#i suppose this is my own spin on him. ive tried a few times and they didnt really stick but i like this | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sarcasmandships · 3 years

Text

how to save a life part 2︱spencer reid

word count: 8.7k

spencer reid x slight oc

spencer and veronica argue over him keeping their relationship from the team, but when spencer sustains a life-threatening gun shot wound it puts everything into perspective

angst + hurt/comfort with a n eventual happy ending

this is not an x reader because i hate writing y/n in place of a character name and it often forces you into writing in second person which i also hate - however I have avoided giving specific descriptions of hair/eye/skin colour, height and body shape so feel free to imagine it like an x reader

this is also heavily inspired by greys anatomy and ive taken characters from the show to be side characters, however you do not need to have watched a single episode of greys to follow the story

warnings: spencer being shot, descriptions of blood, descriptions of surgery

read part one here!

Veronica readjusted her dress for what felt like the 100th time that evening. The green, silk bodice was too restrictive; her feet ached from the stiletto heels April had picked out for her. She grabbed another glass of champagne from a passing waiter.

"That is for the guests!" April hissed, smacking her arm with her tiny clutch bag.

"And the hostages," Veronica said, raising her glass to an imaginary toast.

"Amen to that," Cristina agreed, taking a long sip of champagne from her own glass.

"You two are hopeless," April said, shaking her head before storming off.

"I like angry Kepner," Cristina chuckled.

"God, I can't breathe in this thing," Veronica gasped, pulling at the top of her dress again, "I think I've got a tension pneumothorax."

"Unfortunately, if I had a needle big enough to help you, I'd have stabbed myself in the eye hours ago," Cristina said, deadpan.

Veronica gave her a shaky laugh.

"Ooo, is that Kevin Gibbs?" Cristina said, suddenly filled with a burst of newfound energy as she spied a man at the next table, "oh, he is rich rich, I'm so getting a donation from him," she grinned before dashing off to take Kevin Gibbs' arm.

Veronica rolled her eyes as she watched Cristina twirl her hair and flutter her eyelashes; she was far too good at this. Veronica was left alone at the table, tired of pretending she was interested in anything these rich, old men had to say; she pulled her phone out to scroll through Twitter.

However, as she unlocked it, Spencer's name popped up on her screen, and her shrill ringtone cut through the low-level chatter and ambient music in the room. She hastily switched the phone to silent after receiving a few pointed glares but continued to stare blankly at the screen as it rang.

She did not want to speak to him.

But she had told him to keep in touch.

Via text, not a phone call.

But what if something was wrong.

Eventually, she clicked 'accept'.

"Spencer, I told you-"

"Hi, Veronica," the voice on the other end cracked, "it's Derek Morgan. We met earlier today..."

Veronica's blood ran cold as Derek spoke to her through the phone. She could hear the piercing wail of the sirens; it harmonised with Cristina's shrill laughter as she flirted with Kevin at the next table.

Blood was pounding in her ears. Her entire body was in free fall like she was being hurled down the drop of a rollercoaster that seemed to never end.

"... they're taking him to Stafford Grace Mercy West Hospital, meet us there when you can - I gotta go."

Derek hung up the phone.

Veronica stood frozen, her body trembling and mind spinning.

"Veronica!" Jackson snapped as he strutted towards her, "you're supposed to be getting donations, not standing in a corner drinking all the champagne…."

Veronica was staring straight at Jackson's face as he ranted, but she couldn't focus her eyes enough to see his furrowed brows or flared nostrils. Her mind was spinning at hyper speed, but everything around her moved in slow motion; she gripped onto the edge of the table.

"…are you even listening to me?" he snapped his fingers in front of Veronica's glazed eyes.

"Spencer was shot. In the chest, he's on the way to the hospital now," she said in a monotone, "I have to...I have to go...I..." Veronica clutched her head in her hands; the room would not stop spinning.

"Oh my god," Jackson gulped, "of course, go, go. Do you want me to come?"

Veronica stumbled away from him and towards the door. Why was the floor moving like that?

"No," she called back to him, "this is your event you can't leave, I just- I need to go," she turned on her heel and dashed out of the door.

The hospital was just up the street. Jackson had picked a venue close by so the doctors who didn't have the day off could get there quickly after work. Veronica pushed people out of the way as she staggered up the street; her feet didn't hurt anymore. Her whole body was just pins and needles.

She burst through the doors of the ER, in her floor-length, green dress and dazzling emerald necklace, with tears streaming down her face. Sections of her neatly pinned hair had broken free; she clutched her chest as she gasped for air. It was only a matter of time before someone called for a psychiatric consult.

With most of the other attendings at the gala, the interns and residents had swarmed like locusts to get their hands on a surgical case. Veronica pushed through the sea people, looking for someone she knew – why did all the residents look the same?

Veronica scanned the trauma rooms, hoping to catch sight of his messy hair. They were full of bloodied and beaten-up people, but none of them were Spencer. She had just stumbled through the double doors to the waiting area when she heard someone call her name.

"Veronica?"

She whipped her head around to see Derek Morgan standing in front of her. Several steps behind him, she noticed Penelope Garcia, who she recognised from this morning, and several other anxious FBI agents.

"Derek," she gasped, gripping onto his outreached hands, allowing herself to stabilise slightly, "w-what happened?"

"We were chasing down the unsub and Reid...he fell and just when he was getting back up, he got hit. It was bad luck. It caught him just above his vest."

"And he's in surgery now? I didn't see him in any of the trauma rooms?"

"They just took him up; come with us. You need to sit down," he said kindly, and Veronica allowed him to guide her over to the seats.

"Hi again," Garcia squeaked, but Veronica stared straight ahead and didn't answer her.

The others tried to introduce themselves, Aaron Hotchner, Emily Prentiss, Jennifer Jareau, David Rossi. They were names she knew well from Spencer's last night rants about work, but she couldn't bring herself to look at any of them long enough to put a face to the name. Derek was trying to reassure her when Veronica caught sight of a familiar resident walking past with a tablet in her hand.

"Murphy!" she barked, "get over here."

Murphy's head snapped up, and she looked around rapidly to see where the voice had come from; when her eyes finally landed on Veronica, she looked at her quizzically but shuffled over.

"Dr Grey, I thought you were at the gala-"

"I need you to look up a patient for me, Spencer Reid - came in with a GSW to the chest and should be in surgery now."

"Dr Grey, what's going on?" Murphy said slowly, her eyes darting between Veronica and the team of agents behind her.

"Just do it, Murphy!" she ordered, and Spencer's teammates looked slightly taken aback.

"Okay, okay!" she said, typing rapidly on her tablet, "he's in surgery with Dr Hunt and Dr Altman for an exploratory thoracotomy...chest x-ray showed a GSW to the chest with the bullet lodged near the thoracic aorta...he was tachycardic and hypotensive when he came in, with substantial blood loss-"

Bile bubbled up in her throat, "what OR are they in?"

"Dr Grey, I can't-"

"What O.R, Murphy?" she snapped; she gripped the edge of the plastic chair to prevent herself from strangling the resident.

"OR one!"

"Okay... OR one. OR one has a gallery," Veronica mumbled to herself, she tapped her foot against the floor and her stiletto clacked against the linoleum.

"Dr Grey, you know you can't go up there when you aren't working-"

"Murphy, do you want a medical career?"

"Y-yes," she stammered.

"Then you'll get out of my way before I have the AMA strip your medical license," Veronica snapped; she stood up and gathered up the skirt of her dress as she began to power walk towards the elevator.

"Wait, where are you going?" Derek called after her.

"Spencer's in OR one, that OR has a viewing gallery... I'm going to watch his surgery," she said flatly before turning away and continuing along the hallway.

It wasn't until she was in the elevator and ready to push the OR floor button that she realised that Spencer's team was directly behind her.

"What are you guys doing?" she sighed as they piled into the elevator after her.

"He's one of us. We aren't gonna hang around a waiting room if we can be there with him," the blonde woman that Veronica thought was called Jennifer, retorted.

She was ready to argue. To protest that they weren't allowed in the gallery, that surgery wasn't for the faint-hearted. But then she looked at all their faces, desperate and distressed; they looked how she felt.

So, she closed her mouth and jabbed the button for the fifth floor.

The elevator seemed to take forever to reach the fifth floor. It stopped on three, and a huddle of surgical interns tried to cram in, but Veronica snapped at them before they had the chance.

"No. You get the next one," she glowered at them, and they could only give her nervous stammers and shaky head nods in response.

Veronica rolled her eyes at them as the doors crept shut again, with her arms folded tightly across her chest and tapped her foot against the floor.

"You seem to have a lot of authority here," Hotch commented.

"I'm an attending," she said bluntly, "they're interns - bottom of the surgical food chain, their only job is to stay out of our way and try not to kill anyone."

"That seems...harsh," Garcia whispered to Derek.

Veronica whipped her head around, "a hospital like this doesn't work without a hierarchy; it's how we learn. If we don't treat them that way, then they get too confident. Would you rather have an intern perform Spencer's exploratory thoracotomy or two surgeons with years of experience who are chiefs of their respective departments?"

Garcia gaped at her, but the elevator doors creaked open, saving her from trying to respond to Veronica's scathing comment.

"The gallery is this way," Veronica grunted under her breath as she exited the elevator and crept up a short flight of stairs.

"That wasn't very nice; Garcia was only making an observation," JJ whispered to Emily as they followed Veronica.

"Who is this woman?" Emily responded, equally as confused as to why they were following this random woman around a hospital.

Derek turned round to face them, "she's Spencer's girlfriend-"

"Girlfriend!" Emily gasped, "did he ever mention a girlfriend to any of you?" she asked, looking between JJ and Derek.

"No, not once…." JJ frowned.

"He didn't tell me as much as he was forced to, that's why he's been acting so off recently, but I couldn't really get many details from him about her, so don't ask me anything - she's just worried about him like we are, she's on edge too."

Veronica burst into the gallery, which was thankfully empty. She pressed her forehead up against the viewing window and saw Spencer lying on the table. The glass was cool against her forehead, which seemed to somewhat soothe her pounding headache.

Spencer's face was draped, she couldn't see his eyes, but she could see his half of his rib cage. That unsettled her; she wasn't supposed to be able to see into her boyfriend's chest cavity. Veronica clung to the glass as she staggered to the intercom on the wall; she pushed the button that allowed them to hear what was being said in the OR.

"... there's a lot of bleeding here, more suction!" Dr Altman demanded.

"Right away, doctor."

Veronica flicked the switch that allowed her to be heard in the OR, "Owen," she said slowly, and he looked up at her in shock, "I need you to save him."

"Veronica, you're supposed to be at the fundraiser. What are you doing here?"

"Owen, listen to me," she pleaded, her voice cracking, "I need you to save him."

"Well, of course, I'm gonna try and save him, Veronica I don't understand-"

"Oh god," Dr Altman said as she suddenly realised what was happening, "Spencer Reid... he's your Spencer. I met him at Owen and Cristina's wedding; we talked so much about the Mechanical Complications of Acute Myocardial Infarction I thought he was a surgeon too…."

Veronica nodded silently.

Her Spencer.

She couldn't control the sob that wracked her body. She was vaguely aware of Garcia placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Yeah, so I need you to save him," she sniffed, "because if he dies, I will literally go out of my fucking mind, and I won't be much of a neurosurgeon from the psych floor."

"Veronica, you should be up here," Owen said as he forced another clamp into Spencer's chest, "how did you even know where he was?"

"Murphy told me," she said, "but it wasn't her fault, so don't go and yell at her; I told her I'd have her medical licence taken away."

Owen paused, "you can't do that, though."

"She doesn't know that! Please just save him. I need you to save him."

"I-" Dr Altman hesitated, "we'll do everything we can, V, I promise you."

"Thank you, Teddy," she whispered through her tears; she flicked the button off again so they wouldn't be distracted by her sobs.

Veronica collapsed into a chair in the middle of the front row and kicked her heels off. Spencer's team had shuffled into the rows behind her and sat, whispering quietly among themselves and clutching onto each other.

"V-veronica," Garcia finally spoke after around an hour of near silence, "I know you're a different kind of doctor, but what are they doing? I don't understand any of these medical terms. Can you explain it?"

Veronica twisted slowly in her seat to face her, revealing her mascara coated cheeks and puffy eyes. She nodded slowly.

"They're doing a surgery called an exploratory thoracotomy; they're trying to remove all the bullet fragments from his chest cavity. Their main concern is that the bullet hit very close to the thoracic aorta, which is a major vessel that carries blood from the heart to the rest of the body."

"B-but it didn't hit his aorta, so that's good, right?"

"Right, cos' if it had, then he'd have bled out seconds after he was hit," Veronica paused to swallow the vomit creeping up her throat as she imagined Spencer's bloodless body lying in the morgue, "but the impact of the bullet creates shock waves when it enters the body. Considering the proximity to the thoracic aorta, it could weaken it and cause an aortic dissection."

"And that's bad?"

Veronica nodded gravely, "they're almost always fatal, the blood loss becomes too uncontrollable, and even the best surgeons, like Dr Altman and Dr Hunt, can't do anything," she turned back around to face the OR as a fresh set of tears threatened to spill over.

"Oh," was all Garcia could muster up.

"Those doctors, are they really the best?" Emily asked.

Veronica nodded, "Owen, Dr Hunt is head of trauma surgery, and Teddy, Dr Altman, is head of cardiothoracic surgery. They served together in Iraq; they've put soldiers half blown apart by bombs back together, if anyone can save Spencer - it's them," she reassured.

"Good to know..." Emily said in uncertainty, wrapping a comforting arm around JJ, who was silently sobbing into a tissue.

"What you need to understand is that every GSW is different, which is what makes them so difficult to fix, and when a bullet enters the body, it not only tears through structures, but the transfer of kinetic energy can cause damage to nearby tissues, like what I was saying about his thoracic aorta," she explained slowly, "that's why GSWs are so dangerous because the damaged area can ripple out around the entry wound."

"But you think he'll be okay, right?" JJ sniffed.

Veronica hesitated; she glanced back at Spencer's motionless body on the table. Her eyes scanning the monitors he was hooked up to, the constant stream of O neg he was being replenished with, the rip spreaders and clamps in his chest…

She felt sick again and had to turn away.

"I don't know. He hasn't been in surgery very long… it's just too early to say."

"There isn't anything more we can do for him now," Hotch spoke gravely, "he's in the hands of the people who are best trained to help him; we just need to trust that they are doing everything they can to save him."

Hotch's words had a sense of finality, and the room fell close to silent again with only Veronica, Garcia and JJ's sniffles and sobs echoing around the dimly lit room. Derek help Garcia's hand tightly in his own, JJ rested her head on Emily's shoulder, Hotch and Rossi sat next to each other, their faces stoic and stony. Veronica sat alone, tugging at the restrictive bodice of her dress every few seconds.

They sat like that for at least another two hours.

Suddenly, the monitors attached to Spencer began beeping rapidly, Veronica's heart seized, and she jumped to her feet to get a better view.

"What's happening to him?" Garcia whimpered; she clung onto Derek's arm as he also stood up and strained his neck to see.

"He's in DIC!" Teddy's voice echoed through the intercom, "push heparin," she ordered.

"Veronica, what's going on?" Derek asked; he tried to keep his voice steady, but it wavered slightly.

"He's in DIC, disseminated intravascular coagulation - it means that proteins in the blood that cause clotting go into overdrive, which actually causes excessive bleeding. If they don't control the blood loss, it's fatal."

"Lap pads! And more suction! I can't see a thing," Owen demanded as he packed Spencer's chest cavity to absorb the excess blood.

"And hang another unit of O neg, he's losing too much blood," Teddy added, "there was nothing in his medical history that indicated he was at risk of DIC...Veronica! Is he on blood thinners?"

Veronica dragged herself over to the intercom and pushed in on the button, "n-no, nothing like that, he takes zolpidem sometimes, but that wouldn't cause DIC..." she muttered.

Something clicked in her brain, and she spun round to face Derek, "you said he fell before he got shot."

Derek nodded, "that's right, the woman the unsub had abducted pushed past him to escape, and he fell down the full flight of stairs. That distracted me long enough for the unsub to get a shot in at him...."

"Teddy! He fell before he was shot, he fell down a flight of stairs, he could have a splenic injury or a laceration on the portal vein or hepatic artery- it wouldn't have been picked up on a chest x-ray. You have to do an ex-lap!"

"Veronica, we've already cracked his chest-" Owen began to protest.

"Pressures dropping, doctor!"

Veronica banged on the glass, "he'd rather be alive with two incisions than dead with one."

"Dr Hunt, you're the trauma surgeon this your call," Teddy said calmly, "but we need to do something and fast."

"We don't even know if he has a splenic injury! We can't take medical suggestions from our patient's hysterical girlfriend; that isn't how it works-"

"He's dying," Veronica wailed, "and he's going to die if you don't do something. If it were Cristina on my table, you would be begging me to do whatever it takes to save her. Teddy – you promised me you would do everything you could, and you're not doing anything! He's bleeding to death, and you aren't helping him," she sobbed against the glass.

Teddy and Owen exchanged a look.

"10 blade," Owen grimaced, and Veronica breathed a sigh of relief, "you better be right about this Grey – convert drapes for an ex-lap!"

"Oh God, I can't watch this," JJ said; she flopped back into her seat as Owen made a deep incision into Spencer's abdomen.

Despite dealing with horrific crime scenes daily, everyone else in the team had to follow JJ's lead as floods of blood gushed from the incision site. Garcia, who had screwed her eyes shut the minute the monitors started beeping, was rocking herself back and forth and mumbling under her breath.

"Okay, I need more suction! I'm seeing some damage to the hepatic artery," Teddy said, "can you ligate it from your side?"

"Yeah, I think so, clamp!"

Veronica wished she could be like Spencer's team. She wished she didn't have a medical degree; she wished she didn't know every possible thing that could go wrong from this point forward. She wished she could close her eyes or at least tear them away from the scene that would plague her nightmares for years to come.

She could hardly believe it when his pressure finally stabilised; she embraced the smile that crept onto her face as she watched the readings on the monitor slowly begin to climb up.

"You can open your eyes now; they ligated the artery and stopped the bleeding, combined with the heparin that should be enough to keep him stable for now."

"For now?" JJ questioned.

"He's doing well; that injury could've been fatal, but he pulled through, and that's good; it's just that I don't want to tell you he's out of the woods when he's far from it."

"It's been hours," JJ said, "how much longer before we know if he'll be okay?"

Veronica shrugged, "probably a couple more hours; they need to make sure the wall of the thoracic aorta is strong enough before they close and remove all the bullet fragments; they need to take their time."

"You'll have to forgive us, Dr Grey," Hotch spoke quietly, "we don't have the patience for this kind of thing like you do."

"It's okay, and you can call me Veronica," she smiled nervously and picked at her nails.

This was what she'd wanted all along, to meet Spencer's team. But now, she was standing in front of them and couldn't think of a single thing to say. She had imagined this moment every night for months, but never in her wildest dreams did it go like this.

"Veronica then," he said stiffly, "so you said you're a neurosurgeon?"

"Yeah," she said, tearing her eyes away from the surgery in front of her to face him, "that's how Spencer and I met; he came to a lecture I gave on the Endoscopic Fenestration of Arachnoid Cysts Through Lateral Pontomesencephalic Membranotomy, cos' that's just the kind of things he does for fun," she snorted.

"Sounds like him," Hotch said, smiling fondly.

"I just can't believe he never told us about you," Emily commented, "and I can't believe we never figured it out; I mean, come on, guys, we're meant to be profilers."

Veronica gritted her teeth, "Yeah, me neither..."

"Veronica!" Jackson said, bursting through the door to the gallery, "I just got away from the gala; how's he doing?" he asked, rushing over to embrace her in a tight hug.

"He's stable for now; his temp has come up a lot since he got here, but he did go into DIC, and they had to convert to an ex-lap..."

"Owen and Teddy will be doing everything they can; he'll be okay."

She nodded, "I know...I just want it to be over; even if he was in the CCU, I could handle it, but he's lying open on an operating table, and I can't help him."

He rubbed circles on her back soothingly, "it'll be over soon. Can I get you anything?"

"Something to change into. I don't think I have any clothes in my locker, but just grab me some scrubs... I'd take a patient gown if it meant I could get out of this dress," she said, tugging again at the restrictive top.

"You got it," he said, breaking away from their hug, "April wanted to come and be with you, but Harriett's with the sitter and she had to-"

"Don't worry about it, just get me something to wear. I can't breathe in this thing."

"Yeah, I'm on it," he said, giving her a gentle kiss on the forehead, "Cristina's on her way; she'll be here soon."

Jackson shuffled out of the gallery, giving a nod and a tight-lipped smile to the others as he passed them. Veronica retook a seat.

"That was Jackson," Veronica explained, noting the confused faces of the BAU team members, "Dr Jackson Avery, he works here too, but he was stuck at the gala - we were having this fundraiser for this hospital...stupid...."

"V! I just heard; why didn't you tell me?" Cristina burst into the gallery in a similar fashion to Jackson, "I had to hear from freaking Avery that your sexy FBI boyfriend got shot?" she berated as she sat down next to Veronica.

Veronica shrugged, "Jackson was there when I got the call. You were busy turning up the charm for that rich old sleaze."

Cristina shoved her lightly, "I'll have you know that rich old sleaze donated 1.5 million dollars to this hospital," she said smugly.

"Show off," Veronica grunted, folding her arms over her chest.

Cristina stood up to peer through the glass, "supervisory sexy agent, has Owen and Teddy working on him? You need to calm down and stop chewing your nails; he'll be fine."

Veronica rolled her eyes, "you need to stop calling my boyfriend supervisory sexy agent, or you'll be the one on the table."

"Aw, come on, I'm kidding! My husband is right down there...oh my god, my husband saves your boyfriend from a GSW? That'll be such a good story for me to tell your kids."

"Can we wait to see if he makes it off the table before we start discussing our hypothetical children?"

"Boring."

Jackson returned at that moment, "sorry, I didn't know your scrub size, so I just guessed. And you didn't have any shoes in your locker, so I stole some sneakers from April, you're the same size, and she won't mind - I also brought you some of her makeup wipes," he rambled, handing her the pile of clothes.

"Stealing shoes from your ex-wife now?" Cristina teased as Jackson sat down on the other side of Veronica, "I thought pretty boy Avery was rich enough to buy his own," she cooed.

Veronica stood up and slid the scrub pants on under her dress, and pulled the scrub top over the top. Cristina unzipped her dress, and she let out a deep breath as the pressure on her rib cage was released; she shimmied the dress off and threw it over an empty chair.

"Shut up, Yang," Jackson grunted.

"Children, behave," Veronica said warningly as she slipped on the socks and shoes she was borrowing from April.

Veronica sat back down and finished wiping off the makeup that hadn't been flushed away by her tears. Jackson gripped her hand tight in his, and she smiled appreciatively at him; Cristina gave her a pat on the shoulder.

"Guys, what if he dies?" she whispered as they watched Teddy and Owen work away on Spencer.

"He won't," Jackson protested, "he didn't code in the field, and the majority of GSW victims without penetrating vascular injuries survive if they get to a hospital on time."

"There is a bullet in his chest cavity! That is a penetrating injury," she blubbered.

"But it didn't directly damage his heart or any major arteries; yes, they could be weakened by force, but he's been in surgery for hours, and nothing has ruptured – plus after they close him up, we'll monitor him closely, and he will be okay," he said with a squeeze of her hand.

"Avery's right. It's far more likely he'll be a vegetable or something," Cristina shrugged.

"Yang! His best friends are right behind you," Jackson hissed.

"They are?" Cristina said, whipping her head around, "oh, hi."

Cristina gave them a wave, and they stared back dumbfounded.

"Who the hell are these people?" Emily hissed.

"I don't know, but they seem to think that Spence is gonna be okay, and that's all that matters to me," JJ answered.

"He could still die; people die from GSWs all the time. There could be complications, he could get an infection-"

"Look, Veronica, if the worst happens, then we can cross that bridge when we come to it, okay? And you know we'll all be here for you, no matter what," Jackson said, and Veronica smiled appreciatively at him.

"Thank you," she said, resting her head on his shoulder.

"Y'know, you should've married him when you had the chance - cos' if he dies and you were his wife, you'd get that life insurance. If he dies now, you'll just be poor and sad."

"Cristina!"

"No, it's okay," Veronica said with a slight smile, "it helps."

"God, talk about a dark sense of humour...."

"I think I'm just still drunk," Cristina shrugged.

"I think I'm hungover already; my head is killing me," Veronica groaned, massaging her temples.

"Want me to get you a banana bag?" Jackson asked.

"Yeah, why not."

Jackson stood up and made his way across the gallery and to the door; he turned back to face the BAU team members, "can I get anything for you guys? Coffee, water…I wouldn't recommend the food, but we got vending machines."

"No, thank you," Hotch answered politely, "anyone else?"

The rest of the team shook their heads or mumbled no thank-yous in response. Jackson gave them a sympathetic smile before leaving; JJ's stare was still firmly fixed on Veronica.

"What did she mean? You should've married him when you had the chance?" she asked.

"It means that supervisory sexy agent-"

"Cristina!"

"Fine, Spencer, asked V to marry him, and she said no cos' she can't let herself be happy."

"That isn't why I said no, and you know it."

"Well, no. But your real reason is stupid, so I'm gonna say it's your self-destructive tendencies instead. Do you know what I've give to never have to interact with Owen's dumb work friends? You're getting the best of both worlds here."

"You work in the same hospital! Owen's dumb work friends are your colleagues."

"Ugh, whatever."

"You turned Reid down because of us?" Rossi questioned, speaking for the first time since they had entered the gallery.

"It's a bit more complicated than that-"

"What's wrong with us? You didn't even meet us until today?" JJ snapped.

Veronica sighed and picked at her nails; her first interaction with Spencer's friends already wasn't going very well, and now she had to tread lightly as to not offend anyone.

"That's the problem; it took Spencer getting shot in the chest for us to meet because he refused to tell you about me; how could I marry someone when I'd never even met his friends? It's what we argue about more than anything else. We argued about it this morning actually...."

The blood drained away from Veronica's face as the events of the day flashed through her mind.

She turned to face Cristina, "oh God, we were arguing this morning about it, and again when I dropped his phone off at work - the last conversation we ever had was about that stupid argument. What if he dies thinking that I'm pissed off at him? I didn't even tell him I loved him before I stormed off," she said, tears welling up in her eyes.

"Well, he's a profiler, right? Even if you didn't say it, he would be able to tell...."

"He's a genius, not a psychic, Cristina."

"She's right," Derek interjected, "before he lost consciousness, he told me to call you and tried to say something else; he kept saying tell her... he never got to finish, but I'm sure it was just that he loved you."

"He really said that?"

Derek nodded, and a weight was lifted from Veronica's shoulders, although she quickly felt uneasy again when Jackson returned, IV kit and banana bag in hand.

"Okay, I know you don't like needles, but it'll make you feel better, so give me your arm," he demanded.

Veronica huffed and begrudgingly gave him her arm; she winced as he pushed the needle through her skin, "ow! I thought plastic surgeons were supposed to have a gentle touch."

"Plastics is barely even a real speciality; Avery gives boob jobs on the daily – we do real surgeries and save lives."

"Hey! I'm also a qualified ENT, and I practically run the burn unit-"

"Guys," Veronica groaned, "can you have your little dick-measuring-contest another time? Maybe like when my boyfriend isn't lying open on an operating table?" she said, gently massaging the tender skin around her IV.

