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chaotic-good-vampire · 2 years ago

Text

Graphical depiction of Professor Steven Grant talking to Marc:

Me reading Steven asking out another woman:

Me at the end:

I NEED more; I’ll sell you my soul, Melody, please. 😩

Chapter 4: It's A Date

prof!Steven Grant-Jake Lockley-Marc Spector X f!Reader

Edited by: @welcometostayingawake (she's the real MVP)

Mood Boards - Book Cover - Masterlist

Chapter Summary:

Marc and Steven have a heated discussion about his feelings. You have to deal with some rejection.

Tags/Summary (these are for the ENTIRE fic):

college AU, no powers/not in MCU/no Khonshu, talk of mental illness, Marc has DID, forbidden relationship, age gap, reader is 21y/o, Boys are 38y/o, reader attends college in America but isn't necessarily American, smut, sex, masturbation, p in v, creampies galore, reader is on birth control, dubious consent due to identity issues, ANGST, romance, fluff and smut, oral sex, falling in love, reader is not race coded.

Word Count: 3.5k

Your weekend went about as normal as any. You’d had some homework for your first week, and a couple of assignments that you put off until the last minute before completing. Layla had invited you out for drinks at a local bar where you ran into Cameron from your creative writing class. If only you weren’t so infatuated by a certain history professor, you might’ve given in to the obvious flirting Cameron was laying on you. Unfortunately for him, you just couldn’t stop thinking about how Monday couldn’t come fast enough.

Steven, on the other hand, felt like the weekend flew by all too quickly. He knew that he had lost control of the body for sure this time, at least once. After he walked with you on Wednesday night, he went home in a huff, frustrations at an all time high. If Gus had rational thinking skills, surely he would’ve thought Steven was insane, screaming at his reflection in the mirror.

“Alright, Marc, you wanted to talk to me, yeah? Come on then, let’s talk. I hear you trying to poke your head in while I’m tryin’ to teach.”

Silence.

“Marc, what are you afraid of? Huh? You have no problem interrupting my tutoring sessions. You promised!”

“You call that a tutoring session?” There he was…finally. “Don’t forget that we share a head, Steven, you were undressing your student with your eyes. She’s gotta be what, nineteen? Twenty? The hell is wrong with you?”

Now Steven was the quiet one, feeling the shame wash over him. Was he upset that Marc had called him out on something he was trying to keep hidden, or was he upset that Marc was getting involved when he was supposed to be taking a permanent backseat? Oh dear, was it both?

He blacked out, and when Steven woke up again, it was already Sunday. He had no recollection of the prior days, but Marc was more than happy to clue him in to the events that took place.

“Steven, I’m fine with you having the body, Jake and I both are, but we need you to understand something…”

Steven was sitting on the couch in front of his television, staring at his reflection. His brow was furrowed, hair falling into his eyes. He was pissed and trying to keep it contained. This was against everything Marc and Jake had promised him.

“You told me that I could have the body now. You said you would set me up with this little job in this little town, let me be happy as a professor and now you’re ruining it.” Steven felt his bottom lip start to quiver.

“I had to, Steven, because you are ruining everything we gave you. Jake and I gave you a nice, quiet life to live, and you’re getting a little too close to ruining it.” Marc was pacing back and forth on the television screen, running his hands over his face in frustration.

Steven ran his hands through his hair. He felt some stray tears making their way down his cheeks. His emotions were so conflicted. On the one hand, there was you. From the moment he met you, you’d taken his breath away. The way you smiled, and the way your eyes lit up whenever you were around him, he couldn’t shake it. On the other hand, Marc was right. Steven was going to ruin both of your futures if he didn’t hit the brakes.

“I’m sorry, Steven. There’s a few billion women in the world, pick a different one.”

“I don’t want a different one.” Steven said, sniffling and wiping his face.

“Listen, there’s this nice little librarian, her name is Jane. I have been…talking to her on your behalf.” Steven looked back at the screen with a confused gaze.

“You flirted with someone for me? Isn’t she going to find it strange when I show up with an accent?”

“I fudged it a little.” Marc shook his head, “that’s not the point. The point is that…I think you should talk to her on Monday, maybe see if you can get her to go on a date with you. It might help you move past …whatever this is.” Marc let out a heavy sigh, “If you get caught, or get in trouble with this girl, they might come looking for us. I can’t let that happen.”

