have to get up.

“Perfect. You know, in another life you could’ve been a party planner,” the other woman remarks, and Emma chuckles under her breath. 

In another life, that’s what she wanted to do. But somehow, she found her niche in bail bonds, instead, enjoying the hunt a little more than she thought she would. Sure, it takes her away from home sometimes. She’s a member of multiple hotel preferred programs and top tier in all of them at this point. 

There’s something about the chase that’s always thrilled her. It’s something new and exciting at every turn, and there’s something extra satisfying about catching people that otherwise thought they could slip away unnoticed from their bad deeds. 

But thanks to her passion for details specifically at social gatherings, Emma easily plays co-host and makes sure to circulate once the guests start arriving. 

She’s in the office hanging up Ruby’s coat when she turns and runs directly into someone. Someone that smells far too familiar, who feels familiar against where her hands are braced on his chest. Her stomach clenches for multiple reasons and she thinks about running, but something compels her to look up, to meet his eyes. 

“Swan,” he whispers. His hand is on her waist from when they collided, and she can feel the warmth of his skin, longs for the way that hand has touched her with casual intimacy for so many years now. 

“Killian.” Her voice is hoarse all of a sudden, and she swallows in order to continue, to say anything to him, to ask him why. “I can’t… I can’t do this,” she says instead, breaking away and exiting the room as quickly as she can.

-x-

He knew it wouldn’t be easy seeing her again, and had all hopes that he wouldn’t be met with hostility or hatred. Her sad confusion, however, may hurt even more. He doesn’t know how they ended up like this. He still replays last year over and over searching for the details that may unlock her radio silence for a whole bloody year but with how that night played out, he can only assume that what happened was a mistake to her. 

Emma is still the most beautiful woman he’s ever met. No matter where she goes throughout the party, he can catch sight of her glowing and schmoozing. She’s a delight, a natural-born socialite without the reputation of one. 

Multiple times, he finds her near. He doesn’t move when he notices her, too terrified of scaring her off. But sooner or later she realizes he’s close and swiftly finds herself a new task to attend to, thus leaving him lurking and definitely sulking in a corner. 

Halfway through the event, he can’t take it anymore. It’s impossible being in proximity with Emma and not being able to talk to her and interact with her as he used to. Right after the party last year, he got called back to England. His brother, still living in London, had called to alert him of his father’s passing. The next year was an endless battle of selling off the old man’s house and possessions, and also celebrating the birth of Liam’s first child. 

Since he was only able to come back for brief moments, Will had sublet his room in their apartment and Killian would stay at Granny’s when he would come back.

He was in town for Emma’s birthday, but he never saw her, never managed to text her, never heard from her… 

Tonight? It’s obvious that what’s between them will never be fixed. Along with that, he fears his heart may never mend.

Christmas Party 2018

Emma was right - the finished basement is even better than she could’ve imagined. The difference between sitting down here this time and the first time is that she and Killian aren’t stuck. They’re just hiding out for a bit to escape the party. Around them are the remnants of a bottle of rum, a plate of cookies and chocolates, and way more cheesy potatoes than she meant to steal but she panicked. 

“So what are we doing for New Years?” Emma asks as she leans back against the wall behind the bar. Now that the door to the upstairs doesn’t lock, they’ve taken to literally hiding from anyone that might find them. The bar is tall enough that someone would have to come around or lean over it to actually see them which works perfectly fine for her. 

“Whatever your heart desires, love. As long as I get my cheeky kiss at midnight, you know I’m a happy man.”

She smiles, thinking of the previous year’s “cheeky kiss” which was truly a kiss on his cheek. There was no one she wanted to kiss at midnight, and Killian was standing next to her. And she couldn’t very well imagine another year without a New Years kiss so she grabbed his face and planted a bright red lipstick mark on his cheek above his beard. He’d worn that kiss the rest of the night. 

“Yeah, yeah. You’ll get your kiss,” she remarks, turning to do it again but doesn’t anticipate that he’s turning towards her as well, and instead kisses him directly on the lips.

It was probably out of surprise that they sat there for a few seconds like that, lips pressed together. And then he kisses her back. He tastes like rum and chocolate as his tongue slips out to taste her lips, and she can’t help but sigh into the kiss.

His lips feel like she always imagined they would. She’s been curious in the past but what they have is far too precious for her to mess up with sex, so she never made a move. But there have been lonely nights where she pretended that their snuggling during movies was more than platonic, that holding his hand was something real. She’s woken up to his arm around her more times than she can count but the dream always fades by the time he opens his eyes and brings her back to reality.

This, however, is unearthing every desire and wish she’d ever had for what the two of them could become. This is giving her a vivid picture of snowed-in nights and lazy Sunday mornings. Of interrupting Killian’s work at his little desk in the corner of his room to climb into his lap and do her best to distract him. Of making him breakfast at the loft and giving up in order to be pulled into his embrace and tightly held against him. 

As if he can hear her thoughts and is making up for lost time, she feels Killian’s hand snake around her waist to pull her closer, until her legs are thrown over his lap and they’re as close as they can be without her straddling him. The food around them is forgotten; the bottle of rum - thankfully capped - knocked over in their haste.

It’s right when their hands start decidedly less innocent wandering that Emma thinks that they should maybe slow down, especially since they’re still in the basement and the party's still going on above their heads. 

“Wait,” she says, her voice husky as her hand caresses his cheek. He pulls back, as if startled to find that it was her he was making out with the whole time. If she had to label the expression on his face, it would have to be named Panic, and she starts to wonder why that might be. 

“There you are! What are you two doing down here?” David’s voice from over the bar startles them out of the moment entirely. 

Killian scrambles to stand up. “Not a thing, mate. Enjoying your sister’s favorite dish in some peace and quiet.” He at least has the decency to hold out a hand to help her up, but when she’s on her feet he already feels like he’s a million miles away. 

“Emma? You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she says, forcing a smile and extracting her hand out of Killian’s and moving around the bar. “Need help with anything?” 

David starts talking about wine and crackers and Emma moves on autopilot behind him, walking away from Killian and feeling her heart ice over as she does. 

Nothing. It meant nothing to him, she thinks as they climb the stairs and move back to the party. So that’s what she would treat it as. 

She doesn’t turn back to see Killian still bracing himself on the bar, his expression conflicted and longing. 

Two days later, before she could figure out if things were going to go back to normal, she finds out Killian is gone. His few belongings are in the apartment storage and Will is subletting his room. She had dodged all his calls, but the fact that he left without a goodbye was telling enough. 

And just like that, her best friendship and her heart were broken in the same instance. 

Christmas Party 2019

He’s not even sure how long he’s been hidden away in the basement, only that he has no desire to make his way back to the party. Surely, there must be a way for him to sneak out without anyone noticing. It was a mistake to attend tonight.

With intent to do just that, to skulk out without catching attention, Killian moves to stand but promptly halts when he hears footsteps coming down the stairs. He pushes himself closer to the bar to hide in the shadows, willing the intruder to leave as quickly as possible.

He keeps his head tucked down to avoid being noticed, so imagine his surprise when it’s Emma’s voice that reaches his ears. 

“Just had to go and take our hiding spot,” she says quietly, and he lifts his head to see her standing at the opening of the bar, a plate of cookies in one hand, a bowl of cheesy potatoes in the other, and a beer tucked beneath her arm. 

She walks a little closer, stopping at the end of the bar and placing down her bounty before sliding onto the last barstool. 

Taking it as a cue that she’s not going to run from him, Killian stands and rummages in the small fridge for a beer of his own. 

“Not running this time?” He asks as he cracks it open. 

“I’m too tired,” she says, propping her head up with the hand not picking at the cookies. 

He takes a step closer, grabbing her bottle and popping off the cap. 

“Thanks,” she murmurs, and hesitates just a moment more before she’s pushing her plate of cookies towards him. 

They’re silent for a moment, the music just barely reaching their seclusion. 

“You look beautiful tonight, Swan.”

There’s a hint of a smile, but she only dips her head in gratitude as she continues to graze. 

“Listen, love. I still don’t know what’s happened between us, but I have been bloody miserable without you this last year. You add color to my life. Without you it’s been… so grey. So underwhelming. I miss you. Please - I’ll do whatever’s in my power to make things right again, but please let us be friends, at the very least.”

“I’m not nothing,” she responds after another moment. She’s looking him directly in the eyes this time and he sees a world of hurt and sadness there. 

“What?”

“I’m not nothing. Never was. Never will be.”

“Of course you’re not nothing. Why would…”

And then he realizes it. Realizes exactly what he said at a most critical time between them. 

“Oh, fuck me,” he mutters, rubbing his hand over his eyes. “Emma, that’s not what I meant. You most definitely aren’t nothing. You’re everything. You were - still are! - my everything.” 

“Then why did you get so defensive with David?”

“I didn’t want to scare you. I’d finally had you in my arms where I wanted you. I didn’t want you running off.” He winces, giving her a sheepish look. “Which you did anyway, but I promise, love. You misunderstood. I wanted you to have time to process. I didn’t want your brother in our business so soon after that moment.”

“Why didn’t you come back? Why didn’t you try calling me?”

“I did. Before I left. I wanted nothing more than to see you before I went to London. So when you ignored my calls, I figured it was best to leave it at that. It’s why I stayed away so long.”

“I thought you thought it was a mistake. That kissing me was a mistake,” she admits. 

“That kiss was the best bloody idea either of us ever had. It’s everything that came after that should’ve never happened.”

-x-

Hearing Killian admit that kissing her was definitely not a mistake goes a long way in healing Emma’s heart. It’s what helps her ease off the stool and move closer to where he’s standing until she’s right in front of him. 

“Not a mistake?”

“No,” he answers promptly. 

“Neither of us will be running?”

“Nope.”

“Good,” Emma says, closing the final inches between them and kissing him softly. 

At the wrecked noise he makes, she’s lost to it all. What starts as a soft, simple kiss quickly turns heady. Her hands end up along his face and into his hair while his hand is on her lower back, urging her closer. 

“Did you drive?” Emma asks, her hand dropping down to his tie. 

“Aye. And other than this beer I haven’t been drinking.”

“To my place?”

He doesn’t respond with words, instead bending to kiss her again before they come up with their plan to escape. 

In the morning, Emma wakes up to Killian’s arm wrapped around her and everything finally feels like it’s back in place. 

Christmas 2020

For the first time since Emma has lived in Storybrooke, the Nolan Christmas Party is cancelled. 

Instead, everyone boots up their computers or phones, opting for facetime celebrations instead of in-person ones. 

Cooped up in her tiny loft, Emma is just fine with this. A nice little spread of finger foods and cookies is on the coffee table, and Killian collapses next to her, already in his pajamas as she starts the call to David and Mary Margaret.

“Merry Christmas!” the other couple greets while baby Leo babbles happily in David’s lap. 

“Happy Christmas,” Killian greets while Emma gives her own sentiments. She snuggles into his side as the call continues, feeling like she’s right where she’s meant to be.

And this time there’s no basement involved.

[ajokeformur-ray]

I watched Joker tonight and typed out my thoughts as they occurred to me. Unedited; typos are guaranteed. I did this a few months ago and really enjoyed looking back at my thought process and I wanted to do it again so that I can look back and know that what I feel is real and true in my darkest times.

You're welcome to skip this; it's under a cut for ease of doing so. Warnings for occasional sexual comment lmao. There’s no self shipping in this, I don’t think.

word count: 2, 575.

I’M SOBBING and I’ve only just pressed play.

Heart squeeze Chest much ow

THERE HE IS

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Nooooo baby omg don’t pretend - let yourself hurt if it hurts. Don’t pretend. 

Carnival Carnival Carnivalllllllll 😍😍😍😍😍

I am a Simp for one clown and his name is Carnival

Someone help him, I????

That sign hit Arthur as hard as my love for him did ksksksk

MY EYES BE LEAKIN💔💔💔💔💔

bb nooooo

Oh honey let me kiss those bruises and replace the marks of violence with love, hm? You’re safe with me.

Breathe, my love. Don’t fight the laughter. Let it out, let yourself go. 

Screams into a pillow because????? much sad must kiss

“have you been keeping up with your journal?” LIKE HE HAS TIME

oHHHHH boi’s close to losing his shit

Do it, Artie. Give ‘em hell.

“I think I did” YOU TELL HER!!💖💖💖

I want to be his cigarette. Where’s Satan??? I got a new deal for my blackened soul which he took at half price😂😂😂😂

I’d have my hand between the door and his head so fuckin fast I swear

“I just don’t wanna feel so bad anymore” yep SAME

ohhhh peekaboo🥺🥺🥺

this makes me giggle ksksksk i watch this scene when i feel sad bc it always makes me happy for the time it’s on

he’s so good with kids; he doesn’t have to try and think about what’s funny, he just does it, he’s himself and it works

FUCK OFF LADY CAN’T YOU SEE HE’S STRUGGLING????

give

him

back

his

card

casually wrinkling my nose against tears lmao

ohhh the way he looks up at those stairs from the bottom

i can feel his exhaustion

me too, my love

step step step step

god i wanna get him the fuck outta gotham

and into my arms and a soft, warm blanket

“eat. you need to eat” LITERALLY WHAT I TELL MYSELF EVERY DAY IN HIS VOICE BC OTHERWISE I JUST WOULDNT EAT???? I’m losing so much weight asdfghjk its not enough tho

SUPAH RATS

Did Arthur come up w that joke or was it actually a Murray joke????

HIS VOICE IS SO SOFT IM CRY??🥺🥺🥺🥺

“I WAS PUT HERE TO SPREAD JOY AND LAUGHTER”

YOU DO BABY, YOU DO!!!! EVERY FUCKING DAY!!!!

go deepthroat a cactus randall - youre already a bit of a prick so🙃🙃🙃

“THE GUYS THINNK YOU’RE A FREAK BUT I LIKE YOU”

HOYT. YOU CAN GO SIT ON A CACTUS TOO

FUCK OFF

😡😡😡😡

“WHY WOULD ANYONE STEAL A SIGN”//”WHY DOES ANYONE DO ANYTIHNG?” HOYT YOU’RE SO FUCKING ILLOGICAL HERE IM????? ERIKA DOES NOT (ALSO WILL NOT LMAO IM A STUBBORN BIITCH) COMPUTE

Can arthur fuck me like he pounds the trash/????🥵🥵👀

those dark curls.... that crooked tooth... must kiss.🥺🥺🥺

pennys casual cruelty makes me so fucking angry

foreshadowingggggg ~  *JAZZ HANDS*

ugh the way he dances with that gun im👀🥵🥵🥵

he enjoys the power of it and his breathing gets deeper asdfghjk

clumsy baby omggggg i just COOED 🥺🥺🥺🥺

okay maybe im stupid but i genuinely dont understand this “senior who needs to graduate” skit i’m??? how is being an intro to western civ student funny im???? someone explain???

but also dont bc fuck that guy lmao arthur’s hilarious

true millenial humour (and brit humour lmao we’re dark asf)

THE WAY ARTIE TWIRLS HIS FINGERS AROUND HIS HAIR AND DANCES IN HIS SEAT IM???🥺🥺🥺

wanna curl up on his lap at night when hes writing and go to sleep with a 

blanket around our bodies🥺🥺🥺🥺

when arthur wears a shirt at home you KNOW it’s a daydream

THAT CROOKED TOOTH IM WANT KISS.

WAIT IS IT CALLED STAND UP COMEDY BC YOU STAND UP... AND ITS COMEDY???

23 FUCKING YEARS, PEOPLE... TO REALISE THAT🙄

WHEN CARNIVAL CAME ON SCREEN I NTHE HOSPITAL I MADE A PORNOGRAPHIC NOISE LMAO I LOVE HIM SO MUCH

IF YOURE HAPPY AND YOU KNOW IT, SHOOT MURRAY

WOOPS WRONG LYRICS

😂

“doctor of laughter”🥺🥺🥺🥺

doctor i have a case of the Big Sad can you... do an exam? 😉😏

NO BB DONT BEAT YOUR HEAD UP THERES PRECIOUS CARGO IN THERE

in what world does chucking cold greasy chips in a girls hair being “nice”???

lmao fuck these guys

ohhh honey breathe. dont fight it, my love, just breathe.

my heart’s breaking for you, you sweet thing🥺🥺🥺

i love you so so so so so so so much ugh you’re an actual fucking angel

just breathe darling

i need to get you a cup of tea with honey in it, your throat must be so sore

ohhhh baby im so sorry

i’d take every single punch if i could

i’d die for you

i wish i could protect you

i wish i could look after you

and take all those hits

and kill those guys for you

im so sorry

sobbingggg

YES GOOD MAN THANK YOUUU

KILL THOSE ASSHOLES LMAO DESERVED IT

yeah i have a grey morality... im similar to deadpool in that way tbh

carnival comin’ to kill your insecurities

8 bullets in a 6 chamber???? mm-hm

DONT FORGET YOUR BAG THATS EVIDENCE

AND THE WIG

RUN BABY RUNNNNNNN

GO GO GO GOOOOOOOOOOOO

RUN LIKE THE WIND BULLSEYE

THE SOUND OF HIS FEET SLAPPING THE PAVEMENT IM👀

OOOOOH JOKER’S WAKIN’ UUUUUUP

fuck he’s so hypnotic

the way he runs his hand down his lower stomach asdfghj🥵

must kiss the inner tendons on his wrists and lick the blood off his face 

must kiss

he moves like water

fuck hes so fluid

bathroom scene = the scene in which my heart and vagina clench at the same time

im WANT

T POSEEEEEEEE

“i still owe you for that, dont i?”

PUNCH OUT IS MY FAVOURITE THING E  V  E  R

D O N T S M I LE

UGH I FUCKING HATE being told to smile if i don’t fucking want to so BIG mood

PLEASE SHUSH ME THE WAY YOU JUST SHUSHED PENNY IM???

but also dont lmao bc i’ll think you’re mad at me and i’ll hide in the bedroom for the rest of the day lmao i’m sensitive✨✨✨

i wanna sit on his lap and still his bouncing knees

“thats not funny”

fuck off penny yes it is

I JUST CHOKED ON MY COFFEE IM???

“but i do” god the  P O W E R

ugh that fucking sexist piece of shit comedian can choke “women look at sex like buying a car” 🤢🤮🤢🤢🤮

chauvinistic pigs can die thanks

his lil trip upstage im cry🥺🥺🥺

ohhh baby. just breathe, darling. it’s okay to be scared. dont fight it. just breathe. 

he and i both cover our mouths when we laugh/smile in the exact same way and it makes me feel closer to him

how can they think hes laughing at himself when hes literally gagging????

people only see what they wanna

the Penny imitation is👌👌👌

s m i l e

i remember when i came home from seeing this for the first time, i got home and dropped to my knees to cry in the bathroom. it was such an emotional release and so much love and i played smile to try to make myself smile but i only made myself cry harder lmaooooo ~ 

smile and thats life are my go-to songs if i gotta cheer tf up

danger sign = neither works

he looks so soft after his “date”🥺🥺🥺

“thats life” yeah but murray you dont even leave the studio so how do you know????

ngl arthur’s anger scares me.

anyone so much as raise their voice at me and i’ll cry really bad and i will shut myself away for the rest of the day and quiet anger terrifies me so his banging abt in the kitchen would freak me tf out😲

angry bb😭

he controls his anger so fast though omgggg ~ 

that soft please sends me

idk where it sends me lmao

down below probably

BARE FACED CARNIVAL OMG THIS SCENE IS SO CUTE

I LOVE THE MATCHING COLOURS ON ARTHUR AND BRUCE TOO ???

okay but the implication that arthur always carries a clown nose on him is🥺🥺🥺

hes such a good clown im?????

lmao im enjoying the show more than bruce is skskskk

arthur’s lil chuckle makes me🥺

his HUMMING im??? soft?????

his brows are so strong and dark omggg ~ he’s so beautiful

OKAY i’ll be honest i’ve seen this alfred/bruce scene and the thomas bathroom scene later on and the penny flashback scene a 100 times and i still dont fucking understand what did or didnt happen regarding arthur’s parentage im????

 ive seen interpretations to say he is thomas’ son and some to say he isnt and i still cant decide so? im stupid i guess 🙃

“a clown thing?” the  s a s s

“it’s exit only” yeah so’s my ass🙃

if i was there in the hospital room i woulda turned that tv off as soon as i realised what clip was gonna play

murray’s cruelty is d i s g u s t i n g

lmao hes an asshole

arthurs lil clap from joyyyyy ~ 🥺🥺🥺

did i say murray???

i meant  m u r r a t

🙃🙃🙃

sneaky baby

wayne hall either has super bad security or arthurs v quick on his feet

🤔🤔🤔🤔

he looks so good in red omggg ~ 

f o r e s h a d o w i n g

arthurs smile when hes watching chaplin is how he smiles when we all gush to each other abt him and ourselves!!!

hes so cuuuuuute🥺🥺🥺🥺😭😭😍😍😍🥰🥰🥰

“told me what” 

ohhhh honey🥺🥺 im so sorry. “crazy” is a trigger word for arthur; it made him start laughing in the bathroom with thomas

“touch my son again ill fucking kill you” yeah?? touch my arthur again and i’ll fucking kill you🙃🙃🙃🙃

^^^ that ones a joke do not come at me

the clerk in arkham was nice to arthur - he, gary and sophie are the good gothamites.

none of it was enough to stop his descent into joker, though, and i’d even say it was too late right at the beginning of the film, too... 

his sock puppet thingy “they cut all those” is such a Joker thing to doooo ~ 

the way arthur’s laughing in the hall at arkham turns into sobbing is gut-wrenching omg the poor thing😭

i wanna hug him and protect him and help him to process this in a healthy way

sweetheart, if i could take all of your pain and put it onto me... i so would. i’d do it in a heartbeat.

i wanna get you into a hot shower, make you some food and sit and listen to you. we can either sit in silence or you can talk to me, my love, and you will be heard and understood and loved.

