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holdmymallowsweet · 13 days

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What are you doing here? 04

Ominis Gaunt x f!MC Word count: 5584, properly tagged on AO3

Chapter summary: The promised second meeting at the library never happened. But something else would.

a/n: I’m sorry this is out later than I’d said it would be, but I’ve been struggling with this chapter for what feels like an eternity. That said, I think I’ve managed to finally write it in a way that feels right to me, I hope it does for you too. And many thanks to everyone who’s been waiting patiently and left me sweet, encouraging comments, it really means a lot to me!

Warnings: this is the scriptorium chapter, so there’s torture, panic attacks and just a lot of angst in general

Chapter 03 || Masterlist || Chapter 05 (coming soon)

Chapter 04 - From out the dark door

“I can’t agree, and I’ll not say a word more. I’m sorry.” Ominis left the great Hall before Sebastian could finish his answer. He was tired of arguing, and this was not something he liked to discuss just out of earshot of their classmates having lunch.

They didn’t have any more classes today, but he still decided to head back to the Defence Against the Dark Arts tower. He loved Sebastian like a brother, but right now, he cursed having no place to go to get away from him.

They shared a common room and dormitory, the Undercroft felt more like Sebastian’s secret hideout than his own lately, and the only place Ominis cared to call home- other than Hogwarts- was Sebastian’s bloody house.

Finding a place to be that didn’t allow Sebastian to corner him and inquire about the scriptorium again was becoming a challenge, and so far the best solution he’d come up with was to hide in plain sight- of curious onlookers, that was, because for all his faults, at least Sebastian cared about being secretive.

If he’d been an impartial observer, he might have found it funny, in the saddest way possible.

Ominis had been so annoyed with Sebastian’s odd fascination with the new fifth year, and now that he’d finally given in and admitted to himself that he could understand the appeal, and even made a first tentative step towards some sort of friendship, the damned scriptorium had replaced her as the topic that inevitably came up whenever they had a conversation, threatening to rip his and Sebastian’s friendship apart at the seams.

Was that it? Had he been granted four years of borrowed happiness, which he’d now have to return like a stack of overdue books from the library? A brief respite, rather than a release, and after losing Anne, Sebastian and eventually Hogwarts, he’d find himself standing in his room at Gaunt Manor again, the house elves and the screams his only company. If he was lucky.

Perhaps this was a form of divine punishment. For thinking he could pretend to lead an ordinary life, for hoping he could leave what had happened at his family’s home there.

It was a relief to feel the cold autumn air on his face as he pushed the doors of the entrance hall open. A soft breeze brought the smell of the lake and pumpkins with it, and he inhaled deeply, as if it was his last breath on earth.

Ominis loved the time around Halloween, or at least he used to, as the stabbing pain in his heart reminded him. He’d spent this time last year with a healthy Anne and a cheerful Sebastian whom he could actually stand to be around. Who wouldn’t constantly pester him about his family’s secrets, bringing back fears he had previously locked away. If only he could throw away the key.

The walk in the fresh air unfortunately gave him plenty of time to cast his mind back to the circumstances leading up to their most recent argument.

“Have you ever read anything about a ‘scriptorium’? A secret study of Salazar Slytherin’s?”

If his father’s letter hadn’t mentioned it in the same sentence as Noctua’s name, he wouldn’t have asked. He’d been thinking with his heart, not his mind. And if he could have guessed the effect this simple question had on Sebastian, he would have let it go up in flames, along with the letter.

The second it had slipped out, it had taken root in Sebastians mind, growing into an obsession, and that’s when the constant nagging and questioning had begun.

“A ‘scriptorium’? Do you know where it is? Any idea what could be in there?”

“I know it might be full of dark magic, but Anne was cursed by dark magic, so we might find out what happened to her and reverse it.”

“If it looks dangerous, we could just leave. If it’s protected by powerful dark magic, or something else, we might not even get in there but we should at least try. Don’t you want to help Anne?”

“Do you think I can’t be responsible with what we might find? Don’t you trust me? Is that it?”

Ominis wouldn’t budge. Of course he wanted to help Anne. Of course he trusted Sebastian, or at least he thought he did. But the more Sebastian pushed for it, the more Ominis recoiled from the very idea.

Sebastian didn’t know what they were like, not really.

The Slytherins. The Gaunts.

Sebastian didn’t have to grow up with them, hadn’t experienced how cruel and entitled they were, how convinced it was their birthright to mistreat and abuse anyone they perceived to be beneath them because in their inbred minds, their ancestry made them inherently superior.

But Ominis knew. He’d heard it countless times from their own mouths and from the portraits of his ancestors that lined the walls of his family home, how their views of blood purity and status were passed down by generations of like minded fanatics like grotesque heirlooms, originating from Salazar Slytherin himself.

And he shuddered to think what else they might have in common, a complete disregard for any and all kindness and compassion, a proclivity for casual cruelty, revelling in violence, even towards their own flesh and blood-

His chest tightened uncomfortably at the thought. He’d felt it, until it was etched into his very bones, and it was his duty to protect Sebastian from it.

If those traits originated from Salazar Slytherin as well, there was no telling what might lie in wait for them, what price they’d have to pay for the dubious honour of gaining access to his ancestors' secrets. He was not likely to experience Slytherin’s hospitality merely because he was a descendant- only one in his family had ever thought differently, but he couldn’t bring himself to hope she was right.

Ominis shuddered and took another deep breath. If he kept dwelling on it, he knew what he would hear at night, after he fell asleep.

As much as he’d appreciated the fresh air just a few moments ago, he was glad to enter the warmth of the Defence tower. Perhaps wandering around a bit, listening to the others' idle chit chat and the soothing sounds of the string quartet would help take his mind of Sebastian and the blasted scriptorium- and perhaps he secretly hoped he’d recognise the footsteps of a certain new classmate that occupied many of his thoughts lately.

Perhaps he’d compliment her on her latest performance in Crossed Wands and get a small laugh or a “thank you” in return, and if she wasn’t too busy, she might even stop for a brief conversation.

And perhaps then he might have some nice dreams tonight after all.

She hadn’t come to the Defence Against the Dark Arts tower that day.

In hindsight, Ominis wasn’t sure what he’d expected, considering they hadn’t had a real conversation since that day in the library. It had been only a few days later when Sebastian had started to press the matter of the scriptorium, and now that he was avoiding his best friend it felt wrong to reach out to her instead. After all, wanting to repair his friendship with Sebastian was the only reason he’d wanted to get to know her in the first place.

As for her, she was as busy as ever, always running around, being everyone’s favourite errant girl, trying to keep up with her schoolwork on top of everything else she was up to. It was hard to imagine she’d somehow long for his company.

Merlin, if he were told she simply had no time for him, he’d believe it in a heartbeat. And why should she try to squeeze him into her already absurdly packed schedule? To her, Ominis was at best a friend of a friend. And perhaps soon not even that, if Sebastian didn’t change his tune.

And so the promised second attempt at a study session had been quietly forgotten, postponed indefinitely.

Perhaps it was for the best.

Between Anne not getting better and Sebastian’s constant nagging about the Scriptorium, not to mention his friend coming back from his latest visit to Feldcroft in a very strange and secretive mood, it had been easier to be by himself. It gave him time to sort out his thoughts and feelings, without the added stress and worries a new friendship would bring.

Especially with her.

And their last meeting had more or less accomplished what he’d wanted- they’d established that there was no animosity between them, that they could engage in polite conversation if need be.

Or perhaps that was what he wanted to believe, because it made the loneliness easier to bear.

Ominis was sitting in the Slytherin common room, the evening of the day after their argument in the great hall, and if Sebastian wouldn’t be standing there, asking about the scriptorium yet again, he would have been working on the essay about common uses for the Edurus potion Professor Sharp was expecting them to hand in tomorrow.

“You don’t have to come with me. Just tell me where the entrance is, I’ll figure everything else out by myself. Please, Ominis, for Anne.”

The desperation in his voice made listening almost unbearable.

“The answer is still no, Sebastian. You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into. We talked about this earlier today, and yesterday, and the day before- I’m tired of trying to reason with you. I’m tired of everything.” Ominis responded, pleading, knowing that his expression and the way he held his head in his hands gave away just how much Sebastian was wearing him down.

And of course, ever the opportunist, Sebastian didn’t miss his chance to strike. “Then tell me- just tell me and I’ll leave you alone,” Sebastian urged him.

“Sebastian-”

“I told you, I won’t give up.”

“Oh for Merlin’s sake, leave it be,” Ominis hissed angrily. He stood up, not caring that he tipped over his inkwell in the process, ruining his half-finished homework.

Sebastian was left behind as Ominis fled the common room, calling his name and no doubt vexed at his supposed best friend’s reaction, but Ominis didn’t have it in him to care. The only thing he cared about at the moment was to get away, to find some respite and peace and not feel like he was suffocating.

He hurried through the corridors, not paying attention to where he went beyond making sure not to run into anything or anyone. His tired headache, gratefully dormant since the library, reared its ugly head again. Perhaps someday, it would be his permanent companion. Perhaps his only one.

Finally he stopped, pocketed his wand and took a deep breath. Pacing had always been his favourite way to clear his mind.

Listening to the sound of his steps on the floor, reverberating through the empty passage, the dulled distant chatter of the other students, it did wonders to calm him down.

Breathing in the cool air of the dungeons, he could faintly make out the smell of Black Lake, even through the thick stone, although that might have been his imagination.

Ominis didn’t know how much time had passed when he distantly heard a second pair of footsteps keep his own company. Only they were faster, not hurried, but excited, eager. And familiar.

“What are you doing here?” he asked wearily.

“Hello, Ominis. Do you have a moment?” she asked, her voice playful and melodic, as usual.

Ominis wasn’t sure if he should be glad or angry that she’d approached him now, and here, of all places. More importantly, he didn’t know why. He would have liked to hope that she’d make for a welcome distraction, but then again- “What is it? What have you and Sebastian been up to now?”

“I owe you an apology, Ominis. I wasn’t honest with you before about the Undercroft. Sebastian did show it to me.”

Oh.

In truth, he had long since ceased to care, because he’d finally realised that she’d never been the problem to begin with. It had been Sebastian who had changed, slowly at first, but perceptibly and her being there or not wouldn’t have made any difference.

They hadn’t even spent as much time together as Ominis had first thought, although that made their apparent closeness even stranger.

“He wanted me to have a safe place to practise some spells – to try and catch up to the other fifth-years. He didn’t think you’d mind.”

Genuinely apologetic, with a sweetness in her voice, one he heard before, but never when she’d spoken to him. Did she think this was why he’d kept his distance, why he’d not been more openly friendly towards her, even after their little chat in the library? Because he was the one waiting for an apology?

Well, at least it had finally come up, he might as well lay it to rest. And it wouldn’t be right to still let her think she’d wronged him somehow, when he himself had long let go of that particular grudge.

Ominis sighed. “I suppose that makes sense. It’s just – Sebastian’s been pestering me lately about something and I’m frustrated with him.”

“Don’t tell me he’s still going on about – what was it – a ‘scriptorium’?”

“Dark, ominous corridors. My favourite.”

Ominis groaned. “No comment.”

“Come on, that was a good one.”

Somewhere behind them, she laughed. At least she was having fun.

The moment she’d mentioned the scriptorium, he’d known she hadn’t really sought him out to apologise about the Undercroft, and it hadn’t been hard to guess what she- or rather, Sebastian- had hoped to get out of the conversation instead.

And yet, he’d agreed to it in the end. He wasn’t stupid, he knew how she’d done it.

“You don’t know that history will repeat itself. Besides, you said your aunt thought like you. This could honour her memory- get you answers about Slytherin, and Sebastian answers for Anne. Your aunt pursued this alone. We could do it together.”

It seemed he was entirely unable to think clearly as soon as Aunt Noctua entered the equation.

He hoped she was right. He wanted to believe her, desperately. But whatever they’d find, whatever was waiting for them- he was still convinced it couldn’t be anything good. The sort of help Anne wouldn’t want, or worse.

If he was honest with himself, he’d rather they found nothing at all. A room with an empty desk and books too old and mouldy to still be legible.

… But at least it would be over. Sebastian’s curiosity would finally be satisfied, perhaps they could go back to how they were before. Perhaps he could find out what happened to Aunt Noctua, traces of it, at least.

Did he really want to?

The creeping sense of dread he’d felt since the stone entryway let them in intensified. He’d hoped it would be a fleeting sensation, but it seemed to spread, starting at his neck and slowly shrouding his entire body. He tried to take deep, calming breaths, but the stale and ancient air made it worse. Now he could feel it on the inside.

Her footsteps behind him drew nearer, he felt her brush ever so slightly against his arm as she walked past. It was a small comfort. She was the one everyone turned to, the one who got things done. And given Sebastian’s fondness for her, her presence might keep him from doing anything too foolish or reckless, perhaps.

They found themselves in a corridor, pieces of stone and rubble scraping along the edges of his shoes as he carefully walked through, and he wondered if the ceiling or the wall had broken down over time, or what it was that scurried almost inaudibly along the floor-

Rats, probably.

“Looks like a locked door. We may want to look around,” Sebastian announced.

Of course, she was the first to find anything.

“A journal entry. Signed by Noctua Gaunt.”

He’d known. He’d known she’d been here, he’d hoped they’d find traces of her, but he hadn’t anticipated the rush of emotions, the dread and the sorrow and the relief that came with it.

“Gaunt? Ominis- your family was here,” Sebastian said excitedly.

“I know. She was my aunt.” It wasn’t enough to convey how much she meant to him- he wanted Sebastian and her to know, but speaking of her in the past tense brought more grief with it than he was willing to deal with right now.

“You knew? And didn’t tell me?”

Ominis ignored the accusation- he’d ignored Sebastian a lot lately. When had it started? With the scriptorium, or before? And more importantly, why didn’t he feel as guilty about it as he should?

“Ominis- the journal mentions many challenges ahead,” she chimed in, saving him from owing Sebastian an answer.

Ominis frowned. “That’s why I said this could be dangerous. Aunt Noctua kept my father informed until she vanished.”

He held onto his wand, trying to sense what he could while leaving the search for clues up to the two of them. Hands kept tightly to himself, fighting against the instinct to run them over the locked door.

Thoughtlessly touching, feeling around places and objects associated with Dark Magic was a good way to lose a hand or worse. It was a lesson he’d been taught early in life, the reason he’d always been banned from entering his father’s study, why he’d scarcely been allowed to wander around the house without one of the House Elves keeping an eye on him.

He knew he wouldn’t be of much use, staying out of their way was the best help he could offer. So he waited for them, patiently, the massive doorway looming behind him. ‘Ominously’, as Sebastian would put it. The corners of his mouth twitched. In spite of their circumstances, he almost made himself laugh.

It lasted right until they’d repaired the relief on the wall.

“Speak to me”

For a second, he thought he’d imagined it. He wanted to.

“The rubble formed a relief of a person facing a snake,” Sebastian said.

Ominis knew it was for his benefit, a habit Sebastian developed sometime during their years of friendship. It should feel comforting that he maintained it even now, it should-

“Speak to me”

-but the voice kept every other emotion away. Every one except fear.

“That must be the voice I hear.” He’d answered without thinking.

It felt as if someone had cast a freezing charm on his spine. Laced with malice, demanding and yet so cold and languid, the parseltongue whispers seemed to slither right under his skin, seeping into the memories within.

He’d already heard too much of it, enough to last him a lifetime and more. Naturally, being ever so proud of their special ‘gift’, the Gaunts hardly ever bothered to speak in English when they were amongst themselves, unless it was to address the House Elf.

“Speak to me”

“You hear a voice?” she asked cautiously, stepping closer.

He had the sudden urge to take a step back in turn, to put more distance between them. Her proximity suddenly made him feel uneasy. “It started when you repaired that relief. I hear a whisper saying ‘speak to me’.”

The uneasy feeling intensified, and he finally noticed what it was.

Fear of rejection, again. Fear that she would look at him differently, just as he had started to open up to her. Parseltongue sounded eerie, inhuman. It wasn’t how he wanted her to think of him.

Aunt Noctua had urged him to be cautious about showing it off; it had lost her a friendship, once. He knew his brother made use of it to intimidate the muggleborns. He remembered the vivid, gleeful descriptions of the fear in their eyes, even if he could never quite grasp what it meant.

Sebastian and Anne were kind enough when he told them.

“It’s all right, don’t worry about it”

“Of course that doesn’t mean you’re bad”

They’re his friends, what else were they going to say? He’d never spoken it in front of them, even when they’d asked.

“Speak to me”

But it was too late to turn around now. Sebastian wouldn’t agree to leave because Ominis was afraid the girl in front of him would recoil in horror once he started hissing.

“I’m a Parselmouth.” His voice cracked slightly from nerves. “I can hear and speak to snakes. Nearly all known Parselmouths are descended from Salazar Slytherin.”

“I wish I could talk to snakes,” she said excitedly.

Oh, that was sweet of her to say. Thoughtless, but sweet.

“You might not want the ability to speak Parseltongue. It’s often associated with Dark wizards. I haven’t spoken it in ages, but I’d wager if I speak it now, the door will open.” Ominis paused. “I’m hoping you’re having second thoughts.”

“Speak to me”

“Believe me, I am having thoughts-”

He didn’t.

“-but I’m still convinced we should go ahead,” she said, perhaps slightly apprehensive, but still confident.

“It’s ironic. When I left home, I vowed to leave the Dark Arts behind, and yet, here I am. Stand back.” He swallowed, but it didn’t get rid of the lump in his throat. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

Once he’d hoped that if only he stopped speaking Parseltongue, it would eventually make him lose the ability entirely. But as if to taunt him, the magical language flowed through his lips as naturally as breathing.

“I’m speaking to you,” Ominis hissed impassively. He’d never be rid of it.

It likely didn’t matter what he said, as long as it was in Parseltongue and therefore proved his descent from the Hogwarts founder. And he’d rather bite his own tongue off than make any sort of grand, pompous statement.

The metallic, slithering noises coming from the door's locking mechanism proved him right.

“It worked! Ominis, you have a rare ability indeed.” There was something in her breathy, melodic voice bordering on reverence, and it rendered him speechless for a moment. He wasn’t sure how to reply-

Thank you?

You’re certain you don’t mind?

“Between the two of you, I’m starting to feel left out,” Sebastian chimed in, trying his best to sound light-hearted, but there was an unmistakable tinge of jealousy in his remark.

“Between the two of us?”

“I- nevermind.”

…Sebastian felt left out, why, because she’d offered him a compliment? A few weeks ago in the Undercroft, he’d told Ominis he wanted the three of them to be friends, but now that they were actually getting along, he was jealous?

So much for ‘You know it’s not like that’.

Ominis tried not to let it get to him, as they continued their way through the maze-like corridors. The two of them eagerly figured out how to proceed, she was the one fiddling with the contraptions that opened the gates, letting them find their way deeper into the entrails beneath the castle.

Bizarrely, it felt easier to breathe now. Once this was over, could it always be like this? The three of them together, with no more secrecy and lies in between?

“Another dial solved!” she announced proudly.

In spite of himself, his face softened. “Nice work.”

She didn’t answer, but he could have sworn she had a spring in her step when she hurried towards the next gate. She found more notes from his aunt, summarising each one instead of reading them aloud in their entirety.

It should have annoyed him, but in a way, he was thankful. Noctua’s last thoughts and feelings, as much as he didn’t mind the two of them knowing, he wanted to read them by himself. Somewhere he wouldn’t feel embarrassed if they made him cry.

He’d ask her for the notes later, once they were done here. Surely she would understand.

More puzzles, more notes, more of Sebastian’s lighthearted quips that felt so wrong and yet so reassuring in these sinister depths.

Another gate, and his heart beat faster, his hand felt clammy around his wand. Next to him, he heard her steady breaths. The faint smell of blood from when she hadn’t been quick enough with one of the dials still hung in the air. Ominis knew they must be getting close now.

Sebastian was the one who confirmed it. “I spotted something ahead. Looks troubling.”

“This whole place is troubling, but for my aunt’s sake, we cannot stop now.”

His words would still haunt him hours later.

“You and Sebastian will need to sort out another solution.” He expected her to shout at him, to cry like he wanted to, begging him to reconsider.

They both knew there was no other solution.

But he couldn’t do it, even if he wanted to- no, that’s where the issue lay, he could never bring himself to want it again.

There was no shouting, no begging as she walked back to Sebastian. Perhaps she hadn’t yet realised what his refusal meant for her.

And for their budding friendship as well. Minutes ago, he’d thought perhaps it might be going somewhere. The only place it would go now was an executioner’s block, because it would be beyond foolish to believe she’d ever forgive him for this.

He gripped his wand so tightly, his fingers started to become numb.

It was all his fault. Regardless of how much the two of them wanted to go there, how determined they’d been, they couldn’t possibly have known what to expect.

