a/n; Basically, this is everything that took over my brain after rewatching every dinosaur movie I could find over the past two weeks.
For a little more context:
Chanyeol is a paleoveterinarian who used to work with our fem!reader in the past. She studied the behavior of newly introduced species or those that had been released into large open reserves, while he was responsible for monitoring the animals’ health, their vital signs, illnesses, and injuries.
The night they called him, Chanyeol was already halfway through closing the improvised clinic he ran on the outskirts of the city. It wasn’t a large place, just an old hangar refitted with the bare essentials to treat animals most veterinarians preferred to avoid.
After all, it wasn’t every day someone knew how to care for creatures that had been extinct for millions of years.
When the communicator vibrated against the metal table, he hesitated before answering. Calls at that hour rarely brought good news.
—Dr. Park?— The voice on the other end sounded tense.—We need you in the northern sector. There’s… a problem with one of the specimens.—
Chanyeol sighed as he grabbed his jacket.
A “problem with a specimen” almost always meant the same thing: panic, damage in the city, or an animal too badly injured to defend itself.
The drive to the site was short, but long enough for the city lights to fade behind him and the sound of traffic to dissolve into the distance. When he arrived, several containment vehicles surrounded the area, and a pair of massive floodlights lit the scene as if it were midday.
And at the center of it all was him.
The ankylosaurus was breathing with difficulty, its enormous body coated in dust and scrapes. Its armored tail rested across the cracked asphalt, and every movement it made produced a heavy, almost painful sound.
Chanyeol approached carefully.
Even after years of working with different species, the presence of one standing before him never stopped being impressive. There was something deeply surreal about looking at an animal he had only known through fossils and textbooks growing up.
—Easy…—he murmured, more to himself than to the animal.
He knelt beside the dinosaur, sweeping the beam of his flashlight across the bony plates that protected its body.
That was when he saw it.
The wound.
It was small compared to the animal’s size, just an uneven opening between two plates. But something about it didn’t add up.
It didn’t look like a bite.
Nor like a puncture made by containment equipment.
Chanyeol frowned as he carefully cleaned the area.
—That doesn’t make any sense…— he muttered.
The team that had called him watched from a distance, keeping the perimeter clear. No one approached when he carefully slid a tool between the hardened scales to examine the inside more closely.
Something metallic glinted under the light.
Chanyeol froze.
For a moment he thought it might be a piece of shrapnel or a standard tracking implant. But when he finally managed to extract the object, an uneasy knot formed in his stomach.
It was small. Too small.
And far too old.
He recognized the design before he had even finished wiping it clean.
He had only seen it once in his life.
—That can’t be…—he whispered.
That was when he heard footsteps approaching behind him.
Chanyeol didn’t need to turn to know who it was.
Some voices you recognize even in silence.
—You still talk to yourself when you work— the voice said, calm in a way that didn’t seem to belong in a place like this.
Chanyeol closed his eyes for a second before standing up. It had been too long since he’d last heard her voice.
When he finally turned, the perimeter lights illuminated the figure walking slowly between the containment vehicles.
The tension between them was as sharp as the cold night air.
—I thought you promised you wouldn’t come back,— Chanyeol said at last.
The other person lowered her gaze to the small device he still held in his hand. Then she looked back at him.
—And I thought you’d never find one of those.— For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Behind them, the ankylosaurus let out a heavy snort.
Then the girl in front of him spoke again, her voice much quieter.
—Chanyeol,— she said. —That tracker belongs to a project that was shut down seven years ago.—
A pause.
—The problem is… if one of those has resurfaced, it means someone reactivated it.—Chanyeol looked down at the device once more. Its metal surface bore a symbol, almost erased by time.
A symbol he remembered far too well. And one that, officially, was never supposed to have existed.
Chanyeol held the small device between his fingers for a few seconds longer, as if simply staring at it might offer some kind of logical explanation.
But there wasn’t one.
Not in a world where that project was supposed to stay buried along with everything that had gone wrong.