"You said you liked my dark humour!"

"Only when it's funny," she sat down again and massaged her temples "hey, I think they're nearly done," Veronica cheered.

She dashed over to the intercom, "Are you guys closing him up?"

Teddy nodded, "yeah, and then we'll be taking him up to the CCU. You should get some rest before he wakes up," she advised.

"He's going to be okay, Veronica," Owen said; she couldn't see his face under his mask, but she could tell he was smiling.

Veronica couldn't fight the grin spreading across her own face; Spencer was going to live. He was going to make it off the table. Now all she had to do was pray that he woke up because Veronica didn't know how she would cope if she never saw his eyes again.

"He's really going to be okay?" JJ whispered; she held her hands up to her lips in a prayer formation as fresh tears spilt over onto her cheeks.

Emily pulled her into a tight embrace and stroked her hair, "Hey, don't cry. The doctor said he's going to be okay."

She nodded against Emily's chest, "I know, these are happy tears – it's just I've been sitting here for the past four hours wondering what I would tell Henry if his Uncle Spence died and now, he's going to be okay, and I'm crying more than when I thought he was going to die…stupid," she mumbled.

"It's not stupid," Veronica offered kindly, "your body has been in panic mode and how that you're finally able to relax a bit, you get an emotional outburst that makes you cry – it's totally normal," she said, tentatively reaching out her hand to take JJ's.

She nodded and gave Veronica's hand a squeeze, smiling at her for the first time since they had met. The mood in the room had shifted as the BAU members slowly began to accept that their teammate was going to live, and the nervous tension began to dissipate.

"Teddy's going to close him up and then wheel him up to the CCU, Cristina are you staying or coming home?" Owen's voice echoed through the intercom.

"I'm staying obviously!" she said indignantly.

Veronica shook her head, "no, it's okay, you go home."

"V, I can't leave you here-"

"It's fine, Cristina. You're working in the morning, and you'll need to be here for rounds at 6am, and you won't be any use to anyone if you're sleep-deprived. So, go home. Besides, I've got Avery to keep me company."

Cristina gave her an appreciative smile and squeezed her hand one last time before she left the room. A wave of jealousy surged in Veronica's chest as Cristina disappeared from her line of sight; it wasn't her fault that she was going home with her husband whilst Spencer was being stitched back together. But that didn't make it hurt any less.

"I'm so sorry, V," Jackson said, holding up his phone, "it's one of my burn patients, she's got an infection, and I think I'm the only sober attending after the gala…I can send a resident-"

"No, no, it's okay," she smiled sadly, "go and help your patient; she needs you more than I do."

"Page me if you need anything," he said, kissing her forehead gently before leaving her alone with the BAU team.

She was in a room with seven other people, but she had never felt more alone. They were clutching onto each other, whispering amongst themselves and smiling; Veronica didn't have anyone.

She shuffled away from the displays of affection and picked up her dress and shoes, "I'm going to put this stuff in the attending's lounge, there's coffee in there if you want anything – and on-call room seven is always empty if any of you need to sleep. He won't be awake for a while; you should get some rest," she said, giving them a tight-lipped smile.

"Thank you, Veronica," Derek said; he nodded over Garcia's head as he held her in his arms, "I don't think any of us will get much sleep until pretty boy wakes up, though."

Veronica laughed, "pretty boy, I always thought he was exaggerating when he said you called him that. If you don't want to sleep, that's fine, but you can't stay in here – the interns like to hang out in here before pre-rounds, and they'll be here soon," she said before gripping onto her IV pole and swiftly exiting the gallery.

Tears burned in her eyes as she made her way to the attending's lounge, grabbing a replacement banana bag from the nurse's station on her way; Spencer was going to be okay. He was going to wake up and have his team to comfort him, fetch him jello, keep him company through the recovery and bring homemade meals to his apartment. What else could she do for him that they couldn't?

She burst into the attending's lounge and slammed the door shut behind her. She let out a heart-wrenching sob as she shoved the dress into her locker, growing frustrated and kicking it when the poufy, underlayers of the skirt wouldn't fit.

Maybe that's why he had never introduced her to the team because he already had seven people who loved him unconditionally and could give him all the love he needed. And Spencer didn't want her to know that; what could she do for him that they couldn't?

Veronica darted into the bathroom and held her own hair bag as she emptied the contents of her stomach into the toilet bowl. Maybe she was just a fuck to Spencer, an outlet to release his frustrations after a hard day. Assuming he wasn't fucking any of his teammates, that was the only thing she was good for that they couldn't give.

Derek said that his last words before he passed out were about her; he asked him to call her. He tried to give her a message – why did Veronica not share Derek's confidence that the message was I love you?

She flushed the toilet and washed her mouth out with water from the tap. Her headache was beginning to subside, but she still switched out her banana bag before she limped out of the bathroom, using the IV pole as a support.

Veronica threw herself onto the couch. She wanted to scream, or kick something else or rip her own hair out, but she simply didn't have the energy to do anything except shut her eyes and drift off to sleep. The image of Spencer's open chest cavity and the knowledge that his team were everything she was and more burned into her brain.

***

Spencer's brain was awake before his body was. He was acutely aware of people moving around his room, but their voices were muffled, and he couldn't bring himself to open his eyes to see who they were.

There was a tight sensation in his throat, and suddenly, Spencer started gagging violently.

"He's fighting the intubation!" a voice called out, "page Dr Altman."

Dr Altman. He knew that name, he thought to himself. But his brain was still too hazy from the anaesthesia to think straight. Dr Altman…something to do with cardiothoracic surgery – probably one of his doctors. But where had they met before?

He felt hands all over him, grabbing at his neck and face; there was a horrible scraping sensation in his throat, and then he could breathe freely again. He's fighting the intubation, the voice had said. That was good; that meant he was breathing on his own.

However, he couldn't appreciate the joy of knowing he wouldn't be hooked to a ventilator for the rest of his life whilst his throat ached like that. The tube had been removed, but he still felt his gag reflex at the threshold of triggering.

He really needed to get Veronica more credit for that.

His limbs were heavy, he tried to at least wriggle his fingers, but they wouldn't move. The muffled voices which echoed around him were beginning to become clearer; he could make out what sounded to be JJ's voice by his head.

Finally, his brain allowed his eyes to flicker open. But he immediately wanted to screw them shut again when the blinding fluorescent glare of the ceiling lights shone down on him.

"Oh my god," JJ gasped, "he's awake!"

He couldn't move his head to see her, but her worried face quickly appeared in front of his, "Spencer? Spencer, can you hear me?" she asked frantically.

"Ow," he mumbled in response.

"Thank God you're okay," she said, stroking his hair as tears streamed down her cheeks.

"You gave us a scare, pretty boy."

Spencer strained his eyes enough to see Derek standing in the corner; he leant against the wall with his arms folded tight across his chest, but Spencer could clearly see the grin he was fighting.

"What happened?" he groaned, trying to readjust his body into a more comfortable position.

"Hey, don't try and move," JJ scolded lightly, "the nurse said that you'll be groggy from the anaesthesia for a while," she took his hand in hers and squeezed it gently.

"Did we get him? The unsub?"

"Yeah, don't you worry about him, kid, he's going away for a long time," Derek reassured, "he got a shot in at you before we could take him down… I'm so sorry, kid, you fell, and it distracted me long enough for him to shot you before I could shoot him."

"Hey, it's not your fault," JJ said, "it could've happened to any of us."

Spencer nodded in agreement but didn't try and speak again; his head was throbbing, and he closed her eyes again, the darkness providing some brief relief from the brilliant light above his head. But with every passing second, Spencer became increasingly aware of the dull aches in his chest and abdomen, the pain growing sharper with each intake of breath.

"How many times did I get shot?" he groaned, "I can't remember anything…but my whole body hurts."

JJ bit her lip as she continued to stroke his hair, "just once, Spence, but you fell down the stairs just before you got him and it injured…something, I don't know what – I can't remember what she said," JJ looked over to Derek for a prompt, but he shook his head in response.

"Hey, don't look at me; I didn't understand a single word any of those doctors said," Derek shrugged, "Dr Altman is coming to check on you, though, kid. I'm sure she'll explain it all to you."

Dr Teddy Altman!

They met at Cristina and Owen's wedding; Spencer could tell she was in love with the groom and distracted her with a rant on Mechanical Complications of Acute Myocardial Infarction. She was Veronica's friend.

Oh god, Veronica. She must be so worried – if Derek had even called her that was, she might be oblivious to his condition. Spencer was ready to open his mouth to as about her, but JJ was already speaking again before he had the chance.

"…and our resident genius will definitely be able to understand better than us," she said, pressing a gentle kiss against his forehead, "I've never been so nervous as when we were sitting in that gallery, thank god those doctors fixed you up."

"Wait, what gallery?" Spencer asked, opening his eyes to squint at her, her words distracting him long enough to forget to ask about Veronica.

JJ paused and exchanged a look with Derek, "we hoped you wouldn't mind – we were in the OR gallery during your surgery, but we didn't actually see anything," she reassured, "none of us could actually bring ourselves to watch, but we just wanted to be there, in case anything happened to you."

"Not that we'd have been much help," Derek chuckled, "but I got you to the hospital in one piece. I wasn't about to let you out of my sight until you were stable."

Spencer nodded slowly, "how did you even get in there?" he mumbled.

"Veronica," Derek said, "you asked me to call her, and she came straight over, but she wasn't about to sit around in any waiting room, so she found out where you were…we just followed her up there."

Spencer tugged on his blanket, "so…you met her then?"

JJ nodded stiffly, "we did."

"Oh. Suppose I did ask you to call her, I don't know what I expected…."

"We didn't get a chance to talk much," Derek said carefully, "you were touch-and-go a bit in surgery, so it was a bit too tense for small talk."

JJ moved away from him and sat back in the chair next to his bed; she picked at her nails, "I don't get why you never told us about her, Spence?"

Spencer didn't answer her. This was not how he wanted this conversation to go; in fact, he was hoping he'd never have to have this conversation at all. The rational part of his brain knew that was unrealistic, but the rational part of his brain didn't seem to exist when it came to protecting Veronica.

He shrugged, "I didn't think you guys needed to know."

Derek unfolded his arms and moved out of the corner, coming to rest at the end of Spencer's bed, "didn't need to know? You've been making excuses about this to me all day, kid. And I'm not buying the - you wanted to have something to yourself - bullshit anymore-"

"You asked her to marry you," JJ said, her voice cracking slightly, "you wanted her to be your wife, but you didn't even tell us about her? Were you just going to get married without any of us there?"

"She told you that?"

Spencer had the strength to ball one of his fists; this was going horribly. The tension he had created in his hand spread up his arm and along to his chest. He grimaced as another sharp stab of pain rippled across his body.

JJ shook her head, "no, her friend mentioned it, and we overheard. I don't get it, Spence, we're supposed to be like family, and she…we didn't get to talk, but she seems nice. And she's a doctor – she's smart like you, and she obviously loves you. Did you think we wouldn't like her?"

"No, and she said no to me anyway, so it doesn't matter…."

"She only said no because you wouldn't introduce her to us," Derek stated bluntly, "that's what she said when we asked her about it and considering I didn't even know she existed till this morning, I can't say that I blame her."

"Guys, I will explain later, I promise," Spencer began as he tried to sit up in the bed, "but I need to talk to Veronica. Right now – where is she?"

"She is in a patient room down the hall," Dr Altman said as she waltzed into the room and picked up Spencer's chart from the end of his bed, "nice to see you awake, Dr Reid."

"A patient room – i-is she okay?" Spencer stammered.

Teddy peered over the chart to look at his concerned face, "she'll be fine, she's just dehydrated and a bit hungover – we've got her on an IV. Besides, the couch in the attending's lounge is not the place you want to sleep unless you want to give yourself scoliosis."

Spencer tried to move one of his legs, "I need to go see her, I need to explain everything, I-"

"You need to lay back down," Teddy said as she moved over to his bedside and pressed her stethoscope against his chest, "I need to listen to your chest, take a deep breath for me-"

Spencer begrudgingly breathed in.

"-breath sounds are clear and equal, that's a good sign," Teddy said, hanging the stethoscope back around her neck, "and your latest round of labs are all within normal limits. Dr Hunt and I were able to remove all the bullet fragments during surgery, we were concerned that the impact could've weakened the wall of your thoracic aorta, but it seems unaffected."

Spencer nodded, "okay."

“We had to convert to an exploratory laparotomy mid-surgery; you had some bleeding in your abdomen which we needed to repair; that's why you have two incision sites. They will likely leave scars, I'm afraid, but the abdominal bleeding triggered a condition called DIC and would have been fatal had we not caught the bleeders."

Spencer's brain was spinning. He knew he had been in bad shape, but he really nearly died. He needed to talk to Veronica, and fast.

"…it was actually Veronica who made the connection between your fall and the bleeding. She wasn't even operating, and she saved your life," Teddy smiled at him, "I just need to take a peek at your incision sites, and then I'll be out of your hair."

Spencer winced as she lifted up his bandages to take a closer look.

"Okay, they look all good and no signs of infection. You will need at least another day for observation; I'll get the nurse to administer your post-op antibiotics, so let her know if there's anything else you need."

"He won't admit it, but he's in pain. Can he get any more morphine or something?" JJ asked, biting her nail.

"What? No, I'm fine. I don't need any more painkillers; I'm all good!"

Teddy raised an eyebrow at him, "you just had major surgery, but you don't want more pain meds?" she asked sceptically, "you aren't maxed out on anything; I can order more-"

"No," Spencer snapped, "I mean…no thank you, Dr Altman. They make me too disoriented, and I need to be clear-headed when I talk to Veronica," he said, adjusting his tone.

Teddy gave him one last suspicious look before she moved back towards the door, "okay, no more pain meds. I'll let Veronica know you're awake," she said before exiting the room, closing the sliding glass door behind her.

Spencer let out a deep sigh of relief and relaxed back into his pillows slightly. Even the brief conversation with Dr Altman had left him exhausted, so he wasn't sure how he would manage when the rest of the team flocked to his bedside to question him about his condition and Veronica.

Veronica.

That was going to be a long conversation.

JJ and Derek stayed by his side as the nurse came in to administer his antibiotics, just as Dr Altman had said.

"Hotch and Rossi had to go sort some things out with the arrest," Derek had informed him, "they said they'll stop by later when they can."

"And Emily and Garcia are in the cafeteria, we've let them know you're awake, but we didn't want to overwhelm you with too many visitors at once," JJ explained, "and Garcia really needed some sugar. She's been freaking out, Emily's trying to get her to eat something," she chuckled.

"I feel bad I caused all this stress…." Spencer mumbled.

"Course we're worried about you, Spence; we're a family. But you didn't cause us stress; it's not your fault," JJ reassured; she leaned closer to Spencer to grip his hand in hers.

"Exactly, it's the unsub's fault. You didn't choose to get shot," Derek added; he shuffled over to the bed from his corner and took hold of Spencer's other hand.

The three of them sat in comfortable and heartfelt silence for a few moments with their hands intertwined until they were interrupted by a hesitant voice in the doorway.

"Uh, sorry, I did mean to interrupt. I'll come back later…."

part 3 coming soon

sorry there’s not too much spencer in this part, i promise there will be more in part 3 when veronica and spencer have their confrontation

if you enjoyed this please consider leaving a comment as it really keeps me motivated, and reblogging! i really appreciate likes but on the tumblr reblogs are the only way to get my work out there x

tagging anyone who commented on part 1, message me/ comment if you want to be tagged for part 3:

@dilaurantisbitch

masterlist

i also take imagine requests!

#spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #soencer reid angst #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x oc #hurt and comfort #angst #derek morgan #greys anatomy #cristina yang #jackson avery #april kepner

134 notes · View notes

hongism · 3 years

Text

mists of celeste ➻ 35

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, smut ➻ Word Count: 13.0k ➻ Rating: M ➻ Warnings: language, violence, guns and weaponry, blood, future warnings tba chapter specific warnings: mentions of past abuse, violence, anxiety ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you

⇐ previous | next ⇒ | masterlist

✧✧✧ act five ➻ part two

It is nearing nightfall by the time you all return to the ship. Yunho has already gotten Hongjoong settled in the medbay with Jongho’s help, as well as set him up with an oxygen mask and an IV, and to be frank, the sight of the infamous pirate captain splayed out so helplessly was hard to see. Whatever you were feeling must have been increased tenfold for the man who stood at your side during the whole process because you could feel the panic oozing off his bones, a nagging sensation that fell on you as well. As much as he tried to help, Yunho asked him to let him and Jongho take care of it, and Seonghwa caved with a surprising amount of haste. For better or worse, you don’t have to stay long there before Seonghwa is pulling you out to head up to the main airlock. It can only be worse because of who is waiting for you there: none other than Han Jisung come to join the crew for inexplicable reasons unbeknownst to you right now. And that is why you shift to look at Seonghwa’s sharp side profile as the two of you walk to join Yeosang in waiting by the airlock.

“Why are we bringing him aboard?”

“We need Jisung for information, and it will be less of a hassle to have him aboard,” Seonghwa explains through a clipped sigh. “I don’t trust the man as far as I can throw him, but… at least I can keep an eye on him this way.”

“Why can’t we just have Wooyoung help us through the dreams instead?”

Seonghwa glances over at you, and your eyes meet for the briefest of moments before he looks forward once more.

“We don’t know how to communicate with him yet,” Seonghwa explains. His tone is a bit more gentle this time, nothing goading or forced but rather a genuine attempt to ease some of your bubbling anxieties. “You can’t talk to him, ask him questions, or consistently control his body long enough to figure out where they’re being held. Besides, they are locked in a cell, and you can’t very well ask a guard where they are. Until we learn more about this situation and your connection to each other, this is the best course of action.”

“Would Hongjoong let him on the ship?” You inquire. You can already assume the answer, and you’re only asking for some sort of confirmation that this is a bad idea, but Seonghwa presses his lips together to form a thin line.

“Hongjoong would understand how critical the situation at hand is.”

“Would you let him walk away without a fight too?” It is a bit out of line and far too bitter, but the words are already out of your mouth before you can stop yourself. Seonghwa freezes in place, steps coming to a sudden halt whilst you just continue walking as though you didn’t say a word. You can feel the way his eyes glare holes into the back of your head, and the twinge in your chest that pains your heart surely does not come from you. A wave of pain hits you as you turn to look Seonghwa in the eye.

“Hongjoong is different,” he whispers. “You know that. It isn’t that I don’t love or care about you, because I do. I feel both those things when it comes to you, in ways I can’t even begin to describe, which is why I want you to be happy and have a chance at freedom.”

“With someone whom you don’t trust or know?”

“You know and trust him yourself, do you not?” Seonghwa counters without missing a beat. “Am I supposed to decided who you trust now? Was it not you who told me that I didn’t need to worry about you? Shouldn’t doubt your abilities? I’ve already told you that I am not happy about this situation at all, but still I will not decide this for you, even if you ask me to.”

“Then what am I supposed to think? Right now it feels like you only want me gone so you can feel less guilty about going back to Hongjoong at the end of the day.” You turn on your heel, fully prepared to leave him standing there on his own in the heat of your unreasonable annoyance. Seonghwa closes the distance between your bodies with a surprising haste and grabs hold of your wrist, spinning you back around to face him in no time. You hardly have time to breathe before he’s knocking the air out of you by pressing you up against the wall of the corridor. You know what’s coming next before it happens, and it’s for that exact reason that you dip your chin to the side as Seonghwa moves in to plant his lips atop yours.

A dry and emotionless laugh escapes his lips instead, and you stare at the floor with eyes burning more than ever. Seonghwa slams a hand down hard on the space of metal beside your head.

“I should never have been selfish with you,” he mutters. You try not to think about how much bitterness his tone holds. “That was a mistake on my part. There is no security or certainty in a life like ours, nothing I can provide that would give you either of those things. I’m sorry for making you believe that I could ever give you something as certain as that.”

A thought dashes across the forefront of your mind, one that tells you to swallow the hurt nagging at your chest and take comfort in his body instead, but it doesn’t last long. You know better, and you know it wouldn’t fix anything in the long run. It will only make it harder on both of you if you let yourselves get any more attached before your inevitable demise that ends in you leaving with Jisung.

“Do you regret this?” Your voice could not possibly be more quiet than it is now. You lift a shaky hand to his chest, pressing your palm hard against the spot that now emanates the most pain. “Getting close and such?” Seonghwa shifts to place his hand over yours but hesitates at the last second. His lips twist into a strained smile.

“I do, but only because it is ending with you in pain. No, I don’t regret any of the time I spent with you, and I still mean everything I told you. Perhaps this is for the best. I am content with the time I got to spend with you, and I won’t ask for anything more than that.”

“All I wanted you to do was stop me,” you plea as though it will make him change his mind right here and now.

“There’s nothing to stop yet, Y/N.”

“Do you need me to show you how badly I don’t want to go for you to stop me?” Seonghwa exhales a deep heave of air and pulls away from you.

“What do you want more than anything else?”

“San back safely.” Seonghwa barely finishes his question by the time you’re answering, but in your mind, there is no need for any sort of hesitation. If Seonghwa is surprised at all, he doesn’t let it slip through; all he does is smile back at you. You only realize your mistake after the fact, stuttering in your next rush to speak. “A-And Mingi and W-Wooyoung as well.”

“What about after that then?”

His question doesn’t stump you because you don’t know the answer. You know what it is you want when this is all over. You want to rest, to stop running, for all this mess to be done with, and you don’t want to have to worry about your safety at every turn. You don’t want to wake up in a cold sweat afraid that the people you care about could be dead. You desperately want peace, but you aren’t brave enough to make the sacrifices that will get you there. Even so, there is no way you could admit it now because that would only make Seonghwa right.

“Your silence is answer enough for me.”

“That isn’t what I want with Jisung though,” you insist. “He is my past, not my future. I never let myself imagine a scenario in which I would see him again. I’ve made it this far with you all. I don’t want to leave you behind now. And even after we get the others back, I still won’t want to leave them behind either.”

“That may be the case, Y/N, but it’s — the truth of the matter is that no matter what, my first duty will always be to protect Hongjoong as his lieutenant. Perhaps that is why those lingering feelings of love are still present, but it also means that I don’t know if I can give you my love and promise to stop loving him as well. That’s — that’s beside the point though.” Seonghwa shakes his head, hand coming up to comb through his dark locks for a second before dropping back to his side. “If how I feel about Hongjoong is something you aren’t okay with, then I don’t want you to wait on me or my feelings. That isn’t what I want for you. However, this conversation can continue another time. We’ve kept Yeosang waiting long enough.”

There isn’t an opportunity to say anything more because Seonghwa steps away and returns to walking down the corridor without even waiting to see if you’ll follow. You have to jog to catch up with his broad strides, falling into step beside him with a bit more hesitance in your movements this time.

“Has… has Jisung learned anything yet?”

“The person behind all of this is still not guaranteed. Vladimir was merely an instrument for these plans, but according to Jisung, he said that there would be a special exchange on Dorado for Mingi and the others. Since you were originally the one they wanted, there is still uncertainty about what they plan to do with Wooyoung and San. Mingi, on the other hand, is set to be sent to a recreational facility on Dorado that specializes in Berserker training for pirate and bandit crews. They plan to reprogram him back into – into the Brute of Kebos, at which point he will be sent back to Vladimir. That’s apparently the bargain he made to agree to this plan. You were the prize meant for the other party but obviously, that fell through.”

“Why me of all people? With all the people on this ship, why am I significant in the slightest? Especially on Dorado of all places?”

Seonghwa shakes his head from side to side.

“Vladimir didn’t mention anything in the past few meetings Jisung has attended. We don’t even have the slightest clue as to why they want you, and still no word on who these people even are. Of course, the Ghost of Eros is valuable, there’s no doubt about that, but not this far from Eros and the Aurum system. And they certainly wouldn’t go to these lengths to get you.” His words die there, voice falling flat along with the sentence, and you watch him in silence for several seconds before he shifts to place a gentle hand on your shoulder. “It is evident that someone in the universe is looking for you, and they are taking great risks to get you.”

“They will have to try a lot harder than that if they want me.”

Seonghwa blinks back at you, eyes perceptive and searching as always. He seems to figure something out at that moment because his stare widens a bit before dropping to the floor without a word.

“What’s wrong?” You inquire, leaning closer to look at his face better.

“Nothing. Just a hunch. I’ll let you know if it becomes a concern later.” He shrugs off the concern and lets his hand fall off your shoulder to motion down the corridor. Yeosang has surely grown impatient by now, and it’s that thought that causes your steps and Seonghwa’s to increase in pace to meet him at the airlock. Only, once you finally reach that place, you find that he is not alone, and Jisung stands directly across from the taller blond, starkly out of place in front of Yeosang. You don’t need to visibly see Yeosang’s expression to know that the Elitist is glaring at Jisung – it’s evident in the way Yeosang speaks through his body with the tense shoulders and crossed arms, chin inclined just enough to be condescending, yet Jisung doesn’t seem phased by the man in the slightest. In fact, he just turns to you, eyes bright as ever, and grins from ear to ear like a Cheshire.

“Hey, little lady.” Something in the way he speaks those words with that smile that is branded on your brain and hand quickly darting out in your direction triggers a memory you didn’t know you had.

“Stop being a fucking idiot! You know I’m better than you, don’t you?” A hand stretches out towards you, writhing forward like a snake in the darkness, and you flinch away from the touch despite knowing that the man won’t lay a hand on you. “The next person who dares to say that to you will die a painful death.”

“J-Jisung?”

“I don’t care what kind of monster I become in their eyes. If I go to hell, so be it. They touch you, they die. Those are the rules, aren’t they? If anyone other than me lays a single finger on you…” Jisung trails off, lips twisting into a smile that is far too cruel for his gentle and precious features. “I will deliver a slow and deliberate death to each of them.”

Jisung’s hand is about to brush over your wrist – the one that bears the brand of your betrayal – when Yeosang steps between your body and his, hand coming up to knock Jisung’s own out of the way.

“It would be best for you to not cause any issues while you’re here,” the Elitist murmurs. He cocks his head to the side, maintaining that cruel and cocky air about his shoulders as he looks down at Jisung. “I’m not one for forgiveness, and you are merely here as a guest. Someone who isn’t important to the crew and has no place here. You would do well to remember that before trying to lay a hand on anyone in the crew.”

A scowl overtakes Jisung’s expression, and the man steps back to put some distance between himself and Yeosang.

“I knew her for five years. Perhaps you are the one who needs to remember your place, no?” Jisung jerks his chin forward a bit. “Or does the Royal Betrayer still think he has some impact and power over others?”

Yeosang might have lunged straight through Jisung’s throat for that comment if not for the way Seonghwa rushes to clamp his hand down hard on the man’s shoulder. He tugs Yeosang back with as much force as he can, but the simmering expression of anger on the lieutenant’s features is directed solely at Jisung.

“I would advise you to watch your mouth, Han. As acting caption, I decide your place on this ship, and that is as a guest. We need you for the time being but not in the long run, thus you ought to learn your place and remember that well.” Seonghwa plasters a stretched grin over his lips. “Now, if you would please follow me to the bridge, we can discuss in more detail the plans moving forward.”