Not Sebastian, whose experience with curses extended to reading about them in the safety and comfort of the library or the common room. Maybe he’d tried some of them on the dummies in the Undercroft, but that was not the same as experiencing the effects they had on living, breathing humans.

And certainly not her.

Ominis should have known better, he shouldn’t have let himself be swept away by their enthusiasm, by her sweet, reassuring words. It was his fault. He should have known better.

The worst part was, he’d gotten what he came for.

He found Noctua.

A pile of cold, dead bones on the ground. Ominis wanted to cry, to scream. He wanted to cradle her remains in his arms, tell her how sorry he was, beg her for forgiveness, because if she hadn’t loved him, she would be alive. He’d long known that she was dead, otherwise she would have come back for him- and he could almost feel her, the ghost of her touch as she sweetly ran her fingers through his hair to comfort him.

The fear made it impossible to form a clear thought.

Aunt Noctua was dead, and he and two of the only living humans he cared about might soon share her fate. How would Anne cope if Sebastian never came back? And their uncle Solomon?

What would Professor Fig think if she suddenly vanished? He’d mocked her for it when he found her leaving the Undercroft, but he knew there was a genuine, tender friendship between them. If anything happened to her, it would break the man’s heart. And what about all the new friends she’d made? Her roommates, in their Hufflepuff dormitory, when would they worry about her empty bed?

Sebastian’s voice broke through the fog in his brain. “I can teach you crucio, or I can cast it on you.”

Ominis wasn’t even surprised. He’d known what kind of books Sebastian usually stole from the restricted section, but it had been easy, comfortable to pretend he didn’t.

But she wasn’t supposed to be involved in this. Regardless of the decision she’d make, something innocent inside her would die. And it would all be his fault.

“I want to learn the curse, but I won’t cast it on you. You need to cast it on me.”

Of course, facing two horrible choices, she somehow managed to find the worst possible combination of both of them.

He turned away. He knew there was nothing he could do to block out the sounds, even if he crawled into the furthest corner away from them. And he’d lost every right to speak up when he sent her away.

“Crucio”

He flinched, even knowing the curse wasn’t aimed at him. All the air suddenly left the room, he couldn’t breathe, he tried but his lungs wouldn’t work. He felt faint.

She fell- why in Merlin’s name hadn’t she sat down, she’d known what was going to happen, what if she hit her head, why hadn’t Sebastian said something-

Gasping for breath, convulsing under the curse that made her feel as if everything inside her was trying to be on the outside, splitting her open everywhere, all at once.

The ground seemed to come closer, and yet he was somehow still standing upright, his insides twisting, writhing, he was going to be sick.

“Well done, my dear. I am proud of you.”

It was his mother’s voice, and for a horrible moment, he thought he was still there, the years since nothing but an illusion his mind had come up with in an instant to distract himself, screams that sounded like they couldn’t possibly come from a human throat filling his ears, mirroring his own.

Sebastian said something- he couldn’t hear what, and suddenly, it was over.

Ominis opened his mouth, but all that came out was a strangled sob. Then he suddenly noticed his cheeks were wet. Pain shot from his fingers through his hand still holding his wand, and he forced himself to relax his grip. “Are you all right?” He finally managed to squeeze out, in a voice he hardly recognised as his own.

The next moment he cursed himself, because of course she wasn’t, and he should know better than anyone.

“The pain- it was excruciating, but I’ll survive. Let’s keep moving.”

Lying again. But he knew it was for Sebastian’s benefit, so he said nothing.

Ominis made himself move, made his hands come up and wipe away the tears, made his legs carry him through the doorway. When he walked past Noctua’s remains, something inside of him broke.

“We made it. We found Salazar Slytherin’s scriptorium,” Sebastian said, without a hint of remorse.

This was where she should break down, stop putting on a brave face, make Sebastian realise what he’d done.

But of course she didn’t, she went ahead, crossed the room. Announced she found a book. Every step she took made his heart sink further. They didn’t sound like they usually would, her footsteps. Neither did her voice. She did her best not to show it, but he knew she felt miserable.

“You two go ahead, let me know what’s in it. I’ll wander around a bit.” They were empty words, more an excuse to give them space than anything. He didn’t trust himself to touch a single thing in there, even accidentally, lest Salazar’s madness seeped into him through his fingertips, afflicting him like every other living Gaunt.

…but it was already there, wasn’t it? Sleeping, dormant. He’d done it again, letting his Slytherin sense of self-preservation take over and made another suffer, so that he’d remain unharmed and his hands clean. Not that they were to begin with.

The two of them stood upstairs, talking. How she had the strength, he couldn’t fathom. He couldn’t hear them clearly either, his head felt as if it was wrapped in cotton. Something about the book. Sebastian seemed satisfied enough.

Ominis slowly followed them up the stairs. He couldn’t stand being there anymore, the room itself seemed to crawl under his skin, ready to embed itself into his flesh and stay there forever.

And she still hadn’t spoken to him, face to face.

“I’ve been getting an uneasy feeling about this place. We shouldn’t linger here. Let’s find a way out, please.” He hated how broken his voice sounded, he had no right to be this pitiful, when he was the one left unscathed.

Sebastian’s answer made Ominis want to wring his neck. “I don’t want to leave, but I owe you- both of you. Without both of you, we’d never have made it this far.” No remorse. None.

Stay here, then.

“We were lucky-” No, don’t say that, she can hear you- “We could have died. We must swear never to do this again.” Ominis wished she would say something, agree or shout back, he wished either of them would.

“I see a way out.”

“Best news I heard all day.”

She was the first one to leave, and Ominis let Sebastian follow her through the passage that spewed them out right in front of their common room.

She still didn’t say anything, and he couldn’t bring himself to ask how she was feeling, or apologise. He’d never before heard an ounce of contempt in her voice, but he surely would now, if she answered him.

“Ominis, about your aunt-” Sebastian started.

“Please, Sebastian.” Not now. “I meant what I said before. We swear right now never to engage in anything to do with Dark Magic again.”

“Understood.I’m truly sorry about your aunt, Ominis,” Sebastian said, almost too quickly.

“I suppose after all this, I am grateful to know what happened to her. Thank you.”

The silence stretched. Surely, now she’d be saying something, anything, if not to him, then to Sebastian.

She left without a word, and along with her footsteps, he could hear the promise of something important disappear.

a/n: So this chapter had all the hurt, the next one has the comfort (and yes, those two were also originally one chapter that was getting monstrous in length, so I split it again), let me know if I overdid it with the angst. There was once a lot I wanted to put in the a/n for this chapter, but now I’m just exhausted and glad it’s done, I was struggling a lot with this one and I honestly don't think it's the best. So let me just say, I’m 100% convinced Ominis would blame himself for what happened, he was the only one who had any actual experience with the dark arts and what his family is capable of, he went in there completely willingly and he still thinks he’s a horrible person for what he had to do as a child, even though I’m sure we all agree that he shouldn’t. As for Sebastian and Mc, I actually have no problem at all with how the crucio scene went down, to me it’s a classic case of dumb teenagers doing a thoughtless, reckless thing and being in denial about it immediately afterwards, until it comes back to haunt them once they’re alone with their thoughts for a bit, so that’s gonna be the next chapter (and I promise you won’t have to wait as long for that one, it’s already halfway done)

#hogwarts legacy fanfiction #ominis gaunt #hogwarts legacy mc #ominis x mc #ominis gaunt x mc #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fandom #mallow tries to write #WAYDH

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yoongsisbae · 2 years

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Meet Cute, Time Loop | KSJ

A story where Seokjin loves you before you love him before he loves you.

Fantasy AU. Seokjin x time traveler!reader

First of all, I never read the book The Time Traveler’s Wife. Okay, I did watch the movie with Rachel McAdams when I was a kid. And I started writing this before the HBO series, and got annoyed once I found out about it because I felt people would be like oh, you copied it, so I just stopped writing this story lol. But then with Seokjin’s enlistment news and now his b-day, I wanted to finish it for him ;_; So here you go, a story that is kind of sort of like Time Traveler’s Wife meets The Girl Who Leapt Through Time fueled by angst of not wanting him to leave :’D Enjoy!

Warnings: smut, age gap...in so many different ways...it's very complicated :’D, teacher/student, mention of unaliving, bigdick!seokjin because duh, oral sex, fingering, rough sex, praise kink

Word Count: 10.6k

---

Your first meeting with Seokjin wasn’t memorable. It was short and sweet, at a café on your college campus. He paid for your coffee. The coffee shop on campus was always busy, a long line at every hour and your card was embarrassingly not working in the card reader. You knew you were a broke college kid, but you definitely had enough for at least a coffee! You fumbled with your wallet offering the cashier your apologies when a man behind you stepped up to the counter and offered to pay, ordering a drink for himself as well. Embarrassed, you quickly tried to stop him, but he gave you a kind smile that stopped you in your tracks and he told you not to worry.

He was a professor, you were a student.

And he was already in love with you.

You find a quiet corner in the library to finish homework for your upcoming class, always the procrastinator. Looking up from your notes, you see the same stunning man again, now taking a seat across from you. The library was massive but somehow he went to this floor, this section, this corner, and decided to finish his class lecture notes at the same table as you.

You try not to be distracted every time he pushes his glasses up with a cute wrist flick, coughing and turning the page to one of his books. You stifle a laugh and continue going over your notes. But when you look up again, you notice he’s watching you. Suddenly self conscious from the attention, you smile back, jittery and timid. This man is perfectly put together and you look like you just rolled out of bed. Probably because you did, because for some reason, you had thought it was a good idea to schedule a morning class (it is always a bad idea). Hence, the coffee.

You meet him again that day.

You were hurrying to class, books in your hand, still sorting through notes when you stepped off the sidewalk. People around you were still moving, you thought you had time.

You weren’t paying attention.

Strong hands grip your shoulder and pull you back onto the sidewalk as a car horn signals, a bus zooming by you as you fall back into a warm body.

“Oh my god, I didn’t mean t-to – I wasn’t – I’m Sorry!”

“Whoa there, you’re okay, you’re okay.” Seokjin holds you steady until you stop shaking. Until you realize he’s the same man who paid for your coffee, who kept distracting you from your homework with his good looks, who doesn’t look familiar but feels familiar.

“Hey,” he smiles.

---

Seokjin’s first meeting with you happened when he was four years old. You were old – not your oldest – but older than you are now.

The first time you slipped through the cracks of time, you had really fallen.

You were on stage, amongst actors and directors and people infinitely more famous and important than you. But you were with them, having written the screenplay for the movie premiering that night. You were on a high stage, in the back, applauding everyone’s achievements. How it happened, no one knew, even with the hundreds of cameras, videos at every angle pointing at the stage at that moment...

You felt a tug, or perhaps a push; someone bumping into you or a fissure in the floor or you stumbling over your long dress or all three. It all happened so fast, it all culminating in one chaotic moment in time that left you falling.

Falling.

You fell head-over-heels, you slipped right over the stage barrier behind you.

You fell...

You fell into the sand, your silver sequined dress sparkling under the sunlight. Did you just die?

You can’t remember hitting the ground, your arm caught the edge and you held onto the stage for only seconds, it happened so quickly no one could get to you before the ledge slipped between your fingers. You were unprepared, unable to hold your body weight, and then your stomach lurched up and you felt the world slow down.

Life didn’t flash before your eyes like people said it would, not at all. All you could think about was, no, not yet, no! You didn’t want to die, not when your life was just starting, when your career was just becoming something! You wanted to live, you wanted to find love, you wanted-

“Help!”

Do people need help in heaven?

Oh no…

But you’re pretty sure you aren’t in hell either. What is this place?

A...beach?! You take one deep breath, standing up when you hear the call for help again.

You run towards the yelling, your heels digging into the sand and slowing you down with each step. There’s a young child crying, “My little brother!”

You see a child even younger struggling in the water, and then you don’t see him at all.

So without any other thought or question, you just act, running towards the ocean. You pull your body through the waves, moving quickly, diving underwater over and over again until you find him. You pull the drowning little boy from under the water, holding him close and patting his back.

He’s crying, that’s good, that means he can breathe, that he’s okay for now. If you hadn’t been there he surely would have drowned.

You swim towards the shore, cradling him close. Pulling your body out of the waves, your dress heavy with sea water, you put him down next to his brother, pushing the wet hair out of his eyes. “You’re okay now, you’re okay.” you whisper, trying to calm him down. He looks up at you awe-like.

‘What a sweet little boy with big innocent eyes,’ you think. “Where are your parents?” You ask his brother.

“B-Back at the house,” he cries.

You smiled at the cute pair, sighing in relief, and then before you could do anything else, you felt a pull...

Starting right under your belly button, a pull so strong it felt like a punch to your stomach, knocking the wind out of you, and your body started falling backwards.

You fell backwards into the crowd below, right into Seokjin’s arms.

He was invited by one of the actors at the premiere, his long time friend. With his looks he could fit right in with the celebrities, but he didn’t like big crowds and chose to stay in the back. Right in the exact spot where you needed him. When everyone looked on in horror, when others scattered, he looked up and saw you and knew what he had to do.

You try to catch your breath, gasping. Suddenly thrown back into the chaos of the premiere, flashing lights only amplifying your dizziness and confusion. You look down at the arms around you, and up into your savior’s face. “S-Seokjin?!”

Your dress was soaked, your hair was wet, your body was still shaking as he held you close. You both laid on the red carpet and the sight was too incredible for photographers not to turn and aim their cameras right at the pair of you.

“Y/n,” he smiles softly. Then, stands up quickly, carrying you in his arms as staff rush to conceal the spectacle, and you felt swept off your feet for a second time that night.

---

When Seokjin first saw you, he thought you were an angel. Your shiny sequined dress was sparkling in the sunlight, blinding him. Your soft voice telling him he would be okay sounded ethereal to his water clogged ears, the sight of you on the beach was something he never forgot even at his young age.

His parents later found him alone on the beach. His brother ran to them and told them what happened, but they never found you. They believed their children made up the story, a consequence of their overactive imaginations, but couldn’t deny the signs of Seokjin’s condition, immediately taking him to the hospital and finding out there was some truth to their tall tale.

The second time Seokjin met you he was six. He was older and you were older. Much older, a small gray streak apparent in the front of your hair. He almost didn’t recognize you, but your voice was the same, soft and kind, and your eyes were the same, caring and beautiful.

Six year old Seokjin still thought you were an angel deep down, someone sent to come save him, even if his older brother stopped believing and told him to quiet any time Seokjin brought it up.

And his feelings only solidified because the second time he met you you had grabbed his tiny hand and pulled him back onto the sidewalk. He watched as his ball was flattened by a car. It could have been him, he stood stunned. You were slower, your limbs weaker, but you saved him.

You felt it was your time to leave again. “Y/n, my name is y/n.”

“Don’t leave me,” he cried and clung to your dress.

You smooth down his hair, tutting. You sigh, heart hurting because you knew he was going to be upset with you later. “We’ll find each other again, sweetheart, don’t worry.”

The next time Seokjin crossed paths with you, you were the same age as when he first met you, same shiny dress, a jacket now over your shoulders, looking around confused and lost.

He called out your name, waving you over enthusiastically.

You hesitantly went over to the over-zealous boy. “I’m – um – w-what’s going on?!”

“You’re here to save me again,” he smirks proudly.

“I-I am?”

“Yeah, I think so. Every time I meet you, you save me.” Young Seokjin was definitely convinced you were his guardian angel.

“I-I think I am going crazy. Am I going crazy?” You fall to the ground at the boy’s feet, exhausted, dizzy, definitely delirious.

He yanks on your arm, wanting you to move, whining for you to get up. Why does he look so familiar? If you hadn’t just been in his arms you would have never made the connection… This boy could be Seokjin’s son, they look so identical, too identical. “S-Seokjin?”

“You do know me!”

“This can’t be happening. No no no no.” You look at the young boy, mind reeling. This has to be a dream. You must have fainted. The last thing you remember, Seokjin was with you, and-

You put your head in your hands, willing yourself to wake up.

You feel small hands pull at your shoulder. “Get uuup! Let’s go!”

“W-What?”

“My mom will be worried if I don’t go home. I’m not supposed to stay out late,” he whines.

You let the boy pull you along, hunched over and confused. Everything looked different, older, different clothes, different cars. You try not to hyperventilate.

He stops in front of his house, creaking open the door and looking around for his mom. “Go to the back, I’ll meet you there!” he says, pushing you to the side.

This is a bad idea. But you have nobody else and you’re ninety percent certain you’re dreaming. So you hide in the bushes in Seokjin’s back yard, dumbfounded, waiting to wake up.

“Here, I brought you some food. D-Do angels eat food?” He pulls a meat bun and a half-eaten kimbap from under his shirt.

“Eh?”

You looked really lost, maybe you hit your head coming back to him this time, Seokjin wonders. Little hands cover your forehead, checking your temperature and you flinch.

“I-I’m sorry, I just don’t understand what’s happening to me...” You begin to cry.

Seokjin winces, “Wait here!” and a few moments later he comes back with his older brother, “See, told you.”

“Whoa.”

“Now do you believe me?” Seokjin says accusingly, crossing his arms.

“Do you, um, remember us?” Seokjin’s brother asks, looking at you with a mixture of awe and worry. You look at him bewilderedly, tears still falling steadily from your eyes. “Do you remember when you saved my brother?”

You look between the pair, staring up at their big innocent eyes. Wait…wait. What?!

“You saved my life,” Seokjin says proudly, but then he recoils, noticing your bewilderment. “D-Don’t you remember? Y/n?”

“Y-You know my name,” you whisper.

“You told me, the last time you saved me,” Seokjin states.

You pull on Seokjin’s jacket, covering yourself. “You’re talking about the beach, right?” you mutter. Of course, this was all a dream, it was all merging together now, you think.

Seokjin smiles wide, nodding, ecstatic you do remember him.

“Should we tell mom?” Seokjin’s brother asks.

“No!” “No!” you and Seokjin say at the same time. “I will leave,” you say. “I’ll go…somewhere…” You mutter, hoping you wake up soon.

“No, you can’t! You’re-” Seokjin pauses. “You’re supposed to be my guardian angel.”

You swallow hard, deliberating on what to do, the young boy looks like he is going to cry at any moment. Well, since this is a dream, then you guess you should be acting the part. “Oh, o-okay.”

“D-Do angels sleep?”

You laugh, sighing. That’s what you’re doing right now, you want to tell him.

Seokjin shakes you awake. “I have to go to school. You’re coming aren’t you?”

You groan, sleeping outside in your dreams seemed to hurt even more than you would have imagined. Even with the blanket and pillow Seokjin gave you, you barely slept, replaying the last twenty-four hours over and over in your head.

“C’mon! You’re supposed to be my guardian angel, how are you supposed to guard me here?” He says, dejected.

You sigh. “O-Okay.”

You hug your shoulders, pulling Seokjin’s jacket closer to you. The hem of your dress is tied up, your feet are hurting in your heels. Young Seokjin tells you everything about his life so far. His friends found a cat and were taking turns to feed it. He had a tuna can in his tiny hand. He told you about his friends and his older brother, his mom and father. He talked about his teacher, who was so boring he couldn’t concentrate in class. He got in trouble for napping, he explained. You listened to the troubles of a child, barely concentrating, your own thoughts too jumbled in your mind. Seokjin talked and talked until a small orange stray cat leaped into your path.

You watched as he opened and set the can down on the sidewalk. The cat pounced on the food, hungrily eating the entirety of the tuna can. You smile as Seokjin pets his fluffy coat, cooing. You pulled off your heels, rubbing your feet. “You’re a good kid.”

Young Seokjin laughs, a sense of pride washing over him. He can’t wait to show you off to his friends. He hears something fall to the ground, your shoe, and when he looks up again, you’re gone.

---

The next time Seokjin met you, you appeared in his room. He couldn’t help but laugh. You were in a silk robe, looking lost and confused again. Falling into his tiny bed, he looks over his shoulder.

“Hey angel.” Seokjin looked exactly how you remembered him, only his features were less rugged from old age, instead young and soft.

“Seokjin?” You look into his red eyes, puffy from crying.

There was an unopened bottle of alcohol on his night stand, next to a bottle of…white pills?

“W-What’s going on?”

“Well, I guess, you’ve come to tell me not to kill myself,” he says with a weak smile.

Your eyes begin to sting as tears start pooling in the corners, looking at the offending contents on his nightstand again to make sure indeed nothing had yet been opened. Your voice shakes as you ask him, “W-Why?”

“I can’t do this anymore. I’ve tried, I tried so hard,” he whimpers, pulling his pillow closer and curling into himself. “I keep disappointing everyone. My mom...” he stifles a sob.

When were you? You look around frantically, studying his tiny dorm room. College, Seokjin is in college now. You fall to your knees at his bedside, your heart aching for him.