Behind them, the ankylosaurus shifted again, releasing a deep rumble that vibrated through the night air. Chanyeol reacted on instinct, slipping the device into the pocket of his jacket before kneeling beside the animal once more.
—It needs light sedation,—he said without looking back. —And antibiotics. The wound isn’t deep, but if it gets infected it could turn ugly.—
One of the technicians hurried over with medical equipment while the rest of the team maintained the perimeter. No one seemed particularly interested in what he had found, which, for once, worked in his favor.
As he worked, Chanyeol could feel her presence only a few steps behind him.
She hadn’t left.
That alone was strange.
The silence between them stretched for several minutes, broken only by the soft clink of medical tools and the dinosaur’s heavy breathing.
Finally, after cleaning the wound and administering the treatment, Chanyeol stood and removed his gloves.
—How long have you been here?—he asked without turning around.
—Long enough.— The answer came calmly. Almost too calmly.
Chanyeol let out a humorless chuckle.
—Always so specific.—
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her cross her arms while studying the ankylosaurus with a focus that didn’t seem casual.
That unsettled him more than he cared to admit.
—You shouldn’t be here,—he said at last. —After what happened…— He didn’t finish the sentence.
He didn’t need to.
She didn’t respond immediately either. Her gaze remained fixed on the animal.
—Is the wound recent?—she asked instead.
Chanyeol hesitated for a moment.
—A few hours. Maybe less.—
She nodded slightly, as if that answer confirmed something she had already suspected. —Then we’re too late.—
Chanyeol frowned. —We?—
This time she looked at him.
There was something in her expression he didn’t remember seeing before. It wasn’t guilt. It wasn’t discomfort.
It was something else.
Something closer to concern.
—That ankylosaurus wasn’t just wandering around,—she said quietly. —Someone was moving it.—
The night wind swept through the site, lifting dust from the cracked asphalt. In the distance, the faint murmur of traffic blocked by the containment vehicles drifted through the air.
—Moving it from where?— Chanyeol asked.
She shook her head.
—That’s what we still don’t know.—
Chanyeol slipped a hand into his pocket and pulled the tracker out again. Under the harsh floodlights, the metal reflected a cold glint.
—This design is old,— he said. —No one’s used these in years.—
—Exactly.—
Silence settled between them again.
For a moment, they both stared at the device as if expecting it to suddenly activate on its own.
But it remained inert.
Chanyeol sighed.
—I thought that project had been completely wiped out.—
She lowered her gaze briefly before answering.
—That’s what they said.—It wasn’t the answer he expected.
—That’s what they said?—he repeated. —You worked there—Another pause.
Heavier than the others.
—We did work there,—she corrected gently. —Before everything shut down.—
Chanyeol held her gaze.
Too many questions had piled up in that moment.
Too many things that had never been fully said.
—Then tell me something,— he said finally. —Why does a wild ankylosaurus have a tracker from a dead project?—
She took a few seconds before responding.
When she did, her voice was barely above a whisper.
—Because that project never died.—
A chill ran down Chanyeol’s spine.
The ankylosaurus released another deep snort, shifting its armored tail slightly. The technicians had begun dismantling parts of the containment setup. The animal was now sedated enough to be transported.
Chanyeol watched them prepare the mobile platform.
Then he looked back down at the device in his hand.
—You know what the worst part is?—he said after a moment.
She watched him in silence.
—This means someone’s been breeding dinosaurs outside the official system.—
For the first time since she had arrived, the certainty in her expression cracked slightly.
—Not breeding,—she corrected.
Chanyeol looked up. —Then what?—
She took a slow breath before answering.
—Reproducing.—
The wind swept through the site again.
And for a moment, Chanyeol had the unmistakable feeling that the mystery they had just uncovered was only the beginning of something far bigger.
Something neither of them was truly prepared to face.
sumary: After one of the most bitter arguments of their relationship, silence fills the apartment while Sehun takes refuge in the absolute focus of the National Team. Meanwhile, as she grapples with the aftermath of a devastating shift at the hospital, she must decide if love is enough to cross the world and support a man who seems to have forgotten her for a trophy.
