#however doctor who is on. not the back burner but the left front burner

[seveneyesoup]

no more doctor who for a year. i have time to watch the whole show between now and then

[anyon-else]

My Struggling Form, My Willing Soul (The Red Room pt.7) | Sakura is adamant that you stay in the compound permanently, and you're trying to think of any reason why that's a bad idea. You don't expect Kakashi to be the one who convinces you to stay. (Marvel AU) – spotify playlist | read on ao3

Pairings | Kakashi Hatake x Black Widow!Reader + Sakura Haruno, Sasuke Uchiha, Naturo Uzumaki, Kakashi's Ninken

Warnings | fem!reader, hurt/comfort, fluff, mentions of torture, mentions of abuse

Word count | 6.7k

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"I did not like to be touched, but it was a strange dislike. I did not like to be touched because I craved it too much. I wanted to be held very tight so I would not break."

Marya Hornbacher, Wasted

"I don't get it. I slept in the woods for three weeks, completely exposed and relying on a near-stranger to watch my back. And in all that time, I barely had any nightmares after the fourth day. I slept better than I have in years. And then I come here, where it's arguably safer, and I've had one every night. How does that make any sense?"

While Pakkun was giving you what appeared to be his full attention, a huff was his only response to your rambling.

It had been a week since Kakashi left to go to the compound, leaving you with an ample supply of instant ramen and a pack of eight dogs to care for. For the most part, looking after them had given you enough to do that you'd avoided being completely alone with your thoughts. However, since you'd been staying at Kakashi's house, you'd woken up at least once every night drenched in sweat and shaking from phantom pains. Each dream was different, but they all involved the same thing. Pain, either inflicted by others onto you, or you onto others.

"What do you think, hm? Got any wise advice for me?"

Pakkun took in a large breath, then let it out in a long, drawn-out sigh. You'd been reading a book from Kakashi's Icha-Icha collection, and the pug had settled for a nap on top of you. He looked irritated that your one-sided conversation was preventing that.

"You look grumpy, but you're very clingy."

Pakkun grumbled, rolling onto his side and settling in for his nap now that your conversation had run its course.

"You're lucky my phone doesn't have a camera. I'd be taking so many pictures of you right now."

Kakashi had given you a burner phone before he left. Sakura had the number, but she rarely got the opportunity to use it with so many SHIELD agents crawling around the compound. Instead, it was Kakashi who generally contacted you, though it was with the same update day after day: no progress.

While you appreciated his effort to keep you updated, he generally texted you late at night after the doctors had finished working. Every night, you stayed up for his update, received it, and then went to sleep.

It was likely this pattern that made Sakura the main subject of most of your nightmares. In some, Kabuto forced the two of you to fight. In reality, you knew that you would've allowed her to win, but this dream-version of you was ruthless. Your movements were robotic, and your expression was cold and stoic as you watched the life drain from Sakura's eyes.

Orochimaru was always there. He watched with a wicked smile on his face each time you killed Sakura. And when you knelt at his feet, waiting for new orders, Sakura was already on her feet again. Then the cycle would repeat.

In other nightmares, Sakura was in the compound. She was with Kakashi and Sasuke and Naruto and she was happy. Then Orochimaru made her watch as he ordered his widows to kill each one of them in front of her. All you could do was look helplessly at the scene, trapped in some subconscious cage and unable to reach her. Unable to help any of them.

Each time you had a nightmare, you were woken up to a wet nose pressed against your cheek. Most nights, it was Akino who would wake you and curl up against your side. Other nights, you woke to Bull panting in your ear and Pakkun grumbling as he settled on your chest.

They seemed used to waking their companions from nightmares. Almost as if they had a routine response to it.

"Does Kakashi get them too?" you asked Pakkun one night. He gave you the same disgruntled look as always. "I'm sure he does. Probably hard not to when your kid is kidnapped."

The days were idle, but you sometimes wondered if you would be happy living like this. There was no larger purpose to it. No goal but to keep the dogs and yourself alive. But you also felt at peace knowing that you were caring for other living beings. You saw why so many people chose it.

It also gave you an excuse to indulge in Kakashi's sizable backyard. When you were in the Red Room, being outside was a luxury that you were only able to indulge in on missions. Having constant access to fresh air felt like a dream.

"C'mon," you called to the dogs, "outside, let's go."

All eight rushed through the door when you opened it, jumping over one another in their haste to race around the yard. Only Pakkun seemed content to sit at your side and rest his head against your thigh.

After a while, Bull wandered towards you and rested his head in your lap, looking up at you expectantly.

"Thirsty?" you asked the bulldog. "Hold on, big guy. I'll be right back."

"Y/N!"

The familiar call of your name made both you and Bull turn towards the source. Bull was quicker to react than you, his thirst forgotten. It took you a moment to start moving so that you could see past the gate.

The voice came from the opposite side of the gate. Pakkun jumped up when he saw Kakashi unlatching it, and he was quickly followed by the rest of the pack. You released a shaky breath when you saw Sakura looking over his shoulder, waving wildly at you with a grin.

You sidestepped Kakashi and the pack of dogs competing for his attention and met Sakura in a tight hug. Something loosened in your chest that you hadn't realized bound itself up. She was safe.

"I missed you," she said happily, the words muffled in your shoulder. You laughed and squeezed her tighter.

"I missed you too," you laughed, pushing her away enough that you could give her a once-over. There weren't any physical changes that you could see, and she seemed relatively unharmed, but that didn't stop fear from growing from its root in your stomach. Why were they here?

"Looks like the dogs are still alive," Sasuke grumbled behind Sakura, followed closely by Naruto. He seemed surprised that all of the dogs were unharmed and presumably well-fed in your hands.

"Of course they are," Sakura shot back, and you noted the guilt that crossed Sasuke's face when he met her icy glare.

Once they had given Kakashi a thorough greeting, Sakura, Sasuke, and Naruto were given an equally enthused welcome by the pack. They switched between the three with wagging tails, and the kids seemed just as happy to reciprocate. Even Sasuke had a fond smile on his face as he rubbed behind Bull's ears.

"Thank you for looking after them," Kakashi said, taking up Sakura's empty space next to you. The two of you watched the dogs pile on top of Naruto until the boy could barely be seen, but you could hear his laughter from underneath. "I hope they weren't too much of a handful."

"They were good. It was nice," you added as an afterthought. "I didn't realize you were all coming here."

"We sometimes come when we want a break," Kakashi shrugged, "I figured they could use it."

It only took a moment for you to break out of the domestic fantasy that you'd been living in for the past week.

"Did something change?"

Sakura seemed normal. She was moving around fine, and nothing looked out of the ordinary. But yesterday, the update had been the same. No progress.

"The doctors couldn't find anything," Kakashi sighed, "if there had been anything in her system to begin with, they think it probably passed after it had been deactivated. They're guessing that it was some form of the chemical agent that was mentioned in HYDRA's files, but since we're missing so many years of information, they can't know for sure.

"The good news is, since the doctors think that it was a one-time use, we probably have nothing to worry about. The only thing they want us to do is keep an eye on her."

"If there had been anything?" you repeated. That implied the possibility that there hadn't been anything wrong to begin with.

"SHIELD sent a psychiatrist to talk to Sakura, and I told him that Sasuke was the one who found her. He raised the possibility that, since this has been a time of high-stress, Sasuke could have been exaggerating how bad things really were. He suggested that Sakura was just having a psychological episode when she attacked, and that Sasuke misinterpreted it as mind control."

"You've got to be kidding me," you scoffed. When you glanced at Kakashi, you expected to see the same anger that you felt at this assumption, but all you saw was guilt. He wasn't meeting your eyes. "You're not serious."

"I'm not saying that there was nothing wrong–"

"No," you held a hand up, silencing him immediately, "I don't want to hear it. I know what happened. I've told you dozens of times. It wasn't some episode. It was Orochimaru looking at me that night, not Sakura."

"I know you believe that," Kakashi muttered. He winced at his own choice of words, "but you're not exactly...in a good state of mind right now. You've been seeing things for weeks. You attacked me because you couldn't remember that you'd escaped the Red Room and you thought I was an enemy. I'm just saying that there's a possibility that...that Sakura was just having a nightmare and thought the same thing about you. Those kinds of responses to trauma aren't uncommon."

That couldn't be true. That night...it hadn't felt like any of your other panic attacks, and it hadn't felt like a hallucination.

"I know what I saw. I'm...I am not crazy, Kakashi."

"I never said that."

You needed to think. You almost wished you could lock yourself away and pretend that you were still in the Red Room. Things hadn't been pleasant, but they had been simple.

You didn't spare a glance at Sakura as you strode inside, though you felt her eyes on your back. You felt all of them watching you as you retreated back inside.

Anger and guilt fought furiously in your mind, and nausea swirled in your stomach at Kakashi's words.

There had to be some other explanation. You would never forget the look in Sakura's eyes when she wrapped her fingers around your throat. You'd never seen such pure hatred on her face before.

Kakashi and the others had probably been discussing this. They likely came to the mutual conclusion that you were out of your mind and unable to give a proper account of that night.

It made sense. You were an outsider. Even to Sakura, you were a companion that she'd been forced to hold onto rather than someone she chose. But now she had her family back. Kakashi probably told them everything that happened during the mission, from what you'd found about your parents to your episode only four days into the three weeks that you were away.

In their eyes, you were the basket-case who wasted a month of their time because you weren't in control of your own mind. You'd taken their teacher away for nothing, leaving Sasuke and Naruto to try and help Sakura heal without him. And if what they thought was true, it had all been for nothing.

Logically, it should've been a good thing. If what Kakashi told you was correct, it meant that Sakura hadn't been in any danger to begin with. But you couldn't help the dread that kept you huddled on your bed in the spare room, curled into yourself as you replayed Sakura's attack over and over again. This was your life now. Without Orochimaru, you were breaking apart and dragging the others down with you.

You heard someone enter the house a while later, and you weren't surprised to hear Sakura knocking at your door with a quiet request for entrance. She sounded nervous, and knew Kakashi probably told her why you were upset, if he hadn't out right requested that she come talk to you.

"Come in," you sighed, hoping she wouldn't notice how anxious you were.

"I'm sorry," was the first thing she said. You winced; why did you need an apology from her, of all people? None of this was her fault. And if you could just stop being so selfish and worrying only about yourself, she wouldn't have to worry about you either.

"Why?" you forced a small smile, but it only made her frown deeper, "you don't need to be sorry, Sakura. You didn't do anything wrong."

She nodded, but didn't look any more convinced than she had when she walked in.

"I just...I wish I could remember what happened that night. Then maybe I could help us find answers."

That burden shouldn't have been hers to bear. This was your responsibility, and you failed.

"Don't be mad at Kakashi-sensei," she said quietly, eyes cast downwards at where your hands were gripping the sheets. You released the white fabric and locked your fingers together, "he's just trying to make sense of this. We all are."

I have made sense of it, you wanted to tell her, I know Orochimaru. I know that this is something he would do.

But you weren't so sure now. You had been questioning what was real and what was just a product of your panic for weeks now.

You were supposed to be strong for her. She was the one who needed your support, not the other way around. When Kakashi hadn't been there, you'd taken care of her. That wouldn't change just because you were unable to gain proper control over your mind.

"I know," you said, attempting another reassuring smile. This one seemed to work a bit better than the last, as she returned it and let some of the tension drain from her shoulders, "I'm just happy you're safe."

"I'm happy you're safe too," she said with a watery laugh, "and Kakashi-sensei and I were talking. He agreed that, if you'd like to, you should stay here for a while."

Your immediate instinct was to reject this offer on the same grounds as you had the last time, but you supposed that Ino had given you some leverage by making it appear that you were dead. Assuming her ruse had worked, the main issue keeping you from accepting Sakura's offer would be...

"Sasuke and Naruto agreed too," she added. You raised a brow at her, unconvinced that Sasuke had been as willing as she was making it sound. She winced, "it did take some convincing."

"I don't know, Sakura," you murmured. While the thought of what you would do after Sakura was safe had crossed your mind, you always pushed it off as a secondary problem. And while you weren't convinced that Sakura was safe, from what Kakashi had told you, you weren't needed anymore, "I don't think I'd fit in well here."

"Of course you would!" Sakura waved a hand, pushing the thought away. "He won't admit it, but Kakashi-sensei likes you. He was worried about leaving you here for so long."

"I think he might have been more worried about his dogs," you corrected, but her expression didn't change. "You four are a family. I'd only get in the way of that."

"You're my family too," Sakura said firmly, taking your hand from your lap and holding it between hers, "and I want you to be safe. Where else would you go?"

It was a fair question. Since you began planning your escape, it had always been about Sakura getting back home. You'd never given much thought to what you'd do. The only thing that you could come up with was going back to the Red Room, but that wasn't exactly a viable option. You also knew that it wasn't want pulling you back, but the need for familiarity and routine. Despite all of the pain you experienced there, you knew that having a sense of purpose again would be something of a relief.

"I don't know. I'd figure something out," you tried reassuring her. You were an adult; you should've been more than capable of creating a life for yourself outside of the Red Room. Sakura didn't need you anymore; you'd done what you could for her. Staying any longer in your current mental state would only burden her further.

But maybe there was a chance for redemption here. A chance to heal.

"Let me sleep on it," you finally answered. You tried not to let the hope on Sakura's face convince you to stay right then and there; Sakura wasn't the only one you would be living with. You couldn't imagine that the others, even Kakashi, were eager to make you a permanent fixture of their daily lives. Kakashi had seen your mental state first hand; you doubted that he'd so easily put you in close quarters with his students.

"You can be happy here."

That was what she left you with. It was a thought that you ruminated on for hours, long after the others had come inside and gone to their rooms. When you looked at the clock again, hours had passed, and you were still no closer to a decision. Things were moving too fast for you to keep up.

This was new to you. Independence was not one of your strongest traits. It was rare that you'd ever made this kind of decision for yourself.

After another hour of stewing in your frustrations, you wandered into the kitchen for a change of scenery. You weren't going to sleep anytime soon, and sitting in a dark, empty room certainly wasn't doing you any favors.

Instead of the solitude that you'd been expecting to find, you saw Kakashi rummaging around the kitchen with a bowl of instant ramen sitting next to him.

"It's late," you grumbled, "don't you have a bed?"

Kakashi didn't seem surprised to see you awake either, though he also didn't look as frustrated as you felt. You could feel some leftover anger from your last conversation bubbling up. You'd been hoping to avoid speaking with him until tomorrow, especially now that you had two reasons to be avoiding him, but you supposed that this was a fitting way to end an already unpleasant day.

"You of all people should understand what insomnia is like," Kakashi retorted with a short chuckle.

You huffed, turning your attention to Shiba when he sat at your side. His face was the picture of contentedness as you buried your fingers in the thick fur on his head.

"Tea?" Kakashi asked over his shoulder, pouring himself a cup and raising a second in question. You felt some of your anger drain away. You were too tired to be so upset.

"Alright."

There was likely little harm in something so soothing. The only problem was that this appeared to be an invitation to spend more time with Kakashi, which wasn't something you were eager to do. But a conversation about what Sakura had told you did need to happen, and now was as good a time as any to get it over with.

You took the steaming cup that he handed you and followed him to the couch in the middle of the living room. Akino and Pakkun were already lounging on it, and Kakashi lifted the latter up and moved him to the middle cushion so that he could take the left side. Pakkun grumbled at Kakashi, but settled on his lap a few moments later. Akino lifted his head when you settled on the opposite side and rested it on your leg with a contented sigh.

"Sakura talked to you?"

"Yes," you sighed, focusing on Akino's slowly rising and falling back rather than Kakashi's studious gaze on you, "I found it hard to believe that you agreed to let me stay so easily."

"I spent a month with you where you had every opportunity to kill me. You didn't."

"I hope that's not your only criteria when looking for a roommate."

"No," Kakashi huffed, "but like I told you before, I trust you. And you obviously don't have anywhere else to go."

You glared at him despite how right he was. You would be wandering the streets if this opportunity hadn't been offered to you. If that were the case, you'd likely be found by HYDRA too, despite Ino's efforts. Orochimaru had eyes everywhere, but they had become limited within SHIELD in the past year. The offer really was too good to be true.

"So, what? I just become a part of your little group? There's no way Naruto and Sasuke are okay with that."

"They've barely interacted with you. And Sasuke is like that with most people before he gets to know them. Just give them some time."

"Why are you so insistent about this? You said it yourself; I'm 'not in a good state of mind,'" you repeated bitterly, ignoring Kakashi's guilty wince, "you really want me around your students?"

"I don't know if you've noticed, but none of us are the pillar of good mental health. All of us have baggage, but we help each other deal with it. That's what makes us such a strong team."

It was all too easy. You escaped the Red Room with little trouble, Sakura was apparently never in any danger of Orochimaru's mind control to begin with, and now you were being offered the chance to have a home. A real home, with people who weren't looking to exploit you.

It was terrifying.

"I thought you'd jump at the chance to stay with Sakura."

"I...of course I want to stay with her, I just..." you buried your face in your hands, looking for the words to articulate your inner turmoil, "I could still bring HYDRA here. Ino said it herself: what she did might not have been enough to keep HYDRA away."

"What's the real reason?"

The silence that followed his words was heavy, and you sat in it uncomfortably while you tried to think of a good way to avoid the question. The truth was, you didn't know why. Maybe you didn't want to taint the good thing that the four of them had. Maybe you didn't know how to survive in an environment that didn't constantly threaten you with life and death decisions. How were you supposed to function in a place that seemed so...so good? You weren't good. You would only poison the life that they had.

"I don't belong here."

"'Belong.'" Kakashi chuckled, repeating the word like you'd told him a bad joke, "how do you think we all ended up together? All of those kids were outcasts. I was too. None of us belong anywhere. That's why we found each other."

It's not the same, you wanted to scream, but really, you had no idea if it was. You didn't know their stories. You only knew Sakura's, and that was certainly the case for her.

Maybe you could consider the possibility that you could be okay here.

"I'm not trying to force you, but you don't have many other options. And I know you've thought about going back to the Red Room, but that's not happening. Not while Sakura has any say in it," Kakashi said, setting his empty bowl on the floor for Shiba. "Or while I do."

It was an afterthought, and it shouldn't have surprised you as much as it did, but it still sent an unexpected shock down your spine. This was all happening too fast. Too many people were entering your life. You could feel yourself becoming emotionally overstimulated as each day passed, but you tamped the feeling down. You didn't need Kakashi seeing another breakdown.

"I wasn't planning on it," you muttered, though he was right in assuming that the thought had crossed your mind. It was a hard thought not to consider when the Red Room was all you had ever known.

"Glad to hear it," he said, taking a long sip of his tea. You followed suit, resenting his ability to be so nonchalant during these kinds of conversation. You weren't sure if you could get more tense if you tried.

"Are you okay?" he asked quietly.

"Fine."

"You don't have to lie."

You almost snapped at him. Why would he be the person that you opened up to about anything? But as soon as the thought crossed your mind, your anger dissipated. Aside from Sakura, there weren't many other people that you would talk to.

But that didn't matter. You were fine. At the very least, you were fine enough that you didn't need him psychoanalyzing you.

"I didn't mean to upset you earlier."

"I think I'm going to go to bed," you said, stopping the conversation in its tracks before you had to think about your state of mind on top of the decision you had to make. There were too many things to sort through, and you didn't have the energy to do it right now. Not when Kakashi kept looking at you like he could see right through you.

You gave Akino's head a scratch when he grumbled at you for moving him, but he settled his head back on the pillow that you situated in front of him to replace your leg.

"Goodnight," Kakashi said. You muttered the same, barely loud enough for him to hear, and retreated back to your room. You brought your nightmares with you.

The next night, you didn't fare much better. You woke from a nightmare at midnight, and soon after you heard Kakashi's door open. His soft footsteps moved towards the kitchen, and despite telling yourself that spending any more time with was a bad idea, you found yourself following the sound of the faucet and clinking glasses.

This time, he was sitting on the couch with a book, feet propped on Bull's back. Next to him on the couch was the volume of Icha-Icha that you'd been reading.

On the table in front of him were two cups of tea, steaming and warmly inviting you in.

You stopped to take in the scene, though Kakashi didn't look up at your entrance. Pakkun was on his lap, which seemed to be a common occurrence at this time of night, and the pug lifted his head to watch you as you contemplated whether or not to accept Kakashi's silent invitation.

Pakkun grumbled at you, eyes drooping tiredly. He was waiting for you to move, the little bastard.

You sat carefully on the opposite side of the couch, watching Kakashi like he would pounce at you the moment you let your guard down. He seemed unbothered by the attention, completely consumed by his book.

A bookmark was tucked into the pages of the volume you'd been reading. You remembered leaving it out on his bookshelf where you could easily find it, and you were almost embarrassed that he knew you'd been looking through his things. Still, you opened it to the bookmarked page and hesitantly began reading over the page.

Admittedly, the tea was very comforting.

Pakkun settled his head back on Kakashi's lap when you opened the book. Kakashi didn't move. If you didn't know better, you'd wonder if he had even noticed you sitting down.

Hours later, you were still glancing nervously between Kakashi and the book, though your distraction was becoming more infrequent. Kakashi looked completely engrossed in his novel, and it had been about an hour since either of you had moved past turning the page every few minutes.

You felt your eyes starting to get heavy, but the idea of sleeping was unpleasant at best. You didn't need Kakashi seeing you waking up from a nightmare. Not after he'd already seen it during the mission. But the idea of leaving the comfort of the living room seemed worse than risking having a nightmare in his presence.

Before you had fully made up your mind, your book had already fallen into your lap. When you drifted off, your nightmares were a distant memory.

You hadn't realized how addicting a pleasant night's sleep was until after you'd begun having nightmares again. What infuriated you was that the deciding factor for whether or not you had a pleasant night's sleep seemed to be Kakashi. You tried to think back and deduce what had triggered the seemingly random attachment, but came up empty. There had to be some reason for it, something logical that explained why you rarely had a nightmare when you slept in the same room as him.

Instead of giving you answers, thinking about it just left you frustrated. That didn't mean, however, that you stopped reading with him at night.

After the first couple of days, you fell into an easy routine. Kakashi would get up at around midnight, and when you gave up trying to fight the urge to follow, you'd enter the living room to see a volume of Icha-Icha on the couch and a cup of tea on the table. Each night, Pakkun would lift his head to look at you when you entered the room. You swore that his expression became more smug each time you came out.

After hours of reading with Kakashi, you'd fall into a dreamless sleep. Upon waking, Kakashi would be up and rummaging around the kitchen. Some mornings, a heavy weight in your lap would wake you, usually either Bull's large head on your thigh or Biscuit curling up on your legs.

Sakura generally woke next, though she never questioned your constant presence on the right corner of the couch. Instead, she'd take up Kakashi's empty spot and lay on your shoulder to continue resting.

You were relieved to see that she was already breaking her habits from the Red Room. Even just allowing herself more time to rest in the morning was a victory.

By the time Sasuke and Naruto wandered out of their rooms, Kakashi would have a small breakfast ready for the five of you.

The routine should've been comfortable. It should've been a sign that staying here with Sakura and the others would be good. And the problem was that it was making you comfortable. You weren't sure what to do with comfort. The unfamiliarity of it made you wary to accept it as your new normal.

But Sakura was okay. HYDRA thought you were dead. There was nothing keeping you from staying. You wondered if you'd get used to it if you just gave yourself some time. Maybe your nightmares would disappear completely, and the Red Room would become a distant memory that wasn't constantly trying to fight its way to the surface.

"Why do you come out here?" you asked Kakashi one night, almost a week since he'd come back to the house. You'd finished a volume of Icha-Icha and had been staring at the last page for at least five minutes, contemplating whether or not to say something. It almost felt wrong to break the silence that always persisted throughout the night; even more so when Kakashi looked at you instead of keeping his eyes focused on his book.

"Hm?" he tilted his head.

"You come out here every night," you stated, setting your book down. "When do you sleep?"

"I sleep when I'm tired," he shrugged, "same as you. And I like it out here."

It wasn't the answer you were looking for. What you really wanted to ask was why he'd been so sure that you'd join him every night that he made you a cup of tea and set out a book for you. You wondered when you'd gotten so used to it that you stopped questioning it altogether.

"I haven't had a nightmare in a week," you said instead. You felt like you were treading dangerous ground, and you almost wished you'd kept quiet.

"Oh?" Kakashi set his book down. "Good."

You nodded, though you knew by the tilt of his head that he saw your discomfort. He watched you flip absentmindedly between pages and waited for you to continue.

"I only started having nightmares like this when I met Sakura. Even when we were together, I couldn't figure out how to stop having them" you muttered, closing your eyes to try and stave off your impending anxiety. Sharing these kinds of things was frowned upon in the Red Room, and doing it now was almost painful.

Sakura was the one who taught you how to be open. How to be vulnerable. She guided you while you learned that the way you lived in the Red Room was not the only way to do so.

She'd be proud of you for this.

"I was fine during the mission," you glanced at him, "and I've been fine since I started sleeping out here. It was only when you left that I started having them again."

His silence was more frustrating than it should've been. Was he really going to make you say it?

"I don't get it," you huffed. You should've planned for the conversation better. Though at the moment, it wasn't much of a conversation.

"Neither do I."

Now Kakashi was the one who looked uncomfortable. He had admitted something. You didn't have the full picture, not yet, but it was a start. A start to understanding why you were becoming so dependent on him without wanting to.

"What?" you breathed, finally looking at him while he avoided your eyes. He looked down at Pakkun, who was staring at him with curious eyes.

It took him a moment to gather his thoughts. He looked at the ceiling, maybe hoping that the words he was looking for would be scratched into the paint. When he found nothing helpful, he met your eyes again.

"I've dealt with nightmares for a long time. But when we went on the mission, I stopped having as many. When I went to the compound, I had them every night. I saw Sakura being taken again and again. Some nights I saw..."

He paused and shook his head.

"Now they're gone again. I've been wondering why you seem to be the common factor."

It was hard to believe that he was having the exact same problem as you, and you couldn't decide if your mutual struggle made you feel better or worse. Mutuality would make it harder to break this habit that was beginning to form.

Did you really need to break it?

You silenced the voice in your head quickly. Of course you did. Whether or not you chose to stay, you couldn't live with Sakura and Kakashi forever. Soon or later, HYDRA would catch up to you. You'd seen it before. Runaway Widows rarely made a life for themselves. The idea of independence was often too much for them, and they came crawling back. That was one of the reasons Orochimaru raised Widows the way that he did. He knew that they wouldn't be able to stay away.

You felt that pull too. It kept you up at night.

"You look stressed."

"I am stressed," you said with a laugh, almost in disbelief that you were having this conversation with him, "It'll just be harder to leave if I know that you're..."

"So you decided?"

He asked it so nonchalantly that you almost answered, yes, you had decided. You wanted to stay, but you caught yourself. You hadn't decided. What you wanted was not the only factor you needed to consider. Sakura's safety was more important. It was more important than your own safety, so if leaving helped ensure that she was out of harm's way, that's what you would do.

"Can I say something?"

The fact that he was asking made you wary to give him permission, but you nodded.

"I think you're looking for a reason to leave," he said, "and you're trying to twist this into a bad thing."

"I'm not twisting it," you said with a glare, "I just don't understand why I can only sleep through the night when I'm around you. And even more confusing is why you can't seem to get a good night's sleep without me."

"Maybe you feel safe around me," he shrugged, and before you could negate the statement, he added, "and maybe I feel safe around you too."

"That doesn't make sense."

"Doesn't it?" he shifted, much to Pakkun's chagrin. The pug stood from his lap and wandered towards you, laying down with a disgruntled look in Kakashi's direction. "You protected Sakura in the Red Room for four years, and I've protected her for most of the rest of her life. It makes sense that we would see safety in one another."

It did make sense. So much sense that you wanted to throw the thought away and never revisit it again. The idea of relying on someone this much made a weight settle on your chest. Orochimaru hadn't taught you to need other people. He taught you the opposite. He taught you how to survive despite pain and fear, and eventually, he taught you how to crush those weaknesses. Now you couldn't handle a couple of bad dreams.

"Ironic, considering you attacked me when we first met," Kakashi spoke under his breath, though there was no trace of contempt in his voice.

"I thought you were testing me," you muttered, as if that was reason enough for the second time you'd attacked him.

You didn't understand this. You didn't understand why he was so insistent that you stay.

"Why does it matter to you what happens to me?"

"I think you deserve the chance to be happy. Just like Sakura."

You were so angry. Angry with Kakashi for making you rely on him. Angry at Orochimaru for turning you into this poor excuse of a human being. Angry at yourself for the tears gathering in the corners of your eyes, another sign of your weakness.

Silence crowded the room, and you felt pressed in by it. Tears fell down your cheeks in slow streaks, but you ignored them.

You couldn't keep from flinching when Kakashi reached a hand towards you. He paused, knuckles frozen inches from your face. You eyed his hand like you were waiting for it to form into a fist and strike you; waiting for the familiar ache of a bruise forming on your cheek.

When you met Kakashi's eyes, he moved closer until his knuckles brushed a tear off of your cheek. The touch was lighter than anything you'd experienced, and more gentle than you'd expected. Other than Sakura, no one had ever treated with so much care.

"Ino was wrong," he whispered, opening his hand and brushing his thumb over the wet trail where your tear had fallen. You were frozen in place, forcing yourself to not react to his touch. You wanted to flinch away or push him back on instinct, but nothing was hurting. Nothing felt wrong, "you're not a lost cause."

You had trouble believing that. Kakashi dropped his hand from your face.

"I'm sorry that no one told you that until now."

More tears followed the ones Kakashi had wiped away. This was too much. You were unprepared for the emotions that were swirling in your chest.

"It's too good," you croaked, voice watery, "all of this is too good. I shouldn't be in a place like this. I'm...I'm not meant for it."

"I thought that too," Kakashi said, voice hoarse, "a long time ago. I've done things that I regret, and for a long time, I was convinced that I didn't deserve to be happy. That my penance was to ward off anything good that came my way. But the things that we have been forced to do are not our fault. Our regrets don't define us."

You felt the lump in your throat growing the longer he spoke, and you tried your hardest not to break down in front of him.

"At least try," he murmured, voice quiet and low.

Your words were failing you. You still felt where Kakashi had brushed his thumb over your cheek. If you opened your mouth, you were afraid you'd only break down.

You nodded, and it didn't feel like a betrayal of Orochimaru. It felt like a second chance.

(previous chapter) | (next chapter) | (series masterlist)

Author's note | title is from "Through Me (The Flood)" by Hozier

[neesieiumz]

6 Months {Izuku Midoriya x Reader}

(Pro-hero!Izuku Midoriya x Former Pro-hero!Reader)

[PART ONE] [PART TWO]

L E A V E.

Summary: You were done. Done with everything. So what do you do? You move on. What's new? What's old? And who makes an even bigger space in your heart?

A/n: So this isn't based on another song, well technically it's still based on Sorry, but it's more like a part two to sorry than it being it's own separate part, you feel me? I know it took longer than expected, but there were so many paths I wanted to take and I didnt feel like rushing it. I really wanted to focus on flashbacks for this final part, your decision to leave the pro-hero scene, when Izuku and Melissa started to see each other... etc... I always made a gateway... in case I wanted to continue you and someone else's romance if I ever felt like it... So enjoy!

Support me on Kofi! Commissions are open!

Word Count: 8.0k

Warnings: Implied NFSW, but no deed is actually done, light drinking, (all in good fun)

___

Falling into your mother’s arms, you spilled everything from last night and this morning. On how you eavesdropped on his conversation, the confrontations from both this morning and at the brunch. Your father wasn’t home, left earlier this morning for his job. Both you and your brother moved out not too long after high school, him going on to college to become an engineer, and you moving into an apartment with Mina and Jirou while you worked for the same hero agency. Your mother was your closest confidant, she was the only one who could come to mind to tell her about what happened. She just held you, rocking you as you cried, cried about your broken marriage, and seeing the girl your husband abandoned you for. You cried about how both she, your dad, and your brother were right. How you should have never listened to him about giving up everything you worked so hard for. She held you in her loving arms, whispering sweet things in your ear.

“I should have listened to you,” you sobbed, holding one of the throw pillows close to you as you sat up on your couch, leaving her hold on you.

Your dress was bunched up to your knees so you pulled the wrinkled material out from under you as you shifted around on your mother’s leather couch. She pulled you into one last hug, the warm embrace making silent tears fall down your face. Your mom pushed the braids falling out of your now-loose bun from your tear-stricken face. Continuing to caress your face slowly, her slightly rough hands provided a familiar comfort from your childhood.

“This is not your fault, you can not blame yourself for his infidelity, nor can you blame yourself for sticking by your husband’s side and decisions. You did what you thought was right and absolutely no one can give you shit for believing in your marriage.” Her soft voice provides extra comfort to you.

“WHAT?!?”

You were in your family home, six years ago. You still had a couple of bandages around your face and arms. Recently, you just completed physical therapy, nearly regaining full control over your limbs. The fight you had was brutal, nearly leveled the entire city. However, you came out successful from it, even if it put you out of commission for over a year. However, since you’ve woken up, you and Izuku have been having intense conversations about the two of you and your futures together, which led you to the decision you’ve made today.

“YOU’RE RETIRING?!?!” Your brother yelled, standing up swiftly out of his chair.

You took a deep breath, keeping your head down as you nodded your head. It was just you, your parents, and your brother here, Izuku currently being in the top 25 heroes, had a lot of work to do so he could join you as you broke the news to them.

“Izuku and I have been talking and seeing how fast he’s going in the Hero Charts. This incident caused us to do some major thinking. The two of us worrying about each other on the job isn’t healthy. Having two heroes in a relationship, especially two who are going as high in the ranks as us as quickly as we are. Considering how there are a lot more people expecting Izuku to go higher since he’s All Might’s prodigy. So, I’ll be retiring and helping Izuku with his career from the sidelines.”

