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etherrreal · 3 years

Text

“when you pass out at practice”

Pairing: tsukishima x reader ; kyotani x reader ; aone x reader Genre: comfort-fluff ; drabbles & headcanons Summary: the reader hasn’t been taking care of herself which leads to her passing out at practice Word Count: 2295 Warnings: fainting, or passing out, from sleep deprivation/not eating/heat exhaustion, some explicit language because i’m an adult A/N: thanks for the fun request! i took a little bit of artistic liberties with the scenario to keep it from being so repetitive so I hope you don’t mind! -Luna

it was rare that you had a beautiful sunny day on a weekend with no chores to attend to or work to complete

so when your boyfriend Tsukishima texted you and asked you to come join him for casual volleyball practice outside, you decided to take him up on that opportunity

however, not even a cap and some cold water could stave off heat exhaustion

Despite it being 95°F and so humid that the air feels thick when you breathe, it is a beautiful day outside. The sky is completely clear of clouds; the sun is shining directly on you as you, your boyfriend, and Yamaguchi head out to practice at the open field nearby Karasuno. The change of scenery was refreshing and even with it feeling just as hot as it usually does inside the school gym, the occasional breeze and lack of sweaty stench was a huge welcomed change.

There’s very little shade provided by the trees, but you lay out a small blanket under the nearest one anyway. You become the bag and bottle keeper when Tsukishima and Yamaguchi hand you their items, your boyfriend dropping it haphazardly onto the blanket while Yamaguchi delicately places it down with a ‘thank you.’

You usually don’t get to see Tsukishima practice, seeing as his normal practices run until the dead of night, so it was fun watching them set and serve the ball back and forth. When the occasional ball lands by your feet, you get the chance to enjoy setting it back to them, even if it often falls short or misses the target completely.

“Thank god you’re not on our team,” Tsukishima teases, as he watches the ball you set fall 6 feet away from him.

“Yeah, because I’d kick your ass. I know I’m a threat, and you should fear me,” you retort sarcastically. Before he turns away to retrieve the ball, you see him crack a small smile at your tomfoolery.

However, after a few hours of getting up and down repeatedly to send the balls back under the beating sun, your head starts to pound. Your body is radiating so much heat it makes you want to remove your skin. You know it’s just a matter of time before you start feeling physically ill, as well. You loosen your cap and drink some cold water in hopes that it will relieve some of the tension, but you just feel the same.

You decide to lay down on the blanket, cap laid over your face to block out the sun. You don’t know if you passed out or if you simply tuned out everything around you for a bit, but you jump when you suddenly feel something wet and cold touching your neck.

You reach up to swat it away, thinking it was a bug when you hear Tsukishima’s voice. “Stop that. I’m trying to help you, dummy.”

Relief washed over you to know that it wasn’t a beetle crawling up your neck but instead your stoic boyfriend pressing his plastic water bottle there to cool you down.

“Yamaguchi thought you died,” he brought up suddenly. “He actually ran to the store to get some more water after I told him to stop overreacting.”

You chuckle, picturing Yamaguchi already mourning over your body just because you were lying down with a cap over your face. “It’s sweet that he cares though, in his own weird way.”

Suddenly, the sky and Tsukishima’s crouching figure are in full view as he flicks the hat off of your face, feeling annoyed that you praised his friend and not him. “What do you think I’m doing, huh?”

“Aww, do you want me to tell you how you’re the bestest, sweetest, most handsome boyfriend I’ve ever had the privilege of knowing, and that I’m so grateful that you’ve graced me with your help?” you whine in a sarcastic tone, making grabby hands at the tall blond hovering over you.

He slaps your hands away, knowing that if you get your hands on him, you’d squeeze his cheeks and ruffle his hair like you always do. “Well, that’s the last time I ever take care of you.”

You know he doesn’t mean it and that, if you were ever in some form of peril, he would casually stroll rush to your rescue to make sure you’re okay. You hope that when you look up at him he can see how much you appreciate his efforts.

“Thank you, Kei,” you say sincerely.

“Yeah, whatever.” He sounds dismissive, but you can tell by the scrunched eyebrows and soft look in his eyes as he gazes down at you how much he worries about your well-being, and you’re genuinely grateful to have him be your unofficial nurse.

you heard from some classmates that your math teacher was seen printing out math quizzes

*cue studious panic*

you decided to completely skip lunch and use that time in the library to hit the books hard

your stomach was rumbling, your head was hurting, and your vision would become spotty if you stood up too quickly

you completed your quiz at the end of the day, but by then, you were starving and ready to get something to eat

in your panic, you forgot that you were supposed to meet kyotani after school so you could force him to go to practice that day (or else Iwaizumi would have your ass)

he heard your stomach make monstrous noises and when you let him know you hadn’t eaten, he looked more upset than usual to see you not taking care of yourself

“Let’s skip practice and get some food,” he suggests.

“What? So you can skip out on one of the few practices you go to? Absolutely not!” you reprimand.

“But you need to eat.”

“Look at you being a sweet boyfriend who cares,” you tease, watching him roll his eyes like he’s annoyed, but the pink hue dusting his cheeks says otherwise. “I’ll be fine. I should have an extra granola bar in my bag somewhere.”

"Whatever, if you say so." He turns his body diagonally, a gesture you know means 'walk with me.' Kyotani has never been keen on PDA, but one thing you have noticed is that he prefers for you to walk directly by his side at all times. To others, it may look like he’s uninterested in you, but you can tell by how often his arm brushes yours that it’s his way of showing affection.

You stroll across campus together, enjoying a quiet conversation with Kyotani about your day thus far. It doesn’t take long for you to reach the gym entrance, already hearing the balls slamming against the ground inside. You both switch out your shoes before walking in, him going to join his teammates and you finding a seat on the sidelines, seeing Iwaizumi give you a thumbs up for your job well done.

You take a moment to search through your bag for that granola bar you mentioned earlier. After sifting through books, loose notes, and forgotten pencils and pens, you realize you have no snack to tide you over until the end of practice.

The market is just down the road. I could probably go pick something up and be back quickly.

You wave Iwaizumi over, figuring you’ll tell him your plans while Kyotani is distracted so he won’t follow you out. You see his back turned to you as Oikawa speaks to the rest of the team, gesturing wildly with a volleyball in hand.

As Iwaizumi gets closer, you stand up and immediately begin to sway. Your vision grows spotted, and your head feels like it’s floating.

You hear Kyotani yell out your name before everything goes black.

When you wake up, the lights are beaming overhead as you lay in some sort of bed. Once you’re coherent enough, you sit up, looking around to see that you’re in the school nurse’s office. You pick up your hand to hold your still aching head when you notice a very angry Kyotani attached to it, already glaring at you.

Your mouth opens and closes repeatedly, not quite knowing what to say after you just passed out in the middle of practice.

"I told you that we should've gotten something to eat," he starts, growling out each word.

You shrink into yourself, feeling embarrassed that you've upset him and couldn’t even take care of yourself properly. "I'm sorry, Kentaro.”

He notices you plucking the lint off your shirt to avoid direct eye contact with him. His eyes close as he collects himself, realizing that now’s not the time to lecture you for something you couldn’t have predicted.

He sighs, standing up slightly to lean over your slumped figure, laying a kiss on your temple. He mumbles a quiet apology against your skin, feeling bad for snapping at you when he should’ve been more kind. He’s working on that, slowly but surely.

“Let’s go get something to eat,” he says, holding your hand while you stand slowly from the bed. You wobble slightly, Kyotani quickly wrapping his arm around your waist to stabilize you. You give him a nod when you’re firmly on your two feet.

“From now on, if you’re hungry, tell me.”

You agreed reluctantly, not exactly wanting him to worry so much but knowing he wouldn’t let you leave without your compliance.

From then on, he always makes sure to check on you to check if you've eaten or if you need one of the many granola bars he now carries, and while sometimes it's annoying to have him acting like a mother hen, it's also very heartwarming to know that he cares about you that much. Not to mention, he’s saved your ass many times when you have to study overtime for another intense math quiz.

the end of the semester was coming to a close and you were scrambling to get everything done on time

there weren't enough hours in the day to study for finals, finish projects, complete homework, and also take care of your human needs, like eating and sleeping

so, you just didn't sleep one night, opting to stay up with some caffeine to power through all of your work

at the beginning of the next day, you felt energetic and peppy, but as it went on, the sluggish feeling started to settle in

by the end, you were feeling absolutely exhausted and ready to drop at any moment

however, you still wanted to accompany Aone to practice that day, as it was your favorite part of your week

aone initially insisted that you head home without him, but he realized it might be safer to go with him after practice, just in case you fell asleep on the train

It feels like it takes ages, but eventually, practice begins to wind down, soreness seeping into each and every team member’s muscles after hours on their feet. A few of them are still practicing quick attacks with each other, but Aone is one more move away from passing out from exhaustion.

He walks over to you sitting on the sidelines, watching you take longer and longer between each blink. Yet, when he gets close enough, you still manage to give him a small smile that kicks his heart into overdrive, his face, no doubt, resembling a tomato because of the gesture.

He sits on the creaky folding chair beside you, taking gulps of his water to try to cool himself down. He almost chokes when he feels your head press up against his shoulder, hand resting on his forearm gently. Sitting still as a rock, he tries to take his mind off his cute partner cuddling up next to him.

"We should stop somewhere and pick up some food on the way to the train,” he suggests, doing his best to ignore the warmth filling his cheeks. “Do you want anything specific?"

You're silent beside him. At first, he thinks you're contemplating what to eat, seeing as you're very particular with your cravings. But when two minutes pass, and there's not even a peep from you, he looks down carefully to find you knocked out against his shoulder, face squished uncomfortably and mouth parting with each deep breath you take.

Aone never pictured this happening to him –mostly because he didn't think he'd ever have a partner who'd feel comfortable enough around him– so he didn't quite know where to go from here. He could wake you up to at least bring you home, but if this is the first time you've slept in over 24 hours, he didn't want to deprive you of more necessary sleep.

The only way Aone can think of bringing you home is to carry you all the way to the train station and... Well, that's as far as he manages to get, but future Aone will figure the rest out.

He asks Futakuchi to gather his things for him because he doesn't want to risk waking you. After some light teasing, he hands Aone his packed duffle and helps put on his jacket with minimal stirring from you.

Aone thanks his friend with a nod before turning to you and slipping his arms under you, one beneath your knees and the other behind your back. He freezes when you begin shifting around, but relaxes once you settle into him.

Aone waves at his team on the way out, with what movement he is allowed, and begins his trek to the train station nearby.

His arms are aching after hours of practice, but it doesn’t matter, because you nuzzling into his neck with an adorable sigh gives him enough strength to carry you halfway across the country if he needs to.

Written by: Luna

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gingersnaaps · 3 years

Text

red light, green light

If there’s one thing that being with Aran Ojiro has taught you, it’s the importance of trust.

wc: 2.2k

tags/tw's(PLEASE READ): explicit n*fw, noncon, very unhealthy portrayal of bdsm dynamics, bondage, breathplay bc deepthroat, bratty/switchy!reader at the start turns into sub!reader, blowjob, penetration, fem!reader with inner genitals

a/n: written for @fallensvint's collab!! not proofread,, ill get to it later

i don’t want minors interacting with my content

The first time he’d wrapped those ties around your wrist, smooth and silky and surprisingly secure, you’d stared at him with confusion.

“Aran,” you mumbled. “What’s our safeword?”

He smiled, clicking his tongue and shaking his head. “Don’t you trust me?”

You’d been a bit apprehensive in the beginning, but as it turned out, he was right.

Every time he fucked you after that, every time he bound your wrists and spanked you until your ass glowed red - he always knew when to stop. It was as if he had some kind of sixth sense, a magic ability to read every twitch of your hips and crease of your brows, all the subtle signs that laid bare your inner thoughts and feelings. He knew when to give you more, when to slow down, when to stop entirely.

All you had to do was to close your eyes and let him take over. It felt easy. It felt right.

You suppose it made sense, too. He was a little older, a little wiser, and much more experienced. He knew what he was doing, and he was the one who showed you the ropes - quite literally. Aran knew how to tie all sorts of different knots, square knots and half-hitches and lark’s heads, letting you watch with your eyes blown wide as he threaded the rope into intricate patterns.

Still, at the end of the day, your favorite toy would always be the silk ties he’d first used. They had this allure to them, this magnetic pull that radiated out from the box in which he kept them. And when he used them to bind your wrists nice and tight, deft hands working quickly as the silk slid across your skin, your mind would always blur into a thick haze of arousal and want that left your cunt dripping with heat.

Sex was always better when he tied you up.

He didn’t have to hold you down, because the ties did the work for him, the restraints leaving your mind fogged up with submission, every thought wiped clean except the urge to be a good girl for him. It made him lose his fucking mind to see your doe eyes peering up through the lashes, begging oh-so-sweetly for him to fuck you. And since you always asked so nicely, he’s more than happy to oblige you.

He pounds his cock into your tight, quivering little hole, hips snapping relentlessly, each drag of this dick against your slick, sensitive walls coaxing a squeal from your lips, your cunt fluttering pathetically as pleasure starts to twist in your gut. You’d never deny how good it felt to be fucked stupid while tied up.

But there was more to your little obsession with his silk ties than just that.

There was some small part of you, some unexplainable compulsion, hidden beneath your sweet cries and high-pitched whimpers, that wanted to find out what Aran would look like if he was on the receiving end of things.

You wanted to see what he’d do.

It happens on a Saturday morning.

He’s exhausted from a full week of work - the volleyball season is in full swing again, and it always takes him some time to readjust, even if he doesn’t normally sleep in. It’s rare that you wake up earlier than him.

And maybe the alcohol you’d been drinking last night hadn’t worn off entirely, or maybe you were just feeling a little bold that day, a little impulsive, because you take one look at his sleeping form before you reach under the bed for his little box of toys. Sure, you hadn’t exactly discussed this with him beforehand - but he’d done similar things to you before: tied you up without warning, tried different positions in the middle of sex, little things here and there that were never really expected. The surprise was just supposed to be part of the fun, right?

The soft light of early morning filters in through the windows and sets his skin aglow. He looks so at peace when he’s asleep, so calm, the lines in his forehead and the bags under his eyes melting as he dozes away.

There’s not so much as a twitch from him as you tie his wrists together.

You pull aside the comforter, crawling on top of him until your face is inches away from his clothed cock. He looks so good like this - so handsome - the outline of his dick pressing up near his thigh, his toned legs exposed to the cold morning air. You press soft kisses along his inner thigh, trailing your lips up and down the shaft of his cock, dragging the tip of your tongue against the fabric.

There’s a soft rustling noise, and you feel him shift beneath you. “Babe?” he mumbles, voice thick with sleep.

You giggle nervously. “Good morning, Aran.”

“What are you doing?”

You blink up at him through your lashes and pull down his boxers. His cock springs out - it’s half-hard already, the tip slightly swollen, and you trail a finger over the leaking slit.

“Nice way to wake up, I won’t lie,” he says, sighing happily. He shifts slightly, as if trying to get up - and freezes.

You feel his body tense up, thighs flexing as you flick your tongue along his length.

“What happened to my hands?”

Your heart rate spikes. His voice is a bit more measured now, a bit more controlled, an underlying warning threaded through every word.

“Did you tie me up?” he asks, soft and dangerous.

You’re too flustered to make eye contact with him any longer, ducking away under his gaze. You nod hesitantly. His cock strains, twitching slightly, and you wrap your velvet lips around the head, taking him into your warm, wet, mouth with a pop.

“You better get these restraints off right fucking now.”

His outburst startles you. You weren’t expecting such a strong reaction, but the anger that undercuts his words is clear as day. If you untie him now, you know you’ll be in for a hell of an extremely unpleasant ride, one that might end with your ass blooming with bruises and face stained with tears.

For the first time since you’d gotten with Aran, the emotion that seeps into your veins isn’t excitement.

It’s fear.

You stay mute, bringing your hands up to scratch lightly across his thigh, drawing a groan from his chest. Your cunt pulses involuntarily at the noise he makes.

Maybe if you make him cum hard enough, he’ll forgive you.

It’s this faint, stupid, hope that makes you stretch your throat around his cock, trying to fit as much of him in as possible, lips bulging as you drool and slobber around him. It’s messy, pathetic - but your goal isn’t to preserve your dignity. It’s to make him feel good enough to let this slide.

“Feels so fuckin’ good, sweetheart,” he breathes, hips bucking upwards, cock sliding in further past your swollen, shiny, lips.