He motions past Yeosang’s shoulder to the corridor leading to the bridge, but Jisung’s only response is to continue staring at you without saying anything for several seconds. Seonghwa’s gaze flits over to Yeosang, and the pair exchange a discreet nod before Yeosang shifts in your direction. His hand finds your arm, clamping down hard on the skin as he moves to pull you along, but another hand snakes out to push between the two of you.

“Is it not common courtesy amongst royalty to ask a lady before touching her?” Jisung bears a smile but venom drips from his tone in a way that sends shivers down your spine.

“I hate the military. Every single general and commander is corrupt beyond belief. There’s no circle in hell low enough for them. But those higher-ups? The royals who sit on their thrones and sip their expensive wine while prancing around like utter fools as the rest of us folk suffer and die on the streets… they’re the worst scum in the entire universe.”

Jisung has never liked people in positions of power, but his incessant rants about royals were always the worst to sit through because he could go on for hours and hours. Thus, it doesn’t surprise you to see him bearing such a disdain for Yeosang. Even so, you do find it a bit odd seeing as Yeosang is hardly in a position of power now, and he is no longer a royal so there isn’t much he could do with that nonexistent power.

“Think you can just take anything for yourself, is that it?”

“Han Jisung,” Seonghwa hisses, teeth so tightly pressed together that the air whistles through them. “I have no qualms tying you to a chair in the brig and extracting information from you that way. You should consider me to be merciful because if Scourge were here, he would have already dragged you there by your ankles. Learn your place before I force you to.”

One corner of Jisung’s lips tugs upwards as he grins at the lieutenant.

“Aye, aye, acting Captain.”

You can breathe easy again after that thankfully because Seonghwa manages to tug Jisung down the hall without any further disturbances. Yeosang stands completely still and watches the two retreat without saying a word for a short period of time.

“Your taste in men is questionable at best,” he grumbles after a bit, eyes continuing to bore holes into Jisung’s back.

“He just—” You stop yourself before any sort of defense slips out. It isn’t your job to defend him anymore. You have no need to protect him or say anything good about him at all. Yet even though you don’t need to, that inherent need to do so still resides in your gut. “He doesn’t like people in positions of power.”

“Is that so?” Yeosang hums to himself then shakes his head. “Come on. We can discuss the dreams you’ve been having and things you’ve noticed since coming on the ship while they’re discussing plans.”

It’s enough indication for you to realize that he no longer wants to discuss Jisung, and that is frankly fine by you. The silence it leaves you in, however, is not welcome. You don’t realize how vehemently you are rubbing at the brand on the inside of your wrist until Yeosang glances over at you and comments on the repetitive motion.

“You’re going to rub the skin raw if you keep doing that.”

“O-Oh,” you exhale, clenching your fingers into a tight fist and dropping your arms to your side. That’s all he says for the rest of the arguably short walk to his quarters, and he maintains a distance of several feet between you the entire time.

“You can sit on the bed as long as you don’t touch anything,” Yeosang mutters once inside his room.

It’s a basic and unadorned room, something you didn’t expect from a man who grew up surrounded by excessive lavishness, but for some odd reason, it is so inexplicably Yeosang that you can’t be too surprised. The blond heads straight for a small desk pushed into the corner of the room, one that sits beside a tall bookshelf similar to the ones you see in Seonghwa’s room. You do as told and sit on the corner of the bed so close to the edge that you practically fall off. There’s no need to be comfortable if you aren’t going to be staying for long after all.

“I don't need you messing anything else up so just stay put,” Yeosang says as he sinks onto the cushioned seat behind the desk. You pin him to the spot with a glare.

“Messing anything else up? What’s your issue with me?” You spit, arms coming up to cross over your chest.

“Hm? Does there have to be a reason for me to not like you?”

“I don’t get what your fucking problem with me is. Ever since joining the crew, I have done nothing that directly hurts you or puts you in danger, so what the fuck is your issue with me?”

“Is that so?” Yeosang arches a brow in your direction and matches your glare with one of his own. “If not for you, Wooyoung would still be here. Did you forget about that?”

That bites a bit too hard at your skin; it digs its way into your system and buries itself there to eat away at your bones. It’s the same guilt that has been eating away at you for the past few days, and you don’t need Yeosang to bring it up now and make it worse for you.

“Like it or not, I have a connection with Wooyoung and we have to work together to get him, San, and Mingi back.”

“I hate you,” Yeosang hisses. “I hate everything about you. And I especially hate your connection with Wooyoung. You are going to ruin him, and I hate you for it.” The tone he speaks with betrays the fact that there is more to it than that, but you aren’t particularly in the mood to have a tell-all discussion about all the reasons why Yeosang hates you. A pent-up confession, yes, but still not quite all there is to know.

“It’s not my fault that there’s something there. I didn’t ask for this, and I certainly don’t want it. I would be perfectly content being some damn Normie who didn’t have to worry about something like this,” you ramble without stopping to take a breath once. You blink furiously at the man as you catch your breath, eyes still blazing with uncontained rage when you decide to speak again. “It sounds like you are just jealous that you can’t be the one with a connection to him. Did you get everything you wanted when you were a prince? Is Wooyoung the one thing you can’t have?”

Yeosang lifts an old book off his desk and chucks it at the wall adjacent to him. It slams hard against the metal with a clang. You manage not to flinch in the slightest, staring Yeosang down with the same amount of heat as before.

“Allow me to have an ounce of jealousy! I got to choose absolutely nothing in my life while I was a prince, contrary to popular belief. Everything was selected for me, whether it was by my bastard father or the whore that was my mother. Hell, even my younger brother got to choose more than I did! I didn’t choose Wooyoung, but my love for him is one of the only things I ever got to choose back then. Does that let you just waltz in here and have this inexplicable connection to him? When fate told us that we were never even supposed to meet? I won’t ask for your forgiveness in this matter, because I have every right in the universe to be angered and jealous.”

“Then at least stop hating me for something I could not choose,” you demand, nose wrinkling in disgust as you spit the words in Yeosang’s direction.

“Protecting Wooyoung at all costs is the only thing that truly matters to me.” Yeosang lets out a deep sigh and looks down at the desk before him. “I’ll stop hating you when you prove yourself not to be a threat to Wooyoung’s safety.”

“How do you expect me to do that?”

“Getting Wooyoung back in one piece would be a fantastic place to start, don’t you think? Do you not feel that same way about San?” There’s a twitch in the corner of your eye that won’t go away even after Yeosang finishes speaking.

“I don’t like what you are trying to imply with that, Yeosang.”

“Take it as you will,” the man states in response. He angles his sharp chin towards you, blond hair wavering a bit with the sudden motion. “Your feelings might still be a mystery to me, but I have known San for years. I know him well enough to see how clear his feelings are for you and what you mean to him. Is that not what is holding you back from our dearest lieutenant?”

A bitter taste of ambiguity resides in his tone, and it’s something that you cannot get out of your mind. Yet the more you think about it, the more confusing it seems to get because there is no clear answer to Yeosang’s question. All this time, you figured it was Seonghwa who was holding back thanks to how he feels about Hongjoong. Sure, there was a possibility of your past love for Jisung getting in the way too but the realization that you would have to lose this crew in order to go back to him quickly dispelled the romantic notion of returning to him. San was never part of the picture — at least not in the way you think Yeosang is insinuating.

“What do you mean?” You ask after several breaths of terse silence. Yeosang doesn’t answer quite yet; he returns to staring blankly at the wood of his desk, fingers of his right hand coming up to rub at the inside of his left wrist without reason. You’re well aware of what lies under the fabric of his black shirt, the brand on his skin that you bear on your own, and the losses that came along with such a mark.

“In order to give your all to someone,” he starts in a quiet tone, “you have to be willing to make sacrifices. I gave up a lot to save Wooyoung, but seeing the look on his face once we were finally free made all of it worth it. I would never go back unless it was to fully guarantee Wooyoung’s safety. You still haven’t found that moment with Seonghwa have you?”

Your eyes give away the answer to that question in the way your darting gaze slips to the floor and avoids Yeosang’s insistent aura.

“Seonghwa mentioned the deal you made with Han to gain his cooperation in this mess. And how you don’t truly want to follow through with your end of the deal, yet you’re doing it anyway. For what reason?” You open your mouth to respond only to realize that it is merely meant as a rhetorical question when Yeosang continues speaking. “Because you are guaranteeing San’s safety, you would go to a place you don’t truly want to go. You would do something that every ounce in your body disdains to an unbelievable degree simply because it guarantees one person’s safety.”

“I’m doing it for Wooyoung and Mingi too,” you counter with too much haste, and it betrays the truth about the matter and your defensiveness. Yeosang’s lips quirk up into a slight smile. You would almost say that the gesture seems genuine in that moment.

“You say that with your words yet your eyes tell all. It’s on you to recognize it.” He cuts himself short there and shakes his head a bit. “That’s all… that’s all beside the point, however, since this is supposed to be about your dreams.”

“And what exactly is it you need to know about my dreams?” You tilt your head to the side as you ask the question, arms coming up to fold over your chest in a desperate attempt to defend yourself from his scrutiny.

“Well, first of all, there’s something I’m curious about.” Yeosang shifts to pull something from the drawer, and when he resurfaces, he has a small bound leather journal in hand. “Wooyoung has had an incessant dream for years now — all the years I’ve known him actually — of a girl drowning in a black lake. He watches her head go underwater but can’t make out her features well enough to recognize her. He dives in to save her, swims to grab her, does everything he can to save him, but something always pulls her deeper and deeper. He can never reach her. He can never hear her screams. He can never see her face. All he can do is reach out for her hand and that’s it. But when you came aboard, that dream suddenly stopped happening altogether. He hasn’t had it since meeting you.”

“I’ve – I’ve never had any sort of dream like that. Just… one dream about seeing a man with dark hair across a black lake. But h-his back was to me, so I couldn’t see his face. For all I know it was some random person and not Wooyoung.”

“And the other one?” Yeosang asks out of the blue. He arches a brow, eyes searching yours for answers, and you’re a bit taken aback by the question since you don’t recall mentioning a second dream to anyone other than Wooyoung. Ah… “He mentioned that one day in the medbay, where the two of you were late to the meeting on the bridge — you woke up shouting his name and asked him something odd.”

“Well, yes, but that… I had a dream about seeing Wooyoung in chains and the same collar he has now, but it didn’t feel quite like a dream. Moreso a memory than anything else.” Yeosang draws his lips into a tight purse.

“I can’t help you there.” The dismissive nature of his tone sends a sudden spike of rage through you, and you level the Elitist with a harsh glare.

“What do you mean you can’t help me? If that truly is a memory, then I deserve to know what my own past is as much as Wooyoung does!”

“I — calm down, Y/N. I’m not saying that I am choosing not to help you; genuinely I cannot. I don’t know anything about that. Wooyoung’s past — the one prior to when the two of us met — I have no knowledge of it, and according to everything he’s told me, he doesn’t either. Before the batch of slaves he was in came to Aera, their minds were wiped. Just as yours was for the military.”

Several years back, there had been one night in particular with your unit where all of you were up late in your bunks to exchange old ghost stories and legends, but something Hyunwoo had said at the time stuck out to you the most then.

“What do slaves and soldiers have in common? The cost of their service is worth more than a lifetime.”

And at the time, you hadn’t known exactly what that would mean in the long run, but now you think it makes quite a bit more sense. You sacrificed fourteen years of your life to join the military and be their property. Gave up an entire lifetime in service to the crown, and for what? You were no less a slave than Wooyoung must have been. How many years did they steal from him?

“Wooyoung knows fairly little about his time before coming to the palace on Aera. Even saying fairly little is being more than generous. Perhaps the only thing I genuinely sympathize with as it concerns you is that. Your pass was stolen from you, and there is no guarantee that you will ever get it back. While my childhood was far from pleasant, it always pains me when Wooyoung asks to hear about the times before him because I know that he doesn’t that. There is no ‘before me’ for him, just the day he stepped off a slave vessel and greeted my family.”

“You don’t mean — how long exactly have the two of you known each other?”

“Since we were nine years old,” Yeosang replies, a soft and genuine smile painting his lips. “Fourteen years. We’ve spent over two-thirds of our lives together, yet it’s still not enough to take away the fact that Wooyoung has a chunk of his life missing entirely in memories.”

“Were you… his master?” Your mind can’t move past the fact that they have been together all this time, through the years that Wooyoung was a slave and onwards. You haven’t had anyone be a steady rock for such a long time; the longest you’ve ever spent with someone to your knowledge was four years at best. But fourteen? That is the amount of time missing from your own memories. Is it possible that you had someone the way Yeosang and Wooyoung had each other for so long? A foundation in your life meant to ground you?

“No, never. He was assigned to my side, yes, but my mother was his true master.” Yeosang’s expression grows grave in that moment, and you know the look in his eyes well enough to guess that it is a sensitive and touchy subject that you should avoid. Thus, you shake your head ever so slightly to dispel the curiosity and move to a separate question.

“Then how did the two of you come to be here together?” You know a vague telling of the story of Kang Minhee, the Royal Betrayer who abandoned his dying father when it was his time to take up the crown, but nowhere in those stories is another person mentioned. No slave, no Wooyoung, no trace of any other name besides Yeosang’s original one.

“My father was sick, and the stress it put on my mother’s shoulders made her more cruel. I couldn’t bear to see her harm Wooyoung anymore, and thus I did what I thought was best and set him free in the night. Told him to go off and gain passage on a merchant’s ship to get off the planet. Then, as a stroke of vengeance against my mother, I stole documents concerning one of her many affairs and threatened to bring them to my father so that he would know she was a cheap whore on his deathbed. But even princes can’t get away with such things. My mother swapped the documents and told the guards that I stole highly confidential war declarations among other things instead, and thus I was charged with treason, given my brand, and stuck in jail.”

“Obviously you got out,” you murmur, leaning a bit closer as Yeosang tells his tale. “And met up with Wooyoung at some point.”

“Wooyoung is the only reason I got out. Rather than leaving the planet as I asked him to, he caught wind of how Kang Minhee had been placed behind bars for treasonous actions, and he thought it was because I helped him escape. He made a deal with a pirate crew to help gain my freedom, and Wooyoung personally set me free after six torturous nights of separation. I… being apart from Wooyoung for even that long was worse than treason itself. As my assistant, Wooyoung had a bed in my room so he could be at my side no matter the hour. He came with me anywhere and everywhere, even when it came to shadowing my father on his military tasks.”

There lies an unspoken cry of desperation in his words. You aren’t too dense to miss it, but the acknowledgment of said cry leaves a searing pain in your chest.

Yeosang drops his gaze to the desk. Something melancholy and sad takes over his expression, like he’s turning the pages back in a book and revisiting older chapters of his life that are less than pleasant, and for a moment, your heart goes out to him. The person he has had in his life for fourteen years — no doubt someone he never parted from even for a week — is no longer by his side. Again you feel that pull to bring Wooyoung back if only for Yeosang’s sake, for the sake of a faulty Elitist who found something more powerful than sheer reason and logic.

“We’ll get him back, Yeosang,” you whisper. “I’ll make sure of it.”

…

Your eyes open to a thick and palpable darkness that leaves you more than a little disoriented for several seconds. The scenery refuses to change around you even as you blink against the shadows to adjust to the shifting light. You blindly feel around for Seonghwa’s presence, stretching your hand out to find his form since the two of you were supposed to come to the Dreamscape together, but you can’t find him anywhere around you.

“Seonghwa?”

“Y/N,” he exhales, bringing an immediate wave of calm over your shoulders. A hand brushes over yours in the shadows, and you clasp tight at the fingers without second thought. “Something isn’t right.”

You don’t need to be a scholar or have infinite knowledge about this place to recognize that, but Seonghwa’s confusion brings a knot of panic to your gut.

“Where are we?”

“The Dreamscape but…” Seonghwa trails off as something collides with wood, echoing a hollow sound, and his body stops moving immediately upon impact. “Hold on, there’s — it feels like a door.” Seonghwa fumbles around a bit at the wood before the panel slides open, disappearing into the side of the wall, and pale yellow light filters over you. You can’t see past Seonghwa’s broad shoulders, but the slight pulse of his fingers squeezing yours tighter doesn’t bring any relief to your bones. He keeps you there behind him even as he steps into the dimly lit room.

A small fire crackles somewhere ahead, the only sound in the den of silence you’ve entered. When you at last step around Seonghwa’s back to stand at your side, your heart practically stops dead in your chest because of the form that sits before the fireplace.

“What’s going on?” Seonghwa asks before you have a chance to get anything out. None other than Daichi sits in front of the fire, hands clasped tight over his lap as he watches the flames dance before his eyes. Upon hearing, Seonghwa’s question, the old man jerks his chin to face the two of you. A heated glare greets you before anything else, along with a rage you haven’t seen from the man in a long while.

“I warned you, Kazuya.” Unless you’ve suddenly occupied another unknown form, there is no way that Daichi is speaking to you, and the way the old man’s gaze shifts to your companion only confirms that suspicion. Umiko, Tsukio, and Kazuya? What significance are those names supposed to hold? “I told you both, in fact. I said not to go looking for more Sirens!”

Daichi pushes up from his chair all of a sudden, seeming to grow in stature without warning as he looms over the fire, and crude shadows twist his features in ugly shapes and patterns.

“It is your job to guide Sirens to each other,” Seonghwa hisses as he pulls forward to match Daichi’s heat.

“And yet I told you not to do exactly that! It may be my job, but it is not my duty to do so. I too am allowed to have free will.”

“Then we have the same luxury! Who are you to keep us from finding others of our kind? Have we not been alone for long enough? Was it not you who guided us to find each other in the first place?”

“That was a stroke of faulty luck!” Daichi counters, and it causes Seonghwa to falter a bit. “Let this serve as a lesson in cruelty, boy. This place, this Dreamscape, it is mine to shape and mold. I have let you walk around too freely without consequence.”

If Seonghwa has anything else to add to the argument, he does not get the opportunity to say it because Daichi pushes forward, body contorting and melding into a blur before your eyes as he steps through the fire and out of sight. You can hardly stand and gape at the scene that just transpired in front of you for long though; new voices rise to your ears, soft and warm tones that speak in hushed whispers. You turn as Seonghwa does, finding two new forms who seems utterly oblivious to your presence in the dim room. A young woman, hardly older than thirty by the looks of it, and a tall child with jet black hair stand on the creaking floorboards near the door. They don’t face you or even spare you the slightest of glances, too caught up in their own little world to breathe in your direction.

“Darling, it’s time to run off to your hiding spot. Your favorite one, you remember?” The woman combs a few long fingers through the boy’s hair, brushing it off his forehead. “I’ll count down from ten, and by the time I’m done, you must be completely hidden. You know what to do, my angel.”

She nudges his shoulder once, and it prompts the boy to lunge into action, little legs working hard to dash through the room and out of sight before she can even begin counting.

“Ten…”

“Seonghwa, what is this?” You murmur. Your gaze is so transfixed on the scene unfolding before you, and Seonghwa seems to be in a similar predicament but his face wears too much concern for you to feel at ease in this place. There lies an odd tension in the air, one that tells you this is not some fun child’s game that the mother and her son are playing.

“Thr—”

“Where the fuck is he?” The door jerks and wobbles as it is flung open, and in its place stands a man nearly as tall as the doorframe with similarly dark hair and a fair complexion. His brows are so closely knit that you can’t see the skin between them, evidence of the rage that falls off his body in waves.

“Donghy—” The sharp and resounding smack of an impact too cruel for words interrupts her, and you turn away with a gasp on your lips. Seonghwa’s body jolts forward in their direction, but you snatch him by the wrist before he can move far.

“Th-They can’t see us, Seonghwa,” you huff out, unable to look over your shoulder again. “They would have seen us by now if we could do anything.” Seonghwa offers no response but his hand tightens into a clenched fist that causes his knuckles to bleed white.

“Where is that little brat? I finally worked out a good deal on the bastard, a quick trade for slave traders.”

“I – I don’t know. I haven’t seen him. H-He ran away earlier because I was yelling at him!”

“Did the fucker break another of your dishes?”

“No, no, he just – he wouldn’t shut up while I was trying to read. I… I don’t know where he is. I went out looking for him but couldn’t find him anywhere!”

“You’re just as useless as he is! Can’t even keep the fucker inside for two seconds while I go out and get the money for us?” Seonghwa tugs his arm out of your grasp, pushing away from you as best he can, and you follow him blindly to another door off to the side.

“W-Where exactly are we, Seonghwa?” You inquire, falling into step beside him. “What’s going on? Is this — is this a memory? Wooyoung’s?”

“No. It’s mine.” Seonghwa twists at the waist. You inhale so sharply that the air burns your throat and lungs, eyes blown wide at the shock of the revelation. A single long finger reaches out to point down to something near the fireplace, and you squint hard at the spot before realizing that a small vent sits at that exact spot on the wall. “I hid in that vent for four days to avoid my father at age six. By the time those four days were up, the slave dealer he had made a deal with had grown impatient and left the planet. And my mother took the brunt of my punishment for me.”

Seonghwa turns back to the door before him and pushes through it. You follow close at his heels, hand hovering over the center of his back. The memory seemed less than pleasant for him, and you didn’t miss the disdain in his tone as he spoke about it, but offering comfort right now feels a bit out of place. The scenery shifts as you pass through the door, but only enough for you to realize that these doors aren’t going to get you anywhere. You now stand in a different house, one that is much more run-down and decrepit from the looks of it. The young boy – the young Seonghwa, to be more accurate – stands in the doorway at the front of the room, rain soaking his skin and dripping from his dark bangs. There isn’t time to look around and take in the surroundings more because the same woman from the first memory comes rushing into the room.

“What do you think you’re doing, Seonghwa? You’re supposed to be at the military base training with the other recruits! Why are you here?” She stops in front of the boy and clasps her hands tight around his shoulders. All the boy can manage in response is a small shake of his head, and silence envelops the pair for so long that it grows uncomfortable.

“I-I was rejected,” the young Seonghwa says at last. “They… they turned me away. I’m s-sorry, Mother, I’m so—”

“Shh, my angel, it’s alright. Let me see your face.” The woman stoops to be eye level with the boy, hands reaching up to cup his face. As she lifts his head, you get a clearer look at the state of his face; it’s littered with bruises along with a split lip and a cut along his cheekbone where the skin has broken. “What happened!? Seonghwa, honey, wh-what happened to you?”

“It doesn’t matter.” The boy shrugs his mother’s touch off with a huff of air.

You shift to look at the real version of Seonghwa by your side, but his gaze remains locked on the scene unfolding in the room with glistening eyes that hurt to look at.

“The other recruits… at the time, they took me to an alleyway and bean me down like a dog,” he explains over the discussion between his memories. “All because I was born in a lower class, born in the Slums, not one of the Elitists who came from the Upper Echelon like them. Not good enough for the military even at age ten.” He exhales a loud scoff, teeth sinking into his lower lip so hard that you think he’s about to bite straight through the skin there. Seonghwa says nothing more; instead, he pushes back through the door you two just stepped through, only to welcome a new scene that causes him to freeze so quickly that you knock against his back.

“Go, Seonghwa! Why can’t you just go?” His mother is on her knees before the figment of his memories, an older version of himself that is not much taller than the one you just saw. “Do what they want! For my sake, if nothing else. They offered so much money for you, more money than we’ve ever seen in our lives. If you would just go, they’ll give it to us! I’ll have enough money to live happily for the rest of my life without having to go out on the streets and sell my body. Don’t you want that for me? Doesn’t my own son want me to have that freedom? Ever since your father passed and left us alone, I’ve been suffering so much. Can’t my angel just go with them for my sake?”

“I – I don’t want to go with them. They want me to – I don’t want to sell my body to them, Mother. I-I’m too young, please.”

It’s not the response the woman wants to hear, and she throws her hands down on her son’s shoulders, shoving the boy back until he stumbles and hits the creaking floorboards harshly. The Seonghwa at your side doesn’t let the memory continue past that point. He steps around you, fists clenched tight by his side and chest rising and falling with unsteady breaths. You aren’t sure how much more of these memories you can take, and that feeling must be increased tenfold for Seonghwa since this is his life he’s being forced to relive. There doesn’t seem to be an end in sight, this cruel torture of Daichi’s making returning again as you follow Seonghwa back through the door. This time, however, you step out into a rainy street, cold droplets painting your skin and sticking to your white gown.

There stands another Seonghwa in front of you, one that is a bit more like the real one who is at your side but still holds a bit of youth and innocence to his features.

“It was pointless to try to keep you safe,” a voice hisses through the din of the rain. It’s his mother again, and this time she stands in a doorway completely shielded from the rain as her son takes the brunt of the barrage from above. “This was the only chance I had at a decent life. I could’ve moved to the Upper Echelon with all that money, but you just had to go and ruin it for me. Like you always do. You should never have been born! Look where it’s gotten me! That plague my father had was passed down to you and I have suffered every day because of it. I should have thrown you to the wolves the moment I learned what you are. You won’t be my fucking problem anymore, though. Go! Get out of here and don’t ever come back! You are not my son, you never have been, and never will be!”

“Imagine a child’s worst crime being that he was born to a world that didn’t want him.” The man at your side shifts to look you in the eye now, face contorting with disgust as he watches his memory play back. “All because I was born as a Siren. I spent sixteen years of my life being hated and turned away because of what I was. Even by people who didn’t know my identity. No one wanted me, and the only ones who were willing to pay for me were people who wanted me for my body and not what or who I was. And then…”

Seonghwa turns away with a smile. He pulls back once more and reaches back for the door behind him. You follow him without comment, unspoken curiosities at your lips as you step into a room full of overwhelming noise and the stench of alcohol. A bar, no doubt, and one that Seonghwa recognizes in an instant based on the way his shoulders fold back and he perks up at the sight of it.

“And then I found Hongjoong,” he whispers, dark eyes swimming with waves of emotions. You mimic his line of sight to find a near unrecognizable version of Hongjoong standing before a run-down bar counter with a mop of long brown hair styled in a messy mullet that runs down the back of his shoulders. And sure enough, another version of Seonghwa stumbles in as well, seemingly a continuation of the last memory with the way his hair is damp and sticking to his forehead.

“Are you the one looking for recruits?” He pants as he comes up to the counter, stopping beside Hongjoong’s form.

“Depends on who’s asking.” Hongjoong offers a shrug and swirls his drink around a bit, watching the golden liquor inside jostle. “And it seems like some morally right asshole is asking me now.”

Seonghwa pushes his shoulders back a bit and frowns at the man before him.

“I ask that you give me a chance.”

“Then prove yourself. Are you truly prepared to do whatever it takes to be a pirate? Especially one on my crew? If you know how to shoot a gun properly and could kill an innocent with no qualms, then I suppose you could join the crew.”

Seonghwa moves in a flash. His hand snatches up the pistol on Hongjoong’s left leg and lifts it to the young captain’s temple, pressing the cool barrel against his skin without a drop of hesitation.

“I asked for an innocent, and I am anything but that.”

Seonghwa’s arm shifts to point the gun at the bartender across from Hongjoong, and he doesn’t even blink before firing the gun just to the left of the man’s head. The din in the bar falls to a hush at that, all eyes moving to where Seonghwa stands and where the bartender has now fallen to the ground in a state of shock. An airy laugh leaves Hongjoong’s lips, and his head tilts back in amusement.

“You’re hired. Here, old man, some extra credits for your troubles as well as another drink for my new companion here.” Hongjoong slips a credit chip across the counter, eyeing the bartender with wary eyes as he pulls himself back to his feet. The din behind them picks up once more without any issue. “What’s your name and age? You hardly look older than me.”