“i had a bad day”

IT’S OKAY I DIDNT NEED MY HEART ANYWAY OMG YOU POOR SWEET INNOCENT THING IM LOVE YOU🥺💔

THAT ENTIRE LATE NIGHT SCENE LAUGH/SOBBING GOT ME -

💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔

i just wanna hold you and protect you and help you and love you

I’m so fucking sorry, darling. i wish i could take it all away from you

“i havent been happy one minute of my entire fucking life”

NO ONE SHOULD LOOK THAT ANGELIC AFTER COMMITING MATRICIDE IM????

get

that

fucking

gun

away

from

your

face

boi dont test me ill fucking go feral or - no, tell you what, i’ll point the gun at me and see how you like it

im looking respectfully at the green speckled undies scene....👀👀👀

“coming” 😏😏😏

“my mum died im celebrating” and “i stopped taking my medication” and you STILL stayed in the apartment with Arthur????? dudes those are 🚨🚨🚨 signs

woe betide anyone who underestimates arthur fleck lmaoooo

randalls death scene makes me laugh every time omg i feel so vindictive

get WRECKED

i wanna lick the blood off his face. i really want to

ngl i think i have a blood kink... 

“dont look just go” ME WITH MY ACNE WHEN I SEE IT IN THE MIRROR 😂😂😂😂

JOKERJOKERJOKERJOKER 

ASDFGHJKL

J

O

K

E

R

ERIKA.EXE HAS STOPPED WORKING

JOKERJOKERJOKERJOKERJOKERJOKERJOKERJOKERRRRRR

😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍 MY BABY MY MAN OMG THERE HE IS IM CRY???????😭🥺😭🥺😭🥺

my mind is literally blank rn im just staring and crying and smiling so hard my face hurts????? im love him so so so so much

sweet thing’s so used to pain he gets HIT BY A CAR AND KEEPS GOING????

I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU

hghhhhhhhhhhhhhh

euirrrrrrgkjbgkfbirsghigrbugr

*incoherent keyboardsmash to portray utter love*

ohhh baby no dont cry. oh honey😭 i wanna sit on your lap and kiss your tears away

“i love dr sally”

you have a WIFE at home

“DO YOU REMEMBER?” THAT WAS YOUR CUE TO APOLOGISE LMAO GET FUCKED MURRAT

he’s so CUTE

omgggg ~ 

my hearts gonna give out its SQUEEZING SO HARD IT HURTS

YOU MOCK THEM, BABY!!! THEY GOT IT COMING

“i wanna get it right” hes so passionate

my comments have deceased in number bc im just too starstruck and in love to even think clearly lmao

jokers all i know rn and this is the most peaceful ive felt in WEEKS

im sobbing

ugh fuck this hurts so BAD

youre speaking the truth, darling. im so so proud of you and i love you so much

“THEY COULDNT CARRY A TUNE TO SAVE THEIR LIVES” LMAO INSIDE JOKESSS

literally sobbing right now ugh what the fuck youre in so much pain and in the middle of a breakdown and no one saw you

ugh baby im so sorry, you deserve so much better

you tried so hard and you were gonna fall no matter what

IN THE WHITE ROOM

“hi” baby they cant hear you but im COOING 🥺🥺🥺🥺

you’re so fucking cute

say the word and ill burn gotham to the fucking ground for you

i wanna sit atop that car and cradle your head in my lap and wipe the blood off your face and help you stand up and be there for you and and and😭😭😭😭😭😭 i love you so so so much. 

i’d be so much worse off without you in my life. you brought a splash of colour which has never dimmed or faded. it never will. 

b l o o d    s m i l e

=

im wearing my inside on the outside now and it still hurts

angel💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔

i see you and your pain. i love you.

i see you, angel. 

his genuine laughter is🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

that cute lil “ksksks” he does im🥺🥺🥺

i always laugh with him omg the two of us are laughing together ugh its the closest i will ever get to sharing in his joy

 t h a t ‘s    l i f e

i love the hallway daaaaaaaaaaaaaance ~ 

them hips dont lie😉😉😉

i love you i love you i love you i love you omg the sun’s like a halo ugh i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you im singing along to thats life while i type out how much i love you at 220am lmaooooo ~ 

i   l o v e    y o u

[radramblog]

Top 5 Games, ever...?

This was sort of on my mind, considering the recent GOTY post I made. Come explore the hyperfixations that managed to stick around long enough to be my top 5 list. 

5. Uhhhhhh

So turns out I haven’t figured out what number 5 is yet. I suppose instead I’ve got to split it among the honourable mentions, huh.

Kirby Super Star Ultra is probably the best game from the GBA/DS era of the series and is just a blast to play. It introduced Masked Dedede, and all the banging music and memes that come with it, and probably deserves a spot here just for that.

The Binding of Isaac: Rebirth removes all the awkward Flash Stuff from the excellent original, and adds so, so much more content- the game’s final expansion still isn’t out yet as of writing but even now there’s just so much to unlock. While some aspects of the game can be pretty unforgiving, you probably aren’t going to be exposed to the worst of it unless you get into it pretty hardcore, and if you do, you’ll get used to it. It’s a roguelike, after all.

Speaking of roguelikes, FTL: Faster than Light is chaotic yet serene, brutal but fair, and a bunch of other pretentious dichotomies wrapped into a neat little bow. It takes some getting used to the mechanics, but once you get the hang of it, building your little ship up and up in the face of all odds is extremely satisfying. Have fun dying hopefully not too many times.

SPEAKING of permadeath, Realm of the Mad God gets a spot here just out of sheer hours I’ve spent with it. After a messy few years with a not-so-great owner lead me to dropping the game, it seems finally to have recovered and has devs and community that actually freaking care about it, which is nice. Also, it’s free, and the recent transition to unity has the game looking better and playing smoother than 12-year-old me could ever have dreamed of.

Terraria isn’t just 2D Minecraft btw, its actually more of an RPG/Metroidvania thing, you probably know at this point, but its pretty good hey. Still haven’t fully dove into 1.4 but considering I thought Red was done at 1.1 I’m not complaining with what I have played.

 4. Fallout: New Vegas

(...ish??)

I’d argue that between the primitiveness of the original Fallout games (I’ve tried to get into them, but I just can’t) and how…meh… the other Bethesda ones are, New Vegas is the only one in the series to stand up strong. Obsidian’s excellent writing and tweaks to the gameplay of 3 make New Vegas feel like an actual world, rich and characterised, which was something I found lacking in previous open-world RPGs I’d played up until that point (which admittedly might just have been Skyrim). It’s a game that challenges you to make choices that actually matter for more than the mere moments of an altered dialogue tree, both in dialogue and character building, which helps make the game actually replayable. It is also the first game in a long time that really sold the idea of DLC on me, seeing as each of the game’s 4 expansions adds an entire new region of world with its own stories and unique gameplay, tying together with the main plot but standing on their own. I am excluding Gun Runner’s Arsenal from this for obvious reasons, though it isn’t like GRA is a bad DLC or anything- on the contrary, the sheer scope of modifications and munitions makes playing a repair/science-based character incredibly fulfilling- but it just isn’t at the same scope as the other 4 (Courier’s stash barely counts seeing as its just oops! All preorder bonuses).

New Vegas is one of the few games I have actually 100% completed, achievements and all, but I’m still pretty sure there are bits I’ve missed, paths I haven’t taken, characters I haven’t talked to. Despite its inhospitability, the Mojave is always a comfortable place to return to.

 3. VA-11 Hall-A

(Hey look, my phone background)

Vallhalla is a masterclass in storytelling, atmosphere, and aesthetic. Like all good cyberpunk dystopias, you get themes of class and transhumanism and artificial intelligence, but they aren’t the point of Vallhalla. Through the window and lens of cyberpunk and PC98 nostalgia is focussed a surprisingly human story centred around the protagonist, Jill, which through multiple replays still hits me in the feels just so. Of course, Jill’s story is not the only one being discussed, as every single patron of the bar has their own life going on, and the glimpses we get imply a rich, often interconnected, world. Glitch City is, frankly, a shithole, and it’s not like you don’t get some assholes coming into the bar while you’re working it. The first patron you serve, in fact, is a great example of this- Donovan D. Dawson, essentially a parody of J. Jonah Jameson, is a colossal prick and knows it- but its clear he has his own system of morals and it is mentioned that he’s excellent at his job, much as he gripes about it. He’s rude and more than a little sexist, but frustratingly charismatic and authoritative, and he’s just one of many people who show up throughout the game. Vallhalla is the perfect game to sit down, grab your preferred beverage, and just relax with.

 2. Total Annihilation

(This image is on the steam page for this one, despite blatantly not being from vanilla TA)

I think I actually need to explain this one. Total Annihilation was a game released in 1997 made largely by Chuck Taylor, who would later go on to produce spiritual successor Supreme Commander. It’s an RTS game featuring exclusively robotic units with a fairly chunky aesthetic, allowing the visuals to age better than some, and a fully orchestrated soundtrack by Jeremy Soule, who would later go on to do work on a whole bunch of stuff, most notably Skyrim.

Total Annihilation is an intensely nostalgic game for me, being one of the first games I ever got to play as a kid outside of edutainment stuff, and I’d argue still holds up today (especially with the excellent Escalation mod). What it lacks in story (it’s pretty basic, but functional) it makes up for being miles ahead of its time mechanically, being the first (?) RTS to function in 3 dimensions- heights of things actually matter, hills exist and certain units climb them better than others, shooting down airplanes is difficult without anti-air but possible if you aim *just* right. While appearing pretty similar and having largely analogous units, the two factions of Arm and Core are well fleshed-out in terms of aesthetic and playstyle- Arm preferring fast and cheap equivalents to Core’s slow but powerful- and the unit variety is sufficient that strategies can vary wildly based on the map. Both campaigns as well as those from the game’s expansions are challenging, but satisfying, limiting the units you can produce to force exploration of different playstyles.

Total Annihilation isn’t something I tend to binge play for hours anymore, but I’ll pick it up for a bit every so often, and I don’t see that stopping for a long time (especially due to the recent steam release).

 1. Pokémon Emerald

(At the top, where it belongs)

Yeah, this was inevitable. Pokémon is my favourite series ever; Emerald is my favourite in the series. Go figure.

Emerald, being the final game for the franchise’s days on the Game Boy, reflects everything Game Freak had learned in the first 3 generations of the series’ history. The game’s balance is challenging but fair, never spiking so tough that it is insurmountable but never holding your hand either. The AI opponents are throwing odd combinations of mons and moves at you from every corner, double battles are everywhere but rarely mandatory, and the variety of available mon both before and during the postgame is excellent. The added features on top of Ruby and Sapphire are great- Battle Tents serve to replace 3 of the contest halls (they should have all been under one roof to begin with) and provide a taste of what would later be available in the Battle Frontier. The Frontier is probably the single most expansive and challenging postgame in any Pokémon game, providing the game with a longevity that is sorely needed due to the inaccessibility of Pre-DS multiplayer. The game also manages to tie together the plot of both Ruby and Sapphire into something that feels natural, and provides the series’ first ever actual cutscene, which felt a lot cooler at the time than it sounds now. The return of animated sprites gives the Pokémon a level of life far beyond the static sprites of RSFRLG, and in my eyes wouldn’t feel the same until Black and White several years later. The return of the Pokégear phone in the form of Match Call, as irritating as it is to some, makes the world feel alive in a way that Sinnoh and Kanto probably never will, in addition to making grinding a fair bit less tedious and more beneficial. It is, altogether, probably the perfect Pokémon experience, and in my opinion only one other game comes close (its Platinum).

Oh also, they got rid of the font from Ruby and Sapphire, thank fuck, that shit is atrocious.

[veridium]

playing god

merry christmas and happy holidays to all! to celebrate, here’s a chapter of day & age! and in the spirit of the season, it’s (mostly) fluffy and sweet. you know I can never just deal out 100% sugar. 

anyways, on with the show! CHAPTER 40 HOLY SHIT!

last chapter // masterpost

--

It’s cold. 

It’s cold, and it’s 7pm on a Friday night, and...it’s cold. The bars downtown have yet to get lively. While Greek Row has been pumping music out since 4pm, they won’t get the cops called until much later. None of this matters currently; what does are two things: midterms, and finding out if Cassandra is still alive. 

As the week progresses, Cass becomes harder to contact and even harder to see around. Olivia can understand the need to be reclusive -- she is, after all, Queen of her dorm cave when it comes to Finals. But as the weekend nears, Olivia goes through classes trying not to panic like a lovestruck guppy fish. It takes bumping into Ellinor, who helpfully tells her that the “final match” actually refers to the one they’re playing next week, and not some far-away and obscure phenomenon. Only then does it all make sense. 

“You’re a dumbass,” Ellinor laughed when she realized Olivia had no clue. 

“I am...oh God, I am,” she said through her hands. 

But that was a hours ago. Now is now, and she’s walking with her bag and three layers of sweaters and a jacket down to the practice field. As she gets closer she glances at the parking lot on the other side to see the gleam a couple cars still parked. The lights are blaring over the green turf, and as she rounds the long aisle of bleachers, she sees one person is still using them. 

On the far side, Cassandra, dressed in shorts and a long-sleeve under-armor shirt beneath a jersey tank, is pacing. Just ahead of her are three balls equally spaced apart, likely meant for the huge net thing. Goal? It was a goal. Damn, if midterms and upcoming finals weren’t swamping her brain, she would sit down and learn all this once and for all. Walking through the gate, she starts going through all the facts she does recall from all their conversations: 

1). The net thing is a “goal.”

2). The ball really hurts when it hits you.

3). Cassandra looks really hot when she’s working out and I am too bisexual for public exposure. 

Okay, the third fact was more of a habitual lapse in sense as Cassandra puts her hands to her hips and turns around. She locks eyes with her immediately, as if she has a sixth sense for intruders and this, this is her field. Her domain. Her plane of complete and utter control. 

Olivia slows down and smiles, no matter the distance between them, she it travels. When Cassandra grins, her wish comes true. 

“What on earth are you doing here?” Cassandra calls out.

Olivia quickens her pace, her backpack slipping down from her shoulder into her hand. When she huffs air out her mouth it turns into a huge plume of steam that cakes her face. Not until she’s about 3-4 yards away does she answer. 

“I needed a new study space. The coffee shop was getting too crowded.”

Cassandra’s brow furrows with skepticism. Her breath steams the air, too, as she crosses a white chalk line in the grass. “Really?”

“Yeah. And the library, forget it,” she shakes her head. “Couldn’t find a spot unless it involves sitting on a guy named Ben.”

“No mere mortal named Ben deserves that honor.”

Butterflies, and Olivia looks away toward the balls and the net behind her. “I mean...yeah. Probably. But…”

“You know there’s no plug-ins here?”

“Uh, yeah.”

Cassandra starts slowly walking again, closer and closer. “And no baristas to give you an extra shot of espresso.”

“Didn’t think so.”

Closer, and closer still. “And the wifi has to be shit.”

“...Oh, fuck.” Her smile wanes. “That’s...that’s true...shit, I--”

The sound of Cassandra’s chuckle and the feel of her hands sliding around her sides sends whatever Olivia was going to say out into the void. She drops her bag, and without another teasing word, Cassandra kisses her. A kiss that warms better than any coffee of fire. The kind after too much time apart, no matter that it was only a day. 

Olivia has slid onto her toes by the time she pulls away, biting her lip as now both their clouds of exhaled steam plume around them both. 

“And here I thought you’d be too focused to give me the time of day,” she whispers, biting back a smile. 

Cassandra smirks a bit tensely, and relaxes her hold. She’s still a bit sweaty, but in this weather, that rarely lasts. “Practice ended an hour ago. I’m just planning.”

It’s then Olivia notices the sack of equipment on the sideline to the far right of where they are standing. Cones, extra balls, all in some giant net that looks like you could catch fish with it. 

“Oh. Uh, in that case, if I should go then--”

“No,” Cassandra lets go of her in order to take hold of her hand and hold it just as tight. “No, stay.”

Olivia’s brow lifts, and she’s begging her heart to stop beating so fast that it takes her breath -- what little she has that isn’t already stolen by the freezing temperature -- away every time. 

“Sure,” she replies, and reaches down to pick up her bag. “I can just...go fix myself up on the bench over there.”

“Okay,” Cassandra says as she delays letting go of her until they are too far apart to maintain it. She is so sweet, so calm. Completely different from how Olivia imagined she would be; to be fair, the only other times she saw her in action were during the day and with the entire team. Her “Captain” persona was stern and constantly frowning at someone or something. She was good, and she acted like it. No excuses, no fluff. This was like an alternate reality. 

Trying not to get lost in her thoughts, she sets her bag on the bench and sits on the ground, back against it. She then pulls out her macbook and set it on her straight legs, pulling it open while her eyes inevitably wandered to the woman still in the center of the lights. Cassandra had already returned to pacing, eyes toward the goal while she walked along the line. Not playing, not running, not a single act of actually playing. Just pacing, slow and pensive. What was there to mull over so critically? 

Rather than ask, Olivia minds her own business. She has work to do, too, and she shouldn’t embarass herself by gawking. She pulls up her paper outlines and gets to work, even pulling out her headphones from her pocket. Unfortunately she doesn’t have the will to put them in, for the chance that maybe Cassandra will say something and God forbid she gets caught not willing to listen. Fuck, she’s got it good. 

Time goes by, and it’s productive on either end: Olivia manages to do the impossible and get some work done, and Cassandra ends her deliberations and starts practicing with a ball, aiming and hitting them each into the goal one-by-one. Each time, she centers them in the same way, and backs away a few yards before charging at them. It all seems rather ritualistic. This goes on for another 10-15 minutes before Olivia notices from the top of her gaze that Cassandra has stopped, standing still and arms folded. She looks up and watches her for a moment as she’s regaining her breath. The way the lights show leave no piece of her in the dark, but somehow she’s still so elusive. 

“You alright there, Captain?” Olivia yells, halting her typing. 

Cassandra glances out of the corner of her eye and her lips move, but not loud enough. She turns around and walks toward her balls and starts picking them up, one and then another, and kicks the last one with her. Olivia frowns and sets her laptop aside, closing it before rising to her feet. Cassandra’s got her eyes to the ground again, staring daggers. 

And of course because Olivia can never just let things be, she impulsively jogs over. She crouches and swipes the ball from the ground, bounding in a circle further out into the field. Cassandra finally snaps out of whatever trance she’s got herself in and turns to watch her, an alarmed sound catching in her throat. 

“H-hey! Olivia!”

“This is how you play, right?” Olivia smiles fiendishly, holding the ball above her head like she’s about to chuck it. “You grab and run for it?”

“Ugh, no, you know it’s not,” Cassandra corrects her, still so serious. 

Not sufficed, Olivia lowers the ball to rest against her stomach, and continues to play. “Hm. Silly me. I thought you took it and held it ransom until someone finally tackles you to the ground.”

“You’re thinking rugby, and no,” Cassandra shakes her head. “Come on, give it back.”

“Really? Then how am I gonna score a basket?”

“That is bask--Olivia! Come on, please.”

“Hm…” Olivia continues, and Cassandra finally sets the balls down by the bench and follows her, albeit at a far less energetic pace, out onto the field. 

“The field closes soon,” she warns.

Olivia giggles a little, and holds the ball behind her back. “Then you better hurry!”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I’m not serious, I’m doing what you’re doing: I’m playing.”

They stare at each other as the impasse rises. With the sharpness of Cassandra’s frown, Olivia only smiles more, hoping to fight fire with fire -- just different kinds, is all. 