Maybe your strategy would even work.

You bob up and down, working his cock until it grows rock-hard against your tongue, the head pulsing and throbbing in your mouth, your tongue tracing along the underside of each vein. Precum dribbles down your throat, salty and slick, and you swallow eagerly. Your mind grows hazy as you slide yourself further down onto his dick, the up-and-down, back-and-forth motion intoxicating as he fills up every sense you have with his taste, his scent, the sight of his abs flexing as he strains against your mouth. You feel a hand slide to rest on top of your head, and you melt.

The expression on your face when the realization finally hits is too fucking precious.

You pull off of his cock, a string of drool still hanging from the corner of your lips, eyes darting around frantically. The silk bindings that you’d wrapped around his wrists lie in tatters on the bed, all torn and ripped, and Aran stretches leisurely.

“Why’d you stop?” he asks, the barest hint of a grin in his voice. “I didn’t say that you could stop.”

He leans forward, grabbing onto the top of your head, and drags you back to him until your lips are grazing the tip of his cock again. Disappointment is etched onto his features, but it’s a strange, twisted sort of disappointment - his eyes glitter, his pupils dilating - almost as if he’s giddy that you’d messed up and made a fool of yourself.

“Please,” you whimper. “D-don’t-”

“You know what happens to bad girls, don’t you?” he asks gravely, shaking his head. “Bad girls get punished. Don’t complain if you get what you deserve.”

With that, he forces your mouth back onto his dick, but with the help of his insistent hands, you’re able to take him even deeper than you were before. Your throat burns red and raw as he shoves your little mouth as deep as possible on his cock, gorging you on his thick, swollen length, impaling you on his dick until your eyes begin to tear up.

“Need to breathe,” you mumble, but your words are barely coherent with your mouth stuffed so full. The only noise that comes through are your small, desperate moans, and the little gagging noises from the back of your throat.

“What’s that?” he asks, nonchalant. “Didn’t hear you properly, baby. Speak up.”

It’s at this point that panic begins to flood your veins. Your head hurts from how hard he’s gripping it, a dull, throbbing ache that leaves tears trickling down your face. You’re not sure he’s going to relent any time soon, either, because Aran seems dead set on making sure he sees your punishment through, even if it means leaving your jaw sore and tender for days. A haze begins to settle over your brain from the lack of oxygen, black spots creeping into the edges of your vision -

You lose it.

"Red," you scream against his cock. "Red." You faintly remember reading somewhere that this was the word that meant stop, the one that was used when things went to far.

"I'm not sure what that means, baby."

“Please, Aran,” you cry. “I’m serious. Stop. Stop. I’m not kidding.”

Your chest heaves uncontrollably with your sobs, tears and drool mixing as slick drips down his shaft and onto his fat balls. The words you want to get out aren’t really coming through, but you keep trying, slobbering all around his dick as your muffled moans vibrate against his crotch.

He sighs. “Alright, alright. You’re a bit softer than I thought.”

His words send a pang of hurt through your chest - you’d tried your hardest, and wasn’t that enough? - but it’s pure relief that floods into your veins when he finally drags you off of his cock. You gasp for air, wheezing and coughing as oxygen finally floods into your lungs.

You look pretty, he thinks. A bit like a drowned kitten, with your lashes wet, your hair messed up, and lips all bitten and swollen and leaking with drool.

It makes his cock twitch against his stomach.

He flips you over onto the bed, pinning your wrists down, and lines the tip of his cock up so it prods at your entrance. “Ready?” he asks.

And to be honest, you’re not, but at least he’s stopped choking you with his cock. Maybe you should be grateful for that.

When he pushes his cockhead past your tight, clenched pussy lips, it’s unbearably slow. It leaves your insides aching, raw and needy, even when the drag of his dick against your slick, ribbed, walls stops, even when he’s bottomed out and his balls are tapping gently against your cunt. He fucks you slow and deep, pushing up against your g-spot, breaking you apart on his cock until you’re sobbing again for an entirely different reason.

This is punishment, remember?

It feels like hours have gone by before that familiar wave of pleasure begins to build steadily in your core. Every thrust of his hips leaves you reeling, eyes rolling back into your head, fingers fisting at the bedsheets - but he’s still fucking you so slowly it hurts. Your cunt clenches uselessly, greedy and desperate, as if it’s trying to keep him buried inside you, and it draws a breathy chuckle from his lips.

“Close?” he asks, pulling his cock out almost all the way.

You nod eagerly and buck your hips up. You don’t really care if you look stupid or pathetic, because all you want right now is for him to speed up his maddeningly slow pace, to fuck you until you’re drooling into the mattress.

He pushes back in, snapping his hips harshly, and you squeal - you’re right on the precipice, your orgasm building and coiling tight in your gut, the walls of your cunt cinching around his cock like a vice -

He pulls out.

You’re silent for a few seconds, brain still too hazy to comprehend what he’s doing, but then you hear him speak, voice low and rough, and you shiver.

“Bad girls don’t get to cum.”

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alderaani · 3 years

Text

more than gold

summary: A lost Jedi Temple, a riddle, some literature, and feelings that Cody isn't ready to speak out loud. | AO3

note: written for @codywanweek and the alt day 5 prompt Sith/Jedi Artefact Shenanigans! sliding in on the last day with one more thing written than expected, so i’m happy with that! i’m pretty ill today so i hope it actually makes some coherent sense 😂 also if the riddle was super obvious, soz, never written one before and turns out it’s really hard.

“You know, I could have sworn I told you not to touch that,” Cody says conversationally, from where he’s splayed out on his back.

“Really? I’m sure I didn’t hear you,” Obi-Wan says, cheerful despite being crumpled in a heap. His elbow is in Cody’s gut. Cody glares at him.

The room they’re lying in is circular, stone, carved out of some Forced-damned mountain and according to Obi-wan, practically thrumming with power. The ceiling is high and vaulted, letting in slivers of light where intricate mirror systems catch the sunlight of double suns and project it deep underground. It takes on a slightly blue cast, reflecting off the huge pool of water they were lucky to not fall into. Four walkways at each cardinal point lead to a central platform, and interspersed between them are four waterfalls.

It should be serene. Except now the waterfalls are travelling backwards, and all the doors, including the one they came in by, are blocked. Cody scrambles up onto his elbows, dislodging Obi-Wan with a grunt.

“What did you do?”

Obi-Wan follows his gaze and gasps, delighted. “Now, will you look at that?”

Cody is looking. Frankly, he doesn’t trust this place enough to not keep his eye on it at all times. Obi-Wan keeps saying that this temple was built long ago, by ancient, peaceful Jedi as a place of learning, and that it won’t hurt them. After they got cut off from the rest of their men at the entrance, however, Cody thinks he could be forgiven for having his doubts.

As Obi-Wan himself proves, peace-keeping hardly rules out danger.

“Amazing,” Obi-Wan breathes, hoisting himself to his feet without a second glance, to walk back up to the plinth and stalk round it, examining the incomprehensible runes engraved there.

Cody is left to peel himself off the floor, and instead goes to prod at the barriers now sealing the exits with the end of his blaster. He tries not to look too much at Obi-Wan, at the soft sweep of his hair and the span of his shoulders. Being on their own like this is something he’s avoided, of late - not because he doesn’t enjoy it, but because he’s starting to enjoy it all too much.

He doesn’t trust the way his heart leaps when Obi-Wan smiles, when he asks him to call him ‘Obi-Wan’, when the cycle draws on and they’re up late again, companionably finishing reports and debating strategy. Or, as they had been doing until Cody got cold feet and started finding excuses, debating novels, which Obi-Wan checked out of the Temple archives and read aloud, one chapter at a time, before they turned in for the night.

He doesn’t trust himself not to ruin this by overstepping. There’s something about his general that makes him lose all control of his tongue, and puts him in danger of voicing thoughts that really he should not be having at all.

It’s agony. It’s bliss. It’s stretching him to breaking point, and this is possibly the worst situation they could have ended up in, really.

“These are made out of water,” he says over his shoulder, grunting as he tries to push his blaster through. He is, of course, unsuccessful.

“Ingenious,” Obi-Wan says. “How did they manage that, I wonder?”

Cody cuts a glance back at him, and grins, despite his exasperation.

“You’re not more worried about how we’re going to get out?”

Obi-Wan waves a hand. “I’m sure the path will reveal itself, in time. Oh, look - Cody, I think this is a puzzle!”

Cody bites back a groan. They do not have time for this. They never really had time for it, but Obi-Wan promised it would be a brief detour on their way to the capital for hyperspace lane access negotiations. He’d looked so excited by recon reports of a lost temple that Cody just hadn’t been able to say no. He’s never able to say no to Obi-Wan, even when he isn’t following orders. It’s probably his fatal flaw.

“I don’t suppose there’s an off switch? A back button?” He asks hopelessly. The Force, at least the Jedi sort, very rarely seems to work that way. Obi-Wan is always talking about moving through problems, about seeking balance and adapting to what’s around you, rather than manipulating it. It’s not Cody’s favoured approach; he was trained to leverage his environment to its maximum advantage, and finds he has little patience for anything else.

Obi-Wan snorts. “This is a defensive mechanism, I’m afraid. Judging by the architecture this was built at the height of the Sith Wars. This artefact is designed to trap us here until we understand the mechanism and progress, or until, back when the temple was occupied, someone would come and deal with the intruder.”

“That doesn’t sound very peaceful,” Cody says.

Obi-Wan shoots him an amused look, the warm, soft kind that makes heat rise from the pit of Cody’s belly right up to his ears.

“Even a pacifist may defend himself,” he says, then leans over the pedestal. “Now, how about you stop grousing and come help me with this?”

Cody rolls his eyes, but goes, slinging his blaster across his back and crossing his arms.

“And stop looming,” Obi-Wan laughs, catching one of Cody’s gloved hands and pulling it down to rest at his side. The simple touch makes Cody’s cheeks burn.

“Don’t see what help I can give you, Sir,” he says, frowning down at the characters surrounding the bright blue artefact. “I was never any good at Ithorian.”

Obi-Wan pauses, then tilts his head up. “Ah. Is that what it is?”

“I - I think so?” Cody was never any good at his language flashtraining; he never had the proper patience for it, but he can usually figure out the basics.

“No, no,” Obi-Wan muses, stroking at his beard with his free hand. “You’re quite right. Goodness me, it's been a long time since I last saw this dialect. Let’s see now…”

Cody steps back and waits, keeping his attention firmly split between their blocked exit points while Obi-Wan ponders. The slow upward movement of the waterfalls is eerie - it still makes noise, but none of it is right. Instead of the gentle patter he expects of water joining a larger pool, there’s a faint gurgling as they move further into each grate, travelling somewhere he cannot see.

Obi-Wan finishes his fifth circle round the platform, and the hand at his chin goes still. Cody stands at attention, expectant.

“It’s a riddle,” Obi-Wan says, and if possible, his delight grows. “Yes - the language is coming back to me now. Do you know, I haven’t looked at Ithorian in maybe 12 years?”

“Sir?” Cody says, tilting his head to look at the characters more closely. He doesn’t have even a passing proficiency at modern Ithorian, and presumably it’s changed a bit over the millennia. His training was focused on the basics, and only the useful bits, at that. He thinks he can make out the words for ‘ water ’, and ‘ enemy’ , both of which are either unhelpfully descriptive or frankly discouraging, but that’s about the extent of it.

“My old master - he loved prophecies. When I was a teenager I could never see the point of it, but it meant I spent a lot of time learning the old Ithorian dialects. They’re known as the most peaceful species, did you know?” Obi-Wan shakes his head. “They’ll exile anyone violent, it’s quite remarkable, really. I suppose in some sort of idealistic emulation, a lot of the early Jedi texts are written in their dialect.”

His blue eyes are keen, his laser sharp focus firmly on the podium. It gives Cody a moment to observe his clever fingers, the long line of his neck, the open delight with which he tackles this new problem. It’s a rare thing, to see him so relaxed, and Cody can’t help the fond smile that creeps up on him despite the circumstances. This almost makes it worth it, and on reflection, he’d rather an ancient temple than the last thing that had made Obi-Wan so happy; a wretched, bioluminescent fungus, which had infected half the battalion and given them hives. Their general had studied it for weeks.

Obi-Wan’s lips quirk up. Cody barely trusts himself to speak.

“I didn’t know, Sir,” Cody croaks, then pauses, fishing for something normal to say. “Didn’t we have to defend the governor’s daughter from an Ithorian bounty hunter on Ganaris-IV?”

“Well,” Obi-Wan grins. “Those exiles have to go somewhere, don’t they?”

Cody huffs a laugh and reaches up to scratch his neck at the seam of his bucket.

“Let’s just hope they didn’t all come here. What’s this riddle, then?”

Obi-Wan shifts to the side, then points at a spot on the podium. “As I said, it’s been a long time, but I think it starts here, and goes something like:

A thing to be forged, where water is thicker,

Worth more than gold, unless it’s pyrite that glitters.

An enemy of my enemy, or in hard times, in need,

Sometimes fair-weather, or in high places indeed.

What are you, traveller? ”

All of Cody’s hopes that it would be something nice and obvious, like “lightsaber” or, given what’s going on around them, “gravity”, escape from him like smoke. Jedi and their metaphors. It’s not just a quirk of Obi-Wan’s, clearly.

“Does that mean anything to you, Sir?” he asks, turning the words over in his head once, twice, then frowning when nothing comes immediately.

Obi-Wan’s brow is also furrowed, but in a leisurely, meditative manner.

“...I have some ideas, I think,” he says. “How about you, my friend?”

What does he think? He thinks that there are other sorts of puzzles he is much better suited to. Word play and idioms...what does a clone have to offer that?

Still, Obi-Wan is watching him, expectant and gentle, and he sifts back through the lines, a little more seriously this time.

“Ice, maybe?”

Obi-Wan nods, slowly. “Perhaps. Walk me through it.”

Cody swallows. “Ice is something that can be made, right? It’s not exactly forged, but…”

He trails off in uncertainty.

“Go on,” Obi-Wan says with another one of those soft, devastating smiles. It fractures all the thoughts in Cody’s head, and he has to stop, clear his throat and gather up all the pieces.

“I suppose...it’s just thicker water, isn’t it? On warm planets it’s a valuable commodity, it’s found in high places, and I suppose if you wanted snow, a freeze would be fair weather.”

Obi-Wan is rubbing his beard again, and he’s still smiling. “Fascinating. I would never have thought of that...only, I don’t think it’s quite there. That mention of pyrite is troublesome, and the ‘enemy of my enemy’, where does that fit in?”

Cody shrugs his shoulders, frustrated, and feels a hot flush creep up his neck. “Don’t know why you’re asking me, to be honest, Sir. Kamino hardly covered poetry.”

There’s a slight pause, then Obi-Wan’s hand is on his again, tugging it slowly down from where he’s crossed his arms.

“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” he says, soft.

“Do what?” Cody’s voice is gruff.

“Dismiss yourself. You do it sometimes when we’re reading together. There is often no right and wrong answer to these things, no secret. There is only perspective, and you see things I never would, if only you would trust yourself.”

Cody looks down and away, back towards the waterfalls and their slow, glacial climb. He isn’t sure that’s true. He enjoys what Obi-Wan shares with him, what other lives he gets to touch in their books, but more than anything they convince him that, beyond war, he knows very little of anything at all. He would like to, someday.

His eyes land on Obi-Wan’s lips briefly, before he tears them away. Particular experiences he would like to know more than others.

There was one book that Obi-Wan had read early on, back when this infatuation was just setting its first tendrils into him, about a forbidden romance at the heart of the old Mandalorian court. Two heirs of rival clans battling to be together against the good approval of their noble relatives. It had been torrid, ridiculous and entirely unexpected when Obi-Wan had suggested they break up their reports with some literature.

But what it had done was give him the words to express the crawling heat in his stomach, the urge he has to reach out, to touch, to soothe, to care for. He’d known what he wanted before that, of course, in a more rudimentary manner, but it had gifted him the language of yearning.

Suddenly, a particular passage springs into his mind and he straightens.

“You don’t think it could mean ally, do you? In Beneath the Armour, Mata threatens Clan Riza by saying he has ‘allies in high places’.”

Obi-Wan pauses, and then a brilliant smile spreads over his face. “Yes, that’s it! Pyrite - Fool’s Gold; a false friend! Brilliant Cody, whatever made you think of that?”

