Tags: bau!reader, hospitals, soft emily, emotional hurt/comfort, hypothermia, no use of yn
Request: here! Celebrate 2k with me!
Word count: 0.8k
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The shiver reaches down to your bones. It had burrowed down some hours ago, slowly bit its way through bone, made space for itself among your marrow. You didn't know that the cold could permeate so deep, spreading frost through your veins, along the threads of your nerves.
Now you think it may never get out. It still lingers, even as you huddle further under your heated blanket and stare through the dark threads of Emily's hair spread over her pillow.
She must be warming up now, too, but all you can think about is the blue tinge to her lips. The way her eyes had gone glassy, voice slurred, skin as cold as glazed porcelain. How she shivered.
At the reminder, another shudder wracks through you. You close your eyes and try to squeeze the image out.
It stays, glued to your memory.
"Hey." Her voice startles you, piercing through your thoughts—as if she knows. You blink and find her standing next to your bed, her hair mussed from where she'd lain on it, hospital gown crumpled and loose around her shoulders.
You blink again.
"Get back under your blanket, Emily," you say wearily.
She doesn't, instead leans against the rails of your bed and peers down at you. Her eyes are dark, concerned. You feel them pick you apart.
Your mouth dries up. You swallow. "Emily."
She makes a tiny noise of acknowledgement. It's soft, from the back of her throat; you'd felt something similar pressed to your shoulder just hours ago—only far more feeble.
You look away. She lingers in your peripheral vision, her voice, when she speaks, stripped bare.
"Can I get in?"
Your eyes snap back to hers. You stare at her for a beat too long then sit up, a little frantically, the blanket falling down to pool at your waist. "Yeah. Yeah, of course—come here."
You don't ask why. You just let her in and shift back to make more room, your back hitting the edge, not realizing, until she slides the rail back in place, that your breath comes fuller. A long, proper inhale fills your lungs as she settles on her side.
Your legs tangle together. You're reaching for the blanket before you can stop yourself, guiding it up over her shoulder, tucking it loosely around her side.
Her mouth curls at the gesture. It's hardly a smile, but you've exposed yourself. You drop your hand and tuck it under your chin, trying not to notice how, in doing so, your elbow finds a cushion on her chest.
"You should get some sleep—"
"I want you to—"
The both of you go silent. You pause, your fingers curling into the collar of your gown.
"What?"
Emily looks at you for a long moment. Her eyes are so clear now, so sharp. Probing. All the fog has been melted off.
"I'm going to ask you how you are," she murmurs, muffled low into the space between you, "and I would like you to answer me honestly."
A scoff worms its way past your mouth. "How do you expect me to be?" You roll your eyes. "Cold, I'm cold."
"I said honestly."
"And I said I'm fine. It's—" You exhale. "Well, nothing happened, did it? I'm fine."
"But it did," she says softly. "You're…" her voice trails off into silence, and you shift on your back to escape her eyes.
It only works for a few seconds.
"Hey." She's quiet, her hand still a chilled thing on your cheek. You can't really fight it when she tilts it back, the scratchy hospital pillow chafing against your skin as she guides your eyes back to hers. Her thumb splays on your cheekbone; the entire length of it burns into your skin. "Tell me."
There's a small lump in your throat. Possibly, you could stop breathing.
You came close to it. She did.
"I hate that you were with me," you say, too roughly. "I hate that I couldn't do anything to stop it, and you were—you were starting to slip." The words force themselves through. "And I couldn't do a single thing."
"You were there."
Your eyes go hot. You've been under these blankets for hours now, and still the sensation of tears is jarring. The heat, glossing your eyes, nearly shockingly warm as it makes contact with your skin.
"Honey." Emily murmurs. Her hand shifts on your cheek, fingertips brushing against the corner of your eye. They're faintly chilled, raising a shiver on your skin.
She's already tugging you back into her, asking, quietly, "Cold?"
"No." You rasp, but you go, letting yourself be encircled in her feeble warmth. "You?"
"A little."
Her voice vibrates into you with how close you are. It makes your eyes throb, the feeling of it: tangible—alive—humming through your skin and bones, ringing truer than the cold.
Honey, Emily says again. And her lips are warmer than anything in the room when she presses them to yours.
tags: fem!reader, no use of y/n, avoidant vs avoidant, Jealousy, bleeding and wounds, mentions of violence, mention of sharp objects, mentions of sex, medically inaccurate procedures, TW: Robby Robinovitch, miscommunication, arguments, swearing, commitment issues final boss
w/c: 2.4k
a/n: This entire fic is just a Trinity Santos simulator with comfort.
Situationship!Garcia who watches you like a hawk from across the ER. Both of you have been ignoring each other for the past three days after an argument that neither of you plan on fixing anytime soon. Was it her fault? Yes. Does she plan on apologizing? Fuck. No. “Hello? Earth to Garcia.” Dana snaps her fingers in front of Yolanda’s face. She blinks a few times, her eyes focusing back on Dana. “Sorry, could you repeat that?” Dana sighs, “I said you’re needed in room two. Robby needs an extra set of hands.” Her attention wanders back to you for a split second. She watches as Samira playfully shoves you as both of you laugh. Her grip on her arm tightens, leaving a red mark on her bicep. “Right.”
Situationship!Garcia who currently has her hands inside a patient's chest trying to stop them from bleeding out in her OR. “Where do you want me?” Yolanda looks up to meet your eyes. “Clamp this and apply pressure.” She watches you hesitate, uncertainty and the fear of messing up clouds your vision. “Jesus.” Yolanda grabs your hand harshly and directs it to the needed area. “There. Don’t move.”
Situationship!Garcia who pulls you into an empty room and closes the door shut. “What the fuck was that?” Anger radiates from her voice. You cross your arms defensively, “I got distracted. It won't happen again.” The sound of your voice irritates her more. It’s too calm. Too indifferent. “Distracted? You’re not allowed to get ‘distracted’ in my OR.” Her jaw tightens and she exhales through her nostrils, “Is this about what happened? I thought it was clear we don’t bring personal problems into the ER-” a dry, breathy laugh interrupts her, “Oh my god! Do you hear yourself? Are you seriously accusing me of being unprofessional while you’re the one bringing this topic up? I messed up, I know, but the patient is alive isn’t he? So if you’re not going to tell me what I did wrong and where to improve, then I have a better chance in talking to someone other than you.” Your shoulder checks hers as you leave the room. She watches you through the window, Samira’s hand clasps your shoulder, asking you if you’re okay. You smile at her and nod.
Situationship!Garcia who has a bitter taste on her tongue for the rest of her shift. Ignoring each other was one thing, but avoiding each other? It brings whatever squabble both of you had to another level. She mulls over the fight you both had while finishing the mind-numbing task of filling out reports.
“Hey, can I catch a ride today? I’m gonna be late if I wait for the train and I don’t need Robby up my ass at 6 AM in the morning.” You pull your pants up to your hips and thread the button through the worn denim. A soft glow bleeds through the curtains signaling the rise of the sun. The alarm hits ‘5 AM’, an annoying beeping sound fills the space and Yolanda quickly reaches for the bedside table to switch it off. “I can call you an Uber. Don’t you need to grab your stuff at your place?” You bend down and pick up a shirt off the floor and slide it over your head. Yolanda is still tangled in the sheets while watching you move around her apartment like its second nature. It makes her uncomfortable.
“Most of it is in my locker and I left an extra pair of scrubs here last time.” Yolanda sits up, “Why would you do that?” Your eyebrows furrow in confusion, “Do what? Leave my things in my locker?” A teasing smile tugs at your face as if Yolanda’s question was the most absurd thing you've ever heard. Her expression is the opposite. “Leaving your scrubs here. I didn’t give you permission to do that.” It disappears the moment those words leave her mouth. “I didn’t know I needed your permission.” An awkward silence follows before Yolanda speaks up, “Don’t do that again.”
Situationship!Garcia who is pulled away from her thoughts as Perlah’s voice rings through the intercom. “Code Gray in room four. I repeat, Code Gray in room four.” Security runs past her and a pit forms in her stomach. She quickly leaves her desk and follows the sound of the scuffle.
Situationship!Garcia who arrives and sees the patient being subdued by security. Half of his body is pinned down on the bed while one of the guards cuffs him and a nurse administers a syringe to his neck. A smear of blood covers his mouth and nose while he hurls insults at everyone and anything. He begins to slur as the drug takes effect, his words muted and incomprehensible through the thick glass of the room as Yolanda watches from outside. “I’m fine, Dana.” Yolanda perks up at the sound of your voice and her attention quickly diverts to you.
Situationship!Garcia who pushes past Dana and the other surrounding nurses who are currently fussing over you. One of the nurses, Emma, is currently holding a blood-soaked towel over your forearm while Samira takes care of the cut on your forehead. “What happened?” Yolanda kneels on the floor and gently tilts your chin to have a better look at the blooming bruise on your right eye and a small cut on your lip. “An overzealous patient-” Dana speaks over Robby, “A fucking asshole.” He signals Dana to stop, “became combative out of the blue.” Yolanda stands up to face Robby. “And where was an attending during all of this? Or anyone for that matter?”
Situationship!Garcia who feels your hand grab her wrist. “Dr. Garcia.” She looks at you, now suddenly noticing all the eyes fixed on her. “Stop, it’s fine,” you continue, trying your best to de-escalate the situation given your current condition. She exhales a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. She looks at Dana. “Is room three still open?” Dana responds, “Yes.” Yolanda nods. “Everyone, clear out. You, come with me.”
Situationship!Garcia who helps you stand up and takes charge of the situation. An arm wraps around your waist to support your weight, she carefully positions herself behind you making sure not to move your injured forearm. You thank Emma and grab the towel from her hand to continue applying the pressure as both of you walk. “I can help,” Samira chimes in from behind. Yolanda shows no sign of stopping. “That won’t be necessary, Dr. Mohan. Get back to work,” she says curtly.
Situationship!Garcia who shines a flashlight on your pupils to check for a concussion. “This isn’t necessary, I’m fine.” A soft click rings through the room as Yolanda turns it off. “You’re still bleeding and that cut needs stitches.” She opens the first-aid kit and puts on a pair of gloves. “Tell me what happened.” Yolanda peels the towel slowly and examines the wound. “Robby already told you.” Her eyes look up at you. “Everything that happened.”
Your eyes fixate on a piece of tape stuck on the floor. Dirty residue trails behind it and you wonder how long it has been there. You sigh, realizing that this conversation can’t be avoided. “He was asleep when I came in to check on his IV and blood pressure. No reports of any violent reactions or confusion when he was brought in and then he just lunged at me, grabbed a scalpel off the tray, and nicked me.” Yolanda lets out a soft chuckle as she gently wipes the cut, “I think we both have a different understanding of ‘nicked’.” You wince and suck in a breath as the disinfectant hits your skin. Yolanda softly mutters an apology. You continue, “I then snatched the said tray and hit his fucking face with it. He was able to sneak in a sucker punch before Samira heard the commotion and stepped in.”
Situationship!Garcia who pauses for just a moment at the mention of Dr. Mohan. A moment long enough for you to notice. “That’s good. Glad that she did.” Her hand pulls a stitch a bit too tight. You hiss. “Fuck, sorry.” She quickly corrects it and continues. Judging by her reaction, you of course, act accordingly. “Seems like you’ve got something on your mind. If you have things to attend to, I’m sure Dr. Mohan is happy to help, Dr. Garcia.” She looks up at you. “Don’t do that.” A familiar sharpness accompanies her tone.
Situationship!Garcia who clicks her jaw and takes a deep breath. The needle pierces your skin and she pulls the thread. “Do what?” you say, feigning innocence. “That.” Yolanda finishes up the stitch and ties it off. You examine her reaction as if she’s a patient in need of a diagnosis. She reaches for the gauze on the table and lines it up on top of the laceration. Precise. Clinical. “Specify,” you say, even if you already know what she means. Rip. She takes a piece of the medical tape and sticks it onto your arm to hold the gauze in place. “Push my buttons.”
Situationship!Garcia who shuts her eyes in annoyance realizing she just fell into your trap. “Can’t really ‘push your buttons’ if I’m not allowed to know you, can I?” you rebut, hook, line, and sinker. The argument replays in her head once more, picking up where it left off before the incident happened.
You gulp, her words ringing in your ear. “Don’t do that again.” You pick up your socks strewn on the floor. A wave of embarrassment hits you as you sit down on the edge of the bed to put them on. The silent tension is thick enough to be cut by a knife. You speak up, “Why?”
Yolanda’s expression is reminiscent of a deer caught in headlights; startled and unsure of what to do as if she wasn’t expecting you to continue the conversation. “It complicates things.” She says it in a tone that makes you feel stupid for even questioning it. “Sorry that leaving my clothes in your cabinet is the equivalent of marriage to you.” You stomp your shoe harder than you intended as you bend down to tie the lace. Yolanda’s eyes follow your movements. Her hands twist and pinch the covers as if the white Egyptian cotton can swallow her whole if she so beckons it.
“You know it’s not that.” You adjust the fit of your sneakers before your eyes finally meet hers. “Then what is it?” You know the answer, you know the thought already stirring behind those eyes. You just need to hear her say it. “It-” she rethinks her choice of words, “It adds a label. To this. To us.” Your nails dig into the palm of your hand, almost hard enough to break skin. “Why do you say it like it’s the most horrible thing in the world?” She doesn’t answer.
You blink away the tears that threaten to spill and stand up. She watches you collect the last of your valuables. Only the sound of your shoes and the jingle of your house keys have the courage to break through the painful stillness. The door closes behind you leaving Yolanda alone with her thoughts and the taste of you lingering on her tongue.
Situationship!Garcia who lets out a defeated sigh, her hand slides down from your arm to hold yours while her thumb runs across the ridges of your knuckles. “I’m sorry. You know I didn’t mean it like that.” You take a deep breath as you feel your patience becoming thinner. “Stop assuming what I know and don’t know and for once just tell me.” Yolanda’s gaze doesn’t leave your hand as she continues her ministrations. Her eyes carry the guilt similar to a dog that knows it has done something wrong but doesn’t know what specifically. “I’m afraid.” She pauses and internally cringes from her choice of words but nonetheless, continues. “I’m afraid to let you know every part of me just for you to leave.”
Situationship!Garcia who feels your hand slide into hers. She tenses up but doesn’t pull away. “So am I, but we can either run from it, or see where it goes.” Everything feels too vulnerable, too intimate. The conversation feels straight out of a romcom you watch when you’re ten years old which becomes the basis of your understanding of love. She wants to run towards the walls she so carefully built brick by brick and hide behind them until you disappear from her line of sight, never to be seen again. But she stays. She reaches out slowly, your skin warm against her palm. If you focus enough, you can feel the tremble in her hands.
You lean towards her touch, just enough to invite her in, but careful enough not to spook her. She meets you halfway, soft lips meeting yours, a promise made without knowing the reason. It’s unnerving. Though, at the same time, comforting. The moment stretches as you break the kiss, foreheads leaning against one another. She holds your gaze, “I-” The door suddenly opens followed by the bustling sound of the ER. “Dana wanted me to check in with the both of you..” both of you pull away awkwardly as Princess’ trail of words lose their thought.
Yolanda clears her throat, and speaks up first. “Just finishing up, we’ll be out shortly.” She stands up and quickly cleans up the remnants of the supplies used. “Right.” It’s not difficult for Princess to connect the dots and she makes a mental note to take her fifty dollar prize pool from Perlah. “You okay dear? Robby is giving you the rest of the day off. Go home.” You nod, “Perfect. Amazing.” You stand up from your seat, “Thank you Dr. Garcia, I will see you tomorrow.” Yolanda is caught off-guard causing her to tumble on her words. “Yes, of course. Uh, Right. I will see you when I.. see you.” She pauses, before speaking again. Coincidently, both of you talk at the same time. “Stay safe.” “Goodbye.”
You nod to both of them before briskly leaving the room. Yolanda finishes fixing the first-aid kit and follows suit. She pauses at the door where Princess is still standing. “Princess,” she says. “Dr. Garcia,” Princess replies. Yolanda opens her mouth but the words don’t come out. She shuts it and gives a firm nod before walking away.
Warnings: Sister hatred, throwing Miranda into a wall.
A/N: I’ve had this idea for a while so I can now act on it 🥺
“Miranda, you know this goes against everything we’ve ever learned! They barely let us get away with using dark magic, why the hell would they let us live if we brought your daughter back and harmed other people? The Coven will have our heads!”
Miranda let a growl leave her throat and she turned to face you. “You may be my elder sister, but you don’t get to tell me what the hell I can and can’t do! You’re a fool! We left the coven years ago! They won’t give a damn!”
You threw the book in your hands down and pointed at your sister, “You know damn well they won’t give two shits that we left! We still possess magical abilities! They’ll be able to feel it, we still have ties to them! We’ll be hung! The only reason they let us live with our magic in the first place is because they let us leave! You’re a fool and you know it Miranda!”