Marc had a point, and Steven knew that, but it didn’t stop him from thinking about you for the rest of the painfully long day. He just wished that he hadn’t met you, that would’ve made things easier. He imagined how simple it would’ve been if fate hadn’t placed the two of you in the coffee shop that morning. What if he’d remembered his wallet? If he’d had his wallet then you never would’ve talked to him. What if he’d decided to make coffee at home instead? Then you would’ve just come to his class like normal, never having had that first spark.

Steven resolved to keep Marc out of the body. He’d been strong enough to do it before, but he’d let his guard down on Wednesday. It wouldn’t be happening again, but he also decided that Marc wasn’t totally off base in suggesting he ask out the librarian. He knew that by pursuing anything with you, he was not only putting himself at risk, but you as well. He didn’t want to ruin your life before you even had a chance to live it, so he decided that on Monday, he would see about that date with the librarian.

He felt much more confident on Monday morning. He hadn’t seen you since Wednesday the week before, so he was hopeful that his feelings had subsided with the time away, at least a little bit. Steven put a little more thought into his outfit, something nice, knowing that he would be asking Jane out later that day. He even went so far as to spritz a little cologne on his neck. When he looked in the mirror, he wondered for a second if you might like his outfit, but he quickly shook away the thought before heading to class.

Class was about to start, and you were sitting at your desk with your laptop open and eagerly waiting for Steven to come in. You hadn’t seen him since Wednesday, and you couldn’t deny that you were excited for him to walk through the door. The moment he stepped in, you felt your heart race and cheeks flush.

He looked up at you once he got to his desk, and all the color faded from his face. He looked nicer than usual, hair not as unruly as last week. He was wearing a crisp, black button down, not one of the usual intricately patterned shirts he adorned. You were surprised, and felt excited knowing he’d probably dressed like that for you. At least, you wanted to think he did.

When he kept his eyes off of you for the remainder of class though, you started to feel anxious. Did you say something Wednesday evening without realizing? Had you looked at him in a way that he felt was offensive? Maybe there was something wrong with your face? To say you weren’t even just a little upset would be a lie. You felt the familiar pit in your stomach that came with rejection and it hurt.

Class ended right on time, and you got up, preparing to leave without saying a word. You stopped as you got to the doors though. You were willing your feet to move forward, but your heart was keeping you in place. There was something between you and Steven, you were almost certain, and now he was acting…off. He was acting like you were nothing. You should’ve been satisfied with that, accepting that nothing was going to happen, as it should be. It was a perfect opportunity for you both to avoid breaking school rules, but you turned around anyway. He was already looking at you from the desk, eyes hurt.

“Um…” You said, unable to think of the words to say.

“I’ll see you for tutoring on Wednesday night, right here, yeah?” He gulped harshly.

“Steven.” Marc said. “I can hear what you’re thinking, just remember what you’re risking if-”

“Yeah.” You said, not realizing that you were cutting off the man in Steven’s head.

“Alright then.” He nodded, “see ya.” He looked down at his papers.

He was telling you to leave, quite plainly. You took the hint with a heavy stomach, walking out to the hall before deciding at the last second to go to the library. Steven had assigned a paper due Monday the following week and you wanted to get a head start on it.

As you walked into the library, you went to the left of the reception area and saw the printer room. You felt haunted by the memory of that room, wishing you could do it over again and this time be a little more bold. Maybe he didn’t realize that you felt that way about him. Maybe he didn’t know you were as interested in him as you were.

You were hidden behind various shelves of non-fiction, scouring for a book to write your paper on, when you heard him in the entryway.

“Yeah, hi.” You heard him speaking from the entrance.

You didn’t know anyone else with that accent, it surely was him. You peeked from behind the books on the shelf, looking out and seeing him talking to the brown haired librarian. He was smiling, a little too widely for your liking. Your breath caught in your throat.

“Hi, Steven, right?” She said, smiling just as widely back at him.

“Yeah, s’right.” He cleared his throat. “I was, erm, I was wonderin’ if you would be free this weekend? Maybe to grab a drink or somethin’?”

You’d never felt such a punch to the gut as you felt in that moment. You even held your stomach as though you’d actually felt the physical attack, fingers clutching your shirt. Breathing was harder when panic struck, and you wanted to leave so you didn’t have to listen anymore, but you stayed, hoping that maybe she would either reject him or he would change his mind.

“Oh, you know what I would love to, but I’m going to be going upstate to see my parents for the weekend. But…I actually have Wednesday night available.” She was swaying while she spoke, clearly interested in the timid professor.

Steven hesitated, thoughts turning back to you once again. Your smile, the way you touched his hand, the way you made him feel, everything about you. He could hear Marc stirring, probably upset that his alter was hesitating, but he couldn’t help it. Wednesday night would interfere with your tutoring, but he had to do this. He had to get away from you.