Cody grins, even though Obi-Wan can’t see it, and doesn’t answer.

“Is that really it?”

“I think you’re very close,” Obi-Wan says. “The characters engraved into the platform...yes! Stand close to me, Commander.”

Cody does, watching curiously as Obi-Wan lifts his hands, shuts his eyes, frowns, and pushes . Six blocks that make up the platform lift, the characters on each glowing bright, lurid blue. Under their feet, something scrapes, shifts and clunks, before the platform lurches upwards, spinning gently.

There’s a thunderous gurgling sound, before all of the pool beneath drains away.

“The answer,” Obi-Wan says, slightly breathless, his hair a little out of place. “Was friend.”

“The doorways are still blocked,” Cody notes drily. The plinth with the blue orb that started this whole mess has also risen, and underneath it are a set of very wet, slimy looking steps. “I don’t suppose it’s as simple as just walking down these and getting in?”

“Likely not,” Obi-Wan agrees, then inexplicably shifts a little closer, so that they are sharing space. Cody’s heart skips a beat. “But it’s like I told you, Cody. You are far greater than what you have been given.”

Cody coughs and looks at his feet, at their boots almost toe to toe, pleasure at the praise singing low through his body.

“Now,” Obi-Wan says, too close and not close enough. “How do you feel about another puzzle?”

Cody groans, laughing, and after a moment, follows his General into the dark.

#codywanweek2021 #codywan #obi wan kenobi #commander cody #alderwrites #i would tag this jedi culture but i literally pulled this out of my ass #there is absolutely no basis in canon here #only vibes #the clone wars #star wars #codywan week 2021

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windless-hurricane · 3 years

Text

Sparks

Chapter Four: A World Where We Can Grow Old

A Reiner x Reader x (Eventual) Jean Fanfic

• ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ •

SUMMARY: After the fall of Shiganshina, you joined the military along with your brother. You had hoped to bring peace to the world by doing so, but the world was a cruel place. You seemed to lose more than you gained, but there was always someone - someone who made losing just a bit…easier. You hoped you could keep them forever, but was there a guarantee in this world?

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Here’s the fourth chapter! While things are a bit slow right now, the story’s really going to pick up after this chapter!

WARNINGS (for entire series): Language, explicit violence, talks of death, suicide, trauma, and mental illness, graphic scenes involving blood and/or death, and sexuality.

WORD COUNT: 2.2k

TAGLIST: @lovethemilkteasis @grayxblaze @theyoungblood13 @flowersgirl02 @noodlenerd101 @hanabihwa @drowned-pathetic-rat @bestgirlb @bleepop @miinnttyy @1-800-thanos @lovelime @usernamehere91

SPARKS MASTERLIST

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

• ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ •

You and your brother stood beside each other as a stream of smoke poured into the sky. You wondered where it came from, how it got there, why it was there, and your questions were answered once a colossal, red hand slung itself over the wall and grabbed onto it.

You flinched uneasily as your eyes widened in fear.

What’s happening? What’s going on? What is that? Is that… Is that a-

Then, a large, skinless face peeked over, its teeth clenching and its gaze terrifying.

It was. It was a Titan, but how...how could it be that big? It was impossible.

Your body trembled as you reached for Viktor's hand. He met you in the middle, gripping your hand back tightly. You could feel the heat and sweat from his skin, showing just how mortified he was.

“V-Vik-tor, I…” you stuttered, but you couldn’t form a coherent sentence. Your mind was going wild and you could feel your heart clenching in your chest.

What-what do we do? Where’s the Garrison Regiment? Where’s Jannick? Where’s dad?

Anybody?

Then, a sudden force shoved you to the ground as the Titan kicked through the wall, sending chunks of it flying.

People screamed, pushed past each other, and ran for whatever time was left of their lives. However, you couldn’t. You were frozen.

Everything was a blur and your ears filled with static.

What should I do?

However, you didn’t have time to ponder that question as a boulder headed straight for you.

This is it. I’m gonna die.

“(Y/N)! Move! (Y/N)!”

__________________________________________

“(Y/N)!”

You gasped yourself awake, sitting up in a panic.

You were panting heavily with sweat dripping down your forehead. You barely managed to wipe it away with your shaky hand. Matter of fact, your whole body was shaking.

“Are you okay,” Sasha asked, gazing at you with worried eyes. Admittedly, no. Your heart was still beating out of its chest and you felt your head begin to pound. However, you couldn’t dwell on something that has already happened. It’s over.

“I’m fine,” you responded, but the hoarseness of your voice didn’t match your words.

“Are you sure,” she pushed. “Because you don’t look like it.” She gestured to your hand and you were surprised to see that you had been clenching your blanket so tightly that the whites of your knuckles were showing. You hadn’t even realized that you were gripping it.

You let go, your knuckle cracking in the process.

“Yeah,” you nodded and you were about to relax until a new form of panic arose within you. “Wait, Sasha. Are we late?”

“Uh, well…” she trailed off. “We’re about to be.” Your eyes widened as you immediately threw yourself off the bed.

“You should’ve said that to begin with,” you exclaimed, shuffling around for your uniform. “We can’t be late for combat training!”

__________________________________________

You and Sasha made a run for the training grounds and were lucky to see that the rest of the cadets were still waiting for Shadis’s instruction.

You sighed a breath of relief as you lined up beside her, not noticing Reiner standing on the other side of you.

He unconsciously looked you over and noticed your disheveled appearance. You had a bad case of bed hair and a few buckles of your uniform had come undone. He also noticed the sheen of sweat covering your face and how you were breathing a little heavier than normal. Either you just woke up late or something else had happened. He wasn’t sure which.

As Shadis made his way up to the speaking platform, all side conversations came to a halt and he turned to face you all with a hard gaze.

“Alright, maggots,” he shouted, making your ears ring. “Today, we are engaging in combat training! While some of you may think this is unnecessary as you obviously can’t use hand-to-hand combat against a Titan...” You and a few cadets snickered. “Shut up!”

You smirked as he continued on. “As I was saying, if you’re lucky enough to make it into the Top 10 and join the Military Police, you won’t be dealing with Titans. You’ll be dealing with people, criminals, thugs. Likewise with the Garrison Regiment. Therefore, it is important to know basic fighting skills and how to defend yourself in any situation… Do your meager minds understand?!”

“Yes, sir,” you all replied in unison.

“Good, now listen for your partners!”

“Sir, if I may ask, why can’t we choose our own partners,” you asked suddenly, causing your peers to gape at you like they did at orientation. However, you were unfazed, even after Shadis shot you the same death glare as before.

“No, you may not ask, Bauer,” Shadis growled and you attempted to suppress your smile. “Now, run laps until I’ve finished. Afterwards, get your ass handed to you by Braun.”

“Yes, sir,” you saluted, shooting a glance at Reiner as he smirked at you. “If he can even beat me,” you countered, speaking so quietly that only Reiner could hear you.

As you jogged past him toward the dirt track, he watched you with amusement.

You certainly weren’t like the other girls in the Training Corps. You somehow managed to be sweet, fiery, and so sure of yourself all at once. You always spoke your mind and were seemingly fearless, choosing to mess with the scariest person there without a care in the world. Finally, you were awfully kind, taking care of your brother whenever you could and indulging in his own mischievousness, even if it meant the both of you potentially getting trouble. He even saw you do the same with Sasha and Eren.

You truly were something else.

He grinned faintly as he found you smirking back at him.

“We’ll see about that, hotshot,” he murmured.

__________________________________________

Once Shadis had finished announcing everyone’s partners, you jogged over to Reiner, panting slightly.

He raised his eyebrows at you as you came to a stop a few feet in front of him.

“How was the jog,” he teased and you scoffed in response.

“Nothing compared to the swimming I had to endure on the first day,” you admitted, clearing your throat.

“Why do you always annoy him when you know full well what he’s going to do?” The question would have sounded condescending coming from anyone else, but you could tell he was more amused than anything.

“I don’t like him,” you stated bluntly. “And…” your eyes began to soften. “I think we ought to have some fun while we’re here.”

“Huh,” he breathed, taken aback by your answer.

Fun? In times like these, he thought to himself.

“I know what you’re thinking,” you chuckled. “Fun? In times like these? I know. The world is so dark these days, but I think we need to be reminded that we’re still alive. We need to laugh, smile, feel happiness. Most importantly, be human and how could we do that if we’re scared or in grief all the time? I still don’t like him, but if you all are entertained along the way, fine by me.”

He gazed at you admirably, unsure of how to process your words. He felt...conflicted more than anything.

“You really are one of a kind, (Y/N),” he commented, his voice coming out smoother than how he felt on the inside.

Your cheeks blushed faintly as you grinned.

“If I didn’t know any better, Reiner, I’d say you were flirting with me rather than trying to fight me,” you cooed and he let out a chuckle through his nose.

“And what if I was,” he suggested with a glint in his eyes.

“I'd still say to fight me.”

You raised your arms in a fighting stance and he quirked his eyebrow at you.

“I haven’t seen a stance like that before,” he observed, putting his own arms up. “Where’d you learn it?”

“Enough talking!”

You charged at Reiner with a plan already in mind.

I’ll go for a punch towards his face. Once he decides to either block it or pull away from it, I’ll sweep his legs right from underneath him.

You went for your punch, but he unexpectedly didn’t do either. He instead grabbed your fist tightly, not allowing you to pull away, and twisted your arm behind your back. He pulled you against him and your face heated up as his chest pressed into you.

“I don’t think you expected that, (Y/N),” he whispered, his breath fanning your cheek. “I thought I wasn’t going to be able to beat you.” You honestly thought so too, but you were overconfident. It made sense that he was able to stop you. He was confident too, but just the right amount. He also knew how to fight.

Although your arm was starting to hurt from his grip, you still smirked with excitement.

“The fight doesn’t end until one of us is pinned down,” you stated, stomping down on his foot.

He groaned as he released his hold on you and you threw your head back, coming into contact with his chin. As a result, he lost his footing and you took the opportunity to crouch down and swipe your leg underneath his. He fell to the ground and you threw yourself on top of him. You bent your right leg at the knee and dug it into his thigh, holding his other leg down in the process. You used your left foot to keep one of his arms down. Then, you pinned his wrist with one of your hands and used the other to keep his head against the ground. You smiled, letting out a quick exhale.

“I pinned you.”

“Let’s make a deal,” and you gaped down at him in surprise. Why did he look and sound so nonchalant despite his position?

“What?”

“Whoever’s pinned down last has to do something for the other,” he explained.

“If you can even-“ Before you could finish, he propped his knee up from under you and your foot slid off his wrist. He gripped you from your collar and threw you over, causing you to land on the opposite side of his head. You went to do a kip up, but he grabbed you by the shoulder of your jacket and dragged you until you were within straddling range. He got on top of you as he smiled faintly.

“That’s what we have to find out.”

After that, you both spent the next half hour pinning each other down until Shadis told everyone to stop.

You gasped for air as you pinned Reiner’s wrists above his head and used your knees to keep his legs in place. He was breathing heavily as well, his stomach on the ground and his cheek pushing against the dirt.

“I-I win,” you announced, tightening your hold on him as a reminder.

“I can see that,” he strained, barely looking at you from the corner of his eye. “You win.”

You sighed in satisfaction and let him go, finally standing up. You wiped excess sweat and dirt off your forehead, watching as he turned over and sat up with a grunt.

“You’re an impressive fighter, (Y/N),” he complimented. “I think you’re as good as Annie.”

“Well, you’re not too bad yourself,” you admitted. “I haven’t had a fight like that in awhile.”

“So, then,” he started. “What do you want?”

“Huh?” You blushed slightly as you scratched the back of your head. “I haven’t thought that far ahead… What did you even want?”

“I wanted you to answer a question of mine,” he revealed, a darkness creeping on his cheeks.

“Just a question,” you asked in disbelief. “All of that for a question? What is it?”

“Why'd you join the military?”

“That question again? Well, I guess I never answered you to begin with,” you remembered. “Silly, you could’ve just asked me instead of letting me beat you up.”

“I didn’t know how to bring it up again without it seeming weird,” he confessed and you shook your head.

“It wouldn’t have. I like talking to you.”

You extended your hand out to him and the moment his fingers brushed yours, you felt what could only be described as a jolt of electricity running through you and you took a step back.

You looked down at him and he stared back at you with a similar expression - utter confusion.

Did he feel that too?

“Um, sorry,” you apologized, laughing slightly. “It must’ve been static.”

“No worries,” he assured with a chuckle and you stuck your hand out once again.

He took it graciously and thanked you as you hoisted him up. You nodded, gazing at him right after.

“I joined the military because I want to live in a world where the only concern is growing old,” you finally answered. “I don’t want us to worry about walls, Titans, or whatever the hell else could be out there. I just want us to be happy and have the freedom to live our lives to the fullest... Does that...sorta answer your question?”

It did, it really did. So, why did Reiner still feel a pang in his chest? Why was he hoping for a more selfish answer? Why did he want your answer to not be as noble as the one you gave? Why did he want you to be...less human?

In the end, he knew the answers to all these questions. He didn’t want to feel guilty for what he had done and what he was going to do...but everyone was making it extremely difficult. (Y/N) especially.

As you both smiled at each other, one question plagued his mind.

Why were the Devils of Paradis…so human?

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ohwereusingourmadeupnames · 3 years

Text

Like You Want To Be Loved

Pairing: Peter Parker/Tony Stark Rating: Explicit (E) Notes: This is my fic for my @starkerfestivals summer BINGO “body worship” square & my @peterparkerbingo “carry you to bed” square. This one is short and sweet, so - I hope you guys enjoy the cute little verse I created (that I’ll more than likely revisit soon!!). Here’s my bingo card (x & x) - if you see something on there you might want written, shoot me a message!!! Word Count: 3K Warnings: There’s a tiny bit of smut in here, but it’s me writing, so when is that not the case? Summary:

By Friday, Peter was clingy in all the perfect ways – there wasn’t any physical need for release, just the underlying necessity of being close to one another. When Tony was cognizant enough, he made a warm bath and spent most of the morning showering Peter with kisses while the omega got them clean. For the rest of the day, they lingered on the couch, watching Netflix and alternating between making out languorously and eating the rest of the snacks they had in the house. By the end of the night, Peter was passed out against his shoulder, out like a light.

Though Tony attempted to rouse him, Peter was asleep and after such a long and tiring week, Tony couldn’t blame him. It took little effort to heft the sleeping omega into his arms, Peter snuggled into him without fail, his nose going right to Tony’s neck, the fingers of his right-hand lingering on the flatness of his belly.

Or: the one where Peter goes into heat after years of suppressant use and Tony is more than there for it.

Read on AO3 here.

It’d been a long week.

Halfway through Tony’s Monday morning lecture, Peter called with a heated panic laced through his voice. Earlier in the year, Tony convinced Peter to stop his suppressants. They’d been mated and married for more than two years. After spending so much time alone, learning how to love each other, it finally felt right to start sharing that love with others; especially those with the dark chocolate of Peter’s eyes and unruly curls coming from either one of them.

When he first met the omega, Tony never imagined wanting kids. Having such a young mate was more than enough. Upon first getting to know each other, Tony was finishing his fifth year of teaching, finding himself up for tenure already. Until Peter stumbled into his lab by accident, Tony wasn’t sure he’d ever take a mate. Adjusting to the upbeat lifestyle of being with someone so young took a while, but Tony soon found himself liking the extra time they spent out amongst the world. In his sappiest times, Tony would easily admit that he’d follow Peter anywhere – as long as the young omega was there, a good time was guaranteed to be had.

It was Peter who first brought up the idea of expanding their family. They were enjoying Tony’s winter break in the Parker’s small family cabin in upstate New York, sipping on Mama Stark’s cocoa recipe. Firewood was crackling, setting the perfect atmosphere for Peter to stutter out – “how do you feel about kids?” without any preamble.

Looking up from his place at Peter’s side on the couch, Tony stopped the rubbing motion over the sole of Peter’s foot. Despite being mated for a while, Tony still felt the need to always be touching his omega. Peter took advantage of that by throwing the random, achy body parts he wanted touched in Tony’s greedy hands – that night it was his right foot. Tilting his head at the thought, Tony snuggled into Peter’s side a bit more, sucking in a deep breath. “I think I might like one or two. Especially if they look like you,” Tony replied, leaning his head against Peter’s shoulder. Though the omega didn’t say anything, Tony felt a soft kiss to the top of his head – then Peter’s foot was pressing back into his hands in a less than subtle demand.