The apartment was still draped in silence when she returned. It was a silence that didn't feel like peace, but rather like a burden. She closed the door cautiously, attempting to make as little noise as possible. There was no sound from the television, no sign of movement in the living room; Sehun didn’t seem to be anywhere in sight from her vantage point.
She was about to head toward the bedroom, just to check if Sehun was asleep, when something on the dining table caught her eye: a scrap of parchment. She approached slowly, a strange, nameless sensation stirring in her chest. She took it in her hands.
“I don’t want to be a bother, I’ll be sleeping at the team facilities so you can have some peace at home.”
She stared at it for longer than necessary. There was no anger, only a slow sinking feeling, as if that single sentence had finally confirmed everything she’d felt hours before. She sank into the nearest chair, the parchment still held between her fingers.
—So you can be at peace —she barely whispered, more to herself than anyone. She let out a short, humorless laugh—. Peace.
As if that were what she had been asking for. She rested her elbows on the table and buried her face in her hands, finally allowing the exhaustion to catch up with her. She hadn’t had a moment to process anything: not the hospital, not the argument, nor the emptiness now filling the apartment. She closed her eyes and, for a fleeting second, she was back there: lights far too white, the erratic rhythm of labored breaths, her hands stained with blood. The weight of something she couldn't save.
The roar of the fireplace startled her. She straightened up, her back aching and her head feeling foggy, as if she had just jolted awake. Through the Floo Network, Jongin stepped out, dusting ash from his training robes. He carried a bag of food and an expression she knew all too well.
—Hey… —he said, setting the bag on the table, right on top of Sehun’s note—. I went to the hospital.
She blinked, processing his words.
—They said you didn't show up today. ¿Are you okay? —Jongin tilted his head, observing her with focused concern.
She looked around, trying to make sense of what Jongin had just said. ¿She hadn’t gone to work? Finally, her gaze settled on the window across the room; the light outside looked like twilight. Her eyes shifted back to her brother. His question was simple, but it was enough. She shook her head. She wasn’t going to sugarcoat it, nor would she pretend for his sake. Jongin sighed and sat across from her, pointedly ignoring the note still peeking out from under the food bag.
—¿What happened?
She hesitated, not knowing where to begin.
—Yesterday… —her voice was softer than she expected—. I lost a patient.
Jongin remained silent, just watching her.
—It was a child —she added, swallowing hard—. A werewolf attack… it was too much.
The silence stretched on, but it wasn't awkward. It was Jongin giving her the space she needed.
—I did everything I could —she continued, though her voice began to crack—. But it wasn’t enough.
Jongin lowered his gaze for a moment, taking it in.
—I’m sorry.
She gave a faint nod.
—I tried to call him —Jongin looked up at her again—. But he was training.
She let out a bitter laugh. No more words were needed; she leaned back into her chair, as if her body had suddenly become too heavy to hold up.
—And when I got home… —she glanced at the corner of the parchment on the table—. We ended up fighting.
Jongin followed her gaze and, for the first time since he arrived, took note of the parchment. He didn't comment on it.
—¿Was it bad?
She shook her head slowly.
—No. —And somehow, that made it worse—. It was… —she searched for the right word, but came up empty.
Jongin understood. He leaned over the table, crossing his arms.
—He’s staying at the facilities. I saw him this morning. He’s a wreck, even if he won’t admit it. He’s just reviewing the same play over and over.
—He chose to be there —she replied, her voice hollow—. He told me the World Cup and what happened to me yesterday were… comparable.
Jongin tensed. For a heartbeat, the protective brotherly instinct flared in his eyes, but then he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.
—He’s an idiot, one with a head full of Quidditch and fear.
She looked at him in surprise.
—¿You talked to him?
It was Jongin’s turn for a humorless laugh.
—I tried. Before your fight. Apparently, he didn’t listen much. He’s terrified of failing —Jongin explained gently—. He thinks that if he stops to be human, to be your boyfriend right now, he’ll lose his edge and it’ll cost us the cup. He’s convinced his entire worth depends on that trophy. It’s not that he doesn’t love you… it’s just that right now, he doesn’t know who he is without a broom in his hand.