“Yeah, Wednesday night should work fine.” She was all smiles as they wrapped up their conversation and parted ways.

His eyes wandered around the library and eventually looked in your direction, but you couldn’t be certain if he saw you or not. Part of you hoped he did so he could feel a little guilty for flopping on you that way. The other part of you didn’t want him to know how nosy you were being, watching him ask a woman on a date, one he had every right to ask on a date, one that he should ask on a date.

You skipped your next class, emailing your professor that you were sick. The thought of trying to get through a class without crying was too much. You were mad at yourself for feeling that way, and for feeding into a fantasy that you knew deep down would lead nowhere. When Layla came into the room that night, you pretended to be asleep. You couldn’t sleep though, you hardly slept all night.

Steven didn’t get much sleep either. He was plagued by thoughts of you, and how upset you might be when he had to tell you that he was canceling. He couldn’t stop playing the image of your face in his mind in class earlier that day. You’d known something wasn’t right, that much was clear. He wanted to tell you right then how he felt. He wanted to pull you back into his classroom and say he was sorry and that he knew it was stupid but he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

But he couldn’t. It wasn’t right.

Instead, Steven sat on the edge of his bed in his underwear and a tee shirt staring at nothing in particular. He felt empty. His head was quiet again, for that he was grateful, but emotionally he was spent. He had spent several days the week before thinking about you, unable to shake you from his mind, only to have the other two, mostly Marc, come busting back in to take over. He was supposed to be letting Steven live his life in peace.

Tuesday was numb, and you hardly ate. Layla noticed, and when she asked you what was wrong, you just brushed her off and tried to focus on your classes. You’d only known Steven for just over a week. There was no reason for you to be acting so heartbroken over someone that you shouldn’t be looking at that way anyhow.

Wednesday was harder for you to get out of bed. Wednesday morning you knew that you had to go to his class and sit through his lecture while he avoided eye contact. He was going to be looking over the papers you’d started to see if anyone needed help and let you work on it for the duration of class. In truth, emotional turmoil or not, you needed help with the paper. All the more reason to be upset that he was ditching you on tutoring night.

He made his way to each student, and it didn’t surprise you that he walked to you last. He had been eyeing you here and there, clearly not wanting you to catch him spying while he helped other students, but you noticed. How could you not? He nearly tripped over one of the desks trying to avoid you, but you decided to be more bold than usual.

“Excuse me, Steven?”

Steven’s heart stopped as he faced away from you. He didn’t want to turn around. He wished you would’ve just let him go sit down at his desk and not speak to him, but of course you couldn’t do that. Of course you couldn’t just let him go. He walked up to you slowly and stood there next to your desk. His hands were clenched into balls at his sides.

“You don’t have to-” you started.

“What do you need help with?” He asked, almost coldly, but you sensed the tremble in his tone and it made the uncomfortable pit in your stomach return.

“You said that King Henry VIII had how many wives?” You asked in a whisper.

“He had six.” Steven said sternly.

“Oh, okay,” You said, typing that into your notes.

“Erm, I meant to talk to you. I’m not gonna make it to our tutoring sess-“

“I know.” You looked at him with your brow slightly furrowed, he gulped harshly. “You have better things to do.” You felt your eyes welling, “I’m just going to go work on this paper instead of tutoring.”

He paused for a while. He didn’t realize you’d heard him and the librarian setting up their little rendezvous. Steven was just going to make up something, tell you that he was busy helping another faculty member or volunteering at the homeless shelter. He was going to tell you anything other than the truth, that he was desperately trying to forget about these new and developing feelings he had.

“Maybe you should find something better to do, too.” He said softly, pressing his lips in a hard line.

You sucked in a deep breath and nodded, unable to speak without losing your composure. Steven gathered that you were done with the conversation and walked away from you and sat down at his desk. He heard you sniffling, and he felt terrible as the class went on. He wished he could apologize, maybe tell the librarian he wasn’t interested after all.

“You did good, Steven. I know that wasn’t easy,” Marc said.

Steven, understandably, didn’t respond, but even if he could respond without making the whole class think he was mad, he wouldn’t. You were eager to leave the second the clock struck 10:20. You were so eager, in fact, that you were the first person out the door.

While you were still too upset to eat much of anything, Steven was in his apartment looking at himself in the mirror. He sighed tiredly at his appearance. He didn’t care if the librarian found him attractive, he didn’t care if she liked him at all.