“Um, Park Seonghwa, sixteen.”

“Kim Hongjoong, sixteen.”

“Aren’t you a bit young to be a pirate captain?” Seonghwa asks, head falling to the side in curiosity. Hongjoong pushes himself to his feet and steps around his barstool. He stands far shorter than Seonghwa, but that doesn’t seem to faze him in the slightest as he crowds Seonghwa against the counter. The taller boy grabs the wood and leans back over it to put some distance between him in Hongjoong, inhaling sharply as the other pushes further in. Hongjoong’s hands fall on either side of Seonghwa’s and effectively pin him to the counter. Seonghwa has to tilt his head down to see Hongjoong properly, eyes wobbling as one corner of Hongjoong’s lips twists upwards.

“Are we going to have a problem with authority, Seonghwa?” The words are like honey on Hongjoong’s tongue. The taller simply gives a sharp shake of his head. Hongjoong hums to himself, tongue peeking out to drag over the front of his teeth. “I think we’ll get along quite nicely then.” Hongjoong leaves him with one more cruel smirk before pulling back completely and returning to his seat. He motions to the empty space beside him, which Seonghwa fills almost immediately. The bartender returns at that moment, setting new drinks on the counter with a hushed whisper.

“Keep mum about the alcohol, I can’t be going out of business now.”

Hongjoong just smiles and flicks another credit chip over to the man, then raises his glass to Seonghwa.

“To a new partnership.”

“Cheers,” Seonghwa echoes in a mumble, mirroring Hongjoong’s motion.

The man at your side cracks the slightest of smiles.

“To think that at the time, my worst nightmare was merely existing.”

“And now?” You ask before you can stop yourself.

“Not being able to save Hongjoong from himself.”

You hardly realize how lost in the memory you are until something resounds behind you, almost like a voice crying your name in the darkness behind that door, and you don’t pay the man at your side any notice before turning to face the wood. It’s clearer now, the voices behind it, the soft mumblings that blossom into something loud and bright, and once you realize who those voices belong to, you waste no time in grabbing the handle and pushing your way into the memory. Seonghwa must notice your movements because he follows close at your heels, although this time it isn’t one of his memories that you step into. It’s something different, something you can’t quite recall but you recognize the faces strewn throughout the room nonetheless.

You’re suddenly back on Eros, home with your unit, all of them except for Hyunwoo. Jisung stands over a table that is littered with maps and old papers as the others stand around him.

“Why are you leading this when it’s not your place, Jisung?” Juyeon is the one to pose the question, and you can’t keep from just staring at his features to drink in the sight of him since it’s been so long since you last saw him before you like this. “We all agreed to appoint Hyunwoo as leader, even you.”

“Hyunwoo isn’t here, is he?” Jisung snarls, reeling on his friend with a fire in his eyes. “He’s off mooching with the generals because they love him so fucking much! He doesn’t have to worry like the rest of us do; he’s no pathetic runt like the rest of us are.”

“Careful there, Jisung,” Soojin scoffs from Juyeon’s side. Her hair is just as bright and daring as you remember, a stark red that stands out against her skin and accentuates that natural beauty she always held. “That’s your inferiority complex slipping through.”

“What she means is — listen, Sung, I know you want to get this done, but we can’t make plans without Hyunwoo. And frankly… no one is going to follow you.” Juyeon exchanges a quick glance with the woman at his side, then another with the youngest of your troupe, Ash. “Let’s call it a night and wait for Hyunwoo to come back.”

Jisung doesn’t get to speak another word. Juyeon leads the way out of the room, disappearing into the darkness along with Soojin and Ash, and suddenly it’s like you and Seonghwa are left alone with just this weird figment of Jisung. A noise echoes from the corner. You shift to find the source, but when you do, your throat closes in on itself. It’s you. Some version of you, at least, one that you can’t even recognize well because of how young you seem to be. Wide, doe eyes that hold no hurt in them, features not marred by the harshness of your life that followed. Even if you don’t recognize this memory, you know for certain it isn’t one that happened after the ordeal with Hyunwoo and the king.

“You aren’t allowed to leave,” Jisung mutters, barely sparing your younger form a glance. “You can’t leave, Y/N. Out of all people, you have the least right to walk out that door. You’re just like me, just a runt who isn’t good for anything. The two of us need to stick together.”

“What’s the plan then?” She asks, and Jisung grins back at the girl.

“I’ll explain everything.”

“T-This isn’t right,” you choke out, reaching for Seonghwa’s arm. “This never happened. I don’t — I don’t remember this at all.” An odd sense of impending doom overwhelms you as you watch yourself approach the table beside Jisung, and you decide right then that you cannot handle being in this place any longer. You stumble backward, hand hitting the door hard and shoving against it in a desperate attempt to get out of the room.

The new scene you find isn’t any better than the last. Jisung sits in the middle of a monotone room, arms and legs bound to the chair under him. Some tall old man stands in front of his chair and Hyunwoo is at his side, looking as alive as can be, so much so that you choke on air and fall to your knees in an instant. Seonghwa’s hand finds your shoulder and clasps at it to offer some sort of comfort. In the corner opposite where you’re kneeling, the younger version of you is drawn tight into a ball with arms folded around her knees. Hyunwoo pulls away from the man beside him to come closer to the young girl – you, the innocent and young you who didn’t know how cruel the world could be at that point.

“Don’t watch this, Y/N,” Hyunwoo says as he folds an arm around her shoulders.

“Why is this happening? What’s going on? Hyun, I don’t understand why – why is he being punished?”

“Jisung was out of line. He… killed fourteen people. That wasn’t the mission, the mission wasn’t to kill anyone. It was just a simple recon mission. No one was supposed to die, especially not innocent people.”

“And why then are fourteen people dead?” The old man asks. The question is obviously directed at Jisung, but all he offers in response is to spit on the general’s feet with a sneer. The man swings his foot up, catching Jisung in the chin with a sharp kick that sends the younger sprawling across the floor in his chair.

“I did nothing wrong! All I did was get rid of more competition that would stop us later on. People are afraid of us now. Our team is gaining a name for ourselves at last, and you fat fucks in power feel just as threatened as the rest of society, don’t you? We’re fearsome now. Ruthless, bloodthirsty, cruel. That’s what we’re known for.”

The old man presses his foot down hard on the side of Jisung’s face and leans over his body.

“That isn’t what you’re supposed to be known for. You are part of the military. You are supposed to obey the law and uphold the rules like everyone else. Not murder innocent people who weren’t even in the crossfire!”

Jisung’s eyes blaze with unbridled rage, bringing a bit of a crazed gleam to his dark orbs.

“They called Y/N a runt! A useless slave! I’m supposed to sit back and allow that disrespect to happen? They had to pay for their crimes! They were far from innocent.”

You turn to Seonghwa, desperate for him to help you to your feet and get you out of this hell, but as you move, his face bleeds to white. Next thing you know, the ground disappears out from under you and you enter a freefall. A brilliant blood-red moon shines above you, taunting you with its glow as you drop, and it grows smaller and smaller the further down you fall. Your freefall only stops when you collide harshly with a body of water, and the black waters swallow you up and pull you under with no resistance. You thrash against the darkness, fighting your way to swim back up to the surface, but it’s to no avail because you can’t move. Something constricts your throat, chokes the air out of your lungs, and you watch helplessly as air bubbles float up to the surface without you.

Something sharp closes around your ankle. Looking down offers no help because of how dark the waters are. You have no time to tug away from it before it pulls you down further, and the red light of the moon grows fainter and fainter with each passing second. As a last-ditch effort, you push all the air in your lungs into a scream that rings through the water. And that must do the trick, because as the sound pulses through the lake, something blindingly bright appears above you like a small beacon of hope in the night. It grows larger as it swims closer to where you continue to sink, and just as it starts coming into focus, whatever has a hold on your foot lets go of you as though burned. Hands wade through the murk to cradle your face, soft thumbs combing over your cheeks, and the light dulls just enough for you to see the face of your savior.

And when you do, your heart nearly quits functioning right then and there because it’s none other than Wooyoung who floats above you, hair bright and glowing a soft lavender around his head. His cheeks are puffed full of air and his eyes are so wide that they look like round gems in the glittering light. He doesn’t speak, nor does he give you any indication whatsoever of what is going on; all the man does is slip his hands lower to fold around your waist before he begins to swim back up to the surface. The lack of air in your system has you reeling and dizzy, along with the overwhelming confusion that radiates through your body as well.

When the two of you finally breach the surface of the water, you are close to losing consciousness. The sudden intake of fresh oxygen keeps you conscious for now, and you let your body go completely limp in Wooyoung’s grasp as he pulls you to the edge of the water. The light from his hair fades back into a muted black, wet strands clinging to his forehead and neck. You only bring yourself to use your muscles again once you reach the shallows, knees coming to rest on the sand so you can sit up straight and face the man. He doesn’t wait even a second before clasping your face in his hands again.

“I know you,” he chokes out, voice too thick with emotion for your liking. The statement is startling enough as it is, although you have a sneaking suspicion that he doesn’t merely mean he knows you as Y/N L/N. “The girl who appeared in my dreams for years. The – the one I couldn’t reach. I can finally see you. Y/N, I…”

“Wooyoung has had an incessant dream for years now — all the years I’ve known him actually — of a girl drowning in a black lake. He watches her head go underwater but can’t make out her features well enough to recognize her. He dives in to save her, swims to grab her, does everything he can to save him, but something always pulls her deeper and deeper. He can never reach her. He can never hear her screams. He can never see her face. All he can do is reach out for her hand and that’s it.”

“I finally found you, Umiko.” Something about the way Wooyoung speaks and the glistening tears in his eyes brings you to tears yourself, a choked sob forcing its way out of your mouth for some reason unbeknownst to you. The moment leaves too soon.

A hand grasps your shoulder and yanks you back before you know it, tearing you away from Wooyoung’s grasp. Your attacker solidifies it with a kick to the center of your chest, and you slam back against the shallows. Daichi stands above you, a rage to his aura that you have never felt before. That’s all the warning you get from him. He swings his foot back down at your head this time, and you roll away from the attack only to be swung at by his fist.

“Why are you doing this?” You yell as you dodge the powerful attacks as best you can.

“Tsukio is the Siren I warned you about, you fool!” Daichi shouts back, heel clipping the edge of your shoulder. The comment puts enough confusion in you for him to gain the upper hand, and he hits the side of your head with the back of his hand. “Do you not remember? ‘Someone near you is a dangerous threat, one that you’ve never encountered before. You must be careful. Guard yourself wisely.’”

Daichi pushes you flat against the sand and clasps his hands around the middle of your throat.

“Tsukio can find you anywhere, even while far away! This mental connection you share, this link — the two of you are a dyad, a yin and a yang, a pair that cannot be severed. No matter how far apart you are, the two of you will always be able to come back to each other.”

“Come – come back? W-What do you mean?” The pressure around your throat increases just enough for you to cough, but you continue to push words out of your mouth like your life depends on it. “Did I know him before? Did I know Wooyoung somehow? That d-dream. Was it truly a dream or w-was it a memory?”

“I’ve always told you that you were something unique and special, Umiko.” Daichi squeezes harder, and black spots fill the edges of your vision. “You assumed I meant that it was your identity as a Siren and were too bitter to listen to anything I told you. Both you and Kazuya should not pry for more answers. I will tell you absolutely nothing.” With that, Daichi pushes your head under the water, and it’s just deep enough for you to not be able to breathe. “Consider this to be your one and only warning, Umiko. Next time, I will end you.”

You jolt back into a state of full consciousness by choking on air and throwing your body upright. The room swirls for several seconds before coming into focus, and you find yourself seated on the floor beside Seonghwa’s bed with no recollection of falling off at any point. There is a body in front of you and another on your left side, but their faces don’t process in your mind until you’ve caught your breath a bit. It’s Jongho at your side, who presses a hand to your sweat-slick forehead with so much concern in his eyes that it’s overwhelming, and Yunho is knelt by your feet with a similar expression of concern.

“Wh-Why are you here?” You ask, throat burning from the few words. Yunho glances over at Jongho, and the pair exchange unspoken words in their eyes.

“You pinged all our wristbands, Y/N. Called through the comms and said you needed help and that Seonghwa wouldn’t wake up,” Yunho murmurs.

“Where? Where is Seonghwa?” Yunho motions towards the bed on your right, and you peer over the mattress to find Seonghwa sitting at the opposite edge of the bed with his head in his hands and elbows propped on his knees. Yeosang is in front of him, squatted to be eye level with the man, and he rests a hand atop one of Seonghwa’s knees.

“Seonghwa… when we came in, his body was in a state of shock, and his heart w-wasn’t — he was completely unresponsive. I almost couldn’t get him awake at all. On top of everything else we’re dealing with, why does this have to happen too?” Yunho drops his chin and exhales a shaky laugh. It’s a haunting reality that Seonghwa almost died in his sleep because of Daichi and his warning, but nothing ever felt quite as real as it did this time. “This must be some sort of bad omen.”

Yunho drops a hand to your leg before pushing himself to his feet. He steps around the bed and makes a beeline for Seonghwa now, leaving you in Jongho’s care for the time being.

“What the hell happened?” Jongho asks once Yunho is out of earshot.

“I… it was – just a bad nightmare.” You can’t look Jongho in the eye when you speak the lie, too ashamed to even be lying in the first place, and it’s only when your gaze wanders around the room a bit that you realize one person in particular isn’t present. “Where’s Jisung?”

“We saw him to a spare bedroom after dinner, so I’d assume he must still be in there.”

“He didn’t come out with the commotion?”

“What could he do even if he did?” Jongho shrugs a bit and lets his hand drop to your shoulder. He makes a good point in his statement, and it’s enough to shut you up and not prod the subject further.

“I need Seonghwa to the medbay with me so I can run some sleep tests and make sure everything is normal in the brain and heart,” Yunho states, peeking over to where you and Jongho are still seated. “Y/N, I’m a bit concerned about you not remembering calling for help, so I’d like you to—”

“No,” you interject, swallowing roughly. Yeosang looks at you over Seonghwa’s shoulder, and your eyes meet for the briefest of moments. He inclines his chin a bit as though trying to tell you something, but you can’t decipher what the hell he’s trying to say in the slightest.

“Jongho, you help Seonghwa to the medbay with Yunho. I’ll stay with Y/N for the time being.” Yeosang’s suggestion seems to catch everyone off-guard, including you, but based on the look in his eyes, there’s something else going on so you can’t find it in you to fight it. Jongho glances down at you.

“Is that – will you be okay?”

“I’ll be fine, Jongho, I promise,” you murmur back, placing a hand over where his rests on your shoulder. “Go with Seonghwa and make sure he’s okay first. I just feel exhausted right now honestly.”

“Okay, if you need anything—”

“I’ll call you, Jongho. Okay?” You press a weak smile onto your lips. The Berserker seems content enough with your words, and he helps you to your feet before stepping around the bed to do the same for Seonghwa. You sink back onto the mattress almost immediately, watching with a heavy heart as Jongho loops Seonghwa’s arm around his shoulders and helps carry the man out of the room. You wait to speak again until after the door slips shut and leave you alone with Yeosang. “What happened?”

“You didn’t call the others right away,” he says, tone so quiet you have to lean in to catch it. “Wooyoung called me asking for help.”

“Wooyoung — he what? In m-my body?”

“Yes, I thought – I thought it was a joke at first but he confirmed it was him, so I came over as quickly as I could. He said that you were crying out for his help so loudly that he passed out to come to you. Did you go to his body?”

“I was unconscious the entire time. But Wooyoung… he came to me in my dream.”

“Wooyoung was brief in his explanation to me, but he seems to think that it can only happen when one of you needs help too. He only heard you when you needed him, and he said that just before you came to him the first time in the cell… he was crying out for some sort of help. Then you showed up.”

“No, I don’t mean that he came to my body in my dream,” you say as you push yourself further onto the bed and face Yeosang head-on. “I was drowning in a black lake, and Wooyoung saved me.”

“His dream?” Yeosang’s expression melts into one of shock. He draws his lips into a tight ‘o’ then stares down at the floor. “He mentioned finding someone. He kept ranting on and on about how he finally found her. I was trying to get him to focus on the issue at hand, but he just wanted to talk about that.”

“But he didn’t wake me up. How did he help then?” Perhaps he was trying to pull you out of the dream before Daichi interrupted. But Wooyoung couldn’t have possibly been in your body at the same time that he was in your dream, so it must have happened after Daichi attacked you since Yeosang said Wooyoung mentioned finding you.

“It wasn’t about helping you, Y/N,” Yeosang whispers. He glances down at the spot where Seonghwa was just seated. “You asked him to help you save Seonghwa.” It hits then that as you were fighting for your life between drowning in a lake without relief and being attacked by Daichi, your subconscious was only worried about whether Seonghwa was okay or not. “He had to take control to call for help, but before he called me, he pulled Seonghwa’s body out of shock at least enough to get his heart going again. He stalled the shock long enough to get Yunho over here after talking to me first. He called the rest through your wristband after. Something must have happened on his end though because as soon as he finished speaking, your body dropped and went unconscious again.”

“Did Seonghwa mention what he saw?” You inquire, but a large part of you is too afraid to hear the answer.

“You weren’t with him?”

“We… were separated at some point.”

“He didn’t say anything about what he saw, but he was too shaken up to even speak. One would think that based on the visceral reaction his body had, it was something far beyond his worst nightmare.” Your body moves before your mind does, and you are suddenly on your feet again upon hearing Yeosang’s words. He regards you with a puzzled stare for a moment, eyes watching you move around the bed and to the door on unsteady feet. “Where are you going?”

“I need to talk to Jisung. I… I have some questions about my past.”

✧✧✧ a/n: hi hi HI guess WHO yeah its me its been a minute im SORRY this chapter just did not want to cooperate no matter what every time i sat down to write until today it was like No. but then i hit my stride and wrote like 6k today oopsie anyway hi info dump im so sorry about how much info there is in this one and sldfjlsdkf there’s a lot of backstory and symbolism and im afraid it’s a Mess but it iz what it iz so we’re rolling with it and im kinda delirious so that’s All i’ll say so yeehaw let me know how you feel what you think i love u all!

taglist: @faeriewoobin @sugarrimajins @atinyinwonderland @2504-life @lil7bluedragon @sparklychangbin @jeong-uwu @jeonartemis @anothershorthuman @xxbluestrifexx @haotheheckk @noonawriter @lostscenarios @nlost21 @mirror-juliet @okokokok123-45 @purple-aeon @theoinkypiglet @toothlessshiber @atinyarmyx1 @simpforhyunjin @hwangwoosan @vampire-jimin @softyubi @drumboydowoon @chatsgotmytongue @just-a-starfruit @babydolljo @scintillating-souls @khjssss @felixity @rawrrainn @hewwo-from-the-other-side

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

#ateez x reader #ateez smut #ateez fluff #ateez angst #mists of celeste #mingi x reader #hongjoong x reader #seonghwa x reader #yeosang x reader #jongho x reader #san x reader #wooyoung x reader #yunho x reader #ateez angst fluff smut #ateez series #ateez pirates #ateez space pirates

322 notes · View notes

hiccstrxd · 3 years

Text

Heaven is you

This was an idea i had for Rayla's birthday and the outline seemed too wholesome to not do it lol. It has family feels and rayllum being soft as always. Read it on ao3.

Summary: Rayla always remembers her past birthdays with fondness. But this one in particular has brought her an abundant amount of joy, filling her heart with the purest of loves.

Or a recollection of Rayla’s birthdays through the years.

Rayla always remembers her past birthdays with fondness.

She recalls being four and waking up to her mum’s soft voice in her ear, a happy birthday, my love being lovingly murmured in the air. She would pretend that she was asleep, cracking one eye open from time to time and doing her best to contain in her laughter as her mother would start to rub her hair soothingly to wake her up. But she would burst into a fit of giggles before her mum could say anything else — even though Rayla is pretty sure she saw past her flimsy excuse of a stoic facade — and her mother would start to laugh alongside her, tickling her belly and asking her when has her little moonbeam gotten this sneaky.

She hadn’t, obviously.

She’d scoop her in her arms and they would go downstairs where her dad would be cooking her favorite breakfast — he’d always go all out when it was her birthday. And he’d see them still laughing as they approached, he’d see them — his two favorite people ever — and he’d come up to them, lifting her in his arms and making her laugh, telling her that today she chose what they would do because today was all hers. Because he’d move earth and sky for his tiny warrior.

And she remembers the glimmer in her mum’s eyes, her father’s beaming smile, her own expression mirroring theirs; she remembers feeling loved, safe, and content.

ii.

Rayla recalls being eleven and coming back after nearly an entire day of training to a cake on the dining table, a sole candle lit on its center, and a neatly folded paper resting beside it. It was rather late, her whole body ached as the practice had been a vigorous one, but upon seeing the homemade gateau she no longer felt the ever consuming exhaustion. No, she felt lighter, more at ease.

Ethari had been sporting the warmest of smiles, his eyes showing every bit of love towards his foster daughter who they had come to care for as their own. Runaan had walked over to where his husband was and stood right next to him, somehow matching his emotion almost instantly — he had been sort of tense before leaving the meadow — and they had wished her the happiest of birthdays, holding her tightly in their embrace, muttering words of comfort and pride and love.

She remembers thinking that there was still a void in her heart as the aftermath of her parents’ absence, but being there surrounded by her two guardians that loved her an abundant amount and whom she loved as much in return, that showed her day after day their support and their care was enough to bring her solace.

She had felt love all the same.

And she always looked forward to reading her parents’ letter at the end of the end. The words were like a warm hug from afar. She became misty-eyed and held the letter close to her heart for hours as if she was keeping her parents in a safe place near her heart.

iii.

She recalls being sixteen and sitting alone in the Xadian forest. She had been wounded and restless, tired and alone. Everywhere and everything hurt, but ironically she had felt numb from head to toe. Somewhere in the back of her mind she vaguely remembered what that day was supposed to be.

And the bittersweet afterthought made matters worse because then the pang in her chest was just a little too hard to ignore.

Rayla had felt cold and empty, being alone with her thoughts was as harmful as it sounded and the unbecoming urge to cry was getting hard to suppress. But she ended up shedding tears, letting them fall freely as they have been welling up and contained in since much too long ago.

It was her birthday, and she had tried to forget it, making herself not feel, perhaps then the pain would subdue.

It hadn’t.

iv.

It was her birthday and she couldn’t get the royal physician’s words out of her head. They were spinning, echoing, repeating themselves. And she felt equal amounts of excitement and trepidation all at once.

Congratulations Your Highness, you’re with child.

They have been trying, of course, they have, so the news shouldn’t be such a surprise to hear that their efforts had actually turned out fructiferous. But they have, and she didn’t know how to assimilate them without cutting the appointment short and leaving a very confused physician behind, one who was patiently waiting for a reaction out of her.

Because she was excited and elated and so beyond happy that it was taking a lot of willpower to remain seated and not run off to find Callum.

“Your Highness? Is everything all right?”

She blinked, “Of course.” Rayla offered them a smile. How could it not be, honestly?

And after a couple of recommendations and how they’d like to see her in the span of a few weeks — after all, the babe was still a halfling and the pregnancy was to be monitored constantly for that matter — they bid her goodbye with another well-meaning congratulation on the way.

Rayla couldn’t help the fast pace in which she was walking nor the beaming smile from breaking out.

“Oh, there you are! I’ve been looking nonstop for you. What did the physician say?” She heard Callum’s voice round the corner; the worried tone of her husband of three years was enough to make her smile deepened because he was just the sweetest person ever and she just knows that he’s going to be the best father out there.

And the mere thought was enough to make her heart burst with adoration.

He took a couple of steps forward and placed one hand on her cheek, gently rubbing his thumb back and forth, “Are you all right?”

“I’m pregnant.”

The words left her mouth before she had time to catch herself, before she had any time to dwell on how to tell him, but after they were out, she knows that there was no better way, no better time. Because seeing those expressive, loving eyes widen in realization, going through every emotion in the span of a second, how his hand stilled its movement on her cheek and how she heard his breath catch in his throat was as heartwarming as if she’d had outlined a grander plan in advance to break the big news to him.

“Really?” He whispered, barely audible.

She hummed.

“You are pregnant?”

She hummed again.

“There’ll be a tiny, perfect mix of the both of us in a couple of months?”

Rayla nodded unable to keep the grin off her face, her arms coming upwards to lace them loosely around his neck and raising herself on her tiptoes to breath small kisses across his cheek — damn those two inches he had gained on her. Their chests were pressed together, and she felt the deep rumble in his chest that soon turned into a peal of boisterous laughter that surely could be heard through the entire hallway. The sound was too contagious to not let out one of her own.

His arms came to encircle her waist, engulfing her in a tight hug, both of them shaking with laughter and happiness and pure delight.

“We’re having a baby.”

“We are.”

They pulled back slightly, faces inches away from each other’s, noses brushing against one another, breaths mingling in their shared space. She wanted to capture this blissful moment in a picture.

And then his lips slowly curved into a smug grin.

“Don’t.” Rayla raised a single brow, looking pointedly at him because she knew where his mind had headed in a matter of seconds. And because she also remembers rather vividly exactly what he had thought about — it had been a very nice anniversary gift, after all. It had carried the promise of fervent love, a burning passion, and a couple’s desire of at last starting a family.

He let out an amused laugh, “I didn’t even say anything!”

“You didn’t have to, I practically saw you thinking about it!” She rolled her eyes playfully and crossed her arms over her chest, letting out a huff in faux disbelief at her husband’s antics. They locked gazes, grass green meeting amethyst violet, a glimmer in both of them. They couldn’t help the small laugh thereafter.

His eyes softened as the laughter ceased, pulling her closer by the waist and planting one tender kiss on the lips, feeling all the love conveyed in such a small action and trying to reciprocate as much as she was receiving.

“I love you.” She said lovingly when they parted, her hands coming up to cup his jaw in a light grasp.

He brought one hand to his lips, kissing the underside softly, “I adore you.”

Rayla knows that it wouldn’t be easy, parenting — motherhood— never was as the rising self-doubts, the exhaustion of both mind and body, the anxiety of diving into the unknown, and all the possible mistakes that were bound to be made. But, she thinks, as long as they have each other — and everyone else who has been there for that matter — this baby would be raised with abundant love and affection. She'd make sure of it.

It was superfluous to say that this birthday by far had brought her one of her greatest joys. A surprise that couldn’t be topped by any other.

#rayllum #rayllum fic #rayllummonth2021 #my writing #rayla #callum #the dragon prince #rayllum fanfic #it's fluff #because i can't write anything else #and they are married #because i say so #there’s also lots of family feels

33 notes · View notes

bananapie99 · 3 years

Text

Leaving Home

Part I of my new Home series

Part II here

Part III here

Part IV here

Inspired by Welcome Home from Bandstand the musical

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

Bucky Barnes x Reader, Steve Rogers (brother) x Reader

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

The scraping of a key in the lock jolted you back to reality. Your hands flew to the chest on top of yours and shoved back. Quickly you attempted to straighten out your dress and rake your fingers through your hair. You straightened his tie and desperately swiped your hand over the lipstick smudged onto his lips. Your hand found its home back in your lap from wiping around your own mouth just as the door swung open. A silent prayer danced across your lips as your brother’s eyes came to meet yours from the doorway.

“You’re home early,” you noted in what you hoped was your usual tone.

He shrugged off his coat casually. “Got lucky today I guess.”