With a loud growl from her throat, Miranda pinned you against the wall, her eyes glowing red. “We both know they won’t be able to take us, you’re just too scared to accept the power you hold!”
“I’m not scared! I’m careful and precise with the spells I cast, I make sure they are successful!”
“Then why can’t you bring back Eva?” Miranda shouted, the magic around your neck pulsing with her anger. “I don’t know! Just because I’m able to perform other spells doesn’t mean I’ll be able to perform this one! Magic takes time and practice, you act as if it’ll work out every time! It won’t because nothing is perfect, no spell is perfect and you refuse to accept that because you’re too blind to realize that you’re chasing after a fake reality. You refuse to truly accept that Eva is gone! I can’t bring her back and neither can you! So for Hecate’s sake Miranda, Get over it!”
Your sister's eyes widened and her bottom lip trembled. She sat you down on the ground and whispered. “Get out.”
You huffed gently and turned towards the table to gather your supplies. “I’ll be taking my belongings with me, find your own.” You said, granting your sister one last glance before taking your leave.
That was over one thousand years ago and Miranda regretted her actions. Her chase for a vessel for her daughter still continued, yes, but she never forgot the bitter anger in your tone as you left. Yet, here you were, standing in front of her and the village Lords.
“I must say Miranda, it’s been a while since I’ve seen you. When I heard you procured servants I had to come see! I see you succeeded, yet you leave them with permanent scars.” You utter as you gesture towards the fish-like man. “However, looks are not what matters, your servants’ personalities are what earns them respect. Tell me, do they deserve respect?”
Your sister growls and throws her hand up, intending to throw you against the wall. You raise your hand, shielding yourself and absorbing her blast of magic. You click your teeth and fake pout, placing your hand on your cheek. “Honestly, you still haven’t learned have you? Knowledge is power darling and that,” you pause and let out a chuckle, “well that makes me much more powerful than you.”
“What is it you want [Name]? To down me? That won’t work, it didn’t work before and it won’t now.”
“Aw, shucks. Here I was planning on making fun of you! No, nothing like that. As I said, I simply had to see if you and your servants were as powerful as told.” Your eyes glance around and land on a woman, her pitch black hair glows in the moonlight and her golden eyes lock with yours.
You turn and point at her, crooning your finger. Your magic wraps around her and pulls her up towards you. “You seem like you know true power, let me ask you. Does she treat you like you matter? Truly, does she care about you? Be honest darling, she won’t be able to do anything to you on my watch.”
The woman fights to get free, shaking her body. “Unhand me! You’ve no hold over me or Mother Miranda! You’re nothing!”
“Is that what she says to you when you don’t complete your task the right way? When you disappoint her? She calls you nothing doesn’t she, if she doesn’t do that, I’m sure she makes it known.”
Your sister shoots a beam of magic towards you and you deflect it. “Unhand Alcina, now, or I will end you.”
A smile crosses your face and you turn your head to face the woman again. “Alcina, I must say, you have quite the beautiful name. It suits you really, the name Alcina means strong-willed. Now, tell me! Does my sister treat you right? Does she truly care for you, or are you just a pawn in her game of chess?”
Alcina’s frown falters and her face is left blank, her eyes glancing down in concentration. You drown out Miranda’s shouts as you enter Alcina’s mind. She jumps and looks up at you, her eyes filled with fear.
“You have no reason to fear me darling, I have no intention of infiltrating any memories. I simply wish to communicate with you without Miranda hearing. Now, answer my question. Or, if you don’t wish to speak, you can simply provide me with a memory of your choice to tell me.”
Alcina looks into your eyes, tears forming in hers. She always questioned her commitment to Miranda, but she never let that dictate her choices. She always chose to remain by Miranda’s side, the hope that she would become her favorite weighed heavy in her mind. Yet she never did become the favorite, instead remaining second best, only ever needed when it suited Miranda. And you’re right, Miranda does not care for her, she knows that, so why does she keep trying to please the witch?
With a final sigh, Alcina allows all of her memories spent crying over Miranda to fill your mind. The pain she felt when Miranda chose Heisenberg over her, time after time. The degradation she faced at Miranda’s hand. So many emotions fill your head, to the point that it becomes overwhelming and you pull yourself out of Alcina’s head to lock eyes with her. Tears stream down her cheeks and the makeup covering her grey skin starts to fade. Alcina’s lip trembles and she lets her head fall, pieces of black hair falling from her bun.
You turn and face your sister, placing your hand on top of Alcina’s head. “You’re an ignoble woman Sister, truly. You haven’t changed at all and the fact that you believe you have is pitiful. You still continue your quest to find a vessel for Eva and yet you continuously fail. When will you realize you’ll never get her back? You’re working your servants like a dog and not only that, yourself. You’ll die before you get her back and even if you get her back, you’ll die doing it. She won’t have her mother.”
You set the woman in your magic down, hand still atop her head. Miranda’s wings fly out, the six limbs long and black. “You’ll not talk to me like this! You forget, I am ruler over this village and these Lords! You dare degrade me, yet you refuse to fight me! You’re all bark and no bite!”
Throwing your hand up, Miranda goes flying into the wall behind her and she is held there. Shouts of protest are let out below you and you look down, hand still raised at your sister. You fly down to the hunched over man, the smell of fish invading your nose. “What is your name child?”
He shakes his head and moves away from you, pulling his hands in front of his chest. “Come now, I have no intention of harming any of you.” You gingerly place your hand on his head and rub, “You seem like you have a wonderful heart, tell me, do you?”
“I have no idea what you mean.” He utters quietly, his voice disoriented. “I mean, do you let your heart guide you, is your heart pure? Do you treat people nicely even when they haven’t treated you nicely? A pure heart is what dictates a life and those that surround that life, yet there are impure hearts that fill the world. I’m sure people have used your looks against you, degrading you. But what matters is that you choose to be kind and gentle, are you those things?”
The man before you nods quickly, grabbing your free hand. “Yes! Yes! I am pure! People treat me so rude, but you see the kindness I have to share! You’re nice!”
You smile and gently rub his hands, “Now let me ask you Melilla, does Miranda treat you kindly? Or does she degrade you for your looks even though she caused them?”
He pauses and pulls his hands from yours, backing away from your crouched form. “No! Mother loves me! She does! Mama loves us all!”
Shouts escape the man before you and another man approaches, pushing you away from the hunched man. “I suggest you leave now, you’ve been nothing but a nuisance to Miranda and all of us. Leave!” He shouts, extending his hand to catch his hammer.
A chuckle leaves your throat and you place your fingers on his temples, infiltrating his mind. His memories invade your head in a flash, a specific one catches your eye and you pull it closer to watch.
“I’ll end that bitch! I swear!” He shouts, throwing his hammer against the wall. The metal men surrounding him jump, backing away from the angered man. “She made me a monster and yet she acts as if she’s saved us! She ruined us! For god’s sake, Donna won’t even show her face anymore! Moreau is a hunched over fish! And that giant! Oh, she may piss me off, but she’s ruined Alcina! One day, I’ll end Miranda! I swear to it!”
You jump back, a laugh on the tip of your tongue. It escapes and echoes throughout the amphitheater. “Oh you,” you shriek, handing covering your mouth, “I like you! What’s your name? No no wait don’t tell me! Heisenberg!” You place your hand under his chin and lift his head, your eyes lock with his. You calm yourself and enter his mind once more. “Tell me, do you get a thrill out of the idea of killing my sister?” You whisper quietly. His eyes glow gold beneath his glasses. Heisenberg hits your hand away, “Shut your damn hole! And get out of here!”
You chuckle and turn towards Alcina, “Meet me by the wheat field, the one by the burnt house. We’ll discuss more, you interest me.” You whisper in her mind, winking.
Lastly, you face your sister, “I must say sister, it’s been pleasant seeing you again. Your servants truly are amazing, I like Moreau! He’s very nice, you should really treat him better! Ta-Ta!”
With a final bow, you wave your hand and disappear, gold dust left behind. Miranda falls from the wall she was pinned to, landing face first. She throws her head up and her hair falls over her face. Her hand slams down on the ground below her and with a tilt back of her head, she lets out a loud shriek of anger, the ground shaking.
you can't always get what you want (but sometimes…) ⪩⪨
baran al hashimi x fem!reader - 2.3k words - age gap (r is late 20s, baran is 40) - baran thought it would be a fun, 'cool' mom moment to take kaveh to the park late at night because a special pokemon got released. when it starts monsooning, there's really only person she can think to call | can be read as part two of persuadeable |
notes: i don’t know who started the “baran is a pokémon nerd” train but i took that to HEART so thank you for your service
Baran really, really didn’t want to call you.
She had been trying to be a cool and spontaneous Mom that, even at forty, said yes to taking her son out to play Pokémon Go even though it was nine o’clock at night because a Larvesta had popped up in Fowler Park, roughly a twenty-two minute walk from their home, and Kaveh lost his mind. So did Baran too (sue her, Pokémon Go fucking rocks) so they bundled up against the November weather and set out.
And then it started to pour.
She and Kaveh had sprinted under the metal awning of the rec center, already soaked through in their lounge clothes, socks sopping, hair a mess. Kaveh, particularly, wasn’t pleased.
“You said it was just drizzle,” he said.
“The weather app told me it was just drizzle,” Baran huffed. “This is insane.”
“You trusted the app?”
“It’s the weather app, baba. Yeah I trusted it.”
Kaveh considered this, rain running off his nose. “That was kinda dumb, Māmān. We should’ve taken the car.”
Baran just sighed. They technically could’ve walked back, but the rain was falling so hard it would probably hurt a little bit and they were both already shivering because of the cold. Also, she had no interest in sending her son back to her ex-husband’s home with hyperthermia or pneumonia.
Baran looked at her phone and looked at the rain and made a decision. Your contact was already the first name that popped up in her phone app, because you had called her that morning before work. It wouldn’t be an issue to call you right now, she hyped herself up. She was well within her rights to call you.
So she clicked, and the little chime sounded out three times before she heard shuffling, as if you had scrambled to pick up your phone and were still getting your grip on it.
“Baran! Hi,” your voice crackled through, surprised and confused. “Everything okay?”
“Hi,” Baran breathed. “I’m so sorry to be calling you this late. I’m, uh, I’m out with Kaveh. We went for a walk,” Baran started.
A pause on your end, Baran assumed, from you trying not to laugh. “In this? It’s a monsoon. I’m pretty sure I just saw a mailbox floating down my street the flooding’s so bad.”
Baran laughed, clicking on speakerphone so Kaveh could hear too. “Well, we didn’t know that twenty minutes ago. Kaveh can hear you now, by the way. Say hi, Kav.”
“Hi!” Kaveh waved at the phone, even though you couldn’t see. “Māmān made us come out.”
Baran scoffed in amusement, pulling the phone’s speaker next to her mouth. “Not true. We’re looking for Pokémon.”
"Where are you??"
"Fowler Park. Under the awning by the rec center." She hesitated, hating how much she hated asking. "I wouldn't call, except Kaveh's soaked and I don't love the idea of walking him home in it."
"Say no more," you said, and Baran heard keys already. "Ten minutes."
You hung up before she could tell you not to rush.
Kaveh looked up at her. "That was the museum doctor right?"
"Yes, azizam. You know her name."
His whole face lit up so much Baran almost took offense. Just the mention of you and he was buzzing, he hadn’t looked nearly as excited when Baran poked her head into his room, held out her phone with the Pokemon Go app pulled up and quirked a brow. "Is she coming here?"
“She’s going to pick us up,” Baran nodded, pulling his puffy hood up over his little face. “Probably right over there, since she can’t drive in the actual park. You ready to run?”
Kaveh’s grin turned ecstatic.
–
Baran had to give credit where credit was due: you showed up with still two minutes to spare.
Baran had still been adjusting Kaveh’s coat when a horn blared so loud the two of them jumped out of their skin, and then a familiar face thrust itself out of the window, beaming at the two of them standing under the failing awning and said, with enormous satisfaction:
“You guys look like drowned cats!”
“DOCTOR L/N!” Kaveh screamed, little legs already kicking even as the rain pummeled him.
Baran cursed under her breath, wrapped her nice coat (ugh, it was going to smell wet now and she hated the smell of wet clothes) and scurried after him.
“Thank you,” Baran said, breathless by the time she actually reached the car, “For coming.”
“Thank me later, get in, get in—”
Baran opened the back door for Kaveh first and that was when she saw them. Two blankets on the back seat, soft and folded. A travel mug in the cupholder she didn’t recognize. A paper cup with a lid in the holder beside it.
“Blankets,” you said, already signaling your merge back onto the street even though not a single car was outside right now, “hot chocolate for the Kaveh, tea for you — I didn’t know how you took it so it’s plain but I’ve got—” you reached into the door pocket one-handed without looking and produced two sugar packets and a small container of milk, “—options.”
Baran stared at the sugar packets and the little cup of almond milk, smirking. “You keep milk in your car?”
“No, B, I grabbed it,” you laughed. “Kaveh, heads up bud, the chocolate’s kinda hot because I just made it so be careful.”
“Woah!” Kaveh said from the back seat, blanket already around his shoulders, cup in both hands. “It smells really good.”
“I agree,” Baran smiled softly, watching him in the mirror puff out of his cheeks to blow on it. “Did you hear what Dr. L/N said?”
“She said she made hot chocolate!”
You giggled as Baran sighed. “No, baba, she said be careful. We don’t want you to burn your tongue.”
“Okay!” he smiled, still huffing and puffing at the drink.
You squinted in the rearview mirror as you rolled up and slowed at the stop sign. “Is he blowing on the lid?”
Baran spun around in her seat. Sure enough, the lid was still on.
“The f–” Baran whispered. “Kaveh. Take the lid off, honey.”
“But you said it was hot!”
“It is, but the blowing won’t work if it’s on the lid.”
“Why?”
Baran turned back around to stare at you, nonplussed, and you just shrugged, totally tickled but as confused as her.
“Hand it here, joonam.”
“But I want to drink it!”
“I’m going to let you drink it,” Baran replied, wet and cold and getting increasingly more baffled by her son. “Would you please let me see it so I can cool it down for you?”
Kaveh’s eyes lowered to the tumblr in consideration, before reluctantly passing it to Baran in the front seat, who immediately uncapped it to let the steam out, making eyes at you and mouthing Holy. Shit.
You were still laughing in the driver's seat, totally unbothered. “He’s a thirsty guy.”
“He’s ridiculous,” Baran murmured just for you, Kaveh’s legs were already pumping against his seat in the back, singing something happily to himself. “Question, though, while we’re at it.”
“I have a feeling this is going to be a dig—”
“Why is your car a moving Home Goods?”
“You mean why is my car totally awesome and super comfortable?” you hit back, smirking. “I know you aren’t hating, Dr. Al-Hashimi, when you’re cruising around in a Volvo.”
Baran’s head turned to you in challenge. “What about my Volvo?”
“There’s nothing in there!” you giggled. “It’s like a mobile sensory deprivation chamber. Kaveh, back me up here. Tell me what your Māmān has in her car.”
“You can’t use Kaveh to bolster your—”
“Um,” Kaveh was already thinking out loud from the back, pulling at his thumb in consideration. “A steering wheel?”
Baran hung her head to rub at her temples as you cackled.
“Boom! A steering wheel, he says. Wow, this must feel like the Ritz to you guys, then. I’ve got blankets, I’ve got scents, I’ve got snacks in the trunk…”
“And milk, apparently,” Baran hits back, but she can’t help the smile on her face. She finds, funnily enough, that she’s having fun. In a car ride home. Who would’ve thunk. “I feel like I’m in a Costco.”
“Woah,” you gasped, head turning both ways as you turned into her neighborhood. “Hey, I was trying to be considerate and get both of your core temps up after you decided to Lewis and Clark it up at nine p.m. But, hey, if you’re not digging it I can totally drop you off right here and go on a joyride with my man back there.”
Kaveh lifted his hand to give you a thumbs up from the backseat.
“I’m fine,” Baran faux-sighed. “I guess I’ll survive.”
“I’m real glad,” you smiled, just as You Can't Always Get What You Want came on the radio.
Baran watched in fascination as your entire face lit up from the inside-out.
“No way,” you glowed, hand already shooting up for the volume dial. “Oh, absolutely.”
The Rolling Stones started blasting in your tiny car at a volume completely inappropriate for nine on a Tuesday night, but Baran watched with private wonder as you started dancing in your seat at the opening notes of the choir and your throat opened to sing with them. Except they were singing about two octaves too high for your voice, so really what started echoing in the car was your squawking.
Kaveh looked up from his hot chocolate, face splitting into a grin. “What is she doing?”
“I’m singing!” you laughed. “You know this song, Mr. Kaveh?”