“Come on, Captain, I thought nothing got past you.”

“...that’s it.” 

Cassandra’s mouth twitches at the corners, and her eyes narrow with precision. She cuts into a sprint, so fast that Olivia shrieks in fear as she goes to escape. Maybe she should have thought this through before challenging a soccer player to run fast across a flat surface. 

She makes it almost to the halfway point of the field before arms wrap around her from behind and pull her to a twirling stop. Cassandra’s strength pulls her off the ground again, and Olivia’s shrieking laughter only worsens when she’s captured. They spin once, and then twice, before Olivia chucks the ball aimlessly and gives up. 

“I give up! I give--” she says through her gasping breaths.

Cassandra doesn’t say a word nor utters so much as a smirk as she breathes heavy at her back, mouth near her ear. It both excites her and sends a shiver down her spine, feeling her inch-for-inch and completely engulfed around her. When both the laughter and Olivia’s feet find the ground again, she finds Cassandra doesn’t release her this second time. No, instead, she holds on and makes it so Olivia has to spin around in her hold in order to face her captor. When she does, their faces are so close, heartbeats so rushed, it makes her forget the clever quip she had in store. 

“I...I…”

Cassandra then grins, still catching her breath. A wave of relief comes with it.

“I just wanted…” Olivia tries again, arms resting on top of Cassandra’s, hands clasping around her shoulders. She would rather die than be free of them. 

“You were just trying to help, I know,” Cassandra knowingly finishes for her. “Funny how your methods are always starting trouble first.”

Olivia giggles, hands sliding up to the sides of her neck. “I know...but I can’t help it.”

“I also know that.”

“Interesting. Do you also know what to do with that mouth of yours?”

Cassandra’s grin softens, and the pink tint in her cheeks intensifies. One could say it is just the strain of physical exertion, but, whatever. Olivia smiles to take the sting out of it.

“I meant kiss me,” she whispers the hint. 

Cassandra lets out a relieved chuckle, and brings her in closer, as if it were possible. They both lean in for what is sure to be the perfect way to end a successful distraction, until it is one-upped by a voice calling from the far side of the field where Olivia entered from. Immediately, both stop and look. Maybe it’s one of the teammates having forgotten something, or some other jock out in the wild. But no, it’s someone dressed in normal clothes, with long black hair thick and wavy. They have a handbag hooked on their arm, and from the looks of their walk, are wearing quite the ambitious pair of stilettos. 

“Shit,” Cassandra mutters, and pulls away. They go from being glued to each other, so polarized like magnet ends. Olivia tries not to feel tossed aside as she pulls down her sleeves and jacket hem, clearing her throat. Cassandra does the same. 

“What are you doing here?!” Cassandra asks the person, annoyed. Nothing like she acted when it was Olivia showing up.

The figure stops and leans onto one hip, sighing with attitude. “Don’t do this, Cassandra. You knew I was stopping by!”

“Yes, you said 8:30, at my apartment.”

The woman then keep walking, furiously until she is close enough for them to become a triad of anxiety and confusion. She’s pretty, and looks kind of like Cassandra, if you were to close one eye, tilt your head, then take a shot of something so strong it could strip rust off a pipe. Hair that looks freshly balayaged, makeup impeccably done, not too much or too little. Older, but not quite so old for Olivia to wonder if it’s a parent or another one of her aunts and uncles. 

“Yes, and it’s…” the woman checks her phone she slips out her bag. “Wow, look, 8:25. You’re lucky I know you well enough to check the nearest soccer field.”

Cassandra sighs loudly. “Fine. Do you have the keys?”

“Of course! But first, who is this?” the woman’s eyes land on Olivia, and instantly the field lights seem like glow-sticks in comparison. She can’t quite tell if she is the shiny new thing, or the interloper that needs to turn to ash. Their voices are so nice to listen to, what the fuck?

“I, uh, um...”

“This is Olivia. Olivia, this is my cousin, Antonia--”

“Antonia Pentaghast,” she smiles, and holds her hand out, freshly done acrylics and all. Damn, this woman is a masterpiece. “Nice to meet you, Olivia…?”

Olivia reaches and shakes her hand, strong and confident as she can, and blinks. Shit, she means last name. “Olivia Sinclair. Nice to meet you!”

“Sinclair…” she says with a little thrill as their hands fall. “You wouldn’t happen to be related to the lady on the City Council?”

Olivia and Cassandra exchange a look too quick for her to tell whether this is something she encourages. The very mention of her Mother fills her with as much anxiety as the Captain of the Titanic must have felt. “Um, actually, yes. She is my Mother.”

“Mother! What a small world! Your family has been patrons of our Church almost as long as we have! But I don’t think I’d have to tell you that, ahah.”

“No, I’m afraid not,” Olivia smiles politely, joining her hands together behind her. Yep, that is fact no. 1 in the Sinclair household. Right up there with the “Live, Laugh, Love” decals. 

“How funny,” Antonia grins playfully, eyeing her less-than-enthused cousin who has become a pillar of seriousness all over again. So much for comedy being the most potent medicine. 

“Antonia,” Cassandra interrupts sternly, “the keys?”

Antonia is about to say something more, but she stops herself and laughs. “My, my,” she says, sifting through her handbag. “You must forgive me, Olivia. Cassandra hardly ever mentions any friends. Other than that...that blonde one, she keeps bringing around but swears she is not dating.” The keys jingle in her hand as she hands them off to Cassandra, who wastes no time in snatching them up. “My husband and I are leaving for a few days to visit his family on the coast. I asked her to check up on our cats. Just dropping off the spare key!”

“Oh! That sounds like fun,” Olivia says, and then feels instantly self-conscious. But hey, it’s something. 

“It will be!” Antonia grins. “Now, please tell me I will be seeing you at our family’s holiday gather--”

“Olivia will be spending the break with her own family, Antonia,” Cassandra intervenes, a bit coldly, even. The jolt in the otherwise congenial encounter makes any comfort vanish. 

Antonia stops, mouth still agape, and brow lifted. Her eyes shift from her rude cousin to her. 

“I…” Olivia looks at Cassandra, who in turn gives her a look of ‘please help,’ and has to choose loyalties. “I...she’s right. Thanksgiving is very important to my Mom.”

Antonia grins like she’s onto something, whether it be their true dynamic or nuclear launch codes. She hums and makes a “tsk, tsk” sound to finish. “How perfect that our gathering does not take place on the day of, then. But, details, details. I will leave you two alone. You seemed to be enjoying it...a lot.” She straightens up and runs a hand through her hair. Olivia keeps staring, even when she knows she shouldn’t. With a nod to the both of them, Antonia turns tail and struts off. 

“Don’t forget Benny’s allergy meds, Cassandra!” she says, not bothering to look back.

“I won’t!” Cassandra confirms, resentfully scowling after her. It isn’t until Antonia’s figure is no longer in the field lights that she finally says anything more. “I’m sorry,” she apologizes, keys ringing in between her shaking fingers. “My family is insufferable.”

While she walks off, grabbing the ball Olivia abandoned. Olivia follows but at a hung-back pace. The whole thing doesn’t make sense. Insufferable? That was anything but. If she wants insufferable, she should walk into my family’s home. 

“That was...that was fine, Cassandra,” she says, rubbing her palms. “She seems really nice!”

“Yeah, they all are,” she gripes as they make it back to the bench. 

“Is that not...good?”

“The point is that--” she stops herself, freezing upright. Collecting her frustration that seems so easily provoked. Olivia watches, but it hurts a little to have Cassandra’s back to her. 

“The point is there’s a lot more to it than niceness.” 

“I figured.” Olivia comes around to stand beside her, watching as she packs up the net of equipment. There’s so many questions to ask, but all of them seem decidedly not welcome. 

“Look, I hate to ask, but...are they not...okay...with you not being straight?”

Cassandra doesn’t miss a beat, pulling the net string tight and figuring a knot. “Most of them would be. I have a cousin who’s gay, him and his partner have been together for five years.”

Wait...what the fuck?

“But...but aren’t they religious and really conservative?”

She lets go of the bag and turns around, crossing her arms. “Yeah. The older members are still...well, narrow-minded. My family is just huge. It would be impossible to keep that going and one of us not turning out...well…”

“...Well?”

Cassandra frowns and shakes her head. “Different? Look, I’d rather not discuss it.”

“That’s fine. I’m just a little confused.”

“Confused about what?”

Olivia’s arms go out wide, and she gestures toward the part of the field they were just standing in. The part where everything was going perfect until the record-scratch of the century. “That? That back there? That whole, ‘nevermind I’m not touching the woman who’s tongue was about to be down my throat, hi, she’s just Olivia’! ‘The first rule about bi-club is you don’t talk about bi-club!’”

“Olivia, please,” Cassandra replies dismissively, eyes rolling again. 

Olivia’s confusion is now tinted with anger. “So I don’t deserve an answer?”

“That’s not what I’m saying. It’s complicated.”

Here we go again. “I don’t know ‘complicated’?”

“You, agh...you haven’t introduced me to your family, either!”

Olivia’s eyes widen. “That is because the last time I brought a girl home my Mom bought us best friends Pandora charms for Christmas and then gave her a guest room with a Bible in the drawer like some Hotel!”

Cassandra scoffs dryly, her hands returning to her hips. “See? You get it--”

“I do not get it, Cass. I don’t.”

Her tone becomes angrier, to match Olivia’s ire. “My family is nice. They are nice, but they are also incredibly invasive, elitist, and fake. If they get one scrap of your personal stuff, you can kiss any privacy and autonomy goodbye. I have worked so hard to have any semblance of my own life separate from them. Forgive me if that’s so selfish.”

The air goes quiet as they both stare at each other. Olivia closes her mouth to retain the spiteful response that surely would arise if she kept going. It would be unfair. But did that make it fair what she did to her just then? Or was it not nearly as big of a deal as she’s making it out to be?

Fuck, Theia’s shit is getting into my head. 

Looking off towards the goal, Olivia bounces on and off her toes nervously. She slips her hands in her front jacket pockets. 

“Is that why you didn’t invite me for the holidays?” she asks, tone and expression as blank as she can muster. 

A pause, and then Cassandra’s careful tone. “Maybe. I thought it wouldn’t matter. You said you spend the break at home.”

“I do. You’re...you’re right.” 

“Neither of us invited each other.”

“...Yeah.”

“Liv.”

She sucks on her teeth and closes her eyes, taking one, desperate breath of patience. “What?” 

“Look at me,” she asks in return, coming closer. Olivia fights the bitter urge to back away, and make it harder for her. But the closer she is, the more disarmed she feels, even with all her wrath. So, with nothing but one step in between them left, she honors the request and looks at her. All the pride has left Cassandra’s face, replaced by frustrated attentiveness.

This whole time I’ve been thinking she’d be cast out and placed under some exorcism for daring to be queer. Now, what?

“Liv, I’m not trying to hide you. I promise.”

“Then why--”

“You saw how she knew how to connect your name to your Mom in two seconds flat. They don’t just care to know names. Now, they don’t just know you’re name, they know your family, and any and all related gossip. That’s what they do: it’s either fame, gossip, or money. You have to trust me.”

Olivia looks at her, hands in her pockets balling into fists. So what is so bad about being snobby? If it was such a sin, half the town would be cast into hellfire. No use for their pretty churches then.

“Okay,” she concedes, albeit hesitantly. “Just...just remember what it’s like for me, okay? I hate to bring up the flyers, but…”

“Knowing and being known by my family won’t solve any of that,” she caveats, before daring to reach out for her hand. Olivia reaches and takes hold. “We deserve the time it takes to just be us and get to know each other.”

“I agree,” she sighs, and tries to shake loose of the duress. And how long is that going to take, when everything stays a mystery?

“Thank you,” Cassandra says sincerely, rubbing the back of her hand with a thumb. It’s soothing. So much so, Olivia resolves the remaining distance between them and brings herself into Cassandra’s chest. It’s her turn to wrap her arms around her and not want to let go. 

She reciprocates, the side of her chin resting against Olivia’s head of hair. “Just let me get through the finals, and then I’ll have more time,” she swears with a renewed sweetness. 

Olivia closes her eyes and hides her face in Cassandra’s chest, her voice muffled against her clothes. “When will my girlfriend return from the soccer war?” 

Cassandra laughs a bit. “Tell you what, she’s on leave tonight, why don’t you come over and we can watch a movie. Your turn to pick.”

“For this...oh, you’re getting Kill Bill.”

“Volume one or two?”

“Both,” still muffled, but adamant. “How dare you suggest we only watch one?”

Cassandra smirks and rubs Olivia’s arms, generating more warmth for both of them. “How foolish of me. You have a deal.” 

“I’m also ordering takeout. Ellinor told me all you do with Cullen lately is drink protein shakes and lie.”

“Um, I eat three square meals a day. It’s not my fault Cullen chases his shakes with toaster strudel.”

Olivia giggled again. Her face has become too warm to break from this pose. They’re going to freeze there forever, she decides. Forget the movie and takeout. 

“Come on,” Cassandra pats her on the shoulders. “Let’s get this shit put away, and then you can read me the DoorDash menu on the way back.”

“Mm, keep talking dirty like that, the war can shove it.”

More laughter, and thank goodness for it. 

[gukyi]

tutor | knj

⇒ summary: competition has always been a thing at hogwarts, but not even the house ghosts could be prepared for the volcanic explosion otherwise known as the culmination of the rivalry between you and fellow top student kim namjoon.

⇒ {hogwarts!au, enemies to lovers!au (what a shocker!)}

⇒ pairing: namjoon x female reader

⇒ word count: 11k

⇒ genre: fluff and like a very very little bit of angst? actually i don’t even think it counts. just fluff.

⇒ warnings: n/a

⇒ a/n: she’s back! it’s been actual months since i last posted part of my sorted series, rip. unsurprisingly, this is an enemies to lovers au. bc i can never stop writing them. i’m sorry that i’m not sorry. i actually have another e2l jimin au in mind. great. this is just a little twist on the typical tutor au! hope u enjoy!!

Present

Third year you would never even think about fighting Kim Namjoon. Small, lanky Kim Namjoon whose glasses are too big for his face and whose words stumble over each other.

Seventh year you can’t think about doing anything else. He makes you want to chuck a big, heavy textbook at him, one from the Restricted section that’ll bite his head right off after it hits him.

Maybe then you’ll finally get some relief from his obnoxious, egotistical, infuriating presence. But for now, you’re stuck with him, stuck in this endless fucking cycle of taunting and teasing and gloating, back and forth and back and forth, because neither of you can do anything that can risk the two of you getting expelled. Gotta love being top students with their whole potentials in front of them.

“Hey, Y/N,” his snarky voice catches your attention as he spots you working diligently in the Great Hall after school hours. You know it’s him without even looking up from your textbook, can hear the thundering footsteps of him and whatever members of his gregarious possy, but you refuse to give him the time of day like this. Namjoon always has a fantastic way of interrupting your lifestyle at the exact moment when you could do with zero distractions. “How’d you do on that essay for Binns?”

Keeping your head down, you continue to furiously scribble your notes, avoiding him at all costs, not wanting to let him have what he wants: your response. Namjoon wouldn’t be asking you about your most recent History of Magic essay unless he knew something you didn’t, had some sort of leverage on you that he gets to dangle above your head.

“Shove off, Kim,” you grumble, turning your head in the opposite direction as you feel him looming over you, leaning down by your side to boast in your face.

“Oh, come on, Y/N,” he coaxes. “Won’t kill you just to say it.”

“A 97, alright, asshole? Satisfied?” You spit out, sick of Namjoon’s shit and his better grades and charming life. The Binns essay hadn’t been your best work, you’re aware of that much, especially considering you had written it while running on minimal sleep and the ever-persistent pressures of future aspirations. You know. The usual. No need for Namjoon to brag about his probable 100 in your face. You know you can do better. You have.

“Very,” Namjoon grins, shooting you his precious face with his precious dimples. God, how you wish you could smack them right off of his face and watch them fall to the floor, useless. “Especially after getting a 103 on mine.”

Namjoon even whips out the scroll to show you, as if you need further proof that he got a higher grade, bright red 103 and a smiley face right next to it at the top of his essay, staring back at you like a reflection in a broken mirror. You didn’t even know Binns gave extra credit, the fuck? You want in on some of that. You’re second in that class only to Namjoon.

“How on Earth did you manage to trick your way into Binns giving you extra credit?” You ask, appalled and personally insulted. “You don’t deserve those extra three points any more than I do.”

“Hey, maybe if you had gotten those three points instead of me, you’d actually have a chance at beating me in that class,” Namjoon singsongs, taunting you with no qualms. He never seems to have any of those whenever he’s around you. It’s a poor characteristic to have, quite frankly. He should work on that.

“Bask in that perfect score in History of Magic, Namjoon, a class that has so much relevance to current events,” you sneer back, not permitting yourself to lose to him, cave in. Even if survival meant giving up your last shred of dignity on this godforsaken Earth to him, you’d choose to die. “Really. It’s outstanding. My 100 in Transfiguration is shaking in its boots.”

“Never said this was a competition, Miss Y/N. No need to be bitter about our scores,” Namjoon says patronizingly, patting your shoulder like he’s fucking reassuring you of your self-worth after finding out that you got a slightly lower score than him on an essay. What a tool. “See you in Potions, hey? Don’t wait up.”

“Wouldn’t fucking dream of it,” you respond, heaving a sigh as you roll your eyes, turning back to your work as Namjoon and his crew’s boisterous laughter echoes throughout the Great Hall as they leave to go play practical jokes on the ghosts or make a mess in the fairgrounds or chuck Quidditch balls at each other, or something like that.

But still, even as you finish up your note-taking for the chapter and move on to another assignment from your Astronomy professor, that bright red 103 flashes in your mind, brain stuck on it because god damnit, can’t Namjoon just give you one fucking break? Does he want a fucking prize for getting a better grade than you on a single essay throughout your entire Hogwarts career?

Scratch that. He’s already got his reward, and it’s your misery.

Life goes on, but time ticks by ever so slowly as you count down the days until graduation—until you never have to see Kim Namjoon’s face in your life ever again—that even a Time Turner would move too quickly.

Fourth Year

When McGonagall hands back your tests from the day prior and you see a shining 100% at the top of your paper, you smile. Your eager eyes scan the papers of your classmates, quickly glancing down at the red ink scrawled at the top of your page, and find that you’re the only perfect score within your view.

If this had happened during first year, you’d shrug it off, call it a fluke and just assume that you knew this single topic better than the rest of your peers, you suppose, but it’s not. You’re in your fourth year already, over three years worth of Transfiguration classes under your belt, and any student in your class would be an idiot not to realize your untapped potential in the subject. School has always come easy to you but Transfiguration in and of itself is like second nature. Like a key in a padlock, it clicks.

Humble as ever, you treat your 100% casually, like it’s no big deal, because it’s not. Not when you’ve been getting 100’s in the class ever since September 2nd of your first year with minimal battle. Another day, another test, another one hundred.

“Y/N,” your friend says as she nudges your arm, resting on the desk. You snap out of your distant haze and turn to her, eyebrow raised. “Can you explain number three to me? I don’t understand it.”

“Sure,” you say, happy to help. One thing that comes along with perfect grades (whether you like it or not) is people constantly asking you for explanations, answers, definitions, seeking the right from someone who’s never wrong. Not that you’re complaining. You love to help people. “What’s up?”

“I don’t understand the theory behind the cross-species switches,” your friend continues, scratching her head and furrowing her brows as she shows you her assessment, a big red X marking number three. “Like, I understand that the spells have to be adapted, but I don’t understand how to do that.”

You glance down at her paper before quickly letting your eyes scan over your own, comparing answers as you figure out how to explain the necessity of adaptation in cross-species switches to her without sounding like a pretentious asshole. “Well, you have to consider the scenario.”

Your friend looks at you like you’ve just grown four heads.

“Um, say… say you’re trying to give a mouse cat-like qualities,” you begin, going back to one of the example scenarios that McGonagall gave you a week or so ago. “You have to adapt the spell so you don’t screw up any of the mouse’s internal organs and kill it in the process. Or even leave it stuck in the weird in-between of mouse and mouse-cat. So how are you supposed to cater to the mouse?”

“You lower the spell’s impact since the mouse is smaller than the cat?” Your friend asks, wincing and unsure.

You snap your fingers, letting them morph quickly into some finger guns as you smile. “You got it.”

“Oh,” your friend realizes, that sweet, sweet look of recognition finally washing over her face. “Oh, I get it now. Okay. Thanks.”

“No problem,” you say happily, shrugging your shoulders. “I’m always happy to help you.”

Your friend beams in response, pleased that she’s got such a loyal pal like you to always assist with tests and quizzes and homework questions whenever needed.