I don’t think he caught on to what he practically just walked in on....

The man next to you on the sofa cleared his throat. “Busy day punk?”

“You wouldn’t believe it Buck. I’m just happy to be home now.”

Just as you thought you were off the hook, your brother seemed to pause mid thought.

“Buck, why are you here? I thought you weren’t gonna be by ‘til tonight.”

No.

“Oh, ya know punk, I was just around. Thought I’d stop by and see how your sister was doin’.”

“Steve, when is he not here?” You try to say it casually, with a little laugh in your tone.

That seemed to satisfy him. “Alright I’m starved,” he said walking down the hall. “What’s for dinner tonight (y/n)?

Dinner. You hadn’t even thought about that today. You were a little...preoccupied.

“Umm...” Your thoughts were interrupted by a nip at your collarbone. You shoved your elbow towards Bucky and let out a soft growl. “Not now James.”

He let out a laugh and threw his hands up in surrender.

“I was thinkin’ I would just heat up the meatloaf from last night. I’ll get that goin’.”

As you stood from the couch to head towards the kitchen, Bucky made a grab for your waist. You stumbled back a step but he was quick to catch you on his lap.

“Beautiful and quick on her toes,” he whispered into your ear. Heat rushed to your cheeks, his warm breath brushing your neck sent a tingle down your spine.

Pulling yourself together again, you pushed off him. “Still not the time. Care to help me in the kitchen?”

“Baby doll, you know I don’t cook.”

“Well at least keep me company?” You batted your eyelashes and held your hand out towards him.

Rolling his eyes he replied “how am I supposed to say no to that face?”

With a smile, you risked a quick peck to his cheek. Heavy footsteps approached and you dropped Bucky’s hand, making a beeline to the kitchen. Pulling the leftovers out, you strained your ears to try and catch what Steve and Bucky are talking about, listening for any clues that your brother was not as clueless to what he walked in on as he seems. Sadly, your hearing has never been amazing, so you were left praying for the best.

Lost in your worry and preparing the meatloaf, you jumped out of your skin as familiar hands slid across your waist. Out of fear that Steve would hear, you managed to choke on your scream.

“James, stop it! Steve could walk in and see.”

“You think I’d let him catch me with my hands on his baby sister? That wouldn’t end too good for me baby doll. He’s got a headache, said he wanted to lay down for a bit.”

Bucky’s hands on you, his chin resting on top of your head softened the blow of Steve not joining you for dinner. Feeling the sudden slump in your shoulders, he squeezed at your hips.

“Chin up cookie. You’re all decked out and now we can have a nice little dinner for two.” He spun you around to give you a real kiss. Whether you were dizzy from the spin or the kiss was anybody’s guess.

The rest of the night was a bit of a blur between the wine and Bucky. Steve must have decided to call it a night and never made an appearance. Even so, you two tried your best to keep your voices low and your hands to yourself... mostly.

A little past midnight Bucky decided to head home. “Wish I could stick around, but I don’t want your neighbors thinkin’ you’re a different kinda dame, baby doll.”

More intoxicated by the wine than him, you stumbled to the door of your apartment, steadied by Bucky’s hands, to let him out.

“Goodnight (y/n), I’ll see ya tomorrow.” He pulled your hand up to his lips and left a soft, lingering kiss. “Lock the door behind me.” With a wink, he disappeared into the night.

Somehow you found your way to your bed and fell asleep as soon as your head hit your pillow.

You woke up with your head throbbing, dreading opening your eyes. Then a noise caught your ear. You could not understand the words being spoken, but it was definitely two men talking. Steve and Bucky. The thought of seeing Bucky provided the necessary motivation to try and get up. No way were you getting all dolled up feeling like this, but you found your way to the bathroom to wash your face and brush your teeth. You cleaned off the smeared makeup left over from yesterday and just added a little mascara. Yesterday’s dress was all wrinkled from sleep, but it would do for now. Following the mumbles, you found your way to the living room where Steve and Bucky were seated on the couch.

The sight in front of you seemed foreign and you could not pick up on what it meant. Bucky’s head hung low in his hands, a piece of paper seated next to him, your bother’s hand on his shoulder.

“It will be okay Buck.”

Your eyes zeroed in on the paper again. The longer you looked at it, the deeper it sunk into the cushions, the heavier the air got in the room. Suddenly you felt off-balance. When did the stars start coming out with the sun?

You woke up on the couch, Steve and Bucky’s faces coming in and out of focus. Finally your eyes locked on Bucky’s and that was when you broke down, sobs shaking your whole body. Both men put a hand on you in concern.

Bucky spoke first. “Baby doll, what’s wrong?”

“You- you c-can’t leave. They can’t m-make you go.”

The words were tangled in your throat, fighting their way out.

“I’ll be okay (y/n), I promise. I’ll be home before you know it. I could never leave my best girl.”

You were too upset to register the implication of what was just said, but Steve was not.

“Your best what?” His tone was caught somewhere between shocked and indignant.

“Steve, I’ve been tryin’ to decide when to talk to you...”

“You- You’re with my sister?”

“You gotta understand, I love her, I really do.”

Silence is deafening. You had never understood what that meant until now. Somehow you sat yourself up on the couch and reached for Bucky. He moved closer, taking a seat next to you. The rough pad of his thumb wiped at your tears, pleading with them to disappear. You collapsed into his chest, no longer afraid of what your brother might think, instead afraid of losing the man you love to your country. Steve remained quiet, observing the two of you. He watched you relax into Bucky’s arms, your sobs softening to whimpers. He saw how Bucky stroked your back, how he fingered through your hair. He saw Bucky’s lips moving near your ear, the words inaudible to him, but seemingly soothing to you. Steve’s body relaxed with your heart rate. When you turned to face Steve, his heart shattered. Your face puffy from crying, mascara staining your cheeks, your arms extended to Steve. He knelt in front of you and pulled you into him.

“It’ll be okay (y/n). He’ll come back to us. He’ll come back to you.”

You could not bring yourself to look at the paper, could not bring yourself to ask when he had to leave. Bucky opened his mouth to speak.

“Please,” you whispered. “Not yet. Don’t tell me when. Not yet.”

He nodded and kissed the top of your head before pulling you back into his chest.

Bucky did not leave Steve and your apartment that day, even decided to stay the night. The men would be lying if they said they were not worried about you. Something broke in you upon arrival of that letter. That night before bed you finally asked.

“Buck... when do you have to go?” Tears threatened to spill over but you fought them back.

“In a week baby doll. We have time.”

A week was no time at all. A week to live a lifetime. It could easily be the last week at home for his lifetime.

Stop it. You cannot think like that right now. Bucky is here, safe in front of you. What comes after this is not yet your concern. Love him now. You squeezed Bucky tight, as tight as you could. He hugged you back, gentler but just as desperate. His hands slid around your waist to hold you there. He started rubbing up and down your back as he felt your chest start to shake.

“No need for tears cookie, not tonight. I’ll be right here waitin’ when you wake up.”

The next few days went by quicker than you would like. Before you knew it Bucky was leaving tomorrow. How can that be correct? He just got his letter yesterday.

Steve was kind, understanding of the new relationship between you and Bucky. Well, new to Steve. The two of you had been sneaking around for a while. You had been scared your relationship would ruin their friendship. You loved Bucky, but you would never put your happiness before the two of them. They had been inseparable your whole life. Whether Steve would have always taken it this well or if it was a result of the letter, you would never be sure. Knowing Steve, you believe he would have gotten to this place eventually, it just might have taken a little longer under normal circumstances. You caught the two of them talking and laughing the night before, same as always. That warmed your heart. Both of the men had been so concerned with how you were handling the letter, you were worried they had not processed the information for themselves. As the thought crossed your mind, you caught the little sniffles and chokes mixed in with their laughter.

Bucky was acting different today. How could you blame him? He ships off tomorrow for training. It’s 1943, by now you all knew the statistics of those shipped overseas. Holding onto hope was necessary to not just collapse then and there, but that was an exhausting task.

You got all dolled up that day for Bucky. You put on his favorite dress, which had actually been a Christmas gift from him the year before. It was beautiful. The dress was navy blue with a scoop neck that showed off your collar bones. The sleeves ended just above your elbows, the waist cinched in with a matching belt, and the A line skirt landing just above your knees. You spent extra care on your makeup this morning, though you are sure the mascara will not last the night.

The morning and afternoon went by as it would any other day, the three of you pushing the inevitable to the back of your minds.

Around four o’clock that evening Steve asked you to run an errand. It seemed inconsequential given the circumstance and you argued it could be done in a few days. Steve insisted it be done now, and indignantly you left the apartment.

You arrived back around forty-five minutes later, errand completed. As you inserted your key into the lock, you picked up music coming from inside. Once the door opened you instantly recognized the tune, Glenn Miller’s “Tuxedo Junction,” your and Bucky’s song. The lights were low, candles everywhere. You did not remember owning this many candles. You followed their glow and the music into the dining area. There Bucky was seated, dressed in his best suit, waiting for you.

“James, what’s goin’ on?”

“Sit down baby doll.” Bucky got up from his seat to pull out your chair.

As you sat down, he pushed your chair back in and leaned down to kiss you.

“I should be doin’ this for you, you shouldn’t be doin’ this for me.”

He let out a low laugh. “No (y/n), tonight is all about you.”

This felt backwards. He was the one leaving for war, not you.

Steve appeared from the kitchen, two plates in hand. He sat one in front of each of you, then retreated back towards the kitchen.

“Steve where are you goin’? You should be eating with us.”

“Tonight is for you, (y/n). Bucky and I had our time while you were out.”

With that he disappeared and you and Bucky were left alone, just the food, music, and candle glow to keep you company.

The two of you were silent for a while, afraid speaking would ruin the illusion that this was just a romantic night in with one another, and not possibly your last.

Bucky was the first to speak.

“(Y/n), you know I love you, right?”

“Of course James, why would you even ask that?”

“I know we’ve been dancin’ around what tomorrow means.”

Your heart dropped at the mention of it. He noticed the change in your demeanor and reached a hand across the table to hold yours.

“Baby doll, I love you more than I thought a man could ever love anything. You make up my whole world. Without you, there is no life I want to live.”

“James...”

“Promise me you’ll be waitin’ for me when I get home.”

“Of course I will James. My heart leaves with you tomorrow.”

“(Y/n)... I talked to Steve, asked for his blessing.”

His blessing? You are both adults, there is no need to ask for a blessing to love one another.

He stood from his chair and took a step closer to you before kneeling.

Oh.

“(Y/n), I know there’s no time before I leave, but when I get back...” He reached into his coat, fingers pinching an object. His hand came back out and the object caught the candlelight, creating a little sparkle like in a dream.

A ring.

“When I get back, will you do me the honor of marrying me? Since our first secret date I knew you were the one, cookie. Please make me the happiest man on Earth.”

You lunged forward, taking his face in your hands and kissed him as tears streamed down your face.

“Yes, James. I am yours forever and always.”

He slid the ring onto your finger. It was beautiful, elegant in its simplicity. For such a small ring, it weighed heavily on your finger.

When I get back he had said, but he meant if. If I get back.

Please God, bring him back.

The night was again a blur, made up of wine and Bucky. Your Bucky. That night he slept with you, tradition be damned. Steve did not even bat an eye as you led Bucky towards your room. All of the ifs weighed heavy between the three of you.

Morning came too fast, and Bucky gathered his things to leave. You did not bother with makeup this morning. It would all be gone before he even stepped out the door. You stayed in bed while he got everything in order. He found you there, wrapped tight in your blanket and clearly lost in your thoughts. He slid behind you, placing an arm over your waist, pushing his face into the back of your head, clinging onto your scent.

“It’s time, baby doll.” He spoke just above a whisper.

No. Not yet. It’s not fair.

At that moment you broke again, violently, much like when you first saw the letter.

“Shhh, it’s okay cookie. I’ll be back in a jiffy, just you wait. I’ll write ya a letter every day. Cross my heart.”

Knowing this was even harder for Bucky than it was for you, you forced the tears to stop. You forced the sobs silent, and you turned to face Bucky.

“I love you James.”

“I love you (y/n).”

With his help, you got out of bed and headed towards the front door. Steve was sitting on the couch, waiting. He stood when he was the two of you. Bucky walked over to him and gave him a hug. Both men teared up, praying this was only a temporary goodbye.

“Don’t do anything stupid ‘til I get back.”

“How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you.”

One last embrace and they let go.

Bucky turned back to you and opened his arms. You leapt into his arms, wrapping your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck. You buried your face in him, your turn to memorize his scent.

He kissed your head and you looked up. Steve was right there, but neither of you cared, and I doubt he did either. Bucky kissed you, long and deep, trying to make up for all the kisses you will miss between now and who knows when the war will end. The kiss of a lifetime.

He set you down, wrapped one arm around you again in an attempt to delay his departure. He released you, hand landing on the doorknob. He twisted it and pulled the door open. One last look back.

“Come home James.”

“Before you even have time to miss me.”

With a wink he closed the door.

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

Requests are open!

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

Tags: @belladonnabarnes @moteldwelling

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes imagine #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky #bucky barnes angst

106 notes · View notes

the-galaxy-collector · 4 years

Text

heart/beats

Pairing: Derek Hale x Stiles Stilinski

Word Count: 2.1K

Warning(s): fluff, sick stiles, derek hale is bad at feelings

Summary: Stiles gets sick while the gang is away. Derek comes back to check on him.

A/N: I think as is becoming common for me in the Teen Wolf fandom, this just poured out of me with no prior warning and I regret nothing.

Stiles stood up, or he tried, before his body forced him to sit back down on the edge of his bed. He’d been trying to work up both the strength and the courage to take a shower for the past thirty minutes, but he was still here. In the exact same position. Trying not to puke all over his pajamas.

A very attractive look, if he did say so himself.

He closed his eyes and willed the room to stop spinning, but he knew it was pointless. He’d been sick for the last two days and whatever the hell this shit was, it didn't seem to be going anywhere.

Everyone was gone too, which made it worse. They were off saving the world from… something. He couldn’t remember now. Something way more important than Stiles, though. And he wasn’t bitter about it. He knew what they were doing was a big deal. It was just that right now he wanted chicken soup like his mom used to make and someone to tuck him back into bed.

After a shower, he reminded himself. The shower was still a must.

Stiles took a deep, steadying breath and forced himself up with shaky limbs. He held out his arms, forcing himself to remain balanced and upright, as he started to walk forward gingerly.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

He yelped as his eyes popped back open at the noise. He didn’t know he wasn’t alone, and his heart was racing uncomfortably as he clutched his chest now over it.

“What the fuck am I doing?” He gulped. “What the fuck are you doing? Why are you here?”

“You’re sick,” Derek explained bluntly.

“Yes, I am aware of that,” Stiles bit back. “Go. I’m fine.”

“You definitely are not. We need to go to the hospital, Stiles.”

“We need to go to the hospital, Stiles,” he mocked in a high-pitched voice. “You sound like that, you know.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t need to go to the hospital, Derek. You guys are off, ya know, saving the world or whatever. And I’ll be fine. Just go help them.”

“They don’t need my help.”

“And neither do I,” Stiles insisted.

“Why are you like this?” he said, a smile in his voice. “You make me crazy. You know that, right?”

“No,” he replied sarcastically. “Really?”

When he went to roll his eyes at Derek’s stubborn nature, like he’d done a million and a half times, his head pulsed suddenly with a headache so severe it caused him to fall to his knees. Derek was by his side within seconds, his hands on either side of his face as he forced Stiles to look at him.

He pulled back his eyelids one at a time, and whatever he saw there made him hoist Stiles off the floor without a word, and carry him from the room. Stiles wanted to put up a fight, tell Derek to put him down, that he was going to be fine. It was just the flu or something non-lethal to teenagers, but pressed up against Derek’s chest like this was warm and comfortable and he found it very difficult to hold other thoughts in his brain right now.

Derek took him straight outside and propped him up in the front seat of his own car before buckling him in and rushing around to the driver’s side. He knew how much Derek hated the Jeep, which meant that he either was doing it for Stiles’ sake or because he had run all the way here without his own car because it wasn’t fast enough. Stiles wasn’t sure which one was sweeter.

“Stiles, I swear to God,” Derek growled, “if you die, I’m gonna kill you.”

Stiles snorted his laughter despite the pounding in his head, currently radiating out from behind his left eye.

“When’s the last time you ate?” Derek asked softly.

Too softly. Like he was actually worried. Which stressed out Stiles more than he thought it would. Or should.

Stiles shrugged his answer, and even that tiny movement sent a jolt of pain down his spine. But he wasn’t lying. He honestly couldn’t remember when he had put food in his mouth last, which was probably not great.

Derek growled again, and while it was affecting Stiles like it always did, the dull ache covering his entire body pushed any stupid, horny thoughts out of his brain.

At least for now.

He knew they’d be back, especially if Derek was going to stick around. Stiles sort of hated that. Especially since Derek could tell. Hiding things from werewolves, as he’d learned, was not possible. It wasn’t awkward at all.

Yep, he definitely hated that.

Derek continued to slam his foot and the gas pedal all the way to the floorboard as he drove, but it didn’t do any good. It never did. The Jeep was ancient, one of the things Stiles loved about it, and it wasn’t ever going to go faster than this. But Derek was wonderfully impatient, often with Stiles, or things that involved Stiles.

Another endearing quality that would normally make his heart all aflutter. But right now, he was in too much pain.

The sunlight streaming in was making his head hurt worse, though, so he laid it down on the console in between him and Derek and tried not to focus on the fact that the traditionally very grumpy man was rubbing Stiles’ leg absentmindedly as he made his way through the streets of Beacon Hills.

Derek had never been one to touch anyone for any reason, so clearly Stiles was dying. Or Derek thought he was. He couldn’t think of any other reason why he might be doing that, but again, he had no strength left to even ask.

Stiles didn’t think he was ready for the answer. Or, more appropriately, he knew he wasn’t ready for the brush off.

Stiles half expected Derek to pull straight into the emergency room bay where only the ambulances are supposed to go with the way he was acting, but he found a normal spot. And just like when they got into the car, he rushed around and helped Stiles out. Like being away from Stiles for even the shortest amount of time was too much for Derek to handle. Yeah, Stiles was dying and Derek felt bad for him. There were no other explanations.

He even tried to carry him bridal style again, but Stiles managed to put his foot down.

Well, not literally. But he made it clear that wasn’t happening in front of all these people.

He had some dignity left.

The harsh fluorescents assaulted his eyes worse than the sunlight, and he found, once again, that he needed to slam his eyes shut to keep from hurling all over himself. And Derek.

“Oh my God,” Melissa asked from somewhere nearby. “What happened?”

“Well, my idiot has been sick for the last two days and he didn’t call anyone and now I’m afraid he’s dehydrated and about to pass out.”

Melissa giggled at Derek’s assessment as she ushered them back to what Stiles was sure was a room, but all he could concentrate on was the fact that Derek had said my idiot. My idiot. Like Stiles belonged to him.

Not that Stiles would complain if that were true.

Derek put him down on the bed as soon as the door shut behind them and dimmed the lights, allowing Stiles to open his eyes again. Melissa was already rushing around getting things set up as Derek forced him to lay down. He hadn’t even stopped to put shoes on, so when he pulled the covers up to Stiles’ chin, he couldn’t really protest.

Too much anyway.

“Derek, stop,” he said, pushing his hands away. “I’m not an invalid.”

Derek rolled his eyes and sat down in a chair, pulling it up as close to the side of Stiles’ bed as he could get without actually being in the bed.

“All right, Stiles. You ready?”

He nodded as he felt the coolness from an alcohol prep pad next and then hissed loudly as the IV slid into his arm. No matter how many times he’d been forced to do this, it didn’t get easier. And it should be by now, he reasoned, since hanging out with werewolves had some disadvantages. Not many, but some. If you were unlucky enough to be the only human anyway.

Stiles didn’t miss the way that Derek flinched a little at his pain, though, causing his eyebrows to pull in the middle. He was getting more confused, and more concerned, by the second.

Something was definitely going on.

“Honey, I’m gonna take some blood, give you some fluids, and bring some food. Do you think you can eat?”

Stiles shrugged again, swallowing hard as his mouth filled with saliva. The thought of eating anything made his stomach do a flip, which probably wasn’t a good sign, but he could try. He certainly knew he should try.

“I can give you something to help you sleep, if you wanna do that instead, but we’re gonna have to wake you up in, like, an hour to try to get something in your stomach. Or I’m gonna have to feed you some Ensure.”

Stiles wrinkled his nose. “Like they give old people?”

Melissa nodded. “No. Just knock me out and then wake me up later. I promise I’ll try. But do not give me that shi… stuff.”

It didn’t matter how old he got, cussing in front of Melissa always felt wrong somehow. She just laughed quietly, though, and shook her head as she finished hooking him up to everything, forcing Derek to move only when it was absolutely necessary.

A couple minutes after she pushed something directly into his line, he started to feel sleepy. Like actually sleepy. Not this fitful mess he’d been enjoying for over 48 hours.

And he let his eyes close without a word.

He couldn’t be sure if it had been a few minutes or hours, but when he started to wake back up, he heard Derek’s soft voice beside him. He sounded like he might be talking to someone, but since Stiles’ eyelids were still way too heavy to open, he just listened.

As the grogginess slowly lifted, he noticed Derek was holding his hand. Actually holding his hand. In both of his. His head and, more importantly, his lips were resting next to Stiles’ skin. He could feel Derek’s breath.

Wait, am I dead?

“Does he know yet?” Melissa whispered.

“No,” Derek said, just as quiet.

“When are you gonna tell him?”

“Well, I came back to do that and he was about to pass out. I got distracted,” he explained, exasperation taking over momentarily. “But I guess I knew something was wrong.”

“Of course you did,” Melissa insisted. “He’s your mate.”

Mate?!

Okay, Stiles was definitely dead. Or dreaming. Hopefully dreaming. At least that way he could still wake up.

Melissa didn’t wait for Derek to respond before she asked another question. “Talk to Noah yet?”

“Yeah.”

Once again, Derek lapsed into silence. But it wasn’t long before Melissa got irritated with his lack of information on the topic.

“And?” she huffed.

“He told me he’d kill me if I hurt him.”

She laughed again, still as softly as before. Stiles could hear her walk back to the door, enjoying her little private joke.

“Well, you’re safe,” she said, pausing at the threshold. “We both know you’re not capable of that.”

“Mhmm,” he answered.

“Derek?”

“Yeah?” he asked, moving his head to the side.

And suddenly Stiles had a new thing he hated now. The way Derek sounded asking that one question. It was vulnerable, like Derek’s entire nervous system was on the outside. All exposed and raw. He wanted very much to get out of this bed and protect him, but that didn’t make any sense. Derek didn’t need to be protected. It was Derek.

“You’re gonna be great,” Melissa declared.

And then she left him with that, allowing the door to close behind her without waiting for him to argue.

After a few seconds, Derek cleared his throat. “How, uh, much of that did you hear?”

Stiles forced himself to remain as still and quiet as possible, not even allowing his breathing to pick up. He would give Derek an out.

“I can hear your heartbeat, Stiles,” Derek explained. “I know you’re awake.”

Stiles couldn’t help but smirk. It was his go-to response, sure, but it also seemed to fit the occasion.

“Mate, huh?”

Derek groaned loudly and Stiles opened his eyes slowly. “When did you plan on telling me, Sourwolf?”

[come join all the Teen Wolf fandom shenanigans over at the Beacon Hills Preserve Discord Server]

599 notes · View notes

all-hail-the-witcher · 3 years

Text

cuddling

here is my contribution for ace week! im literally squeezing this in at the last possible second (as its 11:32pm on 10/31 as i start this) but better late than never i suppose!!

i dont often talk about my sexuality on this blog, but i do identify as ace and its not something ive ever been overly comfortable with. but seeing the plethora of ace week fics on my dash this past week (mostly by @jaskierswolf, hi, hope you dont mind being tagged) has been so awesome and has made me feel so much more comfortable in myself that i had to write something for this :)

this is some gray romantic/ace geralt with some ace jaskier. warnings for mentions of dubious consent/ not wanting to have sex but doing it anyway. there is no explicit sexual content but it is referenced.

___

Geralt was a Witcher. His entire livelihood consisted of him doing things for humans: killing monsters, bargaining with sorceresses, fighting wars, protecting them from pretty much anything that could hurt their fragile mortal selves. It had been trained into him ever since he was a child. Do what the humans ask of you. It is your job.

So why would sex be any different?

Humans enjoyed sex. This was something Geralt had come to learn during his time on the path. What was even worse was that some of them especially enjoyed having sex with Witchers.

Geralt did not enjoy sex. He was not a human, and it was decidedly a human activity. But that did not stop humans from wanting to have sex with him. Some sought him out specifically, wanting to know what it was like to lie with a Witcher for a night. Others insisted on paying him for his monster hunting duties with a round. He never took pleasure in it. Sometimes he would pretend he did. He had gotten quite good at pretending over the years, learning little tricks that humans seemed to like. But the act of it itself made his skin crawl for days on end and he could feel their fingers and lips long after the marks on his skin had faded.

But he worked for humans. He couldn't deny them what they asked of him.

He assumed Jaskier would be the same. The man was certainly human, so much so that he would flirt with grass if it came down to it (which, admittedly, Geralt had only witnessed once, and Jaskier had been very drunk at the time, but still). But he never tried to bed him, which surprised Geralt. He knew he was good, if the praises of the the people he'd laid with before were any indication Humans generally needed him for a favor and then left him to the wind. Jaskier hadn’t asked him to kill a monster or help him track down an unruly mage, and it had been years at least since they had first crossed paths. The only logical conclusion that Geralt could come to was that Jaskier was waiting for him to bed him and then he would leave, just like everyone else.

The problem was that Geralt had grown quite fond of Jaskier over the years (and his incessant flirting) and while he didn’t want the bard to leave, he also didnt want Jaskier to be miserable following him around anymore. Five years was quite a long time to wait for a round, especially in human years. Resignedly, Geralt told himself that in the next town he would lay with Jaskier and then the whole thing could be over, and they could both move on with their lives.

He rented a room with one bed, as they often did, despite there being enough coin for one with two. Jaksier hardly noticed, flouncing off to play a few sets for the locals while Geralt went upstairs to prepare.

He felt the characteristic tightening of his stomach and the shakiness that always came with this particular activity, but he stripped down obediently, even talking the time to rub some of the oils Jaskier liked to much into his hair before laying down on the bed to wait.

He didn’t have to wait long. “Geralt! You’ll never believe th- whoa, were you expecting someone?” He stood in the doorway awkwardly.

“Just you,” Geralt grunted. They should get this over with.

“Me? Geralt...did you think I wanted to have sex with you?”

“Well...” Geralt picked at the blanket, feeling foolish for having to explain himself, he thought that humans should understand these things. “Humans always need me for something. And you dont need a monster killed, so I figured....” “Oh dear heart,” Jaskier walked over and sat down on the bed next to him, running his fingers though his hair. “Please do not take this the wrong way, but I do not want to have sex with you.”

“You don’t?” Geralt was shocked. “But...humans....”

“Not all humans like sex Geralt. I certainly don’t. It makes me skin crawl and I feel all weird after. So I don’t do it. I’m still plenty romantic with people, but I dont get into bed with them.” “Hmm.” Jaskier didn’t like sex either? Maybe it wasn't a human thing after all.

“What it Geralt? That was your I’m-Contemplating-Something hum.”