“Nope,” Kaveh said.
“Rolling Stones,” you replied. “Nineteen sixty-nine. Definitely in the top ten best driving songs ever written.” You then turned to Baran, whose mouth was already open in anticipation of your comment.
“I know–” she was already saying, hand going up to stop you. “It’s just that–”
“You haven’t showed him the Rolling Stones?”
“I know Pokémon songs!” Kaveh offered happily from the back.
“He knows some Rolling Stones songs,” Baran defended. “He likes the one about getting up.”
“Getting up?”
“It’s one of their most famous song,” Baran raised her brows at you. “Wow, true colors are coming out now. Are you a Rolling Stones poser?”
“Baran, I will literally bet you a thousand dollars there’s not a single song in their entire discography that talks about ‘getting up.’”
Baran immediately was pulling her phone out of her pocket, whipping open Google and pulling up a new tab, typing furiously.
“Sing it,” you prompted Kaveh as Baran grew increasingly more frustrated at the lack of results. “How’s it go, bud?”
Kaveh started wiggling in his car seat. “If you dun-dun-dun, if you dun-dah-duh you’ll never stop!”
Baran’s brows furrowed and you could see her start making the connection in her head.
“And what do you think he’s saying in the dun-dun-dun part?” you asked, already beaming, and even though the words were for Kaveh your eyes were twinkling and trained on Baran, googling furiously, phone screen throwing pale light up onto her face, and not looking up.
"Baran."
"Give me a second, I'm looking for it."
"Baran.”
"There has to be something, it's not like Kaveh invented the melody himself."
"Baran," You were grinning now, cheshire-wicked, "Is the song called 'Getting Up' or is it maybe — and I'm just spitballing here — Start Me Up?"
The furious scrolling halted, and you definitely did not miss the way Baran’s eyes squinted and the lines next to her mouth deepened as she lowered the phone an inch, clearly realizing she had been confidently wrong in front of both her child and her… whatever you were to her these days. "Oh. Shit."
“This has been the best car ride of my whole life,” you were laughing next to her, head tipped back against your chair as you drove the final stretch to her house. “Man, I’ll become your personal Uber if this is what car rides with you guys are like.”
If it were anyone else Baran would’ve been mildly annoyed, more at herself and her shitty song-recollection than her partner, but you were giggling next to her and her son, despite clearly having not a clue in the world what that conversation had been about, was laughing right along with you.
It was nice to just exist in a space with someone that was happy. Yeah, gag it up, call her corny, but it’s true. She had some funny ass co-workers, sometimes gets a quick-witted patient, but working in the ED is historically not fantastic for one’s mental health. She even saw it on you at work, the strain of it all, the toll it takes. But here she had you alone and away from it all, warm and driving her and and her son around, stocking your car up with drinks to make them comfortable, singing along to the radio.
She suspected she might be feeling something a little stronger than just joy, but it was a Tuesday at nine pm with her son right behind her, and that was way more of a stare-at-the-ceiling-in-her-empty-bed type of pondering, so she let the thought melt away.
What she did instead was open and close her hand a few times over your gear shift, grabby hands, and the second you noticed and took her hand in yours she lifted it up to kiss your knuckles.
You smiled at her then, eyes soft and twinkling from the passing cars. She let herself sink back into your comfy seats, and hummed along with you (But if you try sometime, you'll find, you get what you need) letting the streetlights slide gold across her knuckles where you still held her hand against your thigh.
Context: Cassie’s afraid of you being intimate with her.
You were lying against Cassie’s chest post-orgasm bliss. She always makes you feel so loved and cared for. You turn in her arms, locking eyes with her as you kiss your way up to her lips.
“You make me feel so good Cass, always.” You say in-between kisses, reassuring her.
Cassie hums in response as you start kissing her jaw, then her neck, “Thank you, baby. Why don’t we get you cleaned up, hmm?”
You whine as she tries to lift you off. “Not yet,” you plead. You get more intense with your kisses sucking little marks into Cassie’s collar bone.
“Baby,” she moans pulling you away, gently, with the grip she has in your hair.
“I want to make you feel good too.”
“You do, baby, I swear.”
“More, please.” Sitting up, you kiss down her chest, down her stomach and place your hands at the seam of her boxers.
Before you even get a chance to tug the waistband down Cassie grips your wrists lightly, stopping you. “No, not right now.”
She always gets like this after. You want nothing more than to repay her and make her feel as good as she makes you feel, but she never lets you. You didn’t really mind it the first few times, brushing it off as her being tired or something. Now, it’s become frustrating for you, like you’re not enough, like this is one sided. “Please,” you pout your lip, giving her the puppy dog eyes she normally can’t refuse.
Cassie realizes her hesitancy has become more than just that, but she’s too stuck in her own head to let you go further. “Later, baby, okay?” She says sitting up to hold your face.
You try to hold your tears back, but this time you just can’t. “Why Cassie? Why not? It’s not fair.” You reach up to hold her wrists against your face. You just want her to open up to you, tell you what’s going on. Keeping this from you makes you feel helpless.
Cassie swipes the tears from your cheeks, she hates to see you said, hates that she’s making you feel bad. “I just- I’m sorry, baby.” She tries to pull you closer to her to hold you, but you push back.
Throwing her hands from your face, you get up, scrambling for your (her) shirt that was discarded earlier. Cassie follows you, pulling her shirt on and passing you yours. You rip it out of her hands with more force than was necessary.
“Hey,” she coos at you, reaching for you again once you’re dressed.
“Cassie, I can’t do this.” Stepping away from her as you grab your things.
“No.” She’s sure she’s lost you this time. “Don’t leave.” The hurt in her voice is evident, “please, I- I’m sorry.” She’s still following you, helping you get your stuff together even though she doesn’t want you to go.
“I have to.” You make it to the door, open it, and pause. Letting out a breath you turn to face her before you step out.
She can’t meet your eyes, doesn’t want you to remember her like this; ashamed. You call her name, but she doesn’t look up.
Grasping her chin, you kiss her forehead and murmur into her hair, “I’m coming back, I just need some space.” You know she heard you because she slumps impossibly farther down. Pulling her up by her chin, you give her a quick kiss on the lips. “I love you.” And with that you’re gone.
Cassie just stands there, frozen. Staring at the door willing you to come back, like maybe if she thought hard enough about you, you'd just appear.
She’s not sure how long she stands there, maybe for a few minutes, maybe an hour.
When her legs grow tired, she slumps to the ground and cries. Cries until there’s nothing left, cries until she’s been reduced to a sad heap on the floor covered in her own tears and snot.
Maybe it’s better if you don’t come back.
More coming soon!
A/N: Eek! thanks for reading! I'm new, so I'd really appreciate any feedback or advice! I promise I can take it ;)
Tags: established relationship, fluff, soft emily (like the softest emily possibly ever), kisses, no use of yn
Request: here! Celebrate 2k with me!
Word count: 0.6k
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Emily thinks, sometimes, that you've bewitched her.
She has no qualms about being bewitched. You do it sweetly, ardently, and she succumbs with little protest. The effect slams into her at times—at others it just sneaks under her skin, working its magic while she bends to your every whim and will.
Now it's full in her face, a loud, belated revelation as she unlocks the front door and steps into the apartment, an itch soothing deep, a knot unraveling itself into loose, easy thread.
Emily had never really had a home. Houses, yes, plenty of them, though few could actually be called hers. Even when she did have her name on the lease, she didn't have the warmth burning at every corner, the full, heavy air of a house lived in—a house inviting, a house that was a home. There was always just silence, or tension, or disagreements echoing off the walls.
There was never this.
The faint sound of your humming, music pouring out from your phone and into the hallway; your touch in the decor, the furniture—your blankets draped over the couch and a million candles lit on tables; the palpable warmth of home-cooked food, the bits of you in every corner, crowding her lungs. Rushing home is a still-fresh novelty to Emily. The reason sits flitting about the kitchen, your hair a little frizzed around your face, two pans and a pot sitting on the stove-top.
Emily's mouth pulls.
"Hey, stranger."
You turn, your mouth parting in an O. Faint surprise lights up your face. A smile follows.
"Hi." You step back from the stove and meet her halfway, twining your arms around her neck. Emily presses a kiss to your cheek. She tugs you into her, hugging you flush. Her hands slip around you and settle on your waist, your warm, bare skin spilled wide under her palms.
She skims a thumb over your side. Skirting her hand up, she finds the hem of your shirt, a stretching, clingy thing, and gently tugs it back down. You shift to brush a kiss to her cheek; it catches the corner of her mouth, instead, and Emily smiles, turning to kiss you properly.
"Hi," she murmurs.
You hum, thread your fingers through her hair. "You're back early."
"Missed you." She shrugs, trailing her lips over your jaw.
You lightly shove at her shoulder, laughing.
"Sap."
Emily's chuckle is soft, unapologetic. She gives you a squeeze, her eyes cutting to the stove as she kisses your temple. "What're you making?"
"Stir fry," you say, wriggling out of her arms. She reluctantly tucks her hands in her pockets, stalking over with you to the stove. You hover above the pot of noodles, steam flushing your face, and poke them with a fork. Satisfied, you turn the heat off.
"Can I help?" She asks. Quite uselessly, but you hum and shake your head.
"I'm almost done. You go get changed." You wave her away, reaching up for the cupboard above you.
With the movement, your shirt rides up again. Your skin flashes, and the shirt is still stubbornly bunched even after you shut the cupboard and settle back on your heels. Emily's smile pulls. She steps in, trapping you before you can get closer to the stove-top. Her fingers hook into the hem of the shirt and tug it back down.
You smile at her over your shoulder, eyes squinting with it, and she drops a small kiss on your mouth, hands splaying wide on your side. She gives your waist a squeeze.
"Careful you don't get splashed," she murmurs, her lips to your temple.
"Yes, Mom," you say, but she can hear the smile in your voice. It tumbles into a laugh when she pinches you, lightly, somewhere not very motherly, your flesh briefly caught between her fingers.
inspired by this request (but done a bit differently). an aggressive patient, a new baby jane doe, and an argument that’s caused by having your guard up for too long. nurse!reader, established relationship, implied verbal assault by a patient, baran’s ptsd, hurt/comfort but it’s complicated.
If you were a less selfish person, the baby in this crib would make you nervous.
She would remind you of how cruel the world is. That people can leave babies in bathrooms and just leave, hope for the best and make a run for it, that infants can be admitted to hospitals with no known home to go back to. That sometimes people are given a bad hand and are just that desperate for help.
But this baby — nameless, tiny hands reaching up for you, oblivious smile on her face — doesn’t remind you of any of that. Instead she reminds you of the good in this world, the blind innocence of childhood, that there is purity somewhere on this planet so intent on destroying itself. She is so happy despite the circumstances, because she doesn’t understand yet that there is so much to be worried about.
You’ve been visiting her periodically throughout the day. You want to make sure there is always someone around for her, someone that cares. You’ve taken up that responsibility naturally, like it’s second nature. You are there.
But this visit is more selfish than the others. This visit is not for her sake but for yours.
You did everything you could. You were patient, you attempted to diffuse the conflict, you were more gracious than you probably should have been in hopes that the aggression would be a passing thing. But the situation had only gotten worse, you’d been made to switch cases, and now you have a pile of forms waiting for your signature back at the nurses’ station.
“Everything okay in here?” asks a voice from the doorway, a voice you are familiar with. It is soft and warm and reminds you of home — bedsheets that smell like lavender, candles always burning and flickering their golden light onto the walls, heavy crocheted blankets and a basket of yarn in the sunroom.
“She’s fine,” you say. “Awake and apparently very happy to be here.”
Baran — or Dr Al-Hashimi, as you have to call her here — steps further into the room. She comes to stand at your side, looking down at the baby in the crib. “And how is her favorite nurse?”
You swallow hard. You lie because it is easy and it keeps you safe from the truth, and by extension from breaking down in this sterile, unfriendly place.
“I’m okay,” you say.
She doesn’t seem satisfied by your answer. She drifts a little closer to you, placing a gentle hand at the small of your back. “I know we have to keep things professional here, but you can still talk to me. Dana told me what happened.”
“I’m sick of the gossip that goes through this place.”
“It’s not gossip. I’m an attending, it’s my job to know these things. To help make sure you’re safe.” She leans in a little closer. “And that goes double when you’re my wife.”
Your throat tightens. You try to breathe deeply but you can’t, your lungs have constricted with the rest of your body to the point where just standing here and existing feels like it requires tremendous effort.
“We don’t have to talk,” Baran offers. Blindly, she’s trying to offer you whatever you need. “We can just stand here for a second.”
In the crib, the baby begins to fuss. Instinctively you take her out of her crib, careful to cradle her as gently as you can, and hold her close.
Baran takes a step back. She doesn’t like taking peds cases or being anywhere near them — there are too many bad memories associated with them. Even something as simple and harmless as her son getting a scraped knee at home can send her into a spiral under the right circumstances.
You know some of what makes her anxious. You’ve heard stories about Kabul, though not all of them, and usually only in the shaken aftermath of panic attacks.
You also know that Baran gets worried about the bigger picture, especially with babies — how long until they’re back in an emergency room? Will they come in in five years sick and helpless like she did as a child? Seven years with a broken leg? Seventeen with injuries from a drunk driving accident?
The baby doesn’t calm in your arms, though. If anything she becomes more upset, features contorting and tears springing in her eyes like the world is ending, and you think your own panic might be to blame — babies seem to have a way of sensing these things.
“I can take her,” Baran says, resigned. “Here, give her to me.”
Your heart drops. “It’s okay, you don’t have to.”
But she’s already reaching out. She takes the baby from your arms and holds her in her own, blinking back and holding at bay her own flood of emotions since one of you has to be stable enough to calm the baby. She rocks her gently, whispering comforting phrases in Farsi that you’ve heard her repeat before to her son.
You calm a little, watching Baran hold her. Something in you softens, releases, and you wish you had the grace to offer to take the baby back, but you want to cling to this moment just a little bit longer.
“There we go,” Baran murmurs once the fussing stops and the baby has been lulled to sleep in her arms. “Go to sleep, dream that you’re somewhere better. You will be, soon.”
“That sounds a little cryptic,” you manage.
She glances up, meets your eyes briefly. “I didn’t mean for it to be.”
“I know.” You step closer, looking down at the baby in her arms. “Doctors can foster in cases like this, right?”
She sees where you’re going with that. She huffs out something of a laugh. “We are not bringing home a baby.”
“But she’s cute, look at her. Kaveh would like her, and he would have a sister if we ever adopted her. We’ve always wanted a daughter.”
Baran lays the baby down in the crib again. She knows you aren’t going to like what she’s about to say. “You can’t use this child as a way to escape what happened today. At the end of the day, she’s a patient that will pass through here like all the rest. You need to acknowledge what hurt you and look it in the eye.”
The words come out before you can stop them, sharp and defensive and bleeding with the day’s stress. “I didn’t know you were a fucking therapist.”
For a moment, she’s taken aback. You don’t curse at her, it’s just not something you do, and she doesn’t curse at you. Only in the worst of arguments is that unspoken rule broken.
“I’m sorry,” you say quickly. “I shouldn’t have—”
Her voice is raised. “I’m just trying to help.”
“I didn’t mean it.”
“I don’t give a fuck if you meant it,” Baran says. She starts walking toward the door. “Don’t say it.”
“Baran, don’t go.”
“I have patients to see. I’m going to have to try hard enough to catch up already, given how much time I’ve spent here with you. I’m not going to stay if I’m unwanted.”
“I do want you here,” you try, your voice rising to the same level as hers. “It was a lapse in judgement, it’s been a long day.”
“Lower your voice,” she says hypocritically from the doorway. “You’ll wake the baby.”
And with that, she’s gone. On cue, the baby starts crying again.
—
You meet her later in the parking lot after your shift with dinner from her favorite restaurant that you paid way too much to have delivered to the hospital.
You always get to the car a couple minutes before she does. It’s easier for you to slip away and you usually wait in the car, just like you do now, for her to get in on the passengers side and sigh so heavily, offer you a tired greeting.
Right at the usual time, she slips into the car. But she doesn’t sigh, doesn’t greet you like she normally would — until she sees the food in the bag on your lap.
“I’m sorry,” you say for the second time today. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you earlier, it wasn’t fair.”
She reaches out for the takeout bag and sets it in her own lap. “It would’ve been cheaper to pick this up on the way home.”
“I wanted to surprise you. It’s your favorite, and there’s extra sauce in the bag because you’re always complaining about how they get skimpy with takeout orders.”
Despite herself, she gives you a small smile.
“Are we okay?”
Baran nods. She’s still not quite over how you snapped at her, but she also feels like you’ve paid the price for it, and it’s not something that came out of the blue — today was rough for both of you.