It’s right then that McGonagall clears her throat to grab everyone’s utmost attention, standing up behind her desk to address the class. You turn back to face her, letting your eyes scan over all of the trinkets on her desk. You swear you see a Time Turner shining in a little box as it catches the light of the sun, but maybe that’s just your imagination. Time Turners are awfully difficult to get ahold of, these days.

“I trust that all of you had enough time to review your answers on the test and assess your mistakes,” she says sternly. Ah, your favorite no-nonsense teacher. “Some of you need not worry about this section on the theory,” she says, and your cheeks heat up when she narrows her eyes at you through her rounded glasses, curling in on yourself as other people turn to look at you, unsurprised. “And some of you need to start reviewing more and paying attention to the lessons in class. Your overall class average for this assessment was abysmal. I highly recommend seeking out extra help, either from myself or from your peers, some of which could teach you this subject very well. Most of you could use the assistance.”

The bell rings.

“Class dismissed. Miss Y/L/N, come here for a moment?”

Your friend shrugs helplessly as she gathers her stuff and leaves the room, sending you a sorry smile as you approach McGonagall’s desk with caution, unsure of what she wants from you. You haven’t done anything wrong, as far as you’re aware, and you know for a fact that she isn’t concerned about whether or not you’re grasping the curriculum, so what gives?

“Professor?” You ask, turning back to see the class empty.

“You did remarkably well on this test,” she compliments, lips curling upwards into a smile. “My only perfect score.”

Your cheeks heat up again and you can feel your ears getting clammy. Even if you’re used to doing well in her class, it’s always an honor to hear her directly praising you. Really helps with the constant desire for validation as a student.

“Thank you, Professor,” you say, tipping your head slightly.

“I do hope that you’ll consider becoming a tutor for your peers,” she says as she shuffles through her papers. “I believe you’d be a fantastic help to some of the students who are struggling in this course. I saw you help your friend. You teach very well.”

You stumble over your words. “Oh, um, that was just—”

“Consider being a tutor, Y/N. Not just for this subject, but for all of them. You are an incredibly gifted individual and your help is probably much-needed around here. I could help you arrange a schedule of sorts, if you’d like. Perhaps talk to Madam Pince?”

“I don’t know, Professor, I don’t think I’m very qualified to teach other students, I mean—” You say, wracking your brain for something to say. Tutoring at Hogwarts is a big deal, honestly, especially because the courses are so vigorous and require more than just a simple explanation to comprehend. You don’t think you have the credentials to be something of an assistant to your professors.

“You are more than qualified, Miss Y/L/N. I’m willing to give you a bit of extra credit as well, for your work outside of class,” McGonagall says, and damn, she’s good. Extra credit will always get you on board. Even if you don’t need the extra points (not with your perfect grade in her class), it’s always nice to have that backup just in case you majorly screw up a test or essay or presentation. Plus, boasting about your over-100 grades every now and then to people who bother you is kind of nice. Just a little.

“When would I do it?” You ask, suddenly more intrigued in the topic.

McGonagall beams to herself, happy to see that she’s managed to bribe you into doing this, and whips out a spare scroll, scribbling down schedules and suggestions.

When she’s finished, you’re twenty minutes late to your next class (Arithmancy, so it’s not like you’re missing anything important) and have a pretty substantial list of students and faculty to speak to, as well as a thoroughly organized schedule for the next month, at least.

Your first tutoring session begins tomorrow, right after your last class at 3PM sharp in the library.

Extra credit has never tasted so sweet.

The library is always busy the second classes let out. Nobody really wants to go back to their common rooms just yet, wanting the milk the time before curfew as much as possible away from their dorms. People scramble to grab a seat at the limited amount of desks among the bookcases before some other upperclassman hexes it to claim it as theirs for the night, but you’re in no rush. Pince knows that you’re coming.

You push open the door to the library with your shoulder, scanning for the first student you’ll be tutoring, a boy from your own Transfiguration class who apparently did poorly on the most recent test. As you do, you quickly glance at the bulletin board on the wall, glowing flyers screaming at you to sign up for the latest club, try out for the Quidditch team (even though first years never make the house team), audition for the frog choir. There’s one that has no slips of paper left to tear off, but you don’t have time to inspect it any further, wonder what on Earth could be going on at this school that so many people would be desperate to sign up for, before you have to begin the session.

The boy is loitering around by the checkout desk, books clutched tightly to his chest as you catch his eye. You reach your arm out and wave, signaling to him that you’re here.

“I, um,” you begin. “This is the first time I’ve done this, so I’m really sorry if this is kind of rough.”

The kid shakes his head. “It’s fine. I’m desperate at this point. McGonagall will have my head if I fail the next test.”

You chuckle awkwardly, unable to relate but able to sympathize. “Then we should get started soon, right?”

You and the boy start to weave your way through the bookshelves, skirting through small groups of students gathering in the library to quietly gossip and books marching around by themselves, ordered to go back to their designated spot.

“McGonagall helped me set this up, actually,” you say in order to fill in the silence. “She had arranged with other teachers to coordinate and talked to Madam Pince about me formally doing this in the library, and—”

Your shoes squeak against the hardwood floor as you come to a stop in the table that McGonagall had specifically reserved for you for your tutoring, making all of the students around you wince as they turn towards the source of the noise. There’s a boy you vaguely recognize already camped out at your table, and what makes matters impossibly worse is that it looks like he’s tutoring someone too.

“Can I help you?” the boy asks as he looks up at your flabbergasted expression, a single eyebrow raised in annoyance.

“Um,” you start, unsure of how you’re supposed to deal with the situation at hand. Before you can stop yourself, you belt out a “Who are you?”

“Kim Namjoon,” the boy replies, frowning as he peers over his glasses to inspect you. He doesn’t seem very impressed, which in turn has you puffing out your chest slightly and straightening your posture. “Fourth year.”

“Well, Kim Namjoon, I—”

“Who are you?” Namjoon asks, interrupting you.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” you respond, as confidently as you can muster.

“Is there a reason you’re hovering over my tutoring session, Y/N Y/L/N? If you need help with your schoolwork, you’re going to have to arrange something with me,” Namjoon says ever so rudely, making you furrow your brows in distaste.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I’m quite busy these days, so if you need me to tutor you in anything, you’ll have to schedule it beforehand. My apologies,” Namjoon says, clearly hoping to end the conversation and get back to whatever the hell he thinks he’s doing in your designated spot.

“I don’t need your help in anything,” you inform him matter-of-factly. “Though I do believe that you’re tutoring in my spot.”

“Your spot?” Namjoon asks, standing up with his palms pressed onto the table, doubtful look on his face. “What makes you think this table belongs to you? I don’t see your name on it.”

You’re speechless, mouth working desperately to say something in response, put whoever this kid thinks he is in his place. “Professor McGonagall had arranged that I tutor students here.”

“Sorry, Y/L/N, but you’ll have to find another spot,” Namjoon says, shrugging helplessly despite your wordless protests. “Maybe some other time.”

You can do nothing except turn to the boy standing behind you, whose eyes are wide in confusion, and smile apologetically. You glare Kim Namjoon’s way, bitter and petty and everything else a Ravenclaw should always be, and begin to search for a new place to tutor.

Kim Namjoon is someone you barely remember, left with only hazy memories of him at the sorting ceremony and perhaps in one or two of your classes during your time at Hogwarts. He’s a quiet kid, easy to overlook and disregard, because he never speaks, never raises his hand, never even looks up at people. You don’t know much about him, but you had always assumed him another harmless student who’s just letting their time at Hogwarts pass before they move onto bigger and better things.

Apparently, you were wrong.

Because now, quiet, geeky, timid Kim Namjoon has some sort of superiority complex ingrained in his mind, and it’s more than clear to you that you’ve got some competition, a sensation you’ve never had the luxury of experiencing before.

You and the boy end up camping out on the floor of the library by one of the windows, unable to find an empty table for you to do your work on. It’s out of view of whoever Kim Namjoon is and whatever he’s doing, but the only image that seems to stick in your mind as you teach this kid the theory behind cross-species switches and help him with his textbook reading is that of Namjoon’s unimpressed, judgemental face as he stares you down with his hands pressing down on your table, taking up your precious time with this stupid tutoring nonsense of his.

McGonagall never mentioned anything about another student. Especially one that’s already developed an obvious dislike for you. Not that it’s not reciprocated, or anything. Because it is.

Because this means war.

Present

As you enter the library, you quickly hex the poster on the bulletin board advertising Namjoon’s nonsense tutoring business and changing it to a picture of a couple of bright orange Kneazles, his least favorite animal. Just for good measure. You always knew Transfiguration would come in handy.

This isn’t the first time you’ve definitely tried to sabotage Namjoon’s tutoring… thing. It’s only one aspect of this ridiculously overgrown rivalry that’s settled in between the two of you. Neither of you happen to be Slytherins, but you have no problems spreading rumors and ruining each other’s posters in order to beat each other out. You don’t know how many times you’ve had to restore your posters and flyers to their original glory after seeing Namjoon deface all of them. All’s fair in love and war, except there’s no love here. It’s just war.

“Hey,” you say as you greet your tutoree of the day, a friend of a friend of yours who’s been lacking in Potions recently. She’s one of your most loyal students, not to mention the fact that the two of you both seem to share quite the dislike for a certain Kim Namjoon, making your sessions half-education parties and half-gossip fests. “Ready?”

She nods happily, and the two of you scramble to grab the last empty table before Namjoon can snatch it for himself with taunting grin on his face as he forces you elsewhere. It’s open, thank God, and you quickly take your seats so you can get down to business.

“What work do you have?” You ask, pulling out your Potions textbook and a quill.

“Uh, just some chemical problems. I have a really big Potions project that’s due next Friday, though, so I’d like to work on that, too,” she responds.

“Which you haven’t started yet, right?” You ask, an eyebrow raised.

She blushes. “You know me too well, Y/N.”

“Only because we’ve been friends for two years, already,” you shrug, taking a quick glance at her homework so you can open your textbook to some example problems that match up with the lesson.

“Listen,” she says in a much softer voice, leaning over the table to whisper in your ear. “My friend just had this awful experience with Namjoon.”

You can’t say you’re particularly surprised. You could probably count on one hand the amount of experiences that you’ve had with Namjoon that have even been somewhat bearable. “What happened?”

“You know how my friend writes in her journal, right? She’s the only kid in our year that still does.”

The girl in question rings a bell in your brain. She never lets anybody look into her journal, for obvious reasons.

“Yeah, she and that Min Yoongi kid both do,” you say, thinking of that quiet Slytherin boy you sometimes see hanging out with Namjoon and the rest of his boisterous gaggle. Every time you see them together, you wonder what on Earth could have led the universe to make them friends, because Min Yoongi seems so nice and reserved and Namjoon… well.

“Well, the other day—” the girl says as you begin to copy down the first homework problem, the answer already clear in your mind. Mental math is your best friend. That, and McGonagall. “—she spilled tea or something all over her journal and she had to lay it out on a bunch of copies of the Daily Prophet to let it dry. And then Kim just waltzes over and reads the damn thing.”

The story has you rolling your eyes in disappointment. It’s not even shocking that Namjoon has no concept of personal space nor personal belongings. After all, he’s spent the past three years vandalizing your property and breathing down your neck. But still, snooping in someone else’s private journal is rude, uncouth, and generally frowned upon. Not that Namjoon is any good at not being any of those things.

“I wish I could tell you that I’m surprised,” you say, shaking your head. “He’s always been like that.”

“Always been like what?”

You almost don’t even want to turn around to face the source of the voice, already knowing damn well who it is and why he’s there. You should have been trash talking him louder.

“We’re a little busy here, Kim,” your friend says, clearly not any happier than you in his presence.

“Doesn’t look like it,” Namjoon responds, catching a glimpse of the blank parchment in front of you, only the first problem written down, not even solved. “Should have signed up for my tutoring program, Mina. I would have had your homework done by now.”

“Because you do their work for them and they don’t learn anything,” you spit as you barge into the conversation. “You wanna know what you’ve always been like, Kim?” You ask, standing up to challenge him. Namjoon’s taller than you, always has been and always will be, but that doesn’t mean he’s any more intimidating.

“Hmm,” Namjoon says, looking up to ponder the question at hand. “Charming? Bright? Smarter than you?”

“An asshole,” you bite.

“That wasn’t anywhere near my top ten, Y/N. Your guessing game is really weak. Like you,” Namjoon comments, lips downturned.

Your hands are already curled into balls before the words leave his mouth. “You wanna see weak, Kim?” You ask, fists raised and your right hand shooting towards his chest.

Namjoon grabs it without a second thought, holding you dead in place with his hand wrapped around your knuckles, pale in anger, and he shakes his head disapprovingly. “Weak,” he whispers, staring you straight in the face. You’re shaking with fury and rage, refusing to bow down to his unforgiving gaze as you look right back into his brown eyes, twinkling with victory.

Mina places gentle hands on your upper arms, calming you down slightly as you take deep breaths, refusing to stoop any lower than you already have. By this point, any fucking dignity you have left is gone and it doesn’t even matter, because you’re a lot of things, but being ashamed of hating Namjoon isn’t one of them.

“Hope you finish your homework soon, Mina, or I might have to ask Snape tomorrow if he can double the workload, just because I don’t think that some of the kids in our class are truly grasping the lesson,” Namjoon bids the two of you goodbye, voice sickeningly sweet as he turns on his heel to leave the library. On the way out, you catch him Transfigure his poster back to its original state as the door closes behind him.

“Fucking Kim,” you mutter, body still on fire from the exchange. “I wish I could punch that fucker in the face.”

“The day we graduate, I know you will,” Mina assures you, rubbing your back as she turns her focus to the textbook problems in front of her.

You wonder what celestial body in the mass known as the universe decided to make KIm Namjoon the bane of your existence, this constant presence that you can’t get rid of, like a gnat buzzing around your head on a hot summer day. Namjoon’s no better than a damn horsefly, only every waking moment of yours is spent thinking about him, every day is a new challenge to beat him in.

There’s never a second when Kim Namjoon isn’t on your mind, and perhaps that’s the worst part of it all.

Because no matter how hard you try to get him to leave, he’ll always come back.

Fourth Year

You get over the table fiasco the day after it happens. Even though you definitely were taken aback by Kim Namjoon’s impudent behavior, you suppose it’s something you can look past if the two of you can just come to some sort of agreement and get on with your lives. No need to hold this massive grudge over a misunderstanding.

After asking around, you hear a few things about Kim Namjoon. You hear he’s good friends with that one boy who’s already in his sixth year, the good-looking one that’s most definitely going to be head boy next year. You hear that he’s also friends with some kids in the year below you, a Hufflepuff and a Slytherin, one of whom is a beast at Quidditch. He’s buddies with the Herbology whiz in your grade, the one that bounces around like there’s this constant flow of sunshine running through his veins. He even knows one of the first years, a kid you’ve never heard of but everyone else has.

Kim Namjoon is apparently friends with everybody in the school, you gather as you keep hearing things about him. Nobody knew who he was last year, but this year, everybody does, and you wonder what’s changed. What turned him from wallflower to center stage?

The problem with looking past the table incident, is that you don’t expect it to happen again. Too lazy to talk with McGonagall about arranging something different, you let it go and assume that Namjoon won’t be there the next day, and that you can tutor in peace. As suspicious as the boy is, you give him the benefit of the doubt and just hope that he won’t bother you again.

But you’re wrong.

Because the second you walk into the library you notice a flyer advertising his tutoring skills tacked right on top of yours, blocking every word on your poster from view. And with a quick turn of your head, you spot him settling down at the table. Your table. He’s smiling to himself as he chats casually with the girl across from him, who’s tugging her textbook from her bag.

The girl you’re supposed to meet up with isn’t here yet, which gives you plenty of time to either: think this whole thing through and act calm and composed as you politely ask Namjoon for the table, or storm up to him and tell him that you have every right under the sun to use this table, especially after yesterday. And, as good of a student as you are, your communication skills have always been a bit lacking.

“I’m pretty sure I get to use this table today,” you say, not really caring about what conversation you’re interrupting as you march up to Namjoon, scowl on your face.

“Ugh, it’s you again,” Namjoon says, frowning as he turns to look up at you, and honestly, how on Earth did this boy manage to befriend half of the student body? “Excuse me, for just one moment,” he says as he looks at the girl in front of him apologetically. “Can I help you with something, Y/N?”

“Could you go find somewhere else to tutor? Anywhere else?” You ask, eyes wide. “Because you were here yesterday, and I need this table to tutor my own students.”

“What, angry that you didn’t get here early enough?” Namjoon asks, pouting as he looks at you, patronizing and enraging. “That’s not my fault.”

“Can we work out some kind of schedule, or something? I don’t understand what’s so difficult about us compromising,” you say, rolling your eyes, already tired of this conversation.

“I thought you were supposed to be intelligent, Y/N,” Namjoon tsks, shaking his head. “But it’s clear that you can’t see why, so I guess I’ll have to spell it out for you.”

Your mouth drops open.

“You’re competition, Y/N,” Namjoon says, leaning over with his face barely an inch away from yours. Your eyes are stark wide as they stare into his, face frozen without a word on your tongue, nothing to get out in response. “And I don’t take kindly to competition, so you better step up your game if you want any shot at beating me.”

“I don’t want to play this game of yours,” you insist, but Namjoon just shrugs helplessly, sitting back down and turning his attention to the girl in front of him. You heave out a breath, appalled, offended, and seeking revenge. Maybe you told Namjoon that competition isn’t for you, but when you’re up against a grade A asshole and your entire reputation is at stake, well… let the games begin.

You see the girl you’re supposed to tutor as you march out of the library, footsteps heavy on the hardwood floor as you figure out what the hell you’re supposed to do next, because you can’t bear another floor session and Namjoon’s taunting. With a final turn back to the table that’s apparently no longer yours, glaring down Namjoon’s back with a scowl scrawled all over your face, you meet up with the girl and force out a smile.

“This place is too crowded,” you fib. “Let’s go to the Great Hall, instead. There’s more space there.”

Kim Namjoon deems you not only competition inside the library, but also outside of it, after a double Charms class between the fourth-year Gryffindors and Ravenclaws. You didn’t even realize how many classes you actually shared with him until he became an unwelcome presence in your life, but now that you do, it seems that he’s always hot on your tail.

Charms is another one of those subjects that you could probably safely call “a walk in the park”, mostly because nothing in that class is ever difficult or particularly mind-boggling. You are positive that you’ve definitely fallen asleep in the class before, and you still have a perfect grade so hey, what does it matter?

It matters when the entire class is dedicated to perfecting the Summoning Charm, a spell you mastered the second time you ever uttered the words, and right out from under you, your quill is snatched away from you as you’re finishing up your Arithmancy homework for the next two days. It’s tugged right from your hand, and you barely have time to react to its rapid disappearance before you hear a familiar laugh.

From across the classroom, Kim Namjoon is sitting, grinning wildly with a devious smirk on his face, your quill dangling from his fingers. You know you can’t go up and get the damn thing and disrupt the whole class, but luckily for you, you know another way to get your quill back.

“Accio,” you cast with your wand pointed directly at the quill in question, lips curling up into a smile as you watch it break free from Namjoon’s grasp and fly right back to you.

The best part about this? Flitwick sees.

“Did you catch that, class?” He chirps happily as he beams up at you from the stack of books he stands on. “Miss Y/L/N did it! Wonderful job, Miss Y/L/N! Five points to Ravenclaw for your perfect pronunciation and strong wand movement. Did you see it? The quill flew right to her! That’s how the Summoning Charm should be performed.”

You feel your cheeks heating up as everyone turns to stare at you, some in pride and some in envy, but the innocent smile on your face soon morphs into that of sweet, sweet victory as you turn to meet Namjoon’s eyes. He’s got a smirk on his face, almost as if to say, “Smart move” as he nods slowly to himself.

Before you know it, your quill is back in his hands as he grins proudly, twirling it between his thumb and pointer fingers.

“Mr. Kim! You too!” Flitwick declares cheerfully. “Excellent form, excellent, excellent. Five points to Gryffindor for your fantastic job, as well. Students! Watch Miss Y/L/N and Mr. Kim, as they know extremely well how the Summoning Charm is to be cast.”

It’s a good move. Almost too good, if you think about it, but playing games on your own is no fun. The more, the merrier.

“Accio,” you say back, bringing your quill back to you. Hardly a second has passed before it’s back in Namjoon’s hands.

The two of you go back and forth like this, friendly fire across the room, much to Flitwick’s delight, both of you unable to let this go. Your smirks grow wider as you cast the charm over and over like it’s nobody’s business, completely outshining the rest of the class with your little battle, only one of the war. By the end of the period, you don’t know how many times you’ve said the word “Accio,” but it’s enough for each letter to have carved a space on your tongue as you happily grin down at the quill in your hand.