“You need to care, remember the danger you’re putting everyone in if you don’t move on, Steven.” Marc said.

“Yeah, don’t worry, I bloody remember.”

“You’re really going to wear that, amigo?” Jake was there, too, it seemed. Steven had been wondering when the other alter would show up.

“Jake. No one asked for your opinion.” Steven adjusted his tie, “,‘sides, I think I look fine.”

“Thought you wanted to impress her,” Jake was chuckling, “wear the red tie.”

“Enough!” Steven shouted, stomping to the front door, grabbing his keys and coat before exiting.

Steven took an Uber and then waited outside the restaurant where he was set to meet with Jane. He could see her through the window. She looked beautiful, wearing a red dress and hair done up in curls. It was obvious that she’d tried harder than he had on her appearance.

“Steven, what are you waiting for? Go inside.” Marc said after Steven had stood there for a little too long.

He sucked in a deep breath. Jane was sitting there, waiting for him, but he could only think of you. You must be holed up in the library working on your paper for his class. He was supposed to be with you that night, not her. He was supposed to be with you.

The chattering in his head was incessant the moment he turned away and started moving for the college building. His heart was racing, he knew it was stupid, he knew it was wrong, but he couldn’t shake this feeling.

He had shut them out in the past, he was strong enough to do so, so he did it now. He couldn’t ever get rid of them completely, but he could keep them quiet for short periods of time. He could keep them from taking over and keep them from bothering him further. Steven felt like he could handle it, he’d never felt so in control. He could keep a secret, he knew you could, too.

You were in the library, like you said you’d be, sitting in a corner by yourself. You didn’t want to be seen in case you started to cry. You managed to keep the tears at bay all day, by some miracle. There was a shuffling noise coming your way, taking you by surprise considering the late evening. When you looked up, Steven was there; breathless and covered in a layer of perspiration.

He’d left. He didn’t go through with the date. You stood up clumsily, feeling your heart rate rise. This confirmed all of your suspicions. He was as infatuated with you as you were with him. He stepped closer and said your name.

“Steven…” you stepped closer, too, cautiously. He closed in further, there was hardly any space between you two now. “You didn’t go on your date? I…I thought…”

“I couldn’t, I just…”

He leaned down quickly before the moment got away from him and slotted his delicious lips against yours. When people talked about someone taking your breath away, this is what they meant. He grabbed your shoulder in one hand and wrapped the other around the small of your back to pull you in closer.

The kiss wasn’t over and you let yourself fall into it more, melting your mouth into his, filling the empty spaces with your tongue. He tasted better than you could’ve imagined. You stuck your fingers into his dark locks, angling his head against yours. He let out a groan before pulling back abruptly.

“We can’t…s’wrong.” His lips were swollen and still glossy with your combined spit.

“I can keep a secret, but I can’t keep avoiding you, this feeling…” you stepped forward, desperate for more.

He put up a hand, “Not here. Not now, it’s too risky, love.”

You nodded, knowing he was right, “Yeah, sure okay.”

“Okay.”

He didn’t say another word, just nodded and then walked away, right out of the library.

You were left standing there, pressing your fingertips to your lips with the dumbest grin on your face. It was confirmed: your Professor, Dr. Grant, had feelings for you, and regardless of the risk involved, you were already addicted.

AO3 LINK

TAGLIST (please let me know if you would like to be added or removed): @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction, @my-secret-shame, @thatmomwitchfriend, @alexxavicry, @welcometostayingawake, @jake-g-lockley, @campingwiththecharmings, @steven-grants-world, @lia275, @minigirl87, @ahookedheroespureheart, @ninebluehearts, @outmodead, @sleepyamaya, @pimosworld, @ababynova, @flordelalunas, @360iris, @momo-mochiball, @missdragon-1, @lunar-ghoulie, @liquorlaughslove, @kiwibaekie, @wordacadabra, @deezisnotreal, @onzayhe

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chaotic-good-vampire · 2 years ago

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a glimpse of us

Pairing: Jonathan Levy x AFABreader (she/her)

Summary: Trying to deal with her husband’s affair, our protagonist takes a glimpse at their story, wondering if he ever loved her or if he just liked the idea of being loved.

Word count: 3,911

Warnings: Angst, cheating, mentions of sex, no use of y/n, non-descriptive reader (but it’s kind of implied reader isn’t Jewish). Also, I'm not Jewish, so if anything related to their tradition is incorrect, please correct me.