She reaches for your hand and you let her take it, holding onto her like a lifeline. “Are you finally ready to talk?”
You hesitate. You don’t want to relive the day you had today, the patient that completely ruined it for you. You don’t want to repeat the things that were said to you or the measures that had to be taken in order to get you out of the situation.
Then you remember that she already knows. That for her it is probably just as sickening a prospect to hear from your lips the story she has already heard from Dana’s, Robby’s, everyone else’s. But she is doing this for you, because she knows the price of holding onto too much alone. In a strange, backwards way, she is sacrificing some of her wellbeing for yours.
She looks so tired. You notice it in little hints: the dullness of her soft brown eyes, the frizz in her hair that she’s too exhausted to complain about, the way she slumps down into the passenger seat in a way she only does when she’s completely spent.
“It’ll eat you alive,” she says quietly. “You can take my word for it.”
You don’t like the sound of that, though you know it’s true. You’re able to tell where bits of her have been whittled away by the world. You’ve seen her anger and identified the things that are able to trigger it, bring it on sharply and suddenly and in a full-body way that sometimes scares you, though it’s hardly ever directed at you. You have witnessed bouts of depression where she has struggled to get out of bed in the morning or simply can’t bring herself to, and you have been there to help her into the shower and wash her hair and keep her fed when she can’t bring herself to go through the motions.
But it’s not the threat that makes you open up, the terrifying possibility of sinking — it’s her patience, her love, the warmth of her hand in yours. And sure, you’re also counting down the minutes until the food in her lap gets cold.
So you tell her everything. You sit with her in the car and repeat everything that led up to your horrible encounter today, and everything that led you into that room with the unnamed, smiling baby. You express your concerns and hopes and anger that things aren’t different, and she listens.
When you’re done, it feels like a weight has been lifted. Baran was right that it helps to talk.
“This is what I wanted,” she says after a long silence. “There are going to be patients like that. It’s the world we live in, as much as I wish things were different. But we don’t have to sacrifice ourselves to that pain.”
It’s your turn to listen. Your hand is still in hers.
“I’ll always listen to you,” she continues, “whenever you want to talk. And I know you’ll listen to me.”
You nod. It’s true, and you’ve proven it in the past.
She leans over the center console and presses a kiss to your temple, then reaches a hand to grasp your chin so she can tilt your head up and kiss you.
The box of takeout nearly slips off her lap, but she catches it.
“You better not drop that,” you warn. “I really did pay a horrible amount to get it here.”
thank you for reading <3 tried super hard to get smth out this week because I hit a bit of a slump but I feel like I’m bouncing back a bit and that’s maybe visible in my writing. anyway. trust I’m always writing something even if it’s not always fics.
summary: after what feels like tiring years of yearning for one another, you and cassie finally get together.
warnings: slow burn, age gap (reader is 26, cassie is 42), fluff, comfort, mutual pining/yearning, suggestiveness, flirting, cuddling, pittling!reader, jealous!cassie, happy ending
word count: 7.8k
a/n: this concludes this series! since this chapter is already late (sorry, time’s somehow been dragging on way too fast), i’m posting it as it is right now, but i’ll likely go back and revise it later— mainly just minor tweaks, no major storyline changes. i hope you enjoyed this 19 part series, i appreciate each and every one of you who has read this lil project of mine. while this is the last chapter, it’s not completely over though… there will be a part 20, a little bonus chapter that takes places a few years in the future. i’m not quite sure when it’ll get to writing it, so be on the lookout! thank you again for reading 🥺🤍♾️
soundtrack ‧₊˚♫ ˊ⊹
MASTERLIST
“Hey, Robby, you stole my med student.”
The attending had just stepped out of Trauma 2, blocking Cassie’s path to the North wing where she was going to search for you next. He sighed and sanitized his hands, then turning to face Cassie.
“She had a learning opportunity.”
“Well, do you know where she is?”
Robby opened his mouth, a small sound coming out as he was about to speak, but you interrupt. The trauma door barged open, you emerging with a grin on your face. Cassie’s lips were slightly parted, the corners quirking up into a small smile.
“I just delivered a baby,” you told Cassie, beaming like Mel was on your guys’ first day at PTMC when she delivered a baby.
“Oh, you did?” Cassie asked, a smile still present as she peeked through the glass of the trauma room.
“It was a cryptic pregnancy.”
Cassie crossed her arms over her chest and dipped her chin down a tad, invested in your conversation like she always is. She then took a step forward, closer to you than necessary.
“No, shit.”
“Mhm,” you hummed in confirmation as your right hand hovered below the hand sanitizer dispenser, cool gel dropping on top of your palm. “The woman had no idea. She came in with bleeding and cramps. But the baby’s okay. Mom’s still processing, but she decided to keep her.”
“It was a girl?”
“Yes,” you replied, still grinning brightly.
“That’s sweet.”
“I can’t believe I got to help deliver a baby,” you said in disbelief, the adrenaline coursing through your veins not fading.
Cassie’s eyes were glued onto your face even as you looked in every direction. The smile on your face was so radiant, it was impossible for it not to spread to Cassie’s.
“Women are pretty damn amazing,” Cassie mused.
“Yeah,” you murmured, meeting her gaze. “We are.”
Cassie held your gaze for the next few moments, you drawing her in like a magnet. But then she looked away as she let out a breath, still smiling. You noticed that her cheeks were a faint pink, and you weren’t sure if it was because of you or a procedure she may have just came from.
“So, uh… were you on your way somewhere? Sorry if I’m keeping you.”
“Oh, you’re totally fine,” Cassie replied instantly. “Actually…” She scratched the back of her neck and looked at her shoes. “I was looking for you,” Cassie admitted as she lifted her head back up to look at you.
“Did you need something from me?” you asked, trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach.
“Well, Robby did steal my med student,” Cassie replied with a small chuckle.
You turned around then, remembering he was outside when you came out of the trauma room you were still standing by. Robby was long gone, likely disappeared to pop in and help another case. You spun back around, facing Cassie again.
“I’m gonna miss you when you rotate to pedes next week.”
“I’ll be back, McKay,” you reminded her, a flirtatious glimmer in your eyes. “And I’ll be an intern. Besides, there are other med students. But I’m honored you wanted me,” you said to Cassie in a joking tone.
The way she called you her med student kept replaying, engraving in your brain. Cassie’s next words only furthered the warm and fuzzy feeling that was settling deep inside of you.
“Of course,” Cassie replied with a smile, matching your playfulness. “I kind of need my favorite med student if I’m going to have to keep working chairs.” She drew in a sharp breath before continuing. “I know it’s not as exciting as delivering a baby, but there’s still learning opportunities.”
You let out a small laugh, finding it endearing that Cassie was trying to convince to work triage with her. That she thought she needed to convince you. You would always choose to work with her. Choose to be with her.
“Okay, but I’m not doing any cases involved with bugs,” you told Cassie, playfully pointing a finger at her. “A man came in earlier that Javadi and Whitaker helped who had a cricket in his ear.” Your whole body shivered in disgust, cringing at the thought of it. “Just hearing about it makes me… ugh,” you said, shuddering again.
“Okay, okay, I promise,” Cassie responded. She then started walking, wrapping an arm around your shoulder to signal to you to come with rather than just motion or verbally said it. “Since you’re on a baby kick, there’s one with a low fever.”
“I’m not some sort of baby whisperer, you know. But yes, we can take that case.”
“You’re a natural,” Cassie taunted.
You scoffed and found yourself further leaning into Cassie’s side. “Me? You’re the one who’s a mom. And a damn good one.”
Cassie smiled softly, warmth blooming in her chest. Even though you guys were joking right now, the genuine compliment you slipped in made Cassie want to be more serious. Intentionally sincere.
“You would be a good mom.” A half-second pause. “If-if that’s something you want to do. Having kids I mean.”
You chuckled, the sound making Cassie’s heart swell. “I’m not sure yet,” you honestly told her. “But thanks. That, um… I dunno, it’s nice to hear.”
Cassie squeezed your shoulder, wishing that you could take compliments better. That you could believe them.
“I mean it,” Cassie said like it’s not a big deal. “You’re a sweet girl with a big heart.”
Your gaze flickered down to the floor, Cassie’s words lodging deep into your bones. You don’t know why that single comment made you so emotional, but it did. You took a deep breath, refusing to let your feelings leak out while clocked in.
“You are too,” you said to Cassie, shifting the attention to her. “You’re seriously like one of the most caring and compassionate people I’ve ever met. Actually, you take that number one spot.”
Cassie smiled and let out a puff of air in amusement as you both turned the corner, now walking to the hallway leading to chairs. “I wasn’t always,” she replied.
“But you are now.”
“Yeah. I am.”
“And a badass mom,” you added, that playful tone from before returning.
“Ha!” Cassie exclaimed through a laugh. “Harrison might not think I’m so cool.”
“Trust me, he does.”
“Okay, if you say so.”
You glanced at Cassie, staring at her side profile, your faces inches apart. “I do say so actually.”
Cassie chuckled in response as the two of you came to a stop in front of the doors leading out to triage. Slowly, she removed her arm from around your shoulder, then resting it at her side.
“Ready?” you both asked at the same time, making one another laugh.
Neither of you even realized Dana approaching the two of you from behind.
“I swear you guys are the perfect team, but can never get anything done at the same time,” Dana said, her Philly accent making you and Cassie turn in the charge nurse’s direction.
“We’re going,” you responded, rolling your eyes in feigned annoyance.
“What patient ar’ya picking up?”
“The eight month old with a 100° fever,” Cassie informed Dana.
“Oh, that’s perfect for you two.”
“How so?” Cassie inquired, her brows knitting together.
“You’re both patient,” Dana explained. “And you have a knack for caring for people, doesn’t matter the age.”
“Hm,” you hummed in contemplation.
Cassie’s eyebrows raised, considering Dana’s statement. It felt oddly intimate to her to be compared to you in that way.
“Apparently we’re the dream team,” Cassie murmured to you, placing a hand lightly on your elbow.
“Dream duo,” you replied with a smile.
Cassie smiled too, yours contagious. She then looked down at the ground for a split second before looking back up at you.
“Stop smiling like that,” Cassie muttered.
“Like what?!” you exclaim through a grin. “Dana,” you called out, looking over Cassie’s shoulder. “Is there something wrong with how I smile?”
Cassie’s hand on your elbow flew away to cover her face with her palms, her pale skin surely flushing more than it already was. You were staring at Dana expectantly, a smirk growing on her face.
“No, you have a beautiful smile, honey. It just makes this one over here,” Dana pointed at Cassie and continued saying, “smile too and blush like an idiot.”
You dramatically gasp and turn to Cassie. “Is that true?” you ask with a teasing grin, already knowing the answer.
Cassie let her hands fall down to her sides, her expression flat. She looked incredibly annoyed which you only found cute. Her face was definitely red, and you could hear Dana’s laugh from behind you.
“We’re going,” Cassie announced to Dana. She then grumbled to you, “now, baby.”
You were laughing hysterically, your face heating up as much as Cassie’s. Not wanting to entertain this any longer because she was fully convinced she’ll die of embarrassment, Cassie grabbed ahold of your arm, tugging you as she pushed open the doors to triage with her free hand. Your giggles quieted as she did so, but you were still throughly enjoying yourself even as you ventured into the waiting room.
“Behave,” Cassie murmured under her breath, loud enough for only you to hear.
And then it was your turn to get flustered, Cassie’s words going straight to your core. She always found a way to do that. To make you feel wanted. To make you dizzy. To make your heart flutter. To make your pulse race while simultaneously calming you by simply being next to you.
And there isn’t a single person in the world who can make you feel like Cassie does.
You don’t think there ever will be.
The morning sun filters through the curtains of your bedroom, the golden light shining down onto your frame as you stir. It takes you a second to remember that you’re not alone. That Cassie’s here.
Groggily, you open your eyes. Cassie’s sleeping face is only a couple inches in front of you. Her dark reddish brown is spread wildly across the pillow, her bangs lifted to reveal her forehead. You’re close enough that you can count each freckle on Cassie’s face and hear the quiet rhythm of her breathing. Her mouth is slightly open, snoring softly. Cassie has a leg between yours and an arm around your waist, holding you loosely even as she sleeps.
She looks so peaceful like this. You know Cassie’s been tired and stressed, fatigue etched onto her features. But right now she looks like she doesn’t have a single worry in the world. Being back home probably has something to do with it, that weight lifted off of her shoulders. But you know that it’s more than just being back in Pittsburgh. It’s being with you.
Unfortunately, you start to notice your shoulder aching, the muscles tight from how you were sleeping. But before you move, you bring a hand up to Cassie’s face and cup her cheek, your touch featherlight, careful not to wake her up. Your thumb gently brushes over her cheekbone, a soft smile growing on your face as you admire Cassie. It’s hard to believe that she’s here with you. That she’s real.
Then, with a quiet sigh, you carefully roll to your other side, your shoulder instantly feeling some relief. Instinctively, you start to curl up, getting comfortable once more. Your back is nearly pushed against Cassie’s front, not wanting to make contact since it could wake her.
But a few moments later, you hear a sleepy sound from behind you along with lips softly smacking. An arm lazily snakes around your waist, Cassie’s hand settling on your stomach and gently pulling you closer. Her chin rests on your shoulder, her breath hot against you. Cassie sleepily nuzzles into the crook of your neck, your hair draped across her head, covering her face. You’re not even sure if Cassie’s awake or not. If she is, she’s barely awake.
You bask in both the physical and mental feeling of Cassie hugging you like this, warmth spreading throughout your body, feeling safe, protected, and loved in her arms. Although, there’s still a pit at the bottom of your stomach, worried this isn’t going to last. You try and focus on the present, continuing to cherish the now.
You’re not sure if five minutes have passed or fifteen, but sometime within that time frame, Cassie begins to stir. You feel her body tense up, and you immediately hold your breath in response, scared she’ll pull away.
Except she doesn’t.
Instead, Cassie melts into the embrace, her hold on you strengthening. You let out a steady, relieved breath, your body relaxing completely. Cassie presses a long, tender kiss onto your shoulder, nearly making you tear up in relief and joy.
“Are you awake?” Cassie whispers cautiously, her heart pounding out of her chest as much as yours.
“Mhm.”
Cassie’s hand on your stomach presses a little firmer, like she’s trying to reassure you she’s not going to disappear. A couple seconds of silence pass by before she speaks again, taking a deep breath first.
“Is this… is this okay?”
“Is what okay?” you softly question, your brows furrowing. “You touching me?”
“Yeah,” Cassie breaths out, scared that you’ve changed your mind.
“Yeah, it’s okay,” you reassure her, your hand finding hers that’s on your stomach.
“Okay,” Cassie says through an exhale, the corners of her lips tilting upwards into a small smile. “Okay, good.”
A minute of quiet ticks by, neither of you feeling obligated to speak, simply taking in each other’s presence.
“So are you coming back to work?” you ask, breaking the silence.
“Monday,” Cassie informs you. “I already talked with Baran about it.” A beat. Then, “oh, shit, do you have work today, baby?” Cassie exclaims, sitting up slightly.
“No,” you chuckle. “My next shift is Monday.”
Cassie lies back down, the panic she was feeling starting to dissipate. “So you’re free today and the weekend?”
“I am,” you confirm.
“Would you be opposed to spending time with me?” Cassie awkwardly and nervously asks you.
“Not at all.”
Cassie expels a breath and smiles, thankful you still want to be with her. “If you get sick of me, then tell me to fuck off.”
You burst out in laughter at Cassie’s comment, your voice a bit hoarse with lingering sleep. “I doubt I will.”
“You never know,” Cassie says with a laugh. “By the way, my dad’s bringing Harrison over on Sunday, and he’ll be staying with me for the week.”
“That’ll be good. I know he’ll be so much happier to be at your house instead of Chad’s. Apparently him and Chloe haven’t been cleaning much lately. In Harrison’s words, their place is ‘messier than a toddler’s room.’”
Cassie smiles, both amused and touched that you know this. “Yeah? He told you that.”
“Mhm, when I went out to lunch with him and your dad.”
“You know…” Cassie sighs, holding you even closer. “My dad’s part of the reason I came back.”
“Because you missed him?”
“No— well, yes, but that’s not really the reason. It’s something he said to me.”
You roll to your other side, facing Cassie now. Her hand glides to your waist while you slide your arm in between Cassie’s arm and her side, your palm flat against her back. You meet Cassie’s gaze, your bambi eyes making her blush faintly, but enough you notice. You nod at her to continue.
“He said I need to grow up and stop running away from my problems,” Cassie tells you with a dry chuckle. “I didn’t even talk to him about any of my ‘problems.’ He also said that I need to stop punishing myself for feeling. He reminded me that I’m a good person who deserves good things… and he said you are too.”
You smile softly and look down, growing fonder of Neil every time he’s brought up. “He’s right,” you murmur teasingly.