Flitwick stops the both of you when class is over, keeping you back from your next lesson to do nothing but shower praise.

“You two are the brightest students I’ve seen in a very long time,” he informs you with glee. “Your performances today were outstanding. I’ve never seen two people so engaged in a lesson before.”

You and Namjoon look at each other, stuffing down your scowls and replacing them with fake smiles instead.

“I should hope that every day will be like this,” Flitwick says. “You both are dismissed.”

“Think you got the best of me, hey, Y/N?” Namjoon asks on the way out, devilish grin on his face as he looks at you. “Finally managed to beat me?”

“You’ll never admit it,” you retort back.

“That I won’t,” Namjoon nods in assurance. “But we’ll see who has the last laugh.”

“What’s the last laugh supposed to mean when you could have the last word instead?” You challenge, stopped dead in the middle of the hallway as you stare at each other, each with untrustworthy smiles on your faces. Like this, Namjoon actually looks like someone whose company you might have enjoyed. Like this, there’s a little voice in the back of your brain that whispers promises of friendship, or at least, acquaintance-ship. But you shake those thoughts out of your mind, nearly scoffing aloud at the very idea of the two of you being anything less than mortal enemies.

Kim Namjoon leans in close, and he murmurs into your ear, “Better pick your words wisely, then, Miss Y/N.”

With that, he’s gone, and when you take a seat in Defense Against the Dark Arts and fish through your bag for a writing utensil, you find yourself quill-less. Almost as if on cue, Namjoon’s laughter rings through your ears.

God damnit.

Present

Visiting Hogsmeade is always your favorite part of the year. Always. Time away from schoolwork, from pressing teachers, and your very favorite, time away from Kim Namjoon’s obnoxiously omnipresent existence. You had calculated it two years ago—the odds of you seeing Namjoon on any given day at Hogsmeade is roughly 1 in 4258, a meager 0.023% of you even having to catch a glimpse of the boy. It’s the most satisfying basic arithmetic you’ve ever done. Nothing says sweet weekend vacation like the promise that you don’t have to lay your eyes on your one and only nemesis while there.

Hogsmeade is the one place where you can let your worries run free, scurry off into nothingness as you take in the scent of snow, butterbeer, and pumpkin pasties. You trust that luck is on your side, for if Namjoon really wanted to bother you while the two of you were both at Hogwarts, all he’d have to do is look a little bit harder. He’d find you. And so far, he’s made no attempts at tracking you down to terrorize you on your one weekend of freedom from his overbearing self.

Surprisingly enough, neither of you have resorted to those prank toys sold at the Zonko’s to outdo one another. Sure, your rivalry is childish and definitely worthy of a couple of fake quills and vanishing ink—at least, maturity-wise—but neither of you seem very drawn to the idea of them, and randomly bringing those nonsense tricks into the game now would just be breaking the status quo. The competition between the two of you is unnecessarily volcanic, but if there’s one thing you can agree on, it’s the fact that it is hardly based on petty tricks and practical jokes. No, you fight like real people. With words. And sometimes wands.

That is, until you somehow find yourself separated from your group of friends, and realize that you fight with snowballs, as well.

The first time, it sort of feels like someone just accidentally bumped into you, elbowed your back slightly as they’re weaving their way through the crowd. You almost make to apologize, the “Sorry” on the tip of your tongue, when it happens again. This time, there’s no mistaking the wetness on your back, damp clothes touching skin as you freeze up from the ice.

Kim Namjoon is standing by the entrance to the path that leads toward the Shrieking Shack lookout with his head tilted back, howling with laughter. You see a couple of his friends dart down the path when they notice your smouldering gaze, see how their feet make skidded footprints in the snow as they run.

Namjoon finally makes eye contact with you, but there’s no fear in his irises. He’s not scared of you, never has been, probably never will be, despite your best efforts, only grinning like he’s victorious. He’s bundled up tight but his hands are bare as they form another snowball, one you know will hit you right in the fucking noggin if you’re not smart with your next move. Either you reach down to hit him with a snowball first, or you run, desperate to wreak your revenge on him.

This is a new level of low for the both of you, you realize, having never done this before even in spite of the fact that you’ve definitely been on many a Hogsmeade outing together in your time. You had always done such a damn good job of avoiding him, pushing him to the back of your mind as you laugh with your friends as you trade Chocolate Frog cards and get Butterbeer foam on your nose. But this time, it’s different. This time, Namjoon wants to make himself known to you.

You dodge Namjoon’s next throw only barely, managing to move your head just in the nick of time as you gather up your own snowball, devious grin taking over your face as you run towards him, chasing him down. Namjoon’s smart, and he knows that you’re reckless and carefree, and so he bolts, turning down the path quickly as he follows in the footsteps of his friends. With his name on your lips, you chase him down, half-fuming, half-giggling.

It’s easy to track him down, following the sets of three different footprints to an area that you already know well enough. You keep your eyes trained on the prints in front of you, not wanting to get ambushed by a certain someone who may have taken another road.

When you reach the clearing, nobody’s there, and the footprints end.

“Stop being a coward and face me, Kim!” You shout to nobody, snowball held firmly in between your palms as you swivel around. You’re suspicious and wary, knowing that Namjoon wouldn’t lead you on some wild goose chase and make you look like a fucking idiot in the middle of the lookout to the Shrieking Shack.

Out of nowhere, a snowball comes hurdling right towards your head. You notice it at the last second, not enough time to cast a spell to deflect it but just enough to quickly move your head. It crashes onto the snowy floor behind you, collapsing into a million bits. Fuck, you forgot that one of Namjoon’s friends has an Invisibility cloak. They’re probably using that.

“Gonna hide behind a fucking cloak for this whole thing, huh, Kim? That’s low,” you shout in the direction of the source of the snowball, smirk on your face.

Crash!

Your neck and back are sopping wet, skin shivering from the dampness as you feel the ice fall off of your coat. Damnit.

“Kim!” You shriek, snowball at the ready.

Just then, two boys come scurrying out of a back path, one of them you recognize as the kid with the aforementioned Invisibility cloak. They’re giggling, but you make eye contact with both of them and they dash, not wanting to be involved in whatever battle is about to occur any longer. They’re young kids, probably no more than fourth years, but with them gone, you know it’s just you and Namjoon now.

“Found me yet, Y/N?” His voice echoes, body still hidden amongst the snowy trees and rocks.

“I see how it is,” you call back, crossing your arms over your chest in disappointment. “You’re just gonna taunt me from wherever you’re hiding and pelt snowballs at me from an unseen location instead of just dueling me like a real wizard.”

“You want to face me head-to-head, Y/N?” Namjoon asks. “Fine.”

Before you can even think about a snarky response, you feel an unmistakable thud on your head, and feel the ice dripping down your hair. It’s a small snowball, you know that much—Namjoon would never purposefully put you in danger—but it does the job and it does it well, because your body heats up in rage as you tilt your head straight up to the sky and see Namjoon casually sitting on one of the branches above.

“You asked for it, Y/N!” Namjoon shouts before jumping down, casting a wordless spell to break his fall. “Head to head.”

The first thing you do when he’s finally at your eye-level is pelt your snowball at him, watching in glee as it hits his chest and knocks the wind right out of him. Namjoon gasps slightly, but when he looks back to meet your eyes, ignited with flames, he’s grinning like a villain, dangerous smirk on his face.

Next thing you know, you have a full-scale snowball war on your hands, skids in the snow on the ground and laughter erupting from your lungs.

From a distance, the two of you might look like friends. Friends who are casually having a snowball fight in an empty clearing while on a school trip to Hogsmeade. Friends who are playfully competitive but enjoy each other’s presence regardless. From a distance, the two of you actually look like you might get along with each other.

But you can’t. You swear, you’d rather die than be the last person on Earth with Namjoon by your side, you swear that you’ll hate the kid until the end of time itself. There’s no fathomable way that you could ever get along with him, cooperate for even just one second. You’re enemies. You will always be enemies.

You’re firing at him rapidly now, snowball after snowball after snowball as you hide behind the white-covered park bench that looks out towards the Shrieking Shack, giggles bubbling in your voice as each one comes in contact with Namjoon’s body. With one final blow, you throw your largest snowball right at his torso, a loud thud erupting as it hits him, making him fall onto the snowy floor with a grunt.

Victorious laughter leaves your throat as you watch him fall, happy to see that you’ve finally fucking beat him in something, but the smile on your face soon dissipates when you notice his unmoving body. Suddenly, concern washes over your features as you run over to him. God, what did you do? The snowball couldn’t have been that strong, fuck.

“Kim? Kim, you alright?” You ask as you stand over him, nudging his still leg with your foot to see if it’ll get him up. “Namjoon?”

He’s silent, eyes closed softly, snowflakes dotting his eyelashes.

“Kim?” You repeat, leaning down as you look over him, head hovering above his. “Get up, Kim. Stop pretending. Kim!”

You’ll never admit it to him, but panic overtakes you for a brief second as you dwell on the worst thoughts that pop into your brain, that he hit his head on the hard floor, rendering him unconscious.

“Fuck,” you mutter to yourself as you look around, hoping nobody sees the two of you like this, with your body hovering over his as your chest seizes up in fear.

Just then, something grabs the arm that’s loitering right next to him and tugs you down into the snow. You shriek in surprise as your head hits his chest and warm laughter bubbles up from his throat.

“Got you!” Namjoon taunts happily, craning his neck down to get a good look at your speechless expression, mouth open but no words coming out. “God, you looked so worried, Y/N. Does that mean you actually care about me?” He asks you, gazing into your eyes with his own victory scrawled all over his face.

You scoff, pushing yourself off of him as you dust the snow from your arms and chest. “As if. You just scared me, ‘s all. I didn’t want to be held accountable for your death while still a student.” You’re flustered, ears burning a hot red (and not from the snow), but you stand up anyway, refusing to meet his eyes. “When we graduate though, that’s a different story.”

Namjoon laughs, getting up off of the ground and brushing the snow from his body. “I always knew you cared for me, Y/N. You’re so easy to read.”

“I am not!” You shout in disbelief, resisting the way your mouth yearns to curve upwards. “You’re just awful.”

“Salty that I finally exposed you?” Namjoon asks cheekily.

You turn to him as you walk back up to the path, towards the bustling Hogsmeade center, and push his chest lightly, nose scrunched up. “Shut up, Kim.”

“Make me,” Namjoon responds, and with that, he’s pressing another snowball firmly into your chest and running off with a cackle, giving you hardly any time to react before he’s off.

“Kim!”

Fourth Year

“Y/N!”

You whip your head around at the source of the voice, turning only to see your friend, Seulgi bounding towards you, gleeful smile scrawled on her face. It’s especially nice to see her these days, what with all of the negativity in your life (cough, Kim Namjoon, cough), considering the fact that you hardly have any classes with her.

“Hey,” you say in response when she catches up to you. You’re walking down to the Gamekeeper’s hut to camp out on the fairgrounds, wanting to spend some time away from the castle. It’s the one damn place Namjoon hasn’t contaminated.

“What’s this I hear about you and that Gryffindor kid?” She asks, not even trying to beat around the bush. You’re surprised that news has travelled so fast, but you suppose that anyone would be slightly suspicious of that Charms class yesterday. It’s not every day you see two top students battling it out with the Summoning Charm.

“Who, Kim?” You ask, feigning ignorance. You know damn well who she’s talking about, you’re just hoping that maybe, maybe she means someone else and you don’t have to get a bad taste in your mouth every time you say his name.

“Yeah, the smart kid. Some Gryffindor was telling me yesterday about your Charms class,” Seulgi says as she stuffs a small mint into her mouth. “What’s going on? Are you guys friends, or something?”

You stifle a laugh.

She gasps. “Are you dating him? And you didn’t even tell me?” Her eyes are wide as they stare you down, and you panic.

“Oh my God! Oh my God, no, oh my God. We’re not dating,” you say sternly, a sick image of the two of you being all cuddly together coming up in your brain. The very thought makes you want to vomit. “We’re not even friends.”

“But the two of you were like… playing around together in Charms,” your friend says, unable to connect the dots. You don’t blame her. “It sounds like you guys are dating to me.”

“We’re not, I swear. I don’t even like him,” you insist, to probably no avail. Seulgi doesn’t look all that convinced. “He’s an asshole.”

“Strong word there, Y/N,” she chides.

“He is! He hates me, honestly,” you tell her, shaking your head. “I don’t know what the heck his deal is.”

“Why does he hate you?” Seulgi asks, an eyebrow raised in confusion. “He likes everybody.”

“Not me, I guess. But the feeling is mutual. I don’t like him very much either,” you admit to her.

“Whatever you say, Y/N,” she hums casually, not paying very much attention to the conversation. As you walk down to the fairgrounds, she’s kicking a rock along the way. “I find the thought of the two of you hating each other very hard to believe.”

You scoff, a little flustered. What on Earth could give away any other message about your relationship with Namjoon besides “mortal enemy”? You thought you had made it clear enough that you disliked the boy. It’s not like he treats you any better, with his honeyed words and condescending tone.

“Believe it,” you say, pressing a finger to her forehead as you push her back slightly, making her giggle.

When you reach the bottom of the hill, you and Seulgi camp out on one of the crumbling park benches, wood faded from use. The stone seat is cold, the temperature moving through your robes as goosebumps cover your skin, but you settle in comfortably regardless. You’ve already finished your homework, so being out here isn’t really helpful for your studying, but it’s peace and quiet as the sounds of nature consume you.

“Hey, Seulgi, wanna see this thing Flitwick taught me?” You ask, nudging her side as you pull out a spare piece of parchment.

“I can’t believe you’re doing so well in Charms that Flitwick just casually teaches you outside lessons, but sure,” she responds, rolling her eyes as she turns to you.

You quickly fold the paper into an airplane, having mastered the technique the second time you did it. The first time, your airplane was… meh, at best. “The Ministry apparently uses something like this all of the time,” you say informatively. “They’re called Interdepartmental Memos, or something like that. But Flitwick just taught me how to create my own.”

Nimble fingers perfect the wings of the airplane as you turn to Seulgi, excited expression on your face. She motions for you to fly it.

With a soft bit of force, the airplane takes off, flying gracefully through the forest air as your eyes follow its path. Unlike Muggle airplanes, gravity does not take its toll on this one as it continues to float gently in the wind. The sight is perfect, almost too perfect, and instantly broken as you watch a hand reach out to grab it.

“Excuse me,” you say, rolling your eyes as you get up to go confront whoever decided that they would snatch up your airplane mid-flight. “Would you mind giving that back?”

“Did you make this, Y/N?”

God damnit.

“Not you again, Kim,” you say, face morphing into one with a pained expression. “Can’t you just give me one break? I feel like everywhere I go, you show up.”

Namjon shrugs helplessly, inspecting your airplane between his calloused hands. “I guess our paths keep crossing.”

You reach up to grab the plane from him, happy to have it back in your grasp. “I wish they didn’t.”

Namjoon leans down to look at you, an unreadable smile taking over his lips. “I’m glad that they do.”

Present

Namjoon’s poster is back to normal, you notice as you enter the library. To combat this, you quickly transfigure it into a lost Kneazle poster, just to bother him. You have no tutoring session after class today, seeing as you need all of the time you can get to finish this group project by yourself (because your classmates are incompetent at best), so you’re just here to jinx a couple of posters and check out some spellbooks. This potion isn’t going to brew itself.

Someone that does have tutoring today is Namjoon, because, for some reason, he feels no sense of urgency to keep his grades up (yet another quality you despise about him—how can he be so careless and still maintain the ranking of top student?). He’s sitting right out in the open with his student of choice, pointing to something in a book as he lectures the kid. You pay them hardly any attention, not wanting to give Namjoon the recognition he craves.

Still, with them being out in the open like that, it’s hard to avoid them as you go back and forth between shelves and cases on the hunt for the textbooks you need. You feel Namjoon’s piercing gaze on you with every step you take, keeping your head down as the pile of books in your hands grows taller and taller.

You spend probably about an hour in the library, skimming through textbooks to see which ones are worth checking out and getting distracted with light reading from textbooks about Dragons of the Stone Age and Wizards and Witches of the 18th Century Framed for Other’s Crimes. Shit’s interesting, man.

You’ve just checked out about five books when you hear thundering footsteps approaching you, which can really only mean just one thing.

“No tutoring today, Y/N?” Namjoon asks as he moseys on up to you.

“I’m busy today, Kim,” you quip back, keeping your answer short so as not to indulge him. “Don’t have time.”

“Grades falling?” Namjoon suggests, taking a quick peek at the books in your hand. “That’s a shame, Y/N. I would typically expect better from you.”

“You know what, Kim?” You ask, stopping in your tracks and turning to face him, scowl ever present. “You can take your expectations and you can shove them up your ass.”

“No need to be rude, Y/N, I know you’re trying hard to beat me out,” Namjoon says, patronizing smirk on his face. “You might get there, eventually.”

“God, you’re such a tool, you know that? You drive me up the fucking wall,” you exclaim, breathing out a sigh of annoyance. “I just want to… God, I don’t even know what the hell I want to do to you.”

“I could think of a few things,” Namjoon comments, making you gasp as you whip out your wand.

Before you can stop yourself, you’re casting whatever the first jinx to come to mind is, the Jelly-Legs one, aimed right at Namjoon’s face. He dodges it swiftly, but not before retaliating with his own curse, the Trip Jinx leaving his mouth as a flash of purple heads straight to you. You hold your textbook up as a shield, watching the streak bounce off of the cover and dissolve into the carpet. You’re livid.

“Mr. Kim! Miss Y/L/N!” Madam Pince shrieks from where she’s standing behind the checkout desk. “This behavior is highly inappropriate for the library! Detentions, for the both of you!”

Fuck.

To see the two top students, always on time, always polite, always active, trapped in an hour-long detention after class together would be a shocker for any teacher or student. The two of you show up to an empty classroom with frowns on your faces, wishing for the time to pass by. Sinistra’s in there, probably to watch over the two of you to make sure that you don’t get up to any funny business. You know, like hexing each other again.

“Welcome to Detention, take a sea—” She says without even glancing up from the pile of work on her desk, but she makes to look to see who the troublemakers of the day is, and her mouth drops, almost comically, when she sees you and Namjoon standing awkwardly at the entrance. “You two? What on Earth could have gotten you here?”

You and Namjoon look at each other guiltily.

“We had a bit of an argument,” Namjoon says, as if that’s any explanation.

“I never thought I’d see the day where the two best students in this school would land up serving a Detention with each other,” Sinistra comments as she stands up, gathering all of her papers in a neat pile. She walks down from where the desk is, meeting the two of you. “Well, since it’s only you two, I’m going to go back up to my classroom so that I can finish grading. I trust that neither of you will try to pull anything funny. You are Hogwarts’ best, after all.”

She exits the room swiftly, locking the door on the way out with some magic probably immune to Alohomora (though you wouldn’t put it past her if she didn’t) just to make sure the two of you stay trapped in this stuffy classroom for the next hour. That’s the beauty of being the best—teachers trust you with anything.

“Ugh,” you say as you collapse onto a desk, taking a seat on the top of the table. “Great.”

“We wouldn’t be in here if it weren’t for you,” Namjoon says, scrunching his nose up as he sits down beside you. “I was only acting in self-defense.”

“You provoked me,” you respond. “I’m just surprised I didn’t try to hex you sooner. It’s been over three years and I only tried to hex you now.”

“Well, you missed, so it’s not like you would have done any better as a fourth year,” he comments sarcastically. “Not a hexing kind of person?”

“You’re the only person I’d ever want to hex.”

“I’m touched.”

You sigh, rolling your eyes as you lean your head back, letting it rest on another desk. Staring up at the ceiling, you notice how the clouds slowly move across the vast expanse of blue through the skylights. “Why do you hate me so much?”

“What?” Namjoon asks.

“Why do you hate me? I don’t understand. What did I ever do to you?” You repeat, deciding that now is as good a time as any to figure out the mystery. It’s not like you have anything better to do.

“I don’t hate you,” Namjoon says softly, making you sit up in surprise.

You meet his eyes, swirling with brown wonder. “What?”

“I don’t hate you. I never said I did,” he says. “Why do you hate me?”

“Because I thought you hated me,” you respond, almost entirely at a lost for words. “Because you’re always so rude, and obnoxious, and taunting, and you push all of my buttons and make me want to punch you in the—”

There are many ways that Namjoon has shut you up before, with a sneer, a spell, a sentence, but never with his lips. At least, not until now.