You let out another deep breath as you finished your monologue, your fingers twitching in your lap. You knew this was a decision your family wasn’t going to agree with, after all, it’s not like you don’t have your legacy to meet up with. Your mother, before Miruko, was the highest-ranked female pro hero in all of Japan. You had her legacy to go after since your brother decided to go into the family business with pro-hero gear.

“You can’t be serious!! After everything, you’ve worked for?!?! You’re just gonna give it up BECAUSE IZUKU SAID SO?!”

Your brother was the most pissed, after all, it was always both you and his plan that the two of you would live up to our parent’s legacy. He would become the best support gear inventor and you would become the best pro hero. So saying this puts a damper on the dreams you both had.

“You had one bad fight with a villain, but the doctors said you’re going to be cleared right?” You nodded your head at his question, “so why? Why would you need to retire after that one fight?!”

“Izuku proposed.”

Gasps of shock flew from heri mouths, you smiled sadly as you pulled your hand from under the other, revealing the small, silver ring with the pure cut diamond sitting perfectly in the middle of it.

“He’s the love of my life, and he’s the man who I want to spend the rest of my life with… to have kids with. We both understand how difficult this job is, and we both know how much I wanted to become a pro hero, but since he’s my endgame… something had to give. And so I did.”

Next was your father, having raised you since you were 3 years old. He saw how much you looked up to your mother, and to your grandmother as well. You come from a line from female pro heroes, and it was always your dream to continue that. He’s always supported you throughout the years, remembering all the times the two of you would work in his workshop on new hero gear, both with your brother and without as well.

“Y/n, don’t you think you’re rushing into this decision? This is everything you’ve been working for, and you’re gonna throw it away?”

“I know your concerns but this is for the best for me and him. I know being a pro hero was what I wanted, but…” you trailed off, looking away from your trembling hands.

Your mother, who was sitting beside you, could only stare at your trembling hands. Almost reminds her of the time she told her mother who she was marrying. How nervous she was, not because she was putting her career on the back burner, but because of what happened the last time she decided to pursue a romantic relationship with someone. She got you out of it, but it was still a painful journey. She took a deep breath, before shifting herself to where you were. She placed her hand on top of your own, making you look down at them before slowly turning your head to look at her.

“Are you happy?”

The question caught everyone off guard, their heads turning towards your mother. You slowly nodded your head, smiling at all the memories you’ve made with Izuku. When you first met as a transfer student, your first date and everything else.

“Yeah Mom, I’m happy.”

You took a deep breath, leaning forward as you shook the memory out of your head.

Meanwhile, your mom tried to lighten the mood, “Well, let’s hope your father doesn’t get to him… you know he doesn’t play about you… or your brother either.”

“He won’t be able to land a hit on him unless Izuku lets him.”

“Well, he better let him then!”

You laughed out loud at that, throwing your head back against the back of the couch. You could feel your mom get off the couch, leaning up as she headed to the dining table. Looking through the papers stacked on the wooden table, she pulled out a business card before walking back to where you were still seated on the couch. Your mom sat back down in her original seat, before handing you the same card of laminated cardboard paper.

Renai Miya, divorce attorney at law.

“Renai is a good friend of mine, she gave me that in case anyone I knew was getting advice soon. I’m sure she didn’t expect my daughter but I’m sure she’ll be able to help you out.”

You looked over at your mother, who just gave you another knowing smile. She just rubbed at your shoulders in comfort as you pulled out your phone.

---

Izuku was sitting at his office, ignoring the texts from both Shoto and Katsuki. After the argument and confrontation from this morning, he decided to stay in the office today and complete some overdue paperwork. Typing away on his computer, his mind began to shift from the email he was sent to the hero commission to the argument that happened between him, Kacchan, and Shoto.

“I’m sorry, YOUR WIFE JUST TRIED TO KILL YOU! We don’t know what would have happened if we hadn't come when we did!” Katsuki yelled, throwing his jacket off of his body.

“Izuku, this is a serious matter. We need to know what happened,” Shoto explained next, kneeling in front of Izuku’s crouching figure.

Izuku just shook his head, diving his head into the insides of his elbows. Shoto and Katsuki looked at each other, the concern shining in their eyes. They looked back at their trembling friend, who was now starting to rock back and forth while whispering “I fucked up.” over and over again.

“Izuku,” Katsuki started tentatively, “what did you do?”

Izuku stopped trembling and his rocking ceased as he raised his head slowly, locking eyes with his childhood friend. Katsuki’s leg began moving up and down in anticipation, waiting for him to say something.

“I don’t want to report this, trust me. So just pretend you never saw that.” That was all he said before standing up, pushing past them.

Izuku shook his head, focusing back on his emails. He sent the long paragraph he was typing, after making sure there were grammatical or spelling errors. He then leaned back against his office chair, throwing his head back. A gross, yet very familiar feeling was arising from his stomach, it was slimy, it was painful, it was guilt. He felt guilty, remembering how his wife looked at him at breakfast and right before she left. How the look in her eyes felt more painful than other villains could ever inflict on him.

Closing his eyes, his mind slowly drifted to a memory, a memory from three months ago.

It was dark, and Izuku was tired, so very tired from the shift he worked. However, he needed to do this. He needed to end whatever the hell he and Melissa had. The way they were conversing over private messages was getting too much. In a week would be his wedding Anniversary, and how his wife, Y/n, surprised him, reminded him about what he and Melissa had.

And how wrong it was.

He wore a black, sleeveless turtleneck, paired with a dark coat along with dark jeans. He had fake glasses on his face and his curly was positioned to cover his face so people wouldn’t recognize him. He kept his head forward as he approached the apartment complex Melissa mentioned she was moving into. After living on I-island for all of her life, she wanted a change of pace, especially since what happened with her father way back when. So she got a job as a top hero support inventor at the company where Izuku got his extra gear from. Since it’s also where Hatsume worked as well. He opened the door and walked into the lobby. He looked around the expensive-looking area, seeing the receptionist, and only one other person sitting on the complementary couch talking on the phone. He walked to the receptionist, who greeted him with a smile.

“Are you here to see someone?”

He nodded and gave his fake name, the one he told Melissa he’d be using, along with the apartment number that she gave him. The receptionist simply smiled before typing in her computer, before reaching over to the phone and pressing a couple of the buttons. Izuku could hear someone pick up, a muffled voice through the phone.

“Yes, Ms. Shield, A Iseada L/n is here to see you.”

Izuku took a deep breath, hearing the fake name he gave along with his wife’s maiden name. The receptionist gave off acknowledging hums to the person on the phone, who Izuku knew was Melissa. He rocked himself against his heels, feeling his fingers twitch around in his pockets.

“Alright, I’ll send him right up!” She ended the call, placing the phone back in its holder.

She then smiled at Izuku before pointing at the elevators behind him, “you can use an elevator. Ms. Shield lives on the fifth floor.”

Izuku nodded and thanked her before turning around to the elevators. He picked on towards the left and stepped inside of it, waiting for it to close before choosing the button that said “five.” The doors closed as generic elevator music played throughout the rising mechanical box. Izuku sighed, pulling off the fake glasses, before pushing his curls out of his face.

Third floor…

Fourth floor…

The elevator dinged as the door opened, revealing the fifth floor. Izuku stepped out of the elevator, using the signs on the walls to find his way to Melissa’s apartment. Walking past all the other doors, of the patrons of the apartment, who were currently sleeping to the world. Unaware that their number one hero was sneaking past them, claiming to be ending an illicit relationship.” Seeing the apartment number up ahead, Izuu could feel his heart beat faster. Taking another deep breath, he stopped right in front of the pitch-black door. Swallowing his spit, he closed his eyes before knocking on the door a couple of times. Almost immediately after he knocked, the door opened, causing Izuku’s eyes to shoot open, jumping back a little as Melissa stepped into the doorframe. Izuku was about to speak when his eyes drifted down to what she was wearing. It was a simple white t-shirt, ending right at her upper thigh. Izuku licked his dry lips, before looking back up at Melissa’s face who was giving him a knowing smile, that looked smug as well.

“Izuku,” her usually peachy tone came out a little subtle, silky and sultry, “I’m so happy to see you after so long. Come in.”

Izuku simply nodded as Messlia stepped to the side, allowing him to enter her expensive apartment, which could be classified as a penthouse. Izuku looked around, his eyes landing on all the decorations around her living room. He walked toward her wall, where she hung pictures. There were pictures of Melissa with her dad, her mom, All Might, and a couple of her friends from I-island. He continued looking around, before his eyes landing on a picture of the two of them, back when he was a first-year.

“You were so short back then,” Izuku heard Melissa say, as she came to stand next to him.

Izuku just nodded, continuing to look at the frames. He was enveloped in the nostalgia he was facing when he didn’t even notice Melissa coming up behind him. He only noticed her when he felt a hand coming up around his waist. He froze, his heart pounding away in his ears. She then stood right behind him, before pressing up against his back next, her hands now circling his waist.

“Melissa…” he started, feeling her fingers mess with his zipper and belt under his overcoat jacket.

God, was she wearing anything under that shirt? He could feel her breasts, her hardened nipples pressing against his back. He took another deep breath, licking his lips before moving his hands to where her own was and prying them off his belt, just as she was beginning to unbuckle it.

“Melissa, we can’t do this. I’m married. Happily married at that. I can’t keep doing this to her.”

Melissa only hummed, moving her body from behind his own, stepping in front of him. She was wet, her long wavy dripping down her face and body. The water from her wet hair dripped onto her shirt, her white, very thin shirt. Izuku’s breath hitched as he slowly glanced down her body, her nipples visibly being shown through the fabric.

“Yet, you can’t keep your eyes off me Izuku.” Hands grabbed at his jacket, pulling him closer to her.

Izuku gasped as Melissa brought her hand, cupping his face before bringing it down. Izuku gasped once again as he felt lips upon his own, feeling her other hand reach inside his jacket to pull him closer by the waist. Izuku was about to push her away, he needed to push her away. God, he was married for fucks sake, to someone who loved him dearly. But her lips, they felt so good to him. Glossed from the shower she took, they tasted of mint and strawberries. Izuku, taking a deep breath, went to push off his jacket, never letting go of the kiss. Mellissa, smirking into the kiss, helped him out of the jacket before squealing as Izuku scooped her up before slamming her on the wall.

“This is a one-time thing,” he mumbled against her lips, using his hips to hold her up against the wall as he took off his shirt next.

“Yeah…” Mellissa said with a skeptical tone, feeling his hands go under her wet shirt next.

“A one-time thing…”

Izuku groaned, throwing the papers in his hands across his desk. Taking a deep breath, he pushed himself out of his desk. He stood up from out of his chair, walking over to the wall which was replaced with windows, looking down upon the city of Mustafa. He could hear the faint sounds of cars driving and honking, he could see the civilians, everyone he protects. Looking across the street, he could see a cafe. It was one that he frequents since it’s so close. The door opened, and it revealed a couple. A laughing couple. The man was holding a medium-sized bag, with the logo of the cafe plastered across the bag. He was wearing a dark brown suede jacket that was buttoned shut. The woman was wearing a matching jacket, wearing as a dress, her curly hair pulled up in a bun. She held their coffees as they walked along the sidewalk. Izuku smiled sadly, before looking over to the couch in his office.

Laughter rang out inside the office, the sun had already gone down a long time ago and the night shift heroes were all out patrolling, leaving Izuku, a couple of sidekicks, and a couple of more janitors. It was your anniversary, but unfortunately, a string of villain attacks happened today. This pulled Deku out of his day off and kept him away. So, you decided to surprise me with dinner at his office. You cooked shrimp alfredo, packing it in pretty containers, before stopping by a couple of stores, buying a fancy cake that said “Happy Anniversary.” The last thing you bought was some expensive alcohol, a bottle of wine and champagne just in case. She then dressed up, a dark green silk dress paired with a matching coat and heeled shoes. She brought a few decorations before carrying all of that, using your clouds. Izuku smiled once he walked into the office with everything, abandoning his work and helped you set up the table.

The two of you enjoyed dinner together, talking about your day, specifically on how Izuku was swamped with back-to-back villain attacks. To the point where he was the same police officer twice in two different scenes. After dinner, the two of you move to the couch, still holding your wine glasses now filled with champagne.

“I have a gift for you,” Izuku mentioned, pushing himself up off the couch before going behind his desk, going through the drawers.

You giggled, shifting around the couch to get a little more comfortable, your jacket long discarded. Izuku hissed out a “here it is!”, before pulling out a neatly wrapped box, closing the drawer with his foot. You took another sip of your bubbly alcohol as Izuku skipped over to you with the box in hand.

“Here you go, darling!”

You smiled, placing your glass on the small lamp table to the right of you before sitting up and taking the box from your husband. He smiled at you as he sat beside you, seeing you begging to open up the carefully placed wrapping paper. Once all the wrapping paper was removed from the box, you gasped, seeing the logo on the box. BVLGARI. A smile slowly appeared on your face as you untied the golden silk ribbon. Slowly lifting the top of the box, you pulled out of the pure white tissue paper. This revealed one of the most beautiful necklaces and earrings you’ve ever seen. It was an emerald necklace, it had two emeralds, and also was decorated with mini diamonds along the border, and considering the brand, you knew it was real. The earrings were dangly and matched the way the smaller emerald looked on the necklace.

“Izuku… it’s beautiful…”

He smiled, taking the box out of your hands before taking the necklace out of the box. He whispered at you to turn around. Following his instructions, you swept your goddess braids to the side as he placed the necklace around your neck, the cool feeling of the metal tingly against your warm skin. Izuku then connected the chain, letting the necklace fall against your nape before leaning over your shoulder and placing a light kiss on top of her almost-bare shoulder. You shuddered, leaning into his touch as his hands moved from your shoulders, trailing down your body to rest them on your hips. You let out a moan, feeling him give your neck a nip, reaching up to grab him by his messy curls. You smirked, before sighing into the neck kisses he was leaving on your neck.

“You smell,” he inhaled slowly, “really fucking good.”

Giggling at his words, you placed your own hands on top of his own before turning around. You lifted yourself off the chair. Izuku lifted an eyebrow as you placed your hands behind your back.

“I have a gift for you too, it’s not a material gift but…” you trialed off as you reached up the straps of your dress, before beginning to slowly pull them down, revealing the thin straps of your expensive lingerie.

Izuku’s eyes sparkled as your dress trailed down your body, revealing the expensive material cut and crafted to fit your body perfectly. The way the emerald green clashed perfectly with your deeper skin. Your manicured hands trailed down your body as your dress pooled at your feet, leaving you in nothing but the sinful lingerie and the heels to match. Izuku licked his bottom lip as you slowly walked over to him, dragging your heels with each step. Lifting yourself, you slowly placed yourself on his lap, feeling Izuku’s hands immediately attach themselves to your hips. He gave you a sly smile, looking up at you.

“And you look so amazing,” he gave your body another glance, making you smirk and lean back, using your arms and hands to steady you.

You smiled, wrapping your arms around his neck before diving into a kiss. His lips tasted of mint and strawberries, it was a new taste but one you didn’t mind. Deepening the kiss, you gasped as you felt Izuku’s hard on all the way through his pants.

“I love you so much, Izuku Midoriya.”

A moment of silence went by.

“I love you too, Y/n Midoriya.”

Izuku took a deep breath and was about to open the next one when his phone, his personal one, started ringing. He reached in the drawer and pulled it out and looked at the screen. Sweetheart was calling, a picture of you and Izuku at your wedding anniversary plastered across the screen. Izuku was less blacked up back then, and you still had a crutch from your physical therapy from your incident. But god did you both look so beautiful and happy. Izuku was wearing his suit from the wedding but without the jacket and a couple of buttons unfastened. You, however, changed out of your wedding dress into a white velvet dress that was strapless and came with these long gloves in the similar fabric that you only wore for official pictures. Izuku was carrying you bridal style along with the rest of you and his family and his closest friends.

Izuku simply smiled sadly, before answering the call.

“Y/n?”

He heard nothing at first, nothing but the phone static so he called out your name again. This time he heard someone take a deep, trembling breath as if they had been crying for a long time.

“Izuku.” Your voice was scratchy, and hoars too. Izuku could feel his heartbreak and drop to his ass all at the same time. He did that.

God he was supposed to be a hero, save people and never let them down.

Now he may have just ruined his marriage.

“Y/n.” He said again, “how- how are you?”

“I’ve called a divorce lawyer.”

Oh. Straight to the bullet.

“We can’t- we can’t talk about this?”

“What’s there to talk about? You did this to me. You did this to us. Now face the fucking consequences of your actions.” Your voice was scratchy, the rasp appearing with each word you say.

“I know what I did.”

“And yet, you still did it.”

Izuku took a deep breath, leaning back into his chair. He looked up at the ceiling of his office, looking at the dazzling, overhanging chandelier in the middle of it.

“So there’s nothing I can say or do to convince you to stay?”

“You can have the house, as long as you pay me alimony for the next two-three years, for a reasonable price of course.”

You completely ignored his question, going straight into what was going to happen next. Izuku took another deep breath, this time leaning against his hand as he placed his elbow, pointed up, against his desk.

“So this is it?”

“This is it, Izuku. I told myself I would never lessen myself for a man, and I already broke that when I quit my job. I’m not gonna keep doing that to myself.”

“I-I love you.”

You gave off an airy chuckle as if you couldn't believe the words coming out of his mouth. And with that you ended the call, those being one of the last words you’ll be saying to him until the meetings between the two of you and your divorce lawyers.

---

“Y/n?” A muffled voice called out, pulling you out of your sleep along with knocks on your door

You pushed yourself off the bed, throwing the hotel blankets off your body. It was late at night, you went back home after your impromptu visit with your mother. You packed up what you could in one go before stuffing it in your car. You couldn’t see Izuku after that, so you tried your best to remove any trace of yourself from that house. You were just about to fall asleep, the tv playing a random 90s show for background noise. Digging through one of your suitcases, you found a robe to wrap around your body before moving towards the door.

You summoned lightning in one hand as you checked who was at the door. Seeing red-and-white hair, along with a bright blue eye and a dull grey eye, you took a deep sigh of relief before slowly opening the door. Standing there, wearing a raincoat and holding a closed umbrella was Shoto Todoroki. His hair that grew since high school was pulled back in a ponytail as he looked down upon with concerned eyes.

“Y/n…”

You took a deep breath, closing your eyes as he said your name. You then opened them back up before giving him a sad smile.

“Shoto… can I help you?” You leaned against the doorway, placing a hand in your waist.

“I heard from Izuku, the two of you are getting a divorce?”

You leaned into the hallway, looking to see if anyone saw him before pulling him into your hotel room. You closed the door and locked it behind you immediately before turning on the light. Shoto looked around the luxury rented room, seeing all of your suitcases and other items stacked up against a wall. Feeling your hands tremble, you sat on your bed, folding your hands underneath themselves.

“How did-“ your voice came out raspy and dry, so you cleared your throat before speaking again.

“How did you find me? I didn’t tell anyone where I was.”

Shoto simply smiled, “being the #3 hero has its perks. I figured you didn’t want a lot of people crowding around you so I said I’d talk to you.”

Hearing that, you lifted your head swiftly, “people already know about the divorce?”

Shot shrugged off his raincoat, revealing the long sleeve black turtleneck he was wearing. He placed his umbrella in a random corner before going to sit beside you on the bed.

“After what happened this morning, Izuku only told us that you’re leaving him… and wouldn’t tell us why. We called everyone, Uraraka, Iida, Kirishima, we even called his mom and All Might… all he said was that his marriage was over. No reason as to why…”

You let out a slight chuckle, your shoulders jumping slightly at the irony of the situation.

“So the only person you could come to was me, right?”

Shoto simply nodded his head, shifting his body closer to you.

“Y/n… I know you… you aren’t this rash person. You wouldn’t come to this decision on a whim. I thought you and Izuku were okay?”

Taking a deep breath, you spoke, “I thought we were okay too… Shoto I… he…”

Your body shuddered and shook as sobs flew out of your mouth. As tears fell, you covered your face and turned away from Shoto, hunching over yourself. That’s when you feel hands, one warm and the other cold, pull at you, grabbing at your waist before pulling you into a warm body. Shoto’s comforting hands and his placing you on the fireside of his body allowed him to let it all out once again. He didn’t say a word, only letting out soft shushes in your ear as you continued to cry.

You could hear nothing else other than the air conditioning and your cries echo throughout your room. It felt like an eternity before you slowly started to quiet down. Taking a deep breath, you slowly pushed yourself out of Shoto’s hold before getting up to get a water bottle. Shoto, his eyes still shining with concern, said nothing as you twisted the cap open and drank half the bottle.

As the pudding of your head slowly went away, you placed the bottle on the desk before sitting back on the bed.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to cry my eyes out all over you,” you apologized, grabbing one of the pillows to hold closer to your body.

Shoto shook his head, waving off your concerns, “it’s okay, it’s black anyways.”

You just nodded your head and looked away.

“Are you gonna tell me what’s wrong? Why are you and Izuku getting a divorce?”

You took a deep breath, your mind racing with everything you’ve been through… the day you met Izuku, the day you asked him out for the first time, the day he asked to be your girlfriend, the day he proposed… the day you two got married… everything.

“Izuku… he cheated on me…”

It was silent after that, the buzz of the air conditioning and the beeps of the cars below the two of you filling the tense air.

“He… he what?”

You bit your bottom lip as you spoke again, “he cheated on me, with Mellissa, you remember her right? Melissa Shield? All Might’s “niece”?”

Shoto nodded his head, shifting his body to face forward as he leaned forward, using his hands to steady himself. He lifted his head to the ceiling as he fully processed your words.

“Oh… oh wow… I never thought that he would do that.”

You scoffed, flopping back into the bed, “well me neither, and yet… here we are.”

You started to laugh, laugh at this situation, laugh at here you are now. God, everything was so fucked, wasn’t it? Feeling the bed shift, you could feel Shoto lay down on the bed beside you. He wrapped his arms around you before pulling you into him once again, this time leaving you on his right side so you could cool down. The feeling left sighing, leaning into his touch even more.

“Izuku is an absolute idiot, and I’m glad that you’re leaving him at the first sight of disrespect.”

Coming from Todoroki and his background, those meant a lot to you. You smiled before lifting your head to look at him.

“Thanks, Shoto, that means a lot.”

He smiled, before slowly removing his hands from your waist.

“I should let you sleep, I just wanted to come to check up on you.” He bent over to grab at his umbrella before turning around to grab his raincoat.

Sniffling, you nodded your head, wiping away your tears before getting up to see him off, “thanks for coming to check up on me… even though the way you found me was a little creepy.”

—-

You officially divorced three months after that day, Izuku tried to hold out as long as he could but soon enough even the number one hero couldn't hold out that long. The number of times you had to tell him you weren't going to come back to him was astounding, his stubbornness knew no bounds. You allowed Izuku to keep the house and he was to pay you a hefty amount of alimony along with the money he was to pay you for spousal distress.

When news came out that the number one hero and his wife would be divorcing, the media went into a frenzy. Even bigger than the one about your wedding. You had to rely on your family to help you out until the news and paparazzi left you alone. It was even worse on Deku, being the top hero and not even able to save his marriage? Talk about a blow to his reputation, it almost cost him the #1 spot. If it wasn't for the Incident at the Kasona Mall, where a villain decided to blow up a mall, where he saved over 50 people in one swoop, Bakugo would have finally been able to claim that #1 spot.

Speaking of pro-heroes.

H/n is back on the scene! Officially signing with The Todoroki Agency!!

You were a pro-hero again, stepping back into the spotlight after over six years. After not much deliberation, and encouragement from friends alike, you decided to come out of retirement once more. You had to retake the licensing process and test of course, but you passed with ease. Being a hero was almost like riding a bike, it was ingrained within you. After The Hero Commission reinstated you, you got so many offers. From Fatgum to LeMillion, and Gang Orca. However, you already promised a certain person that you would join up with him.

“You sure you want me Shoto?” You were sitting in his penthouse, visiting him after he got hurt in the Incident at Kasona mall.

The two of you had gotten closer ever since that day he found you in your hotel room. He helped you get back on your feet, helped you pick out a new house to live in, (since you left the house to Izuku), and helped you study to retake the test. He nodded, shifting his position on his couch. The movement however, caused him to wince as he had to move his arm, which slung into a cast. You immediately got up and helped him move into a more comfortable position without straining himself. He thanked you for the help as you sat back down, grabbing your glass of wine.

“Yeah, you were an amazing hero when you were active years ago. I know this is a decision I’ll lose no sleep over.”

You chuckled, sipping on the wine he put out for the two of you. He smiled softly at you, his intense stare causing your body to heat up slightly, or that could be from the alcohol, you honestly didn't know. You licked your lips, shifting your legs to help lessen that heated throb between your thighs.

“Alright, I guess I’m joining your agency.”

You grew out of your old outfit, so with the help of Hatsume and other designers, you got a whole new outfit. Instead of the original leotard/bodysuit you had when you were younger, along with the thigh boots, it all connected into all one large jumpsuit. It was black with purple accents adorning all across the outfit along with a brand new cape. You turned around, summoning clouds to lift you as you twirled around. Hatsume, the designer who made your new hero costume, Hokkaido, and Mina, who you also told about the true reason you and Izuku got divorced, all smiled as you felt out your new outfit.

“Well?” Mina asked, smiling as you landed on your feet.

You turned around, trailing your hands down your body, feeling the aft fabric and metal accents clash together on your body before smiling at yourself in the mirror.

“I love it.”

Your office was on the same floor as Shoto’s, him constantly relying on your knowledge and wisdom on other matters. The two of you were the leaders in the recent missions the two of you had taken together. This whole process was a lot like riding a bike, coming back easily. You had missed this, you had missed this so much, and you could tell the world and missed you too.

The media accepted your return with open arms, jumping right back to the top 20s. You were a very powerful hero after all.

After three months of coming back, making it six months since your divorce, your parents decided to throw a party for you. To celebrate you coming back, and ranking high on the Billboard Chart in so little time. You tried to get yourself out of it but they took no excuses. So you decided to make the most of it, you felt like a whole new woman. Placing your braids in a bun, you wore a strapless black velvet dress with matching long-sleeved gloves. You slipped on some ankle-strap, black stilettos, and pearl jewelry set to complete the look. The party was small but it was filled with life, all of your old classmates and even your old co-workers from your old agency even came. Mina, Jirou, Tsu, and even Yaomomo, as busy as she is, came. Kirishima even got Bakugou to come. Everyone was so excited to see you come out of retirement and take to the streets again. Some did try to pry into your broken relationship with Izuku, but you just ignored them and told them to enjoy themselves at the party.

“Y/n.”

You turned around to see Shoto standing there with two champagne flutes in his hands. You smiled and walked up to him, hands extended out for a hug. He wrapped his arms around the best he could with the two drinks in his hands. You giggled at his struggle as he tried to step back without spilling the drinks.

“I see your hands are full, Boss.” You winked as you took one of the flutes of champagne out of his hands.

He just chuckled as you guys cheered, clinking your glasses together before taking a sip. As the sweet liquid hit your tongue, your eyes trailed down his body at the suit he was wearing. All black suit with the jacket, with a white dress shirt, red tie and tailored to perfection. You licked your lips as he breathed in, seeing his chest press up against the white fabric. Clearing your throat, you pulled your eyes away from his chest as you looked up at him finishing his drink. You smiled at him and he returned it as he placed the glasses on an empty table.

“You seem so much happier.” You heard Shoto comment behind you.

You turned to face him and couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow.

“What do you mean?”

Shoto walked up to you, the proximity between you two making your heart pound this a little faster. He leaned down, using his right hand to make you look in his eyes.

“When you first announced your retirement, and when I saw you after that… I do not doubt that you were happy but…” he trailed, his grip on your chin tightening slightly.

“But… but what?” You let out a whisper, feeling his thumb softly move against your skin.

“There was still this sadness in your eyes, that I could never pinpoint but now… I can’t see it at all.” He let go of you after that, taking a couple of steps back.

You took another deep breath, pressing a hand against your chest to feel your beating heart.

Smiling at Shoto, “thank you, that means a lot.”

The two of you continued to drink together, whether it be champagne or something stronger. The more the drinks came around you two, the two of you drank, and the more you two drank, the more handsy the two of you got. Shoto’s arms never left your waist and would find themselves trailing lower and lower down your body. You would find ways and excuses to slowly caress his face or his chest. The two of you would just get closer and closer. Luckily, most everyone around was drunk so even if they did notice, it was unlikely that they would notice. Soon enough, people began to leave, wishing you the best of luck and congratulations.

Then it was just the two of you. Shoto, despite being as drunk as you are, helped carry you to your bed upstairs. As he laid you in the bed, you reached out to him, pulling him down onto you and your bed. You giggled as he flopped on his back, allowing you to quickly straddle him.

“Y/n,” he giggled, he was more emotional, happy drunk, “Y/n why are you doing?”

You smiled, licking and biting at your lips as your hands trailed down his body. Feeling at his chest, before trailing down his abs, your hands and fingers going ever ripple and ridge on his body before landing right in the top of his pelvic area, feeling his hard-on poke out through his slacks. You hissed slowly as you began to rock into him, your dress riding up with every movement you made. Your movements caused him to whisper curses under his breath, his hips buck as he grabbed onto your waist tightly. You gripped at his shoulders as he guided you up and down his waist, his touch leaving your skin electrified, the opposite temperatures causing trembles throughout your body. You then leaned down to plant light kisses against his neck

“You’re so fucking handsome,” you whispered against his skin, your fingers fumbling with the buttons on his dress shirt.

He just smirked before flipping you on your back, using his knee to spread your legs.

——

It was a week after the party and you had just gotten back from your shift of patrol. It was early in the morning, say almost 4 am, and you were ready to go home and get some sleep. Saying goodbye to your sidekick, you walked towards your office to get some final papers before going home. As you opened the door, you could feel dull light entering your vision. So you turned and followed where it was coming from only to find yourself right outside of Shoto’s door. That’s where you could hear the argument.

“Izuku I—”

“NO— I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU, YOU’RE SLEEPING WITH MY EX-WIFE!”

“I think you’re the last person to be concerned about what she does now!”

“You’re one of my closest friends, I’ve known you the longest! And you just stab me in the back like this!?”

“I think that you should leave Izuku before I make you. What Y/n and I have, it’s none of your business.”

You could hear a slam, and hear something break before hearing heavy stomps echo throughout the room. You hoped it didn’t come to them full-on fighting, you knew Shoto could handle himself against, however, when Izuku was mad, Lord did he get mad. You hope you won't have to face him again, after all this time.

“I don’t want to hear a word you have to say!! I should have known, you’ve ALWAYS been chasing after her! Since our time at U.A!

You tilted your head at that, confused at what he meant. Shoto has been chasing after you since high school? You thought that Shoto always had a thing for Yaomomo, despite her and Jirou getting engaged recently. It was because of that, you believed Shoto had shifted his focus onto you…

“So what? I thought I left her in good hands, out of all my friends, you were the ONLY one that I thought could give her a good life. I thought you could love her and only be with her! Now I see that I couldn’t even trust you with that! So you don’t get to decide how she spends her time and who she spends it with! Not after what you did to her!”

It went quiet after that, but you could still see the heavy breathing out of both of them. You bit your lip, heart pounding as you grasped at the wall, staring to hear to see if they speak under their breath.

“What… what are you talking about?”

“She told me… she told me what you did... How you cheated on her with Melissa. Don’t give me that look, I’m not gonna tell anyone. She asked me not to, it’ll do no one any good if it got all. They’ll just hound her for months for this.”

You could feel your body begin to rock back and forth, you could feel the tension rising all the way from the place where you would stand.

“So I say again, you have no right to have any say about what she does in her own time. Even when she was married to you, she was never yours! She’s her own woman, and after being suffocated by you, she deserves to do whatever she wants. I’ll be here, no matter what, and I’ll stick by her because that’s what people who truly love someone do!”

You couldn’t help but smile at his words, you could feel tears swell in your waterline. Taking a deep breath, you stood up slowly, brushing off any dirt or dust collected on your lap before walking towards the door. You gave a knock on the door, before slowly turning the doorknob to reveal a trashed office. Plants turning upside down, smaller tables flipped around, and books spread all across the floor. Your eyes then landed on the two of them, standing behind the bigger office desk. Izuku was holding Shoto by his shirt, and the two of them had intense looks on their faces. You took another deep breath, seeing the way Izuku looks after so long. He grew out his beard, despite him hating it so much. His already scruffy, curly hair grew even more unruly. His eyes turned towards you, the shock after seeing you so long causing him to lose his grip on Shoto.

“Y/n…”

You closed your eyes and rolled your neck before closing the door behind you.

“Shoto is correct, what I do with my time is absolutely none of your business Izuku. We’re done, we’ve been done for six months. If I’m going, to be honest, we’ve been done for a year… since you had an affair with Melissa for six months as well,” you stated, slowly walking up towards the two of them.

“So what I do with him, what I do with anyone… is no longer your business. Now get out!”

Izuku stood there, shocked at your words, slowly turning his body to face you.

“Y/n I…” You made a motion with your hands, quieting him.

“Izuku Midoriya, get out now!”

He jumped back, before turning back to Shoto, giving him one last glare before walking past you towards the door. You kept your back towards him, and the door as well, as he opened it before walking out, shutting it behind him. With that, you then turned to the last man standing in the room. You gave him a soft smile, slowly shaking your head as you amble across to him. You placed your hands on his biceps as he wrapped his arms around your waist. He smiled down at you, before leaning in for a soft kiss. You chuckled and smiled into the kiss, tightening your grip on his arms. You could feel the grip you had on you tighten with every second of the kiss. Once you let go, you slowly reached up to caress the side of his face with the scar with your hand.

“You look stressed… is it because of your day? Or because of the walking trash that just walked out?”