Cassie lets out a huff of laughter, rubbing your lower back. “Annoyingly, he always is.”
You nod in agreement, though your gaze remains on the sheets between you and Cassie. It’s always felt like Cassie can see straight into your soul, even the deepest parts, and her being this close to you only intensifies that feeling. You feel exposed when you look into her eyes, Cassie always able to understand you without words.
“So…” Cassie starts, removing her hand from your waist to hold your chin. “Does this mean you still want me?” Cassie asks as she tilts your head upwards so she can look at you.
“I never stopped.”
Cassie’s eyes scan yours for a few seconds, her features softening under your gaze. She then leans in, about to kiss you. But you pull back with a giggle, covering your mouth with your hands.
“What?” Cassie questions with an awkward laugh, worried she did something.
“You don’t want to kiss me.”
“Yes, I do,” Cassie replies instantly, almost pathetically how quick she is to answer.
“No,” you say as you laugh. “You don’t, my breath is gross.”
Cassie chuckles, her own insecurities fading as she realizes it’s you who’s self-conscious. “Morning breath? I don’t care.”
“You will,” you reply, still giggling as you keep covering your mouth.
“No, I won’t,” Cassie says, grinning big.
“Yeah-huh.”
Cassie rolls her eyes and reaches forward, grabbing your wrists. You squeal and try to squirm your way out of her grasp. But Cassie’s able to successfully lower your hands, smiling at your giggles and protests.
“Cass!” you exclaim as she slowly leans in. “I’m serious, you’re— mm.”
All your fighting instincts leave as if a switch was flipped when Cassie’s lips meet yours. You melt into her touch, one of your hands resting against her cheek. Cassie pulls back slightly, then diving back in at a different angle, a soft moan escaping you.
Suddenly, Cassie pushes you onto her back with the force of her body, still clutching your wrists. She pins them above your head as she climbs over you, her kisses never stopping. Your legs naturally spread, allowing Cassie to reside between them.
“See?” Cassie asks, breaking the kiss, both of you smiling big like idiots. “I told you I don’t care.”
You roll your eyes, although the grin on your face makes it blatantly obvious that you’re enjoying this. “Shut up and kiss me.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
For the past two days, you and Cassie have nonstop been together. She showed up on your doorstep Thursday night, and stayed at your place the entirety of the next day. Now you’re at her house, Cassie returning to her home for the first time since she left for Ohio with you at her side.
In your time together, the two of you have been lazy, rather active too by working out in bed (and once in the shower), shared laughs, cuddled, and most importantly you talked. Cassie assured you that she’s all in, and she’s willing to do anything to prove it to you. You don’t need her to though, knowing since you met Cassie that she doesn’t date casually or at all really. Cassie desiring a relationship with you and actively pursuing it is a commitment she’s making to you, not taking it lightly.
You told Cassie how you’re considering choosing pediatrics as your field of medicine. You explained that you’re hesitant because you know as fulfilling it may be, it’s also going to be hard. Cassie assured you that it’s okay not to be sure right now, and that you’ll figure it out. She said she could see you working pedes, and that she’ll support whatever you choose.
The topic of kids also got up at one point, Cassie mentioning it first. She told you that if that’s something you want to do, she’s open to it. Harrison’s been begging for a sibling since he could talk, and still doesn’t have one, so he’d be thrilled. Chad and Chloe don’t plan on having any kids, but you, Cassie, and even Harrison wouldn’t be surprised if Chloe accidentally winds up pregnant one day.
You truthfully told Cassie that you’re not sure yet, but you could see yourself being a mom one day, maybe after you’re officially a doctor. Cassie understood, once again telling you that she’s good either way, ready to support whatever choice you make. She’s made it abundantly clear that she wants to help you grow— not hinder you from developing your life.
Currently, it’s almost 2:00PM. You and Cassie have been enjoying each other’s company, starting the day with Cassie cumming on your face, you then making a mess of her thigh. After that, you ate breakfast, and then went over to Cassie’s.
The second you guys got to her place, Cassie took off her pants and has been walking around in a pair of striped blue and white boxers along with a t-shirt ever since. You’re wearing a comfortable pair of lounge shorts, ones you often wear to bed, and one of Cassie’s hoodies since you her house is “cold.” Also, you finally returned Cassie’s grey jacket, though she did tell you that you can borrow it whenever.
Taking advantage of the coziness and alone time, you and Cassie are curled up on her couch. Almost Famous, a movie you’ve both already seen is playing. For the most part you’ve been paying attention, but you and Cassie have also wound up talking. The movie has about half an hour left on it now, you and Cassie quiet for the time being.
“Now I want cake,” Cassie thinks out loud as Penny Lane blows out the candles on her birthday cake in the film.
“I would settle for some chocolate.”
“Wait, I think I might have some.”
“Really?” you ask, looking at Cassie and arching a brow.
“I’m pretty sure,” she tells you as she starts to sit up. “I’ll go check.”
“Mkay,” you murmur, a soft smile that won’t fade on your face.
Smiling too, Cassie leans forward, giving you three kisses before reluctantly pulling away. You grab ahold of her hand before she’s out of reach, Cassie looking down at you then, giving you a sly look.
“I’ll be back,” she tells you softly.
Trying not giggle, you bring Cassie’s hand to your mouth, kissing the back of it. “You have a minute. I’m timing you.”
“I’ll be back in 30 seconds,” Cassie replies. A pause. “Lover,” she adds, emphasizing the “r” and winking cheesily.
Cassie’s words make you giggle, which makes her laugh to. She gives your hand a squeeze before letting go. You pause the movie for Cassie as she walks to the kitchen, fetching a sweet treat for you.
One room over, you can hear the pantry door open. Then there’s rummaging, Cassie searching her mostly bare pantry. Since she was living in Ohio, she doesn’t have much food in the house right now, in desperate need of grocery shopping.
“I found some peanut M&Ms,” Cassie shouts, grabbing the yellow sharing size bag off of the shelf. “Oh! There’s also a Payday back here.”
“Bring ‘em both!”
“Okay,” Cassie replies, the doorbell ringing at the same time. “Can you get that?” she asks you from the kitchen. “I bet it’s just some salesperson or some Mormons.”
“Yup,” you tell her, already standing up.
It felt oddly domestic. You wearing Cassie’s clothes, cuddling on the couch with her. Now answering her front door as she grabs snacks for you both.
When you get to the entryway, you don’t bother looking through the peephole. You turn the lock and swing the door open, enough to stick a head in, but not a full body. You’re ready to greet and dismiss whoever’s at the door, still smiling.
But then you see who it is.
You let go of the door handle, your hand falling to your side. Your expression drops and your eyes widen, totally taken aback by the two people in front of you.
“Oh, hey,” Harrison says, a grin spreading across his face, also surprised to be seeing you. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”
“Hey, buddy,” you reply, forcing a smile to reappear. “And, uh, hey, Neil.”
Cassie’s dad greets you with a nod, shoving his hands in his pockets like his daughter does. “Hi, sweetie. This is a surprise— a good surprise.”
You’re genuinely happy to see Harrison, but you hate that it’s like this. You’re at Cassie’s house “hanging out,” you’re wearing her hoodie, and you’re pretty sure your bra is on the floor someplace in her bedroom.
“Why are you here?” Harrison questions, simultaneously pulling you into a hug.
You reciprocate the embrace, resting your chin on top his sandy brown hair as you try to come up with a reasonable answer for Harrison and Neil. “Uh…”
“Hey, baby, who’s at the door?” Cassie shouts as she walks back to the living room, her voice interrupting your endless “uhs” and “ums.”
“Oh, good, mom’s home,” Harrison says.
Cassie sets the candy on the coffee table, and then walking over to see why you’re speechless. “Who is it?” she asks again, protectiveness in her voice, unsure why you’re not answering. “Baby? I— Dad! Harrison… hi, bub.”
You step aside and hold the door open for the two boys, Harrison immediately stepping through to hug his mom. She kisses the top of his head while making eye contact with you, silently communicating her surprise. You shrug, giving Cassie a confused look, not knowing why her dad and son are here either.
“Why are you guys here?” Cassie asks, breaking the hug with Harrison to hug her dad. “You were supposed to be coming tomorrow, right?”
“Yeah,” Neil answers as he wraps his arms around Cassie. “But I texted you that we were coming over an hour ago. We know you got in yesterday”—a lie Cassie told, really returning the day prior to that—“and that you wanted some time to unpack and get your… affairs in order, but Harrison had the idea to surprise you.”
“I didn’t get any text.”
“Then it’s really a surprise.”
“Well, it’s a good surprise,” Cassie says, pulling back from her dad’s hug. “And I’m definitely surprised.”
“Clearly,” Harrison remarks, fishing out his Nintendo Switch from his backpack. “You’re in your underwear, mom.”
Cassie glances down, her face flushing as she remembers that she’s only in boxers. “Fuck,” Cassie mumbles under her breath. “I-I’ll be right back,” she tells you all, walking backwards. “I’m just gonna— fuck,” Cassie curses, almost tripping over the coffee table. “I’m going to go put pants on. Uh… no one go anywhere.”
Neil tries his best not to laugh, taking a breath to maintain his composure before replying. “Go ahead, honey.”
Cassie looks at each of you for a final time, her gaze lingering on your jittery frame longer than the rest before turning around and running off to her bedroom. You’re still standing, bringing your arms over your chest. You nervously bite your thumb nail, not sure what to say or do.
“So how have you been?” Neil asks you.
“Oh, um, fine,” you answer, meeting his eyes briefly before looking away again.
“Have you done anything fun lately?”
“Not really,” you tell Neil, offering him a polite yet awkward smile. “How about you? How-how have you been?”
“Never better.”
“Good, that’s good.”
“Why are you talking like that?” Harrison asks you, his eyes glued to the Switch in his hands as he lounges on the couch.
“Like what?”
“All stuttery and weird.”
“I’m not,” you blurt out a little too quick. “I mean, I-I-I’m fine.”
Harrison scoffs, not knowing the real reason behind your fluster was, but old enough to recognize that it’s more than what meets the eye. Neil on the other hand, already has a pretty good idea about what’s causing your nervous demeanor. Right as he’s about to make a subtle comment about it, Cassie strides back in, equally as fidgety as you are.
“You need to stop walking around in your underwear,” Harrison tells Cassie, scolding her like he’s the parent. “We have a guest over for God’s sake.”
“Harrison!” Cassie exclaims. “Language.”
“Sorry,” he sassily replies, then letting out a huff of air as he tilts his Switch, fully immersed in the game he’s playing.
Cassie holds up her phone before setting it on the coffee table. “I didn’t see your text,” she tells her dad. “My phone was on the bathroom counter.”
“So we succeeded in surprising you,” Neil says. “By the way, Harry thought he had your house key, so I didn’t bring mine. As it turns out, he didn’t have it which is why we rang the doorbell. I bet that was pretty lucky for you, huh?”
“Dad!” Cassie hisses, glancing at her son before stepping closer to Neil with a glare. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Neil bites the inside of his cheek, holding back a smile. He shrugs innocently and shakes his head, not expanding upon his statement.
“Dad,” Cassie presses, now in the middle of you and Neil, closer to you than her dad.
“What? I didn’t say anything.”
“Yes!” Harrison shouts then, all three of you turning to look at the young boy. “I just won,” he excitedly announces.
“Good job, bud,” you congratulate him, not even knowing what game he’s playing.
Harrison leans forward to set the gaming device down, his eyes happening to catch your legs as he does. His brows furrow, concern settling into his features.
“What happened?” Harrison asks you, pointing at the inside of one of your thighs.
You’re standing with one foot in front of the other, your hip popped. Because you’re in shorts and because of the way you’re standing, your inner leg is visible. Confused as to what Harrison’s talking about, you glance down. At first you don’t see anything, but then you notice it.
Two purplish dark marks on your upper thigh. You have a million more love bites underneath your shorts, so you’re not sure if you should be grateful only two are showing or annoyed that two are showing.
“It looks like bruises,” Harrison says. “What happened? Mom, go look.”
“She’s fine, Harrison.”
“But mom, what if it hurts her?”
“I’m fine,” you assure Harrison.
He skeptically looks at you, then his mom. “Okay, but how did that happen?”
“I, uh, slipped in the shower.”
“Oh,” Harrison replies, not sure if he buys it or not. “Okay. Sorry.”
Neil leans in so only you and Cassie can hear. Harrison has since picked his Switch back up anyways. “Funny, you have a matching one right,” Neil says, his finger hovering over a spot low on Cassie’s neck.
Cassie instinctively glances down before snapping her head back up, not even seeing the mark, but realizing what her dad is talking about. Her eyes widen, and she brushes her hair over her shoulder to that side of her neck. Embarrassment seeps through her features, not even sure how to respond to her dad right now.
“Dad,” is all Cassie can muster out, naming him in a hushed scold.
“What? It’s just an observation.” A tense beat goes by, Neil’s tone then morphing into something more serious. “Do you want me to take the kid out for a bit? There’s this new ice cream place he’s been dying to try.”
“No, it’s fine,” Cassie answers, holding her palm up to her dad. “You’re already here.”
“Okay,” Neil nods. He then turns to his grandson, raising his voice as he cheerfully says, “Harry, do you want to go get ice cream?” A split second pause. “With your mom and your favorite babysitter?”
“Yes!” Harrison exclaims, setting down his Switch and jumping up to his feet.
“Oh, I don’t want to intrude on family time,” you say awkwardly, retreating into yourself.
“You’re not, honey.”
“Yeah, come! Please!” Harrison begs, siding with his grandpa.
“I don’t know,” you murmur, undecided.
Cassie’s stare is burning into you, her annoyed features from before softening. She tilts her head, wanting nothing more than to soothe your doubts, assuring you that you’re more than welcome. Cassie wishes she could hug you and whisper reassurances in your ear, knowing it would make you giggle, your laugh one of her favorite sounds in the world.
“Come,” Cassie says, firmly yet still soft.
Your gaze meet hers then, a thousand words being communicated through her eyes. You give a sure nod, deciding to tag along. Cassie smiles when you give in, still wanting to touch you though.
“How about you guys change?” Neil suggests, motioning to the two of you.
You can keep Cassie’s hoodie on, but you’re still in tiny lounge shorts. As for Cassie, she may have put pants on, but they’re checkered pajama pants, not something she’d wear in public.
“C’mon,” Cassie tells you, nodding to the direction of her bedroom. “You can borrow a pair of my pants.”
“Okay, thanks, Cass.”
She smiles warmly at you, extending her hand for you to take it. Your palm rests against hers, the two of you loosely holding onto each other, so it appears nothing more than friendly. Neil, however, knows. He doesn’t say anything, just proudly grins.
“Fuck, I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t know they were coming,” Cassie apologizes in a frantic whisper as you two walk away.
“It’s fine, Cass.”
“Really, I’m so sorry. God, I’m sorry about my dad too. I’ll talk to him later.”
“Cassie, really, it’s fine.”
“You’re sure?” she asks, coming to a stop outside of her open bedroom, way out of sight and earshot from the living room.
“Yeah,” you reassure Cassie, your hands coming up to comfortingly rub her arms.
“Are you sure?” Cassie asks again, taking a step closer so there’s no more foot space between you two.
“Yes,” you repeat through a breathy laugh.
“Really?” Cassie questions for a third time, the corner of her lips pulling upwards into a smile. “You still love me?”
“Yes!” you exclaim, gently hitting her bicep.
“Wow, and yet you hit me.”
You roll your eyes, reaching up to Cassie’s chest. You hook your finger through the gold chain dangling from her neck. Your eyes rise from the shiny metal to Cassie’s lips, and then to her eyes. Her breath hitches as you look into her blue eyes.
“Stop getting on my nerves.”
“I’ll do my best,” Cassie whispers back, her arms wrapping around your waist.
You hold her gaze for a second longer before tugging Cassie forward with her chain, her mouth meeting yours. Cassie hums against your lips, her hands wandering to your ass as you kiss. You stay that way for about ten seconds before pulling your face away, your body still flush against Cassie’s.
“We have to get dressed,” you remind her.
“Ugh,” Cassie groans. “Sorry.”
Smiling, you shake your head and grab Cassie’s chin, pulling her to you to give her lips a quick peck. “It’s fine. I like your family.” Another kiss. “I like you.”
Cassie presses a soft peck against your lips next, her thumbs rubbing over the fabric covering your hipbones. “I love you.”
“What a coincidence, I love you too.”
A giddy grin spreads across your face, Cassie smiling just as stupidly. She leans forward, kissing you again. Your teeth clacks against hers, both of you unable to stop beaming. Cassie’s hold on you strengthens, not wanting to let go.
It’s been over a week since you and Cassie officially got together. So far the only people at work who know are your closest friends— Trinity, Victoria, Dennis, and Samira. It’s being kept under wraps from everyone else, although, your coworkers are definitely suspecting something.