A heavy silence followed. She looked down at her hands, which still seemed to carry the exhaustion of the hospital.
—I can’t keep being the last priority, Kai. I don’t have any strength left to wait.
He reached out and squeezed her hand over the table.
—I know. And you shouldn't have to. The problem wasn't what you said, it was maybe how you said it. He’s so buried in this that anything that isn't the match… feels like a threat.
—I’m not a threat —she said.
Jongin sighed.
—I know. And I also know that if you don't go to that stadium, you're the one who won't forgive yourself. Not for him, but for you. You’ve spent years supporting him to get here.
The words settled slowly. She pressed her lips together as tears began to sting her eyes.
—He doesn't want me there. He said I’m a distraction.
Jongin let out a short, dry laugh.
—He told you that because you’re the only one who can snap him back to reality, and he’s scared to death of reality right now. But listen to me: if we win, he’s going to search for you in the stands. And if we lose... you’re the only person he’ll want to see when he climbs off that broom, believe me.
Jongin stood up and pulled a golden ticket with the national team's seal from his pocket. He placed it on the table.
—It’s for the main stands, the family section. You’ll be right at the front, with the best view. You don’t have to tell him; go as his girlfriend, go as my sister, whatever you want. But don't let his stupidity rob you of the right to see the end of this journey.
He walked toward the living room, heading back to the fireplace. He turned back and offered a small smile.
—Eat… —he pointed at the bag—. You’ve got a long trip ahead, and I’m not just talking about Ireland.
He gave her a wink as the emerald flames of the Floo Network engulfed him before he vanished.
The days leading up to the trip were a blur of anxiety and determination. The hours at the hospital felt longer, her shifts increasingly grueling. She hadn't heard a word from Sehun or Jongin since her brother's visit. She knew they were in the midst of peak pressure and preparation.
When the day finally came and she was finalizing the details to travel to the Portkey location that would whisk her away to the vast moors of Ireland, her phone began to vibrate. It was Jongin.
When she picked up, her brother’s voice lacked its usual brightness. It sounded strained, muffled by the roar of dozens of people in the background; he was likely already in the locker rooms.
—Tell me you’re on your way —Jongin said, skipping the pleasantries.
—I’m getting there. ¿Is it really that bad? —she asked, a small hollow forming in her stomach.
—Worse. Sehun is a ghost; he’s a total disaster —Jongin let out a heavy sigh—. He’s here, physically he’s the best on the team, but his mind is elsewhere. He blew three basic blocks today. If he doesn’t find his focus, Canada is going to demolish us. His ultimate nightmare is coming true: he knows he’s unfocused and he’s terrified that he’ll be the reason we lose the cup.
She pressed the phone tighter against her ear.
—He needs to know you’re here —Jongin continued, lowering his voice—. I haven't told him because I want him to see it for himself. I know that the moment he spots you in those stands, he’ll be the ruthless Beater we know again. Just... hurry, please.
From the second she hung up, the journey to Ireland became a whirlwind of nerves. Despite what Kai said, she had no idea how Sehun would react to seeing her. Maybe he didn't want her there; maybe he was still angry. Her mind was racing so much that she did everything on autopilot: packing her small bag, making sure the house was in order, and finally appearing on the hill where a group of wizards waited to take the Portkey to Ireland together.
She didn't even feel the characteristic uncomfortable tug at her navel during the transport.
Upon reaching the moors, she saw that the campsite looked like a city built of light. Enchanted tents dotted the hillsides. In the distance, the massive stadium rose majestically; she was still occasionally struck by how breathtaking magic could be for such feats of engineering.
The knot in her stomach tightened as she watched the crowds begin to stream toward the stadium for the start of the match. She didn't feel ready to face Sehun, even from a distance. Once she found her tent and realized she couldn't stall any longer, she looked at the two tickets in her hands: the standard ticket she’d bought months ago, and the gleaming golden one Jongin had given her.