It didn’t take long for Peter to bring up the arduous process of coming off his stimulants. When they spoke to the doctor, she mentioned one to several months of the body working itself back into its natural state. For a while, Tony could tell Peter was miffed by the timeline. If his young omega got something in his head, there was no stopping Peter from getting what he wanted.

Of course, the omega was young and healthy, his body more than ready to step up to the plate and work a little biological magic. Tony was surprised when Peter was moaning on the other side of the line, frantically telling Tony to get home that very second. As awkward as it was to take the call in the middle of a lecture, Tony was seconds away from popping an ill-timed and completely pheromone driven erection. He stayed behind the podium as he less than subtly kicked everyone out.

The drive home was longer than ever before – five minutes felt like a lifetime when he recalled the breathy way Peter said his name, the way he mumbled ‘alpha’ into the phone so restlessly. Really, the simple fact that he had to drive home at all was a terrible inconvenience.

Keeping his briefcase on the seat, Tony tore his seatbelt off, practically running into the house with little thought. By the time he got to the front door, Tony could smell the intoxicating scent of Peter Parker-Stark in the midst of his heat. Thinking back to the weekend, Tony remember the little pre-heat signs – Peter’s nesting, the clingy way his mate stuck to his side seemingly every minute of both Saturday and Sunday. Tony momentarily felt foolish for not recognizing the signs. It’d been over two years since they spent a heat together and the signs were subtle.

Those thoughts were out the window the minute he walked through the door. Peter was sprawled across the couch; the flannel shirt Tony wore the day before the only stitch of clothing on his entire body. The usually chocolate-colored eyes were a rich gold, flaring the moment Peter recognized the addition of Tony’s scent. Though he didn’t move, Peter became all the more enticing.

Quickly stripping off the sweater he wore to teach that morning, Tony peeled the cashmere off his skin, following seamlessly by his pants, boxer briefs, socks and shoes. He was more naked than Peter before either could truly take a deep breath. Tony took his time making his way over to Peter then – his hand drifted down the center of his chest to wrap around the base of his cock, the view of Peter and the delicate mingling of their scents all the sudden overpowering. If he didn’t stroke his cock, Tony felt like he might spontaneously combust.

Tony allowed himself a handful of strokes before his hands became otherwise occupied with the smoothness of Peter’s skin. Finally, what felt like ages since he stepped in the door, Tony was close enough to reach out and touch, to feel the pulsating warmth of Peter’s heat humming just under the surface of his skin. The flannel parted just right to show off the omega’s interest; Peter’s cock was stiff, and a trickle of slick slid shamelessly down his right leg. As much as Tony wanted to dive into the cleft of Peter’s beautiful ass, the last place he wanted to spend his husband’s first heat since their mating was the living room couch.

With little prompting, Tony got Peter to wrap his muscled thighs around his hips – with so much testosterone and mating pheromones coursing through his veins, Tony had no problem carrying the young omega up the stairs. He tried to deposit Peter on the bed lightly, but the omega had other plans. Long arms wrapped around Tony’s neck, tugging until their lips were meeting in a scalding kiss.

Peter’s hands were everywhere, sliding down Tony’s back, in his hair, even up his sides and across the front of his chest. While his hands quested, Peter’s lips sipped at Tony’s, their tongues tangling wildly as adrenaline and that certain something that was completely them and their connection lingering in the air. Tony took his time enjoying Peter, here shortly, coherency would be the last thing on either of their minds.

Their hard cocks were grinding against each other with every movement, Peter was slick everywhere, making the move easy. Each time Tony felt Peter pick up his hips, Tony’s control over things slipped a little further. Before long, he broke their kiss to bury his nose into the side of Peter’s neck; Tony pressed kisses across Peter’s mating bite, taking the rich scent of iron and fire and sweetness with gasping breaths.

Tony forced himself away from the spot he could easily get attached too – sentimentally, so many memories resided in the scar that marred Peter’s skin. The fact that Tony smelt himself on Peter the most there only played into it somewhat (or a lot). Shaking his head of the thought, Tony trailed his lips further down the long length of Peter’s neck, across his shoulders, and down along shapely pecs. Each nipple was bathed with affection, Tony brought the delicate nub into his mouth, tonguing at it until the skin was pebbled, the peak warm in his mouth. Peter’s moans at every touch only worked to drive Tony on.

Further down Peter’s chest, Tony took his time tracing the outer rim of Peter’s belly button, the sides of his shirt parting after he fumbled with the buttons one by one. With both hands, Tony traced over Peter’s sides, his fingers tangling in the hair covering Peter’s belly. As he aged, the omega got a little furrier. Surprisingly, Tony liked the slowly thickening hair, it felt amazing under his fingertips. Tugging ever so slightly, Tony toyed with the softness of Peter’s skin until restless hips made themselves known.

Tony wasn’t about to spend time teasing either of them. With a quick move, Peter’s legs were spread, making room for Tony between them. Both his hands slipped between slick cheeks; Peter’s hole clenched in subconscious anticipation. Grinning at the sight, Tony wasted no time diving into the fragrant wetness. Peter’s looseness spoke of heat that was further along. Tony glanced up, suddenly proud of the man writhing above him. Heat colored eyes met his then, an easy grin on Peter’s lips. “Alpha,” Peter moaned, his eyes flashing.

Unable to stop himself after that, Tony dug in, nosing first at the gap of Peter’s cheeks and then further into the crevice, his lips barely kissing at Peter’s hole. A gush of slick slipped out onto his tongue, Peter’s hole clenching without any prompting. Tony felt his cock harden, in a few moments, Tony wouldn’t be able to enjoy the little details nearly as much. Conscious of that, Tony worked hard to make Peter whimper. His tongue and fingers worked until Peter was muttering ‘please’ and ‘Tony’ on a loop. Another couple of licks were all Tony was capable of before he climbed helplessly between Peter’s legs. He couldn’t resist the call any longer.

He grabbed at Peter’s thighs, picking them up until they were around his hips. With a quick move of his hips, Tony’s cock was pressed against the teasing wink of Peter’s hold – Tony knew the omega couldn’t even help it, not when need was slowly creeping in. Tony could tell, simply by breathing in, that the very worst was about to begin. The stirring of his knot had him ducking his head, pressing his lips against Peter’s with heat. “Ready?”

Peter’s answer was his hips lifting and the tilt of his head. Without having to move, the head of Tony’s cock slipped into tight heat, the drenched slide unlike anything the manufactured lube they normally used provided. Tony sunk into the hilt, his hips stopping his movement before Tony could himself. Peter tightened the grip of his thighs, keeping him there. For just a second, Peter ran his hands restlessly over Tony’s skin, mapping out the feel of it. That move, Peter’s recollection of everything Tony, was old hat. Every time they came together, Peter traced him like that – like he needed the tangible reminder of the way Tony felt under his touch. Sighing into the contact, Tony waited until those restless hands were buried into his hair, tugging lightly.

“Fuck me, Alpha. Please.”

Tony didn’t hesitate to comply – his hips were moving on their own accord, anyway. Wrapping his arms around Peter’s shoulders, Tony kept the omega close as he used his hips to satiate the fire that slowly burned along Peter’s existence. Every move was in sync, Peter rolled his hips to meet Tony’s thrusts – the easy motion kept each one deep, the tip of Tony’s cock enticingly brushing against Peter’s prostate; every move was expertly aimed. Little by little, Tony and Peter took each other apart, husbands, alpha and omega – moving together.

When the end came, Peter clung helplessly to Tony, his nails uselessly running over abused skin in an attempt to hold on. Peter was whimpering, every sound hitting Tony in the gut with the need to sooth them, to finally give his mate a knot and that sweet release Tony felt building up with every brush of his stomach against Peter’s cock. Leaning down to first nose of Peter’s bonding mark, then lip over the omega’s ear, Tony whisper lightly, his voice gravely.

“Cum for me, Pete. I’m so close to giving you my knot. I want to thrust in with that tight clench around me, to claim you again, omega.” Tony kept his words low, each one tangibly hitting Peter – the younger man’s skin pebbled under Tony’s touch. With another hard thrust, Tony felt Peter clamp down around him, Peter’s orgasm pulling Tony’s knot almost immediately. Biting down on the mark he placed all that time ago, Tony nuzzled into the spot, moaning “Pete” helplessly.

The rest of the week went a lot like that. There were increasingly more lucid moments where Peter asked for slow touches mixed into the desperate moments where Tony took his omega in a pheromone induced haze. Regardless of whether they were successful in creating a little life together, they gave it their all.

As Tony tucked Peter into bed, the young omega wrapped his hands around Tony’s neck, giving him a sleepy kiss. “I love you, Tony,” Peter mumbled, burying himself into the blankets. Smiling, Tony stripped out of his shirt and joined his husband on the bed. He slung his arm around Peter’s middle.

With a kiss to the back of the neck, Tony mumbled the words back, settling into all the spaces that were meant solely for him. Before falling back to sleep, Peter grabbed his hand, placing it on the warmth of his belly. Spreading his fingers, Tony pictured what their little peanut was going to look like, swelling the thinness of the beauty in his arms. His lips were stretched out into a grin when sleep found him.

#starker #sfsummerbingo21 #peterparkerbingo2021 #peter parker #peter parker/tony stark #bobbie writes #like you want to be loved

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hoe-imaginess · 4 years

Note

Ok but do you have an angsty scenario where Tobirama's wife miscarriages? Even worse, he didn't know she was pregnant in the first place?

ouchie... this one hurt

word count: 2.6k warnings: miscarriage, detailed mentions of blood

Tobirama Senju

⤰ ⤰ ⤰

She was having tea with Mito when the pain started.

At first, she had a fleeting thought of panic: had something she’d eaten or drank disagreed with her? No, she mused. No, she didn’t think so.

She inspected the tea Mito had set out for them. A single aromatic leaf floated at the top of the brimming cup in her hand, swirling peacefully in the hot liquid.

It was calming. This was calming. Time with her sister-in-law was calming, the woman reminded herself. It was just a little pain. That was all.

She had gathered enough accounts from other women to know that some mild discomfort in the first months of pregnancy wasn’t entirely unheard of. It was nothing out of the ordinary: simply a plausible hiccup in prenatal beginnings, she convinced herself.

This self-reassurance was taken with gratitude: the pain subsided not a moment later.

The pregnant woman cleared her throat and put on a restorative smile to dispel her anxieties, giving her attention back to Mito, who was asking her something about Tobirama’s work.

But then it came again, the pain. This time in her mid-back, rippling down somewhere along the flanks of her spine, then dropping in a sudden and aching pool. Her breath caught at the next throb, and she had to put her tea cup down for fear of dropping it.

As her hand went to rub her back in search of an answer to the affliction, Mito’s own hand was reaching for her in a worrisome gesture.

“Are you alright?” the Uzumaki asked.

The sister-in-law said that she was, after the pain had receded again. Tea time resumed, with particular, forced enthusiasm on the pregnant woman’s part.

Maybe it was just cramps; she could ignore it. She didn’t want to worry Mito with inconsequentialities, and especially didn’t want Mito to mention it to Tobirama after the fact. His tirade would never end if he discovered her pregnancy this way.

She had done an excellent—albeit unprincipled—job of keeping the secret, saving its disclosure for a better time. However, weeks went by, and this better time never made itself known. Surely there would be an opportune moment, she told herself, when she had the courage to brave what she knew would be a difficult and contentious conversation.

For now, she simply had to endure—endure the pain settling uncomfortably in her lower half, and hope it ebbed away in time.

But for ten minutes she struggled through it; the traveling pains that flitted about her abdomen and back became increasingly resistant to distraction.

Then, it was unbearable.

The coherence of her mental faculties went awry as the pain bounded upon her with alarming speed. Her body felt like it was tearing into itself, fighting itself to the core.

This, she knew, was not normal.

It was all she could do to force herself to her feet, staggering as she did. Mito glanced up from her tea, doubt worrying her features.

“Are you alright?” she asked again, less willing to let her concern be disregarded now.

“Fine,” her sister-in-law breathed, with an afflicted hitch in her breath that betrayed her declaration. “I think I’ll head home—”

“You look ill,” Mito started, standing to offer her companion a hand. “Is something wrong? Maybe we should–”

“Forgive me.” The sister-in-law muttered her apology and went to the door, making murmurs of assurance as Mito followed, dismissing her worried pleas as she slipped out to seek a solace in which to reason with the burgeoning pain in her womb.

⤰

The stumbling amble home nearly defeated her façade. She was certain she earned some suspicious looks from the village denizens she passed on her way, but ignored them in favor of a faster pace. By the time she reached home she was tripping over the threshold, disregarded taking off her shoes, and ran to the washroom.

By then, the calamity was making itself known: she felt wetness between her legs, hot and thick and slimy, dripping down her thighs.

A hand went under her dress to feel for it, and emerged stained with crimson.

“No,” she croaked quietly, a plea against reality, heard and answered by silence in the still house.

The pain surged again, flourished, and blossomed into an unforgiving ache that forced more of the wetness from her body with a dismayed gasp.

She closed the bathroom behind her as she lurched inside. The crimson rivulets along her legs spilled down, became a drip at her feet. She looked below.

One of her shoes was missing.

Lightheadedness came to greet her, and her sole focus was now with the trivial: she wondered where the shoe had gone. Had she lost it? Maybe in the street?

She lost her shoe. That was unfortunate, she thought, lofty and woozy on pain. She was losing blood, and she had also lost her shoe.

The journey had left her faint, and though she wanted to clean herself of the mess now staining her skin, she knew any significant exertion on her body now would make her legs fold up beneath her—

But then it happened anyways.

Her knees gave and she slid along the wall, to the floor with a whimper as she mourningly rationalized her circumstances.

She tried to be strong, tried to push through the horrible sensations in her gut with grit teeth. But it was unlike any pain she had felt before.

Agonizing as it was, she wasn’t the one dying; what was inside her was—or likely, already had.

It was early in the pregnancy. Nearly two months, she thought. There hadn’t been much of life to boast of within her womb yet.

But the loss felt devastating all the same.

⤰

Tobirama came home exhausted and grim.

Negotiations with neighboring clans had not been prosperous as of late, and his brother’s whimsicality only added to the disarray. Training his team of aspiring shinobi had gone no better. They had their good days, but today wasn’t one of them.

His wife’s shoes weren’t at the front door when he arrived. He hadn’t imagined her to be home at this time, anyways. She had mentioned that she would be with Mito this evening, he remembered.

Good. He was in a sour mood, and preferred to be alone until he could clear his head.

In his home-office, he pulled off his training gear in trudged fashion. His muscles were sore, bones heavy, mind battered. He should have sat down and sorted through paperwork, but all he could think of doing was idling and simmering on his exhaustion. So he did.

He sat, closed his eyes, and sighed. Then, a sound somewhere in the house opened them back to alertness.

He waited to hear it again, and glanced around. It was then he saw something he had missed upon first entering his home: in the hallway was her shoe, thrown and abandoned on its side.

Curious, he went to retrieve it. Before he could bend to pick it up, he heard the sound again, this time louder.

The source now clear, he went to their bedroom. The washroom door was shut closed. He heard the noise again, like clumsy shuffling from the other side.

In the washroom, she shook with panic.

When she had heard him come home, she struggled for the lock. A wet, bloodied hand slapped against the door as she pulled herself upright and completed the task. Then she collapsed back onto the floor.

His footsteps ventured closer. He called her name and knocked once, listening for a response from the other side. None came.

“I didn’t know you were home,” he took initiative to address her, confusion mounting to curiosity every moment gone without a reply.

“I left your brother’s house earlier than expected,” she explained, voice small.

“Why?” he inquired.

She didn’t respond.

Her silence didn’t sit right with him. A suspicious frown worried his face. “What is it?”

“Nothing. I’m not feeling well.”

It could have been enough for him. He could have granted her the lie. But he pushed on the door just slightly, felt resistance from the lock, heard it shift in its place. If she wanted privacy, he understood, but something about the air of this encounter didn’t sit right with him. Something was wrong.

Then he heard her whimper; a heavy, pained breath followed. Then, more fumbling from the other side.

“______,” he said her name sternly now, all leniency abandoned.

“I’m fine,” she insisted thinly.

He didn’t believe her. And she knew that he didn’t. On the other side of the door he listened with bated breath, keen to hear any commotion from inside.

The blood that stained her thighs felt cold now. The moan of discomfort that wished to leave her throat was restrained with a choke. She prayed that he would leave, that he would give up on his suspicions.