Cassie came back over a month earlier than when she was supposed to. Not so coincidentally, your spark had returned that same day. Everyone noticed how much happier you were, unable to keep from smiling—and you really tried. Cassie was also walking around on cloud nine, something in the air so obviously shifting.
But no one straight up asked. You made your friends swear not to tell anyone, mainly worried about Trinity spilling the beans. People asked her, but she didn’t talk. Your nosy coworkers gave up on Trinity after a couple days, knowing it was like trying to walk through a stonewall.
Instead, they tried to bait you and Cassie, asking “harmless” questions like “are you seeing anyone?,” “did you notice you how smiley Cassie is?”, or “you must be happy Cassie’s back.” Each time, you shut it down, Cassie doing the same.
Today’s Monday, exactly a week since Cassie came back to the ED. The rumor mill has quieted, but is still present. Your coworkers, especially Princess and Dana, have been giving you looks and smirks, telling you they know what’s changed without actually telling you.
Because of that, you’ve intentionally been avoiding Cassie at work, not wanting to add more fuel to the fire. She’s been as professional as she can be with you when you do interact, although the looks you exchange aren’t subtle. Last Thursday in a trauma, Cassie accidentally called you “baby.” The only people in the room were Baran, Dennis, and unfortunately Princess, the gossip loving nurse and your attending mentally making a note of it.
Harrison’s back at his dad’s this week. After Cassie dropped him off last night, she came over to your place and spent the night. The two of you drove to work together, strategically spacing out when you walked in. You went first, deciding on Cassie coming in five minutes later.
You’ve already dropped off all your stuff in your locker, now heading to the nurses’ station. Dana is there with Lena, coordinating for shift change. You approach the two charge nurses, giving them each a greeting smile.
Dana smiles and takes her glasses off. “Hey, kid.”
“Hey, D. Where do you need me?”
“Ellis!” Dana calls out, waving the night doctor over. “Hand off your patients to Miss Sunshine over here.”
“Me? Miss Sunshine?”
Dana scoffs and exchanges a knowing look with Lena. “As of last week, yes,” the redhead charge nurse says to you.
“It’s true,” Parker adds, jogging up to stand next to you.
At the same time, you and Parker lean your forearms on the counter. “It so is not,” you retort. “Yeah, I’ll admit, maybe I’ve been in a better mood since a coworker I worked well with came back, but I’m not all sunshine and rainbows.”
“Please,” Parker scoffs, turning to look at you. “That is the face of someone getting laid. And laid as in until you can’t stand.”
“What?!” you exclaim, your voice more high pitched than normal. “You’re crazy.”
“You’re crazy if you think we all can’t see it,” Parker tells you, motioning around the ED. Dana and Lena nod in agreement.
“Ppft,” you sputter.
“Listen to me, honey,” Parker says, leaning closer to you, her eye contact intense. “We all see how happy you are. And McKay.”
“She’s just happy to be back home.”
“And the sky is green,” Dana huffs, her eyes glued to the tablet in her hand.
“You guys look at each other in that way,” Parker attempts to explain, jestering to nothing with her hands.
“What way?”
“You know… like I’m so in love with you. I can’t think straight around you.” Parker’s voice then grows more playful, leaning in even closer with a smirk. “God, I need to get laid. Oh my god I can’t wait to take you home,” she dramatically teases.
Unbeknownst to you, Cassie started walking in a minute ago. She headed to the nurses’ station after dropping her stuff off, your back to her. Originally, Cassie was going to go straight to Dana to let her know she’s here and to ask about handoffs.
Instead, she paused a few feet behind you, catching Parker say that she’s so in love with you. Cassie didn’t know the context and assumed that it was some sort of joke because why would she be publicly confessing her love you at work. Still, it bothered Cassie, especially since the two of you were so close together, your shoulders nearly touching.
Cassie tried to brush it off, even as Parker told you she can’t think straight around you. But when she heard Parker say that she needs to get laid and that she can’t want to take you home, Cassie lost it, all reason leaving her body.
It was one thing to hear someone so blatantly and crudely flirt with you, but for it to be someone who you went on a date with, it made Cassie’s blood boil. She never considered herself the jealous type, but somehow with you, possessiveness found its way under her skin.
Cassie wants to be the only one who gets to know you in the way she does, and the thought of someone else having access to you like that makes her fume. Maybe that’s why some part of her always knew it would be you she ends up with. If not you, then no one at all, only you able to make Cassie feel the way she does.
Cassie’s hands ball into fists at her sides. She tries to take a deep breath, hoping to regain some composure. Then Cassie gives Parker a cold stare while she moves to stand on the other side of you.
As you laugh at Parker’s words, buying time for think of an excuse to deny her observations, Dana clears her throat. Successful, she’s able to catch your attention. Dana then glances to your side, so you look over, Cassie right there. You didn’t even notice that she approached.
“Hey,” you say with a soft smile.
“Hi,” Cassie grits out, her jaw tense.
You pout, concern immediately washing over your features. Cassie was smiling bigger than a kid on Christmas before you got out of the car.
“Are you okay?”
“Fine, I just think it’s inappropriate to be talking about getting laid at work.”
“You’re one to talk,” you tease, recalling when Cassie told Samira that she needs to get laid, your friend immediately reporting back to you after she heard that comment.
“Woah, who’s talking about getting laid?” Parker asks with a chuckle, standing up straight.
“You are.”
“Me?” Parker questions, pointing at herself as Cassie glares at her. It dawns on Parker a second later what Cassie means, and why she’s giving her a dirty look. “Ohhh,” she breaths out, shaking her head. “Did you mean me saying ‘I need to get laid’ just now? That wasn’t serious.”
“It wasn’t? Then why were you announcing that you’re in love with my-my…” Cassie trails off, her eyes flickering to yours.
The way you’re looking at Cassie makes her weak in the knees, her expression instantly softening. Your lashes flutter, your doe eyes scanning hers. Cassie licks her licks in contemplating, internally battling what to do. You guys agreed to keep things private.
But Cassie knows this isn’t some fling or relationship that will be over in a month. You know it too. Eventually, it’s going to come out. Cassie figures letting it be known that you’re in a relationship with her now might be better, at least for her sanity.
The corner of Cassie’s lips raise subtly, a faint smile meant only for you crossing her face. She then looks away from you and back to Parker. Cassie takes a breath, her features hardening and her heart racing.
“Why are you telling my girlfriend that you love her and need to get laid?” Cassie asks calmly, her voice thick with seriousness.
You blush, dropping your head to your hands right away. Cassie glances at you for a split second before looking back to Parker, knowing that if she keeps her eyes on you, she won’t be able to think straight. Instead, Cassie snakes an arm around your waist, her hand resting on your hip.
Parker breaks out in hysteric laughter. “I was imitating you and the looks you guys give each other.”
“Oh,” Cassie whispers, her face turning red.
“Ah, so it’s true?” Dana asks with a smirk, looking up from the table, fully invested in this conversation now.
You lift your head, no longer hiding your face. “Can we drop it?” you ask flatly.
“Hallelujah!” Dana exclaims.
“What?” Princess asks curiously, walking over from a desk out of earshot.
Smiling, Dana looks at Princess, then at you and Cassie. Princess follows Dana’s line of sight, her jaw dropping. Parker’s grinning and nodding from beside you, silently confirming everything.
“No way,” Princess excitedly says, rushing up to you and Cassie. “I just won $50!”
“You were betting on us?” Cassie asks, squinting her eyes at Princess.
“Practically the whole ED was,” Princess replies as she looks back and forth between you and Cassie. “I’m so happy for you guys.
Princess then squeals, your eyes widening in surprise. The excitement she’s expelling is hard to process, you blinking at her a few times. Cassie’s grip on your waist tightens, her hold still gentle though.
“Geez, you’re acting like we got married or something,” Cassie mutters, scratching her eyebrow with her spare hand.
You push off the counter, now standing up straight. You find yourself scooching closer to Cassie, always gravitating towards her. Shyly, you wrap your arm around Cassie, leaning your head against her shoulder.
“They finally did,” Lena murmurs to Dana. “Robby’s not gonna believe it when he comes back.”
More people start to gather around the nurses’ station. Samira smiles at you and Cassie, giving you both a nod of approval. Baran approaches Samira a second later, not so subtly whispering about you and Cassie, asking what’s going on. From across the nurses’ station, Trinity sees the commotion, then running over.
“Holy shit, you’re telling people now?”
“I guess so,” you reply, still bashful.
You turn your cheek into Cassie’s arm, wanting to crawl into a hole with only her. There is something rather freeing about everyone knowing though. They weren’t just expecting it, but they’re genuinely happy for you both, glad you and Cassie finally got together.
“Okay, okay,” Dana yells, clapping her hands together. “Let’s give ‘em space and go back to work. Capiche?”
Your coworkers began to break off, though their whispers and looks linger. You glance up to Cassie, biting your lip to hold back from grinning big. She’s pressing her lips together to keep from smiling too, her adorable dimples popping out.
“This is crazy,” you murmur.
“Yeah,” Cassie agrees, nodding.
“When do you think they’ll chill out? They’re never going to drop this.”
Cassie inhales deeply, then exhaling a long breath. “Probably not. I’m uh…” Cassie glances around the familiar ED, happy and grateful to be back. “I’m guessing not for a while, baby. I wouldn’t be surprised if they started planning our wedding for us.”
“Oh, god.” You drop your head to Cassie’s chest momentarily before looking back up at her, her smile mirroring yours. “Do you think it’s going to be like this forever?”
give us the baran kink ideas 👀 you write her so well, i'm curious to see what you think
On Sex — Baran Al-Hashimi
this is so, so NSFW. minors Do Not interact. i actually cut a LOT out of this, so if you want a part 2, let me know. written without a pairing in mind but with a partner who has a vagina. they/them used throughout for partner. i do want to make a disclaimer that i am not at all passing judgment on any of the bullet points below. i’m really just presenting them from what imagine is baran’s perspective. @sepisbabe @lotties-ashwagandha
CW: spitting, light breath play, fisting, ass play, restraints, cuckold, humiliation, degradation, subspace, consensual non-consent, dacryphilia, impact play, flogger, sensory play, car/bathroom sex, dirty talk (not everything on this list i think baran enjoys, but it is discussed)
everything is organized via the stoplight system based on what i think baran enjoys. so if you don't want to read about baran being triggered/pushed past her limits, you can skip it. if there are multiple colors, there are elements of both/all present. w/c: 3.9k
🟢For starters, I think Baran absolutely has an oral fixation. She needs her mouth on her partner’s everything — sucking on their tongue, lapping in their mouth, licking and tugging the soft skin of their ears, mouthing at their neck, chest, tummy, thighs, clit. Sucking her partner’s fingers or having her fingers in their mouth (especially with other fingers inside her) turns her on so much.
🟢With that comes a spit kink. Spitting onto her fingers or her partner’s before they plunge inside them or her. Leaving sloppy wet trails of tongue across flushed skin. Spitting into her partner’s waiting mouth, eager and open. Or her, eyes half-lidded, tongue out, waiting for it and swallowing greedily. Spitting onto their cunt, her cunt. And in the right heat of the right moment, spitting onto their skin — chest, stomach, back, ass, but never face.
🟢Goes without saying, but Baran eats pussy like it’s her last meal every damn time. She’s moaning into their cunt just because it tastes good, because she loves feeling and tasting and smelling them get wetter. Baran could stay between her partner’s legs for hours, and she eventually comes up (at least two orgasms later) with her chin, her mouth, her cheeks and her nose covered in them, and she loves every moment of it. Even more if they squirt on her.
🟢Face sitting plays into a couple of Baran’s kinks. She loves, loves, loves eating her partner out, regardless of the position (and she’s tried many). She also likes — sometimes, with the right person, in the right setting — breathplay. Usually, this means someone’s hand squeezing in the medically correct place around her throat, the illusion of breathplay. But face sitting (suffocating in pussy) is one of the few times she’ll enjoy true discomfort in bed.
🟢Baran, of course, loves fingering. One, two, three fingers curling and thrusting. Four if she’s lucky. If she’s really lucky and patient and willing to put in the effort, she likes taking the time to work a whole hand into her partner. Watching her hand disappear around tight, wet walls — slow and careful up to the wrist — is exhilarating. Her eyes flickering from face to cunt to face to cunt, careful and adoring, and oh god she loves feeling her partner flutter around her. In fact, she’s probably leaving a sticky mess on the sheets as she sits between their legs. The stretch alone enough to make them cum. Even more so, though, she loves getting fisted, feeling the delicious, painful stretch herself. Hearing her partner whisper awed words of praise at how well she’s taking it. How tight she’s stretching around their hand. It doesn’t take much, once they’ve worked her up enough to fit it. Maybe three times (again, if she’s lucky) in and out before she’s cumming, gushing around their hand. Half the time she’s cumming just as they fit the widest part of their palm in, unexpected and sharp and loud. Even though in that headspace (because it takes a while), Baran’s usually doing full on breathing exercises to stave off an orgasm.
🟢She’ll stick a finger or two in her partner’s ass if they ask, but she won’t suggest it unprompted (Baran doesn’t eat ass, but she might with a dental dam!). She is, however, inclined to use plugs and dildos. When used on a partner, it’s more about enjoying that they’re enjoying it, rather than it arousing her. Though, if she’s fucking them in the ass, she does like sticking a couple fingers in their cunt, too, just to feel the outline of the strap pushing in and out against the wet, clenching walls of their pussy. That’ll have her moaning right along with them. Baran can’t cum from ass play, so a dildo isn’t usually something she wants. But a plug gets her so wet and sensitive. She cannot relax with something in her ass, clenching around it uselessly over and over. So, if her partner wants to tease Baran for a long time with little effort, they can stick a plug in her and just wait. She’ll get desperate eventually. And then it doesn’t even take much, just a few swipes against her clit, and she’s cumming.
🟡🟢She’s not big into double penetration. It’s a sensory thing (I will die on the hill that Baran has sensory issues). She likes her cunt or her ass filled, not both. But she’s happy to provide that sensation for her partner. Like fisting, she loves watching the stretch of it, loves praising her partner for it.
🟢I do think Baran likes blowing straps. I don’t think it does much for her on the receiving end, but I think she’d just love to get on her knees and look up at her partner with those doe eyes and bob her head and suck and moan and drag her tongue around it until her partner is twitching and gasping, pushing her down into the bed and slamming into her. So, yeah, maybe it’s a little selfish.
🟢Mutual masturbation is one of those things she’ll do early on with someone so she can see how they like to touch themselves. She’s cataloging, remembering for later. Though, sometimes it’s really fucking hot to kneel over her partner lying back on the bed and touch herself, have their hands bump together rubbing tight circles over their own clits. Pant into each other’s mouths and cum individually, together.
🟢As far as threesomes, Baran likes them on occasion. She won’t take two strangers home, but she will go home with a couple. In that case, she expects mostly to just be along for the ride, happy to be told what to do or passed back and forth (This’ll send Baran straight into subspace if she’s not careful, something she doesn’t like to do with strangers. Gasping out a please, yes, please, as one of them fingers her and the other moves to sit on her face). She’s okay being someone else’s fantasy for a night, so long as there’s a clear discussion beforehand. This turns some people off, ruins the “magic” of it, and to them she says good riddance. Or, she’ll pick someone up with her partner, take them home and turn them into the fantasy of the night. She loves the connection it forges with her partner, the wordless conversation over a squirming body below them. The kiss they share over a stranger’s shoulder as her fingers find a brutal rhythm inside someone whose name she barely remembers.
🟡🔴Baran doesn’t do group sex. She gets overwhelmed easily when it’s more than two others, finds it difficult to wrap her head around the complicated dynamics of it. It’s not that she needs control, she just needs firm footing. She feels safe when she understands the expectations and likes/dislikes of everyone who’s touching her. More than a threesome and her head starts spinning uselessly, wide eyed and blank and dry. It’s too unpredictable, and Baran will get panicky (Baran Al-Hashimi is autistic. Again, I will die on this hill).
🔴Baran has a complicated relationship with restraints — real or psychological (sometimes she still wakes up from nightmares about being tied down and helpless in the PICU). So, she hates being cucked with any restraints or any aspect of humiliation. She will have a panic attack. It’s not about what her partner(s) are doing without her. It’s that she hates the idea of even pretending to want out and not being able to free herself. Of someone taunting her with freedom, or with access to them, and then demeaning her for wanting it. She went from green to yellow to red, red, red in a matter of three minutes the first and only time she tried it. Almost too triggered to accept aftercare, she twitched away when her partner tried to soothe and then immediately burst into tears. I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry tumbling from her. It was a long, slow night of aftercare.