He chuckled softly at your words, shaking his head. You smiled as you walked towards his desk, moving some of the papers off before sitting on top of his desk. Shoto gave you an up and down glance, before walking towards you and standing in between your legs.

“So… why was Izuku here?” You asked him, rubbing at his shoulders and arms.

Shoto took a deep breath before leaning forward and laying his head on top of your shoulders.

“He came up here, accusing me of different things. I never found out he found out that the two of us were seeing each other… I was more focused on other things…”

Izuku was always so stubborn, that could be a good or bad thing depending on who side you were on. You sighed, nodding your head as you wrapped your arms around him.

“Let’s go to your place? I’m really tired and I honestly just want to get as much sleep as I can.”

You could feel Shoto smile into your shoulder, before nodding. You were about to push him off of you, so you could both get what you need and walk out together, a sudden force whooshed you off your feet, arms grabbing at you and carrying you in a bridal position.

“Shoto!” You squealed, holding on to his shoulders.

He just softly chuckled once more, as he carried you out of the office, nothing but smiles on the two of you’s faces.

___

Taglist: @tremendouswolfsaladranch @simi0603 @tanakasprayer @kirishimaisthatbitch @theadorkablezaza @katemocha @pineapplejuic3 @kehlaniwwe @honeylavender13 @p102ab @maybeisthemoon @dark-yuh @introvertatitsfinest @lazymooneye @yzviea @fan-girling-over-everything @@chscklvr @dragonsdreamoffire @superheros-and-others @gabbygibbsgirl

[scapegrace74-blog]

Ginger Snap, Chapter 2

A/N I am breaking probably the only rule I gave myself when I started writing fanfic, which was Don’t Ever Post a WIP.  But lord knows I’m not immune to peer pressure and the narcotic that is reader feedback, so here it is, the second chapter of what is now an open-ended modern AU story about Jamie the Chef and Claire the Kitchen Disaster.  Still a first person Claire POV, so I apologize in advance for any stray pronouns.

For the first chapter, I recommend reading it on Ao3, since I’ve made some minor edits since I first posted it on Tumblr.  See above re. not planning on posting a WIP.

Oh, and funny story.  When I decided to check the location of the real Ginger Snap catering company in Edinburgh, it was squished between “FrazersOnline” and “McKenzie Flooring”.  If that’s not kismet, I don’t know what is.  The location I describe below, however, is based on a catering venue here in Ottawa called Urban Element, where I’ve attended a few team-building events.  I have yet to set anything on fire, though.

I checked my phone for the third time, confirming I wasn’t lost.  

Frank and I moved to Edinburgh over the summer, just in time for him to start his position as Associate Professor of History at the University of Edinburgh. Despite our years spent in America, neither of us cared overmuch for driving, so we chose a flat (or rather, Frank chose a flat and I concurred) not far from campus.  Therefore, this was the first time I’d ventured as far afield as Leith, a maritime enclave just to the north of the capital that couldn’t seem to decide if it wanted to be grittily working class or artistically hip. 

When I finally reached the address, I had to smile.  No main street pretensions or non-descript commercial frontage for Ginger Snap Catering.  Before me stood a two-story red brick fire station, still emblazoned with the crest of the Scottish Fire and Rescue Services.  The two massive truck bays were now enclosed by see-through doors that could be drawn back on a sunny day.  Through these a warm yellow light could be seen, spilling onto the grey, damp pavement.

A petite woman with dark hair manned the small reception area, a red-haired toddler clinging to her like a marsupial.  She held a phone to one ear while simultaneously pacing the polished concrete floor.  I stood as unobtrusively as possible near the door, but in such an open space it was impossible not to overhear her side of the conversation.

“... they willna take ‘im back until ‘is fever goes down...  aye, an hour ago when I picked him up but it hasn’t... nay, i dinna think it’s... tis jus’ terrible timing with two weddings t’morrow... Could ye?  Och, I owe ye Mrs. Fitz, a million times o’er... Anytime, we’ll be here.  Alright, soon.”

The speaker turned to me, the harried look of a working mother sharpening her already honed features.

“I apologize fer keeping ye waiting.  What can I do fer ye t’day?”

Before I could respond, the young boy, probably no older than two, began to fuss, rubbing his flushed cheek against his mother’s shoulder.

“Och, mo ghille, Mam kens ye’re poorly.  Mrs. Fitz is coming as fast as she may.”

Unable to quell my instinct to diagnose and then cure, I spoke up.  

“I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation.  Based on his age and the way he’s holding his head, it may be an ear infection.”  At the woman’s penetrating look, I hastened to explain: “I’m a doctor.  Would you mind if I took a closer look?”

Permission granted, I carefully palpated the boy under the jaw and peered as best I could without an otoscope into the offending ear canal.  Confident in my diagnosis, I recommended treatment with a warm compress, an over-the-counter analgesic ear drop, and children’s paracetamol to control his fever.  If, after twenty-four hours the symptoms had not improved, they could consider seeing his pediatrician for antibiotics, but these were only truly necessary for a persistent infection.

“Och, ye ‘ave no idea what a relief it is tae hear ye say so, lass.  He’s my first bairn, ye ken, an’ I can ne’er tell if I’m over-reacting or being negligent.   Can ye say thank ye tae the nice doctor, Wee Jamie?”

My stomach jumped.  “Wee Jamie?  Is he related by chance to Jamie Fraser?”

“Aye, tis his nephew.  I’m Jamie’s sister, Jenny.  Ye ken my brother, then?”

The pieces fell into place, and my insides settled.

“We’ve spoken before,” I explained.  “I’m Claire Beauchamp.  You and your brother helped me with a dinner party emergency last Tuesday.  I came to return your market bags, and to thank you again for coming to my aid during my hour of need.”

Jenny and I spoke for another ten minutes, sharing the superficial narratives of two strangers brought together by circumstance.  She was warm and thistly by turns, and I felt a longing for the honesty of female friendship that I’d given up when we left Boston.  Eventually a matronly woman arrived to collect Wee Jamie.  I carefully wrote down the exact names and dosages of my prescribed remedy.

After Mrs. Fitz and Wee Jamie had left, it occurred to me that Jenny needed to get back to work.  I’d accomplished what I’d set out to do, even if I hadn’t thanked Jamie himself.   As I began to make my goodbyes, however, Jenny interjected. “If ye’re no’ in a rush, why dinna ye join our afternoon cooking class?  My brother will be demonstrating how tae make quiche.  Tis the least we can do, after ye helped Wee Jamie.”

Which was how I found myself standing behind one of six cooking stations arranged across the fire station’s main area, a bright red apron covering my black slacks and saffron turtleneck.  My impetuous curls were slowly breaking ranks from where I’d slicked them into a bun that morning.  I worried I looked like a human Pez dispenser.

I glanced at the workstation immediately to my left.  A slight woman who I guessed to be roughly my own age was engrossed in her phone, a cheeky smirk playing on her berried lips.  Her strawberry blond hair was swept into an effortless chignon that made me twitch with envy.  She looked up from her screen and caught me looking her way.

“Geillis Duncan,” she said, offering a well-manicured hand.

“Claire Beauchamp.  Pleased to meet you.”

“Is it yer first time taking a class, Claire?”  At my nod, she leaned in and whispered conspiratorially: “Ye’re in for a treat.”

Before I could enquire what she meant, a murmur amongst the other students (all women, save one) was accompanied by the heavy tread of work boots on polished concrete and a familiar Scottish burr.

“Good afternoon, everyone.  Thank ye fer joining me on this dreich Scottish day.  I ken a few of ye are new, so let’s start with a brief overview of yer stations and some basic safety reminders, before we tackle the quiche.”

Today Jamie was wearing a pair of olive pants that tapered down his endless legs and a technical shirt that clung valiantly to his upper body.  He looked like he’d just stepped off the nearest rock climbing pitch.  I wondered if he owned anything that answered to the name of a professional wardrobe, but I couldn’t deny that he looked impressive, in an athleisure sort of way.

“See what I mean?” Geillis hissed at me as Jamie made his way to the front of the hall, speaking now about optimal burner temperatures.  “That man is a dozen kinds of yes.”

I concentrated on each step of the ostensibly simple recipe.  Pie crust had been the previous week’s assignment, so I had only to blind bake the prepared dough already at my workstation.  Once I had the crust centered exactly in the pie pan, pierced with a fork in orderly rows and placed in the oven, I rushed to catch up with the others.  I’d missed Jamie’s instructions regarding pan frying the bacon, so I increased the flame, thinking I could make up a little time.  The fatty meat crackled pleasingly as I set it in the lightly greased pan.  I was inordinately proud of myself.

Things went very badly, very fast.  First, my eyes wouldn’t stop watering as I meticulously peeled then dissected the onion into near-transparent crescents. Tears obscured my vision and I tried to wipe them away without contaminating my hands.  To my left I could make out Geillis skillfully cracking eggs into a glass bowl, her pie crust already elegantly filled with crispy morsels of bacon and caramelized onion bits.  

A vague sense of having forgotten something important tickled my mind.  My pie crust!  Grabbing a silicone glove (I wasn’t making that mistake twice) I rushed to the wall oven and extracted the pan.  Giddy with relief, I saw the dough was only a little dark around the edges.  

Before I could return victorious to my station, Jamie uttered a Scottish noise of alarm from his vantage at the front of the class.   We both rushed across the room to where my rashers of bacon now resembled blackened shoe laces obscured by a heavy veil of smoke.  With practiced ease, Jamie lifted the entire skillet into the adjacent sink and turned on the cold water.  A cloud of steam enveloped his head, highlighting his auburn curls.  I bit my lip as he looked my way in amusement.

“I hope ye werena planning on serving quiche to yer faculty guests t’night, Ms. Beauchamp?”

I stood meekly next to Geillis for the remainder of the class, no longer trusted around open flame without adult supervision.   She graciously allowed me to extract her quiche when it was done baking.  It looked like a magazine cover.  Meanwhile, my workstation looked like the scene of an industrial accident.

While we were waiting for her quiche to cook, Geillis and I got to know each other a little better.  She was a Highland lass from up near Inverness.  Married to a wealthy older man, her life sounded like an endless quest for diversion.  Despite this, or because of it, she had a sharp-witted frankness that I appreciated.  She was also a hard-core gossip.

“Wee besom,” she remarked with a nod towards a blond girl who was currently monopolizing Jamie’s attention with endless questions punctuated by manufactured giggles and flicks of her pin-straight hair.  “Tha’s Laoghaire Mackenzie of the Mackenzie brewing dynasty.  They’ve a live-in cook, so there’s only one reason she attends these classes, and it isna for the quiche.”

I watched Jamie laugh over something the girl said, mineral eyes alight and his perfect white teeth on display.  I suppose I couldn’t blame her.  I wasn’t here for the quiche either.

The interminable ninety minute lesson finally ended.  I thanked Geillis profusely and we exchanged numbers before she rushed off for her reiki treatment.  Gathering my trench coat and purse, I tried to slink away without calling any further attention to myself.

“Ms. Beauchamp!”

I cursed under my breath, then turned to face him.

“Please, call me Claire.  After I nearly burned down your place of business, we should probably be on a first name basis.”

Jamie chuckled. It sounded more natural and lived-in than his earlier response to Laoghaire, but I was likely fooling myself.

“Och, wha’s a cooking demonstration wi’out a wee bit of drama.  Will ye be joining us next week?  We’ll be making ceviche, sae I willna need tae put the fire brigade on stand-by.”

“Bastard,” I replied to his cheeky smirk.  “Alas, I don’t think I’m cut out to be a cook.  It appears to be the one science I can’t master.”

“Cooking isna a science, Claire,” he explained with sincere intensity.  “Tis an art.  Perhaps tha’s the root of yer struggle.”

“Perhaps it is.  But in that case, I may as well give up now.  I haven’t an artistic bone in my body.”

His languorous perusal of said body lit a different kind of flame in my belly.  Geillis was right; he really was a dozen kinds of yes.

“I canna say as I agree.  Come back any time if ye’d like tae try again.”

I blushed, thoroughly discomfited by his blatant flirting.  He knew about Frank.  He’d fled from him onto my fire escape, for Christ’s sake!  Maybe when you looked like James Fraser, every interaction with a woman was merely a chance to hone your craft.  Or maybe he was truly ignorant of his effect.

“I’ll take that under advisement.  Thank you again, Jamie.”

“Until the next time, Arsonist.”

[anightflower]

Come and Find Me Chapter 6: 24 Hours

Hello my darlings, here is chapter 6 FINALLY. Thank you for letting me work on my mental health, I can’t express how much every interaction I’ve had with you has helped, whether it be a like, comment, or reblog, you guys have brought me SO MUCH JOY. 

Masterlist 

Spencer Reid x Reader 

Warnings: Violence, swearing, mentions of rape

Spencer clenched his fists to keep his hands from shaking. “What do you mean never see her again? Don’t you dare fucking touch her-”

“Tsk, tsk Doctor, there is a lady present. Though she can’t hear us at the moment.” The voice murmured condescendingly. “But I am a fair man Doctor, I will let you speak to her, eventually.” 

“Let me speak to her now.” Spencer growled. 

“So demanding Doctor, but I suppose I’ll oblige you, if only because she looks so broken right now.” The voice cooed. 

There was silence on the phone for a moment, the beeping of buttons and then, your voice. 

“What do you want now you sick bastard?” You sounded tired, defeated. Spencer felt his heart break. 

“(Y/N), can you hear me?” Spencer asked urgently. On the live feed, you head shot up and looked around. 

“Spencer?” Your voice broke and tears blurred your vision. “Am I dreaming?”

“No, no! I’m coming to find you baby. I promise, this sick bastard is not going to win-” Spencer said encouragingly.

Hope filled your eyes, but quickly disappeared behind nerves. You had to tell him the last place you were. He had to find you and you didn’t know how much time you had left. 

“Spence, I made it to Florida, call the hotel I was at. They might have security footage-” Your voice was cut off. 

“Now, that’s no fair. She can’t help you.” The voice said angrily. 

“No, put her back on the line you sick f-” Spencer yelled into the phone desperately. He could see that you were still talking on the video feed. Tears slid down his face as he watched you mouth “I love you.” You didn’t even know that he couldn’t hear you anymore. 

“24 hours doctor.” The voice said and hung up. The live feed went black.

“It’s a burner phone. I could triangulate it to two cell towers, but that could put it anywhere in Miami.”  Penelope explained.

The room was silent as they waited for Spencer’s reaction. His shoulders were tense, he still eyed the screen, his back completely turned to the team. 

“Spencer?” JJ asked, gently coming up to him. 

“JJ, I’m going to give you the number to (Y/N) hotel. I need you to get any security footage you can from them. Penelope will use face scan and analyze it.” Spencer ordered, his body still tense and unmoving. 

“I’ll contact them and the local police down there, have them start looking for (Y/N)  and set up a place for us at their precinct.” JJ reassured. 

“I’m going to call Hotch and Rossi, I’ll tell them to meet us at the jet.” Emily said. “Maybe they got something out of Curtis that can help us out.” 

Spencer nodded, unable to form words around the tightness in his throat. 

“We’ll get her back Reid, and then we want a proper introduction.” Morgan teased, trying to ease Spencer. 

As they all began to move to grab their go-bags, Spencer’s phone rang again.

Spencer took a deep breath, as he glanced at his phone. It was Ava’s contact. 

He quickly answered it. “Ava?” 

“Spencer,” Her voice sounded terrified. “I need you to come to this address, I think (Y/N)’s in danger.”

________________________________________________________________

You jumped as the door to your “room” slammed open. 

“You stupid bitch!” The voice wasn’t as deep now without it’s automated assistance, but his voice was still muffled behind a mask. It was a cheap plastic Halloween mask, the one you get so you can decorate it however you want. It’s blank white stare covered his whole face. 

He stalked his way toward you angrily, causing you to push yourself further back onto the bed. There was no place for you to go. 

“You just couldn’t keep your mouth shut huh? You are so moon eyed over your Doctor that you fucking cheat. You whore!” He grabbed your ankles and pulled on your chains, dragging you down the bed, causing you to scream. His grip was hard enough to leave bruises. 

“Do you know what happens to whores?” He growled. “They get what they deserve.” 

He tried to push your legs open, but you clawed at his arms, hard enough to break your nails and draw blood. As he tried to draw his arms back, you scratched at his face, ripping the mask off and catching one of his eyes.

He let out a pained scream and backhanded you across the face. You yelped as it sent you flying back against the bed.

You quickly pushed yourself up, readying yourself if he tried to advance on you again. He was hunched over, grabbing at his face, blood leaked from where your nails had dug in. 

“It wasn’t supposed to go this way.” He said enraged. 

Your body froze at that voice. A voice that you knew all too well. A voice that didn’t speak much, but when it did, there was always a smile on his face. 

“No.” You whispered softly.

________________________________________________________________

Andrew Curtis, 29 years old, 6’4. Auburn hair, brown eyes, and a friendly smile that had made women trust him when he had come into their home. 

The man in front of him was smug, too smug for someone who is going to be behind bars for the rest of their life. Hotch wished he could tackle him to the floor and wipe the gleeful look off of his face. 

5 innocent women, almost 6. Women with families and lives just wiped from the world because of the sick bastard in front of him. 

“Oh Agent Hotchner, Agent Rossi, what brings you to my humble abode? I’ve recently redecorated, I hope you like it.” Andrew Curtis laughed. 

Hotch and Rossi didn’t deign to respond, hiding their disdain behind a stern blank mask. 

“Ouch, so cold as always, here I was hoping something interesting happened for you to come visit me.” Curtis said with a pout. 

“Rumor has it you’ve been receiving letters from an outside anonymous fan, care to enlighten us more about him?” Rossi said, voice cold. 

“Not even a greeting, a little catch up? How is the rest of the team, Prentiss, JJ,- oh and my dear favorite doctor Reid.” Curtis purred.

“I did always find your connection to Reid fascinating, you only let him talk with you and a little bird told us you keep newspaper clippings about him and much of his thesis and research work.” Rossi pushed, ignoring Curtis’s taunts.

“Oh my guards are such gossips, but I suppose there's not much else to keep them entertained around here.”

Hotch let out a growl. “Let’s skip the games Curtis. You know you have nothing over us, you’re locked here for the rest of your miserable existence and then some. We will not be your source of entertainment. Who have you been communicating with?”

“You know, I never thought you guys would catch me, and it truly took a toll on me when you did. But I had a small victory knowing that you had gotten some of my profile wrong.” Curtis smiled and it made ice fill Hotch’s veins.

“Oh and how is our profile wrong? You’re still in a cell aren’t you? Everything we said turned out to be correct.” Rossi said confidently.

“You might have profiled me correctly dear Rossi, but I am afraid you missed a small crucial detail.” Curtis hummed proudly. 

“And what would that detail be.” Hotch urged. 

“The kind that costs ya Hotchner. Maybe a nicer cell, with a little less security.”

Hotch and Rossi exchanged a look. Could it be worth it? 

Hotch dipped his chin in agreement. Yes, if only for Reid.

“We will see what we can do.” Rossi said slowly.

A smug look crossed Curtis’s face as he leaned back in his chair, satisfied. He looked like the cat that got the cream and the male Agents across from him hated it. “Allow me to let you divine profilers know, that you were wrong and that you might have caught me, but you did not catch my prodigy.” His victorious laugh bounced off the walls, grating the tense room.

“Your prodigy?” Hotch probed, his voice dangerously low, a sign that he would explode if he wasn’t careful.  Rossi gave him a side glance, an attempt to remind Hotch to keep a steady head. 

“Oh yes, it’s a thrill really, knowing that he is still out there, maybe he already has a new victim! But guessing by the fact that you are here, he already took someone, didn't he? Did he leave a calling card?” 

Rossi and Hotchner remained silent and stern faced. 

Curtis cackled, ”He left my calling card didn’t he? Your faces say it all! Oh boy, he really is my best student.”

“Who is he Andrew? We need a name-”

“He finally did it, he got the girl didn’t he?”

“Got who?” Hotch asked. “Curtis is a narcissist, play to that and he will give everything up in no time.” Rossi reminded him before they went into the room.

“Your dear Doctor’s girl! He left hints, but I wasn’t sure that the kid had it in him to be honest, he always seemed too soft.” 

“You sure talk a mean game for someone who doesn’t know what’s going on.”  Hotch growled, knowing this would rouse up Curtis. 

“Oh come now Hotch, don’t play coy with me.” Curtis growled, “He’s got (Y/N), pretty (Y/C/H) haired thing, who if my little brother didn’t care so much for, would have been one of my own victims.”

“This prodigy is your little brother?” Rossi asked, not allowing Curtis to find out if he was right or not. 

“No, not blood related, just someone I took under my wing.” 

The door to the interrogation room opened and a guard popped his head in. “Agent Hotchner, you have an urgent call from an Agent Prentiss?”

“Of course, excuse me.” Hotch said, getting up and making his way out of the room.

He came back less than a minute later. “Agent Rossi, they’ve found a lead.” 

Now it was Rossi’s turn to smirk. “Looks like we won’t be needing you after all Curtis, but do enjoy your current view.” 

Curtis growled and yanked at his chains. 

Rossi rolled his eyes as he got up to leave.

Right as Rossi was about to leave the room, Curtis’s voice piped up, “Nothing brings me more joy than knowing I tricked you, that you profilers failed to figure out that I didn’t work alone. Your devout profiling method was wrong and now my prodigy lives on, achieving his dreams, and ruining you and your doctor in the process.”

Rossi slammed the door shut to block out Curtis’s manic laughter. 

________________________________________________

I was thinking of doing a permanent taglist for all of my fics, if you’d like to become a part of it please let me know!

TAGLIST 

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[jeks-tgs]

Would you maybe be willing to write a one shot about Henry self harming and people finding out, being shocked and promising to help him? If you don't want to that's totally okay, of course.

TW: self-harm, eating disorder as a means of self-harm, blood, depression, panic attacks

"How many times do I have to tell you.. I can hEAR YOUR BLOODY MONOLOGUING!!"

Henry brought the empty wine bottle down with a loud 'SMASH', shards of glass flying everywhere. He pulled his hand back with a yelp, staring at where a shard of glass had imbedded itself in his skin. Hyde's words faded out in his head as he watched the dark crimson well up and steadily slip down, a stark contrast to his pale flesh. He loosely gripped it with his other hand, pulling it out slowly, dragging the sharp edge against the skin to create a longer cut. That.. felt bad. It felt good. It felt, and that was what mattered.

"Hello!? Are you evem paying attention to me!?!" He blinked as he came back to himself, staring at Hyde with wide red eyes. He felt shame and guilt creep over him for what he'd done. There were people with real problems stuck in Bedlam because of this behaviour, and here he was, with no excuse, hurting himself. He kept his mouth shut as Hyde began berating him, the insults sinking deeper than usual as he bandaged up his wound. He deserved this for being so horrid as to harm himself, he reasoned.

Still, while cleaning up the mess, it was hard not to save a piece of glass for later...

---

Accidents like that started to occur more often. First it was scalpels slipping when usually his hands were so steady. He found he didn't care, and if Ito gave him disapproving frowns, it only added to his reasoning; if his own apprentice was unimpressed with him, he must deserve to hurt. He managed to convince himself he truly was just a lousy alchemist, that he was just losing his touch, that he didn't lean into the tremours and urge the scalpel to slip and cut him.

Then it was the bunsen burners, carelessly placing his hand on or near them, not quite pulling away as fast as he should, not bothering to clean the burns properly. His previously smooth skin was starting to amass a cluster of scars and burn marks, chemical burns soon joining the mix as he grew reckless while mixing formulas and handling acids. His nails, so neatly trimmed before, were now grown out into subtle claws, which raked at his arms and his torso whenever the blood rushing in his ears got too loud. Accidents, he convinced himself. All of them accidents. He didn't deserve the sympathy associated with the words 'self-harm'. No, he wasn't struggling, he was just.. clumsy. Careless. A bad scientist.

It was even easier to convince himself the pain in his stomach was from lost track of time, to pretend that he didn't glance at the clock to make sure he never took his breaks during meal times. If he took too long getting ready in the morning and had to miss breakfast to rush to his office, well, he was just vain, and that was a consequence of being such a horrible, selfish person. Hyde's distressed hissing about him 'wasting away' was merely justified insults hidden behind false concern, nothing more. He was fine, his pain was deserved, and nothing was wrong at all.

It was when he switched to purposely dragging the scalpel across his arms that he started to grow wary and unsure. If someone saw him cut his fingers, well, he was just a lousy doctor, Ito already talked about him to the other Lodgers and none of them were concerned. If someone saw him dragging a scalpel across his arms with intent, however, what would they think of him? That he was a privileged, whiny mess mimicking the mentally ill for attention? That he was a horrible devil for not appreciating his mentally sound mind? They would hate him for sure, wouldn't understand that he simply deserved to hurt, wouldn't understand that he needed to be in pain as a punishment for how awful he was! No, he had to be careful not to let anyone see him.

The lock in his office door was soon turned daily, not allowing anyone inside.

---

Eventually, he came to a conclusion that he must be some perverse mongrel for liking the pain. A new feeling of shame blossomed over him as his brain twisted and turned, hungrily feeding upon this notion that his injuries were merely for pleasure. Oh, if anyone saw him! How quickly his reputation would shatter! Dr. Jekyll, the sexual deviant of mad science who gets his jollies off to workplace mishaps! He'd be ruined! Not that he didn't deserve the scorn, the hatred, the comments, but.. he didn't want to lose Robert.

His hand paused as it was in the middle of placing a new cut. If Robert saw him.. if Robert found out... unwelcome tears began to well up and slip down his face. He sniffled, then let out a weak sob. He grasped at his face, heaving for air, beginning to panic. If Robert left him, he didn't know what he would do. Hearing the scorn and the anger in Hyde's voice for his actions was one thing, but hearing that venom from Robert? He'd rather die. He clutched qt his head, tugging his curls hard in an attempt to snap out of it. No use. He stood up on shaky legs, stumbling towards his liquor cabinet, blood dripping down onto the hardwood floor. He'd cover his wounds later, right now he just needed to numb himself, to.. t-to..

Unable to keep steady anymore, he collapsed, hands burying themselves in his hair. He found himself rocking back and forth, just trying to calm down, his breaths coming out in strained gasps and whimpers, broken by the occassional sob.

"Henry?"

Henry let out a frightened wail, quickly biting down on his lip to smother it. Blood began to trickle down his chin, but he paid it no mind. The noise must not have been cut off in time, as he heard the person on the other side call out, "Henry!? What's wrong? Are you hurt?" To his horror, the door handle began to turn. He'd forgotten to lock it.

"Henry? What on earth are you doing on the-" Robert froze as he took in the current state of the room; a bloodied scalpel on the desk, blood spatters in a trail leading to a clearly injured Jekyll, curled up in a ball on the floor, the bloodied smears on the handle of the liquor cabinet. Slowly, realization dawned on his face, and Henry sobbed as he saw horror quickly follow. "Henry... oh, G-God, Henry.. what have you done to yourself..?" Robert moved to approach, only to pull away as he heard his best friend let out the most pitiful, heart-wrenching, terrified sound he'd ever heard a person utter.

"Dr. Jekyll?" Ito stuck her head, drawn by the noise, only to stiffen as she took in the scene before him. She slowly moved to stand beside Robert, hands trembling. "Is he..? D-Did he..?"

"Go grab some antiseptics, bandages, and medical thread, please," Robert said softly. Ito hesitated, then turned and left, looking over her shoulder with worry. Robert slowly walked towards Henry, crouching down in front of him. Henry flinched away when Robert tried to touch him, gasping, "P-Please, no, don't-! Don't send me to Bedlam, I-I can explain!" Robert felt his heart catch in his throat. Despite how much Henry's continued pleading hurt him to hear, he needed to make sure he wasn't about to bleed out. He gently took the Scotsman's arm, checking the cuts. When Ito came back, a few Lodgers peeked in behind her, worry and fear in their eyes. She handed Robert the medical supplies, and he began the gut-churning process of cleaning the mutilated forearms of the man he'd loved since college. Henry whimpered and yelped, trying to pull away, but Robert simply hushed him as gently as he could and finished cleaning his arms.

"Nothing too deep, thankfully," He murmured. "Won't need to sew anything, just bandage it." He carefully wrapped up Henry's arms, ignoring the tears currently slipping down his freckled face. How had he not noticed? How had he not looked at such scrawny wrists and realized Henry wasn't eating? How had he not seen the way he flinched when his arms brushed against something? How had he not seen the pain in those red eyes? Now wasn't the time to wallow in guilt, though, he needed to help Henry.

"Henry, can you stand up?" He asked softly. When Henry shook his head no, he carefully gathered him into his arms. He felt his worry increase at how light he was. "Alright, I've got you, don't worry. We're going to the infirmary, okay? You need to lie down and rest." Henry whined, the bags under his eyes only emphasizing how weak he looked at the moment. Robert hushed him again, carrying him past the horrified Lodgers up to the medical wing. He set him down on the bed farthest from the door, knowing Henry would want privacy and space. His panic attack must have taken alot out of him, as the alchemist faded into a troubled sleep as soon as he was situated in the hospital bed.

"..I won't fail you again," Robert choked out, wiping at his eyes with a shaky breath. "I'll be strong for you, okay? I'll help you. I'll protect you. Just.. please.. don't leave me, Henry. I can't bare the thought of you gone." He brushed Henry's bangs aside, kissed his temple, then sat in the chair beside his bed, anxiously waiting for Henry to wake up so they could talk, and hopefully he could help him.

[sdottkrames]

Doors That Were Previously Closed (Bros)

@comfortember Prompt 23: Exhaustion

Summary:

Bruce was starting to freak out. Was Peter sick? Had something happened on patrol- some injury he was hiding or some poison he’d been exposed to? It wouldn’t be the first time.

Tony’s gonna kill me! he thought

Bruce knew how much Peter meant to Tony and he was pretty sure not even the hulk would be able to keep him safe if something happened to the boy. He was /this close/ to forcing Peter in the med bay for some tests when he suddenly let out a loud snore.

Notes: Finally caught up a little bit, so I’ll be posting one a day again! Only 4 more left after this, which is insane!!! Thanks for all your love and support, as always.

Read on AO3: Here

 Peter looked at his schedule for the week and groaned.

He had a million projects or exams due, and on the day that he didn’t have Academic Decathalon after school to train for their upcoming meet, he was scheduled for his internship with Tony. And that wasn’t even counting Spider-Man duties.

“Tony, I’m going to actually die this week. Can I, like, fake my death and then come back in a week and a half with everything done?” Peter said after complaining to his mentor about his busy week.

Tony just chuckled. “I’d much prefer you alive, even if the death is fake.” His tone was light, but Peter knew Tony’d had a hard time during the five years he was gone, and could hear the strain behind the words. “How about during internship time, we just take it easy. I gotta finish up a prototype for SI, but it’s almost done, anyway, and shouldn’t take us working together more than a half hour. We’ll finish that and then how about I quiz you for that decathlon meet, or work with you on one of those millions of projects.”

Peter sighed, gratefully. “Yeah, that’d be great.” Gratitude for his mentor filled Peter and gave him the strength to believe he could make it through the week. “Thanks, Tony, you’re the best! I love you.”

“I love you, too, kiddo.” Tony’s voice was soft and mushy, and Peter secretly loved that he got to hear it like that. He grinned to himself as he hung up, then took a deep breath, turned on his “focus” playlist, and got to work.

***

TS: Hey kid, sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but I’m gonna have to rain check on lab day this week. SI meeting that I absolutely can’t get out of, “even for Peter.”

Peter stared at his phone, disappointment on his face. He’d worked so hard that week, and had been looking forward to a relaxing day with Tony, and having some help studying. He really needed to go over his notes to be ready for the meet- AcaDeca had taken a back burner for Spider-Man, and he’d been wanting to put forth a more concentrated effort to help his team.

Now he wasn’t so sure he could do that. But before he could wallow too long in his thoughts, his phone pinged with a text from Tony.

TS:  But before you get all mopey, Underoos, Bruce agreed to take my place and study with you tonight. And I’ll get out of my meeting before you know it! 

TS: And don’t forget to breathe. I know he’s “Bruce BANNER!” But he’s still just a guy. Don’t freak out. You’ll do great.

TS: love ya kid

Peter was left staring at his phone again, this time not in disappointment but in disbelief for two reasons. 1. It was scary how well Tony knew him. He probably should be used to it by now (they’d both reached the point of handing each other tools without needing to ask for them) but it still surprised and touched him whenever it happened. And 2. BRUCE BANNER?!

He took Tony’s advice and just breathed. Tonight was going to be awesome.

***

“Hey Dr. Banner!” Peter said as he bounced into Bruce’s lab in the compound. “Thanks again for helping me with my chemistry notes. Tony said he was forced to go to a meeting with Pepper, so I really appreciate you agreeing to help me!”

Bruce looked up, an easy smile on his face. “Of course, Peter. I’m glad I could help.”

Bruce had met many, many people in the course of his work as both a scientist and an avenger, but none of them ever really made him smile like Peter Parker did. The boy was just always happy. He talked a mile a minute, but Bruce found it more endearing than stressful, unlike other people. And the hero worship in the kid’s eyes did wonders for his self esteem. Especially since Peter looked at Bruce that way, not The Hulk.

“So, it’s just for academic decathlon. We have a meet coming up soon and I need to review the chemistry questions,” Peter said.

“Not a problem. I need to finish this first, though, if you don’t mind.”

Peter nodded and began pulling stuff out of his backpack, sitting in the chair Bruce had pulled over for the kid. 

Once Bruce finished his project, he looked over at the young boy who had been patiently waiting for him. But Peter wasn’t looking through flash cards like Bruce had expected. The kid was staring at the wall.

Is this normal for him? Some sort of spider thing? He thought. Peter snapped out of it as soon as Bruce called his name, so he didn’t bring it up.