“It...makes my skin crawl too.” He said carefully after a few moments.

Jaskier’s hand slowed in his hair. “Dear heart,” he began carefully. “Do you like sex?”

Did he? No one had ever asked him what he wanted before. He didnt think he did. It didnt feel pleasant and he usually had to jump in a cold stream after. “No.”

“Then why did you want to do it with me?” “You’re human,” Geralt shrugged. “Humans either want me to kill monsters or want me in their bed. I serve humans, I can’t turn them down. You are a human.”

"But you dont like sex?”

“No. I’m a Witcher. It’s probably the mutations. But can still get by.” Actually, now that he thought about it, from what he remembered, he’d never been much interested in it before the trials either.

“Geralt,” Jaskier tilted his chin up to look at him and he saw sadness swirling in his eyes. “Not wanting to have sex is not a Witcher thing. Plenty of humans feel the same way too. Admittedly there aren't many of us, I’ve only come across a few in my lifetime, and I think there's a word for it but I can’t remember it right now. Sex does not interest me either, but there are far more other important things in a relationship than just sex.”

Geralt was confused. “But sex is the only thing people ever wanted me for.”

“And I’m terribly sorry about that, dear heart, but you’re with me now and I will never make you have sex with me. Have you ever- or wait, is there anything else that you dont like?”

Geralt’s head was spinning, and he was still stuck on the part where Jaskier had said that he would never make Geralt have sex with him. For the first time that evening, he felt his hands stop their shaking and something like warmth bloom inside him. “Hmm?”

“Is there anything else you dont like doing? Besides the sex bit I mean.”

Besides sex....Geralt tried to remember what came along with laying with someone. He usually blocked it all out after. “Kissing,” he finally said. “Burns my skin.”

“Alright, we’ll do none of that then.” Jaskier moved from the bed, beginning to take off his doublet and Geralt seized up for a second, afraid that Jaskier was going go back on his word, but then he reached for his nightclothes. “Are you familiar with cuddling?”

“Cuddling?” The word felt unfamiliar in his mouth.

“I’ll take that as a no.” Jaskier smiled. “Go put your nightclothes on. I think I have something that you will enjoy far better than that nasty sex business.”

So here it was then, Jasper did need him for a service after all. Geralt got out of bed and slowly pulled on his night clothes, painfully aware this would be their last night together before they parted ways for good, before returning to the bed.

“Right, so youre just going to lay on your side, yes right like that, and then I lay behind you, see? And I put my arm around you like this, and we snuggle.” Jaskier’s breath tickled his hair.

“What do we do though?” “What do you mean, what do we do?” Despite Jaskier’s words though, he didnt seem angry. “This is it. We hold each other and enjoy each others presence. We can change positions, if you want, like you can take a turn holding me for example or I could lay on your chest, but we just hold each other close. Show each other we care. This is called cuddling.”

“Hmm.” As far as Geralt was concerned, it was far better than sex. But he knew it wouldn't last. This was all Jaskier wanted from him, clearly, which prevented Geralt from thoroughly enjoying it.

“Where will you go?” he spoke into the silence a few long moments later.

Jaskier paused drawing light patterns on Geralts forearm. “What do you mean?”

“Tomorrow.” Wasn't it obvious?

“Well I’ll go wherever you’re going. Just like we always have?"

“You...you’re not,” Geralt swallowed thickly. “You’re not leaving?”

“Leaving?” Jaskier’s voice rose an octave. “Why on the continent would I be leaving?”

“You’ve got what you wanted from me, with this....cuddling business. You have no reason to stay.”

“Oh dear heart.” The next thing he knew he was being flipped around to face Jaskier. Jaskier, who had tears in his eyes that were just barely visible in the low light. Instinctively, he reached up to brush them away. “I’m cuddling with you because I care about you, because I love you. Not because I want something from you.”

“Oh.” Geralt didn’t know what to say. Jaskier loved him? No one had ever loved him before, much less cared about him or wanted him to be comfortable.

Jaskier placed his hand on Geralt’s chest. “You never have to do anything you dont want to do with me. And if you don’t want to travel with me anymore, I’ll leave. You are your own person, Geralt, even if you are a Witcher. And you make your own decisions. You wouldn't take a contract that you felt unsafe doing, so in the same vein, you dont have to have sex with anyone if you dont want to. You make your own decisions. You dont even have to cuddle with me right now if you want to. You choose what you want to do based on what you’re comfortable doing, do you understand?”

Geralt nodded into the darkness. This was all so much. He hadn't been able to make his decisions in...well ever. And now Jaskier was giving him permission to. “I want you to stay,” he whispered. “I....care about you too.” He didnt say that he thought he could love him, he wasn't ready to say that yet. And according to Jaskier he didnt have to say it if he didnt want to.

“Good. Now that we've got that sorted, come here,” Jaskier pulled Geralt into his chest, running his fingers through his hair delicately. Geralt closed his eyes, never had he felt more safe in his entire life. Who knew humans could be so gentle?

Just as he was teetering on the edge of unconsciousness he whispered, “Jaskier?”

“Hmm?”

Geralt felt a small smile tug at his lips at hearing how own language on Jaskier’s lips. “Can we do more of this...cuddling?”

Jaskier’s laugh sounded through his chest, vibrating pleasantly against Geralt’s ear. “Of course we can, dear heart. Of course.”

___

that turned out way longer than i thought it would and its now 37 minutes late but oh well.

throw me an ask if you wanna be on my tag list!

taglist: @percy-jackson-is-sexy- @barlowarts @eminasan @llamasdumpsterfire @stinastar @nonegenderleftpain @electricrituals

142 notes · View notes

if-you-built-yourself-a-myth · 3 years

Text

Check Ignition: Part IV

A Sobbe fake-dating Hogwarts AU that one person asked for and I dove into headfirst

Part I // Part II // Part III // Part IV

Requests are open if you have any oneshot ideas or opinions on how this should continue!

In their bedroom that night, Jens had a whole roll of parchment full of ideas. Robbe fell asleep first on the common room couch after Hufflepuff’s party, and meandered to his room at three AM to find Jens awaiting him on the windowsill. Aaron, conked out, had pulled the curtains of his four-poster shut and cast a few silencing charms for privacy.

“Muffliato,” Robbe cast under his breath, just in case. Aaron wasn’t the greatest at Charms.

“I was supposed to patrol tonight,” Robbe told Jens. “Did Jana go alone?”

Jens nodded. “She said you would’ve lost her anyway, whatever that means.”

“You’re talking again?”

“Uh, yeah, of course. Okay, here, look at this…” Jens smacked down his parchment on the little floor space they had in their bedroom. Each little segment of dormitory housed four boys with their beds in a circle around the heater in the middle. While Jens, Robbe, and Aaron didn’t have a fourth shoved in with them, the fourth bed’s curtains were also closed. Robbe assumed it was Moyo staying over after the party. Their copious belongings covered most available surfaces: books piled up next to bedspreads, clothing strewn over trunks, candy wrappers overflowing from trash bins.

“I think you have to dial it up,” Jens explained. He flattened the parchment until Robbe could kind of read his sloping cursive. The title at the top of the page was scribbled out, replaced with the words Operation Ditch-Noor. “Noor seems more persistent.”

Robbe thought back on their conversation. It made his head hurt to think. “She’s done.”

“Didn’t seem it today. How much did you drink?”

“I can read it,” said Robbe. He, in fact, could not read it. Why did Jens have to write everything in cursive?

The party itself had gone by pretty smoothly, from what he could piece together at the moment. Sander turned on music from his player, an upbeat song called Rebel Rebel, and had everyone spinning in circles on the common room carpet. Robbe didn’t remember kissing Sander at all. He remembered taking a cupful of punch from Aaron and not asking about its alcohol content. The girls left early to go console Zoë on the loss, and he’d woken up with a blanket that he didn’t have when he fell asleep.

Actually, that was a pretty solid outline considering the circumstances. Good on Robbe.

Jens gave Robbe a minute to puzzle through the spirals on the parchment. If he looked at it sideways, it might be a picture of a big black dog.

“Thoughts?” said Jens. He bumped Robbe’s shoulder with his own. Robbe looked around. When did they sit on the floor?

“Good,” he said.

“Good. It was a major oversight on your part, not having a public date in the first week. You’re going to have to compensate now.”

“What?”

Jens sighed. “Like, you have to be twice as convincing. Why am I even friends with you?”

“You’re so smart,” Robbe agreed.

“Is that Robbe?” said the fourth bed. It didn’t sound like Moyo. Moyo’s drunk voice was always deeper than his normal one, full of false bravado, while this one was much lighter. Sure enough, Sander peeked his head out from the curtains. His hair stuck up in all different directions.

Jens got up from the ground and smacked Sander’s arm as Sander tried to reach for Robbe. “You don’t have to trick us. Jeez.” He addressed Robbe again. “He’s been like this all night.”

Sander ignored him. “Come over here,” he said to Robbe. “I haven’t seen you.”

“You saw me,” Robbe said.

“Not a lot.”

“Yeah, so this is the kind of material we need.” Jens pointed at the parchment roll. “Noor’s going to leave you alone.”

“Come here, Robbe.”

Robbe sobered—while Sander didn’t exactly sound serious, there was something more in the way he said those words. What, Robbe couldn’t be sure. He was probably projecting, making the whole thing up.

Sander’s clothing was rumpled, a stain on the collar of his shirt. There were circles around his eyes as if he’d been rubbing them. His perfect hand was just begging to be held—the vision began to blur a little bit on the edges, and Robbe had to blink a few times to make the picture clear again.

This wasn’t real. He was drunk and it wasn’t real. Robbe was hallucinating or something, that’s what it was.

And he didn’t want to sleep with Sander, at least, not yet.

“I am going to be physically ill,” said Jens. “Save this.”

They left the parchment on the floor. Jens climbed into his bed, Robbe into his. Sander left the curtains open on bed four, staring over at where Robbe lay, so Robbe left his own curtains open. Gotta have that line of sight. He knew Sander was drunk as a skunk, but goodness, it felt wonderful to have his attention.

“Goodnight, love,” he called over.

Jens covered his head with a his pillow. "Kill me."

***

Sander was gone when Robbe got up the next day, and just as well, because it was one PM. Robbe’s head hurt like a motherfucker. Good news, though: he could now read the parchment Jens had tacked to the door of their dormitory. Not without pain, but without much struggle. In the bottom left-hand corner, an artsy signature marked that Sander understood the objectives. Sander Driesen. He dotted the i in his last name with a little circle instead of a plain dot.

Robbe speed-read the document to the best of his ability. And panicked. If Sander was following this, they had plans at five today.

He gathered his things and dashed to the shower, careful not to wake up anyone else who might still be sleeping. Aaron seemed to have gone out; his bed was empty. Jens wasn’t visible, and Robbe didn’t think it right to open the bedcurtains to see if he was there. The shower water was freezing cold. Robbe did a little warming spell he thought he remembered and ended up evaporating it all.

He took a very cold shower.

When that was done, he changed into a collared shirt with a sweater overtop and a pair of khaki pants. Casual date outfit, check. Fake date. Couldn’t forget that. He appraised his reflection in the mirror for too long to be considered normal.

There was plenty to do in the span between now and five o’clock—exams were three weeks away and Robbe didn’t know the main ingredients of Amortentia. But he couldn’t bring himself to open the books. It made much more sense to pace around the room.

Of course they’d go on a date. Real relationships would have dates.

And Sander—last night—it was nothing.

Robbe spent a lot of his mental energy convincing himself that things didn’t matter. He spent a little more trying to forget this revelation.

Four forty-five arrived before he could list out all the possible ways a date could go wrong.

The castle was always louder on Saturday afternoons and evenings. With the morning’s hangover remedied, students were free to gossip as they pleased. As Robbe headed down the stairs to the dungeons, where Jens’ note detailed he would meet Sander, he heard no less than four separate conversations that should have been private. Two Gryffindors were having a Wrackspurt problem in their dormitory. Several Slytherins discussed a magical cure for gonorrhea that would not alert Madame Pomfrey to their situation. Yasmina and Zoë attended extra Potions sessions together, and Robbe heard them debating the proper way to skin a human arm for use. Most of interest: Britt and another girl in the final hallway.

“Sander doesn’t know what he’s doing,” Britt lamented. “I don’t think he’s been going to the hospital wing.”

“You don’t know that,” the girl replied, resting a comforting hand on Britt’s back.

Robbe tried to shrink back on himself as he walked by.

Britt wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “And I’m the one that’s gonna be there when it goes to shit.”

Give it up, thought Robbe. He booked it the rest of the way to the Slytherin common room’s entrance.

Sander was waiting beside the door, his back against the stonework. His look today was different than Robbe had ever seen it, a leather jacket and a t-shirt paired with tight black jeans. When he raised a hand to wave at Robbe, the shirt rode up enough to expose a line of pale skin. Robbe felt overdressed in his sweater. Sander shouldn’t think he was taking this too seriously.

“Where are we headed?” Sander asked, as soon as Robbe was within asking range.

Robbe’s eyes went wide. “I thought you were planning it.”

“I've been hungover.” Sander pushed away from the wall. He slipped his hand into Robbe’s, and they headed for the staircase that led out of the dungeons. Usually, only Slytherins used it. “I'm good with whatever. For Britt, obviously. Somewhere she'll see."

The staircase spit them out into the upstairs hallway. Sander brought them outside through the front doors and down into the sprawling lawn. He stopped once his feet hit the grass, and turned to Robbe. “Dealer’s choice.”

“Did Jens give instructions?”

“Jens doesn’t dictate your dating life.”

Robbe frowned. “My fake dating life.”

He hated Sander’s pained expression. “Yeah, exactly.”

Only one way to make Sander smile again, and that was to go somewhere nice. Robbe surveyed the campus. They couldn’t go to Hogsmede today unless they snuck there, and Sander wasn’t in subtle attire. There was the forest, all of those beautiful, towering trees, but there was a fifty percent chance of death if they got too close. The Whomping Willow ruled out a good chunk of grassy lawn. He knew their only option would be to sit by the lake.

Lots of couples sat by the lake. Any fake relationship should feature a date there. It got foot traffic, it was public, it screamed to the world hey, we’re together.

Robbe didn’t bring a blanket. What if he got cold?

What if Sander got cold?

The thought alone of Sander cuddled into his side was enough to drive Robbe to action. He wondered what that said about him as a person.

“The lake,” said Robbe. “We can—um—we can be there.”

“You have something to sit on?”

“Uh…”

“Yeah, I counted on it.” Sander reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny square of fabric. With a wave of his wand, it grew into a full-sized picnic blanket in his arms. “Show me where you want to be.”

***

The early evening air, combined with the chill off the lake, had Robbe shivering in no time. He should have brought his coat out with him, but it wasn’t in the best shape, and he worried that mending spells could only keep it alive for so much longer. Best to save it for winter, when things got bad. Sander, on the other hand, had no problem removing his own jacket and sliding it around Robbe’s shoulders. He wrapped one bare arm around Robbe, sliding his hand into Robbe’s back pocket.

“This is nice,” he said.

“Cold,” said Robbe.

“I’ll tell Jens to plan the next one. He seems to like us as a couple.”

Something in Robbe’s stomach fluttered. The possibility of more intoxicated him. He caught himself before the desire became too strong; there had to be more. No convincing fake relationship was just one date.

Dusk crept in along the sky. Many of the other couples gathered their things to attend a Great Hall dinner, the likes of which Robbe had not consumed all week. He willed his stomach not to growl. Their blanket was close enough to the lake that casual waves poked at its edges.

“That’s your friend, isn’t it?” said Sander, pointing toward the castle’s open doors.

Robbe looked over. Zoë and Senne made their way across the lawn with their own picnic blanket and a lumpy knapsack. Behind them was Milan, Zoë’s best friend and Senne’s suitemate. Zoë smiled when she saw Robbe and jogged the remainder of the distance between them, dropping to the grass an inch away from Sander’s blanket.

“Look at you!” She pinched Robbe’s cheek. “Date night, I take it?”

Robbe tried not to look sheepish. “Jens said we should.”

“Mmhm,” said Zoë. She turned her attention to Sander. “Tell me the love story. I need to know.”

“Oh, it’s a great story. Settle in.” Sander adjusted his position. He scooted away from Robbe, then gently tipped backward until his head rested on Robbe’s lap. “Picture this. My ex brought her best friend on one of our dates because she was mad at me. We went to the Three Broomsticks.”

Robbe remembered the Three Broomsticks. Obviously. His cheeks heated. He began twisting sections of Sander’s hair around his fingers, if only to do something with his hands. He knew Zoë just wanted to hear what Sander could think up on the fly.

“Her best friend had a date, too. No problem. I was going to spend the time staring at the wall so I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. Except, the date walked in, and it was Robbe here, and I just lost it. I saw him sitting there and I thought, Sander, he is the one.”

Now Robbe was really blushing. He wanted to go vaporous and phase through the ground, if he could just remember the spell…

“I thought I was being dramatic, that I needed to give it some time. But I couldn’t get him off my mind. So I broke up with Britt. She used to complain that he spent all his time up in the astronomy tower instead of patrolling. You bet your ass I went there one night to see if he’d come up. And he did.” Sander shrugged. “The rest is history.” He propped himself up and caught Robbe in a chaste kiss.

“Yeah, you can cut the bullshit.” Zoë turned to check Senne’s progress toward them. He was still a decent distance away. “Robbe told me about this.”

Sander huffed. “I said nothing that wasn’t true.” He kissed Robbe again.

“Yeah, pretty sure none of that was true. But I like the backstory. It’s really good.”

“I think I could make it as a writer,” said Sander.

Robbe assumed the conversation would end there. Zoë and Sander did not seem like the types of people who would have much to say to one another. Unfortunately, Zoë’s prying conversation gave Milan time to catch up.

“Oh!” he exclaimed, upon seeing Sander and Robbe together. He got in close to Zoë for a stage whisper. “So this is Robbe's straight guy!” Zoë shot him a look. “What? is he not straight?”

Sander did not miss a beat, even though a statement like that implied Milan knew the truth of the arrangement. “Bisexual, actually. Or pansexual—I’m still trying to figure that part out.”

“Aren’t we all,” said Milan knowingly. “Don’t fall for Robbe, then.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Sander laughed. It sounded more resigned than joking. Something inside of Robbe combusted.

Milan and Senne went off and picked a spot a respectable distance away to study for their exams. Robbe noted in passing that Milan was reading pages much deeper in the Potions textbook than he had learned. He hadn’t been to a class since he started fake-dating Sander.

Zoë flashed an apologetic smile. “I didn’t tell him you were straight. Don’t know where he got that.”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Sander.

“And I didn’t mean to tell him the relationship was fake either, he was just so excited—”

“As long as it doesn’t get to Britt or Noor, we’re fine.”

“Robbe, are you okay?”

“Yes,” Robbe lied.

There were pleasantries afterward, although Robbe didn’t catch the specifics. He had other things to process. Sander talking about how they met—it all felt so real. Robbe found himself in a booth at the Three Broomsticks again, watching Sander take slow sips from his drink. He was in his four-poster bed while Sander slept, the curtains open so they could see each other in the dark.

He stepped on the emotion. Sander said he wouldn’t dream of falling in love with him.

Zoë went off to sit with her best friend and boyfriend, leaving space for Robbe and Sander’s date to begin. Where to begin? Number one: Sander would never fall in love with him because this was all fake. In tandem with Noor’s premonition last night, Robbe suddenly felt like he’d much rather be back inside the castle. In his bed. With the curtains pulled this time.

A headache could get him out of here. An urgent need to throw up? Maybe a mysterious summons from Jens. He needed to remember the charm that let him disappear.

Number two, back to Sander. He had wrapped his arms around his head, exposing that same patch of stomach. A line of black ink that might be a word traced the line of his hipbone down.

“Robbe?” Sander waved a hand in front of Robbe’s face.

Robbe blinked. “Huh?”

“Have you been hearing me?”

“Um,” said Robbe.

“You’re pulling my hair.”

Robbe moved his hands away. His mind was a mess of different thoughts—what would he tell the boys about this? It wasn’t fucking real. And Sander’s head was in his lap right now. He should have seen this coming before… no, he had seen this coming.

“Don’t stop,” said Sander softly. “Just… lighter.”

Robbe ran his hand through Sander’s hair. Lighter. A confession dangled on the tip of his tongue and he needed to push it back down.

“Some of what you said was true,” he said. He hoped Sander could draw the connection across conversations and realize he meant what Sander had said to Zoë, not Milan.

Sander understood. “Most of it was true.”

They waited a moment, listening to the soft waves on the lake and the bustle of other couples nearby.

“Right,” said Sander. “You’ve taken me on a date. The least you can do is tell me something nice.”

“What kind of thing?”

“Do you need Jens to write your speeches too?”

Robbe shied away from the vulnerability angle this time. Sander wouldn’t have any use for the information four weeks from now when exams were over. He marveled over how soft Sander’s hair was between his fingers, despite the fact that the ends were dry and dead from the bleach. “My father was the cook of the family,” he said. Something personal, but not intimate. “He had this recipe for blood sausage that had so many spices my mother could never stomach it. We would bring it to dinner parties when we didn’t like the people. It was funny to watch them try and compliment it during the meal when they clearly hated every last bite.” This was the story’s happier conclusion. Its actual conclusion was that his father took all the recipe cards when he walked out, and Robbe didn’t know the ingredients even though his father promised he’d get them when he turned sixteen.

“Tell me something nice.” He poked Sander.

“I don’t know if what you said constitutes nice,” said Sander. He reached up and ran a finger across Robbe’s chin. But he went on. “There’s this lady where I work over the summer that brings me David Bowie albums. She gets so excited every time she finds a new one in a garage sale somewhere, or at store, and I can’t tell her that I already own the albums already. I have five copies of Space Oddity.”

Robbe didn’t know who David Bowie was.

Another lapse into silence. Sander never seemed to mind a comfortable quiet. He guided Robbe’s head down to his for a simple kiss, but he left his eyes open, and Robbe could follow his sightline to Noor and Britt as they walked back to the castle from who-knows-where.

“Tell me something secret,” said Robbe. This much time without something on his mind could be seriously painful. “I went first last time.”

He kind of wanted Sander to refuse.

“I don’t have any secrets, Robbe.”

“You must have one.”

“Do you?”

Robbe shook his head quicker than he should have. He tried to sound as casual as possible when he said, “I’m an open book,” but he doubted it did any good.

The thing was, it was totally believable that Sander wouldn’t have any secrets. This was the boy who announced his sexuality to a friend of a friend that he didn’t even know. This was the boy who saw someone else in the astronomy tower, unloaded his relationship woes, and promptly kissed said someone else to get away from them. What did he have to hide, besides this relationship? What could someone like him possibly have to hide?

The dying day faded everything out into a stained-glass image that could take up the wall of a Hogwarts bathroom. Robbe let himself relax until his surroundings were no more than shapes and colors, pushing everything from his mind until he could barely process his hands running through Sander’s hair. The thoughts surfaced anyway. He was going to have to tell the boys about this, eventually, and maybe even Sander himself, if that was possible. Even now, his skin was electrified from contact.

So much for pushing back the sexuality crisis. It had to happen today.

“It is kind of nerve-wracking, all these people to convince,” Sander said, out of the blue. “I don’t even know who that guy is.” He pointed vaguely at Milan. “But right here, with us, this is okay. It’s just me. That’s my secret.”

That’s exactly the problem, thought Robbe. It’s just you. And I’m falling in love with you.

He said, “That’s a cop-out. Tell me something else.”

#sobbe #wtfock #sander driesen #robbe ijzermans #hogwarts au #fake dating #fic request #conflict is coming i'm so sorry #my writing #fanfiction

20 notes · View notes

bokunoheroanalysisforthefuture · 3 years

Text

With the second half of chapter 11, I am ready for people thoughts / questions / comments on the opening arcs. Were there favorite parts of it? Parts you wish had had a little more to them? Who’s your favorite / least favorite of the characters as shown so far? Anything you found particularly interesting about certain scenes / panels / etc. that you want to share? Have at it!

I’ll probably be doing some of that myself as I go back through for any little moments I liked, and sort of summarize my own thoughts on the opening arcs. Then, of course, we get to get into the USJ, and see some real action! <3

[No. 11 - Bakugou’s Starting Line]

We come back to the nurse’s office, where Toshinori is awkwardly hovering by Izuku’s bed while Recovery Girl tears into him for Izuku’s third time in her office despite the school year only just starting, and why he hasn’t prevented that damage from happening. Toshinori apologizes to her, and she tells him it’s not her he needs to apologize to.

(Also, man he’s swimming in his hero costume - really gives a sense of the size difference between the two forms to be honest.)

She notes that Izuku’s come to her both that day and the day before completely fatigued, and that this sort of damage isn’t so easily healed. He’s on an IV drip and has gotten emergency first aid, but all that can be done now is wait for him to recover on his own.

Which brings me back to chapter 4 with her managing to heal him while he’s completely unconscious and in way worse shape - I really do believe at this point that she CAN use her own stamina to help a patient in critical condition who doesn’t have the energy to heal themselves, but it’s not as effective and, well, drains HER to the point where she won’t be able to help others who might be in need. Ergo, in situations like this, she sticks to hoarding her stamina and letting kids heal their own reckless behavior. (She probably could do a lot more in her prime, but alas.)

She states that she knows Toshinori gave Izuku his power, but regardless of favoritism, Toshinori has to stop indulging Izuku. Toshinori scratches under his ear in embarrassment and says she’s right - he was sympathizing too much, so he hesitated. He then goes on to hesitantly ask her to keep it down while at least discussing One For All.

She huffs and turns away, mocking him with his ‘natural born hero’ and ‘symbol of piece’ titles. He goes on to explain (for audience benefit alone tbh) that while the staff of UA know about his true form and injury, only Recovery Girl, the principal, an old friend of his (who will later be revealed as Detective Tsukauchi), and Izuku know about his quirk. To everyone else, it’s a secret.

(We know from later on that this isn’t quite true - there are a few others who know - but I suppose that this is the ring of people who he interacts with at this point in time, which is… really fucking depressing.

Of course, Horikoshi might not have come up with either character beyond vague thoughts and outlines at this point, so I suppose he didn’t want to box himself in on a character design before he was sure they fit his needs. Gran probably was outlined vaguely at this point? But I think Nighteye might not have been created until around Kamino.)

Recovery Girl asks rhetorically whether that talk is just him resting on his laurels, then a bit more seriously asks whether it’s really that important that he be a natural born hero and the Symbol of Peace. We get another up-close shot of Toshinori’s intensity as he states that without him, superhuman society would fall to evil.

(A bit egotistical there, much? But I think it’s also a bit of the toxic mindset he’s had build up over the ages - that he’s alone in being able to hold things together, that there’s no one to fall back on, that he can’t afford to be ‘helped’ even as he keeps falling apart.)

Toshinori then goes on to explain that this is the responsibility that wielders of One For All must bear. Recovery Girl contemplates this quietly for a moment, then says that it’s then all the more important for Toshinori to learn how to guide Izuku properly.

We transition to after school… which does end up leaving me to wonder whether I was off about heroics being the last class of the day, but at the same time, I don’t see how the teachers expect the kids to be able to focus on academics after two hours of heroics training, not to mention that the kids do need time to digest lunch, so,,, eh. I’m going to presume that here it’s more that with the battle trials ending a bit early, there was time afterwards for discussion before the school day ended.