🟢On the other hand, if she’s the one in control, she’s happy to sit back and watch her partner(s) fuck (Funny enough, it’s only outside the bedroom that Baran gets jealous). Offering words of praise or prompting or, oh, baby, you can do better than that with her head cocked, lip between her teeth. She’s a maestro conducting a beautiful, sticky, sweaty orchestra. So long as there’s no power imbalance in the scene, she’ll switch roles with her partner. And while she’s happy to fuck the other person in her bed, her real pleasure comes from stealing looks with her partner, watching them watch her. Watching them watch her eat someone else out. Watching them watch her get railed into the bed. And she loves moaning her partner’s name when it’s someone else making her cum. Afterward, though, she needs her partner to make her cum or vice versa. She can’t bear to end the night on an orgasm someone else can claim.
🟢Baran isn’t anti-restraints in general. She’s actually pro-restraints with the right person, the right setting, the right negotiation. For someone who craves control in her everyday life, it’s liberating to have that control taken from her by delicate, loving hands. For someone to give her everything she wants at the pace they set and entirely prevent her from lifting a damn finger to direct things along. It takes so much trust and love. She won’t do it with a casual partner or a hookup. And Baran can stand a little teasing when she’s in physical restraints. A little, so needy and desperate for me, or oh, that made you wet, huh, or you are so cute trying to grind on me. But no degradation, no cruelty of any kind. If Baran pulls at handcuffs and whines, she expects her partner to coo and soothe. And it’s this certainty that she plays into, that allows her to get just a little bratty when she needs care, knowing, without fail, that it will come.
🟢It’s not something she always intends to happen, but it can send her so far into subspace, too. Baran gets breathy, whiny, incoherent when she’s there. She’s no stranger to begging — playfully and even desperately sometimes — but in that headspace it’s so pathetic the way she pleads. Baran loves to be kissed out of it, held and soothed and spoken so softly to. You did so well. You back with me, my love? And Baran will whine and kiss them and latch on, tangling limbs and lips.
🟢Speaking of restraints, Baran has tried a spreader bar. She doesn’t mind a spreader bar, but she much prefers her partner forcing her legs back open when she can’t stop herself from closing them. When she’s so overstimulated she’s crying and incoherent (I can’t, fuck, please, too much, and dissolving into babbling Farsi) and there are strong, loving hands on her and a gentle, decisive voice saying, You’re doing so well, honey. Just a little more. Come on, you can take it. I know you can. Until she’s just a boneless puddle on the bed (or in a puddle), gasping and shaking and pushed and pushed until she really, truly can’t anymore. This is probably the only time Baran can handle a little consensual non-consent.
🟢Dacryphilia, dacryphilia, dacryphilia. Baran is so emotional and sensitive. She’s controlled — sometimes too much — but she ultimately wears her heart on her sleeve, too big and bleeding to do anything else. And she loves emotional sex. Almost more than any other sexual desire, she needs this to feel fulfilled. So, when her partner overstimulates her (something she really enjoys), the tears well, and that helps her tolerate another five seconds, ten. When she’s had a particularly bad day, she’ll rut desperately onto her partner’s thigh, wrap her arms around them tight, and let hot tears drip onto their shoulder, their neck. Gasping, wet-mouthed, into them. And when they ask if she’s okay, if she wants to stop, Baran whines. Fuck, I need this. Need to feel it. So, maybe instead of a bubble bath and a sad movie she needs teary sex. Sue her. Even if the sex is so joyful, laughing and rolling around all tangled together, Baran can get emotional. Choking up and holding their face and saying I love you over and over, tears dripping down her cheeks as two fingers curl inside her (Baran’s just a crier in general). She’s a little more embarrassed about this, but she loves it when her partner laps up her tears, tongue flat and wet against her cheek bones. Loves when they kiss her fluttering, wet eyes as her breathing hitches.
🟡🔴Dacryphilia part 2 (I have more to say). Sometimes — especially if she’s already tearing up — when Baran cums particularly hard, all screaming and writhing, the tears turn to sobs. This is when she starts needing more intense aftercare. It’s not always an unpleasant thing. Sometimes she really needs to fucking cry, and a good orgasm breaks the dam. But it also usually means Baran needs to talk about it, not just fuck her way into a cathartic release. There’s very rarely a time where crying is bad for Baran. Impact play is the blurry line. If Baran starts crying more than a couple stray tears, that’s a warning, a yellow. And she’ll usually say so. There have been a few rare times she’s wanted to push herself, but her body betrayed her before she could consciously find the line herself, suddenly crying in earnest. And, if she’s crying when she’s fucking her partner, something is terribly wrong, and they need to stop.
🟡🟢Dacryphilia part 3 (phew…). Baran is more hesitant about making her partner cry (If that’s something they like). She knows how good it can feel, how cathartic, but she worries about the emotional toll. The last thing she ever wants to do is hurt her baby, physically or emotionally. In this sense, she can take it, but she has trouble dishing it out. Make no mistake, she’ll do it, but it’s heavily discussed beforehand. If her partner is even close to approaching a negotiated limit, Baran goes hypervigilant, leaning down to kiss every inch of skin, to kiss each tear. Lick her salty lips and just watch. And, fuck, it does turn her on to see them so emotionally wrecked yet trusting her to care for them in an incredibly vulnerable and physical way. It’s one of those things she doesn’t tell her partner leaves her more wanting than before because crying is usually the end of a scene. In the rare moments it’s not, Baran cums so hard she sees stars.
🔴🟡🟢Now that I’ve brought it up: impact play. Baran has some hard limits here. She loves the possessiveness of scratching (more pain play than impact play) and being scratched and the shiver it sends down her spine while she’s bottomed out in her partner, sweaty and sort of feral. Baran’s not a fan of drawing blood, doesn’t like the sting (and wound care) she has to deal with long after the moment’s over. Even if unintentional, that will end a scene. She does, however, enjoy spanking. A palm to her ass, or the back of her thighs, or her pussy. That one gets her so wet so quickly, but she can only take a couple of those before she’s crying out and jerking away. On her ass and her thighs, she can stand to be pushed a little more, can better tolerate her skin getting red and hot and raw. Occasionally, she’ll push herself right to the edge. Breathe deep and even before the hand lands on a fresh welt, cry out and whimper and duck her head, spread on her hands and knees. Fuck, fuck, fuck, oh god, azizam, stop. And if it’s a stop but still a green (or sometimes a yellow), she’ll get three fingers curling inside her sopping wet pussy instead. Yeah, it’s a little masochistic.
🟢🔴Impact play part 2. Baran doesn’t like impact toys, generally. It feels too much like a punishment, and Baran doesn’t like punishments in bed, doesn’t like the degradation of it. The one thing she found she likes is floggers. She enjoys the feel of the leather tassels on her skin, light and dragging or hard and sudden — the crack of it. The hundred little individual pains. It’s the one impact she does like low on her belly over sensitive stretch marks before it trails down through the hair between her legs and flicked light over her clit. This impact she’ll only take on her thighs or her ass or her belly, but the slow, gentle sensation of it she’ll take anywhere. Her hardest impact limit is her face. Her partner was willing but hesitant that she’d like it, and Baran insisted, thinking only of the sensitivity of the area, not of the fact that it was her face. The slap landed, her head jerked, and the silence between them was horrible as Baran reflexively held her cheek. Her eyes welled immediately, mouth wobbling as she tried to parse through the humiliation and indignity that surged through her. I don’t ever want to do that again, she managed, voice breaking. She cried, hot and embarrassingly ugly about it as her partner reassured her it was not embarrassing at all. You’re okay. You’re safe. I love you. We won’t do it again.
🟢Impact play part 3. Coming down from impact play is such a crash of adrenaline and endorphins for Baran, and she needs a lot of aftercare — the most out of any kink she engages with. She gets so emotional and clingy and needy. It’s probably the closest she’ll ever get to ageplay (which Baran is not willing to try). In these moments, she needs to curl up under her partner’s ribs and live there for a while, needs to be held tightly for a long time and whispered loving affirmations. Mostly, she needs a safe body to collapse on top of and just be until she stops feeling floaty and empty and disoriented. Needs her hair stroked, needs to be in comfy clothes and fuzzy socks (this is a necessity always), needs to be told what to do. Drink some water. Let’s take a bath, hm? We’re going to go downstairs and lay on the couch together, okay? And she won’t stop touching them all evening afterward, needing to be grounded. She’ll just lay on top of her partner while they watch tv or read, grinding slow and lazy if they soothe their hands over her sore skin. Sometimes there’ll be frozen peas on her ass, and Baran will ask very shyly if her partner can kiss it better. Sometimes (rarely) she’ll hiss when she sits down or find dark, blooming bruises the next day and get pouty (these are always times she makes sure she’s not working the next day).
🟢Impact play part 4 (last one I promise). Baran is willing to use toys during impact play on her partner. Unlike crying, Baran enjoys inflicting pleasurable physical pain. She likes hearing the resounding slap, feels it in her own cunt every time, likes the effect it has on her partner, groaning or gasping or crying out. Maybe it is a little sadistic, but it’s only fun if her partner’s enthusiastically enjoying it. She gets uncomfortable if the pain is just pain or if it’s pain solely for her pleasure and not her partner’s. And she likes soothing and pushing along the way, Good job, sweetheart, can you take another for me? Please, I know you can. It would make me feel so good, eshgham. And when they’re done, Baran kisses every mark, dotes and soothes and is so, so good at aftercare here (and always).
🟢🟡On a related note, Baran is very into sensory play (once again, I present autistic Baran Al-Hashimi). When she’s wearing a blindfold, she needs her partner to start slow, build up a rhythm, something Baran can anticipate before introducing small elements of surprise. A light slap, a pinch of a nipple, a mouth abruptly on her neck. Baran has to be placed in a very specific headspace to want a blindfold and handcuffs. But when she’s there, it’s so fucking delicious. She’ll arch and whimper and gasp into every sensation, praised after every one. And only once did she want that plus noise cancelling headphones. It was a yellow, and she didn’t end up cumming, but she’d be willing to try again. More readily, she loves incorporating ice cubes or wax play or warm massage oils. The shock of the temperature goes straight to her cunt, and it’s something she prefers without restraints so she can touch the cold or hot skin afterward when there’s a mouth on her clit.
🟢Location: car. Yes. Baran is so pro-car sex, in fact, that she keeps body wipes in her glove box. It’s probably the most public sex she’s willing to have. The desperation it requires to maneuver around a cramped space with windows on all sides and no sound proofing is so hot to her. If Baran wants her partner in a car, she needs them right fucking now. She feels half-crazed about it sometimes, dragging them out of a store while running errands and shoving them in the back seat, unbuttoning their pants and latching onto their neck with a I need you so bad you have no idea. It’s quick and dirty and absolutely charges the rest of the day with sexual tension.
🟢Location: bathroom/locker room. Baran has to be even more than car-desperate to fuck her partner in a bathroom. It will give her the ick if she thinks about it too hard. Good thing is, if she’s horny enough, she doesn’t care. She will be vigilant for onlookers though. As public as it is, she doesn’t actually want to get caught (and will take thorough precautions against it). Just the thought of it is more than enough of a thrill to get her wet and wanting.
🟢Location: somewhere private, other than a bed. Enthusiastically yes! Push her against a wall, sit her on a countertop, spread her legs on the couch (over the couch), take her against the stairs, sling her leg up in the shower. The idea of not making it to the bed gets Baran giddy. She can be so fucking loud when she wants to be, too, and hearing herself reverberate through an empty house is such a turn on for her and her partner.
🟢Baran loves possessive and commanding dirty talk, and narrating a scene for her partner is so sexy to her. Your pussy is so wet, aziz, all for me. Oh, yes, moan for me, baby, louder. Say my name when you cum. God, you are so pretty all spread open like this. I love watching you take my strap. Fuck, ride me harder. She gets off on it just as much as her partner, just as much as hearing it. In that vein, she has a lot of fun controlling her partner’s orgasms. One of her favorite ways to do this is edge them for hours right into overstimulation, stop completely, and tell them to cum. And when they do — so easy and quick and untouched — Baran sometimes cums right along with them.
⸝⸝ warnings : hurt/comfort . pregnancy-related discomfort . argument . work-life imbalance/workaholic baran . miscommunication (learning to communicate) . mentions of anxiety/overthinking .
wc : 6.7k
the heat sits heavy on the house even with the windows cracked. meanwhile, the fan in the corner just pushes the warm air around. you’re on the couch in a t-shirt, the fabric stretched soft over the curve of your stomach, second trimester and already feeling like you’ve been carrying this baby for a year.
baran’s keys hit the dish by the door at 6:47. you know the exact time because you’ve been watching the clock since noon. she said she’d be home by three. she said they’d only need her for a couple hours. that was hours ago.
she comes into the living room in the clothes she left in this morning, dark jeans and a button-down with the sleeves rolled neat to her elbows. hair pulled back, a little frizz at the edges from the humidity.
“hey,” she says, voice low and a little rough. she drops her bag by the armchair, the soft thud of it hitting the floor the only sound for a second. she crosses to you like she always does when she first gets home, leans down like she’s going to kiss your cheek, already half-smiling like maybe if she pretends hard enough the late arrival won’t matter.
only this time you turn your face away, the movement small but sharp, causing her to pause mid-lean.
you catch the way her breath stops for half a second, the little flinch she tries to hide. she straightens slow, one hand still resting on the back of the couch near your shoulder. “okay…” she says, quieter.
you don’t look at her. you’re staring at the tv, some cooking show you put on hours ago just to have noise in the house. your hand rests on the side of your stomach where the baby’s been kicking on and off all afternoon, restless little flutters that kept you company when nothing else did. “you said three.”
“i know, baby.” she sits on the edge of the coffee table in front of you. she reaches like she might take your free hand and then doesn’t, fingers curling back into her palm instead. “things ran long. i texted-“
“at four,” you cut in. your voice is flat. “one text that said ‘still here, sorry.’” you say the words in something that would mimick her voice, almost mocking. “that’s it. that’s all you said. no ‘i’ll be home by five’ or ‘i’m trying to wrap up.’ just… that.”
baran exhales through her nose, the sound tired. her fingers tap a few times against her thigh then still completely. “i’m here now…”
“yeah. now. congrats, gold medal to you.” you finally look at her. the late afternoon light coming through the blinds cuts across her face and makes the dark circles under her eyes more obvious. “i sat here all day. alone. again. the baby’s been moving like crazy since lunch and i wanted to tell you, i kept waiting to tell you, and you weren’t here. i made food for two and ate it by myself at the counter. i walked to the store - alone, by the way - because we were out of my favorite crackers and the whole time i kept thinking maybe you’d pull up while i was out. maybe you’d text again. but no, you didn’t.”
she nods slowly, eyes on your face. “okay. i get it. you’re upset.”
“upset?” the word comes out sharper than you mean it to. you sit up straighter and the couch cushion shifts under you, the t-shirt pulling tighter across your stomach. “baran, i’m past upset. this is the third time this week. last saturday you left at seven in the morning and didn’t walk back in until almost midnight. the saturday before that you missed the whole afternoon and you didn’t even let me know until i texted you at six. we’re supposed to be doing this together. you promised when we found out. you looked at me and said you’d make time. not leftover scraps at the end of the day.”
her jaw tightens just a little. she doesn’t raise her voice. she doesn’t want to escalate this, but there’s a new tightness around her mouth that wasn’t there a minute ago. “i’m trying. you know i’m trying. some days are just-“
“don’t,” you snap. “don’t finish that sentence with whatever excuse is about to come out. i don’t want to hear about how important it is or how nobody else can cover or how you’ll make it up. i’ve heard all of it. over and over.”
baran leans forward, elbows on her knees, hands loosely clasped like she’s holding herself in place. she’s trying to catch your eyes and keep them, she just wants you to really hear her. “i don’t want to fight with you,” she says, and her voice is steady but there’s a thin thread of patience underneath it. “not today. it’s hot and you’re uncomfortable and i know the last couple months have been hard on you. on both of us. i’m not trying to make it worse.”
“hard?” you laugh, short and ugly, the sound scraping out of your throat. “hard is morning sickness that still hits me out of nowhere. hard is not being able to sleep because this kid thinks two A.M. is party time. hard is carrying our baby while you’re barely in the same house most days. you come home, you shower, you ask how i am like it’s a checklist you have to tick off, and then you’re already thinking about the next thing. i can see it in your face. so just stop it. stop acting like showing up late and saying the right words is the same as being here.”
she is quiet for a few seconds. the fan clicks as it turns, pushing the same warm air around the room. her fingers tighten where they’re clasped, knuckles going a little pale, and when she finally speaks her voice stays even but it costs her something. you can hear it. “that’s not fair.”