You gasp into his mouth when his lips meet yours, but all other reasoning flies out into the courtyard at the sensation, all the parts of your brain that would typically be shouting “What the hell are you doing?!” rendered completely ineffective. You’re a good multitasker—you’d have to be to get the top spot, after all—but with his mouth on yours you can only focus on him, on the warmth that emanates from his whole body as he presses it into you. His hands come to hold your cheeks, cradle them in his palms as he lets the kiss work, eyelashes fluttering.

The second you part, your senses are finally coming back to you, and you react, albeit weakly, by pushing him away.

“What the hell?” You ask, more to yourself than to him, keeping your eyes trained on the floor. “Kim, what on—”

“I’ve wanted to do that since fourth year,” Namjoon interrupts, cheeks flushed a deep red. “You just never realized it.”

“Since fourth year?” You ask, still shaken. “You’ve been taunting and teasing me since fourth year and you think that one kiss is going to change all of that?”

“I—I should have done it sooner,” Namjoon admits, rubbing his arm awkwardly as he approaches you with a romantic sort of hesitance, one that has your heart shaking a little. “I know. I regret it.”

“I—” you begin, unable to finish your exclamation, come up with a coherent sentence. All you think about is the feeling of his lips on yours, how it made your heart thump a thousand times faster and all your worries dissipate.

“I treasure your presence in my life, Y/N,” Namjoon says. “I do. You never fail to make me smile or laugh. You’re so giving, you know. You’re sweet and grateful and you know what you want and you know how to get it. I think it’s admirable. I think you’re admirable.”

“Namjoon, I—”

“I understand if you don’t want to give this a shot,” he says, coming up to you as he takes your hand in his. “But I want you to know that I think that I’m in love with you, and that that won’t ever change. No matter what happens to us.”

God, you cannot cry in front of him, you refuse, so you furiously blink away the tears in your watering eyes. “You’re such an asshole, you know that?” You ask, voice choking. “All this time… all this time.”

“Y/N…”

“I think I love you too, Kim. I really, really do,” you admit, the words feel like a weight is being lifted off of your chest. Like with him, you can finally float.

Namjoon’s face breaks out into a smile, a warm, beautiful one, as he reaches out to press a light kiss on your forehead. One filled with promises of a better tomorrow.

You leave detention an hour later with a new outlook on life, a new boyfriend, and one hell of a joint-tutoring program, coordinated by only you and a special someone.

Third year you would never even dream about dating Kim Namjoon, but seventh year you can’t think of anything better than him by your side.

⇒ hmu with feedback or just talk to me here!

[childishrevolutionary]

Last Call Before Rehab

The walls of this Michigan sports bar are lined with the jerseys and newspaper headlines of teams well past their primes that haven’t accomplished anything in decades. The usual clientele fit the same description. Blue collar, salt of the earth people, who for the last six hours of their shift building this country, couldn’t think of anything but taking that first sip of the same light beer they fell in love with at 17. The closest thing we get to anything new going on around here is when the General Motors guys bring in a new hire to join them in their after-work ritual. The new guy doesn’t usually come around too much at first, until one day when he realizes there’s nothing else to do in the city of Pontiac but bust your ass for $19,000 a year and call some decrepit sports bar home. Here I go thinking nothing out of the ordinary’s gonna happen today until I see two new faces walk in: a middle-aged woman and a younger looking guy, the former coming to sit at the bar, and the latter slinking off to a booth way by the door. 

She says to me, “Hey pal, how ‘bout a pint of Miller. And hell, one for the guy over there,” gesturing towards the guy she came in with. 

There’s about fifteen things here that strike me as odd, and I let her know right away. “Ok ma’am—”

“Hey I’m not that old.”

“Right. What I was saying—lady—is there’s clearly something fishy going on here. First, I get two newbies in here out of the blue, haven’t had a newbie in weeks, one of ‘em looks like a high schooler, and you’re trying to buy the two of you a round?”

“Uhhh,” she stammers nervously, “we just happened to be on our way in when we both stopped for a cigarette and struck up a conversation. And I’m feeling generous today so I figure why not get the first one on me.”

“Must’ve been some kind of conversation if you’re sitting here and he’s way the hell over there. Plus, from what I can see, he hardly looks of age. I forget, did you say you met him in the parking lot, or at a Chuck E. Cheese?”

“Alright fine, just get me my own damn pint,” she demands.

I still can’t shake the feeling that something ain’t right here. At this point, I can serve her, hoping she becomes a regular, netting me an extra ten to fifteen bucks a night. Or I could be nosy in hopes she gives me a good story to tell when the boys come in later. Hell, the boys would love a good story, and I would too. “Who’s the kid, lady?” I ask her. “You two clearly know each other from somewhere. Was he sitting outside waiting to ask someone to buy him booze? I told those kids once already I ain’t servin’ ‘em.”

She sighs for a moment, and hanging her head, she mutters “He’s my son. 19.” 

“Come on lady, you know I’m not serving a minor.”

“You don’t have to keep calling me lady. Name’s Shelley.”

The name sounds familiar, I’m not sure why at first, but then it clicks. “Hey, I might’ve heard about you. I’ve heard about a blondie that’s a regular over at Dean’s. I think he’s told me about you, you’re supposed to be pretty handy with a pool stick ain’t you?”

“Yep that’s me. Word sure does get around this town doesn’t it?” She’s still staring at her feet for a good ten seconds until she yells out “God dammit!” so loud and unexpected that even her kid perks his head up. 

I can definitely see there’s a story here. I would say this is something you don’t see everyday, but I don’t think that does it justice. This is something you don’t see anyday. The boys are gonna love this one. “Alright Shelley, how ‘bout this. I get you your pint, on me, and you tell me what’s troubling you. You seem to be in a bad way.”

“That’s kind of you, but I always pay my own tab. Don’t need any of the men in this town thinkin’ I owe ‘em something.”

“Have it your way,” I say, pouring her drink. “What’s the issue? How ‘bout we start with why you’re trying to buy beer for your underage son.”

She takes a long, hard exhale out of her nostrils, looking off in the distance, before she replies “I gotta take him into rehab. But I have to get him drunk first.”

I look at her thinking either she’s got dementia, or I gotta get my ears checked. “Shelley, if I heard you correctly, I think it should go without saying that that’s quite possibly the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. Your kid that’s not even old enough to drink has to go to rehab, and you decide to take him to a bar?”

“You think that’s dumb, well let me tell you this: most rehab facilites don’t accept patients unless they’re currently drunk or had a recent drinking spell. Even a guy who drinks himself blind 7 days a week can go sober for 4 days, enough to get himself into detox, and the facility won’t take him, even though there’s almost a 100% chance he goes back to his old ways sooner or later.”

“Ok, I’ll admit, that’s kinda crazy, borderline fucked up. But did you think you’d really get away with getting him a drink here? And by the way, you’re gonna need a lot more than a pint to get him drunk.”

“Only reason I didn’t go to Dean’s is ‘cause everyone knows me around there, meaning they know my Joey’s only 19. I thought I’d try here ‘cause I never been.”

“I guess I can see the logic in that, but one beer? Surely that ain’t gonna be enough to get the kid— ”

“I don’t wanna get my own son piss ass drunk,” she announces loud enough that if anyone else were in the bar they probably would’ve done a spit-take. “I don’t wanna see him like that. I was thinking if he could just show he has little bit of something in his system, then they’d take him.”

“Jesus, Shelley, I don’t know what to say other than I’m sorry about all that.”

“Thanks,” she says in a pissed off tone, not pissed at me of course, but at the situation. 

“But I mean, if he’s got a drinking problem you’ve probably seen him drunk before. What’s wrong with seeing it this time if it’s for the sake of getting him helped?”

“That’s the thing. I only just now found out. I’ve only seen him drunk once.”

“C’mon, if he belongs in rehab there’s no way you only—”

“I only. Just. Now. Found out,” she asserts, clearly meaning business.

“Sheesh, alright. But before you cut me off again, let me just make a few educated guesses here, alright? You probably work real hard at some job that doesn’t pay you nearly what you deserve. And after that, you spend the rest of your night at Dean’s, drinking Millers and crushing those guys at pool. So with all that time spent on your own, his dad’s probably not in the picture, is he?

“Deadbeat took off a day after I told him I was pregnant. Sometimes I think the only way he could’ve disappeared that fast was by joining the army and getting shipped off to fight straight away. If that was the case, I like to think karma caught up with him and he got his ass shot on day one.”

“Alright, so no dad. But the kid’s 19 and still living at home? From what I hear, you’re a no nonsense kind of woman. You don’t seem like you’d let a kid stay home after high school without pulling his weight.”

“Right again. He wasn’t anything special in the classroom at the start, but I told him as soon as he’s done with school, diploma or not, he’s gonna have to work if he wants to stay with me. So he finished up school instead of dropping out, and work, he did. He had a steady job since right before graduation, his friend Scott picked him up each morning and they worked at Bass Pro Shop over at the mall. Never had an issue paying his share.”

“Until…”

“Until one day two weeks ago my boss gives everyone a half day, so I head down to the mall to get some new shoes. On my way out I decide to pop in to Bass Pro to say hi to Joey, ‘cause I never got to see him at work on account of us always working at the same times. I don’t find him so I ask the manager if Joey’s on break, that I’m his mother and I’d like say a quick hello, to which he replies that he doesn’t know a single Joey that’s ever worked there.”

“Oh shit. So he was in for it, huh?”

“Big time. So I skip going to Dean’s for the night just to wait for him to come home so I can chew him out and find out where the hell the money was coming from. That’s when he drunkenly stumbles in, surprised to see that I’m home, and through slurred words tries to explain it’s not what it looked like. Poor idiot thought I was upset with him being drunk, he had no idea I knew about the job. So I came up with a good idea. I told him sleep it off, that I wasn’t mad. But the next morning I told him, ‘hey, how ‘bout I take you into work today instead of your buddy.’ He tried to explain that I didn’t have to do that, that Scott would be there any second to pick him up, but I insisted that he get his ass in the car so I can drive him to the mall. Halfway there, his phone is blowing up and, still acting oblivious, I say ‘boy, you seem popular today, who’s texting you.’ He tried to say ‘oh, it’s no one,’ but I snatched the phone out of his hands and saw it was Scott sending texts like ‘HEY MAN WHERE ARE YOU WE JUST GOT THIS BIG BATCH OF DOPE TO SELL!!!’ and ‘DUDE YOU’RE FUCKING UP OUR BUSINESS!!’ and a bunch of crap like that.”

“Wow, so he was selling dope?”

“Yup, selling it to the rich kids in Bloomfield Hills. You know the type, private school kids driving BMWs and Range Rovers, not knowing that $30 for a gram is nowhere close to a good deal. But it turns out Joey was using some of his profits to pay people to buy him alcohol, or he got it in exchange for weed from some rich college grad asshole that went back to live at home off daddy’s money. Apparently he was hitting the bottle pretty hard for a year now, so that’s how we ended up here, at this shitty bar.”

Now, I could take offense to the comment about this being a shitty bar, but she wasn’t wrong because I call the place shitty 20 times a day. “Ok, I see, but if he’s moving enough weed to make rent and drink the rest of the money away, don’t you think maybe he needs more than rehab? Like a scared straight program or something?”

“Oh he’s done with that weed crap for sure. I told him if I even get a whiff of that smell on him, or the slightest scent of alcohol on his breath, his ass is out on the street. And I told his buddy Scott that I’ll shove my foot up his ass if he ever contacts Joey again. I don’t care how old he is, if I have to babysit him for the next five years I’ll do it. Anything to keep him from being anything like that bastard father of his or the other lowlife men in this town.”

“Well, that sounds like some A+ parenting, and a hell of a story. But can I give you a piece of advice? I’m no therapist, but when you’re a bartender in this neck of the woods, you play therapist to about a dozen people a week.”

“Go ahead, lay it on me.”

“If you really wanna help your son, go to a nearby liquor store, leave him in the car, and buy a pint. I’m not talking a pint of beer, I’m talking a pint of hard liquor. And spare the cashier your life story. It’s a good one, well, tragic I mean. But if you wanna help this kid—”

“His name’s Joey,” she interjects. “My son’s name is Joey. I’ve told it to you about a hundred times.”

“If you wanna help Joey, tell him to down that bottle and take him to the nearest rehab facility, if that’s what it takes to get him admitted. And I don’t think you should be spending so much time at Dean’s.”

“Hey I don’t need a lecture from you, you watch people drink their lives away every single day and you probably don’t say shit to ‘em,” she retorts, real hostile. “That being said, I actually am done with the booze. This was real eye opening, it’s like everyone in this city’s got some vice or addiction.”

“Ain’t that the truth, but it’s not just this city, it’s everywhere. Compare me and Joey. Like you said, I make a living watching people slowly kill themselves. He was making a living making sure rich white kids could get stoned in their dad’s mansion. We’re both two guys hustling to make a dollar no matter what, because around here, your main concern is paying the next bill. I know you know what I mean.”

“True.”

“And compare the users. Those rich kids drink and smoke to have a good time and party because they’re spoiled brats whose actions have no consequences. People ‘round here drink and smoke ‘cause their boss is riding them, or they can’t make rent, or once you start taking a good look around, you realize we live in a community of hopelessness and despair.”

“I see what you’re saying, but doesn’t it ever occur to you that we’re in despair because everyone’s got an unhealthy coping mechanism? Think about this: someone gets a DUI, but they can’t afford to have a criminal record, can’t afford court fees, can’t pay bills, and can’t keep a job because they’re spending half of the work week in mandated counseling and court appearances. Half of ‘em feel they have no option but turn to the bottle even though the bottle is what got ‘em there in the first place.”

“As sad as it sounds, those are my best customers.”

“And doesn’t that weigh on you? Actively participating in the death and destruction of your community?”

“Sure it does, but like you said, everyone’s got their own vices and coping mechanisms, and I’m no different. Which leads me back to the subject of Dean’s. I said you shouldn’t go there because I think you should start spending more time here.

“And why in the hell would I do that? I told you I’m done drinking.”

“Because my coping mechanism is about six blunts a day, and the price of weed just went up around here in the last two weeks—now I know why. We all gotta hustle, and I could use the extra cash.”

[overdrivels]

Art of Living (Plot)

I’m going to probably revisit this one day as a real fic, but right now, I don’t believe in myself at all to get this thing done. I really liked this idea and didn’t want it to die, so here is the plot in its entirety with snippets of writing that just couldn’t come together. Hold onto your pants, this is going to get long.

Basically, it’s a Soulmate!AU where injuries can get shuffled off to your soulmate. A Reaper x Reader. 

Chapter one is here: Link

Several months passed since you’ve last seen Angela. You’re still getting injuries transferred to you because your soulmate doesn’t know how to control themselves and is hell-bent on ruining your life (or so you think). But over time, they seem to get less and less for some reason. In the meantime, you’re just sitting around, suffering, doing some research papers because that’s kind of all you can do now. 

Angela FINALLY comes to visit you, but she has a guest (guess who), and you’re like:

You took in the guest’s appearance with little more than a bemused hum.“Is it Halloween already?” you asked with a yawn, wincing slightly when it aggravates the fading bruise on your face. “Didn’t prepare any candy.” 

“It’s the medicine,” Angela quickly offered to the other. 

“It isn’t,” you pouted. How dare she insinuate that you were not in control of your facilities? You were perfectly…not awake yet.  

She leaves you and Reaper alone so that you both can hash out the situation. Just you and him, and she’s right outside, ready to subdue him if necessary. Ana may or may not also be out there with a sleeping dart in case things get messy. 

You think you’re nervous? Reaper’s even more so. This guy, when he was Gabriel Reyes, used to think about this stuff all the time. He used to think about his soulmate and who it was, and whether they were really out there. Seeing you like this now, he’s not sure what to do. 

“…hey.”

The gravelly, tepid greeting was accompanied by an awkward wave (were those claws?) and the body language of a person who hasn’t tried to be friendly to anyone in ages. You stared, and he stared back. 

Probably. 

It was difficult to tell underneath the bone white mask that was full of cracks where his cheek would be and some adhesive residue. It looked like he got hit with a wrecking ball. You stay frozen to the spot as he lumbered over, heavy footsteps and breathing reverberating in the room. 

You watched him with bated breath, heart hammering away, anxious. 

He knelt before you. With a gentle touch that belied his appearance, he ghosted over the fading bruise on your cheek. Time froze, and your heart, previously in a panic, now calmed considerably. Warm, even. You barely even caught yourself leaning into this stranger’s touch. 

...stranger. No.

Cold realization hit you like lighting. A flash of white hot anger overtakes you. With more strength than you’ve had in years, you reared up and swung your fist at his face.

Or you would have, if he didn’t catch it. 

“Can you at least let me get a hit in? It’s only fair,” you grounded out, arm shaking from the effort to connect with his already ruined mask. He stared back impassively. He looked like he didn’t even care. You struck out your other arm. He caught that one, too.

“Feisty.”

You have spent years fantasizing about what you’d do to your soulmate for putting you through this living hell. But now that you have him at arm’s length, you don’t know what to do. Hundreds of scenarios that you’ve spent time mulling over, entire dialogues that you planned to spit at him, even those fancy one-liners that you recite to yourself even in your sleep–gone. 

You chase him out, chuck your tub of scar gel at the door. This wasn’t happening. Your soulmate was some edgy asshole. What the fFUCK. Angela comes in, knows that you’re in a bad mood and tries to explain that that person was Gabriel Reyes but he goes by ‘Reaper’ now. You don’t fucking care what this asshole calls himself. He’s now named ‘asshole’ because he’s quite literally the asshole who made your life a living hell. Angela just pleas for you to hear him out on this and talk because you’re soulmates.

Reaper knows almost 100% that you’re soulmates. He doesn’t have to even ask. He sees the scars and he knows where they’re from. On top of that, he got punched in the face by Jack when they were dragging him back, and you have the bruise where his should’ve been. So, it clinches it.  He really wished you both were able to meet when he was Reyes and not this monster who just forces his pain upon you. 

Things get calmer, everyone gives you some space before Reaper comes back, warping in and scaring the living daylights out of you. Again, you throw the nearest thing at him: your coffee cup, spilling it everywhere. He dodges that shit, too. What is up with this guy, why was he so good at dodging things? 

You both decide to be big adults and talk. It’s hard because you hate him for receiving all his injuries and he doesn’t know what to say. You ask him about it, and he has no idea. He’s not doing it on purpose, didn’t even know he had a soulmate to transfer this shit to. That just makes the entire situation worse because what does he mean he has no idea? He’s the one giving his injuries to you! He looks like he knows, but doesn’t say it. So now, you’re both in crappy moods. 

Reaper comes back another day, this time with coffee. It’s pretty good coffee, but he has a whole tray of things like sugar and different creamers and milk. It’s a peace offering if you’ve ever seen one. So you both have some quiet coffee time even though he never takes off the mask.

He brought in a tray of coffee, a strange and domestic gesture that sharply contradicts his appearance. He said nothing when he set it down, immediately retreating to ‘his’ corner. 

You looked at the offering with no small amount of ire.The coffee is black, packets of sugar and little cups of milk off to the side. It was a kind gesture despite the standoffish attitude.

Reaper knows he should take off the mask and let you see his face, but you were scared enough when he decided to fucking teleport, how are you going to react to his not Gabriel-esque face? Yeah, no. He keeps the mask on for now. 

He gets used to chilling in your room and just not saying anything, and you just work on your research papers. He has a corner that slowly becomes his corner. It’s for him and him only. Quickly, you’re both used to each other’s presence even in silence, like it was completely natural. But you still tell yourself you hate him. How does one not know they’re transferring their injuries to someone else? Seriously? The nerve of this guy. But life is great. Your soulmate is within your sights, and he’s not running off getting injured (or at least, he’s making a conscious effort not to do so).

Eventually, he goes on a mission with Overwatch because they managed to convince him to join their side and need his support. Great, so he goes on a mission with them, but this time, he’s stressed the fuck out because you’re going to get his injuries whether he likes it or not. He’s painfully aware there’s someone else who is connected to him in a way that other people can’t really imagine. So he tries to be extra careful. But as always, injuries at inevitable in this line of work.

He watched the mist whisk away the bullet wound with a sense of dread he didn’t think he was capable of since he became ‘Reaper’, leaving nothing behind but ashen skin and a dull throbbing reminder that you will pay for his mistakes. 

When he gets back, you’re angry again because holy shit you guys just managed to find each other and get by without injuries. Now, you’re bed-ridden again and covered in them! You need a lot more healing serums than usual to get back on your feet. Reaper definitely feels bad about it, but he was injured, too. 

On top of that, he’s a mercenary. He’s got no choice. On top of that, things are Overwatch is very uncomfortable because the other agents realize that they’re indirectly hurting an innocent person who just happened to be linked with a living grim reaper hellbent on destroying them. It’s not comfortable for anyone, okay? 