Bruce took the cards and began quizzing Peter. The kid was smart, and Bruce was very impressed. His lightning answers were almost always correct, and though Bruce had to explain a few things for some questions, Peter absorbed it quickly.

About an hour in, Bruce began to notice more things that were off about Peter. His words began to slur a little, he would need Bruce to reask the question, or forget something that he very clearly knew.

Bruce was starting to freak out. Was Peter sick? Had something happened on patrol- some injury he was hiding or some poison he’d been exposed to? It wouldn’t be the first time. 

Tony’s gonna kill me!

Bruce knew how much Peter meant to Tony and he was pretty sure not even the hulk would be able to keep him safe if something happened to the boy. He was this close to forcing Peter in the med bay for some tests when he suddenly let out a loud snore.

Bruce looked up in shock. He’d evidently been zoning out in panic, staring at the cards, and suddenly all of Peter’s symptoms made sense. Bruce mentally kicked himself for not putting two and two together. The kid had had a rough week, after all, of course he‘d be exhausted.

Some doctor! He thought ruefully, but ultimately decided to consider it a side affect of the superhero life

He packed up Peter’s cards and then stared at the sleeping boy, unsure what to do. Peter didn’t look comfortable, his neck leaned forward at an awkward angle, his legs crossed and sure to fall asleep. 

Sighing to himself, he gently slide his arms under Peter’s and lifted him up. Peter was incredibly light thanks to his spider DNA, and Bruce had no trouble carrying him thanks to the gamma radiation in his DNA. As he lifted the sleeping boy off the chair, Peter whimpered slightly, and then wrapped his legs around Bruce’s middle, nuzzling into Bruce’s neck. 

“Okay, then, kiddo,” he murmured. “This is fine.”

He carried his precious cargo to the elevator and up to the common area, deciding to let Peter nap while he made a snack and watched a movie. However, it quickly became apparent that Peter had other plans.

As Bruce tried to put Peter down on the couch, his shirt was very nearly ripped off his body by Peter’s sticky fingers.

“Pete, you gotta let me go, kid.” There was no apparent change. “C’mon. Let go. Give me back my shirt.” After a few more murmured pleas with no luck, Bruce accepted his fate and laid down on the couch, clingy Spider and all.

But for all his discomfort, Bruce had to admit that he really did love Peter, and he didn’t mind the innocent physical affection, which was fairly rare for him. That door had been closed for years by his big green alter ego to ensure everyone's safety. He found himself relaxing under Peter’s weight, the kid’s steady breathing making it easier for him to breathe, too. He found himself more relaxed than he’d been in months. (It’s honestly amazing what some physical touch can do when you’re touch starved).

Bruce was very nearly asleep when the door opened and caused him to nearly jump off the couch. Luckily, he didn’t, and Peter continued sleeping peacefully.

“Hey,” Tony called from where he was kicking off his shoes by the front door. “Is he asleep?” Before Bruce could answer, Tony walked over, and a knowing grin spread across face when he saw Bruce’s current predicament. “Kid get sticky on ya?”

Bruce nodded, patting said kid’s back gently.

“Yeah, he does that.”

Bruce could tell Tony wasn't just talking about the sticky super powers. Peter had a way of working his way into everyone’s heart. 

“Yeah, he does,” he whispered.

Tony put a blanket over the cuddly spider and his unfortunate victim, and then the two adults settled in to finish the movie, Peter still firmly attacked to Bruce’s shirt. But Bruce didn’t mind.

[jenoptimist]

 there was something freaky about the Jeongs and you were going to find out what it was

When the girls around you squealed loudly, you had to wonder if it was really worth being in the indoor community basketball court where your school’s team was playing against another school from a town miles away.

It wasn’t that you had anything against the sport–your dad was an avid fan of the sport which in turn meant that while you weren’t particularly fond of it you certainly respected it. It wasn’t even because you had some sort of grudge against the players, who were all more or less great guys. It was just that there was this really big focus on Jeong Jaehyun. And he was great. Really, he was. He deserved all the hype that he got. Jaehyun excelled in school; class president since forever, always number one in exams and he was even good at sports. Another notable thing was that he was also incredibly kind with good manners and a boy-next-door sort of charm about him that often had people swooning over him, from teenagers to the elderly. 

But there was something freaky about him.

Sometimes he went around like he knew something nobody else did and would walk around unseeingly. On semi-frequent occasions you swore that he’d swing his head around to look at you incredulously or smile to himself, head tipped downwards like he was trying to contain his laughter, as if he heard what you said. Which would be normal and all–if you were in his vicinity. But, no, you would be at your designated spot in the cafeteria chatting with Minghao and Sicheng or walking behind the crowd of students during a field trip, and he would just incline his head so that he could look at you. There were also the times where he would be extremely irritable, not come in for a day or two and then come back and act like his usual self. That didn’t happen often but they occurred enough for you to notice–you didn’t know how he got away with it, one of your suspicions inclued that he was secretly a witch or something. Although you knew that the more logical reason was because he was dubbed as the town’s Golden Boy.

However it wasn’t just him, his entire family was freaky. It wasn’t something that you could put your finger on, not exactly, but you knew that they weren’t just any normal family.

There wasn’t any evidence to support your claim, not that you said it out loud or anything because contrary to what your brothers have said about you, you did, indeed, have some self-preservation and self-awareness. Besides, it wasn’t your fault that you had a tendency make more reckless decisions than they did. At that point your mother had already abandoned her dreams for another one of her children to become a doctor. Which was the best, honestly, because it gave you more freedom to do what you wanted.

Even with your lack of evidence you knew that they were just weird. But what was weirder was that nobody seemed to notice that they were weird. Apart from you that was. Everybody seemed to be blinded by the fact that they were a wholesome, good-doing family that were pleasing to the eye–they were practically local celebrities with the way people fawned over them. It was a great achievement that their ancestors founded your small town years and years and years ago, really, it was, but it was strange that not one person from any generation left for somewhere else, like a big city or something. Did nobody find that strange? Was it really possible that nobody in their family tree took the chance to book it as soon as they graduated high school?

The girls surrounding you screamed hysterical encouragements when Jaehyun managed to steal the ball from an opposing player, spun around and began zooming towards the other end of the court before you could blink. You narrowed your eyes when you noticed that halfway down the court, Jaehyun seemed to catch himself. It was barely there, his expression of realization, before he slowed down which allowed the other players on the team to catch up to him.

There was something freaky about the Jeongs alright, and you were going to find out exactly what it was.

*

There wasn’t any sort of plan that you had in mind to carry out your investigation to uncover the truth, in fact you didn’t even know where to begin and so that paired with the overwhelming amount of homework you obtained meant that you pushed it to the back-burner. You were up to your eyeballs in various essays and math problems that you barely had time to breathe, granted it was your fault that you left a few last minute but the point still stood.

It was your poor time management that brought you to hurriedly end the sentence of the last paragraph on your poetry essay. Fortunately Mrs.Kim collected them at the end of her classes which often worked in your favor. If Sicheng knew that you didn’t finish your assignment he would have scolded you for ages seeing as he was basically an advocate for education which was fitting since him and Jaehyun were in an unsaid competition for valedictorian and salutatorian. Although what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him and you would be lecture free.

“...and that is all for today, please hand over your assignments to the person in front of you and pass them up.” Mrs.Kim ended class earlier than usual and you have been seasoned enough to learn that that meant she had something up her sleeve. After she received everyone’s essays she placed them on her desk and spun quickly to face the class. “For your next assignment, you are going to work on a project. It’s worth fifty percent of your grade and you can choose whatever topic you want as long as it remains relevant to writing or English composition. Since it’s worth that much, you’ll have until the end of the term.” There were no objections until she added, “I’m going to call out your assigned partner.”

The only person you were friends with in the class was Minghao and the two of you looked at each other in synchronization with matching faces of dread. It wasn’t that you particularly disliked anybody in the class, what with the town so small that you basically grew up everyone in your year, but it sure would be amazing if you could work with one of your best friends. Minghao having an affinity for creative writing and such was only a bonus.

You remained hopeful as Mrs.Kim read through her list since she didn’t call out either of your names. That was until she said, “Minghao and Yugyeom.” You slumped in your chair, placing your cheek in the palm of your hand as you moodily waited for your name to be called. “Y/n and Jaehyun.” 

The name of your partner had you straightening up in your seat, ignoring the envious gazes shot your way. This was great, you could totally ace this project and jump at the opportunity to analyze Jaehyun at a closer level. When you turned to glance at him, you found him looking at you already so you gave him what you hoped was a friendly smile before you diverted your attention back to where Mrs.Kim was finishing off calling out the names.

When the class was over, you packed up your stuff and zoomed over to Minghao. He threw his arm around your shoulder and the two of you started mock crying over the fact that you weren’t project partners as you walked over to the cafeteria. 

“I mean,” he said as he chewed on his apple, “at least we get to make new friends?” 

Before you could even reply, there was a small ‘thud’ of a tray being dropped on the table and when you looked over at Minghao’s right, you found Yugyeom about to sit down. The sound was repeated on your left and you weren’t entirely surprised to find Jaehyun settling in the empty seat beside you. 

“Um,” he arched his eyebrows in a questioning manner, “that’s Sicheng’s seat.”

The corner of Jaehyun’s lip quirked upwards, “Sicheng has lunch with you guys later.” That time it was your turn to arch your brow at him quizzically. How did he know when Sicheng had lunch with you and when he didn’t? It was weird. But then again you knew that the other jocks had lunch later too, although that was basically common knowledge wasn’t it? Refusing your thoughts to spiral, you chalked it up to his freakiness instead. He definitely saw your expression though he did nothing but give you his award winning smile.

“Uh, okay,” you turned to face Minghao but found him and Yugyeom immersed in conversation. “So,” you said as you bit into your sandwich, “our project.”

“Our project,” Jaehyun parroted with a nod, “anything you want to do?”

“I haven’t really thought about it.” That was a small lie, you wanted to do something related to ancient folklore or Greek Mythology, or basically anything to do with mythical creatures in history or something. But you weren’t about to tell him that because you knew that not everybody had a fascination for Greek Mythology and the like, since it wasn’t as if every kid read the Percy Jackson & the Olympians when they were growing up and developed a somewhat obsessive fascination with them. “What about you?”

Jaehyun considered you for a moment, head slightly tilted, his dark eyes boring into you. “Yeah, same.” There was a small pause. “Well, how about you come to my place on Friday? We could, you know, brainstorm and stuff.” When you nodded your agreement, you traded phone numbers and dispersed when it was time for your next class.

*

“What do you think of the Jeongs?” You asked as you piled vegetables onto your plate. It was a rare evening where your entire family was present for dinner since your both your dad and oldest brother had early shifts at the hospital. It was a great opportunity to gather some intel on Jaehyun and his family. 

“Mrs.Jeong is a great mayor.” Is the reply you earned from your mom once she finished chewing her food, “she’s fair, kind and always thinks about the citizens. But she’s also firm and nobody can do anything without her knowing.”

“Mr.Jeong is the same,” your dad answered before including, “very hands on and always ready to help.” When you looked to Gongmyung for confirmation, he nodded and gave you a thumbs up.

“And Jaehyun?” You asked somewhat hesitantly. The chances of them knowing him were large considering whenever you went to visit the hospital to bring lunch to your dad and Gongmyung, Jaehyun was around talking to whoever–staff, patients, visitors. Your mom probably knew him because he was one of the volunteers to help bag items at the grocery store. Judging what they said about his parents, they would probably sing his praises and not include anything they found off about him.

Doyoung, who had been eyeing you curiously, said, “are you asking what we think about them as some sort of”–he swung his chopsticks around as if it would help him find the word–“approval thing? Do you have a crush on Jaehyun or something?”

The question had you choking on your food, shaking your head vehemently. It was concerning that your mom brightened at what your brother said, eyes sparkling with hope as she batted her eyelashes at you. Gongmyung and your dad furrowed their brows, staring at their plate of food in a huff.

“Oh shut up frog face!” You retorted once you got yourself together. “I do not have a crush on Jaehyun”–from the corner of your eye, you saw your mom deflate into her seat and Gongmyung release a small sigh–“we have a project together and he invited me over on Friday so,” you trailed off, trying to find the right words, “I guess I just wanted to know if, um, you guys are alright with them or whatever.”

Before Doyoung could reply, your mom butted in. “Well, why wouldn’t we be alright with them? They’re a lovely family.” She tittered with excitement, “a project, huh?”

“Yeah, for Mrs.Kim’s class.” You finished the last of your food. “So it’s okay if I go, right?”

“Of course!”

Gongmyung and your dad grumbled to themselves while your mom went on a tangent about baking something for you to bring over to them. Doyoung shrugged his shoulders when you passed him a look and took some meat off your plate, smiling unapologetically when you glared at him.

*

The Jeong residence was in the middle of nowhere. Okay, admittedly that was an exaggeration but it was only because they lived a few miles from the rest of the people who lived in the town. Practically everyone knew where they lived due to their choice of location. You had never been inside of their house before but you did go trick-or-treating there when you were younger. Doyoung used to tell you scary stories about how the Jeongs ate people because why else would they live in the woods, y/n?

Other variations of his story included how they buried ‘annoying little kids’ around the area. Gongmyung would scuff the back of his head and assure you that the Jeongs were definitely not people-eaters or buried kids. 

Maybe it was Doyoung’s fault that you always kept a watchful eye on Jaehyun growing up, what with all those stories. Although if he didn’t tell you those false tales, you wouldn’t have noticed that there was something up with your classmate. 

As you finally approached the Jeong house, you marveled at its appearance. There was a cute little stone path leading up to their house, various flowers littered here and there. The house itself was a very pretty and clean colonial house with a porch that had wooden seats and a table. How could Doyoung ever have scared you when their house was so inviting? It was probably the rest of the area, you supposed, since it was all dark, looming trees.

You hopped off your bike and held the handles as you walked up to their house. Unsure of where to leave it, you leaned it against their porch knowing that the chances of it being stolen were slim. Once you were sure it wouldn’t collapse on the patch of daisies, you removed the apple and cinnamon loaf that your mom made for the Jeongs.

It was when you fell on the second step that you were glad that you were holding on tightly to the pyrex loaf pan. If you broke it you wouldn’t want to know how your mom would react. You cradled it in relief and hoped that the jar in your backpack was in tact or else the stuff inside it would be a horrible, sticky mess until you could get home and wash it.

“Are you okay dear?” Mrs.Jeong’s voice chimed from above you and you found yourself looking at her concerned face when you glanced up. 

“‘m fine,” you winced slightly, rubbing at your leg, “probably gonna leave a bruise though.”

“Sorry about that,” she apologized, smiling at you serenely. “My husband was supposed to fix that in case we have any visitors.” She griped lowly, probably not wanting you to hear.

“Oh, uh, do you not get many visitors then?” You asked awkwardly as she lead you inside. What were you supposed to say to that? ‘Yeah that sucks, maybe you should invite more people over or something.’ Maybe it would have been better if you said nothing at all.

“Not really. Our other relatives live elsewhere and Jaehyun doesn’t really invite anybody here.” She sighed wistfully before turning to smile at you brightly, “so imagine my surprise when he told me that somebody would be coming here, and such a gorgeous somebody too.” 

There was a loud thump upstairs that had you pulling a face whereas Mrs.Jeong just chuckled to herself as if she were in some sort of inside joke. You didn’t know what to say in return but it seemed like she wasn’t expecting one anyway, judging from the way she turned around to lead you into the kitchen. 

“You have a very nice house.” You complimented once you took a seat by the island. It was open spaced and minimal, family photos here and there and you had to resist the urge to look at the baby pictures of Jaehyun. 

“Thank you, my husband and I weren’t too fond of the idea of getting too many items when inherited this house. Now, can I offer you something to drink?”

You shook your head. “No thank you. Oh, um, actually my mom made this for you,” you slid the loaf pan towards her before shrugging your backpack off and unzipped it, shoulders relaxing at the sight of the perfect condition of the mason jar. “She made this too. It’s peach jam. And that’s an apple and cinnamon loaf.”

“There was no need but thank so you so much. Jaehyun will love the jam.”

“Hey y/n.” Jaehyun greeted from behind you. You spun around and gave a flimsy wave, hoping that your smile wasn’t awkward. “C’mon we can go to my room.”

As you hopped off your seat, Mr.Jeong came from behind his son. “Oh, you must be y/n! It’s nice to finally meet you. Your dad talks about you all the time. Sorry ‘bout that step by the way, I’ll fix that as soon as possible.”

How did he know that you tripped on a step on your way in? The only explanation that you could come up with was that he either saw it happen, like maybe he was looking out the window for some reason, or maybe he was by the doorway and saw his wife standing over you. But that was impossible since you definitely would have seen him on your way in and you were absolutely sure that you didn’t. 

Not knowing what to say, and still confused, you chuckled awkwardly. Jaehyun looked as if he were restraining the urge to smack his hand on his face. “It’s nice to meet you too, sir.” You turned to face his mom, “you too, ma’am.” And with that you walked over to Jaehyun and allowed him to lead you to his room.

Just as he was about to close the door, he groaned and left it slightly ajar as he mumbled under his breath. You surveyed his room; there were various movie posters, which looked to be a mixture of thriller and horror, that covered up the entirety of one of the walls. There were a few fashion magazines spewed on his table, a stack of CDs on his shelf and little Pokémon figurines on his window sill. It was neater than you thought it would be, too. Cleaner than your room anyway for sure. 

You copied Jaehyun when he sat cross legged on his carpeted floor, placing your bag beside you. “So,” you began as you took your notebook and pencil case out of your bag. “Come up with any ideas?” 

“Yeah, I was thinking maybe we could focus on one author and analyze their work? Or that we could analyze a classic so that our project would only focus on one book instead of a lot of different ones.”

You hummed. “That sounds pretty good, were you thinking of any specific authors or books?”

When Jaehyun brought up that he was thinking of Jane Austen’s work and that he couldn’t decide between The Picture of Dorian Gray or Dracula, you launched into a long conversation about the pros and cons of each. Jaehyun’s passion was incredibly clear as he spoke and you were taken away with how absolutely alluring you found it. 

You weren’t blind, of course. You knew that Jaehyun was all sorts of attractive and that it was the main reason why so many people fawned over him in school. It was actually ironic considering how nobody batted their pretty eyelashes at him all throughout middle school but did a one eighty as soon as he joined the basketball team and lost his baby cheeks, trading them for a defined jawline and muscles instead. You always considered Jaehyun cute, even back then when he had that awful haircut and hadn’t grown into his ears yet, but having a clear look at him now it was obvious that you found him handsome. Anybody would be stupid not to think he was.

“You really don’t have anything that you want to do?” Jaehyun asked after your lengthy conversation, searching your eyes. “I’m completely okay if we don’t do my idea.”

Although you couldn’t handle the intensity in his eyes, you held his gaze head on as you replied. “Yeah, I had an idea but I didn’t know if you would be, like, into it or anything.” He prompted you to continue with a movement of his hand, giving you a small boost of confidence. “I was thinking maybe we could do something on ancient folklore or Greek Mythology? Like, maybe we could relate it with cultural impact and stuff like that? I dunno, we don’t have to do it.”

“Ancient folklore?” Jaehyun repeated, “do you mean like with mythical creatures and stuff?”

You nodded. “Yeah exactly. Griffins, chimeras, the fae, vampires and werewolves.”

“That sounds interesting,” he replied after a moments of silence, a pensive expression written on his face, “there probably won’t be a lot of groups doing that topic.” You agreed with his statement by nodding your head. “Okay we should do that then! What mythical creature should we start with first?”

*

Surprisingly, the project was going pretty well. Within almost two months, the two of you gathered a bunch of information online and from the local library in between Jaehyun’s basketball practice and extracurricular activities. It also helped that Jaehyun had extensive knowledge, as did his parents, and they even had a few books of their own that helped to gather necessary information. Although you had to admit, it was quite frustrating whenever Jaehyun shot down any possible facts regarding certain creatures, vampires and werewolves especially. You hadn’t snapped at him yet but you were definitely on the brink of it, all it would take was one more unimpressed stare that he often paired with a dismissive wave.

Another surprising thing that resulted in doing the project was that you and Jaehyun had actually formed a friendship. The Jeongs had come over to your house for dinner several times and vice versa, your mom had ample amounts of peach jam for whenever Jaehyun came over, Mrs.Jeong stocked up her fridge with your favorite soda, and your brothers seemed to have taken Jaehyun under their wing–they did things like go fishing on the weekends and played video games together. Jaehyun and his jock friends even started sitting at your table and greeted you whenever they saw you in the hallway. It was actually really nice, and if Minghao and Sicheng weren’t professionals at sulking, you would have considered Jaehyun as one of your close friends–maybe even one of your best friends and you knew that was weird but there was a feeling you couldn’t explain whenever you were with him. Like you have known him for as long as you’d lived, which was technically true since everybody knew everybody in your town.

Honestly, you had almost forgotten about your opinion about the Jeongs being freaky because it was really easy to overlook their unorthodox behavior (which you weren’t completely sure whether or not they did it on purpose to try in hint that they were other) when they accepted how easily you and your family slotted into their lives.

“Hey loser,” Jaehyun grumbled as he dropped his tray and took the seat beside you, his arm automatically sliding across your shoulder, his hand lingering on the nape of your neck for a millisecond.

That was something that you noticed the Jeongs did a lot–touching you whenever possible, also including your whole family whenever it was possible. At first it started off with little touches like Mrs.Jeong rubbing the back of your head, Mr.Jeong giving you high fives and Jaehyun’s hand lingering somewhat firmly on your arm whenever he needed your attention for something. Eventually Mrs.Jeong would hug you tightly whenever you entered and left their home, Mr.Jeong would pat your head affectionately or clap the back of your shoulders, and Jaehyun?

He did all sorts of touching, a combination of the lot. It seemed that his preferred way, though, was to wrap his arm around your shoulders and push you into his side. When the other students started noticing his favor towards you, a lot of them had asked if you were together but before you could ever say anything, Jaehyun would be there, paralyzing them with his smile and swivelled you away from them. 

You couldn’t exactly pinpoint what had triggered the Jeongs to start being so affectionately with you but you were sure that it had something to do with the afternoon that Jaehyun fell asleep in your presence when the two of you were watching a movie. Mrs.Jeong had walked in, glanced between the two of you repeatedly and you couldn’t help but noticed how her expression softened. You remembered looking at her helplessly when Jaehyun threw his arm around you and pushed you closer but she did nothing but wink and exit the room, leaving you confined next to him for the next couple of hours.

Truthfully, you didn’t mind that they were so affectionate with you. It wasn’t as if you were touch starved or anything, but it was nice to know that there were other people who cared for you that weren’t limited to your family, Minghao and Sicheng. It made you feel part of something, even if you didn’t know what it was. You had suspicions of course, but you didn’t want to reveal your cards just yet.

“What’s up,” you greeted, easily melting into his side. You wouldn’t ever admit it to him, but you felt extremely comfortable whenever he had his arm around you and you also refused to feed into the voice that lingered at the back of your mind telling you that you were developing feelings for him.

When you got nothing but a low grumble in return, you slid away from him slightly so that you would have a clear view of his expression; his face was shrewd, brows knitted together as he glared at his lunch. When you thought about it some more, you realized that his grip on you was tighter than normal which made you purse your lips.

“Is it because of the game?”

It was the semi-finals later and everyone had been on Jaehyun’s back, constantly mentioning how he would be leading them to victory and whatnot which had to be all sorts of stressful because of the pressure. When he shrugged in reply, his mouth pressed together firmly as he refused to look at you, you slowly became aware that this was probably one of his irritable days. 

“Jae,” you called, wanting to reach out to direct his head in your direction but unwilling to do so because, well, you knew how that would look. The rest of the team, Mingyu and Jungkook in particular, would always make sure to drop teasing comments whenever you and Jaehyun so much as stared at each other for longer than three seconds. 

The longer he refused to look at you, the more the aggressiveness in his features increased. Mingyu and Jungkook’s teasing be damned, you were just going to go for it. You wiped the palm of your right hand onto your jeans since they became clammy at the thought and slowly, you brought it up to his cheek and redirected his gaze from his poor, unsuspecting lunch to you. Mingyu and Jungkook started acting up but seemed as though they were at a far distance as you stared concernedly into Jaehyun’s eyes.

“What’s wrong?” You asked softly, trying to contain your panic and racing heart when he relaxed into your touch. For a moment, you thought that he wasn’t going to say anything since he just closed his eyes and kept inhaling and exhaling deeply, as if he were doing some breathing exercises. When he opened his eyes you swore that they were a molten yellow, like gold, but you decided not to comment on it because you wanted to root out why Jaehyun wasn’t acting like his usual sunny self. 

“Nothing. Everything’s fine. I’m fine.”

Not liking how curt he sounded, you frowned. After a second you hesitantly slid you hand down to the crook of his neck, like he did with you sometimes when he was within your vicinity. There was a soft sound of his quick inhale but you chose not to focus on it.

“If you’re sure,” you paused to search his eyes, not liking how troubled he looked, “but I’m here to talk if you need someone, alright? Always, for anything. Even if it’s something that you think is stupid.”

“Alright,” he repeated hoarsely, “thank you. I’m always here too, for anything. Promise.” The sincerity in his voice made your stomach flip-flop and it seemed like you couldn’t find your voice. In turn you allowed your hand to rest on him for a few minutes longer, meeting his heated stare head on before removing it as you cleared your throat, resuming your original position.

When you saw the shit-eating grins of the others, including Sicheng, you stuck your tongue out at them but you remained silent as you tried ignore how hot your cheeks felt. Even though Jaehyun said nothing either, content flowed through you when you felt his muscles relax beneath his hoodie.

*

(After he shot the winning basket with a few seconds to spare, the students surrounding you cheering with all their might, you were left breathless. The bright smile that he sent your way was a massive contrast to the expression that he was wearing seconds ago, his competitiveness consuming him. When you mirrored his smile, giving him two thumbs up, it only served to make him smile brighter–if that were even possible. His eyes followed you even as his teammates hoisted him up into the air, only stopping when they became engulfed by the students who flooded the court.)

*

There was a gnawing in your chest that stopped you from sleeping. It left you staring at the ceiling aimlessly, tracing the alien baby that got stuck on it from when you and Doyoung were competing to see who could throw theirs higher when the two of you were younger. The two of you got into trouble and it was something that you rued your older brother for the months that followed but now it was something that never failed to bring a laugh out of you. You remembered only forgiving Doyoung because he used up all of his allowance to buy you that fancy toy that you had been begging for for weeks. 

Deciding that if you weren’t able to sleep, you would go to see if Jaehyun was awake. It was a common occurrence for one of you to go to each others houses in the little hours in the morning whenever either of you was unable to fall asleep. You shot him a text as a heads up, not bothering to check for a reply because you knew that he would probably be awake anyway since it was a Saturday.

Once you were bundled up, you tiptoed down the stairs, slipped on your shoes and left. It was easy to escape since your family were a bunch of heavy sleepers and your bicycle was never chained up to anything or in the garage, it just leaned against the side of your house, waiting to be used.

The cycle to their house was something that you could do with your eyes closed at that point, the cool air whipping against your skin as you began to peddle faster. You wanted to be there as soon as possible, Jaehyun always had the best snacks stashed in his room. When you saw the comforting sight of their home, you began to slow down as you squinted to get a better view of Jaehyun’s room. The fact that his lampshade wasn’t on made you feel a little dejected. Maybe he was asleep. 

Not wanting to give up, you got off your bicycle and left it at its usual position by the porch. You fished your phone from your pocket and frowned when you saw that you didn’t get a text from him, which always let you know that he would leave the front door open so that you could slip inside. After some heavy debate, you decided to try and see if the door was open. No dice. With a sigh, you spun back around to make your way back to your ride when something ahead of you made you freeze.

There, by the line of trees that started a few meters away from the end of the path, was a wolf. As far as you were concerned, there were absolutely no wolves in your area even though there was a huge forest. So you must have been extremely sleep deprived because there was absolutely no way there was a wolf staring at you, right? Right? 

Wrong. No matter how many times or how hard you pinched yourself, the wolf didn’t disappear. It seemed to be waiting for you to make the first move. You wanted to, honestly, but your feet were firmly planted on Mrs.Jeong’s pristine porch.

With a shaky breath, you slowly took a step forward, keeping your eyes on the wolf in case it made any sudden movements. When it seemed unbothered by your action, you took another then another until you reached your bicycle. Your heart dropped into your stomach when you heard a crunch on your right, knowing that it had to be another wolf because the one you kept your eyes locked on hadn’t moved. Your pulse was all you could hear in the silent night, palms sweaty with nervousness. You were going to get mauled weren’t you? You were going to get mauled in front of Jaehyun’s house on Mrs.Jeong’s pretty flowers. 

The whine that kept from the wolf on your right made you slowly look at it’s direction. When it took a step closer you fumbled back, unceremoniously landing on the innocent daisies, eyes wide with fear. Another whine escaped the wolf and it was only then that you heard the panting of different wolf closer to you. When it did nothing but bump it’s snout on the side of your head, you relaxed a bit which the whining wolf took as a sign to creep closer to you. It stayed patiently by your feet, as if waiting for a sign. After weighing out your options, you decided that if these wolves actually wanted you dead, they probably would have maimed you already.

Against your every instinct, you reached a trembling hand out towards it. It pawed it’s way over to you and bent its head so that it was under your hand. The other wolves seemed to take it as a sign to edge closer to you. It tickled when they licked your cheeks and hand, and you couldn’t help but coo at how cute they were. It was a huge relief when you realized that they meant no harm. 

Your brows furrowed when the wolf you were petting looked at you, it’s huge eyes achingly familiar and that was when it dawned on you. “Jaehyun?” When it, no he, whined, a small gasp escaped your lips. You turned to look at the others, “Mrs.Jeong? Mr.Jeong?” When you got a response to both, you felt a little faint. 

They turned and left you sitting there as you gathered your thoughts, emerging from somewhere after a few minutes and stood above you.

“Are you alright honey?” Mrs.Jeong asked gently after a couple of minutes of roaring silence. She didn’t come up to you like she normally did, trying to soothe you by rubbing the back of your head, and you found that you missed it.

“I’m, uh, I don’t know.” You replied honestly, your thoughts were a mess. You had your suspicions but you didn’t think that they were true. Before you found out the truth, you liked to imagine that you would reenact the scene from Twilight where Bella was confronting Edward about his true nature and it would be this whole thing that you and the Jeongs could laugh about if they got the reference. Although now that you were actually faced with the truth, you didn’t know how to react. It was literally like those expectations versus reality posts that were online. 

“Why don’t we head inside so you can warm up, hm?” Mr.Jeong suggested and you nodded numbly, your legs carrying you on autopilot as you entered their house. When your eyes flickered over to Jaehyun, you found him with his head down and you hated how ashen he looked.

You nodded thankfully at Mrs.Jeong when she passed you a glass of water. You took your time to drink it, wanting to prolong the oncoming conversation as much as possible. When the glass was empty, you placed it on the coffee table and, not knowing where to look, you met Mrs.Jeong’s patient eyes.

“So,” you said as the nerves you felt were slowly disippating, “werewolves.”

Mrs.Jeong looked as though she was fighting down a smile, laughter dancing in her eyes, “werewolves.”

“I frickin’ knew it!” Clearly that wasn’t the reaction they were expecting, from the looks of surprise displayed on their faces. “There was always something, uh, how do I explain it? Other about you guys. I could never place my finger on it but you guys were definitely a little weird to me. Not a bad weird! Just, you know, you guys are bit different from everyone else who lives here. I mean, who lives in the woods, right? Not that there’s anything wrong with living out here! Your house is amazing! But, yeah, don’t think I haven’t noticed you guys try to drop some hints.” You felt yourself relax when Mr. and Mrs.Jeong chuckled. “I’ll admit that I was a little scared earlier but could you blame me? I was tired and just wanted to chill with Jaehyun, like we always do.” You gulped a breath of air, “hey, be real with me, do you guys have, like spidey sense or something? Or you know, is anything from the movies real?”

“Wow,” Mr.Jeong laughed, “looks like we had nothing to worry about at all.” 

From there they told you about their family history. They explained the truth about how their ancestors actually stumbled across the land and answered all the questions that you had patiently, with fond smiles. They also told you that touching was a way to scent mark you and your family because that was a pack thing and that you had been pack for some time, that it had been cemented the day that Jaehyun was willing to fall asleep in your presence. They then told you that they could hear when people lie, something about an uptick in someone’s heartbeat, and their senses were enhanced compared to a regular human.

The relief hidden in their eyes was plain as day, although the same couldn’t be said for Jaehyun since he still withheld his eyes from you.

“I’m sorry you had to find out that way,” Mrs.Jeong once you couldn’t think of any other questions to ask them. “We were supposed to tell you after tonight’s full moon so that we could formally add you and your family to the pack.”

“Oh,” your shoulders sagged, “sorry I ruined your plan.”

“Don’t worry about it kid, we were expecting something like this to happen sooner or later.” Mr.Jeong assured you. “We can just invite them over for some lunch later and tell them then.” He added after sending a thoughtful look at his wife.

“Yeah, that would be cool.” You responded, “I can’t wait to see their faces!” Doyoung was going to freak and you were already anticipating it so that you could record their reactions somehow.

The two adults laughed and you joined them, keeping a worried eye on Jaehyun. His mom seemed to notice because she stood up immediately, lightly slapping her husband’s shoulder so that he would follow. She gave you a wink, shooting her son a firm look when he looked up after she cleared her throat at him pointedly.

“Is this why your always moody each month? ‘Cause of the full moon?”

Jaehyun’s eyes snapped up to meet yours. “I’m not moody.” 

“Aha! Got you to look!” That had him pouting and you allowed a few beats of silence to pass before you laughed at the absurdity of it all. Before you knew it, he began laughing with you too, staring off with small chuckles before it escalated to a full laugh. “Werewolves, huh.” You stated once the two of you were composed.