You hold his hand in yours, “You don’t disappoint her, you never have. You can’t do this. I won’t let you-”

Seokjin sits up, yanking his hand away. “Where have you been?” Seokjin’s voice breaks. “You never came back! Even when I needed you. I was all alone…”

When Seokjin was a kid he would wait for you. Walk slowly to and from school. Every day, he would hope his angel would appear. And then when you didn’t, he still held hope. He waited for you, every other day, and then once a week, until he stopped waiting all together, but even still, he thought about his angel every day.

As a teenager he thought he must have made you up, an imaginary friend for a lonely child…

But he had your shoe.

The older he got, the angrier he became. Crayon drawings of you in angel wings turned into resentful memories. By then you were just a faint memory, a woeful thought, and a fantasy when he was really lonely.

Seokjin went through life a little less hopeful then. He went to tutoring and classes and sports and singing lessons, all to please his parents, who wanted nothing but the best for the child they almost lost. His superstitious mother believed he was destined for great things.

But all those great things never happened. He had the looks, but the girls he grew up with didn’t really like him for who he was, they didn’t laugh at his jokes or like doing the mundane things he liked to do. They would parade him in front of their friends to show off and he felt used, misunderstood, broken hearted more times than he could count.

He had the intellect, but he lacked the motivation, he would become too distracted with games or get lost in his imagination, and assignments would pile up and then he would feel overwhelmed, crippled by all his duties.

He had the build to become a top athlete, but he would too often hurt himself, his aching joints and broken bones stopped him from ever reaching any professional status. No matter what he did, he felt like a failure. And in this low moments, he thought, maybe then he would find some guidance, some help. But it never came, you never came to him.

Seokjin had what it took to become great, everyone told him so, but in his mind he just wasn’t. Their expectations were all becoming too much to live up to. He felt overshadowed by even his own brother. He felt his confidence dwindle, his hope growing smaller and smaller, it was like an endless loop he couldn’t free himself from. He couldn’t save himself.

He needed you.

He was in his last year of university and he hated his classes, he didn’t know if he was going to graduate. He didn’t know what he was going to do with his life. So he thought, might as well end it.

“You’re going to leave again, like you always do. So leave! Leave me alone, just let me die,” he cries, pushing you away.

“Oh, Seokjin,” you wrap your arms around him, refusing to let him go. Hugging him close, you cry in each other’s arms.

He still smells exactly the same, moves the same, has the same nervous ticks, after all these years. Your sweet husband Seokjin.

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t be there when you needed me, I’m so sorry,” you whisper. “But you’re not going to die today. You’re going to live a wonderful life, you’re going to be happy, you won’t be alone. I won’t let you be alone anymore. Trust me, believe me.”

“How do you know that?” Seokjin asks desperately. He holds your head in his hands, studying your features under the low light in his dorm. “Y-You…look different.”

You laugh softly, blinking away your remaining tears. “I hope not that different.”

He holds your cheeks, thumb caressing your skin. “You’re not wearing that dress…” He looks over the thin material of your robe, the low cut of it, showing off your cleavage. You feel so real and human in his hold, so warm, so familiar.

Growing up, in his child-like wonder and imagination, Seokjin remembered you almost goddess-like. Something untouchable, reverent, but now that you’re here with him again as a young adult, you felt so small and vulnerable next to him, raw and real. He found you beautiful in your vulnerability.

“I’ve never seen you like this before. If you’re not an angel then what are you?” You stay quiet against him. “Why do you keep finding me? ”

“I don’t know if it’s the right time to explain this to you.”

Seokjin chuckles, “I was going to kill myself tonight. I think now is the best time to explain things.” You wince hearing his confession. “Please, I…I’ve waited so long to see you again.”

You feel splintered by his words. You wish you had control of this, you wish you could have gone to see him earlier and told him not to wait. Seokjin was waiting for the wrong version of you.

Waiting only drew it out, the inevitability, it was torturous to wait. Moments with Seokjin were going to always happen and would always have been. The way time worked around you, it wasn’t time that was changing, forward and backward for you moved in the same direction. That was never going to change, only you and Seokjin changed.

“I can’t control what is happening to me,” you sigh, leaning your forehead on his. “I don’t know why this is happening…to us. I’m sorry, when we meet again, I won’t remember you, because I haven’t met you yet.”

“But you-”

You shake your head no. “You’ve already met me, but I haven’t met you. Seokjin, how old are you right now?”

Seokjin continues to caress your face, mesmerized. Seokjin can’t bring himself to let go of you, not when you’re here after all these years. After a decade of convincing himself you weren’t real, only to be so tangible now, so close he can smell you, with the same beautiful eyes he almost had forgotten.

You look at him so full of care as always, except now, as he stared into your eyes, face to face, your gaze held something that reached inside of him, that burned into his soul. The adoring way you looked at him made his weak dejected self feel strong again.

When your eyes looked across his features, down his body, he felt something surge inside of him, feelings he had always held close to his heart. You were an idolization to him growing up, but here you were, a mere woman staring at him like he was your world instead.

And suddenly Seokjin thought he might have the answer he was looking for, looking down at your hands resting in your lap, a gold band around on your ring finger, and a gem that sent him back to his childhood, looking through his mother’s things. He thought back to the grayness in your hair and back to your lost younger looking self. But the answer in his head sounded so unbelievable he had to hear you say it.

“I’m turning twenty-three.”

“Twenty-three,” you repeat, nodding, working the math out in your head, “Right now I would be…eighteen. But I’m thirty-three. And when I go back to where I came from, back to you, you’ll be thirty-eight.”

“And…the next time I see you again, you’ll be?” he asks, putting the pieces of your lives together.

You smile, “Twenty-two. I meet you when I’m twenty-two. You saved my life,” you smile wider, “and bought me coffee.”

“I save you?” he asks, eyes widening.

“And bought me coffee. Don’t forget,” you giggle. “Seokjin, I’m sorry it’s not going to get easier. I’m going to be much more difficult to convince,” you sigh. “But trust me, you still have so much more to live for.”

“Y/n, are w-we together…in the future?”

One look at you and Seokjin knew the answer even in your silence.

So he wasted no more time.

Seokjin kissed you, immediately, fervently, with love and passion not even yet experienced by him, but he felt it already inside him anyways, as if his love could travel across time even when you couldn’t.

You broke his kiss, “It’s not time yet to-” you whisper, trying to give this version of him space, he wasn’t yours to kiss yet.

“But we are together, in the future, aren’t we? You’re my wife,” he glances down at the gold band on your finger, reaching in for another kiss.

“We’re not married right now,” you push against his chest when he closes the small distance between you again.

“But you’re still my wife,” he grunts, lips against the side of your jaw.

“Not yet, Seokjin,” you close your eyes, thinking of your husband as Seokjin’s eager hands caress your body.

“I love you.”

“We haven’t even met yet! Not really. We haven’t dated-”

“I love you, I know I love you.”

You exhale defeatedly. “I love you too, but not this version of you, you’re still a baby-”

“But I-I’m me!” Seokjin laughs incredulously. “And I'm a man,” he says, offended.

You sigh, not knowing how to explain to him the intricacies of your relationship. “How would you feel knowing your wife was kissing a different version of you?”

“I would be totally okay with it,” Seokjin says stubbornly, head buried in your neck.

“Seokjin I’m older than you-”

“Is that supposed to matter to me?” He holds you tightly, afraid you’ll disappear from his life and he’d have to wait four more years before he could hold you like this again. No, you weren’t going to leave him until he proved to you how much he loved you, how he always loved you.

He kisses you again, pulling you into his bed. He refuses to listen to your excuses, he loves you and you love him and that’s enough for him. He traces the contours of your face down to your jaw, admiring every inch of you, enjoying your rapidly increasing breathes and the affect he has on you.

He moves his hand over your heart, on top of your breast. “Have you-” you put your hand over his. “-had sex before?” you ask.

“Yes,” Seokjin says indignantly, ears going red.

You giggle, “Good, don’t stop once I leave. You have four years before we find each other again, promise you won’t wait for me anymore? Enjoy your life, we’ll have our time, so don’t worry anymore, Seokjin.”

Seokjin swallows, not wanting to agree with you. “Alright. If tonight…you’ll be with me.” You hold his cheek. Stubborn man, ‘like always,’ you think, smiling. You answer him with a kiss.

Seokjin could feel your breasts, only covered by the sheer fabric of your robe, pressed up against him. He shuddered in your embrace, lips moving down your neck, across your chest, pressing his face into your cleavage.

What are you supposed to do when a younger version of your husband was timidly fondling your body, starved for love and affection? Up until now, you had always been the more submissive one in your relationship. Your husband has always been doting in his affection, but this level of tenderness, sweet infatuation with you was so unfamiliar, yet so your Seokjin.

You run your hands in his hair, holding him to your chest as he pulls your robe down lower.

“You didn’t tell me about this day,” you gasp, chest heaving as his mouth covers your breast, tongue rolling over your nipple and sucking.

‘Good,’ Seokjin thinks about his older self, vowing to keep his silence on the matter until the day he dies. If this is the result, he wants nothing to change it. He unties your robe delicately, like opening a present he’s waited his entire life for.

Seokjin pulls his shirt over his head hastily, wanting to feel your skin on his, needing you closer. You kiss him slowly, opening your mouth wider for him as he fumbles with his buckle.

His cock is painfully erect, knocking against his stomach when he finally frees himself, all the blood rushing down in his excitement, Seokjin can barely think straight with you under him, your legs spread open and naked.

You help guide him in, licking his chest, tongue rolling over his nipple, already knowing all the things he likes. Seokjin shudders, groaning in pleasure as he sinks into your heat, lost in bliss. He thrusts into your sex quick and rough. This version of Seokjin is impatient, needy...uncoordinated…

You don’t mind.

You throw your head back, encouraging him on, moaning his name. Seokjin thrusts in deep, he certainly had the stamina of a twenty-two year old, and the clumsiness. You pull him down by the neck, licking into his mouth until his pace slows, unable to concentrate on anything else. He kneads your breast, rutting into you.

You break away for much needed air, fixing the loose strands of Seokjin’s hair and tucking them behind his ear. Kissing his cheek, you whisper into his ear, “My turn.” You cant your hips up, ordering him to switch positions.

“Oh f-fuck,” Seokjin moans at the way you pull yourself up slowly and drop down hard and fast, rotating your hips. This was nothing like the sex he had with young inexperienced college girls. “Oh god.”

His fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs, as he thrusts up into your inviting heat. You grab his hands, holding them above his head instead, slowing your rhythm as he hisses, thigh muscles tightening as he concentrates on the pleasure he’s receiving.

He looks devastatingly handsome, his hair longer than you remember, shaggy and sticking to his forehead, leaner body writhing under you as his head tilts back, showing off his strong jaw and long neck. You moan, knowing he’s close, you’ve seen all these same jerks and spasms during many and many nights together. You tighten around his thick length, fingers touching his plump lips and pressing down into his open mouth.

“Fuck, fuck-ungh-I’m g-gonna-”

You pull yourself up one last time before gripping his length. Moving yourself down his body, you cover his cock with your mouth, licking up his shaft.

Seokjin pants, wound up so tightly, unable to hold it in any longer. His fingers tangle themselves into your hair, pushing you all the way down the length of his cock and then pulling you off, holding you still.

He burns the image in his brain, your kiss-bitten lips, eyes darkened with lust, mouth open for him, spurts of his cum dripping down your cheeks, fuck, he’s glad he’s still alive…

“I love you. Every time. Every where,” you whisper, looking at Seokjin sleeping against you, his handsome features softened in his slumber. Seokjin snores, waking up with a drowsy hum.

“Seokjin, what’s your major?” you yawn into his chest.

“Business and Finance,” he murmurs, half-asleep, holding you lightly in his embrace.

You snort softly, moving the hair out of his eyes. “Get a degree in teaching and become a professor’s aid here. It will help pay for the extra classes you’ll need.”

“Teaching?”

You nod. “You’ll love teaching, trust me,” you smile.

“My mother won’t like that,” Seokjin frowns.

“That’s not true, also, you’re not going to be a professor forever,” you grin.

“What am I going to do?” Seokjin asks curiously. You shake your head, “You’ll figure it out, don’t worry. Please, don’t worry yourself this much again,” you say more seriously, glancing over at the things on his nightstand one last time. “Promise me?”

His fingers tighten around yours reassuringly and he brings your hand to his mouth, kissing your knuckles. “I won’t. The hardest part was not knowing…now the hard part is over,” Seokjin smiles rolling over to his side and pulling you in closer.

You were afraid for Seokjin the hardest part was just beginning.

When Seokjin woke up the next morning you were gone.

And you woke up in his arms again. His lips automatically find yours, waking up with a drowsy hum, your husband Seokjin kisses you deeply.

“You didn’t tell me-”

“It was a secret I was going to take the grave,” he murmurs, half-asleep, holding you lightly in his embrace.

You nibble on his neck, pressing yourself closer, needy for him; the version of him that knows all your turn ons and how to drive you wild with pleasure, that can skillfully bring you to ecstasy over and over, who you love more than anyone in the world. Every where. Every time. You call out his name in a whiny moan.

Oh, Seokjin’s glad he’s still alive.

---

What…What happened?

You feel like a freight train ran over and flattened you. Warm hands trail across your jawline, forcing your eyes open.

“S-Seokjin?” you wince, sitting up. Where were you? You and Seokjin were tucked away in the theater’s breakroom, hidden away from cameras and curious premiere-goers. “What are you doing here?”

“I was invited. The second lead, um, Kim Taehyung, invited me, it was supposed to be a surprise…” he laughs awkwardly. “Your dress…” he smiles softly, wiping the sand off.

You grab his wrist, stopping him from touching you any further, already hot in the face from where he brushed the sand off your lap. “M-My head-”

“It’s okay, you’re going to be okay-”

“What h-happened?” you ask in disbelief. You were just on a beach, weren’t you?

“You need to calm down-”

“I was – I fell and I-I don’t know – there was a b-beach?!” You feel like the world is spinning, about to pass out again. You fall against Seokjin, failing to stand up.

You look around. This isn’t real. Everything feels weird and off. You were just on a beach! You feel the salt itch your skin still, your hair is still damp. This isn’t possible. This isn’t real.

“So you didn’t even know…”

You shiver, hugging your body, realizing you had his jacket wrapped around your shoulders. You wince, lifting your head up from his chest. “I need to go…I need to-” you spot an open door leading to a bathroom and you push yourself up.

“Wait!”

You push him away, stumbling into the bathroom and shutting the door. But before you can lock it-

Seokjin chases after you. He opens the door and you’re already gone.

---

This is the third time this weird professor has rushed to your side once you reached the barista’s counter and paid for your drink. You finally snap at him when he takes a seat across from you again. He was stalking you! It was impossible this was a coincidence, instead of sitting at your usual spot on the third floor, you took the elevator to the fifth, finding the furthest open spot you could find, tucked away behind bookshelves.

“Did you want something?!” you yell, being shushed by others.

“Huh? No?”

You glare at him, hot in the face. “You’re following me.”

He adjusts his glasses nervously. “No? I’m not-”

“You are! You are,” you say quieter. “I can pay for my own coffee, you don’t have to keep doing that. Thank you, but just s-stop!”

“I’m sorry!” he whispers. “I...I wanted to ask you the first time I f– met you, but I…chickened out. I think you’re really beautiful and I really wanted to get to know you more and…will you go on a date with me?”

“Eh?”

“A date,” he says a matter-of-factly.

“I…” Is he really asking you out on a date? “I don’t date professors.”

Even if he’s devastatingly handsome, quite possibly the most breathtaking man you’ve ever encountered, the feelings you felt when your eyes locked felt stronger than mere attraction. Emotions you weren’t used to strummed across the strings of your heart. Whenever you looked at Seokjin, the tug you felt pulling at the pit of your stomach felt too strong to ignore and it frightened you. It...weirded you out!

“Then I’ll quit,” he mutters something softly to himself you don’t quite catch, something about not planning on teaching forever.

“Are you on drugs?”

“N-No!” he pauses, recollecting himself. “Please, y/n, let me take you out, just one date.”

You stand up, letting the chair scrape loudly within the quiet study space as it’s pushed back. “H-How do you know my name?!”

“Your name? I, um, I, uh, I saw it on your coffee cup! The first day we…um, met.”

He’s obviously lying. You close your binder, gathering your homework. “Stay away from me,” you hiss, making sure to whisper as to not bother those around you.

“Wait!” he grabs you by the arm, pulling you back to him. “Please.”

You swallow, frozen by his intense pleading gaze. “Let me go or I’ll scream,” you whisper.

His hand cups your cheek. You look down at his wrist, the warmth of his fingers spreading over your skin, Why does he touch you like that? Why does it bring up these feelings you’ve never felt before? What is happening?!

You pull away, walking quickly, no, it definitely looked like running as Seokjin watched you flee. He stops himself from running after you, frowning. His approach was definitely not working. He runs a hand through his hair, cracking his neck, wondering how the hell your relationship could possibly progress to anything close to a marriage when you looked like you wanted to jump out of your skin anytime Seokjin came close to you.

‘It’s okay,’ he tells himself. Seokjin has you in his life now, your “meetings” would be on his terms now.

He was a successful drama professor, many of his students went on to work in movies and television. Instead of letting his worries consume him, he found himself learning how to live in the moment, because after all, he wasn’t the one who had the ability to change the past...and the future, even if he wasn’t so sure there was a flexibility to that either, he looked forward to it. So despite your retreating figure, he smiled.

“Can you please stop following me?!” You hold your books close to your chest after bumping into Seokjin in front of his next class.

“I’m not,” Seokjin defensively, readjusting his briefcase, red in the face, “We just keep running into each other-”

“You expect me to believe that when I’ve been on this campus for two years and now suddenly y-you’re everywhere I go. L-Like you are just…appearing out of thin air!”

Seokjin looks down, chuckling. “Maybe the universe is trying to tell us something?”

You pause. “The universe doesn’t care about us that much,” you mutter, turning away.

Seokjin pulls you back. Seokjin blinks, watching you as you keep your eyes low, unable to meet his own out of shyness. “Instead of a date, let's just…go out as friends?”

“Friends?”

Seokjin nods. “Yeah, if we keep running into each other like this, at least it won’t be so awkward anymore.”

You slowly nod, agreeing.

---

Seokjin waits until he hears a thump in the bathroom, something falling onto the floor. He pushes the door open wider, finding your shaking figure on the floor.

“H-How is this possible?” It was supposed to be a dream. You look down at your bare foot. If it wasn’t a dream, then that means…

You look up at Seokjin, now older, but with the same innocent eyes...

“I don’t know, but I’m happy I was able to save you again. You saved me so many times I just stopped questioning it,” Seokjin smiles, bending down and reaching for you.

You look down to his arm, his hand on your cheek. You don’t know how to react, overwhelmed. “Y-You knew about this the whole time?”

“I tried to tell you sooner, I didn’t know how…” he looks down at your sequined dress, unable to keep his emotions from resurfacing.

“Seokjin…I’m scared,” you feel tears well up in your eyes too, horrified at what could happen to you now.

“You don’t have to be scared,” he reassures you, hugging you. “I don’t think it happens very often. You find me six more times before now.”

“You? I go to you again?” you ask anxiously. Seokjin nods, “Why?”

Seokjin laughs softly. “You save my life.”

“Like the beach?” you murmur.

Seokjin nods, not wanting to tell you the whole truth. “Yeah, like the beach.” He fixes the collar of his coat around you, “My guardian angel.” He sends you a timid half grin, so cute you couldn’t help but laugh, drying your tears on his coat sleeve.

The premiere actually went really well after the initial chaos. You and Seokjin found seats in the back of the movie theater. Pretending something life changing didn’t just happen to you, you sat through the movie, trying to enjoy the product of your hard work. You skipped the after party, in favor of burgers and a milkshake, not wanting to deal with any more craziness. Big parties like that were never your thing anyways.

“I need a shower,” you scratch your head, taking a big bite of your burger.

You and Seokjin found a seat on top a pier, listening to the waves. He eats his fries. “My hotel is only a couple blocks from here, we can go there if you want.”

“Thank you,” you fix his hair, blown out of place by the wind.

You sigh. Seokjin was always sweet to you, helped you more times than you could count in college. And now that you knew the reason why, you feel uneasy. “You know, you don’t have to do this anymore, feel like you owe me something because I saved your life.”

“Hey, I saved you a couple times too, didn’t I?” he teases.

“Yeah,” you laugh. You still felt guilty. Seokjin was your best friend. You can’t believe you became best friends with the child you saved.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, thinking of the start to your odd friendship. “You were trying to tell me when we first met, right? I was horrible to you back then, I’m sorry,” you pout.

“Yeah,” Seokjin lies. “Why were you so mean to me back then?” he bumps your shoulder with his.

You bite your lip, looking at the dark rolling waves. Throughout the movie you couldn’t pay attention, thinking back on everything you experienced, replaying the moments you and Seokjin had gone through. Once you warmed up to him, it was easier to push those initial feelings away. Seokjin was your good friend, a mentor, if it weren’t for him, you’re not too sure you would have made it to where you were now, an accomplished writer.