Anyways, Izuku is just trudging back to class, still in his damaged costume and wearing a sling for his right arm. He’s slouched over, thinking about how Aizawa-sensei is ‘really gonna let him have it’ - which says a lot about his expectations for teachers at this point. He opens the door to the classroom, and is surprised when Kirishima notices him and announces his return, as well as welcomes him back.

Izuku is quickly surrounded by several classmates (Kirishima, Mina, and Sato), all of whom are excited to talk to him, much to his confusion. Kirishima says that even without knowing what was being said, the battle was wild. Mina complements Izuku’s dodging (which makes sense now that I think about it - she does a lot of dance and incorporates it into her fighting, so she might have thought Izuku was similar? Maybe?) Sato says that everyone was pumped after the crazy first round.

Kirishima, Mina, Tsuyu, and Sato all then introduce themselves in order, with Kirishima saying that they were discussing battle training, Mina restating her admiration for Izuku’s dodging skills, Tsuyu that she just prefers to be called Tsuyu. Izuku is a bit overwhelmed. To the side, Tokoyami grumbles about them being noisy while sitting on the desk - much to Tenya’s concern as he demands Tokoyami get off of it. Someone else tells Tenya to not get bent out of shape.

The true crack ship - KamiChako. Which is immediately ruined when Ochako makes her way over to Izuku, noticing and worrying over his arm and whether he’d gotten it healed. Izuku says it wasn’t quite healed, since he was so worn out, and then he apologizes and says he has something to do. That something being rushing after Katsuki.

(Literally, that boy walks in, looks around, sees Katsuki isn’t there, and immediately goes ‘sorry I have to go immediately’. Like, I know this is a shounen, but at the same time…)

Izuku catches up to Katsuki on the way to the gate out of the grounds, and is, uh...

Not looking that great, captain. Those bags under his eyes have really seen some cultivation in the time since the battle trial.

Izuku’s internal thoughts note that where everyone else wanted to talk to him, Katsuki just clammed up and went home. Or maybe it’s Izuku’s memory of Toshinori recounting the aftermath of the class? But Toshinori left right at the end, so uh… I have no idea.

Anyways, Izuku catches up and gets his attention, drawing Katsuki’s shadowed stare (it’s not quite a glare? So yeah.) Izuku is looking down a bit, narration noting that he hasn’t even told his mom his secret as he states that he can’t say much, but that Katsuki should know this. Izuku thinks about Katsuki’s comments during the battle trial about tricking him, and then…

Well that was a face adventure Katsuki went through. It’s a really good thing he was also too distracted by his own existential angst to really think about Izuku’s words.

But to dig more deeply into this, we can start from the top - literally. Starting at all that space at the top, and then the empty panel (asides from the two) where Izuku states he got his quirk from someone else. It really sort of gives a beat before such a weighty reveal, and more so how, in that moment, Izuku is only focused on Katsuki as he says it.

Izuku goes on to explain that he can’t say who it’s from, and that it’s a bit like a conversation out of a comic book, and that on top of that he can’t even really use it yet, so the borrowed power is pretty useless to him, which is why he tried to beat Katsuki without it… only to fail and be forced to rely on it. While this is happening, Katsuki’s expression goes from confusion/what the fuck towards outright pissed as Izuku rambles on, seemingly nonsensically from his point of view. Izuku states that he has a way to go, and then looks up and meets Katsuki’s gaze as he states that he’s going to make that power his own someday, and then overcome Katsuki with his own power.

This seems to derail Katsuki’s anger for a moment back towards shock - possibly for the sheer boldness and earnestness of the statement. Izuku’s a bit embarrassed at his rambling reveal, thinking that he’d just meant to tell Katsuki he hadn’t been tricking him, but, well.

Katsuki wobbles a bit in place, likely to keep himself from instinctively going after Izuku for being, well, Izuku. He repeats Izuku’s comment about borrowed power, then says he has no idea what Izuku’s talking about, but that Izuku is clearly determined to keep making a fool out of him. His anger boils back up as he grits out another swear, and then gets into how he lost to Izuku, and then if that weren’t enough, there was another student - Shouto - who he knows he can’t measure up to. He slaps a hand to his face, nails digging into his hair as he swears again and notes how ‘ponytail girl said it all’. He snaps his arms back down, swearing more, and demands a mostly rhetorical why from Izuku - likely in response to his fear of being able ot measure up to someone he had until then looked down on. Katsuki then declares through tears - and some repetition for emphasis - that from there on out he’s gonna beat everyone.

He then spins back around and starts to walk off, rubbing at the tears while telling Izuku to enjoy his win, since it won’t happen ever again. Izuku holds himself firm a bit longer, then sighs and seems to lose whatever energy he’d dredged up for that conversation - methinks it’s also a bit exasperated with Katsuki? I mean, I have to admit trying to have a serious convo with the kid has to be a struggle sometimes.

Incredible. Thanks, All Might. And I can’t help but cackle at Izuku swaying in the wind created with All Might rushing right past him to get to Katsuki, as well as that ‘ow!’ from Katsuki. All Might is latched onto Katsuki’s shoulder as he kind of greets the kid, with Katsuki looking about five seconds from turning around and biting the man in the arm like a semi-feral cat.

All Might is wheezing a bit in holding this form while rushing to catch up, starting to offer some advice - that Katsuki’s self-respect is important, and that he definitely has the makings of a pro, just so long as he-

Katsuki cuts him off by telling him to get off, since he can’t walk. He then goes on to say that it’s without question that he’ll be a hero who surpasses even All Might. All Might is surprised at that rebound, taking his hand off while thinking that the usual egomaniac is back. All Might mutters about how being a teacher is tough while watching Katsuki stalk off.

Izuku’s narration notes that Katsuki’s fuse had been lit, but his own goals hadn’t changed - that he would keep chasing after him. While he’s staring dramatically after his childhood friend, All Might starts asking what he said to Katsuki.

We have a last transition to a few days later, the narration noting that the class learned an important lesson that All Might had warned them about - about how they should fear the cleverest of villains. The scene is set in a different area, with the frontmost building being a bar. Someone is shown reading a newspaper article about All Might teaching at UA, as well as his temporary leave from his hero agency.

The person sets the newspaper down folded neatly, noting how All Might is a teacher now. The voice then goes a bit raspy (or maybe it’s a different speaker) as they wonder out loud about what would happen if villains killed the symbol of peace.

Whoo boy, what a first introduction to the main antagonist of the series.

It seems like he has all five fingers on the newspaper in those panels? But it might just be the weird angle that keeps us from seeing how careful he is to not do so, which might have given away his quirk before it gets shown in the next arc.

Also, hello misty character who definitely doesn’t have some deeper, tragic backstory we eventually learn about.

About those hands… you know, I know what the ‘official’ story behind them ends up being, but like, they all look the same, so I wonder if those are just… random hands from his victims over the years. ...while the design is suitably disconcerning, it also makes sense that Hori would eventually chuck them aside thanks to how much extra drawing and detail they all need.

Anyways, that closes out the chapter and the opening arcs, so again, open for any sort of thoughts/questions all of you have. I should have my own out in the next few days, I think.

#readthrough #chapter 11 #opening arcs #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #midoriya izuku #bakugou katsuki #yagi toshinori #recovery girl #shigaraki tomura #kirishima eijirou #ashido mina #uraraka ochako #izuku really be like 'sorry i have to go immediate' when his fated rival wasn't there for him to talk to #what a legend #what a way to end an arc and get into a new one #what tonal whiplashes all around #damn these were interesting chapters to introduce the series with

45 notes · View notes

hxseok-honee · 4 years

Text

peripeteia | part 20

a/n : AHHHH I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE THIS PLS LMK WHAT YOU THINK also this is the longest thing ive ever written ever im so tired it took all week so i hope its good!

previous | next

tag list !!

@lilacdreams-00 @deepseavibez @heonsbebe @robinbaum143 @lys009 @catbugsugarpea @nogitsune-sama @hobisanie @cosmicdaylight @butterflylion @heyitsnguyen @x-useobwa-x @instantspot@livelovesurfdreams @nam-jonie @bubblegumcat229 @my-chaos-in-stars@gustavkonrad @siredjoonie @nebula-winter @krissykiwi @theunknowncryptid @celiasoti @taeshuworld @dreamcatcherjiah @sterynlis @bitchynightmarepost@coffeeismylife28 @ttriviaseok @wordsbywriters @insaisissables@stresedsyllable @bbyjoonies @irenebutfancier @smarshere @xonfusedsoul @chocobetterknot

______________________________

Y/n is sitting down by the Black Lake when she feels herself becoming faint. A cold sweat breaks on her skin just as her brain starts to feel foggy, and she knows it’s time. It was normal for students to skip class and find a comfortable place to wait on their Clock Day -- Hoseok had told her that it feels a lot like a dream, one that leaves you unable to move or do much of anything until the process is complete, and it was only after a few unlucky souls had fainted in class or on the stairs that professors started allowing students to take the day off in order to ensure everyone’s safety. Of course, lots of students still had the unfortunate experience of being caught off guard in corridors or on the stairs while trying to find a safe place to sit until it passed, so Y/n had traveled in an especially hurried manner while she was coming down to the lake. Luckily she’d picked a great time to settle down because not even ten minutes had passed since she’d arrived. She had been trying not to think of Namjoon on a day like this, but she can’t help that her only thought when she starts to feel sick is that she wished he were there with her.

The cold sweat turns to extreme warmth suddenly and almost violently, and she has to steady herself by putting a hand in the grass and breathing deeply until the world stops spinning. She can tell the edges of her vision are leaving her, the impending blackout looming dangerously close. Overcome by the heat sticking to her like a thousand burning hot knives, she starts to crawl over to the edge of the lake, desperate for something to cool her skin. She makes it there, but not quite with enough time to do anything else. The last thing she sees is her own reflection in the water beneath her. The sight of her eyes clouding over completely -- reminding her not coincidentally of the murky color her divination professor’s eyes turn when overtaken by a vision -- is all that’s left before her eyesight is completely lost and she’s forced to surrender to fate’s will.

The darkness in Y/n’s mind stirs, and she’s filled with the sensation of free-falling. As she drops through space with no end in sight, a small gray dot appears from below. It grows as she approaches it, transforming into a cloud of smoke very rapidly and enveloping her completely as she passes through it. She can feel that this cloud is meant to steady her, slowing her movement until she’s no longer falling, instead floating -- where she’s headed, she has no idea, but as long as she’s no longer falling to her death, she’s happy.

The smoke around Y/n begins to clear, and she notes that her feet are placed gently on hard ground, not far from where she’d been floating for those few moments. The rest of the smoke fades away, the last wisps of it sticking to her surroundings in order to solidify the world she’s landed in. She realizes immediately that she’s standing in the Hospital Wing, only noticing that everything around her is gray and colorless, much like a memory, as an afterthought.

Glancing around, she finds that all of the beds are unoccupied except for the last one on the left side. The curtains are drawn, and Y/n can hear Madame Pomfrey rustling around inside, the matron’s voice carrying over to Y/n. The student inside, a young male student by the sound of it, is whimpering slightly. As Y/n approaches the curtain, she notes that in between noises, he’s breathing heavily, almost sighing in pain.

“It’s alright dear, it’ll pass in no time, I swear it -- oh, there’s no use. Poor boy can’t even hear me.” Pomfrey pushes the curtain out of her way as she exits, carrying a small tub. Y/n watches her walk across the room to a sink, where she pulls a wet towel from the tub and wrings it out, dumping what looks like ice water down the drain when she’s done. Humming softly, Y/n glances back at the curtain and sees it’s been left slightly open, allowing her access to the student inside.

When she peers in, she’s met with the sight of Namjoon -- more specifically, an 11-year-old Namjoon -- lying in the bed, looking much too small and much too ill.

No, he’s not sick. He just looks sick.

The thought crosses Y/n’s mind when she takes him in fully -- when she takes in his eyes. Clouded over completely, staring up at the ceiling as if lost in time, Namjoon is drenched in sweat and is letting out small, periodic whimpers of pain, but he has no idea. He’s experiencing his Clock Day, and there’s no way for him to know how he looks until it’s passed.

Approaching him slowly, Y/n tries to process the information alongside everything she’d believed about Namjoon’s soulmate experience up until this moment. If he’d always known who his soulmate was -- if he’d known since first year -- why hadn’t he said anything? Why had he let everyone believe he was only just having his Clock Day? Why was he hiding his soulmate from them?

Standing over him, observing the emptiness in his gaze and wondering if that’s how she looked right now, somewhere outside of all of this, she can’t help but bring the back of her hand up to the side of his face -- he was just a kid. He had no idea of the man he’d become.

The moment her fingers graze over his cheek, sticky with sweat and unbearable heat, his whimpering stops and his shoulders start to fall, all the tension in them leaving. His eyes shut slowly, and a long sigh leaves him. A chill runs down Y/n’s spine, and she feels a deep panic forming in her chest -- had she hurt him? Was she not supposed to touch him? Did she just affect something and change the future in some way?

Just as she’s starting to truly fall into a pit of despair, Namjoon’s eyes are opening, his eyelashes flickering as he readjusts to the light of the room. His eyes are no longer clouded, but he’s still staring off into distance, trying to process what he’d just discovered. Y/n sits in the armchair beside his bed, watching intently as he blinks a few times before sighing. He looks too serious for a first year.

Hobi was right. No child should ever have to go through this.

The sound of the Hospital Wing doors slamming open shatters the moment of contemplation, prompting Namjoon to crane his neck to try to see past the curtain. Y/n finds herself doing the same. She can hear Pomfrey’s stern reminder for quiet, followed by footsteps -- only one pair, but they’re very hurried, almost a full run. The curtain flies open, and all of the breath in Y/n’s lungs leaves her in an instant.

She’s staring at herself -- a smaller, cuter version of herself. A version of herself that remembers this day with striking clarity. Hearing from Hoseok that Namjoon had felt sick that morning and gone to the Hospital Wing just as dawn had broken, 11-year-old Y/n had raced down to see him, skipping first hour, completely unconcerned with anything that wasn’t the boy lying in bed before her. 17-year-old Y/n remembers the fear that had taken her younger self, her head filled with thoughts of only Kim Namjoon, the smart but troublesome boy she’d met on the train just a few months prior. Y/n remembers the pain that had filled her that day, wanting nothing but to be next to him, and she’s hit with a sudden realization.

Whipping her gaze around to watch Namjoon, she sees that he has yet to say anything to her younger self, simply gazing at her with an unreadable expression on his face. It’s one of immense turmoil, but there’s a glimpse of something else just underneath his pain -- something that looks a lot like hope.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” Y/n’s watches the girl with her own face make her way slowly over to Namjoon, setting her bag on the ground before standing beside him. Namjoon remains silent, just watching her -- taking her in with eyes that first year Y/n had never seen before. Taking her in with eyes that she would continue to see over the years but never understand -- eyes that could only start to make sense to 17-year-old Y/n in this moment.

She watches -- the pieces of Kim Namjoon starting to fit together in her mind -- as her younger self becomes uncomfortable under her friend’s gaze and breaks it by reaching out and taking his small hand in her equally tiny one. Y/n watches -- her memories of Kim Namjoon finally forming one coherent vision in her mind -- as young Namjoon stares down at their interlocked hands, her palm sitting perfectly in his, before looking up at her, a smile lingering on the edges of his mouth.

Y/n watches as one of her most prominent memories of Namjoon takes form before her eyes, finally making sense after six years. Staring down into her lap, she tries to make sense of every other memory of him the stands out, but she realizes fairly quickly that there’s no use. Every memory of Namjoon stands out to her. Every single one. Closing her eyes, she lets out a deep sigh, her brain an endless mess of smoke and confusion.

When she opens her eyes, she’s no longer in the Hospital Wing. Everything is still gray, but it’s too dark to tell exactly where she is. She can, however tell that she’s sitting on the edge of something soft -- something that reminds her of her bed. It takes a few moments for her eyes to adjust, but she’s able to see eventually that she’s sitting in a bedroom. However, it isn’t her own.

Skimming her fingers along the blanket around her, it takes no less than ten seconds to find him. Namjoon is sleeping beside her, looking much taller but not much older.

Third year. He grew a foot over summer holiday but still had the face of a kid.

Glancing over at the bed across from her, she confirms that she has the right time when she sees a blond Hoseok -- an experiment they had all regretted participating in -- fast asleep, his mouth hanging open and his limbs all over the place.

Returning her gaze to a 13-year-old Namjoon, Y/n notices with concern that he’s frowning deeply in his sleep, small sighs reaching her ears every few seconds. Leaning in to see him more clearly, she has to hold back a scream -- even knowing full well that he can’t see or hear her -- when his eyes open suddenly. He looks a bit shocked, but more obvious is the expression of sadness on his face. He blinks a few times before sitting up, staring down at the blanket while he thinks. Eventually, he wraps his arms around his knees and hides his face as he curls up. Y/n is overcome with a feeling of immense sadness.

After a few minutes, Namjoon lifts his head, and it pains Y/n to no end to see that he’s been crying. He sniffles once, drying his face with his shirt, before reaching over to his bedside table for his phone. Squinting when the light of his screen tries to blind him, he opens his text thread with 13-year-old Y/n and starts to type a new message. Present Y/n peers over the top of his phone and reads the words upside down, knowing that she probably doesn’t even need to.

NJ : you okay?

Y/N : how did you know i was awake?

NJ : you’re always awake

Y/N : okay well how did you know that im not okay

NJ : i had a bad dream

Y/N : you sound like my grandmother

NJ : got the bones of a grandmother, too

Y/N : you do crackle a lot when you move

NJ : are you going to tell me what’s going on

Y/N : ,,, diana’s sick,, like really sick

Y/N : pomfrey’s trying to treat her

NJ : omw

Y/N : ???

Namjoon throws the blanket off of himself and, scooping up a sweatshirt from on top of his trunk, slides his feet into his slippers and heads out of the dorm as quietly as he can. Y/n follows, knowing exactly where he’s headed. Watching these memories from his point of view, however, is filling in all the gaps in her own, so she can’t help but be intrigued by every moment -- every step Namjoon takes, every time he speeds up a little bit as he covers the distance between himself and the Hospital Wing, every time he slows down as he’s turning corners, still careful of the prefects roaming the corridors. When he finally turns the last corner, Y/n watches as he stops in his tracks, staring down the corridor at a younger Y/n, one who’s been sobbing for hours as she paces in front of the Hospital Wing doors, one who’s already encountered three prefects who have all given her a free pass because of how distraught she is. It’s two in the morning, and Namjoon is staring down the corridor at a Y/n who’s been here since ten and hasn’t said anything to any of them.

Sighing, Namjoon shoves his hands in the pockets of his pajama pants, making his way down to her. She notices him when he’s about halfway there, offering him a weak greeting before resuming her endless pacing. He stops right beside her, watching as his friend passes him once, twice, and then twice more. He finally puts his hand out, latching onto her arm and gripping tightly when she tries to pull away. Wordlessly, he pulls her toward him, bringing her into his arms and securing her in his hold when she finally falls into him, losing all of her strength.

Throwing her arms around Namjoon, she cries into his neck, needing him much more than he could ever know. All he does know is that he’d been woken from his sleep, filled with an impossible sadness that made him want to run to her, wherever she would have been. He would have run to her even if she’d been in the forest, or off the grounds entirely. He’d needed to find her because he feared his chest would cave in from the amount of pain he felt when he didn’t have her next to him. He’d wanted to take all of her sorrow away, but in the process of finding her he realized that he could breathe again once he had her.

Walking them slowly over to the wall just outside of the Hospital Wing, Namjoon pulls away from Y/n just for the time it takes for them to sit down together, and then she’s back in his arms, leaning against him heavily as he whispers words of comfort to her. They stay like that until just before breakfast, when Pomfrey comes out and sees that they’ve fallen asleep, clinging to each other tightly. Unbeknownst to anyone, 17-year-old Y/n is sleeping not too far away, having drifted off while watching them talk throughout the night.

When she wakes, it’s still dark, but she’s sitting in a well-lit corridor. More importantly, she’s sitting across from an even older Namjoon, who’s perched on a windowsill scrolling through his phone even though it’s well past curfew. Rubbing her eyes as she stands, Y/n makes her way over to him, leaning in to see what he’s up to. There on his screen is a picture of the prefect schedule, and he keeps zooming in and out of the section with Y/n’s name on it. She chuckles, shaking her head as she takes a seat next to him and waits for whatever’s to come.

Only a few minutes pass before footsteps can be heard echoing nearby. Namjoon perks up, putting his phone away and looking toward the end of the corridor expectantly -- Y/n can’t help but smile at how cute he is. Following his gaze, she watches as her younger self turns the corner, wand well-lit despite the castle lighting being phenomenal in this area. She’s showing off her freshly polished prefect’s badge and smiling as she does her patrol. Y/n looks at this younger version of herself and has to hold back a laugh.

Oh, to be fifteen and a total dork.

Y/n watches as her younger self looks straight ahead, completely focused on her duties, and she’s fond of this annoying rule-follower she used to be. She remembers clearly how happy she’d been to be named prefect, and she’d wanted to do her best. So she’d polished her badge and kept her notepad ready and gone on her first patrol in a dweeby kind of excitement. Not even an hour in, she’d found Namjoon.

“Joon? What are you doing?” Namjoon smiles, waving her over excitedly. With a cautious look on her face, she approaches her friend, who she is well aware had become a bit of a troublemaker over the years but still finds him adorable and harmless. He pulls his bag off his shoulder and starts to open it, talking as he does.

“Well, I didn’t know if patrol would be boring or lame, so I brought you a book just in case!” An enormous smile fills her face, and she laughs softly as he pulls out a stack of reading materials. “Okay, actually I brought a lot because I didn’t know what you’d like… hopefully you like books on various niche topics and magical research.” He lifts his gaze, beaming up at her as he holds out the stack of books, waiting for her to choose. Y/n puts her wand away, stepping up him and glancing through the titles. She pulls one out that has magical creatures on the cover and nods decisively as she flips through it.

“This one looks cool.” She stops leafing through the pages to watch Namjoon as he puts the rest back and begins to ramble.

“Oh, that’s a great choice! They have this awesome chapter on veelas and the genetic traits that get passed down to their children, which is super cool when you think about half-veelas or quarter-veelas or even one-eighth-veelas, which are kinda rare, but-” He cuts himself off, realizing that he’s gone on for far too long and taking a sheepish glance at Y/n. She’s smiling at him so sweetly he swears his heartbeat actually stutters for a moment, but he clears his throat and points at the book in her hand. “I should stop talking… don’t want to spoil it for you.” Y/n tucks the book under her arm, aiming her smile down at her feet as she responds.

“Thanks, Joon, I’ll make sure to tell you what I think of it when I’m done… by the way, you do realize you’re out after curfew, right?” Namjoon hums awkwardly, lifting his bag onto his shoulder as he stands.

“I’m only out if you say I am.”

“What does that even mean?” Namjoon laughs at her confusion, reaching out and locating a piece of hair that’s fallen into her face. He runs it back until it’s tucked safely behind her ear, at that point letting his arm fall to his side and taking a couple steps back.

“You suddenly have no recollection of seeing me tonight… that book is yours now. Have a good first patrol, Y/n. I’m proud of you.” Not giving her enough time to respond, Namjoon turns on his heel and disappears down another corridor, one leading to Ravenclaw Tower. Y/n just stands there staring after him, only remembering the book in her arms when it just about falls to the ground.

The older Y/n watches her younger self look back through the book for a bit before lifting her gaze to the spot where Namjoon disappeared, a small smile gracing her features and she starts to wander down her route for the night, almost no attention paid to anything outside of her new book. Y/n knows well that she’d return to her room that night and place it on her bedside table, picking it up every night to read just a bit more, as it was an admittedly difficult book deserving only of Ravenclaw eyes. She would eventually get through it, and then she’d read it again to really feel like she got it all. It still sits on her bedside table, always unpacked at the beginning of the year and put in its own spot next to her.

Y/n waits as the scene fades around her, and the space fills up with new setting -- soon she’s surrounded by the castle staircases.

She knows this scene well -- it’s the day that she’d fallen down the stairs from Tae and Jimin’s prank. She can tell by the crowd of people that’s gathering. 6th year Y/n hasn’t made it there yet, still in a meeting with Dumbledore about prefect matters that was running a little late at the moment.

This was supposed to be the ultimate prank of the year -- and it certainly was memorable, but not entirely for that reason. Jimin had just had his Clock Day not even a week prior, and he and Tae were celebrating their newfound love the only way they knew how. The entire school knew about it, and the professors had long given up trying to stop the two Slytherin troublemakers. Someone steps up beside 7th year Y/n, busy scrolling through their phone. She looks up and is met with the sight of 6th year Namjoon, smiling down at his screen as he bombards Y/n with annoying texts, complaining that she was late. Yoongi’s standing with Jin, Jungkook, and Hoseok not even five feet away, and he calls out to Namjoon excitedly when he spots the Ravenclaw.

“Joon! Over here, over here! We got some great spots to watch the show!” Jungkook bites his lip and looks away, hiding his extremely fond smile. Jin and Hoseok make amused eye contact, and Y/n can see now by Jin’s lingering gaze and their small grins that they’d been dating for a while and that the rest of them were all just blind to their very obvious love.

Yoongi makes his way over to the tall boy beside her, striking up a conversation about his new plant and some fun caretaking methods he’d found online the other day. Namjoon nods along, still slightly distracted as he glances around the massive crowd for his favorite person. He has his back just turned enough to not be able to see that 6th year Y/n has emerged not too far away and is searching for her friends. Y/n watches her younger self make her way along the side of the banister in their general direction, and she’s very aware of what’s to come in the next few moments.

Jimin and Tae had bewitched the staircases to move on their command, shifting them out of their normal rotation pattern in order to lock them firmly into the sides of the walls they’re attached to, effectively creating a cavern more than 10 stories high, giving them room to set off the insane amount of fireworks they’d made all the way from the Slytherin dungeons. The fireworks were supposed to go to the very top of the castle, exploding just before they crashed into the ceiling. They were never set off.

As Y/n was looking for her friend group, knowing they’d be somewhere close to the stair banisters, but having no idea what the plan was, she’d stepped out onto one of the staircases to get a better angle to find her friends. Since her meeting had run late, she’d missed the very aggressive announcement from Tae that no one should step onto the stairs for at least ten minutes before the show started, and the chaotic soulmates were down in the dungeons, just about to execute their plan. They never saw her.

Y/n can’t bring herself to watch what she already has painfully etched into her memory, choosing instead to watch Namjoon converse with Yoongi in the moments before her tragic staircase accident. She’s extremely lucky she’d been watching him.

She knows that the staircases have started moving when she hears people cheering, but she actually knows almost half a second before that. A painful, ice cold chill runs down the length of her spine -- it’s like nothing she’s ever felt before, and she’s felt the fear of falling 20 feet off of a staircase.

She realizes that the feeling is coming from Namjoon -- he’s the one feeling that ice cold pain coursing through his veins. It’s as if the world stops -- one second, he’s listening to Yoongi explain how to pick the right terrarium, and the next, he can’t hear anything at all. Y/n also can’t hear a thing -- everything’s muffled, and all she can hear is a heartbeat, thumping so loudly, so quickly that it could only belong to the girl who’s currently tumbling down a set of stairs into a free fall.