“Yeah,” Jaehyun wasn’t fully relaxed yet, you could tell–what always gave him away was how he held himself just a tad too stiff and the way he gripped his knees. “I wanted to tell you before but mom wouldn’t let me because even though you’re really nice and seemed like you would accept us, she said she couldn’t take the risk.”

“Understandable,” you said, nodding agreeably, “does anybody else know?” He shook his head. “Is that why you guys don’t have many visitors?” When he nodded in agreement, you hummed thoughtfully, “then how come you asked me to do our project here?”

“You’re going to think it’s stupid.” 

You arched a brow, “remember what we said to each other in the cafeteria?”

“Well, yeah but–”

“No buts! C’mon, I promise I won’t laugh.”

The two of you had a stare off but he surrendered because he figured out that you weren’t going to give up.  “Okay,” he sighed, redirecting his stare to his knees again, “before I joined the team, back when I was shorter and wasn’t as popular as I am now, you probably won’t remember but it was my birthday and nobody really knew even though we’ve all grown up together. Everyone was more focused on Valentine’s day but you went up to me, wished me a happy birthday and even gave me a card.”

“Oh,” you whispered as the memory came back to you. “I remember that. You looked so sad but I remembered it was your birthday because I heard Seokmin greet you before we had to go back to class, so I made you a quick card and gave it to you.”

“Yeah, I still have that card, and since then I’ve always wanted you in the pack because my mom used to tell me that the pack would always make you happy, make sure you’re never forgotten or feel left out.” 

“Jaehyun–”

“Wait! There’s more,” he met your eyes and kept his locked on yours as he continued, seeming to gain confidence in whatever he saw in your expression, “that’s why I wanted you to be pack at first but as we grew up I realized that you would be an amazing pack member because you’re loyal, smart, witty and you make me happy. And you probably think it’s creepy that I know that but my hearing is enhanced because I’m a werewolf, so I always hear a lot of things. I’ve learned to tune out most things but I never block out the sound of your voice.”

“Um,” you were oddly flattered. You never thought that throughout the years that you had been watching Jaehyun that he was watching you back. How did you not notice? It probably had something to do with other wolf traits. You had even more questions to ask at that revelation. “That’s– Wow.”

Jaehyun smiled sheepishly at you, ducking his head, “yeah.”

“That’s actually sort of cute? Like, I can’t believe you actually remembered that?”

“I used to think about it all the time,” he mumbled, “you’re part of the reason why I joined the team. I liked basketball but I also thought that it would get you to notice me since you never hung out with anyone but Minghao and Sicheng.”

“Oh,” you said again dumbly, feeling speechless. “well if it helps, you were always on my radar.”

Jaehyun visibily preened at your words, “really?”

“Yeah, really.”

You looked at him questioningly when he let out a groan, hiding his face behind his hand. “Nothing, my mom just said something.”

“Wait a minute! Does that mean she was teasing you when I first came here?”

“Uh-huh.”

“And that your dad actually heard me fell instead of seeing it?”

“Yeah. I heard you fall as well. Mom kept nagging dad about it after you left to fix it.”

“Hm,” you paused, thinking of any other instances, “is that why you were looking at me funny when you asked if I had any ideas for our project? ‘Cause you knew that I was lying?”

“Mhm and I agreed to your idea because it was unique and because it would be easy, since we’re werewolves and all.”

“Oh true,” you thought some more, “so I could become one too, right?”

“Definitely. Mom’s never turned anyone but gran did when dad asked for it, before mom was the alpha.” He assessed you for a moment, “why do you want to be turned?”

“No,” you responded after some you considered it, “at least I don’t think so. I like being human.”

“Fair.”

“So.” You trailed after a pregnant pause that consisted of you and Jaehyun staring at one another. You decided you liked this look on him, there was something different about the way he carried himself now that the truth about his nature was out there.

It was starting to get brighter, you could hear the birds chirping but you didn’t feel an inch of exhaustion. Not after what you had just learned. Part of you wanted to stay and ask Jaehyun endless questions but ultimately your logical side won.

“I should get going, my parents will look for me if I’m not there for breakfast.”

“I’ll walk you.”

The walk back was full of banter and it was great to listen to Jaehyun tell you how amazing it felt that you finally knew the truth, and how he couldn’t wait until the rest of your family knew. He then told you about other things, like how they sometimes hunted game or the one time he almost shifted in class because he heard someone talk badly about someone else.

“Well,” you said as you stopped by your mom’s car in the driveway. “This is me.”

“No way.” Jaehyun replied sarcastically with a roll of his eye to which you stuck your tongue out.

It was probably the left over adreneline from earlier or maybe it was because you decided that you didn’t care, but you let go of your bicycle in favor of wrapping your arms around him tightly. You didn’t let him go for a while, allowing him to bury his face in the crook of your neck. When you let go of him, he had a cute smile plastered on his face.

“After lunch tomorrow!” You shot him a confused look as you grabbed your bicycle from its position of the pavement. “I, uh,” he scratched the back of his head, “tomorrow, after we tell your family, we should go on a date.”

“Really?” You asked in disbelief.

“Yeah! But only if you want. You don’t have to say yes.” He was uncharacteristically nervous, shifting his weight from one leg to the other, and you couldn’t help but find it adorable.

“I’d love to go on a date with you.”

Your answer earned you a mega watt smile, “great! I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“Duh.” You replied sarcastically. It did nothing to wipe the smile of his face, “I can’t wait.” You added seriously.

“Me neither.”

Feeling a rush of braveness, you motioned him towards you and when he complied, you placed a kiss on his cheek and ran to your door. When you looked back you saw him watching you with a dazed expression, sending you flying kisses and stopped to motion you to go inside.

Once you stepped inside your house and shut the door quietly, you placed your head on it and squeezed your eyes shut as you tampered down the high pitched squeal that threatened to make its way out of your throat. When you managed to compose yourself, although unable to calm your racing heart, you jumped at least fifty feet in the air when you caught Doyoung staring at you with his arms folded against his chest.

“Um, hi?” You hoped he didn’t see anything that happened between you and Jaehyun.

“I knew you had a crush on Jaehyun.” He said triumphantly because of course you were wrong. “If he treats you anything less than you deserve, he’s dead.”

You grinned at him teasingly. “Love you too.”

Doyoung made a face in response. “Gross.” Despite what he said, however, he still smiled at you fondly and ruffled your hair affectionately. “Now go to sleep you idiot, it’s five in the morning.”

“Shut up frog face.” Although that didn’t stop you from following him as quietly walked up the stairs. “How did you know anyway? Did you see what happened outside?”

“Uh, yeah. I’ve known that you two have been doing this for ages. It’s not like you’re quiet when you close your door or when you two talk. Did you forget how thin the walls are in this place?”

You hummed. “Thanks for not snitching on me.”

“You owe me big time, loser.”

[gellavonhamster]

good people

gen || Montgomery Montgomery & Bertrand Baudelaire || pre-canon 

ao3 link eng  || ao3 link rus

Monty Montgomery learned about the deaths of Count and Countess *** somewhere about two in the afternoon, in the lobby of the Biology Faculty of Gerald Durrell University of Natural Science. He didn’t know them personally, and that day he could not even recall their faces when reading an article about their deaths, just as many years later he could not – unfortunately – recall the face of their son, whom he did know personally back in the day and had met as often as not. At the same time, he could remember in detail the moment he heard they were dead – the hum of voices in the vast corridors of the faculty building, sunlight glistening on glass in the frames of photographs and newspaper clippings hanging on the walls, the sound of his own footsteps. He was descending the stairs, almost hopping like a kid because he had just managed to talk a teacher into letting him submit the report a day later, and consequently was in a splendid mood. Few things can compete with the joy that a student experiences when the deadline for a paper that still exists only as a title page gets postponed for a later date. Immersed in happy thoughts, he went down to the ground floor, and was just heading for the exit when he suddenly saw a crowd of students and teachers huddled together and discussing something animatedly. One of the students was holding a widely unfolded newspaper, and several people at once were reading something over his shoulder.            

“Must be a change of government or something,” Monty thought as he approached them. Frankly, the prospect of writing a paper in two days concerned him much more at that time than a hypothetical coup. 

“Ah, Montgomery!” shouted one of those reading the paper, Professor Stein of the Herpetology Department. Stein was always shouting: he had hearing problems. Now, on the other hand, a raised voice was more than appropriate, for too many people were talking at once.  

“Good afternoon, Professor,” Monty gave him a nod of greeting as he joined the group. Getting closer to the paper was impossible – the crowd was too thick. “What’s the news?”

“A murder, Montgomery! A crime story at its finest; the whole city is going insane! Come read.” At that, Professor grabbed him by the elbow and pushed him into the middle of the crowd, so that Monty found himself right behind the left shoulder of the guy with the newspaper.

He took a look at the page, found the piece everyone was reading, and grew cold.

“Poison darts! With snake venom!” Stein exclaimed. Monty winced as if in pain. The loud noises around him were distracting; he wanted to read carefully, turn each word round in his head, persuade himself it was not what he thought it was. Coincidences do happen sometimes, after all. “And where – at the opera! Right during the performance!”    

“Yeah,” someone to the right of the newspaper chimed in, “straight out of Gaston Leroy.”  

“Leroux,” Monty corrected mechanically. He was suddenly overcome with fierce and helpless anger. He stepped back. “I’m sorry, Professor, I really have to go.”  

Walking quickly, even quicker than back when he was urged on by the unwritten report, he headed for the door.

Well then, La Forza del Destino. Poison darts. Snake venom.  

And his flatmate, who went to the opera yesterday and didn’t come back home.  

 ***

 Bertrand asked him to procure the venom about a week ago.

It might have been Thursday, or maybe Friday. Monty was writing a term paper then, one that he could not set about writing earlier because he was busy doing other things, from the tasks assigned to him by VFD to attending the parties organized by other volunteers, which in some cases seemed as important to him, even vital at times. VFD gave him time to deal with the exam period, relieving him from participation in any missions for the nearest future – the pursuance of science was highly valued among their ranks. Many volunteers flaunted some academic degrees, but not many of them got those degrees officially, even if they deserved them objectively. Some Doctors and Masters among them didn’t even hold a certificate of Bachelor’s Degree. Fighting the fires, both literal and figurative, took up a lot of time and energy, leaving virtually none of it for attending the lectures or even distance education. However, the VFD members had connections – Had Connections even, capitalized – owing to which many of them got the opportunity to call themselves professors or academicians, although all their scientific contributions, sometimes absolutely groundbreaking, remained hidden from the general public.      

At the Biology Faculty, VFD Had some Connections as well, and if Monty wished so, he probably could obtain the Master’s or even Doctor’s Degree without much effort, but he had no such wish. He desired recognition and respect from the people outside the organization, desired to make discoveries that he could tell the whole world about – desired for everything to be fair. That was why he had spent the whole previous week in a kind of a time loop. Every day looked like the day before: writing, writing, writing, leafing through the sources frenziedly after another bookmark gets lost, sorting the materials collected in the expedition, drinking gallons of coffee, and occasionally sleeping. And feeding Maturin, of course. As to Monty himself, it was Bertrand who had been feeding him, which was very kind of him, because Monty couldn’t even afford the time to heat some ready-to-cook foods. Bertrand simply used to come into his room, not even knocking anymore so that not to distract him, put a plate of vegetable couscous or spaghetti bolognese or something in front of him, and leave before Monty noticed that plate. The dirty dishes he used to take away in the same manner, unnoticed. Monty had to yell “Thank you!” for the whole house to hear, to which Bertrand yelled back “You owe me!” from his room or from the kitchen. He was joking, and Monty knew that, but still planned at least to stand treat at the pub after the exams were over.      

That morning, Bertrand knocked on the door again – first came in, then knocked. That meant he needed Monty to pay attention to him.

“Hello, hello, hello!” Monty exclaimed, turning on the chair, immediately knocked one his books off the table, and bent to pick it up. “I am listening to you attentively, o dearest neighbour.”  

“You’re going to the uni tomorrow, aren’t you?” Bertrand asked.

Monty nodded. “Yeah, to submit this Frankenstein’s monster. Only the bibliography left to do.”

“You’re a hero,” Bertrand praised him. Monty thought so too, in all honesty. “Could you do something for me while you’re at it?”

“Buddy, I would’ve wasted away without you here over the last few days. What exactly do you need?”  

“I need,” Bertrand felt for something in the pocket of his trousers, took out some scrap of paper, and gave it to Monty, “a vial of venom of this snake.”  

Monty’s heart lurched. He skimmed the note.

“Oh,” he said. “No problem. There are a couple of excellent specimens of this species at the City Herpetological Centre.”

“I know,” Bertrand replied. “I thought of asking N or S, but I don’t know them well. I wouldn’t like to shoot my mouth off in front of the people I do not trust completely,” he sat down on the edge of Monty’s bed. “Not these days.”  

Monty noticed that Bertrand was trying not to meet his eyes.

“I see. Tomorrow it’ll be done.”  

“Thank you,” Bertrand smiled slightly, still not looking at Monty. Instead, he was looking at Maturin, the turtle, which was chewing on a salad leaf in its terrarium. The turtle was undoubtedly remarkable, but it wasn’t hard to see that Bertrand was rather looking through it than at it. Sooner or later that was bound to happen, Monty thought. Sooner or later, each volunteer had to do something… like that. Not necessarily related to deathly poisons and what very logically results from their use, but still something that made it difficult to look one’s friends in the eye. Like it was now difficult for Bertrand.

“Who?” Monty asked in a hushed voice. “I’m not asking about the name, I’m asking if you know that person. Or were you just given a description?”

“A description,” Bertrand echoed. He smiled again, wider and brighter, but still somewhat stiffly. “Don’t worry about me. I am not a child, I’ll handle this.”  

 ***

 “And so he did,” Monty thought as he was unlocking the door to his flat.

Bertrand was already home; there was no need to call their acquaintances or go to Kit’s place. When Monty entered, his flatmate was sitting at the kitchen table and rubbing his knuckles on one hand with the thumb of the other. His face was calm, without any trace of either tears or smile. It reminded Monty of the kind of “Closed” sign that people put on the shop doors on Sundays.      

“There you are,” Monty said, peeking into the kitchen. Bertrand gave a start and looked at him.

“Hi,” he said, and offered Monty a faint smile. It didn’t look too convincing. “How did the report thing go?”  

“They let me submit it later,” Monty told him. He didn’t know how to ask Bertrand about what was really vexing him, so he asked another question that was, in his opinion, appropriate in any situation. “Would you like some tea?”

“That would be nice, thank you.”

Monty went into the kitchen, took the teapot off the stove, shook it and made sure it was empty, filled it with water, ignited the burner, put the teapot on the stove. Having been in a hurry to check if Bertrand was home, he didn’t have time to take his shoes off, and was now stamping around the kitchen in outdoor shoes. “Gotta sweep the floor later,” he noted to himself. It came with experience – the skill of not forgetting about the dull everyday things like cleaning and cooking while your entire world was in a whirl and threatening to fall apart.    

“I saw the article in the newspaper,” he began as he took teacups from the dish drainer. Bertrand was still sitting at the table in silence, still rubbing his hands absentmindedly. “About the opera.”

“Yeah, I’ve already read it, too.”  

“You lied when you told me you didn’t know who the target was, didn’t you? When you asked me to get you the venom.”

“I did,” Bertrand agreed. He leaned back in his chair. It wasn’t hard to see by his eyes that he hadn’t caught even a minute of sleep last night. “Do we have any lemons for tea?”  

“Um?.. I think there must be some. Check the fridge. Why did you lie?”

“You had enough problems of your own. And you still do. I didn’t want you to worry about me as well,” Bertrand got up from the table, walked up to the fridge, and took out a bowl containing half a lemon. Having taken a knife and a board, he started cutting the lemon into very neat identical pieces. Everything Bertrand did was neat.  

“Yeah, you can want whatever you like,” Monty muttered. The teapot was still taking its time to boil, and just standing empty-handed and discussing the murder committed by his neighbour was unbearable, so he took a cloth and started cleaning the sink aggressively. That was not the first time he procured poisons required by other volunteers. Perhaps he hadn’t killed anyone himself – yet – but he suspected that in a sense he already was partially responsible for a number of deaths. It was scary, it was weighing down on him, it kept him up at night and made him drink and dance and party with a vengeance in the hope of forgetting himself – but that was him, and when it came to Bertrand, it was a hundred times more of a shame. Bertrand was a good person. Bertrand didn’t deserve to be turned into a murderer. Monty was hoping he could express that all in such a way as not to make it seem like his heart is aching not so much for his friend as for his own hurt feelings, but the right words just wouldn’t come.        

“You are one of the best people I know,” he finally began. Bertrand made a strange sound, something between a laugh and a sob. Monty turned and saw that he had already cut the leftover lemon and was now standing with an absent look on his face, clutching the knife. “Don’t hold the knife with the edge toward you. Fucking hell, B,” he raised his voice when Bertrand didn’t react. “Don’t hold the knife with the edge toward you, and put it down anyway!”      

The knife fell on the table with a thud. Bertrand closed his eyes, leaned on the tabletop with both hands, and lowered his head so that Monty couldn’t get a good look at his countenance.

“I keep remembering that he hit O several times when boozed up, back when O was a boy,” he spoke quietly. “He used to drink, you know – not every day, but he used to go on drinking sprees from time to time. O’s taking after him in that respect. I keep thinking back on it as if it makes an excuse for me, but it really doesn’t, you see? And she was innocent – I mean, the rational part of me gets that she wasn’t, I know who she and her husband used to finance and what they used to cover up, but all I can remember is that she was usually nice to O, and to B after she moved to the City too.” Now his voice was taut, his face burning with indignation, his former numbness gone without a trace. “How come this task was assigned to B, of all people? After they had basically accepted her as family?”        

Monty knew, personally and by repute, several Bs among their associates, but this time Bertrand didn’t have to specify who he was talking about.  

“I am angry they made you do this, you are angry they made her…”

“Because she didn’t deserve this,” Bertrand interrupted him. “Because she’s a good person.”

Monty realized that Bertrand was basically repeating word for word what he had been reflecting on earlier himself, and smiled sadly.  

“How willing we are to assure the others vehemently that they are good people,” he spoke. He was completely in agreement with Bertrand about Beatrice. She was not just fun, but also reliable, which was much more important. She looked after her own. She was vivid and loud and incredibly brave and incredibly loving, and Bertrand was right: she did not deserve this. “And never as willing to defend ourselves the same way. Perhaps that is where our hope lies? In our inability to turn a blind eye to our own faults?”    

Bertrand took off his glasses, inelegantly wiped off the tears that had broken out after all, and put the glasses on again.

“Monty,” he said gently, “you’re a good person too, you know that?”

Monty blinked, then blinked again, feeling that soon he might have to wipe off the tears too. Bertrand was one of the best people Monty knew, and he didn’t deserve to be turned into a murderer, and didn’t deserve to labour under such grave delusion about other people either – but the fact that someone still considered him a good person gave Monty confidence that despite all his wrongdoings, he still wasn’t a lost cause.  

He reached out and ruffled Bertrand’s hair.

“Sit down,” he told him. “The tea’s about to be ready.”

[lilacmoon83]

Dashing Rose: A Finding You Always Vignette

Also on Fanfiction.net and A03

Chapter 7: Deception and Truth

During her first week in the Land of Untold Stories, Rose Red found herself living a bit of a Jekyll and Hyde life herself. During the day, she helped Dr. Jekyll in his lab. He taught her many things about science and though he was never clear about the true purpose of the potions he was creating, he assured her that they were for the betterment of mankind. His insistence that she stay inside at night was still puzzling to her and never one to take orders, Rose Red continued her nightly trips to the gardens.

There, she met Hyde, who was always a perfect gentleman, but made her laugh. Both assured her that they were searching for a way to send her back to her land to rescue her beloved Fandral, but by the end of the second week, Rose began to question Jekyll's true motives.

He had given her many texts about portals and ways to create them to placate her and the more she pressed that her beloved was in mortal danger, the more empty promises the doctor made to her. But Hyde didn't do any of that. He was real about the chances of getting a portal, but promised to keep searching for a way to create one. He was honest that the answers for this problem would not come from any of the doctor's books. She was terrified for Fandral and constantly woke up in a cold sweat every night, from the same nightmare. The nightmare that she would be too late and he would be killed. It terrified her so much that she began having panic attacks and that would send her fleeing to the garden where Hyde would appear to help her through them.

She had hidden the fact that she saw Hyde every night from the doctor and insisted that she had only seen him the one time. She was aware of them both developing growing feelings for her. But Hyde remained a friend, while the doctor grew more erratic and possessive around her. It worried her, but she had no choice. She feared what he may do if she rejected him and that she may never get back to Fandral. So she was silent with her feelings around him and hoped that Hyde would come through for her. Because somehow she knew that Jekyll would not.

~*~

Jekyll looked over at the raven haired beauty, as she did as instructed, and added the potion to the beaker.

"Very good," he said, as he turned up the heat on the Bunsen burner a bit. The ache in him was almost unbearable now. Over the course of the last three weeks, Jekyll had fallen deeply in love with Rose Red. The thought of her leaving him now was maddening and he knew he had to slowly convince her that a portal was not possible. He felt once he led her to that conclusion, on her own, that she would accept that. Then he would pursue his feelings for her and comfort her while she grieved her husband. And then she would realize that they belonged together.

"I need some more herbs from the garden. Would you mind gathering them?" Jekyll asked and she nodded.

"Not at all," she agreed, as she left and just in time, as the Doctor felt his other half fighting to get out.

"Not now...I will not have you interfering any longer," Jekyll growled. He knew of Hyde's secret meetings with Rose in the garden and it made him livid. He knew Hyde was working on a portal for her, despite his attempts to sabotage him. But Hyde was clever and knew how to hide things from him. He was determined not to let him win this time though. Rose Red would be his. He would not be denied love again.

Hyde fought his way out and took a deep breath, as he observed the doctor's work.

"Oh Doctor...still using Rose to work on your separation serum. I will not allow your sick obsession to hurt the fairest Rose," Hyde murmured.

"Mr. Poole...please bring Rose Red to me," he said. It was a rare occasion when he was able to fight his way out during the day. A few moments later, the brute returned, dragging the young woman into the lab.

"Mr. Poole...please be gentle. She is my honored guest," he scolded, as the orderly released her arm.

"I am surprised to see you this early," Rose said, as she smiled at him. His heart ached, for Jekyll was not the only one in love with the beautiful Rose Red. But he was not like the doctor. He would not deceive her and cause her pain by allowing her husband to die. As much as he wanted her, he knew she was in love with another and could accept that, as painful as it was. He would endure his own pain of losing her if it meant she could be happy. The doctor, however, did not know love and only obsession and the thought of the doctor putting his hands on this fair creature made his blood boil. Fortunately, he was close to stopping his sabotage.

"I have been searching tirelessly for a way to send you home, but I am afraid the doctor continues to sabotage my efforts," Hyde revealed. She gasped.

"Why would he do that?" she asked.

"Isn't it obvious?" Hyde questioned, as he stepped closer to her.

"Jekyll is in love with you...he wishes for you to remain here in definitely," Hyde revealed.

"But I am married...I am in love with my Fandral," she protested.

"Yes, well, the Doctor thinks that you'll eventually forget about your Fandral and fall for him if you stay here long enough. He's a bit delusional that way and doesn't take rejection well," Hyde answered. Her shoulders sank, as she wondered if she would ever be reunited with her beloved and a tear slipped down her cheek. Gingerly, Hyde reached out with a gentle touch and wiped it away and they stared at each other.

"He said he would help me, but he lied. How can I know that you are not lying about helping me as well?" she asked.

"You don't...except that I know you have good instincts and right now, they are telling you that I am not the real danger," he replied.

"If that is true, then why can we not lock Jekyll away where he cannot hurt anyone?" she questioned. Hyde put a hand to his forehead, like he was in pain.

"I'm afraid that will become quite apparent in a moment. Promise me you will not tell him what I have told you...your safety depends upon it, Rose Red," Hyde pleaded. She swallowed, as she looked into his eyes. There was such affection there and she felt a warmth from him that Jekyll did not have.

"I promise, Mr. Hyde. But I don't understand…" she uttered.

"You will…" he promised and she gasped, as he started to convulse violently. She watched in horror, as Hyde became Jekyll and the doctor lay his possessive gaze on her.

"Rose...did he hurt you? Did Hyde touch you?" he asked. Before she might have thought it was in concern for her well being, but now she saw past that. His hand on her arm felt possessive and his eyes were mad with lust. She swallowed thickly and her heart thrummed rapidly in her chest. But she did as Hyde asked of her.

"N...no...he did not harm me or touch me," she responded.

"But he frightened you...oh I am so sorry," he said, as he pulled her into a hug, which surprised her. She wanted to push him away, but now she was afraid to anger him, for the real monster had been in front of her all along.

~*~

Once she finally made it back to her room that night, she burst into tears, as she stared up at the starry sky.

"Oh Fandral...how will I ever find you?" she fretted. She gasped then, as she saw a faint blue glow from a star in the sky.

"Fear not, Rose Red. You will find your beloved Fandral and break his curse with true love's kiss. Your destiny has decreed it so," a ethereal voice echoed in her mind.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"I am Hermes...the messenger Goddess and goddess of knowledge. I cannot come to the Land of Untold Stories, for I am forbidden in lands where time does not move. But I can give you hope," she said.

"Hope?" she asked.

"Yes...you and your beloved are my champions. I have championed your family for generations and in return, they have always maintained my vast library of story, knowledge, and all the realms. But I am afraid your Uncle has been a grave disappointment," she replied.

"He is evil and has driven my people to the brink of starvation. And now…" she choked.

"Now he has cursed the man I love," she cried.

"Yes...but you will find him. Be wary of Dr. Jekyll, but Mr. Hyde is an ally. You will find Fandral, you both will defeat your Uncle, and then you will restore and protect my library," Hermes said.

"I love the library...I've longed to have the time to maintain it properly," she sniffed.

"And you will. We will meet soon. Take heart...you will fulfill all I have said," Hermes said, as the glow in the sky faded. She sniffed.

"I will find you, my love...I will always find you," she promised to the stars, hoping that somehow, he would hear her. She got into bed and imagined his arms around her and his lips kissing her passionately. Now, she was more determined than ever. No one, not even Dr. Jekyll, was going to stand in her way…

~*~

The bear rummaged and foraged, forever paranoid that he was once again being hunted. But when the bear saw no one around, it happened to look up at the sky and saw a blue glow from one of the stars. His blue eyes watered a bit and he roared a little in anguish. He missed her...he needed her to save him. He needed his precious, beautiful Rose.

~*~

Zorro dismounted his horse, as his men scouted the area. This would have to do as a place to make camp for the evening. They were close to finding Fandral and had hopes of peacefully capturing him. If they could keep him in one place, they could at least keep him safe until Rose found a way back. Suddenly, a portal opened and he saw a man standing in it.

"Do not fear...I am someone that is helping Rose Red find a way back," Hyde said.

"Rose...she is safe?" Zorro asked.

"Yes...I cannot keep this portal open for long and only have one more chance to do so. Find Fandral and in thirty minutes, I will open this portal again. You must send him through and I will get him to Rose," Hyde replied. Zorro nodded.

"We will find him," Zorro promised, as the portal closed and he mounted his horse again. There was no time to lose...

[disasterdeacy]

Never In My Wildest Dreams

A/N: Here is a continuation of Some Day One Day and also a request from @mariekuuuuuh who requested some domestic Bri fluff!  I’m sorry if this isn’t what you had in mind, but I got a bit carried away lol.  There is no smut in this part, but I do have a good bit of smut written that accompanies this, so if you would like me to post a second part with smut, just let me know!!! Title comes from the Dan Auerbach song, it’s hella underrated and the only thing I could think of to name it lol.  Summary: Y/N has been having a rather shitty week, feeling sick, tired, and just all around crappy. Arriving home from work, she wants nothing more than to curl up next to Brian and sleep.... Life, however, has other plans. Word Count: 7k Pairing: Present Day Brian May x Young!Reader Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Pregnancy, General Issues With Mortality, Age Gap, Mentions of Hospitals

Walking through the front door of your and Bri’s Chelsea home,  a groan of  relief left your mouth at the smell of dinner cooking. You absolutely loved being Brian’s wife and making him dinner every night, but you were absolutely  exhausted, and had no idea why.. Work hadn’t been anymore stressful than usual, you were sleeping extremely well, eating healthy, taking your vitamins... and yet somehow were still absolutely KNACKERED.

Sitting your purse down on the foyer table, you kick off your heels and pad to the kitchen, smiling widely at the sight of your husband. Brian was stood in front of the stove, your favorite GBBO apron, that Noel Fielding had nicked for you after you’d met him at the BRIT awards and told him of how much you loved the show, tied around his waist over a black button up and matching trousers. His hips were moving to the beat of ABBA, as he tasted a bit of whatever was in the main pot, nodding his head in approval at the taste.

You didn’t know how you’d managed to get so lucky. He knew how insanely tired you were, and had actually told you to go to the doctor to get tested, although you’d adamantly refused, telling him that you were 100% fine, and that he had nothing to worry about. He didn't believe you in the slightest, but, you were a grown woman and he wasn't about to infringe on your right to be a stubborn idiot. You quietly make your way over to him, admiring the way his ass looked in the right black trousers, before slipping your arms around his waist, laughing loudly as he squealed and jumped around, eyes wide.

"Sorry love, I couldn’t help it!" You grin into the kiss he places on your lips, reaching around to squeeze his ass before turning my attention to the various pots on the stove.

"Whatcha makin?" Brian smiles down at you, curling your hair behind your ear.

"Chicken soup, love. You said you haven’t been feeling well, and it always helps me. It’s my mum’s recipe. Technically." He winks at you

"It has a few key ingredient changes." He loved his mum’s cooking, but he had to make almost every single one meatless. Taking a moment to wrap his arms around you, Brian smiles and leans his forehead down to rest against yours.

"How have you been?" Sighing, you lean forward a little, pressing a kiss to Brian's nose.

"I’m feeling a bit better, still a little drained, but better."

It's a lie, which Brian seemed to notice right away, based on the look he sends you. Sighing, you throw your head back, his arms tightening  to keep you upright.

"Well alright love, if you must know I’m absolutely fucking exhausted, and can almost fainted on the Central Line earlier." Brian gapes at you, his hazel eyes widening as he takes in the severity of your words.

"Y/N! Darling, why haven’t you gone to the doctor? You really need to, especially if you’re feeling faint! Why didn’t you call me?" He leads you to a nearby chair, making you sit down, obviously concerned for you.

You roll your eyes playfully at his concern , but your heart was swelling at the same time from it.

"Bri, love I’m okay I swear! It’s probably nothing, I promise. If anything else happens I’ll go okay?"

He didn’t seem pleased with your answer, his eyebrows raised, a frown on his, but before he could retort, you take  his hands in your own, bringing them to your lips to place a few reassuring  kisses to.

"Go finish up my soup and stop your worrying Doctor May, I need some warm liquid ASAP." Laughing at your innuendo, he rolled his eyes and returned to the stove giving you a pointed look before he turned his back, a quiet sigh of relief falling from your lips.

You were feeling a little worse than you had when you had walked through the door, the usually incredible smell of Brian’s cooking making you sick to your stomach, but you definitely couldn’t let him see that.. Usually you never got sick, but this had been going on for weeks now, the exhaustion, nausea.. the whole thing was worrying you, and obviously worrying Brian. Feeling the bile rise in the back of your throat, you quickly slide from the chair, legs scraping across the tile floor as you rushed to get up, hand over your mouth.

"I gotta go to the bathroom love... "

Running as fast as you could up the stairs, you fall to your knees on the floor, not even bothering to close the door behind you before you lurch over the toilet, heaving up the sparce contents of your stomach. God, you hadn’t puked like this in years, not sense a bad run in with appendicitis in college. Your head was pounding, limbs weak, something was genuinely so wrong, and you  needed Brian, maybe even a trip to the hospital. Pushing yourself away from the toilet, you crawl to the door, weakly crying out for Brian before darkness washed over you completely.

Brian was initially worried when you all but sprinted out of the kitchen, and he quickly stirred the soup before putting it on a different burner and turning it on low. Turning off the previously used burner, he takes off his apron and scrubs his hands as fast as he could. He knew you hated when he worried but he just.... had a bad feeling.

So, despite his own chastising himself, he followed you upstairs, calling out your name gently. When you didn’t answer his knocking, he sighed and pulled open the door, but upon eeing your unconscious form on the floor, his stomach dropped, nausea over taking him. The absolute worst case scenario was filling his head, and he was already dialing 999 before his knees hit the floor beside you and somehow directing emergency services to your home. He didn’t know what to do; was nearly scared to move you, so he just stroked your hair, making sure you were laying on your side, talking to you—begging you to wake up, to be okay; assuring you that help was coming.

By the time EMS get there, Brian is  a complete wreck, absolutely terrified. He couldn’t lose you—Jesus, he couldn’t lose you. He couldn’t keep losing the most important people in his life! He rides along in the ambulance, bitching at the EMS workers when they insist on putting a heart monitor on him. Feeling empty when they make him stay behind while they whisk you away at the hospital, he sits heavily into a chair in the waiting room, still attached to the heart monitor the EMS had managed to attach to him.

God, he had never been this scared in his entire life, seeing you lying on the floor, pale, sickly, and completely defenseless... It tore his heart from his chest. Brian knew he didn't need to be alone through this, knew he needed someone with him to lean on, so with shaky hands, he pulls out his phone, and after giving Roger the scare of his life, slumps into the chair, tears falling freely from his tired hazel eyes. Groaning a bit as you came to, you attempted to open your eyes, quickly closing them when they were assaulted by the bright lights above you.