He almost did. Maybe she really did just need her privacy. It was the washroom, after all. Maybe he was overstepping his curiosity with paranoia, and needed to reject his irrational worries.

The right thing to do was to walk away, he decided, and almost succeeded in doing so—but when he turned and saw her shoe on the floor again, accompanied by fresh, dark drops of blood spattered down the hall and making a trail to the spot at which he stood, he refused to abide any more reluctance.

He nudged his hand into the door’s side and wretched it open. He heard the wood splinter and the lock give, heard her surprised gasp as she gawked up at him from her spot in the corner.

It was a dismal sight: her curled into herself, legs and clothes bespattered with blood, sitting in a sleet of it, too.

As alarm gave way to distress, she scowled at him. “Get out!” she screamed, covering herself.

He stared, wide-eyed, too rattled to move. But she had no fight left in her to yell again; the pain in her back came afresh, searing and horrible. She hissed and breathed, trying to reclaim her body from the agony. He saw how she closed her legs protectively and turned from him.

“What is this?” he demanded quietly. But the question was hollow: he could see plain as day what had happened, what she had lost, what they both had lost, him unaware of its existing at all. Maybe that was what hit him the hardest: losing a life he had never even known before its death.

He breathed through his sudden indignation. “You were… Why didn’t you tell me?”

She didn’t like that he sounded so cross with her. “Why do you think?”

He had never wanted to have a child, she knew. And now he wouldn’t have one.

He frowned as he looked upon the scene. The blood made a substantial puddle beneath her now, thick and matted as it dried. He should have rushed her to see a medic, should have done anything except what he was doing: standing there, staring, dumbfounded and angry. But who was he angry with? Who deserved it if not him?

When he went to her carefully, cognizant of the blood beneath his feet, she recoiled from his extended hand.

“Go away,” she said, inflamed.

“You need to see a medic.”

“Leave me alone.”

“Don’t be a fool,” he scolded, harsher than he meant it to be. When he put a hand on her arm, she wretched it off, and he scowled. “Stop it. You need medical attention. You’re bleeding out—”

When he reached for her again she shoved him away, tears brimming. “There’s nothing left to bleed out!” she screamed angrily. “It’s gone, it’s all gone...”

A regretful, closer look at the mess around her confirmed it. Thick clots that were more than just the blood itself lay spotted in the swell of it. He winced, but would ignore the gore for her sake.

He had set his eyes upon far more gruesome sights before, but this was entirely different. This was his wife. None of the atrocities he had witnessed compared to seeing her suffer like this.

Her tears came silent but strong. She had her eyes clenched tight, hiding from the reality, from the cold wetness between her legs and the sharp smell of balmy copper in her nose.

He almost hated to touch her and bring her to the present, but he did.

He knelt beside her, and put hands on her shoulders. “Let me at least clean you up.”

“No.”

He didn’t oblige her obstinacy. Gently, he pulled her from the floor and she clutched his arms as he did, whether to fight him or cling to him he didn’t know, but she went with him without struggle.

“Just leave me alone,” she said, soft and desperate and defeated, still at the least loyal to her protests.

He walked her carefully over the pools of crimson soaking into the wood floor and situated her at the washing bench. Her legs quivered as he set her down.

“Are you in pain?”

After a moment of dreary pause, she shook her head. “No.” Her voice barely strived to a croaky whisper.

He didn’t know where to start. It might have been a good idea to take her away from the mess; she didn’t need to see it. But he reasoned that she had been trounced by it all the same already. Too late for those sensitive nuances now.

He offered her a wet rag, another dry. Then he retrieved a robe for her, and helped her tentatively out of the soiled one. The slew of blood between her legs was horrific and difficult to ignore, but he tried as hard as he could, keeping eyes on her face.

She didn’t stare back at him as he watched her. Her eyes perused the ground vacantly, as if she had given up all else except the inane task of counting splinters in the floorboards.

Only when she was cleaned of the blood did he help her out of the bathroom, an arm around her shoulder to keep her gait steady. When he helped her under the covers of their bed she looked no less consumed by despair, but she welcomed the warmth, curled under the sheets, and turned on her side away from him.

“Do you need anything?” he asked quietly.

“Leave me alone.”

He had no issue with that, now that she was safe and secured. But it still hurt to see her like this, to see the strong woman he knew be so defeated. That she had given up on her distressed anger was all the more concerning; her volitional, fatalistic calm unnerved him.

He could hardly stand to see the mess in the bathroom when he returned to clean it. The smell of blood no longer stung his nose, neither did the sight of it, after so many years shedding it from the vessels of his enemies. Yet still, knowing it was his wife’s blood, knowing why she bled and how gruesomely she had, made the labor of scrubbing stains from the now darkened wood more harrowing than he would have imagined.

In the face of such a tragedy, Tobirama knew his pragmatism benefited him in no way, shape, or form. He tried to reason with himself that this was a natural matter—albeit hapless and deplorable—that they could work through in tandem, regardless of the fact that she had hid the pregnancy from him in the first place. He would need to forgive that, if he had any plans to bring both of them to terms with the loss.

Nevertheless, he felt angry for having been left in the dark, and tried to put it down with grit teeth. Simmering on his suppressed frustrations, he worked blood out of the stained wood that much harder.

Then, from the anger came guilt.

She had often mentioned how toilsome it was to speak her mind when she knew very well of his unwavering opinions; opposition to these opinions resulted in his equally unwavering temper. She would stay silent about something if it meant avoiding his hostility. By way of that, had she really kept this pregnancy from him in fear that he would lose himself in anger over it? Maybe he only had himself to blame.

Despite having come to the conclusion, when he returned to her after his chore, he couldn’t deny himself the morbid, condemning curiosity.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he made his earlier inquiry again, less accusatory now.

She thought of not responding. Toiling with his temper was not something she needed.

“You made it abundantly clear that you didn’t want children.”

“Regardless, I had a right to know,” he argued. She couldn’t see in the dark how he frowned at her. “You should have told me. What was your plan? Would you wait until I noticed? And then what?”

“I was going to get rid of it.”

He blinked, almost as though it didn’t register. “You mean—”

“I had the medicines to drink. I was waiting to do it. Until I was sure.”

“Sure of what?”

“That I was going to settle with putting your wants before my own.”

His expression softened in dismay. “_____, I didn’t—”

“But you don’t have to worry,” she muttered bitterly, and hugged herself tighter. She hoped his tepid confrontation would end; tears were close again, and she had no desire to break down in front of him. “It looks as though fate was on your side.”

“_____,” he said her name again, firmer now that he felt her dissonance was rapidly embittering her thoughts. Even so, he had no means—and no justification—to reprimand her for it, not when she had lost so much. They both had. But she was the worse for it, he knew.

At the least, he could still do what was within his power, do what little he could even as he felt as useless as he had ever been. “You should see a medic,” he offered again, gently, in fear of further embroiling her. “You’ve lost blood.”

“No,” she said. “I’m fine.”

“I can have one come to you,” he insisted. “You need to be looked over.”

“No.”

“Then at least let me get Mito, someone you trust–”

“No,” she snapped. “Tell no one about this. Not Mito. Not even your brother. Promise me.”

He gave a pleading, woeful frown, but no reply.

“Promise me,” she entreated.

He took a breath, then exhaled his exasperation. “I promise... But are you sure there’s nothing I can get you? Nothing that—”

“I told you I’m fine. I just... want to sleep.”

He watched her with vague hope that she might change her mind, that she might have more to say, but nothing came.

Nodding to himself, he made to leave. She felt him sit up, and in the same instant, felt her heart drop to her stomach. She yielded to her sorrow, to her need for comfort.

“Wait.”

Her weak voice stopped him.

He glanced back, waiting patiently for her to go on. Her doleful eyes stubbornly refused tears, exhausted already of their ability to grieve.

“Don’t leave me,” she muttered, with infinite grief hidden in her words.

His heart fluttered sadly at the request.

Wordlessly he obliged, and sat beside her in resigned silence for the rest of the night, holding her hand in his forlorn grip.

#tobirama senju #naruto #tobirama senju x reader #tobirama imagines

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sillylittlelouie · 3 years

Text

Children Develop Trust

Awareness was slow in coming, after the late night that he'd had last night. It came in parts, ebbing and rising like the tide. The first thing that Frankenstein noticed in one of his more lucid moments, was that there was a weight on his chest. A warm, sweaty and panting weight, that shivered slightly, even as it peacefully snored. Swallowing his disgusted sigh, he looked down at the child whose upper body laid across his chest.

M-21 whined softly in his sleep as he wiped his runny nose in the scientist's sleeping shirt. He shifted, dragging more of his body onto Frankenstein's chest.

He must have agitated his ribs, as he let out a keening wail before he'd done much moving.

Frankenstein waited with bated breath, to see what his little one's reaction would be.

When the boy's fever had first set in, he'd been inconsolable. The slightest brush against his chest, or movement of his ribs while he slept would have woken him with a bout of coughing that would culminate in a bawling fit. Now, the young werewolf merely whimpered, shifting once more before settling into deep slumber once more.

Whether M-21's decreased discomfort came from the healing of his injuries or adaptation to the pain, Frankenstein wouldn't be able to tell. Not without getting the child up for a series of tests.

He pursed his lips. M-21 wasn't a bundle of overactive pain receptors anymore. Nor was he losing any more much-needed sleep.

That thought brought a smile to Frankenstein's face as he craned his neck to press a soft kiss to the boy's sweaty forehead. It was a small blessing that he would not take for granted.

Still, he would have loved to rend Shark to pieces for putting his youngest through this suffering. But alas, the dead could not be brought back to life, no matter what Mary Shelley had speculated.

Still, a man could dream.

Unless he had an important meeting that required his physical presence.

Frankenstein opened his eyes, not knowing when he had closed them.

Right, he had that board meeting today.

With a heavy heart, Frankenstein sat up carefully, one hand under M-21's bum and the other on the back of his neck, attempting to rouse his little one with the action. When that failed he gently, but incessantly patted the boy on his bum.

It was slow going, but eventually, M-21 grumbled as he cracked open an eye. The patting continued, and the other eye opened. A pathetic whine came from him.

It was all that Frankenstein could do, to stand his ground and insist that the child woke up. He had to force himself to keep tapping M-21's bottom, until the boy stopped his whining.

"Good morning," the scientist whispered, smiling when the boy sleepily grumbled at him once more.

"Mm'ning Ff'anken," he murmured rubbing at his eyes with tiny fists. There had been casts on those arms, up to three days ago.

"Will you walk, or would you like to be carried?" Truthfully, there was nothing wrong with his ward's legs. But, after being brutalized by an overgrown bully, Frankenstein felt that the werewolf was entitled to a bit of spoiling-

"...c'n walk..."

-which was always going to be declined, apparently.

"That's not what I asked," Frankenstein replied, taking the boy's hand regardless, "but I will accept that answer."

Frankenstein led him out of the room and down into the living room. Setting him down on the couch, he allowed him to capture a few more minutes of sleep as he went ahead and began preparing breakfast. The smells soon roused the other members of his household and, one by one, they all joined the scientist and the young werewolf.

Seira's gentle voice drifted into the kitchen as she led M-21 away for a bath. Her exact words were lost, covered up by the sound of the little one's grumbling, and the rustle of Regis as he prepared their belongings for school. Tao and Takeo were the next to shuffle down. The hacker bounding with all the exuberance of a puppy, while the sniper silently slid into the room. Both immediately migrated towards the coffee pot, casting wary glances at him.

Frankenstein gave them a tired smile as he flipped a pancake, and they relaxed slightly.

"How's M-21?" Tao ventured, pouring a large mug of coffee. A very large mug.

Frankenstein eyed it skeptically. He kept on frowning at it, until Tao finally got the message.

"He's doing much better," he replied, smiling brilliantly once he saw the caffeine being split into two mugs. "His fever's been greatly reduced, and he's been staying awake for longer."

M-21 had also been sleeping for longer periods without nightmares, but Frankenstein was sure that he didn't need to mention it. They'd all noticed the distinct lack of screeching in the middle of the night, he was sure.

"Will you be sending him to school then?" Takeo asked, taking the second mug from Tao. Confusion marred his features when Frankenstein shook his head. "Why not? If he's doing much better, then shouldn't he be able to resume his schooling?"

"While his internal bleeding has stopped, his temperature is still very high, Takeo."

The sniper's gaze sharpened. "Didn't you say that his fever was lowered as well?" he shot back, as if he were daring Frankenstein to renege on his words.

As if he would take the child and flee, if he found that Frankenstein was unreliable. The only thing stopping him, the scientist surmised, was the fact that he would have to take M-21 back to the Union, if he did.

Again, Frankenstein sighed. He began putting their breakfast on plates as he contemplated his words.

Tao and Takeo were much more stable than M-21, and their modifications were more complex. Illness, let alone illness in unmodified humans, was most likely an unfamiliar concept for them.

"His fever is still high enough to be dangerous, for a regular human."

Takeo nodded, his face smoothing out into an unreadable slate. "So you will both remain home for a little longer?"

A tempting thought, but an ill-advised one, considering the amount of paperwork that he just knew was waiting for him. "He's coming to work with me today," Frankenstein sighed, turning his back on them as he motioned for them to take a few plates and follow him into the dining room. His right hand ached at the thought of the veritable mountain of paper. "I have a very important meeting today, and I can't afford to miss it. M-21 however, can be in the office while I conduct my meeting."

He set his cargo down on the table and paused, hands resting on the back of a chair. He'd need both hands and then some, if he wanted to take stock of all the times that his colleagues of years past had ever needed to bring a young child to the factory. Or, in more recent cases, the office. "It might even be expected, in fact."

When he looked at the two DA-5 members, he was a bit surprised to see a calculating glint in Tao's eyes. He'd thought that the hacker had finally been satisfied with the results of his previous tests of Frankenstein's reactions. Apparently he'd been wrong.

"Ya sure that you're not only taking him because you think that everybody else thinks you should?"

For a split second, Tao's easy grin fell away, replaced with something colder. More clinical.

Then it returned, warm enough to melt the ice in the freezer, and the meat in the deep freeze. His eyes however, remained frozen.

Frankenstein pursed his lips. It seemed that it was finally time to place all of his cards on the table. Because, depending on his next answer, he'd never earn the hacker's complete trust.

Honesty would be the best policy, at this moment.

He smiled at the two men as he stretched a hand out to the hallway, where Seira was just emerging with a freshly showered and, surprisingly, coherent child.

"Well," he started, giving Seira a grateful nod as he gently lifted M-21 into his arms, "I'd be lying if I said that that wouldn't be an added reason to keep him close." He tweaked the child's nose, relishing the fact that the boy was feeling well enough to bat his hand away.

Still smiling, he swept over to join his patiently waiting master at the table.

M-21 was in pain. Raizel was certain that he could feel that pain, despite the fact that he'd been unable to sense the emotions of the teachers once they were in the administration wing, and he was in his classroom.

In his mind's eye, he could see the youthful face, contorted in pain, as it had been for those first few nights. The wet, hacking coughs drifted into the room, echoing around and drowning each of the human professor's words.

When it became unbearable, Raizel swallowed his recalcitrance and peered into the minds of his unconcerned colleagues, if only to discover how they could ignore the sound.

…the sound was the product of his own subconscious? That would not do.

That was how he found himself standing on the inside of Frankenstein's office, listening to the child's ragged breathing as he slept on the sole sofa in the room.

His friend had run from the room only a few minutes after Raizel had joined him in his office, but not before leaving him with explicit instructions on what should be done if the young one woke before his return.

Raizel had almost been sorely tempted to cut the human off as he gave a staggeringly large list that he had no hope of remembering. Decorum, however, kept his mouth shut.

Barely.

But, a victory was a victory nonetheless, and Frankenstein was allowed to list duties and plans and contingency plans, right up until he was forced to leave or risk missing the meeting entirely.

In a few seconds, his feet had taken him from the center of the room, and over to the sofa. Leaning over, he used a single finger to stroke a plump cheek. A memory of the recently mottled skin rose to the fore of his mind, causing him to frown.

The assassin that Tao and Takeo had called their teammate had caused the boy grievous bodily harm.

Frankenstein, to his credit, had tried to keep the full extent of the damage from them. But, such a level of suffering was impossible to hide. Even if one was as talented as Frankenstein.

As if he sensed Raizel's disquiet, M-21 drew back with a whimper. When the boy squirmed and let out a breathless cry, he realized what was going on.