Seokjin was handsome, kind, sweet, funny. He was the perfect man. You didn’t deserve him. Deep down you knew that, and you didn’t want to lose him. Seokjin asked you out a couple times after your first meeting, and you always refused him, because you knew you loved him too much to risk a relationship. Growing up your relationships never worked out, you were always left heartbroken. If you were to date him, it would be too devastating to lose him.

“Well, you did follow me around like a creepy stalker,” you joke, trying to avoid the truth.

Seokjin scoffs, sipping on his milkshake.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, “Being around you scared me-”

“What?!” Seokjin yells.

“No! I didn’t mean it like that! I think maybe, I felt something, like maybe deep down I knew something was different about you. It scared me,” you sigh. “The feelings…” you look up at his wide eyes, “N-Not feelings! I mean…emotions? I don’t know what I mean,” you laugh awkwardly, drinking your milkshake.

Seokjin stays silent and looks away, finishing his burger.

“Y/n, will you go on a date with me?”

“If this is about me saving your life-”

Seokjin scoffs, smirking, “It’s about me loving you since the first time I saw you.”

“Seokjin…” He can’t mean that, he can’t.

What do you even say to something like that? By saving his life did you end up ruining it? He was just an impressionable boy, but even after years of knowing him in his adulthood, Seokjin still honestly believes that?

“Just one date,” Seokjin swallows, determined “and I’ll never ask you again.”

“Just one date,” you whisper, barely able to use your voice, unease washing over you.

Seokjin smiles wide, undoing his tie, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders.

Finally.

---

Seokjin texts you he’s on his way.

Oh god, oh god oh god oh god.

You fix your hair for the hundredth time tonight.

This was a horrible, horrible idea. Everything about this was weird. You shouldn’t be doing this. You check your clock. Is there time to back out?

You were afraid there was no way to stop this without Seokjin hating you, he’s been so patient up until this point, never becoming angry with you when you refused his advances. But now you feel you’ve reached the tipping point. Could he forgive you if you changed your mind?

But the thought of him giving up on you and pursuing someone else, made your insides twist. You know he deserves someone better, someone who wasn’t anxious all the time, who wasn’t too scared to show affection, someone without a short temper, someone who looked as beautiful as him, and most importantly, someone who did not have a condition where she fell through time!

Seokjin texts you he’s on his way.

No answer.

Seokjin calls you.

No answer.

He knocks on your door.

No answer.

Seokjin knocks harder.

“Hey love.”

Seokjin turns around, bumping right into you. You crash your lips into his, wrapping your arms around his neck.

Seokjin goes mute. You’re wearing a tight dress, hair made up, diamond jewelry around your neck, a present Seokjin gave you on your anniversary.

You look beautiful. But Seokjin can tell you’re not the same woman. You’re more mature, more relaxed around him.

“C’mon, we have a date tonight, right?” You grab him by the jacket, pulling him into another kiss. It was wild and heated, Seokjin could taste alcohol on your lips.

“Y-Y/n?! You’re from the future!”

“You bend down, pulling up the door mat, holding up a spare key. “I don’t think I’ll mind if I take a visit.”

“Where’s my y/n?” You pull him into your dark apartment. “W-What if you come home.”

“I won’t,” you smile, putting the key on top of your counter, and touch the calendar pinned to your wall, at the date. “Tonight I’m already-” you lift the calendar up to December, “-around four years later, here. And I’m here.”

“You’re…around the same age as me right now.”

You smile, biting your lip, nodding, your eyes sparkling.

You jump on your kitchen counter, winking at him. You’re a little drunk and you’re missing your anniversary dinner. You hope your Seokjin isn’t mad at you, but you’re sure he will understand. You’ll make it up to him when you get back. If you were brought here, it meant Seokjin needed you.

“This was supposed to be our first date,” Seokjin says breathlessly.

“That’s right,” you hold your hand out. “I was a nervous wreck,” you laugh, remembering. Maybe it was you who really had needed the help. “Ahh I remember now.”

“So, I guess that means I get a second date,” he holds your hand, letting you pull him in.

“Oh you get many dates,” you whisper into his mouth, lips rubbing across his own.

Seokjin has been visited by an older version of you a handful of times now. He was starting to feel troubled by the fact that the only time you ever seemed to want him was when you time traveled back to him. This time happened to be the closest he’s gotten to his version of you. That means, in less than four years, he’ll finally get to have you like this all the time. He tries not to feel impatient, but, god, he can’t wait.

He pushes his tongue inside your inviting mouth, yanking your body closer to the edge of the counter.

This was your Seokjin, the one you first fell in love with, so dominating and strong with a desperation in his actions you haven’t experienced in awhile. You fist his shirt, pulling him closer to you, moaning into each other’s mouths.

This is not your home.

Oh no. The last thing you remember, you were trying to think of a way to escape your date with Seokjin and then you tripped, or at least you think you tripped, and the world felt like it turned upside down. And now you’re…where are you?

“There you are, I was wondering where you went off to!”

You turn around, face to face with the man in question. “Seokjin?”

“Yes,” he laughs, “Are you okay? Wait.”

You stand awkwardly in the middle of his living room. “Y/n? Did you time travel?” You nod quickly. He looks around for his y/n. In his old age he was always nervous when you would visit him, he knew you couldn’t exactly save him from a stroke or heart attack, but he always assumed the worst if you fell in unexpectedly. “Am I…in danger?”

“No! I mean, I don’t think so? Fuck…I fucked up. I think…I think this might have been me, this time,” you groan.

“What do you mean?”

“I– Are we still friends?” you look closer at Seokjin, he looks older, not by much, but there was definitely a difference between your Seokjin and him.

Seokjin laughs. “Yeah, you could say that.”

“So I didn’t ruin our friendship,” you sigh in relief.

“When did you come from,” Seokjin asks, curious.

“Oh, um,” you weren’t so sure you wanted to remind him. You look around. This place is much nicer than his current home, you notice. You’re happy for him.

Seokjin watches as you look around his home. “Like the place?”

“It’s beautiful, the kitchen, wow,” you laugh in awe. Seokjin smiles at your reaction. You said the same thing when he brought you to this home, asking if you wanted it.

“You look beautiful. What’s the occasion?” You wore a low-cut pastel dress, the short skirt flowed over your hips, showing off your legs. You hadn’t put your heels on yet, standing barefoot on his rug.

“A date,” you mumble.

Seokjin pours himself two drinks. Walking over to you, he hands you a glass. “Who’s the lucky gentlemen?” he teases.

You drink the alcohol to calm your nerves. “You’re from the future, right? Shouldn’t you know?”

“Technically, you’re from the past. And I want to hear you say it, y/n,” he takes another long drink.

“You are mad at me for leaving,” you bite your lip.

“You still haven’t figured it out,” Seokjin sighs. “Look at me, do you think I would be still mad at you for something that happened so long ago? Do you think I could ever be mad at you like that? Do you think I could ever stop loving you?” Seokjin holds your cheek against his palm, the same gesture he always does, unable to help himself from touching you.

“You can’t just love me because I saved your life once when you were a kid, Seokjin. That’s not…okay.”

“Have you ever tried to see me as who I am now to you?”

“Y-Yes,” you swallow, getting lost in his eyes. “But I’m afraid that’s not how you see me…”

“You know what I love about you?” he asks, “We cook together, all the time, we make dinner together. You even let me drag you to cooking classes,” he smiles. “On the weekends when I fish, you’ll come with me and write or paint on the boat, you always keep me company. I even love you when you force me to watch scary movies, you always say you’ll protect me at night.”

“We do all that together?”

“I love that you’re so passionate about things, I love that you are just as competitive as me, I love that you make our home warm, I love your laugh, I love your smile, I love your eyes…”

“Our home?” You put your hand over his, not wanting him to pull away just yet. But Seokjin had no intention of leaving you.

“You think I love you because you saved me when I was a child. But I don’t think that’s what happened at all. I think you saved me because I loved you so much.”

You feel your heart clench at his words, opening up as if he had the key, turning it until he unlocked something inside of you, hidden so deep out of fear.

“I’m sorry I ran away from our first date,” you cry.

Seokjin laughs, kissing your forehead. “What are you talking about? You’re right here with me now.” He hugs you close, “Our first date, huh? Ahh now I remember,” he smiles. “You wore this for me?” Seokjin looks down your body hungrily. His thumb reaches out to touch the corner of your lips.

His younger self will forgive him for stealing your first kiss together.

Seokjin kissed you softly, testing the waters, until you pressed your lips into his demandingly, and he cradled the back of your head, licking over your mouth until you opened for him. His tongue rolls over yours, mouth devouring you until you were weak in the knees.

His hands ran down your body, going under your dress and pressing you to him in the most achingly pleasurable way you let out a soft moan for more.

Seokjin loved your body now, but there was something evocative in the younger version of you that reminded Seokjin of the start of your relationship, when you couldn’t keep your hands off one another and when you and him had the energy to go all night and morning long for days.

“Oh Seokjin.”

Seokjin already knows he’s not going to forgive himself for what he’s going to do next to you. But it’s only fair, his younger self is having too much fun with his version of you. That black dress was meant for him, Seokjin thinks, a little angry with his younger self too, barely remembering the distant memory.

Seokjin lays you on the couch, delicately pulling off your lace panties teasingly, leaving open mouthed kisses across your calf and thigh. He runs his tongue up your leg, achingly slow.

You whine for him, crying out his name, unable to hold back your yearning for him any longer.

You were so responsive to his touch, goosebumps blooming all over your skin at his ministrations. When his tongue dove into your core, you shuddered, legs over his shoulders and heels digging into his back, your own back arching into him as he licked over your mound, pressing his tongue deep inside you.

He replaces his tongue with two fingers, setting a punishing pace with his digits stroking inside your sex and his tongue over your clit, a dizzying force that sent pleasure waves throughout your body.

“Oh my god,” was all you could manage to say, broken out in between heaving moans.

He removes his tongue only to growl out, “Be a good girl and cum on my fingers for me, okay angel?”

You groan, legs locking around his arm as he curls his fingers into your sweet spot until you spasm, orgasming quicker than you’ve ever had before, even by your own fingers. “That’s it, baby.”

You lie, in shock, still trembling in pleasure.

Seokjin waited so long to have you again, and even though it wasn’t the version of you he wanted, this version acted exactly how he wished you would. You couldn’t keep your hands off his body, you couldn’t stop your moans for him. You were hungry for him, full of desire for him, on your knees for him and god, Seokjin felt like he was losing his mind with lust.

He dragged you off his cock, needing to fuck you first. He bent you over your counter, too horny to even think about stopping and moving somewhere else. He needed you now, before you disappeared, he needed to fuck you full, to make you cry out his name, he needed that validation, he needed you wrapped around his cock, warm and tight and his. You were his. He admired the jiggle of your ass, your back arching for him, your mouth open, your cheek pressed against the marble of your countertop as he dragged you back and forth on his cock. All of you, all his.

He interlaces his hands in yours, holding you down as his pace quickens. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you moan out for him, tightening around his cock as he pounds into you from behind.

“I want you to come first,” he pants.

“Ungh…fingers,” you grunt, closing your eyes, so close.

Seokjin has learned a thing or two since fucking you last. He lifts one of your legs up onto the countertop, fucking you even deeper, rolling his hips into yours. His fingers find your clit, his other hand in your hair, tightening his grip as he fucks you.

You tremble, limbs locking as Seokjin brings you over the edge, fucking you through it and dragging out your pleasure until it becomes too much.

“Fuck, fuck, you’re so tight, I’m going to — ungh.”

Seokjin pulls out, resting his cock in your folds. His shaft twitches against your sensitive nub, making you tremble. Seokjin covers your sex with his cum, marking you as his.

And then he pulls you into his arms, nowhere near finished with you.

Seokjin peels your dress off you, fingers pulling at your nipples until you gasp. Pocketing your underwear, he undoes his pants, pulling out his hard length, thick and heavy against your thigh.

You inhale sharply at the sight of him. God, has he always been this sexy? Probably. You’re an idiot for waiting so long. You instinctively open your legs wider for him. “Want it, baby?” Seokjin smirks. He’s bold, already confident in his relationship with you, and he likes teasing you, especially this version of you, when you still have your timidness, your cute modesty. “Tell me how bad you want me.”

You whimper as his fingers tease your entrance. “Tell me,” he grunts as his fingers dip inside your hole. His wet fingers travel up your body, circling your nipple and resting on your throat as he uses the tip of his cock to tease you instead.

“Please, I want you.”

Seokjin licks his lips, watching you squirm underneath him. “How bad?”

“Fuck, please, Seokjin, I want you so bad.”

“Yeah?” He rests himself at your entrance. He could do this all night, torture you slowly. He knows your body, he’s had you so many times before. He can keep you like this for as long as he likes, because he knew you haven’t felt him yet, and he knew it was driving you crazy to wait. This was only a little sweet payback for all the waiting he used to do for you.

“Beg me, angel.”

“Please, Seokjin, please,” you whimper. “Fuck me, please...please...” you pant.

Seokjin rolls his hips into yours, filling you with one long languid stroke that takes your breath away. He brings your legs up, folding you so he can fuck you deep, fill you completely.

It feels so good you feel tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. You hold onto his shoulders, digging your nails into his back. Fuck, it feel so good. Sex with Seokjin is the best sex of your life. He is thick and long and is hitting spots you didn’t even know existed inside of you.

“I’m g-going to cum again,” you moan out.

“Yeah? Gonna come on my cock this time? Fuck, you feel so tight. You’re taking me so well, baby.”

“So…close-”

“Come, baby,” Seokjin runs his fingers over your sex, circling your oversensitive clit. You shake and tremble around him, limbs locking. “One more, fu-uck, give me one more.” Seokjin was going to make sure you knew what you could look forward to when you went back, that you weren’t going to ever forget you belonged with him.

He rolls his hips slow and steady, fucking every thought out of your head until you could only think of the way his cock dragged in and out of you, his fingers relentlessly slipping against your clit.

“Seokjin!”

“Good girl, that’s a good girl.”

Seokjin woke up half naked on the rug of your living room all alone.

And then he heard a thud in your bedroom and knew you were back in his life again. Never that far.

You look up as your bedroom door creaks open. You pull your sheet off your bed, dragging it onto the floor to cover yourself.

“Hey,” you stutter.

“Hey,” Seokjin whispers, covering his chest.

“Seokjin, did you want to, um, cook breakfast together?”

---

“Hey old man.”

“Hey angel.” Seokjin had gray hair, wrinkles in the creases of his eyes when he smiled at you.

“Is everything okay?”

“Now that you’re here, I’m sure it will be fine.”

Taking your hand in his, you both notice the gold rings on your fingers.

“How’d you get in this boat all by yourself?”

“The easy part is getting in, the hard part is getting out,” Seokjin laughs.

“And where am I?”

“I suppose, somewhere saving my life.”

You jump into the boat, helping him to his feet. “Promise me you’ll fix this dock with some decent steps and railings,” you grunt.

“I promise,” he smiles.

You smile back, tying the boat up to the dock. “I’m happy I came here, to see you. We lasted this long, huh? Not that I had any doubts,” you tease. Seokjin chuckles, waiting for you as you finish securing the last loops. He sits on his cooler, filled with today’s catch.

You bend down and kiss him on the cheek, helping him up to his feet again. “Let’s go inside and wait for me, then, yeah?” you say, linking your arms together.

---

“Y/n?” Seokjin called out to you. Somehow, even with your gray hair, your hunched withered body, he could tell it was you.

“Oh, Seokjin, oh my god,” you wheeze out, tears in your eyes. The last time you saw Seokjin was three years ago, the day he died. You touch his cheek, no longer wrinkled by time, tears escaping your cloudy eyes.

“Angel, you found me again.”

“I missed you. God, I missed you so much.”

“I’m here now,” Seokjin whispers, taken aback by your tears and how broken you sounded, his heart clenching and thinking of the worst. He hugs you, calming you down.

You remembered this day.

“I know why I’m here,” you say happily. “Today is the day I go into labor.”

“But your due date is not for another three months,” your husband says, confused.

“That’s right,” you remember. “There’s a complication. We’ll be fine,” you reassure him as he starts to panic, “Just take me to the hospital now, okay love.”

Seokjin nods, hugging you again. It’s overwhelming, having him in your arms again after all these years. Even if the man you loved is gone, you feel a sense of happiness wash over you knowing this version of him and you still have so many years left to live, so much love to give each other. So many more beautiful memories to make, all that you know will be the best ones yet.

“Oh dear, I love you,” you cry.

“I love you too. Every time. Every where,” Seokjin whispers.

And that was the last time you fell for Seokjin.

---

Happy birthday, Seokjin! Did you like it? I cried, but I'm a crybaby, did you cry? I need to know if I'm still decent at angst lol.

Masterlist

#seokjin x reader #jin x reader #seokjin smut #jin smut #seokjin fanfic #jin fanfic #seokjin angst #seokjin fluff #jin angst #bts college au #bts fantasy au #bts fanfic #bts smut #bts angst #bts fluff #happy birthday seokjin

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mythserene · 10 months

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AKOM “Fine Tuning,” Episode 6: A prolonged jealousy

Another really excellent episode that I will have to listen to at least two more times to fully ingest, despite having lots of diffuse, unconnected notes where I ranted about most of the same text. They really backed up and gave it context and meaning, including adding a lot of things that I didn’t have and making sense of some of the extras that I did. It was both satisfying and frustrating: more satisfying than I expected, and my frustration feels more coherent and focused now.

I definitely think it’s one of the most important episodes.

There is only one point I would add, and that is just that when you listen to the episode it’s important to realize that Paul’s “jealousy” is the most egregiously non-sourced. There are basically two quotes that Mark Lewisohn uses to support this entire theme. The theme which he so beats into the ground that even if you don’t look at the footnotes it feels excessive.

I’ve mentioned before that when I read “Tune In” I was still very, very new to Beatles’ history. A newborn without any of the historiographical context, no understanding of the long, strange, John-deifying background, and therefore I wasn’t on the lookout for it. And that’s important because I went into the book with implicit trust, loved the writing, and still it was evident to me, fairly quickly, that I was reading an opinion column.

It was the cigarettes that did it

Paul’s care with money was noted—Pete says that while they all passed their ciggies around, Paul would “sneak one of his own to himself”—and he was still needling everyone about the Bambi sleeping arrangements, made all the worse now because he was jealous of Pete getting the best girls.

The second time I read the book I remember thinking, “Surely not that many people spontaneously bitched about Paul being stingy with cigarettes.” And that was my tipoff.

There are two quotes in the book about Paul and cigarettes that appear to be organic—one being Pete’s “sneak one of his own” quote in this episode—but you’d think that half the people Lewisohn talked to about their memories of some of the most famous people ever, and certainly the most famous from Liverpool, just magically thought that one of the most important things about these four guys was that Paul was stingy with cigarettes. And there is just no way that that is true.

But I also know how this works, inside out. You get “an angle” as a reporter. You have a story you want to tell, and then you interview people with that story—that angle—in mind. You ask questions that you think will elicit the responses that back up your thesis. And then, on the other side of the process, you filter the quotes you choose (and don’t choose) that tell the story you want to tell. And to be fair, every reporter and historian does this to some extent. It may just be to organize ideas in a coherent way, or it may be to focus on a theme. But it has also notoriously been used by historians to warp the truth and further a broader historical lie. (A very good example of this and the one closest to me is “the Dunning School” of the US Civil War and Reconstruction, the first real and condensed story of that conflict that injected into US historiography many complete lies, including the especially insane one that after the Civil War the “Radical Republicans” inflicted pain and humiliation on the South, which despite being the exact opposite of the truth is still the story most Americans “know.”)

Mark Lewisohn had a story he wanted to tell, and I believe that story is most obvious in his “jealous Paul” theme because it’s based on nearly thin air and even then is so ludicrously overblown. But I think it was just too tempting a canvas for Lewisohn. Setting up a dead, pretty kid as a sort of saint that Paul persecuted does so much work for everything else he wants to say about Paul, especially in the upcoming books. Hamburg becomes a pressure cooker where Paul’s true colors come out, and if Lewisohn can use Stu—a sort of perfect near-blank slate who never had time to put any of his memories into context—as a foil to Paul and to paint Paul as petty and jealous and seething, then all the rest of his work is easy. Stu is a layup that paves the way to seeing Paul as a bad guy. The concrete dries and everything else falls into place.

And look, there just is no way to see this theme as organic, because it’s not. It just isn’t. It’s not based on quotes or stories. There are a few completely disconnected quotes stretched to breaking that he uses to try to prop all this nonsense up with, but there is simply no defense for even 90% of the primary usage of them, and certainly not of the whole, big-picture story he creates with them.

I’m going to give one example—and there are many—but I admit to liking this one best because it’s all there in one passage based on one quote that doesn’t say any of this.