Your whole body felt like it was on fire, your head was pounding, and if that damn beeping didn’t stop within the next 5 seconds, you were going to rip your ears out. ‘God, what happened? Where was I?' was all that was running through your head. The last thing that you remembered was crawling to the door in the bathroom, calling out for Brian, and then all of a sudden you were waking up in place surrounded by a  smell you knew all too well, thanks to your proclivity for childhood injury.

You were in the hospital. Swallowing the bile that had risen in the back of your throat, you attempted to sit up, only to have a nurse gently push you back onto the bed, saying that you needed to rest, because they were running a few tests to figure out why you had fainted. Your mind was immediately swirling with the worst possible results. Cancer? Heart attack? Everything that ran through your head was nothing sort of nauseating. The nurse must have seen your face turn green, and swiftly handed you  a bedpan, rubbing your back as you visited.

Tears were running down my face as the nurse handed me some ice chips, throwing the bedpan in the medical waste bin. Brian... You needed Brian. You were so weak, everything hurting, your nerves frayed, and the only person who could make you feel any semblance of normalcy was Brian. Glancing up at the nurse through teary eyes, you open your mouth to speak for the first time.

"Where’s my husband? C-can I please see him? I-I need him, please."

The kind nurse smiled, squeezing your  hand and telling you  that she would go get him. Thanking her weakly, you fall back into the bed, tears falling freely when Brian all but ran into the room.

 Brian had been sat with Roger’s arm around his shoulders when the nurse comes out to get him. He stands, wobbling a little on his feet, Roger stands too, making sure Brian doesn’t fall over

"How is she? Is she alright? Please, is she okay?"

His  voice is shaking as he speaks, and he wants to sob when the nurse tells him you’re awake and asking for him. He spares a look at Roger, but Rog just shoos him off, telling him to go. So Brian follows the nurse, bursting through the door to your room and all but collapsing in the chair by your bed, his hands reaching for you. He’s trying to keep a brave face, but he knows he’s failing as he cradled your face in his hands, looking you over frantically.

"Y-You really scared me, love. God, I thought—I didn’t know—"

He shuts his mouth, reaching for your  hand without the IV and pressed a kiss to the back of it

"I love you Y/N. I love you so much."

Brian's voice hitches with nearly every word, and he desperately tries to reign in his emotions, to no avail. Seeing Brian so emotional, his hands shaking as he grasped your hand, it was too much, and the dam that you had been desperately trying to suppress just breaks, sobs wracking your whole body.

"Oh god, Brian, I’m so scared, I’m so- oh god Bri."

Brian looked absolutely terrified as well, his eyes red rimmed, his breathing shallow, but he just held you, climbing into the bed and wrapping his arms around you,  placing kisses into your hair as he whispered words of comfort. You wanted to be optimistic, to think that everything would be okay, but given the present circumstances coupled with your exhaustion, you couldn't help but think the worst.

"Bri, what if... what if it’s ca-"

The words wouldn't even come out, the fear of the disease that almost killed your grandmother overtaking my body as Brian holds you tighter, lips against your hair as he attempts to console you.

"Shhh, Anna, it’s not that. It won’t be that. It’s going to be alright, love. There are so many other things it could be."

His mind is racing, trying to come up with anything to distract you.

"I mean—Roger was just telling me that TigerLily has an electrolyte imbalance that makes her sick in the exact same way! It went undiagnosed for a long time, but now she just watches her intake and she’s fine! So let’s just—just wait for the tests to come back before we prepare for the end of the world, hmm?"

Pressing a kiss to your hair, he sighs a bit, the action shaky.

"It’s okay, love, I’m here. I’m going to take care of you."

The words are quiet, but he means them, and he knows you know it too. The two of you lay there for what feels like ages, wrapped in one another's arms, but is probably only ten minutes or so before a nurse comes in the room,  a doctor got on her trails. Their entrance causes Brian to hold out of the bed, scrambling to his feet in an attempt to get to the doctor to find out what's happened, what was wrong with you. He just wanted to know that you were okay, and the doctor simply smiles at the two of you, introducing herself before walking to stand by your side, Brian and the nurse following behind her.

"Well, Mrs May.. your test results came back perfectly normal, save for one. But, this result explains all of your symptoms."

She pauses  for a moment, flipping the sheet. You were  about to throw up when she smiles you. ‘An odd reaction from a doctor when reading test results’ I thought.,

"Congratulations are in order you two. Mrs. May, you’re pregnant. About 10 weeks I’d say."

Brian  blinks, staring at the Dr. in complete shock. It’s like he barely comprehends what she’s said, his brows furrowing.

"I’m—I’m sorry, what?"

She repeats herself,  laughing a bit at his reaction as Brian hakes his head, blood pounding in his ears.

He looks down at you, white as a sheet. It was the last thing he was expecting, a complete shock. It wasn’t that it was a bad thing! Actually, it was the furthest thing from it. He just, well—he was 71. He hadn’t been sure it would even be POSSIBLE for them to get pregnant, and it’s not like they’d been TRYING. He runs a hand through his unruly curls, his other arm still wrapped around you. A baby. Oh my god, a BABY.

"You’re pregnant... "

His voice is little more than a whisper, trying to get the idea in his head. You couldn’t focus on anything except for the feeling of Brian’s arm around you, his gentle voice filling your ears.

"B-baby? I-I’m having a baby?"

You weren't  upset about it, you were absolutely overjoyed! You and Brian had been discussing having children together since the night he made drunk you  brownies almost 2 years ago. The two of you knew it’s what you wanted, but you weren’t exactly making an attempt to have them.

Brian had been worried in the past when you'd discussed it, citing that being his age and having a baby would be a bit... strange. He’d been a great dad to Jimmy, Louisa, and Emily, and an even better granddad, but you knew that he was still concerned at having to learn how to be the father of a newborn all over again. The doctor smiles again, shaking her head slightly.

"Babies Mrs. May, your sonar shows you’re having twins."

Brian feels very faint, and hears himself say so, the words leaving his mouth before he can think. The nurse immediately has him sit back in the chair, getting him a cold pack to put on his forehead. He looks over at you in complete disbelief; you have the same sort of look on your face. He realizes he should probably try to say SOMETHING to make it less awkward, but all he manages is.

"Well I... I guess everything works, huh?"

You can't help but burst out laughing at Brian’s words, initial concern for his well being flying out the window. Only he could make a situation as insane as this one somehow funny. Still laughing, you reach over and grab his hand, squeezing it reassuringly.

"A little too well, I'd say. "

The nurse and doctor are laughing as well as they leave the room, saying that they would like to keep you overnight to get your fluids back up. You and Brian manage a word of thanks as they leave, still shaking with laughter and disbelief at what you'd just been told.

"God Brian.. twins.. y-you.. we're having two babies.."

You looked over at Brian as you spoke, taking his hand before your eyes widen in concern at his appearance. He looked pale, hands still shaking. You knew deep down that he wasn't upset, that he was just in shock, but you had to ask, to make sure Brian was as equally excited as you. Squeezing his hand again, you raise up in the bed just enough to properly sit face to face with him.

"Bri, you-you’re not mad are you?"

 His head shoots up to look at you, hazel eyes wide. He reaches for your hands quickly, concerned as he presses a kiss to your palm.

"No! No, Y/N, love, why would you think that? No darling I could never be mad at yiy , especially over something like this.., I’m... I’m excited! I’m just.... terrified?"

He nods to himself, huffing out a laugh.

"Yeah. Absolutely terrified. And.... surprised, I guess. Really surprised. I didn’t know—I mean we weren’t sure, "

He stops talking, knowing he was just reiterating what had just been said.

"..... Two babies, Y/N! "

 Bringing his hands to your lips, you nod at him, smiling into the light kisses you were placing on his hands.

"Yeah love, two babies.."

Your eyes start to tear up, happiness bubbling up and out.

"I’m.. I’m gonna be a mom! Brian, oh my god you’ve made me a mom!"

Before you'd met Bri you were positive that you didn’t want kids, but then you met  him and  it was like your whole perspective on life changed. Then there was his worrying that it wouldn’t happen, and you finally accepted that you would never be a mom.  And you were genuinely okay with that fact, you had everything you'd ever wanted in Brian, but now? This was happiness like you'd never known.

 Brian breaks out into a smile at your excitement. No matter how many worries or concerns he had.... he just wanted you to be happy. He always wanted you to be happy. He laughs a bit, leaning forward to kiss you deeply.

"I think it’s all you, Love, "

He pauses, his throat growing thick with emotion,

"You’re going to be an amazing mum. God, I love you so much. And I love our little babies already."

He laughs a bit, teary eyed, and presses a wet kiss to your lips before sighing and standing up, smiling down at your confused look.

"I guess I should go tell Rog he can go home."

You look up at him surprised and he grins, looking a bit bashful as he runs his neck.

"I uh, was kind of freaking out earlier. He’s sitting in the waiting room.. "

Your eyes widen at his confession, he's called Roger? Not that you were surprised, Rog was always the first person that Bri called in a situation like this, you were just worried for him, you'd not even thought about how your spell had affected Brian, and you knew he wouldn't want you to either.

"Bri, are you sure you’re okay? God babe, I didn’t mean to scare you so bad, I’m so sorry."

He only smiles down at you , pressing a kiss to your forehead in reassurance, lips migrating further south to take your ear in his mouth, teeth grazing it just enough to make you giggle. Laughing as you do so, you push Bri away and towards the door, smacking his ass as he stumbles away.

"Go tell Rog that I’m not dying, just that your sperm is a little too potent."

 He's still vividly blushing when he reached the waiting room, both Roger, Sarina, AND Tigerlily were standing there, eyes wide and full of questuons. Brian is a bit meek, voice soft when he tells them it wasn’t exactly bad news. Roger makes a HUGE scene of course, whooping and hollering, and teasing him. Sarina and Tigerlily are just as excited, just a bit more reserved about it. Tigerlily was already asking if she could tell her siblings, her eyes bright.

Brian is a bit overwhelmed, and doesn’t quite know what all to say to any of them. Luckily Sarina gets Roger to calm down, and the blonde man decides that the Mays should have some space. They give a confused Brian a bag of food,  Tigerlily explains that food was a necessity for you to feel better, and that sure, maybe ramen wasn't the healthiest call, but it was your favorite, and that's all that mattered.

Brian wraps the young woman in a big hug, smiling widely as the whole Taylor family leaves, shaking his head as he returns to your room.

"Alright so, I’m not sure, but the entire Taylor clan might know about this by the end of the day. Not much I can do."

You laugh, and he relaxes a little bit, going to sit beside you again.

"How are you feeling now? Hungry? Because your friends certainly went all in for you."

Happily taking the bag from Brian, your stomach rumbles as you smell the ramen inside. Whatever drugs were being pumped into your body through the IV were doing the lord’s work, because you felt immensely better than you had a few hours earlier, and your appetite was back in full force. Opening the bowl you groaned, god Lily knew you so well. Brian laughed as you dug into the ramen.

"The Taylor clan can tell the whole damn world if they keep bringing me food like this."

The broth was warming you from the inside out, the noodles and bamboo root hitting the spot and filling your previously empty stomach.  Brian simply watches you eat, a dopey smile on his face. After you finish, Brian took the trash and dumped it in the recycling bin outside, smiling as you make room for him in the bed, patting the space beside you. His smile widens and he crawls in beside you, your body curling into him, head resting against his neck. It was silent for a while, Brian holding you, randomly placing kisses into your hair. Lying there you allowed your thoughts to wander to what Brian had said, about how the Taylor clan was going to spread the news like bonfire. Tightening your hold around Brian's waist, you sigh, mind wandering.

"Bri, we have to discuss how to break the news to everyone.."

Brian hummed in agreement, murmuring into your hair

"Well, do you want to wait until the three month mark? Isn’t that usually what’s done? And then we can... we can announce it however we like. It doesn’t have to be fancy if you don’t want it to be. I’ll do whatever is best for you."

He smiles a little, biting his bottom lip to try and tame it, not wanting to seem TOO eager.

"I’m excited, I think. I mean, I AM excited. It just had to... settle in. I mean, I’ll spread the news all over Instagram if you want me to, "

He chuckles to himself, arms tightening around you.

"I think the majority will be thrilled."

Seeing him so happy made you happier than you'd ever thought possible, and you  knew he’d been worried about being able to have children with you, but he never let it show, never made it obvious.  But, he didn’t know that you'd heard him crying countless times while watching videos of babies, videos of you with his youngest grand kids.. he wanted to have a baby with you so badly, and now, now the two of you were having two when you didn’t think that just one would be possible..

Nodding into his chest you showed him that you knew he was right, waiting another 2 weeks to publicly announce the pregnancy was the best thing to do. For now, you’d keep it between you and your families and friends, just basking in the fact that you were going to be parents. But, agreeing to hold off on the announcement didn't mean you couldn't imagine it. Chuckling a little, you sit up, resting your head on your hands on top of his chest.

"Can we please do a really cute announcement on Instagram? Like, something that’ll make everyone cry? Because, personally I want to see everyone cry. "

Brian laughed loudly at your words, squeezing you tighter as you  joined him, unable to keep your smile from pulling at your lips. Reaching down to touch your stomach, the first time you’d done it since being told you were pregnant.  Your stomach was still relatively flat, well not exactly flat, it never had been, but normal, and yet, in a few weeks you would start showing and there would be no going back, well technically there was no going back now, but it almost didn't feel as if this whole situation would be real until you could see it for yourself. Sighing in contentment, you press kiss to Brian’s chest as he reaches down to touch your stomach as well, tears welling in his eyes.

"I didn’t know it was possible to love you even more than I already did when I left home this morning, and yet here we are."

 He chuckles through his tears, rubbing your tummy gently, just thinking about how there were two little lives growing there, lives that the two of you had made!

"I feel the same way, truly."

He snuggles with you, considering the other things you’d said

"Of course we’ll make a big public to-do about it, love. We’ll work together to make it the most tear inducing announcement the world has ever seen."

Laughing a little, he shakes his head in thought.

"Freddie was always good at things like that. Maybe he’s rubbed off on me. And, well, Rog is quite good at being dramatic as well. So things seem promising."

He's teasing, but still serious, getting more excited the more he talks.

"Oh, Anne will be absolutely over the moon! Get ready for tons of baby clothes from her."

You smiled at Bri’s mentioning of Freddie, he rarely did that, and when he did, it was because he was beyond happy, and after the past few years you’d had, seeing him so insanely happy was all that mattered.

"Do you think Fred would like me? Like, would he approve of me for you?"

You knew it was insane to ask, but you really wanted to know. Freddie was such an important and integral part of his life, and you just... needed to know..

Brian was a bit thrown by your question- surprised by it. You'd never really asked about Freddie. Not so forward, at least. Brian didn't blame you; he didn't talk about Freddie all the time. Not that he didn't think about his friend every day, it just... hurt. Still. He figured it always would.  He supposed he hadn't exactly given you a lot of guidance on how to handle the subject.

"Of course he'd like you."

His voice is soft as he considers his words. There's a pause, and he huffs out a quiet laugh.

"He'd probably tell me you're the only one that actually makes any sense for me. Though, he might only say that to get a rise out of me, seeing as the two of you are so alike."

He laughs at your surprised expression

"I'm serious, love. It's a bit ridiculous, actually. Rog and I have both talked about it."

You burst out laughing at Bri’s statement. You and Freddie Mercury? Similar? You weren't one to argue with the man who had known him the best, but, that didn't mean you actually believed it.

"So, I’m like Freddie? Genuinely? Because if that’s the truth, that might be the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me."

Brian knew how much you absolutely adored queen, knew how much the band meant to you as you'd’ been a fan for almost 20 years, nearly your entire life. And he knew how much you admired and adored Freddie, although you had never really talked about it, because you knew just how painful it was for him. Brian had been incredibly open about his struggles with depression and all of the things that would set him off, but never once had he mentioned Fred, and you respected that and left it well enough alone.

 He simply smiles, his face a mixture of fondness and sadness, his voice the same. But he doesn’t shy away from speaking about it. He figures he owes you that much at least

"I’m serious. I mean, the two of you aren’t twins or anything—I don’t think the world could handle another Freddie. Or YOU, for that matter."

He grins at you, poking you gently in the ribs

"But yes. You have the same sense of humor, the same kindness—the same interests, even. And..."

He shrugs, blushing a little.

"You both care for and support me in ways no one else has. Differently, of course. But... still uniquely."

 Emotions bubbling up, you swallow the lump in your throat.   Hearing Brian be so open about something you’d never heard him talk about made your heart burst, it felt as if the final beam had fallen into place. Reaching up, you brush a stray tear from his cheek, one that you were willing to place cold hard US dollars on he hadn’t realized had escaped his eye.

"Well, I’ll just have to make sure I give you enough love and support for 2 people then huh?"

Placing a gentle kiss to his lips, your smile soon causing you to pull away as Brian curled himself into your side, placing butterfly kisses down your neck until his head came to rest at your chest.

"Also love,"

You chuckled, pulling at a stray curl on his head.

"The world is about to get TWO more of me.. and you, but, mostly me I’m willing to bet. Ya know, American genes and all."

 He scoffs at you, trying to hide his emotions, even though he knew he didn’t have to.

"American genes? Oh, Anna, you are SORELY underestimating the May genes. Just you wait—they’ll be just like me, and it’ll drive both of us absolutely mad."

He smiles a bit at you before it fades. Sighing, he touches your cheek.

"You can ask about him, you know. If ever you want to. It’s a sore subject, but.... but I need to be more open in remembering him."

Leaning forward to place a kiss to his lips, smiling into it before burying your face into his neck. You knew that he wouldn’t mind me asking about Fred, but you also didn’t want him to think that you were nosy, putting your nose somewhere it didn’t belong.

You had never met Freddie, never met Jim, only met Mary once... You just didn’t feel like you belonged in that world, I mean, you had almost passed out when John had turned up at your house, wedding present in hand, a few weeks after you’d returned from the honeymoon.

"I love you so much Bri, but you’ll regret telling me that. I’ll never shut up about him now."

You laugh into his chest, his hands pinching your sides playfully, tickling you until you were a laughing mess against him.

"Dirty move Doctor May! Tickling the mother of your children, that’s a low blow."

At the mention of his children, you couldn’t help but think of Jimmy, Louisa, and Emily. What their reactions would be to the baby. You groaned, grabbing the bed remote and lying it all the way back, allowing the two of you to cuddle up closer, and far more comfortably. Brian’s grip on you tightened, hazel eyes looking down into your’s. He knew something was wrong, something was bothering you. Twisting around, you lie down on your stomach, deciding to revel in the feeling while you could.

"How do you think your kids are going to take the news?"

He knew that there was  more you want to say but he doesn’t pry—just waits for you to decide when to ask. His heart aches a little when the words fall from your lips, his hand stilling on your back.

"... I’m not sure, love. It’ll be another big change, and they’ve proven themselves unreliable when it comes to being mature about those."

His voice is tight. He hated that his kids were acting the way they were. It made him mad, but also just.... extremely sad. He knew they’d like you if they’d give you the chance.

"I mean.... maybe the twins will help them realize how serious you and I are?"

He seems lost in thought for a moment, and then he shrugs.

"They’ll take it however they take it, Y/N. It’ll be alright. It’s their own issue."

You wanted to be optimistic, wanted to believe that what Brian said was true. That, because of these little miracles inside of you, his children would come around to your marriage. You had apologized to Brian about a million times throughout the duration of your relationship, for coming between his children and him, only for him to give you the same answer he’d just given you. Lying your head down on your arms, you hum in contentment as Brian runs his hands through your hair.

"I know Bri. You know how I am, I just want everyone to get along."

You chuckled a little at how naive it sound.

"But, I know that I have to think about us first, about making the best home and foundation for our children."

You paused, eyes widening slightly.

"Fucking hell Bri, we’re having children. Like, actual kids."

Your voice was shaking a bit, the reality finally setting in for REAL. You'd thought that it had set in the minute you'd been told, but this, this was the first time you had that overwhelming sense of ‘I’m going to be a mom.

 Brian grimaced up at the ceiling, already going through the list of things he had to do to prepare the house.

"Yeah. Jesus.”

He sighs, his worries coming back.  He taps his fingers over your lower back, mind racing. God, having two new babies? He was beyond ecstatic but.... well. How long would they have him for? Ten years? Fifteen? He’d be 90 by the time they graduated, if he even lived that long (something he tried not to think about at all costs). God, would they resent him for it? Think it was weird?

“.... I’ll have to do some research for baby proofing."

He decides to stick to talking about the house, not wanting to ruin your happiness. Those were his own issues and insecurities, not your's.

"We can probably turn my office into the nursery. I don’t use it much, and it’s right off the bedroom. How does that sound?"

You knew exactly what Brian was doing, was rambling about baby proofing, about the nursery, about absolutely anything to try and keep you off of the scent of his anxieties, but you could tell something was bothering him.. You could always tell.

"Bri, love, as much as I love the image of you painting little constellations all over the nursery, what’s wrong?"

He was acting strange, his eyes not as bright as they’d been earlier in the day.

"You are still okay with this right? With the babies? I know it’s a lot, and I just, you’re okay with it? Or is it something else love?"

Leaning over, you kissed his shoulder, worried about what was going through his head. He always tried to internalize his own insecurities, something he’d done the entire time he was with both Chrissie and Anita, something you’d been working with him on for the past 2 years. You just wanted to make sure he was okay.

Brian stops himself short from his rambling, eyes downcast. He felt guilty for worrying you

"Of course I’m alright with the babies! I’m so excited for us to expand our family together, and I can’t wait to meet them and love them, and see how amazing of a mum you are. Really, It’s nothing, love."

You give him a look, and he sighs. He could never lie to you—though he still tries.

"It’s just still settling in, and the idea is nerve wracking, but I know you already know that! It’s a scary thing. You’d think I wouldn’t be so worried after already having kids, but it never gets easier."

He huffs out a laugh, running a hand through his messy curls

".... I’m just.... old, Anna."

He feels like that’s all he needs to say, just thinking about it makes him feel sad. He already doesn’t know how you’ve stayed with him and wanted him, with his age and his looks and his... capabilities

A sudden sadness washes over you at his words knowing exactly what he meant. It was something the two of you had had a few very tearful conversations about in the past. Being with someone Brian’s age you knew you wouldn’t get the 50+ years with him that you wanted, but you were determined to make the most of the time you had together. Bringing children into a relationship like this was going to be hard, and they would only get 20-30 years TOPS with their dad, just like you. But, you didn’t care. Rolling your eyes, you press your face into Brian’s neck, wrapping your arms around him tightly.

"I’m not going to pretend like it’s not going to be hard, but, we’ll make it work. We always have."

You smiled into him, placing a kiss to the skin of his neck.

"We’re not going to be like normal families, I mean why would we want to be it’s boring that way. But, we’ll be a family full of love, and affection, acceptance, and happiness. We’ll give these little nuggets the best years we can with the time that we have together."

He sniffles, nodding a little.

"I know. I know, it’s just—i feel so guilty. I don’t want to put you or them through that; I don’t want to leave you alone."

He's quiet, voice shaking a little. No one ever liked talking about their own morality, but he selfishly thought he had reason to hate it even more than most. He tries to pull himself together, focusing on your words

"I’m sorry. I know you’re right. There’s nothing we can do, and I can’t... I can’t focus on that when there’s so many other things to think about."

He presses a kiss to the top of your head before speaking again, arms still around you.

".... like getting you out of this hospital and back home, for one. Did they say you had to spend the night? I’m sure you’d rather stay in our bed than this one."

He gestures to the hospital bed the two of you were squished together on.

Groaning as you attempt to get comfortable in the bed, you look at Brian for a second before pressing the nurses button.

"Yeah love they wanted to keep me overnight if I felt like I needed it, but honestly I want nothing more than to go home, take a hot bath, and have you make slow love to me."

You kissed his jaw, pulling away just in time for the nurse to come in, asking what you needed. When you sweetly explained that you felt like you were ready to go home,  she sighed, saying that you would be better at the hospital, but that it was ultimately your decision.

After assuring her that you were in capable hands, she left, returning a few moments with the paperwork for you to sign, and the declared you discharged. Letting out a sigh of relief, you crawl off of the bed, stumbling a little as you attempted to use your legs for the first time in hours. Brian was still sat on the bed as you dressed yourself, a dazed look on his face. You grin, knowing exactly what your words had done to him, before pulling sweater and leggings on.

"You alright love? Ready to go, you've got a long night ahead of you... "

Tags: @meddows-taylors @only-theclassics @toomuchlove-willkillyou @leah-halliwell92 @glasgowkisschelseasmile @cyndagoaway @goodoldfashioned-rogerboy @im-just-a-musical-prostitute @rogertaylors-lipgloss @brianmayoucease 

[mikkomacko]

The True Encounter VIII

Y/n is convinced that there's something in the wolf genes that make you perfect because Harry is undeniably a gift straight from the Heavens.

He's a commanding, strong alpha one minute and then the next he's serving her heart shaped pizza with nothing but oven mitts on, and giggling at the sunflower petals stuck to her ass and shoulders.

It's simply not possible for someone to be so perfect without some kind of genetic help. Y/n is pretty sure all the wolves in his pack are too, his family’s certainly as perfect as him. 

Either way, she's determined to make sure Harry knows that he deserves everything his big heart desires even if it means skipping class to buy a strand of lights and a potted flower for Harry's den back at the village.

~

While Harry was spending the week with y/n, Gemma restocked his fridge and according to a very excited Harry, bought curtains for the spare bedroom.

Naturally, y/n teases him for it.

Big strong alpha Harry that doesn't do his own shopping and wants silky curtains, not cotton.

It makes him blush and grumble something about dust not sticking to silk as much, loudly placing a pan down on the stove just to make y/n jump.

He snickers at her, cracking a couple eggs into the pan. "That wasn't very nice of you." Y/n complains, pulling her vibrating phone out of her pajama pants pocket.

Harry peaks back to look at her as she answers the phone, her eyebrows pinched in confusion.

"Hello?" Y/n answers, hoping she doesn't sound disinterested or annoyed.

"Good morning y/n!" Gemma chirps, obviously a morning person.

"Morning Gemma." At the sound of his sister's name, Harry lowers the burner and turns to face y/n.

She looks up at him, taking in his questioning look. Y/n shrugs her shoulders at Harry to let him know that she's just as lost as he is. Gemma's never called y/n before, they've barely even texted.

"I was wondering if you'd like to spend the day with me?" Gemma asks, hopeful. "I know how nerve wracking it must be coming into the pack and being expected to be one of our leaders. I wanted to show you around the pack house and tell you a bit about being a luna?"

Y/n is taken aback.

Gemma has always been exceptionally sweet to y/n and made her feel welcome. Both her and Anne have double checked that she's comfortable with Harry and what comes along with him. Gemma even went out of her way to get y/n a toothbrush that stays at Harry's.

But y/n never expected her to invite her to learn what it's like to be a luna, what the pack is like. It makes her want to cry, she would absolutely love to know more about what she so willingly, and blindly signed up for.

"I-I would love that!" Y/n gasps out, her face breaking into a smile. Harry's still eyeing her suspiciously but seeing her smile like that makes him grin, turning back around to finish making breakfast.

"Really?" Gemma replies but she sounds relieved. "It's not like, weird or anything? Hanging out with the older sister? "

"Of course not!" Y/n protests, offended that Gemma would even think for a second that y/n didn't want to spend time with her. "I'm kinda tired of this one here, would love some time with the nice sibling."

Harry spins around quickly, his mouth open in a scoff and frowning with hurt. Both y/n and Gemma giggle, Harry crossing his arms over his chest and slumping into the counter.

"Great, meet ya in front of the pack house around 1?" Y/n can hear moving about in the background and a child crying, coming what she's assumes is one of Gemma's kids.

"Sounds great!"

"Excellent!" Gemma grins. "Sorry to rush you off the phone but I've really got to go."

"Don't worry about it." Y/n assures. Gemma bids her goodbye, y/n thanking her one last time and then hanging up.

She's biting back a smile when she looks up at Harry. He's separating the omelette he made onto two plates, giving her an innocent smile.

"What plans 'ave yeh made with my sister?" He asks with fake accusatory.

"None of your business sir." Y/n quips, trying to restrain her smile but failing miserably. Harry cocks an eyebrow at her, clicking his tongue.

"I don't appreciate the attitude yeh 'ave going on today." He saunters around the counter, coming up behind y/n. She tenses in anticipation, feeling his hands grip her hips. He rests his chin on her left shoulder, his lips pressing to her ear.

"Seems as if you're only sweet to meh when I've got my cock up in yeh."

Y/n's breath catches in her chest, her eyes fluttering shut as Harry kisses her shoulder. "As much as I'd love to always be buried in yeh," He reaches up with one hand to brush her hair away, shivers running up her spine. He bites at her earlobe. "'ve got plans today and yeh already showered, so do me a favor and be a good girl, yeah?"

It feels like all the air has been sucked out of the room and she can't speak but Harry squeezes her hip, forcing her to suck in a breath. "Yes."

He hums, turning the stool around so she's facing him. She opens her eyes to peer up at his dark ones, a challenging furrow between his eyebrows. "What happened to the 'sir' huh? " He cups her chin between his thumb and forefinger, his thumb catching in the dip of her chin. "Quite liked that."

"Yes sir." She breathes out, shoulders relaxing when he grins.

"Good," He kisses her lips sweetly. "Now eat your brekkie."

~

"M'gonna miss yeh." Harry pouts, pulling y/n closer to him, wrapping his arm around her neck in a loving headlock.

"I'll be gone for a couple hours." Y/n giggles, grabbing at his forearm. Harry whines, putting more of his weight on her causing them to stumble on the pavement. "Harry!" She scolds through a laugh, her knees feeling like they're going to buckle. Just as y/n is about to fall forward, Harry corrects his stance, chuckling into her ear and steadying her on her feet.

"M'gonna 'ave to actually see the lads now." Harry complains, patting the top of her head. "I've been using yeh as an excuse and now you're leaving meh."

"I'm sure your friends miss you love." Y/n comforts, squeezing his arm. "It'll be fun to see them won't it?"

"Suppose so." Harry hums. "And you'll get to meet them tonight, get to show yeh off to my friends."

Y/n laughs, rolling her eyes at how much of a boy he is but it makes butterflies swarm her tummy.

Gemma is waiting outside the front door to the Pack House, nervously bouncing on her feet. Harry releases y/n from the headlock he had her in, now just resting his arm on her shoulder.

"Hi guys!" Gemma greets, beaming at the couple. She skips up to y/n, pushing Harry's arm away and hugging her. Harry scoffs, pouting and rubbing his arm.

"Lovely seeing you too Gem."

She rolls her eyes, pulling away from y/n and tackling Harry into a hug. "Don't be a baby H." She kisses his cheek.

Gemma pulls away, allowing Harry to pull y/n back into his side. She giggles, placing a loving hand on his belly and resting her head on his chest.

Harry knows now's the time he should say bye, kiss y/n sweetly and leave but he really doesn't want to let go of her. He loves having her wrapped around him. "So what are yeh two up to today?"

Sensing that Harry's just trying to stall so he can get in as much affection as possible, y/n wraps her other arm around him and hugs him tight. She burrows her nose in his tee-shirt, softly inhaling the scent of him. It makes him shiver, placing his free hand over the one she placed on his abdomen to let her know he appreciates her.

"I'm showing her around the Pack House and giving her a feel for the whole luna thing, show her her role." Gemma explains, smiling at y/n who's still trying to put Harry at ease, affectionately rubbing her nose back and forth on his chest.

"That'll be fun." Harry replies, glancing down at his sweet girl. She looks up at him, eyes shiny and soft, waiting for him to address her. "Gonna be okay without meh?" He questions, slightly hoping she'll shake her head and say she just wants to go back home with him.

Instead she nods, smiling at Harry. "I'll miss you terribly but I think I'll survive." She pinches his side, getting him to squeak and giggle.

"If yeh need anything call meh okay?" Harry pats her hand softly. "I'll be here within a minute, promise."

Y/n nods as Gemma scoffs. "Believe it or not but I can take care of a human being ya know?" She teased, jutting out one of her hips. "I only have two kids."

Harry gives her a mocking laugh. "Yeah, yeah, get outta here before I change my mind about letting her hang with yeh." Y/n laughs, stepping in front of Harry and lifting her arms to his neck.

"Love you H." She beams, pulling Harry's full attention from Gemma. Harry leans down, giving her a chaste kiss.

"Love yeh more." Then he's sending her off with a pat on the bum, heart swelling at the sight of y/n fully becoming a part of his family.

~

The top three levels of the Pack House are reserved for the family of the alpha only. The first level is the grand hallway with a staircase that led to the dining area. On this floor are six rooms, two of which belong to Gemma and Harry. The rest our empty, reserved for emergency guests or hospital rooms when younger Harry and Gemma played doctor. Harry was always the nurse.

The second level is the dining table that y/n ate at the night she met Harry's family as we'll as their own personal kitchen with a cook. However, Gemma and Anne usually eat breakfast and lunch with the pack, saving their kitchen for dinner.

The backside of the second level is a living room, one that Gemma and Harry would make sheet tents in and sleep under. Gemma said it never got much use once Harry turned 10, that's when he began training for alpha and their father didn't really enjoy Harry acting like a child. Y/n finds that ironic; Harry's father tried to cut his childhood short but ten years later, Harry's still a kid at heart. The thought just adds more fuel to the fire that burns in her heart for him.

The third level is something out of a museum. The hallway is lined with photograph after photograph of men, all sitting at the same desk with a big window behind it. It's difficult to see out the window but y/n is sure it's overlooking the village.

The latest picture is one of a man that looks oddly familiar. "That's my father." Gemma informs, noticing y/n examining it.

Y/n could've guessed that, the man looks exactly like Harry. Same curly hair, shorter than Harry's, but the same chestnut color. He's got the same green eyes that she's gotten so comfortable with and even though he's got a beard, y/n is sure he's got the same broad jaw as Harry.