Placing a hand at M-21's side to prevent him from moving anymore, Raizel winced at the feel of a section of ribs as they flailed about. Every time M-21 inhaled, that particular area dug into his lungs, the pressure only being relieved when he exhaled.

Raizel frowned once more.

Blood had already been collecting in the boy's lungs, because of the stab wound that Shark had delivered. With this...Raizel's mind blanked, and he drew on Frankenstein's knowledge for more assistance.

With the 'flail chest', M-21's ribs were bruising the boy's lungs. Already, there was blood pooling within, and air escaping his lung.

Frankenstein would have to cut the boy open, in order to repair this damage. At M-21's age, there was no way that his body would be able to heal without assistance.

Or...

Frankenstein would worry if he ever found out what he was about to do. But the child was in pain, and Raizel...h-he couldn't let the boy suffer any more than he already had. He wouldn't let the boy suffer.

Not when he was so young, with so much more of his life ahead.

The thought of such a thing was inherently abhorrent, for some reason.

Glancing around to make sure that they were indeed alone, the Noblesse began funneling his power into the child's chest. The infantile bone resisted his efforts at first, adamantly committing to their positions. But, at Raizel's insistence, they began to ease into their proper positions.

Through it all, M-21 wore a grimace. Once it was finished though, he heaved a sigh of relief and burrowed further into his blanket and the couch.

Drained by the effort, Raizel sank into a nearby chair and closed his eyes for a moment.

When he opened them again, there was a faint sense of pressure against his torso.

Glancing down, Raizel froze at the sight of the white blanket draped across his upper body. How had..? He looked up, scanning the seemingly empty room for M-21.

"You're up."

Raizel looked down at his feet. A pair of grey eyes blinked back up at him.

"Where's Franken?" M-21 asked. He might have added on something else, but the rest was lost to his yawn. His eyelids began drooping, and, as if it would stop him from yawning once more, he began to crawl into Raizel's lap. "...'m ribs don't hurt no more."

"They've healed," Raizel informed him.

The boy yawned again, curling up against his chest. "...'s good, right...?"

"Yes, it is."

Another yawn. "Good."

Raizel held himself stiffly as he allowed the wolf pup to make himself comfortable. Once the boy was settled, he allowed his hand to rest atop his head.

Frankenstein had been doing so with increasing frequency, during the past few days. He'd claimed that the motion had proved to be soothing, for M-21.

However, now that he was here, running his hand through the boy's hair, he wondered if his friend had also been finding comfort in the motion.

M-21 shifted beneath his hand, and Raizel looked down, slightly curious as to what he would do next.

The boy however, seemed content to allow the question in his heart to go unsaid, if even for a few moments more.

Raizel's hand resumed its path, combing through the grey locks. He stroked his head in silence, mindful to avoid the burn of M-21's desire, lest he unwittingly intrude upon his thoughts.

His hand fell away when M-21 began moving again. But, before he could glance at the boy, his vision was filled with grey.

Raizel blinked, and the grey retreated, just enough for him to see the full face.

"I..." M-21 began, hesitancy clouding his voice, hanging around him like a dark curtain. "Can...can I-" he swallowed, and fell silent.

His mind, however, was a cacophony of half-formed questions and thoughts. Nothing would stay, flitting into being and dissipating just as quickly as they had come.

"I wanna-"

The rubble.

The pile of rubble that had trapped M-21's comrade loomed, higher and more daunting than Raizel had ever seen it, whenever it graced the little one's thoughts.

He blinked, his hand resuming its path across the top of M-21's head. "I'm sure that he would not mind if you were to go and visit him." He paused, using his fingers to loosen a knot in the child's hair. "I will accompany you."

The pup gave him a weak smile. "Can...can I bring some flowers too? I wanna pick flowers for him, because...because..."

It flashed across his mind's eye, almost too quickly for him to get a proper impression. But Raizel had seen it.

He smiled. "As many as we can."

#noblesse #Cadis Etrama Di Raizel #frankenstein #M-21 #tao #takeo #Part of Children Talk

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finrelia · 3 years

Text

Warm

Request: Yes! From @yanginthere (Request is too long to have in header)

Summary: You get a mild case of hypothermia working at noonans one winter day and Alex comes home to find you in bad shape. She comforts you, and a little bit of hurt/comfort occurs.

Warnings: Mentions of illness/hypothermia. Self doubt, depressing themes. Cursing. Hurt/comfort slightly.

Word Count: 1,709

A/N: I’m not as happy with this one as I wanted to be! But I rewrote it about three times before it was good enough to post! I hope this is alright!

“Off to work already, Y/N?”

“You know me!” You say with a light laugh as you place a quick but loving kiss on your girlfriend’s cheek.

“Oh no you don’t” Alex says, as she wraps her arms around your waist, pulling you into a close hug. You smile sweetly and soak in the hug as much as you can. You look up into her eyes, and grin widely before grabbing your car keys off of their hook by the apartment door.

“You’ve been working an awful lot lately.” She says from behind you.

“You know how noonan’s gets around the holidays… Especially with Kara as out number one customer. But hey! It’s not like I’m out saving the world or anything!!!”

“Hey… Saving the world or not, It’s still cold outside, and I know the kitchen heater broke last week. Just- be careful for me, alright?” Alex responds, her tone more serious than you expected.

“I’ll be safe if you will, Agent Danvers.”

With one final firm kiss you say goodbye to your loving girlfriend and make your way out the door to head to work.

The second you left your apartment building, the shocking cold air slammed into you with a forceful gust of wind. You pulled on your coat, and wrapped your arms around your sides, sprinting on your tiptoes to your car. You pull hard against the wind to slam the door to your car as you sit down on the chilled leather. Your car sputters slightly before finally starting, the cold weather making it difficult to get going. It seems like it takes ages to heat up, but eventually you start to drive towards noonans. It’s only about a seven minute drive, and you take your usual parking spot on the street next to the staff entrance.

You wave hello to your manager and immediately get to work. It seems pretty okay at first, but the cold of the kitchen starts to get to you a bit, with your nose beginning to run, growing numb, and your fingers get sore. To make matters worse, it was an incredibly busy day, and you simply didn’t have time to take a break, fulfilling constant orders. It wasn't long before you developed a pretty nasty headache, and your coat simply wasn't warm enough for you.

Six hours later and your shift was finally coming to a close, thankfully. It was the middle of the afternoon, but it was so incredibly overcast it seemed like it was dusk. The cold outside was somehow worse than inside, and you said goodbye to your coworkers before beginning the walk to your car. You could barely walk in a straight line, the pounding from your head making it feel like you were about to be sick. You placed your hand against your left temple in a protective motion, stumbling as you walked. In the time you were working, it had begun to rain, which is NOT what you wanted to hear, seeing as your rickety old car tends to refuse to start when it gets frozen over.

Sure enough, the second you turn your key in the ignition, your heart sinks. You are met with a rattle, a grind, a rattle again, and then nothing. Sighing loudly, you put your head in your freezing cold hands, your fingers numb to the touch. You tried all day to keep your stress in, but things just keep getting worse. You sit there, and erupt into tears. You end up crying in your car alone for upwards of ten minutes, before deciding to check your phone, contemplating calling Alex. Shit… she’s on a mission with Kara today… You felt like your day was getting away from you, forgetting even the most recent conversations you had. You shake your head and decide to set off on foot to head home, hopeful to make it relatively quickly, despite the rain. You were just looking forward to curling up in a warm bed with Alex.

Low and behold, it starts to not snow, not rain, but SLEET as you get about four minutes into your thirty minute walk home. You bow your head and clench your jaw, walking quicker, willing yourself to make it. Your clothes dampen up pretty quickly, the cold of the water seeping into your skin, coating you uncomfortably. The sound of the rain on the streets intermingling with the honking of cars, falls on deaf ears, as you begin to experience some kind of cloud over your consciousness. Barely able to walk straight, you begin to walk at a slant, slamming your shoulder into a corner store brick wall, but this barely elicits a whimper out of you, almost entirely unable to process what is happening.

You must’ve walked through four red lights, and you’re lucky you weren't hit by a car, but you finally made it home. Mostly frozen water drips off of your pants and pools into your boots as your shaky hands fumble through your pockets to find your house key. Eventually you manage to unlock the door, but you are shaking so profusely that you are barely able to even turn the knob.

You figured you should probably get out of your wet clothes, but you were so tired… you just didn't have the energy to slip off your jacket. Actually, you didn't even have the energy to make it to your room. You place your hands on the kitchen counter and sway slightly, shaking your head trying to snap out of your freezing daze. The breath leaves your chest and the world goes dark around you as you collapse onto the tile floor.

“Y/N?” Keys jingle together as Alex walks inside, a tired smile on her face, relieved to finally be home to see you.

“Baby? Are you home?” She calls out, bummed at the thought that you might’ve gone out to get food without her.

She rounds the corner to walk into the kitchen, and her coat falls out of her arms as she sees your sopping wet form completely motionless on the floor. She rushes over to you, sitting on her knees, and takes your head in her hands, brushing your hair out of your face.

“Y/N?!” She says, panic clear in her voice. You murmur slightly in response, barely coherent.

“Oh my god you’re freezing cold.” She feels your cheek with the back of her hand. “Let’s get these wet rags off of you.” She scoops you up into her arms and carries you to the bathroom, slowly beginning to peel layer after layer of clothing off of your limp body. Your eyes flutter open and closed, occasionally letting out a slurred comment or two.She shushes you and cups your face in her hand.

Your eyes open slowly and you take in your surroundings, confused. You had no idea how you got home, or how you ended up wrapped in your favorite blanket with a warm cup of tea in your lap, but what you did know is that you were with Alex, and that she was taking care of you. You found yourself cozied up in bed, with your favorite show put on, and Alex holding you in her arms. She feels you slowly coming to, and rubs your arm saying: “Hey… how’re you feeling?”

“I- I’m okay I think…” You say, confused. “What happened?” “I was going to ask you the same thing.”

“The last thing I remember is my car breaking down outside of work, and then this.”

“Your car broke down?” Alex says, sitting up to get a better look at you..

“Yeah I-” “Why didn't you call? You walked home in the rain, you could've died!” Alex sounded frustrated, but there was no anger in her voice, just concern.

“I didn’t want to bother you… you and Kara were out there doing heroic things and actually making a difference in society, I was just working in a stupid kitchen without a heater.” Your voice cracks slightly as you speak.

“Still no heater? I’m going to have some choice words with your manager…” Alex says more to herself than to you. “You could’ve called, baby. It doesn't matter what I’m doing, your safety is far more important to me.” She turns your chin up to hers so that you are staring directly into each other's eyes. You pull away gently, looking to your feet. Causing a small frown to show on Alex’s face.

“I don't like bothering you. I dont matter half as much as you do anyways, I mean, why would someone like you take the time to help me? I’m not even out of college yet, and I can't handle myself. You’d think a soon to be ER doctor could self diagnose hypothermia, but apparently not. I’m too busy bein-” You hadn't even noticed yourself derailing until you were already sobbing.

“Hey hey hey, it’s okay.” Alex says as she pulls you closer, wrapping her arms around you. You cry silently into her arms as she begins to think about everything you just said. You sit there together, shaking and sniffling until she finally pulls away and positions herself directly in front of you. She puts your face in her hands and locks eyes with you.

“You, Y/N, are far from the burden that you think you are. You are so incredibly important to me and to others. Never, NEVER think less of yourself. Especially in a situation where you could have gotten hurt. You can always call me, no matter what. Supergirl can handle herself. I love that you are strong. I love that you are hard working, despite those terrible conditions. I love that you put others first. I love that you care. I love YOU so incredibly much-” She stops, realizing that she just said that she loved you for the first time since you had started dating.

“Alex…” You respond slowly.

“Hey it’s okay. You don’t need to respond. I just want you to know that you matter to me.” She pulls you closer.

“I love you too” You mumble, cuddling up against her chest and closing your eyes. You were so comfortable in that moment. You were finally so… warm.

#Alex danvers x reader #Alex danvers #Alex danvers fic #Alex danvers imagine #Alex danvers/reader #supergirl imagine #supergirl #supergirl fic #arrowverse #arrow verse imagine #arrow verse x reader #arrow verse/reader #Alex danvers fanfiction #supergirl reader insert #Alex danvers reader insert #requested #hurt/comfort

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chansmuffin · 3 years

Text

Golden Bridge | four

When your soulmate rejects you and you feel like your worlds ending, you meet someone who puts your pieces back together.

Genre: angst, eventual fluff, eventual smut - soulmate!au

Pairing: minhoxfem!reader, changbinxfem!reader

Word count: 3.1k

mlist, one, two, three, four, five

You looked at Minho and watched him carefully. For several moments, you didn't speak you just thought of what you could say.

Okay, so maybe you were stupid enough to let someone in.

But there were a couple of factors.

You hadn't had a friend in a long time, and you weren't sure what exactly friends did anymore. Why did it feel so foreign to be asked to do something as simple as play instruments together? Why did it remind you so much of Changbin? You didn’t have all the answers, but you were interested in what Minho had to offer. You wondered what his soulmate would think but you tried to push that aside because there were no ulterior motives there. Minho had a soulmate and while you didn’t, and you weren't looking for somebody to replace him you knew in the world full of soul mates that there were going to be many people that wouldn’t want you. So, you knew you would spend your life alone, and you weren't worried about thinking of Minho or having unreciprocated feelings or worse, ruining things for him and his soulmate. You just weren't that person. You would be better than that. Just like you let Changbin go and you let him have his soulmate, you weren't going to meddle with any other relationships.

That being said, you wouldn’t let soulmates ruin any other friendships you made though. Meaning, you wouldn’t be stupid enough to fall for anyone else. As if you could fall for anyone else since you were rejected by the one you loved anyway.

Maybe Minho could fill the void that was left after Changbin. You wondered if you could even find a way to be friends with somebody that wasn't Changbin but it was fun the little bit that you knew him and the way he recommended songs to you was as if you guys were already some sort of friends - even if you didn't like the idea of friendship after all you've been through.

Even if the idea of friendship made you ill.

You were terrified of letting someone in.

Although maybe a friend was just what you needed to help you cope with the pain you were suffering from. Maybe a little jam session with a fellow musician wouldn't kill you. All the thoughts were running through your head as you looked at Minho. His eyes were nervous as they were searching yours for some answers.

When finally, you replied with a, “Yes, I think we could,” Minho’s nervous face lit up, his eyes started to dance, and his smile blossomed.

Lyn looked at the two of you with a glint in her eye, “Stop flirting and get to work, Minho.”

You were taken aback. ‘he has a soul mate’ you wanted to say but you kept your mouth shut and just let the smile slip on your face. It wasn't up to you to stick up for somebody else and it was obvious he had a soulmate, especially to Lyn who worked with him every day. Minho also didn't seem to stand up for himself, he just let it happen, his cheeks flushing bright red.

“Okau, cool, cool,” he said, “Could I like have your number?”

You paused for several moments again, thoughts invading your mind. Friends did this right? Friends asked for each other's numbers?

This is normal, this is totally normal so why the hell was your heart beating out of your chest?

Again, though you smiled and proceeded to give Minho your number. Stopping making your drink, he programmed it in his phone. His long fingers dancing over the numbers as he typed in your number. With a smile, he resumed making your drink. You couldn’t help but watch him, eyes intently scattering to follow after every movement. Watching the way his arms flexed and the way you could see his tattoos while he did so.

Lyn caught your gaze and when you felt her staring at you, you looked away from Minho and at the floor. She just caught you totally checking Minho out.

Oh my god. Were you checking him out?

No, you couldn’t have been. You were simply admiring your friend. Yes, admiring. That was it.

Handing you the drink when he was done making it, he said “I'll text you later,”

You waved to him and Lyn, bidding your farewells before walking out of the coffeeshop and trying to calm your thumping heart. Why did it feel like that? What were you feeling? Is this what it felt like to make friends? The only emotion you’d known lately was heart break.

You went to work that day and relatively you were in a good mood. It seemed all the sadness that had racked you the night before had somehow washed away, even if it was only for a little bit. Some of the pain was gone just from talking to Minho and some of the hurt you felt vanished even just for a moment. Astoundingly, you felt happy that you are making a friend and gods, it was good to make a friend. A friend other than Gail your boss. When you went to work smiling Gail was taken aback. She cornered you in the stockroom, “What are you so smiley about?” she asked.

You shrugged your shoulders, “I think I made a friend,” you said honestly.