Other chapters: Chapter 1 · Chapter 2

Note: I completely forgot to mentioned it earlier, but OMG, one of my fav authors in this site reblogged last chapter and I just wanna say how great that made me feel; I almost cried. Heads up to @foxilayde, please go and read her work; she’s awesome.

Chapter 3: Numbness & Anger

Upon waking up the following day, she feels as if the previous night the world had ended in havoc, only to restart as if nothing had happened with the robotic sound of her alarm. There's a moment of confusion in which her hands roam lazily over the sheets for his warmth, stopping over his pillow as her brain gets rid of its morning fogginess. She keeps her eyes closed, clinging for dear life to the memory of him sleeping beside her: unruly curls, fluttering lashes, agape lips, slow breathing.

"Five more minutes." He always whispers groggily, his arms enveloping her closer to his chest when she attempts to get up from bed. Except for today, if his mouth pronounces those words out of habit, it won't be her who answers but Mira. It just then she wonders, after two years of replaying the scene each morning, if this little perk of his is something he preserved from his previous marriage and she's just a substitute to its rightful recipient by default. If so, what did she use to say? Was she as weak in the heart to him as her? Did she leave his side and run away? Was she the monster Jonathan had always led her to believe?

A gust of wind sweeps away the sweet memory of the lie she lived in and makes her realise she left the windows open last night. She sits on the bed, staring at the dark, chilly street outside, feeling that this pain, the one eating at her heart, will be forevermore. She wants to go back to sleep, pretend as if everything was just a bad dream and wait to wake up with him beside her, in his spot, where he belongs.

Five minutes, she gets up and goes to the bathroom to take a shower. He usually stays in bed for another twenty minutes as she does her make-up and hair in the bathroom, occasionally snorting loud enough for her to hear him through the door. Then he gets up, wakes Ava for school, and enters the bathroom to shower as she goes downstairs to prepare breakfast. By seven, the house, their little corner of the world, is alive: she can hear Jonathan walking upstairs, closing and opening drawers; Ava's dancing to music in her room as she gets ready; and herself moving around the kitchen and arranging the table.

Today, the place is dead quiet as she drinks her coffee at the kitchen counter. She looks at the living room, expecting to see him or Ava arranging their stuff, but there's only air. The furniture, ornaments and photos hanging from the walls, she picked them all on her own, just like she did the house, with him and his commodity in mind. He couldn't bother to come to the showing; he was too busy packing stuff in his old house and finalising the details of the divorce arrangement. He didn't say that when she made the appointment, though, instead standing her up with a single text five minutes before the realtor showed up. Still, she didn't express her anger and never complained about it, taking it upon herself to make the moving easier for him. She decorated the entire house, even his studio, and changed everything he or Ava found inconvenient when they moved in without protest, even when she asked him a million times to look at the plans beforehand. She wonders what he'll take: the couches, the coffee table, the carpet; it doesn't matter. Just like the years she's given him, it's all meaningless shit they're dividing up.

She always arrives ten minutes before her shift starts, an advantage of leaving near the hospital, but today she's a half hour early when she parks in the garage in front of the ER. She sits in her car for long minutes, gathering all her feelings and thoughts and concealing them far into the depths of her mind, there where they can't hurt her or her patients. Holding the steering wheel with more force than necessary, she rests her forehead on it and breathes in deeply. She winces when her wedding band, sitting around her finger since yesterday morning, buries in her skin painfully, drawing attention to her hands.

"Magical hands", Ava called them when she was five.

Surgeon hands, healer hands, fixer hands. Because in the end, that's what her job reduces to: healing, fixing. She spends entire days and nights healing and fixing torn skin, sprained ligaments, busted organs, broken men… Ever the foolish, she's always been told she doesn't know when to stop or declare something (or someone) a lost cause. It only makes sense, doesn't it? That's what brought him to her, and somehow ended up being their doom.

Her phone rang in the middle of the night, awakening her from the deep slumber she'd fallen into when she reached her bedroom a couple hours before. It wasn't uncommon for a cell phone or a beeper to go off in some room around the house at the craziest hours of the night, so she didn't think much of it as she groped the nightstand in search of the device. She sighed heavily as she rubbed her eyes before answering, doing her best to shake the sleepiness from her body in anticipation of what she expected to be a late ride to the hospital.

"Hello?" She sounded hoarse and tired, just like the rest of her, but the feeling quickly dropped to the back of her mind when a panicked and rushed voice answered her from the other side of the line.

"Hey, hi." A man said her name in a nervous greeting. "I'm sorry for calling this late, but I didn't know what else to do."

"Mr. Levy?"