Passage:

But, as much as Paul liked exhibiting versatility, he was unhappy—he felt he’d been lumbered, that his multi-instrumental ability was tying him down. Who looked at the drummer? By rights, his place was out front, especially with his new guitar. Here he was, paying off the Solid 7 at ten bob a week and hardly getting to play it. Jealousy of Stu was stoked: Paul was in the back line while he remained out front (even if he was hiding and in dark glasses). One thing was for certain: Paul wasn’t going to abandon singing.

The only citation for all that Maca-inhabited resentment is the brief Paul quote already in the text, (FN35) and the next footnote—FN36—is from George on a new topid. There is no citation whatsoever to support any of Lewisohn’s finely-sketched fantasies of Paul’s vanity and jealousy.

FOOTNOTE 35: “I was drumming with my hands, playing the hi-hat and bass drum with my feet and I had a broomstick stuck between my thighs on the end of which was a little microphone, and I’m singing ‘Tell me what’d I say …’ It wasn’t easy!”

*Note: This quote is also in the text right under the ‘lumbered Paul wanted to be out front’ passage, so in some ways it’s an even thinner spread, if that’s possible.

So, according to Lewisohn:

Paul liked “exhibiting versatility” (a whole lot because of the modifier “as much as”)

Paul was unhappy because he felt “lumbered”

He felt he was being punished because he was TOO TALENTED

BY RIGHTS his place was out FRONT

He wanted to be LOOKED AT!

Jealousy of Stu is grabbed from thin air, based on nothing, and “stoked” by Lewisohn.

because, again, Stu was out FRONT

Did you catch the point that Paul is CHEAP?

Again, all of that is cited to this:

“I was drumming with my hands, playing the hi-hat and bass drum with my feet and I had a broomstick stuck between my thighs on the end of which was a little microphone, and I’m singing ‘Tell me what’d I say …’ It wasn’t easy!”

There are at least two more things that I want to say but this is long enough so I will put them off. (Hopefully not for long.) ✌🏻

#the beatles #akom #beatles #fine tuning #tune in #paul mccartney #john lennon #lewisohn #jealous paul #cherry picking #mark lewisohn #Spotify

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creepycranberry · 2 months

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Great Big Stars: I Love it when it Rains

Modern!rockstar!Eddie X Fem!Singer!Reader

Pt 1 … pt 3

This is the second chapter in a series but can be read as a stand alone

Please be kind and enjoy!

<3•<3•<3•<3•

You didn’t expect any kind of response. You didn’t even know he kept up with you still

You knew about everything going on with him, not always by choice. His face was plastered on every magazine in every grocery store, his music played from the speakers in the mall, there was a big billboard just a few miles before you entered Hawkins that had his face plastered on it: Hometown of the rock and roll sensation Corroded Coffin! Written across the front.

You had to look for anything about your life though.

Or at least you used to.

One of your songs had gotten somewhat popular on the internet. The buzz was nice, it was short lived of course but your following had still grown from it.

You did what you did, you wrote songs and directed your own music videos and spent sleepless nights editing and writing some more.

You were lying on your couch flipping through tv channels and chewing on your thumb nail when you stopped on a channel.

It was a late night talk show of sorts and Eddie and the guys were squished together on a couch that was far too small for all four of them.

The host was talking to the guys and asking questions and then an album cover was being held up in front of the camera, “so this is your new single, and it’s uh, it’s called I love it when it rains. What is this song about, if you don’t mind telling me and the viewers at home?”

The album cover is familiar, two teens standing in front of a beat up van, their faces scratched out of view.

You recognized it because it was a picture you had, tucked somewhere in a box in the back of your closet. He probably got the other copy from Wayne.

The guys all look at Eddie expectantly and Eddie grins, his hands folded and held still between his knees, “um, this is a song from a really long time ago,” fuck, he looks good, as good as ever, “it was written with the help of a friend of ours who was a brilliant fucking song writer and still is from what I can tell.”

The crowd hums as the focus centers on him, “and um, it’s a really good song and I’d been meaning to put it out for a while but I wanted to wait until she had more of a name for herself just because I wouldn’t want her success to be credited to me or anything, but she’s doing pretty well so I thought now was as good a time as any. It’s basically just a song about loving someone enough to stick around even when they’re going through it.”

“And is she credited on the album, do we get to know her name or…?” The host asks and Eddie shrugs.

“I mean, in a way she is but I didn’t use her actual name because I couldn’t get in touch with her to ask if she wanted her actual name.” Eddie shrugs.

You know he means you.

You’re unreachable really, in the same town you’ve lived in since middle school, your social media handled by Robin who has largely taken up a role as your manager.

“So what can we call her?”

“Uh, she’s the writer.”

“Well we know that but what is she called in the credits of the song?” The host laughs and eddies grin grows slightly nervous.

“The credits say The Writer and Eddie the banished.”

You scoff lightly at the writing credit.

You didn’t care if he put the song out or not.

What’s in his book is his and what’s in yours belongs to you.

You turn the tv off after that, not too interested in whatever he had to say next.

#eddie munson #joseph quinn #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader #Spotify

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cameronspecial · 9 months

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Before The Last Petal Falls (Part 9)

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Mention of Getting Sober and maybe Drugs

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 2.4K

Summary: A little snooping helps Y/N come to a major realization that changes the cousr of her life.

Masterlist

Y/N heard Rafe was released from the hospital and she hasn’t been to see him since she found the chain, which she still is wearing. She’s been thinking over everything and trying to sort out her emotions before she offers her help to him in a conscious state. She decides she is finally ready to face him and knocks on the door of Tannyhill. Sarah is the one to answer the door with a smile on her face. She reaches over to give Y/N a hug, “Hey, how are you?” Y/N returns the hug with a small smile. “I’m okay. I mean with everything going on, it’s as good as it is going to get. I’m actually here to talk to Rafe. Could you get him for me, please?” Sarah just shakes her head apologetically, “I’m sorry, but he isn’t here right now. But you can wait in his room if you want.” Y/N takes the offer and heads up to Rafe’s bedroom.

Waiting in the room she used to consider her own gets a little boring, so she decides to be her nosy self and look around. She knows she shouldn’t, but curiosity gets the best of her. She wants to see how much his room has changed since they broke up. The exploration begins with his dresser drawers. He still keeps it organized how she rearranged it one lazy afternoon. She then moves onto his desk. Paperwork litters his desk and picture frames can be found on the back edge of the desk. She notices that a few are empty and others are filled with family photos. She opens the top drawer to find photos of her and him. The ones that used to be in the picture frames on the desk. She gives a sad smile at the memories they made.

The final place she looks at is his bookshelf. There are a lot more books on it than the last time she saw it and she beams at the idea of him keeping the hobby even after they broke up. She glances over the books they read together, fingers trailing over the spines. Her fingers stop at a familiar-looking book set that is missing the first novel. It was the special Percy Jackson book set, which matches The Lightning Thief that Rafe annotated for her eighteenth birthday. She knew he probably got the other books in the set, but never really put any thought as to what he did with the other books. She takes one out of the books out and flips through the pages. She is surprised to see the same blue ink from her first annotated book. The page she lands on is the one where Percy talks about printing out the picture Annabeth sent him. Rafe had written: ‘I totally did that to every single photo Mason sent me with you in it. I definitely didn’t know that was why I did it, but subconscious me totally knew I was in love with you.’

Y/N didn’t know she was crying until her tears started to fall on the page. She closes the books to check the other ones for annotations. Every single one she opens is also annotated and not sparse. The pages are filled with blue ink, which Rafe uses to bare his soul to her. Even after their breakup, he still continued the gift that she loved so much. How did she know that he didn’t annotate the books with the one he had given her? Well, it’s because he had talked about the break-up in his annotations. He talks about how much he is hurting. How turning toward drugs helped him forget about her. How much he misses her. It’s all in there within the pages of four books. Her emotions run wild at the honesty in these pages because some of his comments aren’t sugar-coated.

Waiting for Rafe feels as though it is taking forever and with the overwhelming feeling she has right now, she needs to find him. And she knows exactly where he is like she is being pulled in by a fishing line.

——

She finds him exactly where she thought she would, sitting on the sandy beach. He is looking out to the sea so his back is facing her. Rafe hears her footsteps approaching, but he doesn’t turn toward her. She sits down beside him and brings her legs to her chest. He glances over to her, noticing his rose chain fall out from under her shirt. “So that’s where that went,” he ponders out loud. Y/N gives a shy grin, turning away from him to try to hide her embarrassment of being caught, “Yeah, sorry about that. I didn’t know you kept it, let alone still wore it.”

“Uhh, yeah. I… umm… tried to get rid of it, actually. I came down here when I was back home for Thanksgiving and threw it into the ocean. But I quickly realized how much I still needed it and spent hours looking for it in the water. I kept it as proof that you actually loved me.”

Y/N turns to him with unbelieving eyes, “Of course I love you. Cameron, you are my first love.”

“Y-you love me? As in you still do?”

“Yeah, I do and I think you do too. Cameron, I found the other annotated books.”

“The one in my room? The Percy Jackson ones?”

“Yes, I may have done a little snooping when I went to check on you at home first.”

He lets out a little chuckle and takes a chance by bringing her closer with his arms. She allows him to do so and rests her head against his shoulder. “It became like my therapy after we broke up. Every year, the day before your birthday, I let myself think about you in any way that I wanted. I didn’t try to suppress my feelings and instead, let myself feel them,” he explains to her. She nods her head in understanding. There is a moment of silence before Y/N breaks it, “I thought we lost you, Cameron. I was so scared when Mace called.”

“I know, my rose. I am so sorry that I scared you like that. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

They both smile at the usage of their old nicknames. They let themselves take in the feeling of nostalgia. It all feels so familiar and warm. “Cameron, you need to get sober. For good this time. We can’t go through a scare like that again, especially if we actually lose you. This time, I’m going to help you though. I promise that I won’t let you go through this alone,” she tells him, looking into his eyes.

“I know, you’re right. I want to get sober, not only for you but for myself. I have to let myself start feeling my emotions again. And I think your help would really be good for me. I think we are good for each other.”

“Just because I’m helping you with this, it doesn’t mean we are getting back together. I may have put a pause on my relationship with Cole, but I am still with Cole. I just think we are too different from each other. We aren’t a good match.”

She turns away from him to look at the ocean. He places his finger under her chin and turns her towards him. “That isn’t true. I know we have our problems to work through, but, my rose, there is no one else I’d rather work through my issues with. I know we are meant to be with each other and if I have to wait an eternity for you, then I will. Not that I’m trying to pressure you, but you are it for me,” he promises to her. Y/N looks into his eyes with tears swelling in hers, “If we do this, then we have to make some serious changes. You would need to get sober and I would need to learn how to talk to you about my feelings. We can’t keep making the same mistakes. We would have a lot of things to work through. Together.” “I can work with that.” He grins at her and begins to bring his lips closer to his, but she stops him.

“I know that I said we could give us another shot, but I am still technically dating Cole. Before we do anything, I need to break things off with him officially. Is that okay?” she asks. Rafe just smiles at her placing his lips on her forehead, “That is more than okay.”

——

Cole knew what was coming before Y/N even opened her mouth. The pitiful smile she gives him as she enters the restaurant is a dead giveaway of her plans. She sits across from him in the booth and takes his hands into hers. “You’re breaking up with me,” he states without a single hint of it being a question. Her smile turns tight-lipped and nods, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, I’m just lucky I got my time with you. At least I can say I dated a famous author. But I knew it was always going to be him.”

Y/N gives a little laugh at the joke he gives but gives him another small smile, “It’s funny how everyone keeps telling me that.”

“Well, anyone can see it. You guys would do anything for each other and I should’ve known the universe would eventually bring you guys back together.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. Cole, I hope you know that I really am sorry about breaking up with you. You don’t deserve how I treated you while we were dating and when we went on a date in our first year.”

“Hey, don’t say that. You gave me all the love that you could and it is not your fault that you just didn’t have the same amount that I have for you. Maybe, if I had met you first, we would’ve been together. I like to think that in another lifetime, that’s what happened to us.”

“That would be nice, but in this lifetime, my prince is waiting for me at the beach.”

——

Rafe didn’t wait for Y/N the whole time on the beach like he said he would. Instead, he went to Tannyhill to get something he thought he desperately needed. He is back on the beach by the time she returns. She sees him down by the water with his feet in the water and takes off her shoes to join him. She runs into his arms. He picks her up and twirls her around as she giggles. He stops the twirling but keeps her up in the air. Y/N places her forehead against his and grins at him. He reaches up to kiss her and this time she lets his lips press onto hers. Rafe puts her back down on the sand.

“Let’s dance,” he whispers to her. She gives him a questioning look, “Cameron, there isn’t any music.” “That’s okay, the waves can be our music. Just dance, please,” he begs, taking her into his arms. They sway to the sound of the waves, her skirt gently kissing the sand as they move and his hair being blown in every direction from the light breeze. The moment is the most perfect one they’ve had since the break-up. They both don’t want it to end. However, for what Rafe is about to do, he needs to stop the moment. He pulls away from her and gives her a nervous smile. His nerves make her anxious. When he gets down on one knee, she finally understands why he looks that way.

“I know that you probably think I am crazy for doing this right now and that we just got back together. But I have known that I was going to marry you since I was five years old and I was blown away by your pettiness. Now, you are probably worried about this affecting how I get sober, but I promise we don’t need to get married until I am sober for however long you deem. So here I am, asking you to marry me because you are truly the only one for me,” Rafe proposes, pulling out the ring box.

He opens the box to reveal the engagement ring and she is astonished at the ring sitting within it. The ring that sits inside the box is one she recognizes from when they were twelve. Y/N, Mason, and Rafe went to the jewelry store with Cassie. She needed to get her wedding ring cleaned. The children were looking at the rings while Cassie was occupied with the store employee. Y/N had pointed out a unique engagement ring which had a red garnet gem instead of the traditional diamond. She loved that the gem was her birthstone and declared that she wanted her own engagement ring to be like the one in front of her. What she didn’t know was that after they left the store, Rafe returned the day after and bought the ring with the allowance he had been saving up for a new watch.

Y/N stares at the ring and feels the tears falling down her face. She drops to straddle the one leg propped up and wraps her arm around his neck. “I would love to marry you. I can’t believe you found a replica of the ring from when we were twelve,” she watches with loving eyes as he places the ring on her finger. He wraps one arm around her waist to keep her steady and awkwardly scratches the back of his neck with the other. “Umm, this is actually the same ring you saw. I went back the next day and bought it with the money I was going to use for my watch,” he admits. She looks down at him with a smile, “Cameron, you didn’t?! I remember how excited you were about getting that watch. If I remember correctly, it took you a year after we visited the jewelry store to get that watch.” “It did, but it was totally worth it if it led us to this moment right here. I got my fiancée and the watch, so I think I won,” he jokes. Y/N shakes her head and nudges his shoulder.

The two let out a laugh and looked into each other eyes. This moment feels like the entire world has been shifted back onto its axis. It feels so right and filled with love that they can’t remember what it was like when they weren’t together. They give each other another kiss to celebrate the moment they become soon-to-be wife and husband.

Taglist: @sublimepenguinpeach-blog @gillybear17 @f4ll-for-you @winterrrnight @maggiecc @magicwithaknife @loves0phelia @jiarapamuk @blisslove @baby19sthings @thelomlisrafecameron @nonbullshit-toleratingkindagirl

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helpimstuckposting · 11 months

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TW: mentions of child abuse, panic attack

I’m a ghost and you are a shadow

—

The glow of the porch light backlit Eddie in a warm yellow, the light glinting off his hair. Steve watched him quietly as he sifted through his thoughts, the winding branches of them playing plainly across his face. It was both comforting and unsettling, how familiar this Eddie was. He wasn’t like Nancy, who was the same but hadn’t talked to Steve in years. He wasn’t like Linda Harrington, who was so completely different than the mother he knew in his world. He wasn’t like the others, who Steve had been mourning the loss of for years. He was just Eddie. Just the same Eddie.

Maybe this Eddie was more paranoid, more uncomfortable around him, but it also reminded Steve of how Eddie was when they had first met. It was so easy to just sink into the silence as he waited for the person beside him to speak.

It took a few more minutes, the water lapping against the edge of the pool filling the quiet, harmonized only by the rustling of leaves in the forest nearby.

“I get that this isn’t your fault,” Eddie started. Steve sat and listened, as Robin had done for him earlier. “It’s just… hard for me… to see your face.” He seemed to be struggling for the right words, calculating the correct way to phrase things.

“I don’t mean to take it out on you or anything, but I know you’re not our Steve and that’s… that’s something I’m struggling with.” Eddie blinked a few times, squeezing his eyes shut tight before slightly shaking his head and opening them again.

Steve nodded. He understood, was having the same issues with his mother and the rest of them. It was weird to know they weren’t the people he shared memories with, especially Eddie who was so similar to his own Eddie Munson.

“I know,” Steve replied. He was still watching him, still seeing other thoughts fly across Eddie’s face without being said aloud. With Robin he could tell what the words were, could read them like a well-worn book that Steve had dog-eared and underlined, knew the next line before he read it. With Eddie, it was like pouring over a book written in a language he couldn’t read. He could see the words floating over Eddie’s face, knew there were sentences and questions and monologues that Steve hadn’t quite translated or figured out yet.

He’d never had to learn Eddie before. The Eddie of his world was so open, so talkative and expressive. He’d shut down when Wayne had died, spent a few weeks in a quiet just like this but he still talked to Steve. Maybe they just didn’t have anyone else.

“Steve and I were… we were close, so it’s hard to… to see you. But that’s not your fault and if Linda can handle it, then I’m just being a baby,” Eddie said. He trailed off a bit at the end, like he didn’t actually believe his words but felt like he should.

“You’re not,” Steve replied. “It takes… time. I get it. It’s only been a day and I don’t know if I’m just broken and my brain’s stopped processing shit or…,” he kept his eyes on Eddie, on the curls falling from his bun, the redness around his eyes. He looked tired. He was still staring into the dark water of the pool, not sparing Steve a glance but if that’s what he needed to be able to talk then Steve wasn’t going to push him.

“You’re allowed to take time. You’re allowed to… to not interact with me at all, it’s okay. I don’t know what you and your Steve were to each other, but I feel like I’m taking up space I shouldn’t be in.”

Eddie flinched. He locked eyes with Steve for the first time since he’d slinked into the backyard, and Steve could see a sort of apology in his eyes.

“Don’t do that,” he said. “It’s not your fault you’re in this position, either. You’re not taking anything and you shouldn’t have to apologize for being here.” Steve blinked at him. He wasn’t sure what to say, but could see Eddie gearing up to say more.

“I’m kind of used to doing that, anyway,” Steve said before he could continue. Eddie looked pained, the sharp look flashing across his face easy for Steve to read this time. He looked like he wanted to apologize again, which wasn’t Steve’s intention. He’d meant to reassure Eddie, tell him that it wasn’t anything new or that Steve minded, that he really was sorry to make Eddie uncomfortable in his own world that Steve didn’t belong to in the first place.

“I heard what you said to Robin earlier,” Eddie whispered, “about your mom.” He seemed to abandon whatever he was going to say before Steve had put his foot in his mouth and made Eddie more uncomfortable.

Steve remembered the blinds swaying in his window, oddly comforted by the fact that it was Eddie. He wanted Eddie around, would have told Eddie himself about how his worlds Linda Harrington was, would have told him more if he had the chance. Now, he had the chance, but he didn’t know if Eddie would be okay with hearing more.

“I get having shitty parent issues,” Eddie continued. “My mom passed away when I was six. Not exactly the same type of left behind, but still. I get it. My dad was…,” Eddie paused, glancing up to the darkened sky, a few stars blinking out behind a whisp of clouds.

Steve continued to watch him. Eddie fiddled with his rings the same way he was familiar with, twisting and tugging and sliding the metal against his skin. Steve knew how smooth the rings were inside, knew that they made his Eddie feel stronger, like armor. He wondered if this Eddie wore them for the same reason.

“I didn’t tell her everything,” Steve whispered. Eddie stopped fiddling and turned back to Steve. He looked like he was actually listening, like he was okay with Steve continuing, with learning the rest of the story.

“When I was little, if my mom wasn’t around, my dad would…. I mean, he wasn’t very good at parenting,” Steve started. This was something he’d already considered telling Eddie, in his world. Since Robin was gone, Steve really had no one to talk to outside of his and Eddie’s weekly calls. They hadn’t exactly progressed to sharing their shitty-father-stories but Steve had just felt compelled to let Eddie in at some point. Maybe he would have gotten to it on this week’s call, if he hadn’t been snatched off into an alternate universe.

He took a breath, prepared for what he hoped was the last emotional conversation of the day.

“He would get angry really easily, especially when he drank. It didn’t matter how young I was, he just cared about how well I was upholding the Harrington image.” Steve chuckled a bit darkly, biting his lip as he thought about how to phrase this. “I uh… I was always really good at fucking that up in his eyes.”