Her face lit up and you could tell she was happy because you weren't known for making friends easily. Which was why Changbin was all you had over all your years. You were just too awkward with people. You were the weird violin player who couldn't form her words into coherent sentences. The only way you could communicate was with music and there weren’t many people who cared to do so with you. So you were thankful that that's what you're in Minho’s relationship would be. At least then you could communicate with him, you could show him how you felt even if you couldn't talk about it and that meant more to you than words. Music always had a way of going beyond speaking, showing how you truly felt even if you couldn’t express it. That's how you and Changbin mostly communicated.

Music brought the two of you together even if he wasn’t a classical music player but often played electric guitar. Although for you, he always went acoustic and somehow, he played beautifully alongside with you as if you two worlds intertwined so perfectly that nothing could break your bond. Well, till he broke your bond. Not even music could keep you together.

You never played with a cello player before apart from orchestra and quartets. It was never just a duet between violin and cello, so you were enticed to look through the music you had and find a duet for you two. Of course, you need something sad and MInho seemed to like sad music as well, but for some reason today the happy music wasn't looking so bad today. The happy music wasn't making you so angry to look at but even if your fingers drifted over the sheets you still couldn't bother yourself to pick them up. It was too soon though and you were too hurt to be able to play the notes to something happy.

After picking out a couple of different music pieces, you smiled and waited for Minho to text you. Your shift seemed to drone on and on, as you waited to see the familiar name pop up on your phone. You hadn’t gotten his number so you couldn't text first although you didn't know if you would even if you could. You just waited patiently or rather impatiently and when he finally did text you, it was near the end of your shift and your heart sped with excitement when you saw his text.

[3:56p] Hey, it’s Minho!

You took a couple pictures of the music you chose and send it to him.

[4:00p] I hope this suits you

He was quick to respond.

[4:01p] It looks perfect. I have a couple pieces as well. When are you free?

Between school, working at the book shop during the week, and working at the bar on the weekends, it was hard to find time and you hope since he worked late at night that he would be available past midnight. Late nights seemed to be the only time you could play.

[4:06p] I work a lot. are you free sometime during the night?

He was quick to respond again. [4:07p] I work till 3:00 AM tomorrow would 4:00 AM be good for you?

You smiled goofily to yourself. [4:09p] that would be perfect, my place or yours?

[4:11p] I can't really play at night, so could we do your place? I still live with my parents

You nodded and then laughed before responding [4:14p] of course my neighbors are used to it at this point

[4:15p] 😌Send your address and I'll be there tomorrow

You did gladly and that, was the first night you slept well.

🎻

Your jaw nearly dropped when you opened your door to Minho standing outside of it, looking entirely different in sweats, a muscle tee and hair slightly messy. His tattoos were on full display and you marveled over them for several moments before he cleared his throat.

“Hey,” you drew out.

He gave you a silly smile, “Sorry I look so disheveled. It was a long day at the shop.” His large cello was strapped in a case on his back as he shifted his weight back and forth.

“Oh,” you replied tearing your gaze away, “come in.”

You let him follow you in and quickly apologized for any mess, “I’m not really home often,” you grinned.

He just shrugged, “I don’t mind. I know your schedule is probably packed. Which speaking of, thank you for making time for me.”

You waved him off and retrieved Oliver from where he was on your couch, “No problem. Today I don’t have to work till 6pm so I would have had a ton of free time on my hands any way. Thanks for coming.”

Making your way over to an empty space in your living room, you placed down two music stands, thankful to still have Changbin’s. You had moved two dinning chairs to sit in front of them and waited for Minho to get situated. He did so as you slid a couple of music sheets onto both stands.

Minho grabbed a few sheets from the front pouch of his cello case, uncrumpling the edges as he did, “Sorry, cello cases aren’t the best for storing music,” he said with an awkward smile. He handed the music to you and you looked it over, before deciding it was worthy enough to play and sitting it on your stands as well. “Where should we begin?” he asked as you sat down with Oliver.

You hummed, looking through the music before deciding on Jupiter Chorale, from the Planets, a song Minho had brought along with him. “I don’t have a metronome or anything.”

He shook his head, “I don’t think we’ll need one.”

And was he right.

When you began playing together, it was as if everything aligned. He kept his eyes on you while you played, knowing his cues when to come in and when the right time to use vibrato was.

The song was nice, slow, and quite depressing but playing it with Minho, it was beautiful. You didn’t feel as sad as you normally did.

When the piece was over, Minho’s eyes were prodding you, “You’re really good,” he remarked.

You flushed, “Minho, that was such a simple song.”

He shook his head, “Those are the hardest to play, don’t you know?”

You cocked your head, “What do you mean?”

“Simple songs are the hardest because it’s so easy to mess up. If you mess up a busy song, someone is likely not to even notice. But a piece this simple, you have to be good to play it well.”

“You’re not so bad either then,” you added, smiling at him before flipping through the sheets and changing the music.

He watched you choose a piece and gasped when you did, “O Waly Waly is one of my favorites. Another simple piece that is so easy to mess up.”

You pointed at him, “Now, I’m going to mess up.”

He rolled his eyes, “I highly doubt it. You radiate such big first violin energy. I can feel it pressing against me and it hurts, by the way.”

“Why are cello players so snippy?”

Pointing his bow at you, he shook it, “Violin players are snobby, okay? We have to be snippy.”

Narrowing your eyes, you glared at him, “I am not snobby.”

“You chose O Waly Waly, you’re totally a snob.”

“That’s mean, Minho.”

He put a hand up in defense, “I didn’t say I didn’t like it.”

Flushing, you tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. “Can we move on to O Waly Waly now?” What did he mean he liked it? Was he flirting with you? Oh god. Your heart sunk into your stomach. What if he was? He had a soulmate and he was flirting with you? Maybe you were reading into it too much. Yes, that had to be it. It was just friendly banter. Changbin used to banter with you like that.

The thought calmed you down as the two of you began the next song.

Like before, he was in perfect step with you.

He didn’t miss a single note and was right in tune with you and it made things feel so right. Minho might just pan out to be a good friend. Not even Changbin was able to stay this in tune with you - and that said a lot because Changbin and you were nearly perfect musical partners.

Now, maybe you had found a new musical partner.

“Again,” he said when you finished, “You play beautifully, Y/N,” he complimented.

Biting your lip, you nodded slowly, “You’re really good too, Minho.”

“How long have you played?”

“Since I was about eight,” you replied. “My mom forced it on me and for a long time, I actually hated it,” you laughed, feeling slightly sad when remembering the times you’d fight with your mom over playing.

He gave you a look of sympathy, “I was forced to play too but it started with piano when I was ten. Ultimately I hated it and decided to try cello. I liked how big and powerful it was. Turned out that’s where my passion was. I won a lot of contests in school. I would have never done so with piano. My fingers aren’t meant to move that way.”

You eagerly nodded, “My fingers aren’t really built to use a bow, and I still struggle with my form,” you said showing him your awkward bow hold. “But er, my ex worked on it really hard with me and was persistent. He really made a difference.”

“Was he a musician?”

You licked your lips, you weren’t really used to talking about Changbin but something about Minho, made it easier. “He was. Guitar though. Looking back, I guess we never meshed that well. We were never quite in tune.”

“I understand,” he said simply and you noticed his eyes had flooded back to their natural color, almost making you gasp because god, was he beautiful and his natural eyes made him that much more pretty. You stared at him for several moments, taking him in before he caught you off guard and said, “Weird to see my eyes normal, isn’t it?”

So he caught you staring. Way to go Y/N. “Yes.”

“I love their natural color, I think eyes look the prettiest when they’re in their natural state. You can see more of a person that way. I like the way your eyes always are, I feel like I see so much of you even though you aren’t willing to show me much.”

You grimaced, “I haven’t had the best few months. I’m a little standoffish, I’ll be honest. It’s hard to let anyone in.”

“Well,” Minho clapped his hands together, “Thank you for what you have let me in on. Could we be music buddies? I don’t have anyone else to play with and playing with you is so... refreshing.”

He was right. You felt so refreshed playing with him and listening to the way his cello soared. Watching him out of the corner of your eyes was like watching a true artist at work and it was beautiful. You agreed with him that maybe this could be something worthwhile. “Music buddies sounds good. I just am not sure I know how to have friends... I was always the awkward violin player.”

“Well now you’re the beautiful violin player.”

You shied away, “You’re too flattering, Minho.”

He noticed your look of discomfort and was quick to apologize, “I’m sorry. I was always known as the blunt cello player.”

“Shall we play some more?”

“Do you have more time?”

You looked at your phone, and nodded, it’s not like you needed sleep anyway. “Sure.”

He paused for a moment and then looked towards your kitchen, “Could I make you some coffee?”

“Please but good luck with it, I fear I made it angry,” you joked.

He laughed and it was the most beautiful melodic sound you swore you ever heard. “I’ll sweet talk it the way I do at work.”

You raised a brow, “You talk to the machines at work?”

He sat his bow down, scoffing as he laid his cello on the floor, “Don’t act like you’ve never talked to Oliver.”

Putting your hands in the air, you laughed back, “Okay, you got me there.”

And that’s how Minho made you the best cup of coffee you’d ever had from your coffee maker and stayed over playing till seven in the morning.

When he left, even with the caffeine still flowing through your veins, once your head hit the sheets, you fell asleep and when you awoke, for the first time in months, the bags under your eyes were barley visible.

Music really had a way of healing and you hadn’t realized how desperately you had needed a partner to play with until that night.

You guessed that Minho had came into your life at the right time and even if he was a stranger, now he was becoming a friend.

It scared you and excited you at the same time.

🎻

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baoshan-sanren · 4 years

Text

Chapter 15 Part 2

of the wwx emperor au that’s now more like the terrible horrible time the Lan Sect is having ugh

The wait goes on forever. Nearly two hours pass before the commotion announces the Emperor’s approach.

Gone is every trace of the boy who had carried a child on his hip. Wei WuXian’s robe is liquid black, gold dragons climbing over his shoulders and twisting down the arms. Above this unforgiving color, his cheeks appear hollow, each line of his face sharp enough to cut.

Nie HuaiSang is walking by his side, light of step next to Wei WuXian’s heavy stride, flowing green robes next to Wei WuXian’s stark lines. The Emperor is leading him, Nie HuaiSang’s hand lightly resting on the Emperor’s embroidered sleeve, and WangJi thinks that the Royal Companion has never more looked an equal partner in power, as if his rightful place is by the Emperor’s side.

It is a bitter, pointless realization, one that WangJi does not have time to analyze.

Behind the Emperor, there is a flash of red robes and dark hair. WangJi recognizes Wen Qing, the granddaughter of the Head Healer. Behind her, two servants follow. One of them carries a tray. Inexplicably, the tray holds a tea pot, and three cups.

The Emperor leads Nie HuaiSang to the dais. He sits down, his eyes passing over the kneeling forms before giving them the permission to rise. Nie HuaiSang settles by his feet. Wen Qing and the two servants remain at the bottom of the dais.

“High Councilor,” the Emperor says, without looking at Jiang FengMian, “the rumors in the palace halls are running rampant. I hope you have a more coherent narrative to present.”

“Your Majesty,” Jiang FengMian says, “the HeJian Fan Sect Leader has been poisoned.”

“I am aware,” the Emperor says, “as I come from his bedside. The correct antidote has been provided by the Head Healer, and will see him back to full health in a matter of days.”

“Ah, this is very good news. Excellent news,” Jiang FengMian says, “Ah-- yes. The Young Master of the Lan Sect has been accused of giving the Fan Sect Leader the poison.”

“Who has accused him?”

Two men step out from the sea of people. They both kneel, and the Emperor impatiently gestures that they should rise.

One of them wears the uniform of TingShan He Sect, the other, a uniform of the LanLing Jin. WangJi vaguely remembers seeing the youth wearing the Jin Sect uniform, but the other is unfamiliar.

The man in the TingShan He colors steps forward, “Your Majesty, I was seated at the HeJian Fan Sect table. The Fan Sect Leader did not consume any food or drink prior to joining the Lan Sect Leader. I remember it clearly, because Fan XiaoHu had complained that her father does not eat enough, and that she must always place food in front of him. I--“ he shifts, appearing nervous, “It is not my intention to make an accusation, but to stand as a witness to the fact that no poison could have been consumed at the Fan Sect table.”

“I will accuse him,” the youth in the Jin Sect uniform arrogantly steps forward, “I saw, with my own eyes, Lan XiChen pour tea for the Fan Sect Leader. Less than an hour later, the Fan Sect Leader was bleeding from his nose and mouth.”

“Did Young Master Lan only pour tea for the Fan Sect Leader?” Wen Qing asks.

The Jin disciple seems offended that she had chosen to speak to him, but after one look at the Emperor’s face, he swallows whatever complaints he may have offered.

“He did not. He poured for both Sect Leaders, and himself. But he could have easily slipped the poison in Fan Sect Leader’s cup.”

“He could have,” Jiang FengMian says, “but you did not see it.”

“No, I--“ the Jin disciple is beginning to turn red, “I saw him pour the tea.”

“You saw some tea being poured?” a small Nie Sect disciple pipes up scornfully from the other side of the hall, “How is that a crime?”

Nie MingJue shoots a murderous look in kid’s direction. The boy scrunches up his face, and decides to study the floor instead.

The Jin Sect disciple’s face is very red now, “If both Lan QiRen and Lan XiChen drank the tea, and only the Fan Sect Leader was poisoned, then Lan XiChen must have put the poison into the cup.”

“But you did not see him put the poison into the cup,” Jiang FengMian says kindly.

“No, I--“

He looks at if he wants repeat the fact that he had seen Lan XiChen pour the tea, but then thinks better of it, and shuts his mouth with a click.

Throughout all this, XiChen is still kneeling, perfectly still, head bowed. There is no fear or tension in his posture. WangJi cannot see his brother’s face, but he can picture the forced calm, the acceptance of whatever may come. It is infuriating.

WangJi will not accept this. Anyone who thinks that they can lay a hand on his brother, for a crime he did not commit, will lose that hand by WangJi’s blade.

“Jin ZiXun is half-correct,” the Emperor says coldly, “the poison was in the cup. Wen Qing?”

The girl picks up the cup, “The poison in question is the venom extracted from the black ring snake. It is known as the poor man’s poison; it can be easily obtained in any region of the Empire. It is extremely bitter to taste. In heavily spiced foods, the taste can be hidden, but it would have definitely been noticeable in the mild tea that was served this morning. The common practice is to mix the poison with beeswax, which neutralizes the bitter taste. You can see, by the shine on the porcelain, that the inside of the cup is still coated. The application of this beeswax is time-consuming and takes an infinite amount of care; any direct contact with skin could have introduced the venom to the bloodstream. In other words,” she places the cup back on to the tray, “the inside of the cup had to have been coated ahead of time. As Young Master Lan had been so closely watched,” she nods to Jin ZiXun, “it would have been impossible for him to apply this poison to the cup without being seen.”

“So, he did not put the poison in at the picnic,” Jin ZiXun says, “he could have done it ahead of time.”

“Are you stupid?” the little Nie Sect disciple explodes again, “The cups were placed on the tables by the Imperial servants. Does Young Master Lan look like a servant to you?”

WangJi expects the Nie Sect Leader to scold the boy again, but no such thing occurs. Nie MingJue is staring at Jin ZiXun, the scorn on his face mirroring that of his disciple.

“General,” Jin GuangShan smiles, “will you allow your disciple to display such poor manners in front of the Emperor?”

A clamor from the back of the hall saves Nie MingJue from having to answer the accusation.

“Move!” a furious voice snaps from the middle of the crowd.

They part to show Jiang WangYin striding forward, two of the Emperor’s guards behind him. For the first time, the Emperor’s face shows something other than cool indifference. He leans forward slightly, his lips parted in anticipation.

“We found them,” Jiang WanYin says without preamble, “The two servants who had set the tables and set out the cups are both dead. Their throats were slit, and their bodies stuffed in the stairway of the old north-west watchtower. Gr-- the Head Healer estimates that they could not have been dead for long. Four hours at most. Their rooms are being searched as we speak.”

The Emperor leans back, his face growing cold again.

“Where was Young Master Lan at that time?” Jin GuangShan says, “I seem to remember him being absent when the Fan Sect Leader fell ill.”

“He was with me,” Nie MingJue says coldly.

“The Jin Sect seems determined that the Lan Sect is at fault,” a soft voice comes from the back.