"Yeah. Again, forgive me for the hour, but my daughter, Ava, she…." He was panting, gulping every few words like he was struggling to keep himself from crying. "She's burning in fever, she's coughing so hard she even threw up… And… and I… I don't know what to do. I've tried everything, but she just keeps getting worse. Please, I'm terrified. Could you please come over here and check on her, please?"

She was already putting on her sneakers, quickly glancing at the clock beside her: 3 am. If this was any other person, she'd probably told them to take their kid to the ER and leave her to sleep the four sacred hours a day she got, but Jonathan Levy had a way of lurking his way into people's sensibilities she'd never seen before.

"I'll be there in a minute, Mr. Levy."

"Oh, thank you so much." He sounded so relieved, almost on the verge of tears. "Thank you."

It took her exactly three minutes to put on a sweater, take the emergency kit, step into the cold, snowy night and spring up the street to the Levy's house. Jonathan was waiting for her at his door, frowning and breathing heavily, an embarrassed look with a mixture of pain on his face.

"You're an angel; you have no idea how grateful I am."

"It's not a problem." She smiled softly at him as he scratched his beard, her voice slow and comforting.

"She's upstairs, over here." He guided her to the second floor, stopping in front of a pink room. She could hear someone coughing from the inside, followed by gasps for air. She entered the room with Jonathan following her close behind to the bed where a small child lay holding a stripped plush firmly to her chest.

"Hi, Ava." She introduced herself to the girl as she kneeled beside her. "I'm just going to check everything's alright, okay?"

The kid nodded, looking back at her dad for comfort and prompting him to sit on the floor on the opposite side where she was kneeling to hold her hand.

"How old is she?" She asked as she took out the extra stethoscope from the emergency kit they kept at home.

"Five."

"Vaccinated?"

"Yes."

"When did she start coughing?" He began to ramble, explaining how she had been perfectly fine all afternoon, how he didn't notice anything strange, that she started feeling bad at around seven, that he thought she was dying or something. "Don't torture yourself, Mr. Levy. She's going to be fine; kids are very resistant."

She asked a couple more questions as she checked her pulse and oxygen, noticing her nails were slightly blue, as well as her lips. She moved slowly as to not startle either father or daughter and explained step by step what she was doing to try to calm down the poor man, who occasionally murmured what seemed to be prayers under his breath. Even for a parent, she thought, his reaction was quite odd; he came off as guilty, even.

"Mr. Levy…"

"Call me Jonathan."

"Jonathan," For some reason, the name rolled off her tongue with more familiarity than it should, "everything's going to be alright; it's nothing serious. According to her symptoms and what you've told me, it's probably just bacterial pneumonia. I need to keep an eye on her for the next hours, but for now, let's try to get her fever down, okay?"

"So there's no need to take her to the ER?" He seemed relieved as he kissed his daughter's temple.

"Not for now. Let's see if her fever goes down first. Do you have a bathtub?"

"Yes. Do I fill it with cold water?"

"No, it's too sudden of a temperature change; it needs to be lukewarm. I can fill it as you undress her if you want. Tie her hair as well; it's better if it doesn't get wet."

"I want mommy." The girl suddenly said in a weak whisper, a tear sliding down her cheek.

"Is your wife working late, Jonathan?" She had no idea what Mrs. Levy worked on, but as someone who constantly found herself working at those ungodly hours, she didn't find it strange for another person to be out of home at such an hour. "Do you think she could come home? Her presence could help Ava a lot."

"Mira… My wi–" Both the name and the word he had said so many times before for the past decade tasted odd on his tongue. "Ava's mother's not… Not in the country."

It suddenly clicked why she hadn't seen her around for the past month or so. It wasn't as if they were friends, they were just neighbours who occasionally greeted them on their way to work, but it had been a while since she'd bumped into her at the supermarket or the local coffee shop.

"Don't worry, she has you; everything will be fine."

She stayed the remaining of the night by Ava's side against her better judgment, even after her fever went down a little. At some point, she didn't even know how, they ended up talking in whispers on the floor beside her bed, where, perhaps because he had no one else to tell, he confessed his wife had left him. She heard him, a broken man, retell the night it all ended, the morning she left, the questions she never answered, the things he regretted… Why? She'll never know. So, of course, when Winona called her at seven asking her where she was, she couldn't help but promise she'll come back in the night to check on the kid and him. She did, she came back that night, and the next, and the next, and suddenly she found herself in his house whenever Ava was with Mira till late hours, just talking. She had the feeling he didn't get to do that much often, let himself be vulnerable since he had to take care of his daughter and be strong for the both of them. She didn't mind hearing him; it was, in fact, the highlight of her day, which is the reason why, when he asked her if she knew any good therapist, she nervously gave him the number of a colleague with the fear she'd run out of excuses to see him.