Steve remembered the story he told to Nancy about crawling backwards, his little baby mind not quite grasping what other babies did. He told her that he fell down the stairs, that he’d given himself a bump on the head to knock him straight. That’s what he’d heard from his parents countless times at parties, entertaining guests and business partners with a silly tale about their adorable child. They’d laughed, reminiscing like amused parents did, but Steve always heard the bite to their tones, felt the words like sharp accusations. His father’s eyes turned darker when the knock to the head came up, and sometimes Steve wasn’t so sure he was telling the truth.

“I used to play it off a lot. I’d tell Tommy and Carol that my dad was going to kick my ass if I broke any rules. I’d say it in school, too, and if you say it casually enough or laugh it off then people don’t really notice, you know? And when you’re on the basketball team, it’s actually really easy to ignore the bruises, too.”

His dad was furious when he joined the swim team, though. It was a whole season without physical contact, there was no obvious way to explain an injury but when Steve made captain his father couldn’t complain. He patted Steve on the shoulder when a business partner brought it up, said that Harringtons were always exceptional leaders. All Steve really cared about was that the swim team gave him a couple months of rest from his father’s particular form of parenting.

“I don’t think my mother knew about it, he only lashed out when she wasn’t around.” He cocked his head to the side, squinting at the dark water. “Or at least, I hope she didn’t know,” Steve mumbled. It was one thing to leave him alone with his father when she was in the dark about it all, but it was another if she’d known and just ignored it. He liked to think she wasn’t that neglectful.

Eddie stayed silent, but Steve could feel his eyes on him. The quiet felt cloying once more, like it was squirming under Steve’s skin and he had to keep going, to fill the silence, or else it felt like he’d go crazy.

“I thought maybe if I said it enough, if I joked about it enough then maybe someone would realize it wasn’t one.” He swallowed around the lump in his throat, feeling like he was once again forced to choke on his words or throw them up for the world to deal with. “I mean, I didn’t want anyone to know, right? But maybe if I didn’t actually say it, if someone just paid attention, maybe I wouldn’t have to do anything about it. But that’s stupid, it wasn’t anyone else’s problem but mine, and I feel like I should have done something but no one would care, right? Like I’m just this privileged rich kid, I’m King Steve,” he spat, “I had everything I’d ever need, more than enough, so who really cares if my dad roughs me up a little? And now I’m an adult, I’m not a kid anymore, so it’s not like there’s anything to do about it except complain and when Dustin said that my dad was dead in this universe, I don’t know, I was a little relieved? But that’s awful, right? Like, I shouldn’t be relieved that he’s dead, right? And then I just think maybe I am a bad son, maybe he was right and there’s something wrong with me and I don’t know what to do,” Steve choked out, realizing belatedly that he was crying, streams of tears tracking their way down his cheeks, hot against his face in the cool night air. He knew he was going to break down at some point, he just didn’t think it would happen right when Eddie finally gave him the time of day.

He could no longer see the backyard, his tears blurring the night and dark water into one black mass. He gasped out, squeezing the bridge of his nose to try and ground himself, to squeeze the tears back into his eyes but they kept coming. He was so embarrassed, to spring all of this on a practical stranger who had just spent all day trying to come to terms with Steve’s entire existence. Now this wrong NotSteve was completely shriveling into a tattered mess at his feet, and that revelation just made Steve gasp harder, unable to gain purchase on a sustainable lungful of air. His chest burned white-hot like he’d just come in from a run across town, and he’s sure this is what it would have felt like if the demobat at his throat had just kept squeezing and squeezing all the breath out of Steve’s lungs.

He felt a line of warmth at his side and realized with a start that Eddie had scooched closer to him, pressing his side along Steve’s and dragging a firm arm around his shoulders. The sudden movement made Steve’s heart leap into his throat and for a split second he’d felt like running from a threat but Eddie wasn’t a threat, Eddie was never a threat, so Steve sunk into his side and cried until his head felt like it was going to burst.

Eddie just sat there, stroking a gentle hand over Steve’s hair. He knew it was probably disgusting, he hadn’t showered in days and definitely still had a leaf or two tangled in it from his woodsy bed that morning. As much as Robin was his soulmate though, he was glad she didn’t have to see him like this. Eddie felt more real, more tangible, and Steve also knew that he’d understand having issues with his father, being in his uncles care and all.

Eddie’s fingers gently trailed down the nape of his neck, sending shivers down his spine like he was dragging a feather instead; tickling, toying, clawing. Steve’s shoulders twitched at the feeling, unused to a touch so… gentle, so careful it burned. He cleared his throat and pulled back from Eddie’s neck, facing the water once more but not going farther. They kept their sides pressed together, knees knocking next to each other as they pulled them to their chests.

“You know,” Eddie started, breaking the silence left in the wake of Steve’s breakdown. He glanced to his left, watching the words pass over Eddie’s face before he gathered them up to speak. “I never really told anyone what happened to my dad. Do you know about him?” He rested his head on his arm, turning to look back at Steve, finally speaking eye-to-eye.

Steve shook his head, “I mean, I know what everyone else does. Shitty father, arrested for dealing, you went to live with Wayne when he was sent to prison.”

Eddie nodded, rocking his shoulder gently into Steve’s. “Yep, that’s what everyone thinks. I never told them otherwise, they didn’t need to know.” He turned his head back to the water, Steve keeping his eyes on Eddie’s face. Maybe if he watched him closely enough he’d be able to read the words before they were spoken. Maybe he’d learn him as well as he knew Robin.

“My mom died when I was six. She was sick. My dad was never good at responsibility, and he kind of… forgot that he needed to take care of me. He only really remembered I was there when he needed me to do something for him. If he needed someone close to the ground, someone who could squeeze somewhere he couldn’t fit, someone who could run faster and hide better. Then, he’d remember me and teach me what ‘needed to be done’,” he said, using air quotes to finish off the sentence.

“Once he didn’t need me anymore he forgot I was there again. I got real good at scavenging for my own food, but I had to be careful because if I ate too much from the cupboards he’d notice and he’d beat me for it.” Steve startled at the casual tone. If my dad finds out we were drinking he’s gonna kick my ass.

Calm.

Casual.

“He wasn’t the type to care about appearances though. Never cared how loud he yelled or where the bruises ended up, he just… wanted me out of the way. It was better to be invisible until he needed me.”

Steve was mesmerized watching Eddie fiddle with his hands. He’d lace his fingers together, squeeze until his knuckles were white, wring them out, get distracted by his jewelry and then twist and twist the rings over and over. He twisted each ring individually, then ran his fingers across all four; twisted one off his finger just to slide it back on and twist it again. Then, he’d notice the fixation and lace his fingers together again, squeeze until his knuckles were white, wring them out, and start all over. Again and again.

“At some point, I can’t even remember what happened or why he started yelling, but he just screamed and screamed,” Eddie continued while Steve focused on his hands, the rhythm, the pattern, “He grabbed me by the arm and dragged me across the room to yell right in my face. I guess someone else in the trailer park called the cops because the next thing I know, my dad was being dragged out of the door and they were taking pictures of the bruises, asking all sorts of questions.

“Trailer parks are pretty much all the same. Thin walls, close together, everyone kind of hears everything. By the end of the week, I was tossed onto Wayne’s front porch with a trash bag of clothes and not much else.” He stopped fidgeting, unclasping his hands to sit on them instead. Steve pressed closer to his side, hoping the warmth between their arms would help even just a little. Eddie sighed, turning his head to look at Steve once more.

“It took me a long time to realize it wasn’t my fault my dad was in prison. I kept thinking, if I hadn’t done whatever I did to make him yell, if I’d been better at disappearing then maybe he wouldn’t have gotten mad. But, it didn’t matter what I did or how good I was or how well I listened, nothing would have changed how my dad reacted. It was his fault, not mine, and I was better off with Wayne.”

Eddie held Steve’s gaze, eyes flicking back and forth between his. He nodded slightly, leaned forward just a bit, and stared so hard that Steve swore he could feel it like a touch. “It wasn’t your fault, how your dad reacted. It wasn’t your fault, and you’re better off with him gone. It doesn’t make you a bad person to be glad that he’s in the ground, he was the wrong one, not you. I don’t technically know you that well, but you’re a good person, I can tell.”

If Steve had any tears left in his system, he was sure he’d be crying again. As it was, his eyes were dry but he swallowed around the lump in his throat and felt a tension snap inside him, like the relief was finally allowed to sag into his bones. He nodded at Eddie who nodded back, pleased that Steve seemed to have listened. His eyes locked onto the bandage on Steve’s neck.

“And I’m sorry about that, by the way,” he said, contrite as Steve’s ever heard him.

“It’s fine, not like it’s the first time Eddie Munson has ever threatened me with a sharp object,” Steve chuckled. Plus, he was sure the cut had stopped bleeding at this point, Steve didn’t think it was that deep to begin with and it was definitely his fault he was cut.

Eddie blinked and cocked his head to the side, obviously baffled.

“Don’t worry about it,” Steve laughed, “it’s a long story.”

“Still,” Eddie replied, “I’m sorry.”

“How about we start over?” Steve asked, pulling away just a bit to hold out his hand. Eddie looked between the outstretched hand and Steve’s face, not quite sure where this was going yet.

“Hi,” Steve said, “I’m Steve Harrington.”

Eddie chuckled, nodding his head and slipping his hand into Steve’s. “I’m Eddie Munson.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Eddie.”

They smiled at each other, the tension from the morning all but dissolved in the chilly night air. Their palms were warm against each other, though the tips of their fingers were cold. And, as they breathed in the air filled with the scent of pine and old leaves, the faint smell of chlorine filtering up from the pool water, Steve felt the rest of the tension bleed out of him. They’d figure out what they had to tomorrow, he’d make decisions he wouldn’t want to later, but for now he and Eddie just shook hands like the strangers they were, meeting each other for the first time.

“It’s nice to meet you, Steve Harrington.”

—

THEY'VE SPOKEN! The children are together at last. I've been using this story mostly as a character study, I hope you like where my steve and eddie are going! Also, I hope the pacing isn't weird, I realize it's been just one dramatic scene after another in every part lol

@devondespresso @weirdandabsurd42 @sirsnacksalot @space-invading-pigeon @aliea82 @goodolefashionedloverboi @emly03 @bestwifehaver @mentallyundone @13catastrophic-blues @estrellami-1 @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @likelylad @aellafreya @wxrmland @shunna @fangirltofangod @howincrediblysapphicofyou

#stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #fanfiction #hurt/comfort #parallel universe au #helpimstuckwriting

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jerzwriter · 1 year

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Karma is... a Barbie Premiere (1/2)

I completely blame @jamespotterthefirst for this! It started as a simple edit, then it became a gossip page, and now it's a full-blown fic.

I've long hinted about Dr. Eva Mendoza joining as an OC in my Tobias & Casey world. She's only been briefly introduced once, but what better way to bring her back than for the Boston premiere of the Barbie movie? 💄💗💋 It's definitely a date for the Carrick's, but what about their friends, Ethan & Eva? No one can get a straight answer, and rumors are swirling.

Part 1 of fic below.

Book: Open Heart (Post Series) Pairings: Tobias Carrick x F!MC (Casey) Ethan Ramsey x F!OC (Eva) - Maybe? Rating: Teen Words: 1,700 Summary: Tobias scores tickets to the biggest event in Boston, and he & Casey each invite a friend. When they learn who each invited, the wheels start spinning. A/N: See above. It's all Bree's fault. lol. This is just a two-parter, and part two will be up later tonight. This was fun, I hope you enjoy it, too! Participating in @choicesflashfics (prompt in bold below)

Part 2 found here

It had been a brutally hot summer in Boston, leaving most residents eager for something to do indoors just to keep cool. That included the doctors at Edenbrook. So Casey was elated when Tobias told her he scored four tickets to the event of the summer, a premiere of the Barbie movie being held by a local charity. She had told him she didn’t mind missing it, but her reaction when he said they’d be going proved otherwise.

“So,” he smiled between breaths as Casey rolled off him and snuggled into his side. “I’m glad to see you really didn’t want to go.”

“Oh, stop,” she giggled with a playful shove. “You know we would have done that anyway.”

“Good point,” he agreed. “Now, who should we offer the other tickets to?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t we each pick a friend?”

“Bryce would be all over this, but he’ll be in Hawaii that week.”

“Same with Sienna. That’s the week she’s visiting her family. Jackie would rather have food poisoning.”

“I think you’re right about that,” he laughed. “Don’t worry, we’ll think of someone.”

_____

But with the movie premiere just a week away, neither had picked anyone to go, and they made a pact to correct that by the end of the day.

Casey was reading an article on her phone in the cafeteria when she heard a familiar voice. Desperate for adult conversation that didn’t involve medicine, she eagerly waved Eva over.

“Hey,” the stunning brunette smiled as she approached Casey’s table. “I saw you, but I didn’t want to interrupt. I thought this might be your only alone time.”

“Nah,” Casey smiled. “Tobias is a great hubby... he makes sure I breathing room when I need it. But what I need now is some mindless girl talk! I haven’t had that in ages!”

“Oh, wonderful,” Eva sighed. “I’ve never been terribly good at mindless girl talk, but I promise I’ll give it my best shot. What are we supposed to discuss? Boys? Make-up? Waxing?”

“No, silly!” Casey laughed. “It can be anything... just not work and nothing too serious. Like, tell me, do you have any summer plans?”

“Mmm, not really,” Eva replied, biting into her sandwich. “My first anniversary at Edenbrook is in September; I don’t have much vacation time until then.”

“Well, that sucks! I hope you’re doing some fun things anyway.”

“Oh, I am! I love exploring Boston. I’ve been going to a bunch of concerts and rollerskating in the parks... It’s sort of my thing!”

“Now, that is something I’d love to do with you!”

“You rollerskate!” Eva enthused.

“Ice skating is more my thing, but... transferable skills. I’m going to have to get a new pair of rollerskates. The last ones I owned were Barbie skates to show you how long it’s been.”

“So... last year,” Eva chuckled. “Sorry, you strike me as a woman who would wear Barbie rollerskates even now. And I don’t mean that as an insult.”

“Mmm,” Casey hummed. “GUILTY! But it really was some time ago.” Then, a lightbulb went off. “Hey! Wait! Were you a Barbie girl growing up?”

“Not exactly,” Eva sighed sadly. “I wanted to be. It’s so steeped in American culture; it’s a right of passage. But my traditional Greek and Cuban families felt they were too provocative. So, I only got to play with them when I visited my friends’ houses.”

“Well, that sucks!”

“I think my parents would have been OK with it, but my Abuela and Yiayia wielded far too much power with my Mother in those days. My father sneaked me off to the Barbie section when he took me to the toy store. He also encouraged playdates with Mindy Schumacker, and I believe her rivaling the Barbie Dreamhouse had something to do with it.”

“I think I’d like your Dad!” Casey smiled.

“I’m certain you would.”

“Well, I would be a failure as a physician if I didn’t do my part to help cure your Barbie Deficiency Syndrome! Tobias and I are going to the premiere at the IMAX next week, and I have a spare ticket. Want to join us?”

“Wait! Those tickets are impossible to get? How’d you score them?”

“My husband is a miracle worker,” Casey winked. “And he loves spoiling me.”

Eva shook her head. “I’ve known you a while now; I attended your wedding and witnessed that man being the most doting husband and father I’ve ever seen... but it’s still hard for me to reconcile that he’s the same man I knew back at Kenmore.”

“Well, love has a way of doing things to people. But I know he’d love it if you joined us. What do you say, are you in?”

“Oh, you couldn’t keep me away!”

_____

Tobias stepped into the Diagnostic Teams office, humming a song vaguely familiar to Ethan as he entered. Looking up from his paperwork, Dr. Ramsey feigned annoyance with his friend.

“I don’t understand how you’re always so chipper. You have a newborn and don’t sleep.”

“She’s three months old now, not a newborn.”

“Practically ready to go off to college then!” Ethan teased. “What were you humming... was that... Taylor Swift.”

Tobias raised a brow. “And what if it was? I have an excuse for humming it twenty-four/seven, and it’s called Casey. But what’s your story for knowing it?”

“Also, Casey! I’m trying to be supportive with her returning to work part-time, so I let her play the godforsaken stuff when we’re in here together.”

“She really can convince anyone to do anything, can’t she. Do you like any songs?”

"No."

Tobias stared at his friend with a wicked grin. "You always were a terrible liar. 'Fess up! What are your favorite Taylor songs?"

Ethan sat back in his chair and rocked as if deep in thought. “Some of her work from Folklore and Evermore is quite appealing. But if you tell Casey, I’ll fire you.”

“My lips are sealed,” Tobias laughed. “I heard you canceled your trip to the Cape. Everything all right? I’m happy to take over some of your work if you need help.”

“I appreciate the offer, but it’s not canceled. Just delayed. I was foolish to plan it around budget time.”

Tobias rubbed his chin as he studied his friend, his concern growing. “You know, Ethan... I’ve been a little worried about you. I’m a new dad, and I do more fun things than you. You need to work some playtime into your life.”

“Please,” Ethan groused. “I hope you’re not suggesting another boys' night out with Lahela. I have neither the budget nor the energy.”

“You damn well do have the budget! As for the energy, I can see how it's hard at your age. But you have to push through.”

“I’m a year older than you!” Ethan reminded.

“But you act twenty-two years older!”

“I can’t help it if you’re immature,” Ethan countered with a grin.

“Say! Case and I are going to the premiere of the Barbie movie next week...”

“She has you so pecked,” Ethan chuckled.

Ignoring him, Tobias informed him he had an extra ticket, Ethan was coming, and he wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“I’m more of an Oppenheimer person. Barbie isn’t exactly my thing.”

“I don’t care; you’re coming.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Fine,” Tobias grinned, picking up his phone and pretending to dial. “I hate to do this, but you leave me no choice.”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m letting Casey know how much you loved Folklore and Evermore. I’m even going to fabricate and tell her you’re experimenting with Midnights; she should play that for you on her next shift. Don’t worry, Ethan. You’ll love it!”

“Hang up that phone right now,” Ethan ordered.

“Too late!” Tobias smirked. “Casey, baby, how’s your day going? Guess who's coming with us to see Barbie? Ethan! I know it’ll be a blast. See you at home soon, hon.”

Ethan pinched the bridge of his nose. “I can’t believe you’re doing this to me.”

“Hey, it’s joining us at the Barbie movie once and maybe... gasp... having some fun... or listening to Taylor on loop for the remainder of time. I think you made a wise choice, Ethan.”

“I didn’t make a choice!”

“Oh, you did,” Tobias winked as he left the room. “You’ll need to wear something pink!” he hollered as he entered the hall.

“I don’t own anything pink!”

“Good, you have time to fix that!”

_____

Tobias opened the front door to his home and couldn’t help but smile. Casey stood just beyond the foyer, holding little Sammy on her hip as they danced to The Temptation's “Ain’t Too Proud to Beg.”

“Look!” Casey beamed, pointing towards him. “Daddy’s home! Now he can dance with us, too!”

“You better believe I am,” Tobias grinned. He took Sammy from Casey, then wrapped his arms around her hips. “I’m so glad you’re giving our daughter a balanced musical diet. It can’t be all Taylor, all the time.”

“Hey, my love of Motown is what sealed the deal and made you fall in love with me,” Casey said, kissing his cheek.

“Heh,” Tobias snickered. “It certainly impressed me, but that wasn’t what sealed the deal.”

“Oh, really, then what did?”

“Not in front of the baby, dear,” he grinned. “But hey, speaking of Taylor Swift, your fellow fan at work is joining us at the Barbie movie next week.”

“My fellow fan? I told you Sienna is away next week.”

“I know, but I’m talking about Ramsey.”

“ETHAN? Ethan is coming with us to the Barbie premiere?”

“Yeah,” Tobias replied. “He really needs to expand his horizons. I hope it’s OK with you.”

“Of course! It’s just... he doesn’t seem like the Barbie type.”

“He’s not,” Tobias laughed. “But we’re going to have so much fun with this. I even told him to wear pink!"

"We're going to have fun, for sure! But Ethan? The jury is out on that. There’s just one tiny problem, babe. I asked Eva to come along.”

Tobias’s face fell. “Oh, shit. They’re totally going to think we’re trying to hook them up.”

“Which we’re not,” Casey replied. “I mean, I would... but this wasn’t our intention.”

“Maybe not,” Tobias smirked. “But you know... me and karma vibe like that.”

“T.,” Casey said, shaking her head. “Please leave inserting Taylor quotes into situations to me... but... we are going to have so much fun with this!”

Tobias jiggled Samantha on his lap. “You hear that, Sammy? Your Mommy’s got ideas in that head. No one is safe now.”

Part 2 found here

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

Tagging others separately.