So you’re all back to square one. Getting huffy at each other, but the blame really doesn’t lie in either of you. 

Speaking of blame, Angela’s busy researching why this is happening. She suspects it’s her fault and so she hasn’t gone to see you often, but she’s working herself to the bone. You’re her friend, Gabriel was her friend, and she’s going to get you both the happy ending you deserve. 

She’s managed to at least figure out that your body seems to reject the injuries after you receive a certain amount. Either because Reaper’s body knows that’s all you can handle or because your body is actively rejecting it out of self-preservation. She’s not too sure and doesn’t want to find out. 

In the meantime, you are Reaper are trying to work things out. Talk about how he shouldn’t run off, getting hurt because there’s someone else on the line. Reaper tries not to, it’s not like he really does it on purpose to hurt you. Even with all his edginess, Reaper’s a good guy. You start to warm up to him, even though you’re still calling him ‘asshole’. But it’s become almost a term of endearment. You both talk to each other every once in a while. You find out he’s actually pretty funny when he’s not busy brooding or being an edgelord. 

He’s pretty considerate, too. He brings coffee, hands you your blankets when you get cold, organizes some papers. He’s...actually not such bad company. Though you never actually stop trying to punch him in the face. 

Eventually, you find out that it’s Angela’s fault. Lord help you, it’s your friend’s fault because she botched her resurrection technology trying to save this fucker known as your soulmate. Apparently she spammed her resurrection on this guy and just really messed up. He’s the first one she’s ever tried it on, there were bound to be some kinks. 

You are tired, and easily irritable from your constant pain, and just snap at Angela. Reaper is there and you end up snapping at him, too, accusing him for knowing and not saying anything. He snaps at you, you’re all angry at each other and the situation. Look, anyone would be angry if they were suffering for years and it’s because of a good friend with good intentions, but their fuck-up meant your suffering. It’s entirely understandable. Doesn’t mean that this was a good way to handle, though. 

For stress-relief, Reaper goes on a mission and is reckless. Getting shot every which way, warping too close to enemies, getting hit in places he could normally avoid. Yes, he’s in a terrible mood. And guess what? He can heal himself with souls. He’s fine. You? You’re fucked. 

When he’s done rampaging, he feels fucking bad about it all. What the fuck did he just do to his own SOULMATE? So he tries to go back to apologize. Warps into the room next to your’s, comes in through the front door like he usually does because he’s considerate of spooking you, but you’re not there. Weird. There also seems to be a lot more activity around the hospital. He manages to get someone to spill where you are. You’re in surgery because the healing serums weren’t doing anything. Oh boy. He thinks he may have fucked up big time. 

Angela comes out of surgery and has to explain to him and you’ve developed a resistance to the healing serums. You’ve been taking them for so long and at such high doses that they literally don’t do jack squat for you anymore. 

Now he’s worried as shit and realizes OH FUCK he might actually care for you a lot more than he realizes. All those times he’s spent in your room, just staying with you and talking about things like your research, he realizes he liked that and he liked your company and oh shit. He’s gone down the slippery slope of FEELS. He tells Angela to do what she can. 

When you get out of surgery, you’re just plain exhausted and sleep a lot. Reaper’s by your side the whole time. He gets stuff for you if you need it, makes sure you take your medication, makes sure you take your meals on time, hell, he even helps you put on scar gel and change your bandages, and is just generally good company. You may or may not be delirious enough to just let your defenses down to just let him take care of you. 

On the back end, though, Reaper goes to see Angela to subject himself to her experiments because he doesn’t want to see you go through that shit again. They both work on trying to find the thing that makes his body wisp away all injuries to you. This guy is really trying okay? Even though he doesn’t like being subject to Angela’s prodding and testing, he’s doing this for you. 

When you’re considerably better, you both end up just going for walks around the compound and things like that to make sure you keep up your exercise. It’s nice. Reaper can even pretend that you’re both normal and that everything’s okay. You try not to admit to yourself that this is nice. That having Reaper with you is nice. You accidentally even called him ‘Reaper’ instead of ‘asshole’. 

Reaper would not admit it until many years later, but while it may not have been his actual name, but it’s a huge upgrade from being called ‘asshole’. He could just drop his mask and kiss you at that moment. But he doesn’t. 

One day, he comes by with a cup of coffee. Not just ANY cup, though.

He shoved the warm cup into your hand, nearly spilling it all over your lap in the process. 

“Drink." 

You resisted the urge to splash it back into his face when he refused to back off, looming over you as though threatening you to drink it. One glance at the contents makes you suspicious, but when you taste it, your eyes widen and the cup nearly slipped from your hand. 

You had to take hearty sip to be sure, but by the time your mind had caught up to the reality of he knew how you took your coffee, the cup was nearly empty. You drained the cup and licked at the rim when it would not offer more. A warmth from something much more than just the drink swelled against your ribs to your neck then your cheeks, heart pounding.  

Even though you couldn’t see his face, you could somehow tell he was pleased with himself.

THIS SMOOTH MOTHERFUCKER has been watching how you take your coffee and made it for you just the way you liked. MAN, if you didn’t like him before, you sure as hell liked him now. 

Reaper’s nickname has been upgraded from ‘asshole’ to ‘Reaper’. Congrats, edgelord! You’re one step closer to romancing the reader. 

Anyway, it seems that Angela may have found out a way to stop it, and tests it on Reaper. 

“Only one way to find out.”

He dug his gauntlet into his arm with little more than a grunt. Both watched the wound with dreaded suspense, waiting for the mist to come and deliver the punctures to you. 

Reaper’s heart nearly stopped when the mist came out, ghosting over the injury like it was debating whether it should or not. It dissipates before it does anything further, leaving the wounds gaping and barely bleeding. The rush of relief that Reaper felt at the sight almost made him question whether he was actually a masochist. 

LOOKS LIKE YOU’RE CURED AND HE’S CURED. FINALLY. Now he’s 100x squishier because he no longer automatically transfers injuries to you for double HP. 

But now, he can go on missions without being worried for you, you’re healing up nicely, hell, you both even have some sort of okay understanding of each other. You’re both pretty stoked, and you actually run around outside for the first time in years without fear of randomly dropping dead or getting so badly injured that you can’t find help. Wow, Switzerland is nice, you both deserve this. Good job, you two. Reaper watches you run around, laughing and having fun. This was great, and you make him have fun with you, too. 

Most of the time though, you just both sit in the same room, you drink the coffee he makes, he sometimes drinks coffee with his back turned to you, you both talk about stuff and just generally enjoy each other’s company. You’re sarcastic and have interesting stories, and he also has his share, and everything’s hunky dory. 

NOPE

Remember that water filtration system from Chapter 1? Yeah, Talon’s using one of the components to create a weapon. They’re targeting the hospital you’re in because they know that Reaper’s there a lot. Too bad, Reaper’s off on a mission. Their main goal though is the healing serums and healing technology they have at that hospital. That shit is useful and expensive. 

BATTLE STATIONS, EVERYONE. You wake up to the sounds of the battlefield and you look and are like, ‘aw, fuck no’. People are screaming, there is general chaos, and the hospital seems to be on lockdown. There are security bots everywhere and people who are trying to fight. But sadly, they’re no match for Talon’s agents. 

You bust into an area in the hospital where they kept prototype valkyrie suits (separate from the labs that develop the serums), and done that shit like a boss. Surprise, you didn’t just write papers for a living. You were one of the medical personnel who used the valkyrie suits, but for obvious reasons, had to retire early. 

So you run around, trying to heal people and avoid getting killed. But you’re out of practice, and just really unprepared for this shit. But if you had to go down, you’d rather go down fighting. 

“It’s high noon.” This is the sound that marks the beginning of the turning of tides. Every Talon agent near you gets shot, and holy fuck, some cowboy drops in in front of you and gives you a hat tip. Who???

He introduces himself as McCree, and just basically tells you he won’t let anything happen to you, calls you lovely, and says that you don’t need to dirty your hands or worry your pretty head over anything. Whatever, he’s just smooth as all fuck, and shuffles you away to keep you safe.

Some lady named Sombra comes by also, telling you that ‘Gabe’ is on the way. Apparently, she managed to get contact him about this attack before he got too far. He may be able to teleport, but it’s not going to be fast enough. Even Widowmaker’s in on this, just sniping down people as they come near you while Sombra renders their exquipment ineffective, and Jesse’s barrelling through everyone and putting bullets in their heads. 

Shit, though, Talon gets the jump on you at some point while you’re trying to help heal Jesse because that guy is just taking a ton of damage. You go down, injured badly, but you’re trucking along like, “This ain’t shit! I’ve gotten worse from Reaper.” Yeah, it ain’t anything to joke about, you’re seriously hurt and no amount of serums are going to help because you’re resistant. 

Reaper makes it eventually, and DEATH BLOSSOMS everyone in the vicinity. He gets to you, bundled up in Jesse’s serape because no one can heal and even healing is useless on you at this point. The only solution is to transfer your wounds to Reaper. 

You fucking laugh at the idea, even though it hurts. You refuse and say that you don’t want him to go through this crap. It sucks. He’s angry because if you don’t do it, he’s going to lose his soulmate and a friend. 

Angela comes running out also with the rest of the Overwatch squad because Sombra had the foresight to contact them as well. She knew this shit was going down. Talon should’ve changed their passwords (not that that could’ve helped). Overwatch literally mows them down, and forces Talon to retreat. 

Eventually, you relent and share your wounds with Reaper. He’s able to heal them instantly by eating up souls. This is just unfair. But before you can give up the rest of your injuries, you just knock out. It’s been a stressful day. You deserve it.

A lot of time passes, you’re fine, Reaper’s fine, everyone’s happy.  and you’re living with Reaper, or rather, he’s living with you. He’s making you coffee from scratch (roasts the beans and everything), and you’re writing your research papers. He even has his mask off, comfortable enough to not feel self-conscious in front of you, and you’re not frightened with his appearance. It’s actually pretty intact contrary to what he thinks. You both just have coffee and talk, leaning against each other on the couch. It’s rather domestic, and Reaper thinks he can get used to this. This was nice. You even call him ‘Gabriel’ now with the voice of someone who actually cares for him. (He’ll never admit it, but he’s absolutely smitten to hear you finally call him by his name.)

You find out that Angela personally hunted down Reaper to tell him about you. She had to go one-on-one with him to get him to listen. 

The bruise you got when he met you? It was because of Jack. He punched Reaper in the face for being an idiot. They had a fist fight. 

He still feels a little bad about it. 

You punch him in the face with your mouth. Because you’ve been wanting to just punch him in the face since day one. 

He just leans in and gives you a gentle kiss on the corner of your lips, and you’re flustered because neither of you have been very intimate like that, and you just bury your face in his shoulder, laughing. 

You both eventually have a proper kiss. It’s quick, but warm. 

One kiss leads into another, and you’re both just kissing each other on the face, hands, neck (you almost drop your coffee), nose. It’s cute. 

Sombra has a picture of this and sends it to fucking EVERYONE. 

Parties are thrown, money is passed around, people’s hopes are regained. Angela finally gets more than three hours of sleep. 

[chxxymm]

seven - a letter to my friends

“Cause if you jump, I will jump too, we will fall together.” Oh my friends, if you are reading this, maybe it’s the loneliness of being by myself or the sugar from the soy bean milk I just had that’s kicking in but whatever it is, something is fuelling this disgustingly corny post so stick around, buckle your seat belts and listen the fuck up.

My first real friend wasn’t until the age of 12, her name was Jennifer, if you’re reading this hi, I miss ya. A lot of people go through fake friends, bad friends, peer pressure or what not, I am an extremely lucky person because none of that stuff has ever really happened to me. I’ve heard you are the average of the 3 people you hang out with the most and somehow, I’ve always hung around the best.

If you’re reading this, there’s probably a fond (or maybe not so fond) moment when we met. Did we meet at school, at work, did we match on Tinder until you realise I was a weirdo? No matter how long ago or how recently we met, I probably think about you a lot, if not, everyday. 

It wasn’t until this last month, when I decided to embark on this journey of “finding myself” (HAHAHHAHAHAH GOOD JOKE MAN) that I came to realise that “myself” was a lot more than just me. As I was telling my mate yesterday, in Melbourne, I am surrounded by so many people, up to the point that sometimes it was overwhelming trying to catch up and see all my friends on a regular basis. It’s a pretty drastic change to what I’m experiencing now (100 to 0), however, I’ve been given the opportunity to connect with my mates on a LDR level, (wow, as I am typing this I am getting a bit teary) every message of “how is taiwan r u fat yet” or constantly asking me if I’ve met any decent boys yet (haha the answer is no) or whatever, really, truly, are the highlight of my day. In fact, I feel BECAUSE of the distance, my friends now call me with their troubles, FaceTime me, tag me in memes or even make Tinder social groups with me to make sure I am on the right track with making friends. (Hilarious, I know).

But in all seriousness, my friends will be future teachers, accountants, doctors and lawyers, they will own companies (some already do), some are producers, musicians, photographers and artists. I think the best thing about friendship is not only the fact that you will always have someone who is there for you at every down moment in your life, but they are just as happy for you when you achieve something great. If you and your mates aren’t making each other better people, then what’s the point? My mates are honest (“Isabel, hate to break it to you, but you’re a 4 out of 10″), they are loyal (“look Isabel, you’re annoying but I still put up with you”) and they love me (“Isabel, I fucking hate you sometimes”).

I really enjoy having genuine connections with people, which could be why Taiwan so far, has been pretty disappointing as a whole. I miss having d&ms with my friends in the car, driving up to the mountains to have a durry (lol sorry mom), having a a good bitch at some nice, but arguably overly expensive brunch place or just having a group of my mates come over for some board games.

Every day I sit at my (depressing AF) desk looking at polaroid photos in my cubicle thinking about how fucking grateful I am to have you guys, something I never have done before. I think about how you all have shaped my life and brought me joy that money could never buy. I think about every roast that I had to endure or every annoying nickname that I have grown to not hate as much. As I grow older I can only appreciate every moment even more, knowing that although these things won’t last forever, (inevitably people will get married, have children, and we may not see each other as often) I really, really cherish what we have now. 

If you, my mate, every think I am too busy to talk to you, which I know some of you think, it’s not true. I can’t believe some of you still have to ask me “are you free?” or “dude, can I call you?” Mate, I will always answer your call. So many of my mates have reached out after reading my blog (mostly from concern, but I really am fine LOL). You know I am always here to listen to you have a bitch, I am here to talk about your girl (or boy) troubles, I am always here if you have anything you want to talk about, no matter how big or small, no matter how long we haven’t talked, or if we have never really talked at all.

Thank you all for making me a better person, for putting up with my bad story telling, for maybe forcing yourself to laugh at my bad puns and jokes, for taking all my sob stories seriously, for still reading my blog even though you’re usually like “wtf is this shit”, for bringing me back down to earth but encouraging me to follow my dreams when needed. I appreciated all the times we went all out clubbing or drinking, but also the times we just sat in my bed and did nothing at all, all times you gave me advice and all the times you took mine. In a massive generalisation, all my chick friends are hilarious, smart, beautiful and genuinely make me want to be better people. My guy mates make me realise that there are good people out there, so for every fuck boy I meet on Tinder I realise there are just as many kind, thoughtful and soft guys out there. Thank you for hitting me up on Facebook, thank you for chucking me a few likes on Instagram to let me know you’re thinking about me, thank you for messaging me on WhatsApp to make sure I haven’t died yet.

I just want the best for my friends. I want them to find their other halves, I want them to achieve their dreams, I genuinely want them to be happy and always be the best that they can be. To share all your good and bad moments with me, that to me, is one of the reasons why I think I exist. That’s the love I’VE felt from my friends and what I feel from them right now everyday in this god forsaken hell hole (haha), they have supported me from before, and for every day of my journey in Taiwan thus far, thanks guys for showing me love I didn’t think I deserved. 

My ride or dies, (if it’s my driving, it’s definitely die)

If I haven’t told you for awhile, I love you to death,

Isa xx

[xwing-baby]

Always Be  There (Lucifer x Reader)

Characters/Pairing: Lucifer x reader, Dean, Sam, Castiel, Chuck

Warnings:Major character death, lying, angst, fluff

Word Count: 5287

Summary: Y/n is back but how long will it take before she finally leans what happened, how long before everything breaks down? 

A/N: So for some reason of another you guys really like ‘ A Gift’ which I was not expecting! That nearly has 100 notes which is crazy for me!! Special mention to @roxy-davenport and @killerofthesouth for requesting this and @lindsaylove1226 just because she’s my fav.

Sorry I’ve been a little MIA recently, college has been very stressful and I havent had time to write which is sad. However, I’ve been ill this week so I’ve had nothing to do but write and watch youtube. 

PART TWO OF ‘A GIFT’ Read this <--- First!!

There, all dressed in white, was Y/n. Lucifer’s heart ached when he saw her, feelings suddenly bubbling back after years of suppression. She was back! She looked just as beautiful as he remembered, if not more. Lucifer smiled but was too shocked to move.

“Lucifer?” She asked, her head tilted in confusion, “What happened?”

--

“Y/n!” Lucifer cried happily, quickly drawing me into a tight hug. I didn’t respond. I was confused and slightly scared. Lucifer noticed this and pulled back, with a sad look on his face he turned to the man stood next to me. “What’s the matter with her?”

“She’s in shock,” The short man said with a kind smile. “She’ll be fine in a minute, get her drink, son,”

Son? Lucifer doesn’t have a father… there was no way that this mousy, curly haired, quiet little man could be God! Surely He wouldn’t go for someone as unassuming as the man next to me. More confused than ever now, the man led me to sit me down on the little stack of steps a few feet away. I sat down and still said nothing, I was trying to figure out how I even got here!

One minute I was in Hell, with Lucifer, happily ruling together. The next minute I’m here! The place seemed familiar but I couldn’t place my finger on it. Lucifer returned with a glass of water and handed it to me carefully. Gratefully I drank it down in one, I felt like I hadn’t drunk in years!

“Where are we?” I asked as I set the glass down and looked around the rather dimly lit room.

“Nowhere, my darling,” Lucifer said quickly. Slowly he crouched down to my level and brushed a hair out of my face with a happy smile on his face. He was acting like he hadn’t seen me in years! It was strange, to say the least. “Would you like to go home?”

The man on my other side gave a warning look but Lucifer didn’t seem to see it, or if he did he didn’t care. Lucifer grabbed my hands and pulled me back up to my feet, glanced at the door as if to check nobody was watching then snapped his fingers sending us away from there.

Once the world stopped spinning and we came to a stop I finally began to relax a little. The familiar walls of Hell surrounded us and I sighed contentedly.

"Okay, my darling?" Lucifer asked with a smile as he snaked his arms around my waist and kissed my head.

"It's good to be home," I smiled.

"I'm glad you're back," Lucifer whispered. I laughed, I hadn't been away that long. Lucifer kissed me once more, more desperate now and I quickly knew what he wanted.

"Bed?" I asked with a smirk. Lucifer gave no answer but with a snap of his fingers, we were gone.

--

Weeks past and everything carried on in a similar fashion. Lucifer was being weirdly careful with me, not letting me out of Hell and only letting his most trusted demons near me. It was very unusual. I was more than capable of holding my own against even the worst demons, I had proved that on multiple occasions, but now? Lucifer was treating me like a china doll, every touch was so delicate and gentle as if I would shatter, that I was just becoming more and more frustrated. I had to get out.

Late at night, Lucifer was doing some ‘business’ with a few of his closest demons. He’d been gone for hours and I knew he wouldn’t be back for a few more. Now was my chance. I grabbed a bag from my closet and filled it with a few items of clothing and a couple of guns, just in case. I picked up my angel blade from the bedside table and walked to find a way out. I knew there was one close, so it wouldn’t be too hard to leave.

“Where do you think you’re going?” A demon snarled as he caught me leaving my quarters. I scoffed at his rude tone and turned on my heel to face him.

“Excuse me?”

“Boss said not to let you out,”

“He did, did he?” I asked innocently as I walked closer to him. I picked out the blade from my coat pocket and spun it between my fingers. “Well tell him I don’t give a shit,”

Before the demon could protest I plunged the silver blade into his side. He screamed and the light inside him flickered out. I pushed his limp body down and wiped the blood off my blade then carried on. Luckily

Two men stood in the doorway, talking quietly to each other. I noticed the glint of silver metal in the taller one's hand. Quietly I crept closer, wanting to hear what they were saying. If they were demons they could very easily be moved, if not…

“Split up, Cas said she’d be ‘round here somewhere,” The shorter of the pair whispered.

“Are you sure this is even going to work Dean? We don’t even know if she’s here!” Suddenly I realised who these men were.