Still feeling overwhelmed by her brother’s words, she decided against the main stands. She followed the crowd and climbed almost to the very top, far away from the heart of the action, where she could hide her face by blending into the sea of people.
The team roared onto the pitch for their opening demonstration, but she could see Sehun was rigid, his gaze distant; he flew behind the rest. He looked flawless in the national kit, but Jongin, flying close by, kept casting him worried looks.
She watched her brother scan the main stands with desperation; she saw his eyes narrow in suspicion when he failed to find her in the family section. Jongin took a sharp turn, soaring higher as his eyes searched through thousands of faces, until his gaze finally locked onto a single point in the crowd.
She stood up immediately, hoping to head off her brother’s next move, but Jongin didn't waste a second. He flew straight toward her, stopping right in front of the railing. There was no warm greeting, no smile, only a stern expression and an authoritative gesture pointing toward the main stands. It was a command.
She sighed, gave a small nod, and began to weave through the people still finding their seats, her heart thumping against her ribs. She reached the front row of the section, just behind the magical barrier, exactly as the match began.
The pace was relentless. Sehun was playing defensively, but it looked more like fear—he was avoiding the kind of risks he usually took with ease. During a counterattack, a Canadian Beater sent a Bludger whistling dangerously close to a Korean Chaser's head. Sehun’s reaction was a beat too slow.
It wasn't a lack of skill. It was doubt. And in Quidditch, doubt is a death sentence.
The scoreboard was bleak: 200 to 30 in favor of Canada. The Korean team was beginning to buckle under the pressure. The Canadian Chasers were fast and clinical, moving the Quaffle with a synchrony that seemed impossible to break.
From her vantage point, she could see the Korean Seeker circling high above, maintaining his distance. She knew what that meant: they couldn't catch the Snitch yet. Even with the 150 points, it wouldn't be enough to overtake Canada’s lead. They needed time; they needed the Beaters to do their jobs.
In a momentary lapse in the Canadian defense, the Korean Chasers managed to start scoring. 50… 80… 120… The gap was closing, but Canada wasn't backing down.
In a brutal counter-offensive, a rival Beater launched a Bludger with such force that it slammed into Sehun’s shoulder. She bolted to her feet, gripping the railing, completely forgetting her desire to remain unnoticed.
She saw Sehun sway on his broom, his face twisted in pain, but he didn't pull back. Jongin was at his side in an instant, shielding him while Sehun found his balance. Without a second thought, she screamed his name, pulling a banner from her cloak that she’d made years ago, his name stitched in shimmering orange sparks.
At the sound of her voice, Sehun’s eyes frantically searched the stands until they landed on her, standing there, holding his name high. It seemed as though the pain in his shoulder was instantly drowned out by a surge of pure adrenaline. Breathing hard, sweat dripping down his face, and clearly stunned that she was there, he flew directly toward her section. His eyes locked onto hers.
The world seemed to fall away. With the adrenaline still coursing through his veins, he gave her a wink and swung his broom back toward the fray. The transformation in Sehun was immediate. The fog in his eyes cleared, replaced by an electric spark. Seeing her there, cheering for him despite everything, was the anchor he had been missing. Sehun gripped his oak bat, gave her a look over his shoulder that carried a silent promise, and ascended vertically at a staggering speed.
Jongin’s shouts echoed from across the pitch as he watched his partner finally rejoin the fight. Sehun intercepted the next bludger with a hit so powerful the sound rang out through the stadium like a gunshot. He was no longer playing scared, and he wasn't going to let anything get near his team.
The stadium erupted when the score hit 210 to 160. Only a 50-point difference. This was it. Sehun raised his bat to the sky, a signal to the Seeker, just as a golden glint appeared on the far side of the pitch for the second time that night. The Korean Seeker went into a vertical dive, but the Canadian Beaters weren't about to make it easy.
A stray bludger was launched directly at the Seeker. Sehun, on the opposite side of the field, wouldn't be able to reach it in time to deflect.