WangJi recognizes the voice immediately. He does not have to turn around and look to be sure.

“Such a curious thing to keep insisting,” Jiang YanLi says gently, “in the face of all the evidence to the contrary. Perhaps I should mention that the Second Young Master was with me, before someone thinks to accuse him as well.”

“Lady Jiang,” Jin GunagShan says, “I am only trying to be helpful.”

Nie HuaiSang snorts, and Jin GuangShan whips his head around as if someone had pinched him.

“You--“ he bursts out.

No other words come. He has belatedly realized who, exactly, he is speaking to, and in what tone of voice.

Nie HuaiSang, casually leaning against the Emperor’s seat, now slowly and deliberately closes his fan. He is staring at Jin GuangShan with a singular focus, as if challenging him to continue.

Jin GuangShan’s mouth opens and closes. His face begins to turn purple.

“A-Sang,” the Emperor says, “Do you have something to add?”

“The Lan Sect is clearly the victim here,” Nie HuaiSang says, tapping his fan against the Emperor’s leg, “the cup was placed at the Lan Sect table. The Fan Sect Leader ended up at the table by chance. The poison was not intended for him, it was intended for the person whose seat he was occupying.”

It seems to take everyone a few moments to make the connection.

“But this--” Jiang FengMian says, looking lost, “Why would someone try to poison Lan WangJi?”

A hush falls over the hall.

WangJi has no interest in the details of the attempted poisoning.

Why would anyone be so quick to accuse XiChen of committing a crime, after seeing him do nothing more dangerous than pour a cup of tea? Those who despised them had never seemed to need a logical reason.

For the first time since leaving the South Lakes courtyard, he feels no fear at all, but a deep, bone-crushing relief. He is so stupidly grateful that someone had tried to kill him. Unless they mean to accuse XiChen of trying to poison his own brother, they must recognize that he is innocent in this matter.

As if hearing his thoughts, Wei WuXian stands up, “Please rise, Young Master Lan. You are no longer under suspicion.”

WangJi does not know how long his brother has knelt on the hard floors, but he knows that XiChen would not want the others to see him stumble. He steps forward to offer assistance, but the Nie Sect Leader is already by his brother’s side, lifting him up.

“High Councilor,” Wei WuXian says, “You will investigate this throughly. Please inform all our guests that the competition will be postponed. No one is to leave the Immortal Mountain City until the persons responsible for this incident are discovered and brought to justice.”

Only after the Emperor has departed the hall, does WangJi realize that the entire time, Wei WuXian had had not looked at him at all.

#the untamed #cql #mdzs #ficlet #m #wwx emperor au #half-way through chapter 20 now #i still hope i can fit this story in 30 chapters but #did you know we're only on the day 2 of the emperor's 7 day celebration?#day 2 #let that sink in #i think i have made a terrible mistake #ily guys #thank you all the nice messages and comments and tags

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gh0sture · 3 years

Text

Under the Sea

Trafalgar Law x gn!reader

Part 2, Meet the gang

You've never been particularly good at meeting new people or making good first impressions for that matter but this, by far, has to be your worst one yet. Your clothes are soaked still, your hair a sticky mess from the saltwater and your mouth is opening and closing lika a fish gasping for air as it flaps around on a bridge after being caught. It's not one of your best looks you'll admit but it is all you can offer at the moment given the circumstances.

You try to form coherent thoughts, you really do, but this is just way too much for you to take in. He reaches a hand out and you flinch before grabbing it to make an awkward shake.

This isn't just insane. This is completely knock-your-socks-off bonkers.

You feel as if you were looking at the golden gates of heaven themselves, not daring to look him in the eyes out of fear that you might go blind from the sheer radiance of his aura meanwhile the man in question just looked at you blankly. Possibly with a hint of disgust. Definitely a bit of disgust.

"The name's Trafalgar Law, captain of Polar tang" his handshake is firm and he looks at you expectantly while retrieving his hand and crossing his arms over his chest.

Neither of you say anything. He clears his throat but you give no reaction. Still staring at him like a five year old looking at a blackboard of university level algebra equations. He grimaces slightly at your behavior.

"Are you ok? I don't remember finding any trauma to your head, you should be fine" he grabs your chin and tilts your head around to inspect it disapprovingly in search of an injury. Although, he is an expert doctor so he would never miss any injuries, his pride wouldn't let him. This does nothing to soothe your symptoms though and doesn't exactly help with calming your heartbeat at all.

"I wouldn't have missed anything what's wrong with you" he mutters to himself when you finally managed to collect yourself enough to remove his hands.

"uhh no! no, i'm ok! thank you for ,uh, saving me by the way" this is the best and worst thing that have ever happened to you.

"it wasn't my choice" he deadpanned and turn back into the room to get a den-den mushi with a familiar penguin hat on it. Its so strange seeing on in real life. Although, you don't know if this is real life (is it just fantasy?). He proceeds to make a phone call (mushi-call? den-den call?) into it while you shift awkwardly on your feet in the hallway. Your feet ache from walking on the metal grid barefoot you had barely noticed until now. After exchanging a few words he walk over to the desk where he'd previously been sitting and open a journal, presumably to continue doing whatever he did before.

"One of my crew members will be here shortly to get you settled for now and give you some necessities. We reach a port in nine days where you can leave." his voice was calm and composed, like pouring molten chocolate into your ears even though the words themselves were less than pleasant. When he spoke you could feel your knees get weak and you feel tempted to ask him a question for the sole purpose of hearing him speak more. God this man was hot. You nodded at his statement at first, not really paying attention to what he had actually said until you realized that nothing he said had been actually registered in your head.

"Wait, what?" you asked. He doesn't look up from his writing but you can hear the mild annoyance in his voice when he answers.

"Looking at you, you are rather ill equipped for staying here until we reach a populated island. Since you don't have any money or anything valuable, my crew will provide for you until we reach the port where you can find another ship to go back wherever you came from...Whatever weird country that's supposed to be...Now go down the hallway, He should be there already to help you so leave me alone" you get the feeling that you'll loose a limb if you stick around longer so you turn to head down the hallway and find "Him" who you hoped would be more polite.

"Not that way" you hear from the study and you turn around to head down the other way, somewhat (very) embarrassed.

You really wished that your first time meeting a celebrity would've gone better, but then again they do say that you should never meet your heroes. Was he always this rude in the series and book? Sure he came across as a bit of a tsundere but he seemed at least approachable in the series. You don't have the charisma or extroverted superpowers that Luffy have so that is probably an important thing to consider. As you head down the hallway you come across a man walking in your direction pretty soon. He seem far more ok with your existence and even appear to lit up a bit when he sees you and give you a friendly wave. This is already going a lot better than last time.

"Yo! You're the one we found floating around yesterday! Nice to meet you, people around here call me Penguin" He gives you a wide yet genuine smile as he grab your hand and shake it enthusiastically before you even have the chance to reach out.

"thought you were a goner when we found you haha!So it's good to see that you're up n' about, c'mon let me show you a round!" he turn around to walk from where he had just come from while you follow behind him silently.

Penguin makes it his personal responsibility to keep a conversation going even if it's pretty one-sided but it's nice. Comforting even, as he went on about how nice the other crewmembers are with the exception of the captain but you shouldn't take what he says too personal as he's a bit misunderstood. He ask you different questions like your name, where you came from, complimenting you on your weird clothes, although it feels like that was mostly him being polite and you didn't have heart or energy to tell him that you're wearing PJ's. He doesn't mind your short answers and seems satisfied with the information he's able to divulge. To be fair you aren't sure how to answer since you don't know how you ended up here but also out of fear of ripping the space-time continuum open by telling him forbidden knowledge about his universe. It would be rather awkward explaining to him that you know a lot about them and what they've done/are about to do. You've technically stalked them through tv and books and if someone told you that they've been watching you, you would freak out. Rightfully so too. They might even think that you're a navy spy sent to gather information action for their arrest and they could kill you. Yeah, this is a mess and a half but you'll burn this bridge when you get to it. You did tell him your name though and he doesn't seem to suspect you working for some nefarious organization so all is well.

He showed you where the important places in the submarine was such as the kitchen, living quarters, rec area and bathrooms. You still have trouble telling up from down will undoubtedly get lost but he assures you that after a while you'll know this maze like the back of your hand. After leaving the living quarters he guides you to the top deck to find someone else he says will help you so that he can get back to work.

The yellow ship had surfaced at a deserted summer island and everyone was outside enjoying the sun after spending several days in the dark of the ocean. You hadn't been down in the submarine for that long , at least not while being conscious, and was already getting a bit unnerved over how cold and cramped it was. As soon as the warm rays of light hit you both the cold and your worries melt away.

"Hey Ikkaku! You have to help the drifter get some clothes!" He yelled at a woman laying in a sun-chair on the deck with her eyes closed. The familiar heart pirates uniform was open to reveal a green tank top and an orange and yellow striped hat was laying beside her.

"Haah!? Why do I have to do it?" She sat up to glare at Penguin and was about to protest when she spotted you behind him. One second you were hiding behind Penguin and the next you're face to face with a very pretty woman with very poofy hair. Her glorious lion name bounces a bit as she hold up both your hands in hers and lean over a bit to stare into your eyes. Everyone is so tall here why is everyone so ridiculously tall. Anime proportions are wild.

"Oh my god!! We were so worried about you, we thought you were dead when we found you!" You felt uncomfortable with her being so close to your face and politely thanked her for saving you while doing your best to avoid eye contact.

"Oi! Where's your manners! They've been through a lot being stranded in the ocean have some respect!" He bops her on the head and she lets you go to tell him off (and/or punch him back) but she remembers the shiny new toy in front of her and settles for staring daggers at him instead.

"Oh shut yer trap" She stares at you intensely as if to make sure you wouldn't run away or vanish into thin air. It's kind of nice being fawned over like this, and clearly the crew enjoy having a visitor.

"It's so nice having a fresh face around, It's been years since Captain let anyone new stay onboard and being stuck with all the same jerks weeks on end gets a bit tiring you know. Now come on and let's go find you some proper clothes!" She grab your hand to drag you along back into the dark,dark depths of the submarine.

Oh joy. more cold, feet grating and claustrophobia.

"You're a bit smaller than everyone so we should probably ask Uni to sow it in for you if it's way too big" She says more to herself rather than you while handing you the classical white uniform with the heart pirates logo on the chest over your heart.

The woman who's name you had learned to be Ikkaku turn around and continued rummaging around the small closet in front of her in search of more clothes for you while you change into the white uniform when she isn't looking. It feels incredible to finally get out of those damp and sticky clothes and into something soft and warm instead. You are also the proud owner of a pair of fuzzy socks and black boots. Your poor abused feet are overjoyed that they no longer have to walk the metal grid of a thousand needles. Life is good.

"Once we get to the port of Pellar island you can probably trade your way to some more clothes but this should be fine for now"

In the little time you had spent with her you had learned quite the few things about the crew on the ship. For starters there were 21 members in the crew (including the captain), You were lucky number 22 according to Ikkaku, even though you aren't a part of the crew it's apparently better to have an even number of people aboard the ship. And hearing the stories of what they've been through it seems like you're their new rabbits foot. Since you're considered baggage or fancy cargo rather than someone useful she gives you some times on how to stay out the way, especially out if the captains way which you feel is probably a wise decision but you offer your help should she need it in the kitchen which she greatly appreciates. You hate feeling useless.

You can't help but wonder where you are in the Once Piece timeline as you rolled up the long sleeves of the uniform on your arms and legs for comfort. Had Luffy and Law already formed the alliance? Were you before the timeskip and the incident at Marine Ford? Maybe you were even ahead of the manga and anime itself in a future arc even. You were snapped out of your thoughts when Ikkaku pushed a bundle of toiletries into your arms involving a towel, a toothbrush, and a bar of soap.

"We haven't figured out where you'll sleep for the moment but it'll work out soon enough. Otherwise you can just sleep in a spare bed in the infirmary but come help me gather food from the island! We don't want to get scurvy while we're submerged!" She drag you away towards the deck after leaving your things in her room for safe keeping for now.

This woman is going to pull your arm off.

She seemed very sweet but all the touching and stereotypical anime arm-pulling is weird since you have literally just met. The way she smiles while asking you about your favourite foods and how she excitedly plan different recipes out loud make you almost forgive her though. Almost.

You move sluggishly towards Ikkaku's room to get the only material items you currently own in this world. Foraging for fruits and herb until nightfall was tiring but at least you didn't have to carry that much stuff, a guy with a black pompadour haircut had come along to help carry the crates of stuff you and Ikkaku gathered. He seemed very nice too, somewhat cocky though. You had asked Ikkaku for information on a certain Straw-hat pirate while making small talk and have come to the conclusion that he probably hasn't even started his adventure towards becoming the Pirate King yet. She didn't know who you were referring to and was even showed some seagull newspaper from their library but no info of the gummy monkey man could be found whatsoever. Since you recall him making news very early on in his "career" it's fair to assume that he hasn't gotten up to his mischief yet.

It feels a bit weird to be honest. To be in the prologue of the story like this and you have no idea what kind of things anyone other than the Strawhats and Luffy had been up to since the story followed them, maybe some vague details about Law's past and fragments from some characters backstories but this is all uncharted territory. Your thoughts are interrupted as you suddenly bump into someone and fell backwards. You reach your arms out like a bad imitation of a seagull in attempt to grab the wall but someone grabs you before you manage to take hold of anything. Your grab their shoulders to steady yourself and let go once you're back on your feet but they don't remove their hands from you. You look up to thank them for catching you when all the colour drains from your face and you realize who you're standing prom-slow-dance proximity to. It is but the one and only person you'd least want to embarrass yourself in front of. Again.

"Do you have a death wish or are you just plain stupid 22-ya" He looked down at you with what you assume to be the ghost of an amused smile or slight disgust. Probably disgust. Again. while you're distracted by his closeness and the humiliating event that is currently taking place. It could be much worse though, right? you can salvage this situation probably.

"Crap, sorry I was just zoned out.." You tried looking anywhere but his oh-so-handsome face to avoid you making this anymore awkward than it already was. You are not immune against handsome people after all. You tried moving away from him slightly but his hands stayed firm on your shoulders and could feel his gaze on you like needle pricks on your skin. you definitely do not dare looking him in the eye.

"You have to look where you're going or you might get seriously hurt next time" He mused. He may be attractive but he's definitely a jerk.

"It's impossible to see down here it's so dark..." you mutter under your breath and quickly move to side to walk past him, he let's go this time rejoice that your attempt to escape the harassing captain is successful, desperate to get away from this weird atmosphere you have created. Unfortunately for you, the universe have other plans as he start walking behind you in the same direction you are and boy, is it awkward.

After a bit of walking you start to get a bit suspicious though. Was he following you around, waiting for you to get lost so that he could make a smartass comment about it? He is the kind of person who would find great amusement in petty bullshit like that for sure but then again you do have a tendency of assuming the worst in every situation. You decide to test this theory out by steeping to the side and make as much room as you could in the hallway and drop down to pretend fixing your shoelace. Instead of trying to walk past you he stops completely right behind you. You move as slow as you can without arising suspicion but he so kindly wait patiently behind you. When you're done "tying your shoelace" and stand up to continue your journey he follows close behind.

Oh hell no.

You can handle rudeness but this is some psychological warfare or foul play that you want no part of. No matter how handsome the guy is you will not stand for this kind of fuckery. You make a sudden halt and quickly turn around to kindly tell him to fuck off.

"Do you need something from me?" you ask with as much calm you can currently muster, irritation building up behind your customer service smile but he doesn't say anything and only look at you with the same dumb face as before. Almost like he's sizing you up before a fight. Possibly with even more disgust this time.

This Motherfucker.

When he still doesn't say anything for several seconds you just decide to be the bigger person and turn around to start walking again. Of course, with him still following you. It's better to just ignore him and he'll go away, you know where you're going. You finally reached Ikkaku's room and gather up the few items that belong to you when he finally speak up.

"You don't have a room assigned yet right?" You gave him a somewhat puzzled look. That's what he needed to know? That is why he followed you?? To ask you this???

"No? why?" You admit cautiously, almost preparing for him to start fighting you or using his power to "confiscate" one of your organs. For a brief second you could've sworn you saw a mischievous glint in his eyes you know that something bad is brewing. The cogs of evil are turning in his mind and you know that whatever comes out of his mouth next will undoubtedly mean bad news for you.

"I have an idea"

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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!

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______________________________

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.”

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