"Looks just like him." Y/n smiles, looking at the empty spot across the hallway where Harry's picture will hang.

"Should see him without the beard." Gemma laughs. "They could be brothers." Y/n's smile grows at that and she can't help but think about Harry as a dad. She hopes that they have a child or two that looks just like Harry. He's so adorable now she can't imagine what a baby him would do to her heart.

Gemma tells y/n that the third floor houses the alpha and luna as well as different offices for Harry or the alpha to work out of. The pictures on the wall were taken in the private office, one only the alpha and luna are allowed in. The others vary in size, depending on how big the meeting will be. The largest room seats up to thirty five people not including the alpha and if requested, the luna.

Y/n realizes that this is basically a monarchy. Anne is the queen and Harry's next in line for the thrown. He's treated of high importance and respect because his father was the king that saved the village from a terrible leader. A leader that was starving everyone and not giving medical attention to the pack. The main difference here is that the pack is allowed in the 'castle' if needed.

The four underground levels are the hospital and ER, open to all pack members and in y/n's case, the occasional human.

The first floor is like a lobby, where you check in with the worker there and they'll show you to whatever area is needed. The second floor is the kitchen and dining area, which is also open to everyone. The next three floors are empty rooms, all set up for guests in case a pack member needs somewhere to stay.

Gemma shows y/n where the biggest rooms are and that they're usually only used if a whole family needs to stay, that way they're together. She shows her the back entrance to the kitchens, the one Harry carried y/n through when she was sick and introduced her to the head chef, Mike.

They go through the lobby and to the basement, Gemma taking y/n to the first floor of the hospital. The lower the floors, the more sick the patients. The bottom floor is for patients that need round the clock medical attention from the most skilled witch doctors.

The top floor is the ER and quick treatments. The second and third are for casual medical treatments and the birthing area. Y/n can't help but get excited at that. She's always loved the new born babies and she doesn't know how wolf babies work but she'd love to see them.

Sensing her excitement, Gemma takes y/n to the viewing area. They're staring through the glass window, peering down at the babies that look perfectly normal. There's no indication that they're a wolf at all.

"How does the whole turning thing work?" Y/n asks, looking away from a cute baby girl that was swaddled in pink, sleeping peacefully. Gemma looks up at her, still softly smiling.

"The kids will learn how to make themselves turn by the time they're six. Their first year of school is learning what it means to be a wolf and how to control it. Before that, it comes naturally, mostly from different emotions.

"A newborn baby, if scared can begin to turn. It's nature's way of trying to intimidating whatever is threatening them. Most of the time, to control the babies from turning and hurting someone is up to the parents. Whoever the dominant in the relationship is can stop the baby from turning with the just the sound of their voice.

"In your case, it'd be Harry that would stop the baby from hurting someone but you still have authority of them, being the baby's mom. You'll just have a tougher time and it may take physical contact to calm the baby down. "

It's fascinating how it works. Everything here is set up to make sure that the pack is taken care of and fully understand who they are. And the way everything is connected, how Harry can control the shift of his future children with just his voice. It makes y/n wonder if Harry can do that with all wolves, being an alpha.

It's because of him that he got her canines to come out. It's his voice and the way he growls that turns y/n into putty in his hands. It's the way he glares into her eyes, not scary but with such authority she can't help but bow her head at him.

"I don't know if you noticed," Gemma interrupts y/n's thoughts. "but Harry's gotten more bossy since he met you, especially after he turned you."

Y/n doesn't know if he's changed. Since the first time he met her he'd been a bit authoritative over her. Of course the first night they met he questioned her, made sure she was okay and he still does that but now's he got an edge to his voice. An edge that makes her shiver and want to agree with whatever he says, and knows. He knows she wants to do whatever he tells her and that's why he always questions her.

He may be bossy but he's still a sweetheart.

"I don't know," Y/n shrugs, looking back at the crying babies. "He's always been very..."

"Harry?" Gemma supplies with a laugh. Y/n chuckles, nodding. That's the only way to explain him.

He's very Harry and she loves him for it.

~

Y/n is centering the potted plant she got for Harry in his windowsill, admiring how nicely she pinned up the strand of lights around it when she hears the door to his den open.

"Are yeh back home yet?" Harry calls out, the door shutting behind him. Y/n giggles, moving towards the doorway of his room.

"In here H." He peaks his head into the hallway, grinning and kicking off his shoes. He rushes towards her, hands immediately grabbing at her waist.

"'lo sweetheart." He kisses her forehead, beaming at her. Y/n smiles, inhaling the smell of him and cuddling into his chest. With her arms folded into her chest she presses her cheek right over his heart, eyes falling shut.

She didn't realize how much she missed him today until now.

"What's got yeh all snugly?" Harry chuckles, not really complaining. He cups the back of her head, pulling her closer to him.

"Missed you." Y/n answers, pressing into him more firmly. Harry stumbles back a bit, squeezing an arm around her.

"Ready for tonight?" Harry asks, combing his fingers through her hair. He's known that she's been nervous, he can feel radiating off of her. He's glad Gemma took her out today, took her mind off of being anxious.

Y/n hums a 'yes' and looks up at him, eyes opening to meet his eyes. Harry leans down to kiss her forehead again, smiling at how sweet she is.

"Want to take a shower with meh?" Harry offers, grinning mischievously at her. "Show yeh how much I missed yeh?"

It doesn't take a lot of peer pressure to get her walking towards the bathroom, pulling Harry behind her.

~

The cafeteria in the Pack House has been rearranged so that the table reserved for Harry's family and friends is a lined up horizontal while the others are vertical.

Plates have already been set at all the tables, warmers filled with tonight's appetizers resting in the middle of all the tables. Drink stations are set up around the room, spread out evenly between each table. It looks like someone planned an elaborate party.

Tables have already begun to fill, families squishing together and waving at Harry from their seats. He gives a charming smile every time, waving politely to the adults and wiggling his long fingers at the kids.

Each time he's waved at someone new he squeezed y/n's hand under the table, leaning in close to give her a small explanation of who they are. She nods each time, smiling kindly at the families still looking at her.

At exactly 7, the tables have filled including the alpha table. Harry sits next to Anne in the middle, Gemma and her family next to Anne and y/n next to Harry.

On the other side of y/n sits Harry's friends, the ones that'll be his guards when he's given full authority over the pack. There's four of them, all extremely kind and welcoming to y/n. Unlike Harry, they've all been bonded and two of them, Louis and Liam already have pups.

Niall, the nicest of them all is sitting exactly next to y/n, telling her about his mate that's working down in the hospital tonight and how they're planning on having a baby this year.

The fourth is Zayn. He's quieter than the rest, only offering small comments here and there. According to Niall he's bonded his mate but they don't live together or even claim to be mates because Zayn hates labels. However, he ends up at her house every other night because Niall claims he's pussy whipped.

It makes y/n giggle, maybe a little too loud because majority of their table turns to look at y/n with a questioning expression. Niall chuckles at her, making her clear her throat and wave them off, squeezing Harry's hand that's still wrapped around hers.

Harry's been smiley all night, constantly looking to check on y/n even when he's talking to Gemma's husband. After they've finished the appetizers for tonight and are waiting for the staff to bring out the main course, Harry squeezes her hand and kisses her cheek.

He inhales deeply, tapping a spoon to his glass and clearing his throat. Instantly the room falls silent, everyone watching Harry rise from his chair to address his pack.

He gives them a charming smile, y/n falling into a daze as she admires how handsome he is in his dress pants and his white button up.

"Welcome," Harry begins, lacing his hands together in front of him. "I'd like to thank you all for being here, it's been quite a while since we have a pack dinner and I greatly appreciate you taking time out of your day to be here."

Y/n tears her eyes off of him to look around the room. Everyone's watching him, eyes wide and attentive as they listen to him speak. Even the children are completely focused on Harry as if he's their favorite cartoon show.

"Our big event for tonight is to welcome a new member of our pack who has received the blessing to stay from our luna herself," He motions to his mother to gives a nod of acknowledgement, smiling politely. "Not only is this new member just a wolf, she happens to be my wolf."

Harry looks down at y/n, smiling and beckoning her to stand up. Nervously, y/n stands, shyly smiling as everyone looks at her. "I know a lot of you have seen her around, have known that's she extremely close to my heart and I appreciate you all not pushing us to call this meeting sooner. "

He slides an arm around y/n, squeezing her waist comfortably when he feels her tremble. "Everyone, this is my mate y/n." It's silent for a moment, everyone just examining y/n. She tries to not look too frightened, her fingers gripping the back of Harry's shirt tightly.

Then, down at the end of table, food smeared across his cheek and smiling. "Hi y/n!" Gemma's son shouts, waving at y/n. The whole room awes and chuckles, y/n relaxing as she waves at him.

"Just like my man Elliot here," Harry laughs. "I'd like you all to treat y/n with kindness and respect as we transition into our designated roles. Thank you, enjoy your meal."

As soon as he's finished speaking, the wolves around the room all clap as cooks shuffle out of the kitchen. They place trays of food on the tables, Harry letting y/n sit down first before following.

He thanks the workers as they set the food down, shifting in his chair to face y/n. "That wasn't so bad was it?" He asks, reaching up to brush hair out of her face.

"No." Y/n laughs, peering over Harry's shoulder at Elliot who's squirming away from Gemma as she wipes at his face.

"Feeling okay?" Harry presses, cupping her cheek. He's searching her eyes for any sign of hesitance or regret and feels good when he finds none.

"I'm perfect H." Y/n assures, placing her hand over his. He grins, kissing her twice, sweetly.

"Good now eat your dinner before Niall takes it all."

~

After dessert the pack is able to mingle or head home. Most families with young kids head out, offering both Harry and y/n their congratulations.

The others stick around, talking among themselves and coming up to question Harry on when he'll be taking over as alpha.

He's seem to deflate each time he has to tell someone that they're not bonded quite yet but as soon as they are, he'll be taking over.

The furrow between his eyebrows deepens and he's holding y/n unbearably close to his side. He keeps kissing her temple or cheek and squeezing her hip as if making sure she's still there.

It makes y/n's heart sad, seeing the confident man that stood up in front of everyone tonight slowly fall into a nervous boy.

By the time the cafeteria has cleared out Harry's full on frowning, gazing down at his shoes as he thanks the staff one last time.

He's quite as they walk back to his place, taking the back way because Harry isn't in the mood to share her anymore.

"Harry?" Y/n questions, quietly closing the door to his den behind her and locking it. Harry hums in acknowledgement, already unbuttoning his shirt but not looking up at y/n.

Y/n really doesn't mean to but she can't stop the tears that well up in her eyes. She wishes she could give him everything he wants. She wishes she could bond him right now, that they could take over as alpha and luna as soon as he wants. And it hurts her to look at him and see how upset he is that he's still waiting.

"I love you." She whispers, looking down at her feet and sniffling. She wipes a stray tear from her cheek, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. She feels so helpless standing in front of him.

"Why are yeh crying pet?" Harry asks urgently, forgetting his half unbuttoned shirt and rushing towards her. "Do yeh not want this anymore? Was it too much?"

She shakes her head, sobbing into his chest as he pulls her closer. "Please tell me what happened love?" Harry begs, wishing he could just feel what she's feeling.

"I'm sorry we haven't bonded yet." Y/n whimpers, clinging tightly to him. It breaks Harry's heart, seeing her so torn up about something she can't control.

"You've got nothing to be sorry for." Harry says sternly, squeezing her even tighter. He wishes he could hug all the sadness out of her so she'll only ever be able to be happy.

"I just want to make you happy." Y/n cries, blindly reaching for his hand. Harry grabs her hand, bringing it up to his lips to kiss her knuckles.

"You do make me happy!" Harry insists. "You've always made me happy and it's no one's fault that we haven't bonded yet. It'll happen and it'll be incredible."

Y/n doesn't answer but her cries have quieted, now just hiccups into his bare chest. "Don't ever think for a minute that I'm not happy with yeh!" She looks up at him, peering at him through tear covered eyelashes with wet eyes.

"I've been waiting my whole life for yeh." Harry whispers, as if telling her his biggest secret. "I was made to love yeh and be with yeh and yeh were made for meh. We're supposed to be together love, bonded or not you'll always have my heart."

Y/n relaxes, snaking a hand up to wipe her eyes. "Really?"

"Really." Harry smiles. "I love yeh more than I've ever loved anything or anyone." Harry decides he can't wait to spend the rest of his life with her. He's gotta do something because it's driving him mad seeing her like this.

He's gotta do something to show her that he'll never be mad at her or blame her for their love story because it's perfect and it's theirs.

[the-blind-assassin-12]

I See You : Part 1

A/N: Billy’s awake... and he remembers everything. What’s his plan?

Word Count: 2,568

Warnings: graphic descriptions and foul AF language annnnnnnd M U R D E R. 😈

Six months. That’s how long it had been since he’d woken up in that dimly lit back room, cuffed with thick chains to the hard bed beneath him. The first few moments of consciousness were blurry as the exposed beams and overhead lights, the cracked and clouded windows and stained cement floor came into view, and his survival instincts kicked in telling him where he was. Warehouse. Breathing slowly through his nose to keep himself calm, he looked down at his right arm and saw that it was stuck full of needles and tubes. I.Vs. His eyes followed the clear tubing from the crook of his elbow to a makeshift stand, a nearly empty saline bag hanging from a bent hook, rundown, dated medical equipment beeping softly behind him. He swallowed, his throat bone dry and scratchy, as he tried to recall what had happened…how he’d ended up there. He tried to reach up to his face but the short metal restraints prevented him from doing so, clanging loudly and echoing in the cavernous room. So I didn’t come here on my own then… He scanned the room for any other clues, coming up empty until he spotted a non-descript black phone on a small side table. What the fu… He reached for it, wrapping his fingers around the cheap plastic before flipping it open only to find that it was completely devoid of any contact information. There had been no calls made and none received, but the battery had been fully charged. Billy set the phone back down, frustration growing by the second. Everything in him, all his training, his conditioning, all of it was telling him he was in trouble, sending him signals that he wasn’t supposed to be here, but there didn’t seem to be much he could do about it. He hated that feeling more than any other, that feeling of having no control, of being at someone else’s mercy.

He swallowed again, the sensation like sand paper on his esophagus. Fuck, I need water. He blinked his eyes a few times and realized that they felt dry, too. Jesus, how long was I out? He’d wanted answers but the longer he was awake, the more he looked around, the more questions he’d gotten instead. Unable to reach past the restraints that held both of his wrists in place, he looked down at his lap. Stretching the fingers of his left hand he gripped the threadbare sheet that had been draped over him and pulled it back. His eyes widened as they fell on the heavy bandages that covered his abdomen. Shit…I really… And then it hit him- he remembered. Everything. The fight on the carousel. The broken mirror. Frank’s face hovering over him, his gruff voice in his ear. Choking on his own blood, nearly drowning on it, the metallic taste of it coating his tongue. He remembered the last two words he uttered, and what he’d felt when he’d said them. “Kill me,” he’d implored his former friend, the man he’d called brother for years. “Kill me,” the two words he never expected to come from his own lips. It hadn’t all been vanity in that request, hadn’t all been about pain or suffering or consequences. There’d been some regret, some admission, some self-loathing in those words as well. He knew what he’d done to Frank’s family, and he knew Frank- knew that there was only one way that this all was going to end; with one of them dead at the hands of the other. Brothers.

The hum of the florescent lightbulbs, despite being 32 feet above him, seemed to grow to a deafening roar as the realizations struck him in waves. His breathing quickened through flared nostrils and the machine behind him increased its incessant beeping as a result of his heightened heartrate. He couldn’t reach his face, couldn’t know the extent of the damage there, but he remembered the sound of the glass shattering as Frank dragged his cheek along it. He remembered the inhuman screams from his own mouth, remembered Frank’s words “Dyin’s easy, Bill.” Yeah, Frankie, it is. And when I get outta here I’m gonna show you just how easy… Frank didn’t want him dead just yet? Fine. One at the hands of the other, right? He looked at his hands; at the cuffs clasped around his wrists, at the knobby bones protruding after the atrophy of however much time had passed and decided that these hands would serve him well for killing…just as they always had.

Sometime later, a pair of footsteps echoed from the hall to the right and Billy sat up as straight as he could, ready to face whomever those footsteps belonged to. He winced slightly as a searing pain shot through his abdomen, and he looked back at the bag hanging on the hook to see that it was empty. Putting two and two together he realized it must have contained some form of pain medication- something to numb the agony that he’d otherwise have been in. Good, I wanna feel it. He felt his lip curl as the footsteps grew nearer, a man’s form materializing in the darkened doorway. “You can stay right where you are, doc, until you start explaining,” he snarled as the man’s eyes widened upon finding his patient awake and alert.

“Didn’t expect to see you up,” the man said, scratching his chin. Billy felt an itch on his own chin that he couldn’t scratch and his anger grew.

“Well here I am, asshole,” he opened his hands. “So start talking.”

The man hesitated before taking a few more steps towards Billy. He squinted his tired-looking hazel eyes, dark puffy circles showing beneath them, and Billy guessed he was a doctor at a nearby clinic or hospital that was looking for a side hustle. The man’s eye’s flicked to the empty bag behind Billy and then back on the coal-black eyes burning holes through him. He nodded at the I.V. stand. “I could set you up again there.”

“Not interested in dope, doc. Talk.”

“Alright,” the man took another step. “You came in pretty messed up. What do you remember?”

“Everything.” Billy growled.

The doctor nodded again, pocketing his hands. “Guy that brought you in made me promise that you’d survive, told me to give you that,” he pointed to the phone on the side table. “That was about as much as I could get out of him.”

“Yeah,” Billy scoffed, “Frank’s not a big talker.” He felt a burning sensation crawl across his face as the nerve endings there woke up.

“You been here about a month,” Billy kept his stoic façade but that news socked him in the gut. A fucking month? In a fucking coma? The doctor continued. “Had to keep you sedated, keep you out of it so you could heal…he…I’m assuming it was the same guy who brought you here?” he paused and Billy nodded. “He did a number on that face of yours. Cheek flapping off the bone, ear nearly torn off. I’m good with a needle and thread but that” he gestured with two stubby fingers towards Billy’s face, “was a challenge.” He indicated Billy’s bandaged torso next. “Stab in the belly though, that’s the one that was really critical. That’s what I had to keep you sedated for- make sure you couldn’t move and rip out the internal sutures.”

“Well great job, doc, I’m alive,” Billy said sardonically. He’d have given the man a sarcastic round of applause if he could. “Now how about we get these cuffs off. I’ve got some business to finish.”

Something familiar flashed in the man’s eyes- something Billy had seen in dozens of eyes over the years- fear. “Sorry, can’t do that just yet.” The slight waver in his voice told Billy that he was right about the fear…but it wasn’t him the doctor was afraid of. It was Frank. He wasn’t going to deviate from whatever plan Frank had in mind. “You’ll still need supervision…you’ll need more medical attention…for a few more months before-“

“Months?!” Billy barked, the force of his question causing a pull in the wound in his abdomen.

The doctor nodded. “You have no idea…the shape you were in…the shape you’re still in…Hell, you sure you don’t want another round of morphine? You must be hurtin’…”

Billy just fumed silently in response as feeling started to come back all throughout his body. The pain would have made most men howl, would have made most pass back out utterly overwhelmed, every nerve in his body igniting with just the slightest movement- the flutter of an eyelash, clearing his throat, bending a finger. But Billy was not at all like most men. Instead the pain only made him angrier, only fueled the rage that caused his heart to keep on beating. “I’m good,” he refused the doctor again.

The doctor took a half step towards the I.V. stand. “You sure? I-“

“I said I’m good.” The definitive tone in his voice chopped through the air like a paper cutter and the doctor nodded quickly. “How long?” Billy inquired.

“Until you can-“

“Until I can leave. How. Long?” Each word dripped with venom- for the man in front of him, for Frank, for himself for getting into this situation at all.

The doctor ran a shaky hand through his hair and shrugged. “Two more months?” Billy’s eyes darkened and the man flinched. “Make sure there’s no infection…make sure you can walk without pain…without-“

“Make sure you follow Frank’s orders, you mean.” Billy fell back against the poor excuse for a mattress.

“Look, guy,” the man said, holding his hands up in front of him. “This Frank character? He means business. He shows up with you looking like minced meat, with his threats and his conditions…knows my name, knows my wife’s name…so yeah…I’m following his orders. Me and you…it’s not personal, but I’m not trying to get on his bad side like you must’ve.”

With that, the doctor checked Billy’s bandages, set up another I.V.- no painkillers, just fluids- and said he’d be back later with food. Billy watched him retreat down the same hallway he’d come from, and heard the distant sound of a door swinging on creaking hinges, scraping against concrete, before slamming shut with a heavy thud. As though the whole interaction was being screened, watched, the phone on the table next to him began to ring. Billy looked at it, eyes threatening to melt the piece of shit burner as he stretched his restraints to pick it back up. Flipping it open, he answered. “Frank.”

. . . . . . . .

He’d gotten out of that back alley hell two months later, like the unnamed doctor who now resided somewhere in a landfill with the contents of the dumpster Billy had left him in had said. Frank had called once a week every week, like he’d said. He never mentioned anything about keeping the doctor alive, and he either didn’t know or didn’t care that Billy had disposed of him. But he’d made it clear that his rules were to be followed- made it clear that he’d come after Billy if he got word that he’d stepped one foot outside the city limits of New York. He’d given Billy instruction on where to go, where to find work, where to live- all places that wouldn’t check backgrounds or credit or anything that would link the scarred, scruffy shell of William Russo to the remnants that Billy had become. Seeing no other option, and not having formed a bullet proof plan for revenge just yet, Billy had stuck to the script. Three months became four and four became six. Six months with just his own thoughts etching tally marks on the inside walls of his skull. Six months with just Frank’s weekly phone call, ensuring that he was still playing by the rules. But by the sixth month of his new life, the wheels of his old one began to turn and a plan had started to form.

He’d felt like a dog. On a leash. Beaten and abused. Rabid. Whipped. But you’re a dog too, Frankie, aren’t ya? You obey. You don’t defy. You snarl and you bite but you didn’t go for the kill. Well I’m breaking from the pack now. No more masters. No more leashes. No more squirming under someone’s thumb. He scratched absently at an itch near his nose, fingertips finding the jagged ridges and grooves of one of the many scars that made up his new face, lingering over the once smooth skin that was now rippled and taught, stretched and pulled. His top lip curled involuntarily at the constant reminder of what had been taken from him, what he’d built, what he’d lost, and how he’d be forced to live now that it was all gone.

Rules. Always someone else’s rules. Someone else calling the shots, someone else running the show and pulling the strings. His mother. The group home. Arthur. Rawlins. Frank. React. Endure and then react. That had always been how things had gone. He was tough enough. He could take it. Proud to handle it. But he was sick of it. There was always something to gain for being strong; had always been a reward for resiliency. Where was the reward now? There was no reward now, only a reminder. He dragged his hand down his chin where a rough layer of stubble grew in patches, before bringing it back up to the top of his head, scrubbing it over the bristly hair that had once been smooth and lustrous. Rubble. That’s what was left of William Russo, former Marine Special Forces operative and CEO of Anvil- the hollowed out remains, the crumbling edifice of a once proud structure, ravaged by firebombs. It was time to rise from the ashes.

Billy waited at the bus stop like he did every day, the hood of his white sweatshirt pulled up over his head despite the warm temperature. He checked the time. 2:42. The bus would be coming in three minutes, and so would Frank’s phone call. He turned the small rectangular phone over inside the pocket of his sweatshirt, waiting. As the minutes passed and more people gathered around the bus stop, he felt the phone vibrate and he pulled it out to answer, just as the hulking MTA bus rounded the corner. He stepped back to allow the other passengers to board before him, answering the phone as a lady and her young son made their way up the steps, smiling at the driver. “Hey, Frankie,” he answered, voice dripping with sarcasm.

It was the same call Frank always made. It was the same bus at the same time that Billy always took. But there were two things about that day that were different- two things that would change everything; one- Billy had a plan, and two- that plan went to shit when he heard a familiar voice address him once he’d ended his call with Frank.

“Billy Russo?” the voice was light and airy, female and sweet as honey. “Is that you?”

Billy froze in the middle of stowing the phone safely back in his pocket. Shit. Six months had passed and not one person had noticed him. Until he heard your voice. Shit, shit, shit.

@something-tofightfor @my-little-dumpster-fire @zaffrenotes

Let me know if you would like to be added or removed from the tags!!

[squirrelly831]

Leaving Him [Seokjin and Yoongi]

Note: This is JUST a reaction. I do not think you should EVER be in a violent relationship. NEVER let yourself get abused by another [mentally or physically]. You’re worth more than that kind of life.

This one has a bit of violence in Yoongi’s, so read at your own risk. Links are down below! Enjoy~

Seokjin

Seokjin was perfect. Isabel had always been told how lucky she was to find a man like Seokjin. He was handsome, could cook, and was a successful doctor for being as young as he was. Isabel, or Izzy, met him during her residency as a nurse under him. It was what started the love affair turned marriage. Their love was like a storybook. She felt like Queen Victoria who found her own Prince Albert.

Due to his work, he worked some late nights and was hardly home, but being part of the medical field, she understood as she was called into work in the ER when they were low on staff. However, there were some times that she got suspicious. Sure, doctors worked over time, but with the amount he worked, it was more than a typical doctor. At first, she suspected an affair, but there were no women that Seokjin remotely gave a second glance too.

When she had began to give up on her suspicions, her brother, a local detective, dropped by. She brought tea to the living room where her brother sat with a solemn expression. “What brought you here so late?”

He looked at her then around, “Where’s Seokjin?”

She let out a frustrated sigh, “Out at work. Got called in again.”

His eyebrow rose, “Again?”

She waved it off, “He works overtime about everyday. I don’t think he sleeps more than a couple hours.” She played with her wedding ring, “But, I knew what I was getting in when I married him, so I guess I shouldn’t complain.”

“What if I told you he wasn’t the righteous doctor you thought he was?”

She was quiet for a moment before she let out a scoff, “I’d say you’re crazy. He’s a great doctor.”

Her brother pulled out a stack of papers from his bag and put them on the coffee table. “You should read this.”

Izzy looked over the stack of paper in front of her. Her eyes widened each time she ran across gang, mafia, BTS, or back alley doctor. She looked up at her brother with a silent plead that this was a mistake, but he refused to meet her eyes. She covered her mouth as a cry left her lips.

“I know this is a shock, sis, but we need your help” her brother knelt beside her. He took her hand in his, “Seokjin is a bad guy. We need to arrest him.”

“What does that have to do with me?” She whimpered.

Her brother made a face, “We wanted to use you as a bribe to get him out and caught in the act. I have a man undercover and we could set up a fake kidnapping. If Seokjin isn’t part of BTS, then he would call the police.”

“What if he is?” Her brother gave her a look as if to say do you really want to know. Izzy looked away, “Give me time to think about it. This is a lot to process.”

“We don’t–”

Izzy shot from her seat, “You just told me my husband is part of BTS. A ruthless gang who I’ve only heard nightmarish news about. I need time.” She stressed.

Her brother took the files and nodded, “I understand. You know how to reach me.”

It took her a week to finally reply to her brother and agreed to help. She knew asking Seokjin outright would get her nowhere and she kept about her daily activities as to not raise suspicions. So, one day after work, she drove to location her brother told her. His partner met her there with a makeup artist.

“This woman is just going to prepare you for the photos. We’re going to make it look as real as possible. Are you sure you’re ready?”

Izzy shook her head, “I’m not ready, but if I don’t do this I won’t get the truth.”

Once the makeup was done, her brother ripped her shirt and the fake blood stained her scrubs. The reality didn’t set in until her brother put her in a chair and tied her up. Tears fell as she looked down as her brother got out of the shot and his partner took the pictures. Her heart felt like it was going to give out with how hard it pounded against her chest. She held back her sobs, but not the tears that continued to flow.

The pictures were sent to Seokjin and her brother untied her, “Now we get you out of here.” Izzy gave her brother a surprised look. He touched her cheek to wipe the stray tear, “You can’t stay here. If they see you not in real danger they’ll realize they’ve been played. My partner will take you to the safe house.”

They ushered her to the car and she sat in the backseat. She had a burner phone in hand that was given to her to tell her brother when she was safe. However, she felt fear. Not for herself, but for Seokjin. The man who was nothing short of perfect. The man who would help someone regardless if he would get paid for it or not. Her tears returned as she pushed in Seokjin’s numbers she had memorized like the back of her hand. Though it was more likely true that he was part of BTS, she couldn’t see a man like him behind bars when so many more people need him.

Don’t go. It’s a set up. Please. Don’t look for me.

She sent the message before blocking the number. She hugged the phone close to her as her wedding ring was long taken by her brother. She didn’t want this, but she had a feeling that they wouldn’t let her change her mind and go back to him. Izzy loved Seokjin, but with a detective brother, she knew they would never be together again.

When Seokjin received the text, they were halfway to the address. “Stop the car!” Yoongi slammed on the breaks and they looked at him. Seokjin’s hand clenched around the phone, “It’s an ambush…” he got out of the car. “FUCK!” He screamed as he threw his phone against the asphalt. He pulled at his hair as he realized his secret had been discovered by the last person he wanted to find out. Namjoon got out of the car to find out what was up. “She knows. This whole thing was a set up. Her brother… he must have told her.” He was conflicted. He didn’t know what he could do next.

Yoongi

Yoongi kept a lot of secrets. Secrets that he knew Natalie would never accept due to her nurturing nature. Her nature wasn’t a problem for him. He loved that about her the most. However, it was hard to keep a secret as big as his when he took his work home.

Being in charge as BTS’s second in command, he did a lot of the dirty work for RM. His specialty was torture and interrogation. Something he had an entire basement in his home for. He only ever did his work when Natalie was away for a long period of time. He was never going to tell her the truth about his occupation. All Natalie needed to know was he worked in Namjoon’s company as a co-CEO which wasn’t a lie.

One thing Yoongi didn’t account for was Natalie’s flight cancellation due to a snow storm in the country she was headed off to or that she headed home due to it.

Yoongi held a pair of pliers in his hands with a cold grin plastered on his blood stained face. “This could all be over if you admit the truth. Who are you working for?” He glared at the man who was chained to the chair. Some of his fingertips missing and his hands were in pulls of blood. The man wept and Yoongi rolled his eyes, “Open his mouth.”

“NO! NOOO! WAIT SUGA!” The man screamed.

Natalie heard the scream as she entered the house. Her stomach turned out how fearful it sounded. She placed her bags down and sought the voice. She noticed the basement, a place that has always been locked, open. Another scream sounded and she jumped. Her eyes furrowed as she felt weak. She swallowed hard as she went down the stairs. When she got half way the scene played in front of her. Yoongi yanked out a couple of teeth from a screaming man who had blood seeping from the injuries and other spots. Natalie let out a blood curdling scream.

Yoongi whipped around to see only the bottom half of Natalie as she ran for dear life. He threw the pliers, “Get rid of him” he ordered as he went after her. “Natalie! Nats please!”

Natalie didn’t look back as she pulled the front door open and slammed it as she ran out. Her stomach, unable to hold down the contents any longer, stopped her as she hurled. She grabbed hold of the nearby tree as she emptied her stomach.

Yoongi stopped running and walked to her slowly, “Natalie…”

She spun around with tears in her eyes. She tried to speak but she couldn’t muster a word as a sob broke from her. She pulled at her hair as she leaned against the tree and slid down it. She screamed as she mentally broke. Yoongi went to touch her, but she slapped his hand from her, “DON’T TOUCH ME!”

He stood there unable to move. Natalie wouldn’t let him go near her without hitting him or flinching. His heart twisted as he watched her, “Please… Let me explain… Come back home with me…” His voice faltered. Natalie wrapped her arms around her knees and cried. “Please…”

“You’re a monster!” She mustered. Her words cut into his heart, “You’re a cold hearted monster! I hate you!”

Yoongi blinked back tears, “I’ll be in our home.” He steadied his voice to stop from crying. “I’ll wait for you there.” He walked backwards away from her before he turned and left.

Natalie waited long enough to make sure he was gone before she weakly stood and fled the area. She refused to go back to that house after that experience.

After an hour, Yoongi grew concerned and went back to the tree. He stopped several feet away when he saw no Natalie. He looked down where she sat before he looked up at the leaves. “Damn it… I shouldn’t have left her here alone.” He pressed his arm over his eyes as his tears fell at last.

Part II | Part III

Credit to gif owners

Written & revamped by Squirrelly831

♕ REQUEST

☮ BTS MASTERLIST

∞ ULTIMATE MASTERLIST

[noccalula-writes]

I wrote a long-ass essay about the entire experience with my father, as it was happening, because that’s how I cope with shit. 

CW: parental death, discussions of abuse, medical situations, dying. 

(7/4/2019)

It’s Thursday. The hospice nurses don’t think he’ll die tonight and I don’t either, but his breathing pattern is beginning to change. The rattling of the gathering fluids at the back of his mouth. The way he sleeps with his mouth hanging fully open, a much further drop than the way he’d nod off in his chair or on the couch, open enough to drool and snore but not the near-scream affectation of his jaw hanging loosely that I’ve been seeing since we arrived here yesterday by ambulance.

His jaundice is returning, albeit more subtly than it was before. Sometimes he sleeps deep. Sometimes his eyebrows move, knitting and raising and fluctuating like he’s in the middle of a very important conversation with someone who just isn’t getting the message. For some reason, I keep thinking he’s talking to his own father. I hope he is. I hope it’s a good conversation.

But his breathing becomes erratic and the emaciated curve of his chest starts to heave a little or goes too still for too long and then rises harshly, and I hold my own breath while I wait to see if his is coming back.

I want to be here when he dies. I will be here when he dies.