Nonetheless, he called a few days later, asking if she wanted to hang out next Friday night when she returned from work and drink this new wine he'd bought recently. Weekends night, whenever she didn't have a night shift, became reserved for him, and it suddenly happened that she became interested in how she looked, smelled, and even talked and walked. One day, the silly crush became love, and she didn't even notice until she caught herself daydreaming about him, his eyes, his smile, his laugh, as she charted. Like a schoolgirl, she'd write his name on the corner of her books, giggle every time his name popped up on the screen of her phone, and smile whenever any of her friends mentioned him. But that's the thing about clandestine meetings and longing stares, they're born from just one single glance, but they die a million little times.

It's like she's on autopilot, walking up and down the hospital with a bunch of interns walking close behind and following her every order. Dislocated bone, busted organ, burnt skin, broken heart; her so-called magical hands can fix and heal all of these, but the last. So instead, she numbs it and tries to keep her mind off it by mending everyone else's ailments and hurts. The problem with this, though, is that doctors need to feel, to be human, as much of a contradiction as it sounds, to avoid mistakes and achieve perfection. In medicine, there are protocols and detailed instructions to repair what's broken, but sometimes, just as in day-to-day life, things go wrong, and one must act out of instinct. Throughout the day, she walks, talks and acts in a blurred haze, physically there but mentally drifting until a beeping sound brings her back to reality.

"She's crashing."

The resident in front of her tells her as she stares at her hands in confusion, blinking a few times to focus her sight. There are a bunch of people moving around her, moving stuff, cleaning, shouting: a resuscitation room.

"What are you doing?" She hears a familiar voice in front of her, and when she looks up, she finds Thiago looking at her in alarm as he holds a pair of large clamps to the cut. "What are you waiting for!?"

She looks down, where someone's daughter or mother, perhaps both, lies unconscious on a pool of blood. She's hands deep into her thorax, a cascade of scarlet liquid falling from the open wound at her side to the floor, staining her scrubs.

"What?" She doesn't know what she's supposed to be doing or what procedure her hands were working on without her even knowing. She examines the cut and the position of her hands in search of a clue as the beeping sounds of the machines warn her she doesn't have much time.

"Hold this tight. Don't move." Thiago tells a resident before quickly getting by her side to move her out of the way. "Take your hands out carefully."

Breath in. She pulls her hands from the patient's chest, holding back the tears. Breath out. Thiago shoves her aside and continues the procedure as he orders around. Breath in. One of her interns asks her if she's alright and if she should get help for her. Breath Out. She stutters something before leaving the room, looking at her gloved, bloodied hands, horrified. In the scrubbing area, she shakily rips the latex gloves from her skin, reddening it with the friction, throwing them into the trash along with her surgical scrub and mask. She washes her hands as she bites her lips so hard she draws blood, then sprints to the elevators in a confused daze.

Healer, fixer, surgeon

It had taken her 25 years to become a surgeon: 12 in grade school, 4 in college, 4 in med school, 4 in residency and 1 in trauma fellowship. A fourth of her life spent nose-buried in books; sleepless nights memorising names and definitions; countless hours cutting and stitching; and she loved every second of it, even the bad moments because this is what she was born to do, what her hands were meant for. She doesn't lose her temper; she can't. There are lives that depend on it. She'd always pride herself on it, holding reason when everything else is in chaos, but even that, he's taken from her now. Her head is spiralling, making her gulp to avoid throwing up as she presses a random bottom: What is she supposed to do? Go back home and tolerate it? Pretend she doesn't know and keep letting him believe he's a good player in his little games. Remove the dagger and leave their lives in ruins? Therapy? Could she ever trust him again? Because in the end, he'll keep seeing her; as the mother of his child, she'll keep being a constant in his life forever. What if he doesn't even want to stay? If this was his plan all along, if he's just been waiting for her to get the memo? What is she supposed to do, then? Help him pack his stuff and Ava's?

Fixer, healer, mother

Ava, her sweet little girl, ever so happy and bubbly, she illuminated any room she walked into. Whatever she did would inevitably affect her, and no matter how much Jonathan insisted that his and Mira's divorce didn't trouble her, she knew better. Ava had called her hands magical when she was five. Because she cured her, she eased her pain; she'd gone above and beyond to protect and save her from the fall of heartache. She wasn't her daughter; she'd never dared to call her as such out loud, fearing she might be overstepping her role and making Mira uncomfortable. Still, it was clear as day she saw the girl as her kid because in everything but in name, she was her mother.