Namjoon turns, and Y/n can see that he knows exactly where her younger self is without having ever seen her. With a strength that she didn’t even know he possessed, he shoves past every person between him and the banister, literally knocking some poor Hufflepuff boy to the ground as he rushes to the stairs.

Throwing himself against the side of the wall when he gets there, Namjoon finds Y/n’s eyes almost instantly -- she’s staring up at him as she falls, still in shock at what’s happening. Y/n won’t remember until this very moment, when she’s standing in her own memory, but she’d seen Namjoon take action as she was falling. He hadn’t been quite fast enough -- she’d still hit the second set of stairs and pass out right there -- but he had managed to slow her down before she’d landed.

Namjoon pulls his wand out of his pocket so fast that the older Y/n hadn’t even seen him do it. Pointing it straight down at her, he calls after her, a silent spell manifesting from nothing but the force of his own will -- the force of his complete and total terror that something would happen to her. It’s the first time he’d ever been able to successfully cast a silent spell, having complained for weeks that he wasn’t able to get it no matter how much he practiced. Y/n feels it all in that moment, all of the soul-shattering fear Namjoon was carrying, and she has to lean heavily on the wall to steady herself, wondering how he’d managed to push past that and cast the spell successfully.

The spell hits Y/n squarely in the chest, instantly slowing her fall. It isn’t enough to prevent her arm from breaking, and it isn’t enough to stop her from complaining for the next full week about a backache, but it is enough to soften the landing and keep her safe from something much worse. They’d been lucky, really -- the stairs she’d landed on just happened to be passing beneath her on its way to its formation. If another second had gone by, she’d still be falling into the dungeons.

Y/n watches everything from above, and she can hear everyone jumping into action. She can hear everyone’s cheers turn into gasps of terror, and she can hear her friends all calling for her, all rushing to the nearest staircase to get down to her. She can even see down into the dungeons, where Tae is holding a firework and a flame, where Jimin is calling out to him frantically to stop. But most clearly, she can see that Namjoon is already at her side, having scaled over the top of the wall and essentially taken his chances at getting down to her as quickly as possible without falling. He’s shaking her furiously, grabbing her face and yelling for someone to alert Pomfrey when she doesn’t respond, already out cold. Jin is yelling down at Jimin and Tae, instructing them to move the staircases carefully so Namjoon can get her to the Hospital Wing.

Namjoon holds tightly onto the side of staircase as Tae brings it around to the corridor leading straight to the Hospital Wing, gripping Y/n tightly in his other arm as they go. He doesn’t even wait for the stairs to stop moving -- as soon as they’re close enough, he’s scooping her up in his arms and running full speed into the passageway, disappearing from view completely.

Y/n watches the rest of the room devolve into chaos -- Jimin and Tae fly up from the depths of the dungeon on Jimin’s broomstick, gesturing wildly at their friends as they all barrel down the nearest staircase together in an attempt to follow after Namjoon. Jin is pulling Hoseok along by his hand as they race to the front of the group, Jin trying to get Hoseok to his best friend as fast as possible. Yoongi is clinging to Jungkook’s side, eyes wet, and she can see him whispering mantras of positivity to himself as they go. She can see he doesn’t believe them even as he says them, and Jungkook is the one to take over and reinforce the words as they run together. Jimin is guiding himself and Tae up the cavern and back around as Tae shouts for the crowd to disperse, threatening to set the fireworks off in a dangerous way if they don’t all get lost. He looks very much like the Slytherin he is but never shows to the world.

Everyone leaves just as Dumbledore is running into the space, commanding the attention of the two Slytherins. Jimin looks back at Tae and, knowing full well how much trouble they’d be in if they got caught, they head straight for the headmaster. Landing beside him, they don’t even give him a chance to start reprimanding them -- they both start yelling at the same time, pointing desperately in the direction of the Hospital Wing and begging him to come with them to see if he can do anything. The old wizard is so thrown by the display that all he can do is follow after them as they run to join their friends.

Y/n watches everything from the top of the stairs. She sees everything -- all of the chaos, all of the fear -- and she thinks about the fact that she’d had absolutely no idea any of this had happened. She’d passed out and woken up a day later, in a world of pain but thankfully not seriously hurt. She’d watched her friends come and go every day, and she’d noted that Namjoon only ever left her side to eat and shower when he was sure she was sleeping. It was the only thing she knew about the entire accident, and it wasn’t even close to what actually had happened. She doesn’t even notice when the scene changes, too caught up in her own thoughts to register the smoke filling her vision and flowing into something new.

The smoke clears, leaving her shrouded in trees and darkness. She’s standing at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, the moon full and bright above her. She can’t see Namjoon anywhere, so she starts heading in the direction of the castle, its silhouette visible in the distance. She’s about halfway there when she hears it.

“Namjoon likes me, Namjoon likes me!”

“How did they make you Head Girl? You’re a child!” Unable to mask her smile, Y/n hurries out past the treeline and in the direction of the voices, this memory much more recent. Just there past a grove of trees sits a cluster of rocks, outlining the edge of the lake well. Namjoon is heading over to them now, hopping carefully until he gets to a spot that he likes. Y/n can barely make out her younger self, herself from not even a few months ago, crouched by the lake, running her fingers through the water lightly. Y/n heads toward Namjoon just as her other self is yelling back to him.

“This water’s cold as fuck!” Y/n remembers the feeling that comes next, but it’s a different experience in Namjoon’s perspective. That feeling of adoration she’d felt all those weeks ago down by the lake -- the feeling that had left her wondering what her soulmate was up to at the time -- makes sense now. It makes complete sense to her, just as everything about Namjoon is finally starting to make sense. Every glance, every smile. He’d always known. He’d just been waiting for her to notice him -- he’d been waiting for her to love him.

A quiet yelp followed by a bit of rustling catches Y/n’s attention, and she’s not surprised to find Namjoon has already caught her from wiping out on the rocks and is holding her gently, just a few feet away. Feeling strangely intrusive, Y/n averts her eyes, settling down on the rocks and staring out at the lake while her younger self shares her first intimate moment with Namjoon.

A few moments later, the sound of mumbling, followed soon by paper being slapped on skin, alerts Y/n of her own exit from an awkward moment. Turning back to the scene, she catches herself running away in the distance -- truly a humorous sight indeed -- but her attention is on Namjoon. He’s staring down at the detention slip that had been stuck to his face, chuckling slightly to himself. Y/n’s heart warms at the fondness in his expression, thankful that he hadn’t been discouraged by her behavior.

“This girl, I swear…” He starts to head back into the castle, and Y/n can tell she’s meant to follow. They make their way slowly through the castle, Y/n watching as Namjoon gets lost in his thoughts. They make it all the way up to Ravenclaw Tower, where Namjoon stops suddenly just before the entrance to his common room. He’s still lost in his thoughts, but there’s a smile spreading slowly across his face. It finally reaches his eyes, and suddenly he’s spinning around in the corridor, punching the air and literally bouncing in place as quietly as he can.

“She almost kissed me!” Running up to the door to his common room, he completely ignores the riddle that the eagle knocker asks him.

“Did you hear what I said? She almost kissed me! Can you believe it?” The eagle knocker remains silent while Namjoon parades around in front of the door, eventually opening its mouth.

“How lovely. Please answer the question.” Halting his excited bouncing to glare at the knocker, Namjoon answers the riddle with an impatient wave of his hand. The door slides open, allowing Namjoon to rush into the common room and up the stairs to his room, Y/n following behind in a shocked daze at Namjoon’s display. Throwing the door open and barely managing to get his shoes off, Namjoon hops on top of his bed, chanting happily.

“Hobi, wake up, wake up! She almost kissed me tonight -- wake up, bitch! I’m having a moment here!” Y/n watches from the door as Hoseok rolls over in his bed and reaches for something she can’t see. Their third roommate, a kind but rather quiet boy named Roger, starts to whine loudly, begging Namjoon to quiet down. She feels bad for him -- he’s been put through a lot with them as roommates -- but she forgets about him completely when she sees Hoseok’s shoe fly across the room with shocking speed and accuracy. It hits Namjoon in the face, sending him tumbling to the ground instantly.

“Shut it, you overgrown kindergartner! If I sleep through first hour tomorrow, I’m ripping every single one of your hairs out of your head with my bare hands!” Despite the pout that forms on Namjoon’s face as he sits on the ground holding Hoseok’s shoe, Y/n can’t help but laugh at the interaction, very typical of her two Ravenclaw boys. He sits there for a few more seconds, enough time for Y/n to cross the room and take a seat on the trunk at the foot of his bed. Watching him carefully, she’s pleased to see that his frown soon becomes a smile once again as he recalls the events of that night.

Climbing onto his bed, he reaches into his pocket for his phone, sending Y/n what she remembers to be a very sweet goodnight text. Once that’s done, he tosses the phone onto his bedside table before taking it upon himself to flop back onto his mattress dramatically, smiling dreamily up at the ceiling. The last thing Y/n sees before the smoke pulls her away is Namjoon placing a hand on his chest and scrunching up the material of his shirt -- the material that lies just above his heart -- and closing his eyes, the smile lingering on his lips.

The moment the smoke places her in her next memory, Y/n realizes it isn’t a memory at all. She’s standing in a massive group of people -- her entire class. They all have smiles on their faces, and they’re all hugging one another and taking photos. But this isn’t what she notices - it’s their outfits. All the same, all identical. The cap and gown.

Graduation? But this is months away…

Her own laughter reaches her ears, and it doesn’t take much longer to find herself. She -- her older self? -- is standing with the rest of their friends, laughing as Diana tries to chew on Jungkook’s dress pants. Only five of them are wearing gowns, the Slytherins and Jungkook still stuck at Hogwarts for another year. Hoseok is taking photos of Jin, who looks like he’s suffering not only from the heat, but also from his boyfriend’s scrutiny.

“Come on, Jin! Just one smile for the camera, and I will let this go -- my mom wants a photo!”

“Why does it have to be of just me? She’s your mom!”

“Because she says you’re the most handsome person she’s ever seen, and I completely agree.” Jin waves Hoseok off, unwilling to take the photo. That is, until he makes eye contact with Yoongi, who’s standing just a little ways away. At the sight of his roommate pulling a mini magical cactus from within his robe and brandishing it at Jin menacingly, Jin turns to Hoseok with a wide smile.

“I love photos, let’s take ten!” Confused but pleasantly surprised, Hoseok lets Jin lead him off toward the lake for their photoshoot. Y/n starts to laugh uncontrollably as she watches Yoongi tuck the cactus back into his robes innocently, and it unnerves her to see that her older self has also witnessed the exchange and is laughing alongside her.

Turning back to the larger friend group, almost desperate to avoid another coincidence with herself, she finds Namjoon bent at Jungkook’s feet, trying to keep his cap on his head as he wrestles Diana from Jungkook’s leg. Jungkook is crying out in pain at the claws that have been buried in his ankle -- no one sees that Jimin and Tae are enjoying the show immensely, even going so far as to start recording the entire thing.

When he finally manages to remove the cat from the poor Gryffindor’s limb, Namjoon stands and turns to Y/n, narrowly avoiding a claw to his face in the process.

“Please tell your demon cat that scratching people’s ankles off is rude as fuck.” Y/n laughs, reaching for Diana and cooing at her once she’s safely in Y/n’s arms.

“It’s not her fault Jungkook is such a thicc boy and attracts the attention of anything that wants a bite -- isn’t that right, Diana?” Diana curls up and purrs in response, sending everyone into a fit of laughter and comments about Jungkook’s thiccness as the Gryffindor scowls at the cat. The younger Y/n almost joins their laughter, but something catches her eye before she has time to look away from her older self.

Just there on her left hand -- the same hand that is cradling Diana -- sits a ring, one she’d never seen before. Ignoring the discomfort of being so close to a version of herself that didn’t exist yet, she approaches the girl in front of her, taking the ring in fully. A small diamond is nested in the band of it, shining brightly despite its size. She can’t stop herself from looking up at Namjoon, who stands beside her older self. He’s staring down at her, the smile on his face one of humor from the current situation, but also one of love and adoration, known only to them.

Y/n watches the moment and knows she’s the only one who can see it, despite being the only one who isn’t physically there. She can see how much Namjoon loves her and how happy he is to be able to show it. As the scene fades, she can’t help but wonder if what she’s seeing is really the future -- the image of a Namjoon who hasn’t acknowledged her in weeks comes back to her, only serving to bring pain into her heart. She doesn’t bother to try to see where the smoke is taking her.

She’s staring down at a wooden floor, in a house she doesn’t recognize. Lifting her gaze and glancing around, however, she finds that it’s quite a nice home. The smoke had left her standing in the middle of the kitchen, and she can’t help but run her fingers along the counter top as she makes her way through the room. It’s spotless, but it looks lived in.

Comfortable. Beautiful.

Passing under an archway that opens into the main room, she can see stairs leading up to the second floor, the front door just past them. Taking in everything as she moves through the room -- the sofa draped in various warm blankets, the tattered book sitting open on the coffee table, the array of house plants sitting on the windowsill -- she can’t help but feel like this home is perfect for her. Just as she makes it to the stairs and is putting a foot on the first step, the sound of rustling in a room off to the right calls her attention.

Approaching the room, she peeks her head around the doorway and finds herself looking into an office, lit with the warmth of a fireplace crackling softly in the corner. She doesn’t even see the person sitting at the desk until they lift their head, clearly awakening from an unexpected nap.

Namjoon stretches in his seat, arms reaching high above his head as he lets out a tired groan. He looks older, maybe by 4 or 5 years. There’s a stack of files next to where he’d been napping on the desk, and there’s a smear of ink across his right cheek from his quill. Looking around his immediate area, he swears softly under his breath.

“Where did I put them?” He’s just about to stick his head under the desk to search for his missing item when a quiet meow rings through the room. Y/n looks down just in time to see a very familiar cat entering the room, a pair of round specs dangling from her mouth. She hops up onto the desk once she reaches it, taking a seat on top of whatever Namjoon had been working on before dropping his glasses into his outstretched hand. With a fond smile, he places the glasses on his face before scratching the back of the cat’s ear.

“Thanks, Diana. I knew you’d like me one day.” Y/n watches the exchange, filled with a mixture of disbelief and joy. Never once in the seven years she’d known Namjoon had Diana expressed anything other than complete disdain for the Ravenclaw, and yet here it seems they’ve been friends for ages.

The front door opens behind her, followed by the soft call of a voice that sounds much like hers but more mature.

“I’m home! Joon?” She watches Namjoon smile as he peers through her into the other room.

“In here!” An older Y/n -- 4 or 5 years older -- steps up beside her younger, shocked self in the doorway. She’s wearing business attire, and she’s carrying a bag of takeaway, which she holds up for Namjoon to see. She looks poised, impressive -- but she still looks like herself. She doesn’t look like a stuck-up adult. She just looks… older.

She looks pretty freaking cool.

“I saw you still had a lot of assignments to grade when I was leaving this morning, so I got your favorite.” Namjoon cheers, moving to stand from his seat but taking the time to point cutely at Diana, still seated peacefully on his work.

“Diana brought me my glasses! I think she finally likes me.” He looks very proud of this fact, even reaching out to pet her one last time. She swipes at his hand in anger, scratching his palm slightly. They glare at each other for a moment before Namjoon gets up, shaking his head. “One day she’ll love me.”

“Namjoon, we’ve been married for five years and she only just today did one nice thing for you. You’ve still got a way to go with her.” Rolling his eyes, he approaches Y/n and leans forward, planting a kiss on her lips. Younger Y/n has to look away, slightly shaken by the unexpected display. Only when he’s pulled away does she feel comfortable enough to look again, attributing the warmth in her face the fireplace not too far away.

“How was work?” Y/n sighs, reaching out with her free hand to wipe at the ink on his face, giving away that he’d been napping just before she arrived.

“It was fine. The Minister’s been on us to meet fiscal year deadlines as if we’re not drowning in his debt. I’m just happy to be home.” The tired look in her eyes fades once she starts smiling up at Namjoon, who’s taken her free hand in his own and started leaning against the door frame while he was listening to her. It puts him in the perfect position to bring his lips to the top of her head in a comforting kiss, which only serves to widen her smile.

“Well, Mrs. Kim, you are doing a fine job over there at the Ministry. Meanwhile, I was so confused about the fact that one of my students doesn’t know the difference between transformation and switching that I took a stress nap instead of writing feedback for him.” He laughs lightly when Y/n puts her index finger against his forehead and pushes him away from her. Diana following closely behind, she heads into the kitchen, calling back to him.

“Not everyone is good at transfiguration, Joon -- remember how I was? I would have failed my N.E.W.T without you.”

“Yeah, well, maybe if we’d done more studying instead of messing around that night you would have gotten a better score.” Younger Y/n blushes deeply, barely managing to follow behind Namjoon as he heads into the kitchen as well.

“I passed, didn’t I? And if I remember correctly, I’m the one that actually wanted to study -- you just got bored because you’re a know-it-all.” He barks out a laugh.

“Guilty as charged, but can you blame me? I waited seven years for you to love me, I was obsessed with you once we started dating… I still kind of am obsessed with you.” Younger Y/n watches Namjoon corner her older self between two counter tops, smiling cheekily down at her and laughing when she pushes lightly against his chest. Taking her in his arms, he suddenly becomes serious, his smile dropping.

“Y/n?” Both of the women in question keep their eyes on Namjoon, entranced by him, just as it had always been -- entranced by his presence from the moment he’d come into her life.

“Thank you for loving me.”

Y/n can feel herself reaching out to him, disregarding the futility in it, but she doesn’t get the chance to call out to him. The smoke has started to fill her vision -- but it doesn’t transform the room smoothly. This time, something takes hold of the back of her belt, latching onto her and yanking her upwards, out of the smoke entirely. Muffling her scream with her hand, she watches the cloud of smoke shrink below her until it becomes the spec of grey she’d seen when this all started. She screws her eyes shut, dizzy from the climb -- confused beyond belief but finding her resolve in the truth.

When Y/n opens her eyes, she’s staring at the lake, and it’s gotten much darker. She’s also much farther away from the lake than she remembers being when she first fainted -- she can see more of the shoreline, and she’s fairly certain she’s under a tree. Trying to scan her surroundings, she tilts her head up before coming to a stop, registering that there’s something very soft underneath her cheek.

“You’re awake.” The voice, although familiar and comforting, is a shock all the same, so she jumps in surprise, turning her head to locate it. She finds herself staring up into Namjoon’s eyes, and she realizes belatedly that the soft thing under her is his leg. Lifting herself off of him with her elbow, she takes the time to glance around -- there’s no need to examine the grounds, of course. She just isn’t prepared to face Namjoon.

“How did you know where I was?” She says this while glancing around herself still, adjusting her positioning until she’s leaning back against the tree. Namjoon shifts next to her, bringing his knees up to his chest and resting his chin while he stares out at the lake.

“I could feel that it was starting… and I just knew where to find you.” Y/n nods, deciding to just be satisfied with his response instead of questioning the mechanics of it. They sit in silence for a few minutes, simply staring out at the lake together as the sun begins to set. She can feel that Namjoon’s waiting for her to say something, so, gathering her courage, she turns to him, holding her tongue until he’s met her eyes, which he does after a brief pause.

“You knew this entire time?” Namjoon looks away quickly, unable to face her. He nods once, and she takes this as her signal to continue, her frustrations with him over the past few weeks boiling to the surface. “Then why have you been avoiding me? What’s been going on with you?” Groaning deeply, he leans back against the tree, his limbs dropping into a sort of sprawled position beside her. His eyes are shut, brow furrowed. He looks conflicted.

“I was an idiot --”

“That’s a massive understatement.” His eyes find hers, and he turns fully to face her, his expression earnest and a bit desperate.

“I freaked out, Y/n. When Hobi said it wasn’t guaranteed that we’d end up together, my entire world fell apart. I had always assumed we’d be together and that I just had to wait for you to find out it was me -- I thought it was enough that I loved you. But then he started talking about free will and people without soulmates and losing the emotional connection and -- I lost it, okay? I lost it. Everything I’d believed about us for the last seven years was ripped apart… but I was an asshole.”

“Yeah. You were.” His eyes drift down until he’s staring at the ground, clearly humbled and apologetic. “But… I understand --” When he whips his head up to look at her, his eyes appear to have become hopeful. “I mean, what you did was fucked up, the boys are really upset--” His head dips again, his frown deepening. “But I understand why you freaked out. I just… wish you had handled it better.” They sit in silence together, Y/n staring down at the top of Namjoon’s head while he waits beside her, looking not unlike a scolded child.

“Did you think I would be mad once I found out you’d known all this time about us?” He glances up at her briefly before returning his gaze to lap, where he finds great interest in picking at his fingernails. Slowly, and only after a small sigh, he nods, still refusing to meet her eyes.

“Even after everything we’ve been through -- all of the flirting and the deep talks and late nights together?” Another nod. “Do you realize how stupid that is?” He stops fidgeting, choosing instead to examine the ground extensively while he thinks. Finally, he nods, pulling his head up to look into her eyes before nodding again, gaze solemn.

“I know. I’m really sorry. You have no idea how painful it was to know I’d hurt you… I just thought that if you really were going to choose someone else -- or at the very least if you were going to be disappointed in me being your soulmate -- I… just thought I should distance myself beforehand… But I hated every second of it, and I wish I could take it all back... I’m sorry.” He looks like he’s going to continue, but Y/n stops him. Reaching out, she takes one of his hands in hers, intertwining their fingers while nodding.

“Okay. I forgive you -- it’s going to be hard for me to trust you fully again, but I forgive you.” She squeezes his hand, and for the first time since waking up, she smiles at him. Taking her in, Namjoon can’t help but feel overwhelmed with affection, and he knows she can feel it when she starts to snicker at him. Nudging her playfully, he turns back to the lake, sitting beside her as they lean against the tree. Their hands lie clasped in her lap, a slight zap of electricity running through their palms every few seconds. The feeling is new but warm, one of completeness.

“So… what was your Clock Day like?” She doesn’t bother turning to look at him when she asks, knowing he’ll just keep staring out at the water while he ponders.

“It was… a lot to handle as a first year.” She nods, remembering Hobi’s words once again. “There weren’t very many memories, actually. It was mostly visions of the future. We hadn’t known each other that long -- how could I have anything substantial to remember yet? Actually… do you remember coming to visit me in the Hospital Wing?”

“Yeah, of course. That was my first memory.” He hums, thinking about that day a little longer.

“I knew you would be coming. It was the first vision that the smoke showed me.” She smiles fondly at that term -- “the smoke” -- because she knew there was no other way to talk about it. The inner workings of fate and magic were too advanced for any one person to understand and talk about eloquently. “It showed me that you were on your way -- when you showed up, I thought ‘Ah, so my future really has been decided’. But then… things kept changing.” Y/n looks up at him, taking in the expression on his face. He looks lost, confused about the truth -- but there��s something resigned about it, as if he’d accepted that the world was much different than he thought.

“What changed?” He looks down at her before dropping his eyes to their intertwined hands.

“The way I’d seen my future wasn’t the way it always turned out. Eventually I figured out at that the visions the smoke shows you aren’t set in stone -- they’re more potentialities than fact. There was something about the way our reality developed that changed things along the way -- sometimes they were just small details, but sometimes entire events were different… like your accident.” With a furrowed brow and concerned interest, Y/n leans in, urging Namjoon silently to continue. He does so only after a sigh.

“You weren’t supposed to become a prefect. In my visions, we were just normal kids who got into equal amounts of trouble and made it through school without anything remarkable happening. But you were always a high achiever, so when you were made prefect, I was surprised, but happy for you all the same… except… if you hadn’t become a prefect, you wouldn’t have been late to the fireworks show. We would have gone together, and you would have heard the announcement about the stairs because you wouldn’t have been in a meeting that had run late. I wasn’t prepared for you to fall because that wasn’t the reality I had seen… I had no idea that day was going to happen.”

They sit in silence, staring out at the lake together as the words settle in the air above them. It weighs down on them -- the complications of fate and reality, the power of free will in a world ruled by destiny. Things never turn out quite like they’re supposed to, and Y/n can only guess how unimaginably terrifying that would be for someone who’d relied on fate for so long.

“That’s why you were scared I wouldn’t want to be with you -- you were already nervous that things had turned out differently up to this point, so hearing that not even our future is guaranteed tipped you over the edge.” She can see him nodding out of the corner of her eye, and she finally feels like she understands. “Well, even if you have acted like an idiot for the last few weeks, I still want to be with you. I think I always have.” Namjoon squeezes her hand tightly, a breath of relief leaving him -- one that, frankly, she had no idea he’d been holding.

“Well that’s good because I already picked out the necklace I was going to give you at graduation, and it would just be plain awkward to return it.” She turns to him in confusion.

“Necklace? In my vision it was an engagement ring… to be honest, I’m not ready to get married yet.” Namjoon looks at her, eyes shining with mirth.

“That’s also good to hear… I don’t have the money to buy you a ring yet.” She pushes him away, laughter ringing through the air. The word “yet” doesn’t go unnoticed, however, and she tries to hide her face from him as redness creeps up her cheeks. If he catches her blush, he doesn’t say anything about it, instead choosing to move onto a different subject.

“Did you… have a vision about us a few years from now? Living together in a really nice house? I think I was taking a nap?” Y/n smiles and closes her eyes, finding herself leaning against Namjoon as she reminisces on the vision.

“Yeah, you were grading Transfiguration homework, and I was getting home from work… I worked for the Ministry.” He hums, wrapping an arm around her as he reflects on her words.

“In mine you worked at St. Mungo’s -- you were a healer.” There’s a pause, and then he chuckles under his breath. “I think I like you as a healer better. ‘Healer Y/n’ has a sexy ring to it.” With a scoff that sounds a lot more like a laugh than she’d care to admit, Y/n is pushing herself off of him and rising to her feet, leaving him behind as she heads down to the lake. Namjoon’s hand around her wrist a few moments later, pulling her back into his chest, has her laughing openly. Her hands find his waist, where she anchors herself and clings to him, reveling in the fact that she can do this kind of thing now.

They stand there for a while, watching the sun set over the horizon, thinking about their lives up until that point. When the last of the light disappears below the water, Y/n takes a deep breath and lifts her head from Namjoon’s chest to look up at him. Feeling that she’s moved, he glances down at her, realizing only when their noses touch just how close they are.

In a rush of courage that can only be the mark of a Gryffindor, Y/n pushes up on her tippy toes, pressing her lips to his as gently as possible. She isn’t ready for the way the world seems to stop all around her -- she isn’t ready for the way her heart stops, a flame finding its spark within the cavern of her chest. It spreads like wildfire to the rest of her body, getting stronger the longer she kisses him. It burns through her and attracts her to him like an addiction all the same. The love she feels for him in that moment -- coupled with the force of Namjoon reciprocating the emotions, completely in time with her -- is enough to set her skin alight, tearing through every nerve in her body.

Only when it’s too much -- when she feels like she’s going to explode with this burning energy -- does she pull away, breathing embarrassingly hard. She can’t even tell that he’s having the same difficulties as her, having also just experienced the pure collision of forces that had knocked the wind out of her. He barely has time to register that she’s leaning her head against his chest and is whispering something to him in her surge of emotion. What he hears has him lifting her face with his hands as he yearns for another kiss, seven years overdue.

“Thank you, Namjoon… Thank you for waiting for me.”

#bts texts #bts au #bts smau #bts social media au #bts soulmate au #bts hogwarts au #kim namjoon #namjoon x reader #namjoon texts #namjoon au

279 notes · View notes