***

I had booked a flight on Sunday for 7:45 pm. I made it out the other side of the TSA checkpoint when I got the text that American Airlines had canceled my flight.

I called and explained the direness of the situation, and the best they could offer was 7am the next morning.

Monday morning, I flew into Charlotte NC with a 36 minute layover, just enough to let me pee and refill my water bottle and make it to the gate with less than an hour’s wait til boarding.

No sooner had I sat down than American Airlines sent out yet another text. “Your flight has been cancelled.” I was five and a half hours away from Jacksonville as a straight shot. The next flight they could put me on was at 2:45 that afternoon. The nurses had been encouraging me to come down due to my father’s rapid deterioration – I spent the entire transit up until that point only mildly afraid that he would die before I would arrive.

There in North Carolina? I was terrified.

I called, talked to yet another sympathetic courtesy clerk who could do nothing for me, talked to a far less courteous clerk at the actual airport desk, tried to see if they could just get me a rental car instead. I could either sit for a six hour layover or I could get a car and make it to Jax half an hour before my flight would leave.

Nothing.

I did not have the money to fly here – a dear friend bought my ticket – and I do not have the money to fly back. I’ll work that out after. I definitely did not have the money for my own rental car.

Finally, I went back to the courtesy desk, cried to the older gentleman behind the computer, and how quickly his face changed when I said my father was dying told me he too knew what it meant to need to get home now, now, now.

He handed me a comp ticket for a 1:11 flight that no one else had even brought up with me and told me I had to run if I was going to make it across the airport in time to board.

***

Yesterday morning, he had the last period of real lucidity, unreplicated since we arrived and began comfort-care treatment.

His main doctor came into the ICU and explained to both him and me, freshly awakened by the sound of her pulling his curtain, father and daughter both bleary-eyed but alert and trying to look focused at the importance of the situation.

“There is really nothing else we can do,” she offered with empathy, looking more at me than at him. I don’t blame her for that. It must be harder to look him in the eyes and tell him he’s at the end of the road. We both nod grimly and I ask him, just to be sure, if he understands what she’s saying.

The day before, he slept through my consultations with his kidney doctor and his oncologist and through the group meeting (myself, both half sisters, their mother) with palliative care specialists but naturally was awake when hospice came. The word ‘hospice’ knocked the breath out of him, his left hand searching feebly along the side of his hospital bed, trying to hold on to the edge like he was cresting a daunting roller coaster.

I was crouching to his right, trying to stay eye-level instead of looming over him. I think he reached for my hand. Maybe I reached first. All I know is I took his hand and he squeezed mine.

He asked for a day to consider it, and when that patch of lucidity was gone in twenty minutes, so was his consideration.

That next morning, however, with his lovely doctor standing over us both while I rested my arm and chin on the bedrail beside him, like were co-conspirators instead of a distant father and daughter with a contentious relationship whose power dynamic was about to shift considerably, there was no question of the conversation we were having.

“Do you understand why we need to do this?” I asked him after explaining that we were out of other options. My Great Aunt Jane couldn’t handle home care, even with me present, and he would never get a moment’s peace with her hovering and micromanaging. The hospital was at the end of their ability to care for him, and any measures taken to sustain his life were only delaying the inevitable.

I don’t know if he fully understood that last part, but he nodded, looking away.

I waited for a moment, summoning my courage.

“You understand this is metastatic cancer, right?”

Another nod.

Another moment of gathering courage.

“Your oncologist told me you’ve known about this since last year…” I was cautious, careful not to make him feel judged though I knew it might be a moot point, “Do you remember that?”

He paused, taking assessment, his eyes moving slowly across the ceiling as he pulled through his own memory to find the answer.

“No,” he said slowly, “I don’t… but I must have known.”

***

I arrived on Monday afternoon, my cousin bringing me straight from the airport to the hospital.

I slept on the small sofa in his hospital room both Monday and Tuesday nights. I only left for an hour on Tuesday to meet a close friend at a restaurant right on the other side of the business park from the hospital, a quick catch up to eat and get some take out for Tara.

When I start to worry that I’m doing this because I need to feel like The Goodest Daughter, like I’ve somehow exceeded everyone else’s efforts by miles, I remind myself that I’m still putting chapstick on him, rubbing lotion onto his feet, helping the nurses turn and hold him to change his diaper, enduring the vilest of shit (that systems-are-shutting-down feces is no joke), making sure his dentures are clean and his goatee is free of food despite the fact that he’s called me Tara more than once.

***

My father and I have barely spoken in the last several years.

Nobody seems to suspect that.

***

I’ve been trying to journal but it’s difficult to keep up with considering how tired I am – writing by hand is still a beautiful pastime but I’m at the point where my memory goes so quickly that if I’m not in front of a keyboard, I lose whatever nice prose I thought I had going.

I know from a self-care perspective that I should probably leave a little more often. Go for a walk around the property at a more leisurely pace than my panic-stricken power walk – big body, short little legs, shitty shoes means my legs have been killing me since the day I had to hoof it across the Charlotte airport all the way until I got back from my quick Target trip today, four days later. But I can’t.

The idea of him being alone and afraid makes me feel sick.

But he’s calm now. He’s been calm since we arrived at hospice yesterday afternoon, after I rode in the ambulance beside him that took us from his 8th-floor ICU suite to the Hadlow hospice center on Sunbeam Road, a road only slightly off the path that I rode with my father so many times. We’ve definitely driven down it before together, though, and I can’t stop thinking about time, about how eight years ago today he put “happy 4th, love ya” on my facebook wall and within three years of that we were so strained we barely spoke, existed somewhere not quite yet arriving at estrangement but somewhere further away from familiarity.

***

I’m working very hard to not let that anger I carried for him all the way up until the phone call came on Saturday that he was dying get transmuted into guilt. Of course, it’s happened to some degree, that much I couldn’t fight off – but I’m trying to remember that this anger isn’t the dysfunction of a spoiled kid who couldn’t quit butting heads with her father, but someone who tried very hard to build a relationship that never took, who eventually decided to take her hand off the burner because eventually she stopped accepting pain as a trade-in for affection.

One of the things that has emerged the clearest to me during this transition between ICU to hospice, between periodic lucidity and near constant sleep, is how different a relationship to him Tara has had than Alina or I had. Alina has always carried the bitterness of feeling unfavored atop the conflict that close proximity built between them – she spent the first 7 years of her life with him constantly, traded off every other week after that. She’s angry at him for things that he did or said, for how he chose to shape her life from that vantage point. I spent two months of every summer with him and every Christmas and birthday as they fall during the same winter break from school. I was a part-time visitor in the life he had with both of them; I came and lived in his life, on his terms.

Her anger comes from a sense of entitlement. Mine comes from an ever-present ache of abandonment. Alina has always resented him for what he did when he was there; I resented him for not being there to begin with. I ached for a relationship with my father. I called him sporadically – far apart enough that it wouldn’t cramp his distant style, but close enough that we could maintain a steady narrative of what my life was like (always mine, almost never his – my father was as cagey and distant with me as I often was with other people). The rivers of bad blood between his longtime girlfriend and all 3 of his daughters made matters worse; she was the sort of woman who never made it past high-school level social skills and let pain and depression turn her cruel and callous, and once their relationship was over my father very openly blamed her for the strain between him and his daughters.

I once countered to him that he had made the decision to not step in and stop her. To me, it was more his fault than hers. She was awful but he was complacent with it.

Never being able to consolidate world views in general atop my feelings of having been abandoned to my grief after my mother’s death in a house that felt more like a prison (I once left a cup of water unemptied in the sink and came home to find he had dumped it all over my bed – another time, I arrived home to find my dresser from Alabama pluming up smoke from the burn pile in the back yard without so much as a word to me, because he said he saw spiders in it) made it incredibly difficult to stitch the distance between us closed. I started leaving at 5am to go to my boyfriend’s house before school and have breakfast with his family (or, more often, sneak in and either go back to sleep or have sex). I begged to move out, to leave and go stay at my great aunt’s house instead, and he resisted me only until his girlfriend needed my bedroom for her kids when they visited. Then, I was allowed to leave.

He kept all of my social security survivor’s checks. I only saw the very last one. I worked at McDonald’s to pay for my own gas (I inherited my mother’s car, a 1990 Cutlass Cierra, when she died) and insurance, and I bought my own food as well so his girlfriend didn’t get upset when I ate at the house.

He judged my mother mightily for her mistakes and while my sexuality didn’t seem to hang him up too much – he nearly choked on chicken when I told him I had been dating a girl, but he recovered quickly with a shrug and a “well… shit happens” – and my defensiveness of her put us at odds with each other again. I tried to call and set up dinner dates or ask him to come see whatever new apartment my girlfriend and I were living in. He visited one once and then never again. I brought over a pizza to hang out with him one night and within thirty minutes, Cynthia called me to tell me that one of our cats had died. Spending time together got harder to arrange, and the more he seemed indifferent to how hard I was trying to forge a relationship, the more I resented him for it.

My calls went unanswered. Seeing him required going out of my way, every time. He rarely met me halfway, almost never if it required real effort on his part.

By the time Cyn and I moved to Pensacola, we had been living less than 10 minutes away from one another and had seen each other less than 5 times in a year.

By the time we moved to Columbus, Ohio, I didn’t even tell him we were going. It didn’t seem to matter.

***

The jaundice and edema have returned by Friday morning. His breathing is becoming more and more erratic. Morphine and Ativan are coming in through a subcutaneous port because he no longer wakes up to swallow.

I have to fight the urge to try to wake him, make him take a sip of water for his parched tongue. His mouth stays wide open all of the time now. I gently rub chapstick over his lips a few times a day so they don’t crack, but the corners of his mouth are bruising from the constant tension.

I am letting him die. We are letting him die. It feels like a failure somehow, even though I know I would absolutely encourage literally anyone else to do exactly what I am doing now in exactly this situation.

***

When I was 12 years old, I played my first live show.

My father brought me onstage at the bar where he played lead guitar in the house band, a vast waste of his natural talent, and had me sing Cyndi Lauper’s “Time After Time” while he accompanied me. We drilled it night after night in his studio apartment during the summer that he split from Alina and Tara’s mother. We worked on Tom Petty’s “Breakdown” but there was something to “Time After Time” that we both really loved – I had only recently gotten very good with pitch control and my young voice was still high and soft, able to curl over the notes gently. Now I sing with the base of my chest and what I suspect are several vocal nodes, my voice getting weak quickly but frankly it suits my style.

I was shaking, I remember very clearly wanting to throw up, but my father beamed at me from his post on the barstool beside me and started to play.

Years later, my Italian macho-typical misogynist of a father would come to the local women’s center where I worked as a victim advocate for a sexual assault response team and play in our courtyard during our survivor event in April. He played an Ani DiFranco song and I sang.

***

Time is a swallowed bomb, waiting. You pay for the whole seat but you only use the edge.  

***

On Friday night, they’re saying less than 24 hours. His breathing has changed again, growing labored and strange.

I almost have a panic attack when I have to go to the funeral home to sign papers for a cremation and fill out what of his death certificate I can remember.

Tara is staying beside him. Alina joined us for a while today, all three of us sitting and holding his hands, petting his leg while we listened to his favorite Splendor album and sang “Yeah, Whatever” to him. Hospice brought his lunch; he doesn’t eat or take water anymore. We stole his cookie and split it and talked to him about how good it was, teasing the way he always teased us. We reminisced, talked about the past and our mistakes. We all cried. We all laughed. It was as good a moment as we’d had together in a long, long time.

He didn’t wake up, but we were holding his hands. We were keeping him safe.

***

I sing to him when we’re alone – his favorite Bonnie Raitt songs. Time After Time, of course. When I try singing Warren Zevon’s “Keep Me In Your Heart For A While,” I only make it to the second stanza before I can’t go on.

“When you get up in the morning and you see that crazy sun, keep me in your heart for a while; there’s a train leaving nightly called When All Is Said And Done, keep me in your heart for a while.”

I asked him for guitar lessons once. He tried to teach me a G chord, told me to keep it simple.

“With your voice, you won’t need to learn much,” he said, and I was so overjoyed for the compliment that I’ve never forgotten it.

***

My dear friend Diana comes in to see him, despite having only known him through me.

He would hate this, I think, but I need her to be there, if only for a few minutes.

We met at the abortion clinic we both worked at; she became my boss within two months of my starting and we’ve been close ever since. When she goes to leave, she addresses my father, coming to put her hand gently on his.

“Mister Vance, if I don’t see you again, safe travels.”

I don’t know where he’s going. If there is somewhere, though, it’s going to have so much music. He’s going to be playing his heart out, saying everything his pride never let him say with notes and bars.  

Once, back in college, he called me and said nothing, setting the phone beside him on the couch while he absolutely nailed the Eruption solo from Van Halen’s cover of “Girl You Really Got Me Now.”

I have never thought of him as a good father. I have always thought of him as an incredible musician.

***

Back on Sunday, when I knew I would be flying out due to the severity of the situation, I told the nurse to tell Dad I was coming.

I didn’t think he was lucid enough to understand much of anything anyone said, but I missed a call from the hospital by margins of seconds. In an absolute tizzy over what might have been on the other end, I called back.

My father answered, his voice barely a hoarse whisper, his focus obscured by so much morphine.

“Dad? Is that you?”

“Bre?”

“Dad?”

“Bre?”

“Yeah, Dad, it’s Bre.”

His voice broke. “Oh, my baby girl.”

I felt my heart fall out of my ribs and drop down the staircase I fell down the year before and cracked my tailbone, shattered a tooth. I sat down on the stairs. I had been so worried he wouldn’t want to see me, that I’d get there and the ice coating would crawl back over our relationship and I’d have rushed down for little more than maybe a chance to say hello.

“Are you really coming?” he asked, over and over, like a child afraid of the answer being ‘no.’

***

On Saturday, he’s gasping for breath like a fish on a deck. It’s terrifying for me and Tara, who sit on either side of him wide-eyed and panic stricken, waiting for the higher dose of morphine to kick in. It’s violent to watch, but thankfully it starts to subside by that night.

The fear dissipates from the room, but we don’t forget the experience.

***

I show the night nurse pictures of my father with his long dark hair, his brown-tan skin, his brilliant green eyes. I show her pictures of him just two short years ago, round-faced and charming in his straw fedora as he played his guitar, blissfully unaware of all the shitty connotations of fedoras nowadays. She marvels at how handsome he is, how happy he looks holding a guitar. I tell her he’s a really good carpenter but he’s a much better musician, raised by a father who was notoriously talented as well. My father lit up onstage, not as towering as a front man but as the ever-present lead guitarist, just quirky and fun enough to draw your eye from the main microphone but practical, decades of practice and honed skill turning him into the kind of perfectionist he resented in his father.

The lead singer of the last band he played for comes to see him for the third time since Monday. He’s the kind of man who has a natural charm about him, a comfort with being the center of attention that most of us can’t cultivate. He’s sincere in his grief about my father, but he’s also the kind of person who acts as though it’s never dawned on him that not everything he does will come with applause. He performs a very dramatic one man show of his grief when it’s just him and my sister; when I’m here he holds court with his memories and talks about throwing back whiskey with my father at the bar they played at.

“He always said the doctor said it was okay!”

I fight back irritation when I respond, “The doctor absolutely did not say it was okay, he had liver damage.” It’s not this man’s fault my father took big gambles with his health and his addictions. It’s not his fault that my father has always loved a good time. It’s certainly not his fault my father lied about his condition to most people to avoid having to talk about it.

He makes open-ended statements designed to make us ask him questions about himself. Neither one of us do. This seems to bother him. It occurs to me that after a lifetime of being handsome and musically inclined, he might just be expressing himself the only way he knows how – from a vantage point where the world ends at the end of his nose.

Later, when his wife comes, it’s a complete 180. She is calm and warm and immediate, built small and slight like my mother, and between that and her unabashed Mom vibes I’m instantly glad that this virtual stranger is in the room. We watch my father struggle to breathe and she puts her hand on my back, one hand on mine on his, and for a second I shut my eyes and let myself cry – not the way I want to cry, I haven’t found the softest spot to rip that one open from yet, but quietly. If I keep my eyes closed, it feels like my mother is beside me. I can’t think of a not-weird way to tell her I’m grateful for that, so I don’t.

***

Tara and I hold vigil all day on Sunday. His lungs are full of fluid and his face is going grey. His breaths are gentle and small but he sounds like a coffee maker, an observation I make after waking from a catnap in the bay window.

It’s just the three of us and a Law & Order SVU marathon. Dad’s come to like police procedurals in his old age.

We put up a statement on Facebook asking people to send their well wishes via text and phone calls, that we are running out of road and we’d like to focus mostly on spending the last hours or days with him. Alina doesn’t show. She’s been present but sporadically, unable to bear the full weight of the reality of the situation perhaps or too distracted by her own personal demons. I wonder, of the three of us, which daughter will be the one living with the most regret. It’s probably between me and Alina.

When Tara finally goes home for the evening, the nurse comes back to check on him again. Between his blood pressure and his gentle, rattling breaths, he could easily go tonight or go into the morning.

I text my cousin and refer to my father as Captain Refuses-To-Die. She laughs. I feel guilty. She points out that no one would be laughing more than my father. I feel better.

On this, likely the last night we’ll ever have together, I read to him from the book I’ve brought from home (Dessa Wander’s My Own Devices, nonfiction essays that are beautiful and poignant), put Chicago PD on mute and play him Jeff Buckley. I read aloud from the chapter in which Dessa filmed the music video for “Sound The Bells”, and the ending lines crush me all over again: “Some places you need to go, even a chestful of air is too much cargo. Some places you can only go empty.”

I tell him, for the hundredth time, that it’s okay to go if he needs to. His blood pressure is lower and the rattling breaths are a sign we’re growing closer, but he’s still warm to the touch all over. If he’s mottling, we can’t see it. There’s gray in his face again but he reacts to the oral swab of moisturizer to keep his mouth from drying out by furrowing his brows, almost turning away but not quite. The nurses aren’t sure what to make of it. One of these literal angels asks me if I’ve tried telling him it’s okay to go – I tell her that might be what’s holding him up, because now that it was someone else’s idea, he’s just not going to do it.

I hear him in my ear sometimes. Quit rushin’ me. I’ll go when I want and not a moment sooner. Sit down.

We listen to three different versions of Buckley’s Hallelujah – instrumental while I read to him, live, and studio. We move on to the rest of the Grace album.

I’m afraid to go to the bathroom or take a shower when it’s just me and him, so convinced he’ll wait until the second the door clicks shut and then take his opportunity to slip away unnoticed, robbing me of the moment where I get to hold his hand and put some symmetry to our relationship. After all, he was there when I came into the world, purple and defiantly refusing to breathe until suddenly I sucked in air and began to scream. He saw me come in; I vow to at least be here when he goes out. I want to hold his hand the whole time, but if in all his wittiness he decides to kick while I’m half-sleeping on the World’s Okayest Cot, just being in the room will have to be enough.

***

When Alina arrived at my great aunt’s and found him on the floor, slumped against his bed bleeding and unable to get up, he told her he had become addicted to oxycodone since nothing else was helping for the pain. He told her he was done, that he was tired of being sick and tired of fighting.

Despite this, he’s still hanging on. I don’t think he wants to go. He’s only 61 years old. It seems far away to me now the way my mother’s 39 years seemed when I was 16, but now I am 32 and 39 gets more horrible and tragic every day. My father was the life of the party between his sense of humor and relentless flirting and I can only assume that on some base level, he’s not ready for the party to stop yet.

His fingers stopped searching for the fret board days ago. His eyes don’t move behind the lids anymore, and the shadows and bruises around them are coming in fierce. The Haldol is doing nothing to stop the secretions and he’s still in full brew mode, death rattle on all day long. It’s terrifying at first but after a while it’s just a rumble, just a purr. There are moments when Tara and I are perched in our respective chairs on either side of him, eyes turned to the TV or our phones, and this is… ‘fine’ isn’t really the word, but mundane. Just a thing we’re all doing. Boring, even. And then I glance at the bed and see my emaciated, sunken-faced father gurgling through yet another breath and it takes my own away how very not okay it all is.

He’d hate this, is the only thing I can keep thinking. He would hate all of this.

***

There’s a train leaving nightly called ‘When All Is Said and Done.’

Keep me in your heart for a while.

I love him with every ounce of my being. I’m so angry for all the time we missed. I’m so sad that he didn’t let me love him more.

***

It’s Thursday, again. The last few days have been a blur so emotionally exhausting I haven’t had the presence of mind to put pen to paper in any capacity.

When he’ll die is anyone’s guess. For a while yesterday his breathing changed so drastically, came in short little hiccups, that the PRN was sure he was breathing his last. Then, like nothing had ever transpired, he was back to the soft, shallow breaths of before, the rattling having disappeared within a day of its arrival. He started having spells yesterday where he exhales so hard that it engages his vocal cords, making a groan or soft moan like a zombie in a horror film; this terrified the shit out of Tara and me so badly that we grabbed the nurse. His eyes tried to open. It was incredibly upsetting.

The nurse explained that these were reflexive, the deep sighs were him fighting his own heart’s slowing down on some basal level. He’s been unconscious for an entire week now – the eyes opening are a reflex, not intentional and not a sign of any sort of awareness behind the lids.

When they opened after he was cleaned, they had rolled all the way up into his head, leaving nothing but a sliver of white, making me feel sick to my stomach. I knew dying wasn’t elegant and beautiful the way the movies would have you believe, but this is taking so very, very long and it’s so very, very awful.

It’s been a week without water now, so at some point something will have to give.

Tara has spent every day right next to me, sometimes holding his other hand, sometimes napping in the armchair while I nap on my cot. It’s often the two of us in comfortable silence for long stretches or cracking jokes over whatever is on tv. We share his trays when they come in – sometimes the worker slips us a second tray specifically for Tara – or she runs to grab lunch. We tried going out together a few times but no results; he would be exactly as we left him upon our return. Whatever he’s holding on for, he’s holding on with both hands.

I watch his pulse pound in the veins in his neck. I can see his heartbeat through the emaciation of his ribs. I wish to god this was a Death With Dignity state. I wish to god the end would just come gently for him already, and then I feel like a monster for wishing that. How do you want someone you love to die? How do you want them to stay and suffer? Damned if I do, fucked if I don’t.

I play him Joe Bonamassa, more Jeff Buckley, Bonnie Raitt, Bon Iver, Eva Cassidy, Warren Zevon. I sing every song he ever asked me to sing for him, even the ones he chastised me for singing too loudly for him to hear the radio. I hum when I can’t muster the energy to sing, which is increasingly often at this point.

I’m a ghost wandering the hospice halls. The staff greets me by first name and I know most of theirs now – Lisa, who is a literal angel, sent in a dining room cart loaded with sandwiches and chips when a big storm hit yesterday, thinking Tara and I wouldn’t likely go out to get dinner. Gloria dutifully checks on me and my dad and Tara. Jasmine, Victoria, Tinkey, Dolores, the cleaning lady named Cynthia (my wife’s name) is a particular comfort, going out of her way to talk to me every time she comes in to sweep.

The guilt is palpable. I miss my wife and my dog and my apartment; sleeping on this cot has triggered my already flared vestibular disorder and I am so dizzy I worry I’ll fall over at least once a day. I eat what I can when I can but my diet is garbage. I often forget to eat. I’m making it a point to drink as much water as I physically can without getting sick as it helps my headaches.

But I haven’t cried in what feels like days. I can’t anymore. I talk about the increasingly mottling on his fingers, his toes, his ears like it’s a matter-of-fact conversation about the weather. The sound of his sighs and groans still make my heart catch in my throat every time but I’m going numb to the rest. We’re just kind of trapped here in limbo between being able to care for him, which we no longer can, and being able to mourn him and grieve, which we cannot yet do. It feels like torture. I mentally calculate out how much therapy I’m going to need to get out the other side of this. I watch more cop procedurals than I’ve watched in years and hate every last one of them unless Olivia Benson is in them (except Criminal Minds, which I have a complicated relationship with but Tara and I both share a deep abiding love of Spencer Reid, so.)

I want to go home. I feel like dog shit for wanting to go home. I can’t leave him. Not like this. I don’t know how to ask for help but I feel like I’m drowning.

***

The only slices of time where I feel like I can breathe is when Tara and I run to Target for no good reason or when I’m in the shower late in the evening. At first I was too afraid to so much as use the bathroom, scared he would slip off the second I left the room in one final act of independence to prove once and for all that he didn’t need anybody else’s input or help.

Dad’s hospice room has a huge walk-in shower built to accommodate a sitting toilet for those who are still resisting the sponge bath with all their might. Dad was unable to walk for the three days he was in the ICU, much less now, so I drag the entire rig of pvc and toilet seat out into the bathroom proper and enjoy a shower with enough space to comfortably fit three people. In my apartment back home, we haven’t had a functional shower in months; the whole set up fell out of the wall, leaving us only with our very deep and very beautiful porcelain tub. It’s hard to complain about such a tub but the reality is that cup baths get tiring very quickly when you’re disabled and getting into and out of that gorgeous porcelain tank is real work.

This shower comes equipped with safety rails, which at the ripe old age of 32 send my chronically ill self into pure joy. I find reasons to stay in the shower longer than I normally would, water conscious as I try to be. My legs haven’t been so shaven so frequently since I was a teenager. I don’t always have the energy to slip off and stand in hot water for twenty minutes at a time but when I do I try to take advantage; we don’t know when he’s going to decide he’s had enough and I’ll be quickly packing our things into all these Zaxby’s carryout bags I keep hoarding.

***

At some point, this has begun to feel deliberate. Am I locked in one final battle of wills with my father? Is he testing my mettle – and Tara’s, for that matter – to make sure we’ve got the stones to follow up on our promises?

My father made a lot of promises he didn’t honor. Whether they haunted him or if he just forgot is anybody’s guess.

***

I’m on the lanai near my father’s room when I noticed a few people going in and out of the room. I tell my aunt Sharon, “If he slipped off while I was outside on the phone, I swear to god.” He hasn’t, but we’re close; they’ve repositioned him to try to help things move along. The doctor tells me the mottling has moved quickly up his legs and that we’re looking at hours now, maybe even sooner.

His eyes are partially open again. I grimace and close them gently. I remember my mothers’ open eyes, dead for hours when I found her, and it’s something that sixteen years of road between that moment and now have never been able to rub free from my memory. I wonder what about this will haunt me in specificity – the whole experience, sure, but the little things. If I’ll smell someone wearing his nurse practitioner’s perfume and it’ll send me straight into fight or flight. If I’ll be so consumed by my grief that I can’t eat but the second I can I find I can never eat trail mix again. If something will slip just under the edge of my self awareness and then one day I’ll be crying in the aisle at Kroger for no reason.

Bronze nail polish, unexpected splashes of Daffodil yellow, and “Girl You Really Got Me Now” stop me in my tracks in regards to my mother, but she was part of my life every single day. This man laying in this hospital bed is undoubtedly someone I love so much it makes my chest hurt to think of, but not much in my day to day life will change when he is gone – he wasn’t a part of it, hadn’t been for years.

A storm is rolling in. I call my sister.

***

He dies at 10:40 on July 11th.

Tara is asleep on the cot on one side of him, I’m sitting in the armchair on the other, listening to him breathe and texting my wife. Chicago PD is on because of course it is. I get a strange prickle of discomfort and pause, realizing that I no longer hear the heaving of his breath.

At that exact moment, my sister wakes for no reason and goes into the bathroom, passing me as I quickly come around the bed to look at my father’s face in the blue tv light, his eyes slit just barely open. His chest unmoving. The thrum of his heartbeat, so visible for so many days, stilled. I pressed two fingers to his neck, fought the urge to recoil, and pressed the call button to the nurse’s station.

We get an hour and a half with him before the funeral home arrives at nearly 1 am. With my mother, my shock and fear kept me from being able to go anywhere near her body after I dropped her when I tried to turn her over. My criminology studies made me slightly more comfortable around the dead but that quick recoil didn’t leave me and before long I was doubly nursing a burgeoning drinking problem and a crippling fear of death. I’ve done the reading. I’ve pushed myself past my comfort zone. When my beloved dogs died in 2015 and 2017, I spent time with them before burying them myself in the backyard of my aunt’s home.

When the doctor backs out of the door gracefully, quietly, I press my ear to my father’s chest and hear nothing. I put my arm over both of his. I let myself sob into his still, unmoving shoulder and I remember for a moment how he held me in my bedroom at his house the day I moved in, when my mother’s death was suddenly too real to stand under the weight off. How he let me lean fully into him and slid down to the floor with me, let me sob until I was too sore to keep crying, how for that one blessed moment he was the father I needed at exactly the moment I needed him. 

They come to take him. The funeral home worker watches me with a soft expression as I dip down one last time and tell him, “On to the next adventure. Thank you for everything. I love you, Dad. Goodbye.”

***

I love you, Dad.

Goodbye.

***

I think I’m going to feel better but really, I’m just tired. Bone-deep tired. A tired I can’t put a name to. I want to go home and be held by my wife more than I want anything in the world. I spend the day with my sisters, alternating between being mostly-okay and having my breath snatched from me by how not-okay I am. Alina submits herself back to rehab to return on Monday. We make plans to go through his things, together, in September, when I’ve returned for a wedding. It feels okay-ish, and then it feels less okay, and then it’s so awful I can’t wrap my head around it.

And it will continue to be awful. I know that. But it will gradually become less awful, the edges rubbing down until it doesn’t cut me every time I brush against it. It will always be awful. But it will turn into a shape of awful that I can breathe around.

I take stock of what I’ve got left in my hands now that my watch has ended. I went from “my father is not in my life” to “my father is dying and I am caring for him in his final days after a lifetime of his antiseptic behavior to my attempts at building emotional bridges with him” to “my father is dead” in the space of about 13 days. There was no time. It all happened too fast.

On my last day in Florida, I drag both of my exhausted sisters to the beach. Alina sleeps on a towel. Tara and I wade out into the ocean, and I let the salt water of my sweat and my tears remind me how we all came from the sea, how we all return to the earth, and how one day this planet will keep spinning without me, regardless of whether I’ve left a list of things undone or not.

I don’t scream. I don’t cry. I just float for a while. 

[lovemesomesurveys]

What is your favorite game to play on your phone? For the past few months it’s been Wordscapes. I’ve played several hidden object/murder mystery games on my phone as well. What is the last thing you bought at the dollar store? I don’t recall. Do you like getting caught in the rain? Not if I’m going to be stuck in it for awhile.  Who was the last person who was rude to you? I don’t recall. Do you have anyone you can really talk to? I could, yes.

What is your newest hobby? I got into beading for like a second, ha. What is one way in which this year is different from last year? My health has in some ways. Do you own a swimming pool? Nope. What is your favorite thing to do in a swimming pool? I use an inner tube and hang close to the edges. I’m really not into swimming, though. It’s been yearsss since the last time.  I can’t swim and even in an inner tube I’m really scared, which is why I stay close to the edges or chill out near the stairs into the pool. Unless whoever is with me wants to pull me around the pool, but I make them promise not to not swim away from me. It’s just really not a pleasant experience for me, so I’d rather not swim at all. How long can you tread water for? Like I said, I can’t swim.  Do you feel like you have too much on your plate and your life is too hard? I’ve felt that way for a long time. What color is your bicycle? I don’t have one. Do you know anyone who is colorblind? My science teacher my senior year in high school was colorblind. What color are your bedsheets right now? Pink. What do you do when there are no new or good surveys on bzoink? Well, I don’t get my surveys from bzoink. I get them from fellow survey takers on here. The survey selection has been great lately, I haven’t not had one to do in awhile. When that does happen; though, I’ll check out LiveJournal.  Did you do anything you regret within the last 24 hours? Yes. What is your favorite day to go grocery shopping? I don’t have a favorite day to go. Which stovetop burner do you use the most? The left front one. Are you behind on chores? I really need to go through all my clothes and get rid of some stuff, but ugh. How many months until your birthday? It’s far away and I’m in noooo rush. Do you wish you had someone you could go to for support? I do have someone to go to for support. Would you follow God even if it meant losing your home, your source of food, all of your friends, or even your life? That’s what many of those in the Bible did.  Who do you wish you were best friends with right now? My mom is my best friend and I’m more than happy with that. Who’s death has affected you the most? My grandparents and my dog, Brandie. Do you have a youtube channel? I have a YouTube account to subscribe to channels, but I don’t upload any videos. ^If yes, do your parents approve of it? I’m 30 years old. However, I have had my account since I was in high school. I actually uploaded some videos back then... :O A friend of mine and I uploaded a few, including our reaction to 2 Girls, 1 Cup :X Hahaha. I still can’t believe I’ve seen that omg. I also uploaded videos like the 1st year, maybe the 2nd as well, of college, too. I can’t believe I ever did that, I don’t know what the hell I was thinking. None of those videos will ever be seen by anyone else but me ever again. Yikesss. Have you made any huge mistakes? Too many.  Do you think everyone has made huge mistakes? I think everyone makes mistakes. I don’t know about huge mistakes. I guess that kinda depends on the person and what they consider to be “huge.” Name one perfect person you know. No one is perfect. What was the last thing you ate? Ramen. Have you ever grown sunflowers? No. What was the last thing you bought at the Farmer’s Market? Nothing. Do you know what you are going to wear for the 4th of July? I wore this blue tie-dye shirt with an outline of Mickey Mouse on it and the American flag fills up the inside of the outline. Do you own a boat? No. Have you ever been in prison? No. Are you scared to stand up to a police officer? I would be if I were to ever find myself in such a situation. Do you have a dreamcatcher in your room? Nope. Have you downloaded unique fonts for your computer? I have before, yeah. Like back when I dabbled with Photoshop.  What was the last thing you played on your phone? Wordscapes.  What’s one item on your wish list right now? New Beats earbuds.  What is your doctor’s first name? Nah.