“Dean?” I asked breaking the silence in the room. Both men quickly turned to face me, knives out. Dean sighed in relief. I’m guessing I was who they were looking for.

"Y/n!" My eldest brother smiled and pulled me into a tight hug. I rolled my eyes and scowled at him as I quickly pushing him off.

"What are you doing here? I thought you were told to stay away," I said sharply.

"We're here to rescue you," Sam said quickly and hushed as he grabbed my arm to pull me back to them. I ripped my arm away and pulled out the gun from under my jacket.

"I don't need rescuing, why do you always think I need help. I'm happy, well I was before you two morons showed up,"

"We're your family,"

"Were. That means nothing now. Leave. Before I set my dogs on you,"

"Y-,"

"Ah!" I pushed the gun towards them and put my finger on the trigger. "One more word and I'll shoot. Got it?"

Dean’s eyes narrowed in annoyance, and within seconds he’d knocked the gun out of my hand and pushed me against the wall with his forearm pressed into my throat and his other hand over my mouth to stop me screaming. I struggled and kicked out but it was no use. Sam picked up my gun and now had it pointed at me.

"I get it, you hate us. Fine.” Dean said quietly. “All we want you to know is this. For the last three years, you've been dead. Lucifer killed you, slit your throat. He was jealous over nothing,"

"In your absence, he rose to power and then lots of stuff happened and God came back. That was who resurrected you," Sam continued quickly.

"You don't have to believe us but didn't you think it was weird how everything had changed a matter of hours, how we'd all changed except for you. You don’t have to stay with us, but please let us take you out of here. For god’s sake Y/n the guy killed you with his own hands then lied to you about it,"

"So?" Sam asked.

Carefully Dean released his arm from my throat and I gasped for air. I mulled over everything they said and as much as I hate to admit it, it made sense. Realisation quickly turned to anger and hurt.

"Leave it with me," I said angrily. "I'll find you when I get back,"

--

"Lucifer!" I shouted angrily as I stormed down the hallway to his offices. Demons who were walking past quickly scurried away, afraid of the consequences of being in my path. "Lucifer!"

I entered the board room with a loud bang as the doors hit the wall. All members at the table stood up in shock, gave a small bow but quickly saw the rage in my eyes and disappeared out the door.

"Why is it that my dumbass brothers have to tell me what happened before you do?" I said coldly, anger brewing inside me. Lucifer looked confused but I knew he knew what I meant. "How could you lie to me Lucifer? I thought you loved me!"

"I do!"

"Then why did you kill me? Why? What did I ever do to deserve that?" Lucifer gave no answer. "Exactly what I thought..."

I turned on my heel and stormed off with every intention of never coming back.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?" Lucifer exclaimed snapping his fingers and the doors closing firmly in front of me. I whipped around again and glared furiously at him.

"I'm. Leaving. You arrogant, selfish, stubborn, childish, ass! You killed me then when I came back to life, you lied to my face!"

"It was only a small-"

"I died Lucifer! I don't see how anything could be bigger than that! You cut my throat! You literally murdered me and why? Because someone told you I was fucking a randomer? Why the fuck would I do that? You know I'm in love with you Lucifer, more than anything in the universe!"

"I know..."

"If you knew then you wouldn't have killed me! Anything, literally anything could have been better than that," my voice cracked as tears began to fall down my face. "I can't stay with you, Lucifer. I can't."

"I had no choice Y/n. I'm the devil for heaven’s sake! If I'd let you walk, there would be nothing to stop you walking out on me, nothing! Do you know what that would have done to my reputation?"

"Your reputation! Really? This is what it's all about? Fine. I'm leaving! See how you're reputation deals with that!"

I turned on my heel and stormed towards to door which quickly shut with a loud slam. I practically growled I was so angry now!

"You can't leave here Y/n!" Lucifer boomed his red eyes flashing angrily at me.

"Really?" I challenged taking a step towards him. I lifted my hand up and swiped it through the air then the doors opened once more. Lucifer was astounded. "Perks of living in Hell I suppose," I smirked before walking out of the room. "Lucifer," I said as I turned back to face him once I was outside. "If you dare speak to me or even come within five miles of me I will be sure to Molotov your ass straight back to the cage. No hesitation. Got it?" No answer. "Good."

The doors shut with a loud slam that echoed through the halls. I could feel tears pricking my eyes but I powered through. I shoved various demons out the way as I stormed down the corridor back to where Sam and Dean had been. They were talking with Crowley in a dark corner.

“Get out of here Crowley,” I said angrily, glaring at the demon. He raised an eyebrow but he nodded and walked away. Neither Winchester said a word, they’d obviously heard our fight and didn’t want to make any worse. I followed them out of Hell, tears now running down my face silently as I walked away. I couldn’t make my mind up, my heart was telling me to go back to him but my brain knew how wrong that would be.

I didn’t say anything when we walked out of the hell. Both brothers kept asking questions and trying to get me to talk but I kept my mouth firmly shut. I was in shock. For the next two days, I barely spoke, only ever to tell Dean or Sam what I wanted from the store. I stayed focused on my phone. I was unsure what I was waiting for but I waited none the less.

To say being back with my brothers was weird would be a major understatement. Sure, I was happy that they’d told me the truth and got me out but I hadn’t seen them in nearly five years so getting used to living with them twenty-four seven was very hard to get used too. Some days were worse than others. Some days, I’d be absolutely fine with my brothers, go out on hunts with them and have a generally nice time but other days they’d piss me off with the simplest things. Sam would put a book down on the table to heavily or Dean would get me the wrong chips from the store and I’d be off like a rocket. These were usually the days I missed Lucifer the most.

I couldn’t get him out of my mind, he was constantly there in the back of my mind. Some nights I would wake up next to the door to the bunker trying to get out. I told Castiel about this and he said that it was something to do with our soul’s connection. According to Cas, after two souls have bonded they quite literally get joined together, after a period of being apart the connection can become agitated and causes your brain to try and get back to the person you’re connected too.

As the weeks past the thoughts became more of a physical thing. I had a constant headache, pounding against my skull. This headache turned into much stronger pain. It’d only last for a short amount of time, but it sure hurt when it did happen. It felt like heart and stomach were being crushed simultaneously. I didn’t want to tell Sam and Dean about it, it would only worry them.

--

Tonight was one of those rare ones where none of us had anything to do. We’d just finished a hunt and were waiting for another to pop up. We had no motivation to go out so we decided to stay in, get a take-out and have a generally relaxed evening. Dean and I set up an old pool table we’d found in the library and sent Sam out to find some Chinese food.

I was winning, as usual. Dean was complaining like a three-year-old, claiming I was cheating or that he was just letting me win because I was his baby sister.

Halfway through the game, I noticed a sharp pain in my leg. I looked down to check if I’d caught my leg on the table and cut it. Nope. Nothing. I chose to ignore it hoping it would go away, but my god I was wrong. The pain quickly shot up through my other leg and to my chest. I gasped and dropped my cue in shock. Dean looked up.

“You okay?”

“Yep,” I squeaked. “Fine.”

“Are you sure? You don’t look okay…” Dean looked suspicious and stopped what he was doing. Again, pain rushed over me and I bent over double, cursing loudly. “Y/n?”

The room span and I could feel myself rocking with it. I could see Dean shouting at me but everything was muffled like my head was full of cotton wool. My eyes fell heavy and I collapsed onto the floor. Everything went black.

-

"Sam!" Dean called as he helped me sit down. I groaned and gasped for air.

"What?" Sam asked sleepily as he walked into the room. As soon as he saw Dean and me, however, he quickly perked up, "Oh shit, Y/n?"

"I don't know what's happening. She was fine then she was on the floor!"

"Okay, um..." Sam frantically thought for something to help. None of us knew what was happening, which only made everything seem a million times worse.

A new wave of pain washed over me and I cried out loudly, trying to curl myself in a ball and stop the pain. It didn't work. The pain was immense, like nothing I'd ever felt before. Hot and cold at the same time, deep inside every bone and muscle in my body.

"He-help me!" I cried helplessly. "Dean!"

"Just breathe Y/n. You'll be okay."

“I don't wa-wanna die!"

"You're not going too, you'll be fine." Dean reassured me, "Call Cas, Sam. He might be able to help,"

"On it!" Sam said before running out the room. Within seconds Cas appeared.

"What's the- oh dear..." Cas started and quickly stopped. Dean looked at the angel, alarmed.

"Oh dear? What do you mean, oh dear?" Dean exclaimed. "Cas, help her!"

"I'm afraid I can't, Dean."

"You haven't even tried!"

"Dean, I've seen this before... this-this is not good,"

I groaned again and winced as pain throbbed through my legs and chest. My breathing was shallow and quick, I tried to take deeper breaths but I couldn't. It was like something was constricting my airway.

"I can tell it's not good, Cas. What do we do?"

"We need to find Lucifer,"

"No way,"

"She left him, we can't just bring him here she'll hate us!"

"Either that or she dies," Cas said. I gave muffled cry and sobbed, interrupting him. "Her soul is destroying itself, Dean. It's all the pain of Hell's torture without the torturer. She will die in minutes if we do not bring Lucifer here,"

Sam and Dean's eyes widened and jaws dropped in shock at his words. Both had been to Hell, tortured and even demonised! They knew what it felt like and the thought if their baby sister going through the same was unimaginably awful.

"Fine, find him bring him here and quickly!" Sam ordered as the two brothers returned to comfort their sister. Castiel understood and flew away as quickly as he'd appeared.

--

"Lucifer," Cas announced himself to the devil in front of him.

"Castiel, long time no see," Lucifer said bitterly, "Where're your boyfriends?"

"With Y/n. We have a problem," Castiel said. "And I am not in a relationship with-"

"Yeah, whatever Castiel. It's a joke,” He said grumpily, “What’s your point."

"Y/n's in trouble,"

"So? Why should I care?"

"She's your soulmate is she not?"

"Apparently so," Lucifer said bored of the topic already.

"She's dying," Cas said simply.

"Humans die all the time," Lucifer snapped. "Why should I care about her? She made her feeling known!"

"Y/n's dying, brother, because one of you has tried to break the bond between your souls. I can see it." Lucifer rolled his eyes and sighed exasperatedly. "If you care for her even one bit you will help her," Castiel said much quieter now. "Her soul will destroy itself if you don't."

Lucifer sat back in his throne and thought about it. Was Castiel even telling the truth? That's a stupid question, of course, he was, Castiel would not be as stupid as to lie to his older brother. But Y/n had made it very clear that she didn't want to see him again. He loved her too much to go against her wishes, even if they were heart-wrenchingly awful.

That was why Lucifer had tried to cut the tie to her, it physically hurt him to be apart from her. He'd hired a coven of powerful witches, who were all more than happy to serve their Lord, to use a spell to cut the tie. However, it only worked partially. But that seemed to be enough to hurt Y/n. Lucifer felt bad, but he was just doing what was best. He didn't want her to die, though!

"Take me to her," Lucifer said, now standing up tall in front of his younger brother. Castiel nodded and the pair disappeared.

-

"S-sam, it hurts," I whined. "I can't do this anymore,"

"No, no, no stay here. You'll be fine. Cas will be back soon,"

"I'm sorry De-dean," I whispered as the edges of my vision became darker and darker. My eyes became heavy and began to droop.

"No! No! Y/n!" Dean frantically tapped my cheek and shaking my arm, trying to keep me awake. "Sammy get some water,"

"Uh huh!" Sam shot up and out the room to the kitchen.

"I'm sorry I left yo-you," I whimpered, "I was stupid,"

"It's fine. You're fine. Don't apologise, please," I could see Dean holding back tears, he choked them down and put on a brave face.

"I don't want to die again Dean," I sobbed. I gritted my teeth harshly and hissed when the pain pulsated again. "Not now. I haven't beaten you at pool yet,"

Dean chuckled and moved some of my hair off my sweaty head. "Who said you'd win, sweetie?"

"I always win," I said quietly, my eyes fluttering shut again.

"No, come on stay awake," Dean tapped my shoulder. Sam returned with a glass of water.

"Y/n?" He said softly as he squatted next to the chair I was half sat half lay on. "Drink this?"

I pouted and turned away, swearing at the pain that just breathing was causing me.

"Come on sweetheart. Please?" Sam said desperately. He placed the cup in my shaking hand and guided it up to my lips to help me. I took a sip, swallowed it and immediately threw up.

"Shit..." Dean whispered under his breath. I couldn't see anymore, everything was a blurry mess of colour. I groaned and let my head fall backwards against the back of the chair. I wanted to die, everything hurt. The pain was unimaginable and it was inside every cell of my body. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't see but I couldn't seem to die.

I slipped in and out of consciousness for the next few minutes. I wasn't totally aware of my surroundings anymore and when I did, I was more confused than ever.

"We can't just leave her like this! You're meant to be soulmates! Do something!"

"I can't, this isn't some toy you can fix with duct tape Dean. She wanted to leave me, this is me letting her do that!"

"She's dying!"

"Sure, but she was going too at some point, wasn't she? For god’s sake, if I didn't kill her one of Crowley's cronies would or maybe some other scumbag on the street."

"Lucifer?" I spoke up as my brain finally recognised the voices.

The whispering stopped and someone walked towards me. A cold shiver went down my spine and I slowly opened my eyes to see Lucifer, not in the vessel I knew but I could easily see it was him.

At first, I was angry at him but then the pain kicked back in and I was somehow happy he was here. At least I could die with his face as the last I'd ever see.

"Don't think like that, my darling," Lucifer whispered, a sad smile on his face. "I'm so sorry I let this happen. Those witches must have done something I swear I didn't-"

"Lucifer-"

"Please, let me." Lucifer slowly and carefully placed his hand on mine. At first, it was cold but quickly it turned into searing hot heat that ran up my arm like an electric shock. I screamed, more scared than anything, and tried to move away but I couldn't.

Sam and Dean shouted and pulled Lucifer away. However, this only made him angry and with a flick of his hand, the brothers were sent flying across the room into a wall and were knocked out cold. I could barely move, I just looked on helplessly and cried.

Castiel stayed perfectly still, afraid that he'd be the next recipient of his older brother's anger. Of course, Cas was scared of him, he was the devil after all!

"Lucifer don't." I whimpered.

"I am trying to help you, my love, I am! I can't do it if those mud monkeys are going to take you away again. I can't deal with that again, Y/n."

I winced and bit hard into my lip as the pain surged once more. Lucifer looked frantically to his brother, unsure of what to do to help.

“Brother, do you remember when Raphael nearly lost his mate?” Castiel asked cautiously stepping closer to us.

“No Castiel! I was in the cage! Remember?” Lucifer snapped, the stress of the situation becoming too much for him. I whimpered but stayed quiet wanting to hear what Castiel had to say.

“Well Raphael nearly lost his soulmate in a fire, he was badly burnt and so Raphael took him to Father as he could not heal him himself,”

“And you think he’d do the same for me?”

“He brought Y/n back didn’t he?”

“Yes but as you’re surely aware Castiel our father and I are not on best terms,” Lucifer growled.

“Maybe it’s worth a shot,” I spoke up, my voice weak and quiet. Lucifer took a deep breath and sighed giving me a small smile.

“Are you sure?” Lucifer asked, bending back down to my level again. I nodded and tried to smile but just grimaced at the pain instead. Lucifer stood up and looked over at Castiel expectantly. “Well come on then, take us to him.”

--

“Lucifer…” Chuck said suspiciously, “How did you find me?”

“Not hard,” Lucifer shrugged, “Twitter is pretty easy to work out,”

“Of course,” Chuck chuckled and rolled his eyes at his carelessness. “What seems to be the matter?”

“It’s Y/n,” Lucifer looked down at his feet in shame, “She’s hurt. I’ve tried to help her, believe me, father I have but I can’t. It’s like her body is rejecting any part of me. If you don’t help her she will die. Father, please.”

“You tried to break the bond between you two, didn’t you?” Chuck said sternly. Lucifer didn’t reply. “Oh, you idiot. I brought her back so you could have a second chance at doing something good. Something right. I should have known you would do this,”

“I didn’t know this would happen, father! I thought I was doing the right thing!”

“You always do,”

"Father, please. I do not ask much of you but please save her, she deserves so much more than this.”

Chuck thought about it for a moment, he hated to see his favourite son in such distress. But then again, this was Lucifer’s fault. If Chuck was going to be fair he wouldn’t help Lucifer again. But this was his son. His favourite and one of the only one archangels left. He couldn’t leave Lucifer so hurt like he had done before, he knew the consequences it would surely entail and was not willing to start that all again.

“Where is she?” Chucked asked after a moment. Lucifer looked up in shock, maybe his Father did care about him.

“She’s outside, with Castiel,”

“Well bring her in then. I’ll take the warding down and help her best I can but Lucifer?”

“Yes?”

“This can’t happen again, understand. I’m not always gunna have your back when you mess up.”

“I understand Father and thank you.”

-

Lucifer stepped outside Chuck’s room and walked over to Castiel who was currently trying to ensure that I didn’t pass out again. The feeling of being zapped half way across the world while also near death was not a pleasant one. I dipped in and out of consciousness while Lucifer was talking to Chuck, each time Cas had to keep me awake, at least untill Lucifer came back. 

I couldn’t hear what the angels said, loud ringing in my hears had taken over a little while ago. but I quickly learnt that I was meant to be going somewhere as Cas and Lucifer helped me up on to my feet and carefully brought me inside the room that Lucifer had just been in. They sat me in a chair then spoke between themselves for a minute before Castiel disappeared. 

"Hey,” Chuck said softly as he sat down by my side. I smiled as the ringing stopped and opened my eyes to look at him. “I’m Chuck, nice to meet you again.” I instantly recognised him as the man in that kitchen a few months back. This was God! “Now, I know you might be scared but don’t worry. I want to help you, as much of an idiot that my son is I do love him.” I nodded and let him continue. “What I’m about to do will hurt, but I promise once I’m done everything will be okay.”

“Father-“

“I’d suggest you leave, Lucifer,” Chuck said firmly, looking up at Lucifer. Reluctantly, Lucifer disappeared, giving me one last smile of reassurance before he left. I had to stay strong, I had to survive. But I knew I was weak, sounds were fuzzy and my vision was becoming more blurry by the second.

“Am I going to die?” I asked when he’d left. Chuck smiled sadly and shrugged.

“We’ll just see how this goes okay? One step at a time,”

The next few minutes were the worst of my life. When Chuck placed his hand on my chest my whole body felt like it was on fire. Everything burned and although I tried to get away I couldn’t move. I tried not to show any pain or weakness, out of embarrassment more than anything else, but I couldn’t help it. I screamed and sobbed and wept and pleaded for the pain to stop. Chucks mumbles of reassurance were left on deaf ears. After ten minutes of pure pain and torture, he stopped, taking his hand away and trying not to draw attention to the large scorch mark left on my skin. Chuck looked confused, exhausted and worried.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“I don’t know what those witches did Y/N but I’m afraid to say there is nothing I can do.”

“What?” I whimpered as tears trickled down my face.

“I’m so sorry,” Chuck gently moved some of my hair out of my face and kissed my cheek lightly. I smiled and nodded a thank you to him fore he stood up. I tried to push myself back up from where I’d slouched but my arms were too weak. Chuck brought Lucifer back inside andthen left, leaving us completely alone. 

“Y/n?” Lucifer was now at my side. His face was damp like he’d been crying, something I didn’t know angels could do. His usually bright eyes were dull filled with worry and heartbreak.

“Don’t worry about me Lucifer. I’ll be fine,”

“Of course I’m going to worry. I love you Y/n.” Lucifer said as he pulled me into a hug. I smiled sadly and hugged him back. His fingers found their way into my hair and lightly tangled between strands. “I’m so sorry this had to happen, I’m sorry we had that fight, I should have told you what happened,”

I gently kissed him, starting to cry when the realisation of the situation came over. I was going to die and there was nothing either of us could do.

“I love you,” I whispered as I pulled away. Lucifer couldn’t speak, his voice caught in his throat as he continued to cry. I could feel myself becoming weaker and weaker and I let myself lean on his shoulder.

“Please don’t go Y/N.” He whispered, “Please,”

“You’ll be okay,” I smiled as I placed a small kiss on his shoulder. “I promise. I’ll always be with you,”

“It won’t be okay, Y/n. I won’t!” Lucifer protested. “Would you just look at me, I’m sobbing over a human! You’ve completely changed me Y/n, how is anything ever going to be okay again? I can’t do this without you. Please, stay.” 

But it was no use, the light faded and Y/n’s pulse slowed to nothing. Lucifer clutched onto her, hoping that somehow she’d come back. He sat there for hours. Hoping, praying and pleading for her to come back to him.

She never did.