#ethan ramsey #tobias carrick #open heart #open heart choices #choices open heart #open heart fanfic #choices fic writers creations #cfwc fics of the week #playchoices #playchoices fanfic #ethan ramsey x ?#tobias carrick x f!mc

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streets-in-paradise · 2 years

Text

Tinuviel - Eddie Munson x (Fem)Henderson!Reader

Word Count 1.4 K

Warnings: Tolkien References, specially regarding The Silmarillion.

Summary: Your Tolkien nerd discussion with Eddie leads him to discover a new weakness of yours and he can’t stop testing it.

Notes: If you have been arround my blog for a while you will notice that this is self indulgent, but I am doing it anyways.

Glossary (simplified): Ainulindale and Valaquenta: the first and second books of The Silmarillion

Silmarils: The most precious jewels that ever existed in Tolkien lore. Created by Feanor, one of the princes of the Noldor elves. Morgoth ( who Sauron used to serve before being a powerfull evil lord himself) stole them and that unleashed the war that is central for the argument on most of The Silmarillion.

Mellon: elvish word for friend.

Tags: @losersclubisms @dark-angel-is-back

It wouldn't be the first time you would end up confessing an embarrassing secret to Eddie. He was the keeper of some of your greatest sins in and out of your nerd experience. Details about yourself that no one else in Hellfire would get to know were easier to tell when you were all alone with him.

He was always more curious that judgemental, even when things wouldn't make sense to him at first hearing.

" Let me understand this: you have read The Iliad as a kid, but you got lost in your first reading of The Silmarillion ?"

He didn't mean to offend you, but you felt ashamed.

" Are you disappointed? Am I going to lose my fantasy nerd club membership card?"

Just the mention of that was plausible to him.

" Of course not... How would I ever let you go?" Was his teasing reply. " Homer is only one of Tolkien's sources, but the Catalogue of Ships is a nightmare! The Silmarillion has richer catalogues with interesting descriptions of the people, their land, bits of their culture and their leaders. The second book of The Iliad is just a bunch of names and numbers being thrown at you. I would take ' Of Beleriand and its Kingdoms' over Book 2 anytime."

" That's exactly the point, it's way more complex!" You defended yourself. " The Silmarillion has the history, cosmogony, religion and philosophy of a completely fictional world all in one while being a chronicle of the entire First and Second ages. The Iliad doesn't even cover the full ten years of war and you can support your reading with history books on mycenaean greece. My first reading of The Silmarillion was four years ago and I had to come back later for a deeper understanding... I guess I am not that smart."

The worshiping instincts that his secret crush on you had created kicked in, triggered by your ramble followed by self bashing. He could have continued the normal flow of the conversation, but chose not to because he would never help himself when it came to you.

" You are brilliant, the most brilliant girl I know. I love to hear you talk, you could read to me the Catalogue of Ships and I wouldn't get bored."

You giggled and to him that was mission accomplished.

" Well, i bet The Silmarillion is even more epic and beautiful in your voice..."

"... What is saying a lot, my lady. " He sweetly added, thanking your compliment humbly. " I accept it only because I like flattery and it has an extra taste when it comes from you. Anything sounds sweeter; every praise more magnificent and every victory greater when it is told from your lips, Tinuviel. "

Eddie had you used to all sorts of lovely compliments, but nothing he had said before affected you in the same way. He was surprised at how helplessly weak for it you seemed to be, wondering what hitted you so deep to end up like that.

Only after you stopped hiding your face with your hands and your eyes were back on him he got a glimpse of explanation.

" Don't use that name in vain, it's too powerful. "

The lovely nickname that the mortal heroe Beren gave to elven princess Luthien, the most beautiful of all tales. Their sad love story was the most legendary, serving as inspiration for Aragorn and Arwen in the Lord of the Rings books.

How could you have done anything but melting with love?

" It fits you perfectly. " He insisted, refusing to let it go because he knew you loved it. " To the rest of the world you may be a simple mortal lass, human for most. Populars may have confused you for a hobbit because of the taste and skill for hiding you kept for years, but they were all deceived. You are Tinuviel, more precious to me than the Silmarils of Feanor. "

It was the most beautiful thing he had said of you, so romantic that you almost thought you were just dreaming it.

" Eddie, don't play with me." You complained, a real clamor from your heart that you tried to hush afterwards. " I wouldn't have been an elven lady, not even in the Third Age. Besides, Dustin has already helped me pick a Tolkien character as kids: I have always been the White Lady of Rohan. "

" Can't you be both? Just for me? " He sweetly asked, totally convincing you with his puppy eyes. " It can stay between us."

" It MUST stay between us. " You corrected, just the idea of being called like that in public was getting you even more flustered. " I don't want the guys to make fun of us because you are the only one who can possibly think of using that word on me. It's a sacred nickname: something you say to a top level beautifull girl or someone you love. They will think it is a joke and I wouldn't blame them. "

Despite being aware you would understand his sayings, Eddie was just realizing he practically dropped a love confession clothed in Tolkien metaphors. Perhaps it happened because most people wouldn't have catched the full meaning with such precision and he previously thought you were going to associate it only with praise on beauty.

" You are the prettiest girl who speaks to them on a regular basis. Trust me, mellon. If I wouldn't be a firm leader our table at the cafeteria would have become the trojan war."

You chuckled with amused skepticism and he cursed himself for not admitting that both of your assumptions were right.

“ Helen of Troy? That is way too much, Munson. What is wrong with you? Are you practicing pick up lines to tell Chrissy Cunningham in literature class? Remember you will need someone to distract the king in order to steal the queen.”

Eddie didn't act called out in the slightest, but he did return the callout.

" If someone here shall be Paris, it has to be Harrington. That pretty boy who says he is your friend seems to love stealing you from us."

" ... and you love to confuse him with things you know he doesn't understand. Don't add this one to the list, alright?"

If he had to be honest, he would admit he was dying for doing the exact opposite and force him to watch your adorable reaction.

However, he was then too focused in practicing his new trick.

" If you ban the nickname in his presence I still have the elvish name. I can call you Luthien, although I prefer Tinuviel because I feel it hits differently, don't you think?"

Your face was speaking for you, his teasing was just self reaffirmation.

" It has more love, makes me feel loved somehow. " You forced an answer out of yourself. " I'm sure that hearing you read the book must be incredible because when you say that it sounds so good ... Would you read it to me someday? Even If it is just a few pages of Ainulindale or Valaquenta, I would love that. "

Seeking to actively romance you in the finest way he had, he accepted your request and made it bigger.

" Tell you what? That sounds fantastic, but we can still make it better. What if we cuddle in bed and I read you some of 'Of Beren and Luthien' ? "

The surprise in your eyes was priceless, happiness filling you despite how unsure you were about your chances of survival to such a tender moment.

" That would be so wonderful! Would you really do that for me, Eds?"

It was his moment to make it even sweeter and he wasn't going to waste it.

" Anything for you, my Tinuviel. "

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x henderson reader #joseph quinn

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doonarose · 1 year

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Right, so, Good Omens. Legit my favorite book, number one, since I was about 12 or 13 which was… some several years ago (I have tumblr Good Omens posts over ten years old! Gather round wee youngins). Loved the first season, did the book justice, love the actors, love neil, blah blah (a scattering of posts for this from four years ago). Closed circuit for me, though, no work to do, enjoyed, rewatched, enjoyed, left it be, waiting for season two (which I was reasonably convinced was an entirely bad idea, just like I’d been reasonably convinced a TV adaptation of the book was an entirely bad idea, and been happily wrong).

Second season – dunno what I was expecting – but it wasn’t that and I didn’t love it, I was a touch disappointed in it when I first finished it up, because I watched it distracted and having gotten up on the wrong side of the bed or whatever, but sometimes things take a while to settle and find their place in my brain.

We read a book called ‘I for Isobel’ in Year 11 of high school and I hated that book my first read -ranted about how rubbish a piece of literature it was – and my very wise English teacher gently promised she’d convince me otherwise. I still remember the earth-shattering shift in teenaged perception I experienced when I realized I could learn to love a piece of art I had adamantly despised and also, that it made perfect sense that a character such as Isobel could call herself a preposition and be equal parts right and wrong (I was also, most definitely, identifying as a preposition for a while there). Same with Pride and Prejudice, I hated that smug motherfucker and Elizabeth for losing her mind and fawning over him, a different English teacher again told me to sit with it, reread it, examine the angles. Both those books are still in my top ten.

And – don’t panic – at this point, of thinking and watching and thinking, I am enamoured with the second season of Good Omens. Different to season 1, and different to the book, but utterly gorgeous and complex, giddy and romantic and soft but infuriating. I mean, the season isn’t infuriating, in and of itself; it’s very good, except that it sets up our leads to be infuriating, and it does it on purpose and that is infuriating and boy, oh boy, do I love me a ‘shit communication’ trope. Even the dumb teenage humans are bad at communication trope (see: Glee) and the dumb alien and naïve human are bad at communication trope (see: Doctor Who), but, perhaps, especially, the intensely experienced, smart, worldly dumbass angel/demon duo are bad at communication trope. I can buy into the way that season ended in about two dozen different ways, but it certainly made sense to me. Some angles paint Aziraphale as a bit of a dumbass, a bit obtuse, a bit self-centred, and some paint Crowley as the poster-boy for self-sabotaging, woe-is-me, overly-willing martyr. Nothing deal-breakingly bad about those characters, just some very well-fleshed out, obvious flaws bubbling to the top.

So anyway, who the fuck is reading this? I’m writing it despite a ridiculously busy life just at this particular moment in time, because I miss writing. My whole job is writing. Emails, protocols, research proposals, reviews, scientific articles, and I’m just fine at that but Jesus Christ that shit isn’t character or place or emotionally anchored (it is 90% utter bullshit, honestly). We still teach the bloody undergrads to write past-tense, third person, passive voice for fuck’s sakes. We do an assignment where we take marks off for any sort of connotation-laden language and I lose my mind trying to explain to colleagues that their list of connotative words from the 1980s is no longer relevant. That six students choosing to call a particularly clingy amoeba ‘thirsty’ is very connotative and not at all scientific and actually, very much, hilarious.

I’ve known I miss writing for almost a decade. The fleet car I sometimes have to drive locked me out at a service station in the middle of nowhere for two hours. This happened several months ago and it triggered a medium-sized tantrum (for various other reasons) and I therapeutically wrote a 5600 word fictionalized (but honestly, very accurate and quite funny) account of the event. I sent that shit to my boss.

Anyway, yes, I could write several, long, winding, satisfying fics to follow season two. But that sounds hard and like working in a vacuum and there’s so much source material to align with and so much fanon dissection ahead of me that instead, during all my long drives and boring seminars of the last ten days or so, I’ve been dipping into next kisses.

Because that kiss was rubbish (ohIlovedit). I have theories about that kiss that spin off into complex heaven and hell lore thinking and what all the nuance and foreshadowing mean, but I don’t, just now, have ten days to sit here and think and type (just about the kiss that I’m not at all convinced was primarily an actual kiss). So, I’ve just skipped season 3 (not a typo) and the whole second coming thing, and the whole them not being very happy with each other thing, and also, yes, them being woefully incompatible with each other (and the state of the universe) at the end of Season 1 and all through Season 2 and jumped to the end of Season 3.

It's a warm, sated, luxurious place to inhabit (built on an imperfect foundation of Neil writing the way I think he will, I hope, I’ll beg). They’ll be safe, happy, and openly in love with each other (yes, of course they’ve said it, Season 3 is over so they can’t have not said it – you fool!) and they’ll be talking (#NinaMaggieWisdom). Admittedly they’ll still be pretty shit at the ‘safe’, ‘happy’ and ‘talking’ bits, but doing quite reasonable at the ‘openly being in love thing’, actually.

And I can totally buy into the ‘angels have no genitals’ thinking or the ‘angels have no gender’ thinking or the ‘angels are asexual’ thinking, that all makes a great deal of sense to me and can be written well, and I can read and enjoy (and could certainly see Season 3 play out like any of these). But I know I would really, really, struggle with those characters (and dare I say, with those actors (stop it)) and my own brain wiring and projection, with trying to not make them romantic.

So I’ve started to mentally play it out romantically. And then tactile. Which became touch-starved, touch-desperate, and all ‘pleasures of the flesh’ and ‘enjoying the human things’. Which, yes, of course, became sexual (do you not know me at all?) but calm down, please (I’m talking to me, lbh).

Anyhow. Next kisses, because that first one shouldn’t count. The timings are malleable, the order of 3-7 are interchangeable. There’s structure and dialogue (and choreography!) for all of them.

The second time (aka the first time it’s overwhelmingly, categorically right, albeit still complicated, and not at all as straightforward as it should be).

The third time (aka not really the third time because they don’t – they can’t – because it’s extremely awkward and weird, maybe they’ll never do it again).

The fourth time (aka, the first time since it was awkward that it’s not awkward, thank goodness).

The eleventh time (aka it’s like in the movies, there’s a rainstorm and they get wet and have to take shelter under an awning, oh my).

The twenty first time (aka the time someone thinks this is an appropriate way to inform their neighbours).

The twenty-fifth time (aka the first time they do it without thinking about doing it).

The forty first time (aka actually this time a bit more than kissing and it’s all together too good for Crowley (it’s not what you think, honest)).

The seventy third time (aka actually this time quite a bit more than kissing and it’s all together too good for Aziraphale (it’s totally what you think)).

I’m dumping this here after a long, personal post, because that way I can delete it and almost no one will have seen it. But it reads too well behind my eyes to not share (but I’m still tagging it because I’m a mysterious enigma of a needy bitch). A lot of this I came up with while driving and I had to stop myself from pulling over on a highway to scribble things down and that felling is gorgeous and so missed. So, I’m holding onto it for tonight by releasing a little bit of it into an abandoned, dormant blog, that seems to have a bunch of ghosts around.

I have scrawled notes from yesterday’s symposium to transcribe and flesh out. And tomorrow I’m getting a new couch delivered.

#doonas fic #personal #good omens fic adjacent #good omens spoilers #fic writing #imagine if i actually grit my teeth and wrote the damn thing #is it time to get an ao3 account

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halogalopaghost · 1 year

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Maternal Instincts

6,103 words | read on AO3

"And just where do you think you're going?"

Raph winced and his shoulders instinctively hunched at the startle. Busted. He slowly turned to face Leo, who had his arms crossed over his chest. “I promised Mrs. M I’d drop by today.” He flapped a hand at Leo, brushing it off.

Leo’s expression relaxed a little, softening around the edges. “Oh. You really shouldn’t be helping her out with anything today.” He gestured to the bandages taped to a large portion of Raph’s plastron, toward the right side of where his belt would usually sit.

Raph looked down at the bandages, then back up to his brother. “Nah, it’s fine. She just wanted me to watch some TV show she likes.”

“Raph, don’t lie to me. You’re a terrible liar.”

He scoffed. “Not any worse than you. And I ain’t lyin’!”

“Yes you are! Just tell me the truth, you know I won’t be happy about you leaving either way.”

That little neatly-contained bubble of anger in his chest popped. He threw his arms out dramatically, taking a step in toward Leo. To his credit, he didn’t so much as flinch. “What are you, my mom? I dunno how you have time to stand in front of the mirror and practice your self-righteous speeches when you’re always so far up my ass about stupid shit. You want me to go wake up Don, see if it’s too late to get joined at the hip? Get off my shell already!”

Leo’s jaw was set in a hard line and the muscles at his temples spoke to his grit teeth. “Feel better now?”

“No,” he growled. “You wanna hold my hand all the way there, or can I go now?”

Leo’s eyes moved across his face, searching and analyzing. Raph hated how it always made him feel like a bug under a magnifying glass.

“You know I only ever get on you because I want you to be safe, right? Quit being so vain, I don’t sit around thinking about how I’ll torment you next,” he said, tone mocking and sharp. “I just care about you. I’ll work on that.”

He turned and walked away without another word, going back to where he’d been nursing his own injuries on the couch with a book and a cup of tea. Raph watched him go, anger ebbing with the adrenaline. He’d grumble about it all night, but they’d both be fine in the morning. Probably. He wasn’t gonna lie, the vanity comment kind of stung.

Raph did the same, turning his back on his brother to make a swift exit to the sewers.

Last night's patrol was normal for the first few hours, until they stumbled on some kind of deal between the Dragons and a smaller gang. When they intervened, both sides turned on one another and created a huge free-for-all of close-range weapons and gunfire. The four of them were real fuckin' lucky that none of them were shot, but that didn't mean they got out unscathed. Far from it, actually. They were all wrapped up like mummies, more white than green, with all the scrapes and cuts and sprains. The only reason they weren’t busting their asses to figure out what kind of deal was going on was because Donnie was dead asleep, and had been ever since they got home. The wound he suffered wasn’t serious, but he had lost just enough blood to feel like sleeping for a week.

In Raph's defense, he was a good turtle on the way to Mrs. Morrison’s—he walked an unused subway line as far as he could before surfacing. When he did get aboveground (after sucking in a deep breath of the relatively fresh night air), he stuck to the rooftops and even walked instead of running. He still had to jump the gaps though, and the sensation of the fresh wound pulling on the staples underneath that thick bandage was unpleasant to say the least. It definitely discouraged him from trying anything fancy. By the time he made it to the alleyway door of his friend, he was a little winded.

He knocked, and almost right away the door swung open. Lucy darted out to wind around his ankles and mew at him.

"Oh Raphael, it's good to see you," Mrs. M said, reaching toward him. With Lucy on his shoulders, he held her forearms while she held onto his. A sort of stand-in for a hug, since he tried to avoid any and all shell touching. "I was starting to get worried, you're late!"

"I know Mrs. M, I'm sorry. I had some stuff at home to take care of." Stuff, in this instance, being making sure that Donnie woke up long enough to eat something and change his bandages before falling back into his zombie-like stupor.

"Ah, that's alright Raphael. I know you're a busy boy."

He smiled wide as she ushered him in and locked up behind him. He was almost eighteen now, and Mrs. M was the only person he knew that still treated him like a kid. It was kinda nice, even though he'd die before admitting it.

Well…Leo treated him like a kid too, but not in a good way.

"I promise I won't keep ya. Let's get to work." He plucked Lucy from his shoulders and without thinking, bent over to put her down. The line of staples in his side screamed in pain, but he managed to let out only a muffled grunt. He straightened and pressed his hand to the wound. It hurt, but it at least hurt in a way that didn't make it feel like his guts were gonna pop outta him at any second.

“Did Lucy get you? That cat, sometimes—”

“No no, it ain’t Lucy. I’m fine Mrs. M.” Raph pulled his hand away and checked to make sure there wasn’t blood seeping into the surface of the bandage. When he saw nothing, he released a tense breath and shook his shoulders out. “Where’s those bookcases at?”

“Just back here,” she said. She hooked her hand around his elbow and walked confidently down the short hallway.

Mrs. Morrison didn’t need Raph’s help to get around her home—he was convinced she could map the place upside down and backwards if need be, but she did walk a little faster when she knew someone was keeping an eye out for her. Usually he was perfectly fine with her soft, wrinkled hand resting on his inner elbow and walking alongside him. Usually. Today, he had a bandage around his bicep just an inch above where she put her hand. He wasn’t sure what he was going to tell her if she touched it, so he just watched very carefully so that she didn’t.

And then his head hit the wall.

An almost cartoonish sound came out of his mouth as he collided with the drywall, effectively knocking Mrs. Morrison’s hand loose. She stood with her hand over her open mouth as he slapped a hand on his bald head, and for a moment, neither of them said anything.

“Raphael, dear, remind me which one of us is blind?”

He huffed out a laugh. The impact startled him more than it hurt him; there wouldn’t be a bump or anything to tattle on him later. “Hey, you’re the one movin’ the walls around on me!”

She laughed. It always reminded him of church bells when she laughed. “You really must be more careful. I can’t send you home all banged up—I’m afraid it would leave a rather poor impression on your brothers.”

He took her hand again, this time directing her to his forearm instead of the elbow. “Nah, they already like ya. They figure anyone willin’ to put up with me must be a saint or somethin’.”

They took the last few steps (successfully navigating the doorway this time) into the tiny room that had once been her husband’s office. She was determined to clear it out before the end of the month. While the surprise money had been able to prevent the bank from foreclosing on the townhouse, it wasn’t enough for her to pay the mortgage and live on. With much deliberation, she decided she would try to make that few thousand dollars go much farther and move into a one-room apartment with Lucy. She didn’t need the space, she said, and with the social security benefits he and Don had helped her get in order, she wouldn’t have to worry about money so much. It was a smart plan, but he still felt a little heartache when she ran a hand over her husband’s desk, eyes fond and faraway.

The bookcases wouldn’t be going with her—she had managed to corner someone who would buy them in the bodega across the street. They were only paying half what they were worth, since they were obviously solid wood, but money was money, and Mrs. M could always use a little more of it. All he had to do was get them out to the alley so the couple could pick them up in the morning.