"Is daddy coming back?" She asked her once as she drove her to school some weeks after they moved in together while Jonathan was in Europe.

"What do you mean, sweetie?"

"Is he coming back, or will I only see him on the weekends like mommy?"

"No, baby, he's coming back next week, remember? To the new house, darling, he's just working."

"And how long will you stay?" The question didn't make sense.

"We live together now, honey."

"I know, but how long are you staying?"

"Ava, baby, I'm not sure what you're trying to ask me."

"Adults are always leaving, like Poli. When are you living?"

"Oh, Ava." She parked the car a block from the school, unsure what to say as she turned to look at her. "Baby, I'm not leaving. Ever. I love you and your dad so much I'd never even think about it; I'm staying forever. Didn't Poli and your mom talk with you before he left?"

"They said they didn't love each other anymore and that adults sometimes stopped getting along."

"Yeah, that sometimes happens, but don't worry" She bopped her nose lovingly. "That won't happen again, I promise."

"Is that what happened to my parents?" The questions caught her off guard. Hadn't Jonathan talked with her about the separation?

"I think you should ask your dad or Mira about that, sweetheart."

Later, when she asked him about it, he admitted neither he nor Mira had ever brought up the subject with Ava, and even though she nagged him about doing it for days after he came back, she's not sure he ever did. It wouldn't surprise her; that's just how he is: constantly avoiding talking about important matters that make him uncomfortable, pretending everything's going well. She's never judged him for it, part of her nature was avoiding confrontation; as a doctor, she'd even been trained on it. However, all that repressed anger and frustration is now boiling up to the surface, and med school certainly never taught her how to save herself from it.

Wife, fixer, healer

She loves him, she loves him more than anything or anyone else in the world. From the day she met him, her heart had got captured by those brown eyes of his, begging to be loved. She had helped him, carried him through his pain without expecting anything in return. It was him the one who took the first step, and more than once, she asked him if this was indeed what he wanted, if he was ready to give her his all just like she was. When he popped the question, both her family and her friends asked a million times if she thought it was the right decision. It's not as if she didn't see the red flags; she did. She just chose to ignore them and blindly trust he could get to love her as much as she did someday. She had healed him, helped him fix the parts of himself he loaded and showered him in love in such a way he never felt unappreciated. It was her, not Mira, who gave him enough confidence to rebel against the deepest of his fears and insecurities and become the man he's now. She's given him so much, everything she has to offer, all while he sees her as a simple footnote in the story of his life.

"FUCK” She screams after slamming the employees' bathroom door behind her. "Fuck you, Jonathan! Fuck you!"

She clenches her shaking fists close to her chest as she slides down the wall to the floor, where she aggressively hits the ground.

"I'll take the morning train." She can picture him mocking her with Mira, laughing on his way to work, and patting himself on the back before entering their house because his wife is such an idiotic fool. She wants to put all the blame on her, believe she broke him to the very edge of survival, and that's why he had to become this to keep on living. But the truth is Jonathan is an adult, a 46-year-old man who is perfectly capable of making his own choices, aware of their consequences. Yeah, Mira is a terrible person, but right now, she couldn't care less about her; it's Jonathan, her husband, to whom her whole hatred is directed to. Jonathan, because he's, once again, putting Ava in the middle of his shit. Jonathan, because it's so characteristic of him doing and saying the most wrecking stuff in the worst moments. Jonathan, because he's made her a joke to his family and friends. Jonathan, because even now, she still loves him wholeheartedly.

"Sweetie…" Someone calls her a few feet away, and when she looks up, she finds Jenny worriedly looking at her; she hadn't seen her when she entered the bathroom. "Is everything alright? Did you have a fight with Jonathan?"

"Jenny…" She cannot recognise the teary whisper that comes out of her mouth when just a second before, her voice was so full of rage. "I… I'm pregnant." She doesn't know why she says that, but suddenly, the realisation hits her: it's not only Ava, it's also the child she's carrying in her womb who's gotten caught in the crossfire.

"What?"

"Fuck." She whimpers, hugging her legs to her chest, tears cascading down her face. Jenny, confused, sits beside her and allows her to lean on her shoulder until she's good enough to speak.

#jonathan levy #scenes from a marriage #jonathan levy x y/n #jonathan levy x reader #jonathan levy x you #angst #oscar isaac #reader insert

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