—¡Sehun, launch me! —Jongin roared.
In a move forbidden in any minor league, Jongin gripped the tail of Sehun’s broom as Sehun pushed off with every ounce of his strength. Jongin was catapulted like a projectile, his body nearly horizontal. He intercepted the Bludger millimeters from the Seeker, knocking it away with the edge of his bat.
A second later, a deathly silence fell over the stadium, lasting only a heartbeat. The referee’s whistle blew three times. The Korean Seeker soared upward, his right arm thrust toward the sky. Between his fingers, the Golden Snitch’s wings were still fluttering in vain.
Korea 310 – Canada 210.
The explosion of joy was deafening. Tears streamed down her face as she continued to wave her banner with everything she had. They had won. They were World Champions.
Sehun didn't join the team’s celebration immediately. While the others cheered and flew in victory laps, he slowed his broom. His eyes, rimmed with red from the tears he was holding back, went straight to the front row of the main stands.
He pulled up in front of her, hovering at the railing. He was a mess: his kit was torn, his face was caked in mud and sweat, and the hand still clutching the bat was trembling slightly. Sehun said nothing; he simply reached his hand out to her through the magical barrier that was beginning to fade. She dropped the banner and reached out to take his hand. She used her other hand to gently brush the dirt from his face.
Sehun leaned into her touch, closing his eyes for a brief moment.
—We did it —he whispered.
—You did it —she replied, beaming with pride.
—Not without you.
Sehun smiled, a genuine smile she hadn't seen in months and in that moment, the weight of the glory was finally replaced by something else. The chaos of the victory celebration pulled them apart before they could say another word.
Despite being one of the stars of the night, Sehun moved through the post-match party like an elegant shadow, dodging reporters and officials trying to drape medals around his neck. He only had eyes for one person. He found her near the main bonfire, laughing with Jongin. As Sehun approached, he caught Jongin’s gaze. His best friend gave him a knowing smile and a slight nod. No words were needed; Jongin would handle the formalities, the fans, and the excuses for the press.
Jongin stood up, turning to Sehun.
—Get her out of here —he said quietly, giving Sehun an affectionate pat on his newly healed shoulder—. I’ve got you covered, champ.
Sehun didn't hesitate. He took her hand and they began to walk toward the edge of the campsite, where the Irish grass was heavy with dew and the noise of the party began to fade into the background. They stopped in front of a small tent for official Portkeys. On an old wooden table sat a mundane, battered object: an old leather boot glowing with a faint blue aura. It was their ticket back to Seoul.
Sehun stopped and turned her to face him. The Irish moonlight washed over them.
—¿Do you know what the first thing I thought was when the match ended? —he asked, lacing his fingers with hers.
—¿The cup? —she guessed with a playful grin.
Sehun shook his head, his expression serious.
—I thought that I didn't want to spend another second being "Sehun, the Beater." I just wanted to be Sehun. Your boyfriend. The guy who makes you terrible coffee in the morning and has no idea how to make it up to you for being such an idiot these past few weeks.
She let out a soft laugh, feeling the knot that had lived in her chest since their fight finally dissolve.
—The coffee isn't that bad —she lied, earning a smile from him.
—Let’s go home —he said, a sweet urgency in his voice—. I want to put this kit in a closet, turn off the magical phone, and forget that Bludgers, stadiums, or training schedules exist. Just us.
Sehun reached for the Portkey, but before he touched it, he leaned in and kissed her. It was a kiss that tasted like relief, like an apology, and like a fresh start. A kiss that confirmed that while he had conquered the world that night, his home would always be wherever she was.
—On three —he murmured against her lips.
They both touched the leather boot at the same time. The world around them dissolved into a whirlwind of color and wind, and in the blink of an eye, the cold Irish air was replaced by the familiar warmth of their living room in Seoul.
The keys were still on the table where she had left them. The silence in the apartment was no longer heavy; it was welcoming. Sehun let go of the Portkey, took a deep breath, and hugged her from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder as they looked out at the city lights, a city that didn't yet know its heroes had returned.