Raph stood in front of one bookcase, hands on his hips and head tilted up. “Uh, Mrs. M, I think you mighta overestimated my height here.”

She turned toward him. “Oh my. Are they very tall?”

“They’re at least a foot taller than me,” he grumbled. He’d gotten taller than Mikey and Leo, but Casey still insisted on the daily that he was very short.

“I must have forgotten. I suppose I never did spend much time committing them to memory,” she laughed. “Maybe we should call one of your brothers, hm? I don’t want you hurting yourself.”

He stuck his head in between a couple shelves and looked for any kind of seam in the center. How had they even gotten these in here to begin with? “No, I got it. I’ll just get ‘em out on their sides.”

“Are you sure?”

He grunted a bit as he straightened. The wound was still throbbing beneath the bandages. He turned toward her—even though she couldn’t see it, it felt more polite. “I’m sure. It’d take ‘em longer to get here than it will for me to move it.”

Mrs. Morrison’s hand trailed along the desk until it came to touch the chair against it, then she sat and folded her hands in her lap. “I’ll keep you company right here, then.”

Raph just stood there for a moment, looking at her. He couldn’t tell her to leave, for multiple reasons, but if she stayed there she’d hear him struggling. Couldn’t she go make tea or something? He kept standing there, and she kept sitting there, so he just gave up.

He got the remaining books off the shelf and neatly stacked them against the wall to be packed later on. Every reach over his head stretched his plastron against those staples. He held his breath every time. Once it was properly empty, he sized up the bookcase, compared its height and width to that of the narrow door. It would have to go through on its side, because it wouldn’t fit any other way.

He rubbed his hands together, glaring up at it. This would be the easy part. With his arms above his head, he gently pulled on an upper shelf and at the same time, pushed on the base with his foot. It took a lotmore effort to move than he thought it would. The full weight of it shifted onto him, and he eked out just a little bit of a grunt before he resorted to holding his breath again. He walked backward as he lowered it, bicep throbbing, to lay face-down on the carpet.

He puffed out the breath, sure his face was turning purple. It was a damn good thing the woman was blind, or he wouldn’t have been able to pull this off.

“Raphael?”

“Just takin’ a breather. These suckers are heavy.”

She hummed thoughtfully. “Don’t push yourself too hard. There’s no shame in asking for help.”

His face burned hotter. “I’m okay, I do stuff like this all the time.”

He turned away before she could answer, kneeling to flip the shelf onto its side. His breath came in short little puffs as he fought back the pain and occasional wave of nausea. The sooner he just got it over with, the better. He could put up with a little pain.

With the shelf on its side, it was finally ready to be removed from the room. He got behind it on the narrow end and braced his hands against it, prepared to slide it across the carpet as far as he could. Considering he was too big to carry it through the doorway, it seemed silly to pick it up at all. With his feet braced against the carpet and his body diagonal to the floor, he pushed for all his worth.

The shelf didn’t budge an inch, but something in Raph’s chest did. He let out a wheezing cough as pain exploded in his ribcage and his arms almost gave out from the shock of it alone, which would have sent him headfirst into the shelf. He sat down on the carpet before he could fall, stars exploding in his vision while the room spun.

He blinked away the blackness and found Mrs. M sitting on the floor in front of him, holding the hand that he didn't have pressed to his side. When did she move? Did he lose a few seconds there?

He tightened his hand around hers, and she seemed to slump a bit in relief. "There you are. Breathe, now."

He took a shallow breath, expanding his chest only as much as he had to, and forced himself to release it slowly. In, out, slow. Don’t get worked up.

“Raphael, you aren’t feeling well.”

He looked up at her, still a little dazed. “Mrs. M—”

Her mouth set in a line. “Don’t Mrs. M me, young man.”

“But I made a promise!” I told ya I’d come help tonight and I was already late, let me just finish—”

“Absolutely not. I appreciate your help and care so very much, but you are clearly unwell. You’re going to come rest on the couch and that’s final.”

He could only blink for a few seconds. “You don’t hafta do that, I can call—” the crushing lack of air in his chest forced him to pull in a shallow breath before he could continue. "I can call one of my bros."

“Nonsense. It’s late, they’re sure to be studying or sleeping.”

He hesitated. She wasn’t technically wrong. Donnie was probably out cold, Leo too, and if Mikey wasn’t also asleep, then he was ‘studying’ a video game or comic. “Then I’ll walk myself home. It ain’t a big deal, Mrs. M.” Her hand, soft and wrinkled with age, was still around his. Her hands were almost comically small compared to his own green ones, but they spoke to her many years of life. A few kitchen scars, knobby arthritic knuckles, delicate if unkempt fingernails. He squeezed her hand again.

She frowned stubbornly. “Is there a reason that you need to go home right now?”

He opened his mouth to reply with the instant, obvious answer: yeah, I don’t want to bother you. He let out the breath in a short sigh instead. “No, I guess not.”

“Do you want to go home right now?”

He sighed again, shoulders slouching. She still had not let go of his hand. “Mrs. M, I love hangin’ out with ya…”

She raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“And…I don’t want you to hafta take care of me. That ain’t your job.”

If it was possible, her scowl actually deepened and, despite his many years of training, he didn’t foresee her next movements. She slipped her hand away from his and brought the other up alongside it, capturing his round cheeks in her palms. “Raphael, you are not a burden. I enjoy spending time with you; I love you for who you are and how much you care, not for what you can do to help me. Now, you and your brothers have done a great deal to care for me these last few months. Let me return the favor, alright?”

This time, his rapid blinking was not from a lack of understanding, but to stave off the burning, watery sensation. Her hands were so soft and warm on the sides of his face, and they did not hesitate to touch the bandana, or to splay fingers where external ears should have been. She didn’t flinch away from his scaly skin, and she didn’t waver even in the slightest when a watery tear escaped containment and ran against her palm. He sniffled quickly to keep himself in check.

“Yes Ma’am,” he mumbled.

She nodded once and released him. “Thank you. Now come on, these old bones can’t sit down here much longer.” She patted his knee, then began to struggle to her feet.

She groped around for something to hold onto, eventually landing on an ancient filing cabinet. She pulled herself up to her knees by it, then began groping around for something else. Her hand landed on his shell.

A thrill of fear and excitement and nausea jolted him from head to toe, like it always did whenever she touched his shell. She had to know—he was certain she had to know. But she never brought it up even subtly, so he kept pretending that he had her fooled. He grunted a little bit at the effort of keeping his back straight as her weight shifted around on his shell. He released another breathy laugh to cover it up.

Mrs. M’s head tilted at the same time, cocking her ear toward him.

Ah. Raphael was used to living among those who could see, those who depended upon body language indicators. Mrs. M, without any of those things, compensated with her hearing. And even as old as she was, she had sharp hearing. “Ah, shit,” he sighed. “You keep hearin’ me,” he realized aloud.

“Yes sir, and I would advise you to watch your language,” she said, hint of a smile on her face. As if he hadn’t just heard her use quite a few colorful words last week when she burnt herself on the oven.

“Sorry Ma’am,” he said, same cheekiness in his tone.

Raph filed a new mental note: next time, worry more about not gasping and wheezing, less about not grimacing and shaking. He couldn’t help his gravelly little laugh—lethal ninja outwitted by senior citizen, there’s one he could never let Mikey know about.

She carefully settled back into the desk chair. “Look at us,” she said, eyes twinkling. “A couple of old crones, hm?”

Raph pressed his hands to his ribs as he laughed again, more heartily this time. He couldn’t help it around her, and something about the fact that it hurt so much made him laugh more. “I ain’t old, just stupid.” He reached out and grabbed the same filing cabinet she had used, pulling himself to his feet and wobbling a moment before the room stopped spinning. The aftershocks of that extreme pain still rattled around his bones.

“Tch. You aren’t stupid except for when you’re calling yourself names. Be kind to yourself, you hear?”

“You sound like Leo,” he muttered. He grimaced as pain washed over him again. Even the slightest little move was like getting shanked with his own bone. His weight began to sag against the cabinet. Distantly, in the back of his mind, he wondered if a rib end was poking his lung, and if it would puncture it. At the forefront of his mind was not losing consciousness in front of Mrs. M, because if she panicked and called 911, he wouldn’t know what to do. Even worse—if she panicked and called his brothers.

She stood and wrapped her hands around his forearm again, but this time it was her supporting him. “Are you alright?”

“…Hng,” he replied articulately. He focused on not letting himself hyperventilate on the short, quick breaths he drew in order to keep the lung from getting stabbed again.

“Here, lean on me. I can take it. That’s right.” They started in slow steps forward. “Now don’t let us go running into any walls this time, hm?”

He laughed weakly, then winced. “Mrs. M, I really ain’t feelin’ so good.”

“I know. Come on, just a bit further and you can lie on the couch.”

Raph dropped all pretense as he eased himself into the comfy old couch. He groaned, partly from pain, partly from frustration, and sighed deeply once his shell was nestled in the cushions.

Mrs. M, obviously operating on pure muscle memory, reached over him to pluck a crocheted blanket off the back of the couch and made sure every inch of him was covered. He could only smile at her through half-lidded eyes. How did he not realize how tired he was?

“How about some tea?”

“You don’t hafta do that, I’m fine.”

She gave him a dry look, hands on her hips. “Did you eat dinner?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Now Raphael, you wouldn’t be lying to me, would you?”

He spluttered, starting to sit up in order to defend himself, but Mrs. Morrison easily pushed him back down. “No, I’m not lyin’ to you,” he pouted.

“Oh, I should know you would never lie to me,” she crooned.

He opened his mouth to confirm as much, and the words died on his tongue as his lies-du-jour came back to haunt him. Wow, that was some exceptionally prompt karma. He scowled, effect completely lost on the blind woman.

She laughed airily and headed for the kitchen. “What kind of tea?”

“Anything’s fine,” he grumbled, resigned.

Listening to Mrs. M hum while she moved about the kitchen, Raph let his eyes drift close and his mind wander while the pain in his ribs slowly began to fade. As annoying as it was, he found his mind wandering toward his conversation with Leo. Okay, less of a conversation, more of just....slinging abuse at each other. If Leo could see him now, he’d be steaming mad.

He shifted on the couch, sinking deeper into the crevice where the back and the seat met. Just that little movement brought a jab of pain along with it. Of those ribs that were previously cracked, at least one of them was now broken. At least the staples were still firmly in place, even if there was a small bloom of red on the bandage. Man, he was really lucky to have a blind friend.

“Do you want a snack with your tea?”

He shook his head. This woman. “Mrs. M, I promise I already ate. I ain’t hungry.”

“Teenage boys are always hungry,” she quipped. She brought the tea tray over along with a bag of bite-sized cookies. Raph was starting to suspect she kept them around just for him and the other neighborhood kids that sometimes stopped by to see or help her.

Very slowly and with an abundance of thought toward what sounds he was making, Raph sat up to take a warm mug into his hands. He remained slouched against the cushions so he wouldn’t put any strain on that wound or its staples that continued to feel ever tighter. He was probably overdue for an anti-inflammatory, but like shell was he gonna ask Mrs. M for anything more.

Mrs. M perched beside him on the cushions with her own tea in hand, holding it close under her nose as it steamed. He had seen his father do the same thing plenty of times. Just to placate her, he noisily put his hand in the bag of cookies and withdrew a single one, crunching it loudly and chasing it down with a gulp of tea. She smirked as she listened to his display.

They didn’t speak as they sipped at their tea. Raph enjoyed the silence, savoring the warmth as he swallowed and the ability to breathe without stabbing pain. His eyes started to grow heavy as his mug emptied.

“Are you finished with your tea?”

Raph startled awake with a soft snort. He blinked off the sleep, then nodded and held out the mug. Mrs. M took it and the cookies to the kitchen and returned shortly. She didn’t say anything, only pressed slightly against Raph’s arm to get him to lay down. With a little bit of blind searching, she located the edges of the blanket and tucked him back in.

“There,” she whispered. She took her seat at the other end of the couch and reached for the TV remote, in the same place she always kept it.

“How come you and Mr. Morrison never had kids?”

She faltered and let the remote rest in her lap. "We did have a son."

Only then did it occur to Raph that it was probably rude to ask. A little bit of his sleepiness wore off as he grasped for something to say in response. But, after a long pause, she continued.

"When my poor Harry passed, it was very hard on our boy. He was terminally ill, you see, and he had a do not resuscitate order. It was a routine surgery..." her expression went faraway. She turned to him with a fragile smile and patted his leg. "Well, you certainly don't want all those details. I was asked by the surgeon if I wanted to abide by the DNR order, and I said yes. It was Harry's choice, I did not intend to take that from him at the most vulnerable he would ever be. Poor Rob, he fought me about it and tried to fight the doctors too, but I had power of attorney. He's never forgiven me for letting his father go like that."

Raph started openly, lips parted in shock. He'd known her so long now, how was he only just now finding out about this kid of hers? And how could anyone turn their back on such a kind and vulnerable woman like that?

She heaved a sigh. "That was almost three years ago now. I still don't know if it was the right choice... For now, I let him have his anger."

"He shouldn't be angry!" Raph burst out, propping himself up on his elbow. "You didn't do nothin' wrong—you were just takin' care of your family!"

She reached out and put a gentle hand to his knee. "Now Raphael, he has a right to be upset. He lost his father long before we expected and it was my own decision."

"It wasn't yer fault," he grumbled.

"No, it wasn't. And I reach out to him every now and again, so he knows that when he’s ready, I’m still here for him. Now lay down, I can feel you shaking.”

He realized that he was shaking, actually, with the effort of keeping himself propped up. That didn’t bode well for the long walk home. He laid back down and stared at the ceiling, steaming over this son of hers. How could he walk out on her like that? Did he know his mother had gone blind, or that his parents’ home was going to be foreclosed on? Did he know she had survived the Triceraton invasion of the city? Had he survived it? Family was supposed to take care of each other no matter what, even when they get angry. Couldn’t he see that?

Raph blinked. His argument with Leo again played over in his mind like a cassette tape.

“Mrs. M, could I ask ya one more favor?”

“Of course, dear.”

“Can I use yer phone?”

She walked him to the kitchen and took the phone off its cradle, stretching the cord for all its worth to reach him. She even punched in the complicated number for him, since their phones weren’t exactly on the regular city system.

“I’ll be just down the hall, Raphael.”

“Thanks Mrs. M.”

The phone rang, and Raph waited nervously. Leo might not pick up—he had never not picked up before, but…Raph usually didn’t try to call him so soon after an argument.

Leo’s first words were, “Are you okay?”

He almost rolled his eyes, then he remembered why he was calling in the first place. “Yeah, Leo, I’m fine. I just…uh, listen. I want to apologize.”

There was a beat of confused silence where Raph started to wonder if he’d been hung up on. “Go ahead.”

He sucked in a breath. “Uh, well I was lyin’ to ya. And that’s pretty childish of me, I guess.” He twisted the phone cord in his free hand, knee bouncing. “I was gonna help Mrs. M move some furniture, but she found me out. Guess I’m not good at hidin’ stuff even from a blind lady.”

“Do you need me to come get you?”

“No, no, I’m okay.”

“Are you lying again?”

He closed his eyes and smirked ruefully. “Yeah. I didn’t bust the staples or nothin’, but that cracked rib is probably broken now.”

Leo sniffed on the other end. “Well, I guess you learned your lesson at least.”

“Hey, could ya quit being an ass for a second? I’m trying to be nice here.”

He laughed softly. “Right, right. Sorry. I should apologize too—it’s not like I think you can’t take care of yourself, I just get worried. And I know I’m not your parent or anything, but…”

“Yeah, I know.”

“You sure you don’t want me to come get you? I could bring the truck so you don’t have to walk.”

“Nah, I’m okay. Honest. I’m gonna hang out here for a little while, I can at least keep Mrs. M company even if I can’t help her move stuff.”

“Alright. Don’t stay out too late, okay?”

Raph smiled. Seconds after apologizing for parenting him too much and he was already back at it. “Okay. And hey—if you do come out for me, just send Donnie instead. If he sleeps too long he’ll be awake forever, and you should be resting too. Don’t think I didn’t see that limp.”

Leo laughed again, a little heartier this time. “Alright, alright. I think I can do that. Thanks for calling, Raph.”

“Yeah, whatever, don’t go gettin’ all sappy on me now. I’ll see ya later.”

They exchanged goodbyes, and Raph hung the phone back in its rightful place. Mrs. M, who surely did not listen in at all, just so happened to return at that particular moment.

“Thanks fer lettin’ me use the phone, just needed to talk to my bro real quick. We can watch some TV now.”

They ambled back to the couch and, once again, Mrs. M insisted upon tucking him in with the blanket. He couldn’t stop smiling himself silly about it, but he indulged her.

“Uh, Mrs. M, I’m sorry about your son.”

“Thank you, Raphael. Now, here, find us something to watch.”

He took the remote and flipped through channels for a while. He considered stopping on a recap of last week’s football games, but he decided Mrs. M probably wouldn’t be too interested in that.

A flash of a sewing machine made him stop and go back. His mouth fell partly open as he stared at the screen, trying to figure out what the shell was going on.

“Is that a sewing machine I hear?”

“I think so, but man, I have never seen someone butcher silk like that!”

She laughed. “Raphael, don’t tell me you sew too! “

He flushed.

“You’re so talented. Your father really did educate you very well, I should like to tell him myself someday.”

“Ah, hush. I dunno how to sew much more than some straight lines. My brother—Mikey, he likes to watch these shows and he’s the one who does all the fancy sewing.”

She hummed in a way that sort of made him think she didn’t believe him, but moved on too quickly for him to dwell on it. “What are they doing to this poor silk, then?”

They watched for a while, him describing the outfits and contestants to her. Their commentary was full of genuine criticism interspersed with pettier comments and plenty of laughing. He described to her all the outfits as they went down the finished runway, which was both very fun and a fantastic exercise in holding back on the descriptive swearing.

He began losing attention as the judges started tearing into the contestants and they played the weepy sidebar interviews about how mean everyone was and they really deserved to win. Mrs. M didn’t need description for any of that, she was really good at keeping track of who’s who just by their voices, so he let his eyes drift closed. Just for a moment, he told himself. When the final judging was over, he would get up and go home. Leo probably wasn’t going to listen to his advice about sending Don.

He would just rest his eyes during the commercials.

---

Donnie woke up in the early hours of the morning, when he usually would have been going to bed. He felt a little disoriented as he got a good look at his clock and the date on it—had he seriously slept that long? He vaguely remembered Raph barging in at some point with a snack and some water, but the ice was long melted in the glass and the remainder of the snack was gone.

He hobbled out into the lair in search of a new, more substantial snack. He felt like his insides were about to eat themselves. He booted his laptop up and brought it with him, fan whirring fit to take off, into the kitchen. He slapped some butter and bread into a pan, heart set on a grilled cheese.

As the pan warmed up, he scrolled around on the laptop. Out of habit he checked all the security cameras and perimeter alarms, then the GPS program built into it. He stopped and squinted at the page. He zoomed in, then out, then restarted the program. No, it wasn’t program error. Raph was definitely not in the lair, and the last location on his now-dead shell cell looked suspiciously familiar. He wracked his sleepy brain for the answer.

Mrs. Morrison!

He shot out of his seat and grabbed her phone number off the fridge, punching it into his shell cell without hardly looking at it. Raph was probably fine, but…well, he wanted to be sure. Being sure never hurt.

“Hello?”

“Mrs. Morrison! Hi, uh, this is Raph’s brother Donatello, is he with you?”

“Oh, yes.”

He sighed and sagged against the counter. The woman sounded remarkably awake for the hour.

“I tried to call your eldest brother, but he didn’t answer. I figured he’d fallen asleep, but one of you would reach out sooner or later.” She had herself a little chuckle. Donnie dove for the pan, which had begun to smoke a little as he neglected it. “He fell asleep on the couch and I just didn’t have the heart to wake him after how he was feeling so unwell.”

Don dumped the burned bread and butter into the trash and frowned. “Did he say he wasn’t feeling well?”

She scoffed. “Oh, heavens no. I had to wrangle the information out of him.”

Yeah, that sounded more like Raphael. “Do you want me to come get him? I don’t want to put you out—”

“Don’t be silly, he’s perfectly fine where he is. I say let the boy rest, and you rest as well young man, and one of you can come get him in the morning. The proper morning.”

He smirked as he put the pan in the sink. “Okay Ma’am, that sounds like a plan. Thanks for taking care of that bozo for us.”

“Oh, it’s no problem at all. I rather care for him, you know. I hope it isn’t too forward of me to say, but…he’s somewhat like my son. It’s nice to have someone to take care of every now and then.”

Donnie eased himself back into his chair at the counter. “That makes perfect sense. I’ll let you go then, and I’ll see you in the morning. Oh! I mean—”

She laughed. “You will see me in the morning, no worries. Goodnight, Donatello.”

“Goodnight Ma’am.”

#turtleposting #tmnt #the ghost writes #my fic #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt03

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