“fair?” you push up off the couch, needing to move, the shirt riding up a little over your stomach. you pace the few steps to the window and back. “you want to talk about fair? i’ve been fair. i’ve been patient. i’ve told myself every time that you mean it when you say you’ll be better about it. and then you do it again. you leave. and i sit here getting bigger and more tired and more alone and i start wondering if this is just how it’s going to be. if this is the version of married with a kid we’re stuck with.”
baran stands too. her hands flex at her sides before she forces them still, but her shoulders are already tight and her breath comes a little uneven. “i love you,” she says, and her voice catches on it, rough around the edges. “i love this baby. i’m not- god, i’m not choosing anything over you on purpose. please believe me, baby. it just… it keeps happening and i hate it.”
“but you are.” your voice cracks and you quickly press the heel of your hand against your eye for a second. “every time you choose to stay longer. every time you don’t push back and say i need to go home to my wife who’s growing our child. that’s a choice. and i’m the one who pays for it. i’m the one who spends the day talking to an empty house. i’m the one who has to google if it’s normal that i’m this exhausted at twenty-two weeks because you’re not here to tell me it’s fine or to just sit with me while i feel like shit.”
her eyes flicker and something tight moves across her face. her mouth trembles for half a second before she presses it shut. “i’m sorry.” the words come out quieter, almost cracked. “i should have been here. i should have left earlier. i kept telling myself five more minutes because they needed me there and then it was hours and i- fuck. i know how that sounds.”
“sorry doesn’t fix it now,” you say. the words come out quieter now but they land harder somehow. “sorry doesn’t put you on that couch with me this afternoon when the baby started kicking like it was trying to get my attention. i wanted you to feel it. and you were somewhere else.”
baran takes a step closer. stops when you don’t move toward her. “let me feel it now.”
you shake your head. “it’s not the same.” you scoff.
silence stretches, usually it’d be filled with one of you reaching first but neither of you do now.
she runs a hand over the back of her neck, then drops it like the motion itself frustrates her. her voice rises a notch, not yelling but raw. “what do you want me to do? quit? walk away from everything so i can sit on the couch every afternoon? is that what this is? because i’m standing here trying and it still isn’t enough and i don’t know what to do.”
“don’t fucking twist it.” your chest feels tight. “i never asked you to quit anything. i asked you to be here more. to mean it when you say you’ll come home. to look at me like i’m not just another thing on the list of responsibilities you have to manage. i’m your wife. this is our baby. and half the time it feels like i’m doing this by myself while you drop in when you can spare the minutes.”
baran’s mouth presses into a thin line but her eyes are shiny now. “that’s not true,” she says, and it comes out defensive and hurt at the same time. “and you know that. you know i’m not just… dropping in. i’m trying so fucking hard and it still feels like i’m failing you.”
“it is true.” you can hear how tired you sound. how done you are. “and the worst part is you know it. you know exactly how much you’ve been gone. you just don’t want to look at it because then you’d have to admit that the person you married is sitting here alone more days than not and you’re the reason!”
she doesn’t answer right away. her eyes stay on your face, a focused look, but it’s less steady now. her throat works a few times. “i want to fix this… i just don’t know how, azizam,” she says finally, quiet and a little broken. “i hear you. i do. and it kills me that you’re sitting here alone with our baby while i’m… somewhere else. but i can’t rewrite the whole day. i can’t go back and leave at three. i wish i could. i really fucking wish i could.”
“i know.” your throat hurts. “that’s the problem. you never can.”
you turn away from her and walk toward the kitchen because standing there looking at each other is starting to feel like something that might break you both. the floor is cool under your bare feet as you open the fridge just to have something to do with your hands and stare at the shelves without really seeing anything.
behind you baran’s voice is softer, almost small. “i’ll do better. i’ll figure it out.” there’s a shaky exhale after it, like she’s trying to convince herself as much as you.
you don’t turn around. “you keep saying that.”
the words hang in the hot air between you. she doesn’t come closer and you don’t invite her to.
the fridge light is too bright against the dim kitchen and the cold air spills out over your bare feet, raising goosebumps on your legs. you stare at a half-empty carton of eggs. behind you the floor creaks when baran shifts her weight. you can feel her still standing there, like she waits for a decision that hasn’t been made yet and she refuses to let the moment close.
“please,” you say, still facing the open shelves. your voice comes out thinner than you want it to. “just… go shower. or change. or something. i need a minute. i can’t keep doing this right now.”
the silence that follows is thick. you hear her breathe in through her nose, she inhales sharply because this doesn’t line up the way she expected.
“a minute,” baran repeats. the words sound like she’s testing them for sense and finding none. “what does that mean? we’re in the middle of this. we haven’t fixed anything?”
you close the fridge harder than you mean to. the bottles inside rattle against each other. you keep your back to her for another second, hands flat on the counter, feeling the cool laminate under your palms.
when you finally turn around she’s still in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen. her hands are open at her sides like she doesn’t know where to put them. the careful posture she wears all day is gone. her shoulders sit higher than usual.
“it means i need space,” you say, leaning back against the counter because standing straight hurts right now. “my head’s full and my chest hurts and i can’t keep going in circles with you. go take a shower. cool off.” you say, “i’ll still be here when you’re done.” you add that part to reassure her.
baran doesn’t move. her eyes stay locked on your face, bright and focused in the low light. you watch the way her throat works before she speaks again.
“but if i leave… it just sits,” she says. her voice is climbing, not loud but urgent, like she’s trying to explain something that should be obvious. “it sits in my chest and i can’t put it down. we have to finish it. if we stop now it’s still broken and i’m going to walk around the house feeling like everything is wrong and i won’t be able to think about anything else. i need us to talk it through. otherwise it doesn’t go away.”
you press the heels of your hands against your eyes for a second. the pressure helps a little. when you drop them again baran has taken one step closer, then another, stopping just short of the kitchen tile like there’s an invisible line she’s decided not to cross yet. her fingers keep flexing and stilling at her sides.
“baran-“
“no, listen.” she cuts in before you can finish, the words coming faster now. “you said i’m not here enough. you said it feels like you’re doing this alone. i hear that. i do. and i hate it. so let’s figure out what ‘enough’ looks like. tell me the hours. tell me the days. tell me what you need me to say when i’m running late so it doesn’t feel like a brush-off. we can make a plan. right now. because if we just… pause… then i’m going to keep replaying every word you said and i won’t know how to fix any of it and i’ll feel like i’m failing you the whole time i’m in the shower. that’s even worse.”
you shake your head, slow. the kitchen feels smaller with her standing this close, the heat of the day still clinging to both of you.
“i can’t do the plan right this second,” you say. your voice is quieter but it still carries. “i’m exhausted. i’m hot. i’m still mad. i need the volume to go down before i can think straight.”
baran’s face does something complicated. frustration and worry pull at the corners of her mouth. she opens her hands like she’s offering the whole problem up for both of you to look at.
“then let’s lower the volume,” she says immediately, like she’s already solving it. “i’ll talk quieter. i’ll sit further away. but we keep going. please. i can’t just hit pause on this. it doesn’t work like that. if we leave it half-open it stays half-open and i don’t like that. i need to know we’re okay, or at least that we’re working on it.”
you look at her. a strand of hair has come loose from the neat pull-back and sticks to her temple. her chest rises and falls a little too fast, like she’s been holding the entire conversation in her body and it’s starting to spill out. like she’s desperate for this to work.
“i’m not leaving the conversation,” you say, softer now. you push off the counter and take one step closer so you’re both in the same small space of the doorway. “i’m asking for twenty minutes. that’s it. go rinse off. change into something that isn’t the clothes you left in this morning. then come back and we can keep talking. i promise i’m not shutting the door. i just need the air to think.”
baran stares at you for a long second. her throat works again. you can almost see her trying to force the need to keep talking into something smaller, something that can wait even though every part of her is resisting it.
“what if twenty minutes turns into you deciding you don’t want to talk anymore tonight?” she asks, and there’s real fear under the words. “what if the longer we wait the harder it gets? i don’t want to wake up tomorrow with this still sitting between us. i can’t. i need it resolved so i can breathe.”
you reach out without thinking and brush your fingers against the back of her hand. she goes still at the contact, eyes flicking down to where you’re touching her and then back up to your face.
“i’m not going to disappear on you,” you tell her. “i’m your wife. we’re having a baby. this is not the kind of fight that ends with me walking out. i just need a little room so i don’t say something worse because i’m overloaded. can you give me that? even if it feels wrong to you?”
she doesn’t answer right away. her hand turns under yours so her fingers can curl loosely around yours for a second, then she lets go like she’s making herself do it. her shoulders drop a fraction, the fight in them not gone but banked.
“okay,” she says finally. the word comes out reluctant and thin, like she’s agreeing against her own instincts. “twenty minutes. but i’m setting a timer. and when it goes off i’m coming back and we’re finishing this. i need everything on the table so we can put it back together.”
you nod. “yes, we’ll do that.” you say with a small smile that doesn’t feel forced.
she still doesn’t move. she stands there like the agreement isn’t quite enough to let her body leave the room. her eyes keep searching your face, looking for any sign that the pause might turn into something permanent. then she reaches out, slow, and brushes her fingers once over the side of your stomach where the baby had been kicking earlier. the touch is careful, almost questioning, her palm warm through the thin fabric of your shirt.
“i hate that i missed it,” she says, quiet enough that you almost miss it. “i hate that you’re standing here hurt because of me. i’m going to fix it. i just… need us to keep talking until it’s fixed.”
“i know,” you answer. your own voice has gone softer to match hers. “go shower. i’ll be on the couch when you’re done.”
she nods once, sharp, like she’s locking the plan in place so it can’t slip. her hand stays on your stomach a second longer than necessary before she pulls it back. then she turns and walks toward the hallway. you hear her footsteps on the old wood floors, the soft click of the bathroom door, the water starting a minute later. the pipes knock once the way they always do when the shower first turns on.
you lean against the counter and let out a long breath you didn’t know you were holding. the house is quieter without her voice pushing to keep the conversation alive, but the quiet feels temporary. you know she’ll be back the second the timer ends, still needing every piece laid out so she can make sense of it. and for the first time all evening, the thought doesn’t feel like pressure. it just feels like her. like the way she loves so hard, even when it’s messy and hard to hold.
you push off the counter and walk back to the living room anf settle into the same spot on the couch.
the water runs for a long time. longer than twenty minutes. you stay on the couch with one hand on your stomach, listening to the pipes knock and the distant rush of the shower, letting the quiet settle around you like something you can almost lean on. the fan still turns in the corner, pushing the same warm air in slow circles. outside the light has gone from gold to that a blue-gray.
when the water finally stops you hear the muffled sounds of her moving around the bathroom. the click of the cabinet door. the quiet thud of bare feet on tile. another minute passes. then the bathroom door opens and her footsteps come down the hall, slower than usual, like she’s giving herself time to get ready for what comes next.
she appears in the living room doorway wearing an old soft t-shirt you recognize and the loose shorts she only wears at home. her hair is damp and loose around her shoulders. she’s holding her phone in one hand. the timer screen is still open, glowing faintly.
she stops a few feet from the couch and just looks at you for a second. her eyes move over your face like she’s checking for damage, making sure you’re still here, still willing to keep going.
“twenty-six minutes,” she says. her voice is quieter than before. “i gave you six extra. i tried.”
you nod and the movement feels heavier than it should. “thank you.” the words come out quieter than you planned. you’re still holding onto the edge of the earlier anger, but it’s softer now, worn down by the twenty-six minutes she actually gave you.
baran watches your face for another second like she’s making sure the thank you is real, then she sets the phone face-down on the coffee table. she sits on the other end of the couch, leaving space between you but not too much. the cushion shifts under her weight. she pulls one leg up under herself so she’s facing you fully, she’s decided the conversation is the only thing that matters right now. her hands rest on her thigh, fingers loosely laced. she doesn’t speak right away. she just breathes, watching you, waiting. the damp ends of her hair leave small dark spots on the shoulders of her shirt.
you let the silence sit for a few more seconds because part of you is still trying to decide how much to give her. the quiet feels different than it did in the kitchen. less sharp. still heavy, though.
you speak first because if you don’t the silence will start filling with all the things you didn’t say earlier.
“i meant what i said. about needing you here more.” your voice is steady but low. you keep your eyes on the space between you on the couch instead of her face at first. “it isn’t about you working. i know you have to. i’ve always known that. it’s about the way the days stretch when you’re gone and i don’t know when you’re coming back. the not-knowing is hard. it gets in my head and stays there. i start checking my phone every ten minutes even when i tell myself i won’t. and then when you finally walk in it’s like it doesn’t affect you.”
baran’s eyes stay on yours the whole time you’re talking. she doesn’t look away even for a second. her fingers tighten slightly where they’re laced together, then loosen again. she nods slowly, once.
“okay,” she says. her voice is careful. “so the not-knowing is the worst part.”
“yeah. i think so.” you glance up at her then. “the late nights suck. the long days suck. but the part where i’m sitting here with no idea if you’re coming home at six or ten is what makes me feel like i’m doing this by myself.”
she is quiet for a few seconds after that. you watch her turn the idea over the way she does when something important has just been handed to her. her thumb rubs once against the side of her other hand, a small grounding motion. her shoulders are still a little high, but not as tight as they were earlier. her gaze drops to your stomach for a second, then comes back up.
“then i need to be clearer,” she says finally. the words come out measured, like she’s already testing them against herself. “when i’m going to be late i need to say a real time. not ‘still here.’ something you can hold onto. even if the time changes later, at least you have a starting point. something that doesn’t leave you guessing all afternoon.”
you watch her face while she says it. there’s no defensiveness left in her voice. no edge. just the careful, focused way she gets when she’s trying to build something that won’t fall apart the second she looks away from it. a strand of damp hair has stuck to her cheek and she doesn’t bother moving it.
“that would help,” you say. you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “a lot. even if it’s just ‘i think i’ll be out by seven, i’ll text if it changes.’ something. anything that isn’t radio silence until you walk through the door.”
baran’s mouth softens a little at the edges. she nods again, slower this time, like she’s locking the request into place so she won’t lose it.
“i can do that,” she says. “i should have been doing that already. i kept thinking the short text was better than nothing. but it wasn’t enough. i see that now.”
you shift on the couch, turning a little more toward her. the baby gives a small kick under your hand and you press your palm against it without thinking. “it’s not that i need a play-by-play of your whole day. i just need to know i’m still on the list. that when the hours start running long you’re thinking about the fact that i’m here waiting, not just about whatever’s keeping you.”
her eyes flick down to where your hand is resting on your stomach, then back to your face. something tight moves through her expression and then eases.
“you’re always on the list,” she says, quieter. “that’s the problem. i carry you with me the whole time and then i still end up late. and somehow that makes it worse, because i know you’re here and i still don’t walk out the hospital when i should.”
she shifts a little closer on the couch, still leaving space but closing some of the distance. the cushion dips under her weight and the fabric of her shorts brushes against the side of your leg. she keeps her eyes on your face while she talks, like looking away would make the words not real.
“and the weekends,” she says. “the ones where i disappear for fifteen hours. those have to stop. or at least… i have to fight harder not to let them happen. i can tell people i have to leave. i’m allowed to say that. i keep forgetting i’m allowed to say that.” her voice dips on the last part, quieter, almost like she’s admitting something.
she looks down at her hands for a second, then back up at you. there’s something raw in her expression that she usually keeps locked away when she’s not in the comfort of her own home and your presence. her shoulders have dropped a little but her fingers are still laced tight on her thigh.
you let the silence sit for a moment. the fan turns. a car passes outside, the sound fading quick. then you reach across the cushion between you and rest your fingers lightly against her knee. she goes still under the touch, then she turns her hand over so her palm faces up, an open invitation. you slide your hand into hers. her fingers close around yours, warm from the shower. her grip is careful, like she’s afraid of holding too tight and breaking something that already feels fragile.
“i don’t need you home every second,” you tell her. your thumb moves once across the side of her hand, slow. “i’ve never asked for that. i just need to feel like i’m not doing this by myself. i don’t like to sit around and wait. the googling gets worse when i’m alone - sites that tell me i need to be rushed to a hospital over something that ends up being nothing, when you could just look at me and say it’s fine or tell me what to actually do. the days feel longer than they should because the house is too quiet and i’m talking to the baby just to have a voice in the room.”
baran’s thumb starts moving slowly across your knuckles. the motion is steady, almost rhythmic, like she’s using it to keep herself grounded while she listens. her eyes stay on your face the whole time. she doesn’t interrupt. she just takes it in, the way she does when she’s decided the information matters more than defending herself.
when you finish she stays quiet for a few more seconds. her throat works before she speaks, voice lower than before.
“i want to be the person you can rely on. i should be. i’m your wife. the mother of our child.” her fingers tighten slightly around yours. “i want to be the one who sits with you when the baby’s kicking and you’re tired and the house feels too quiet. i hate that i’ve been making you do those things alone. i didn’t see how much it was affecting you until you said it like that. it just… kept happening slowly. one late night, then another, then a weekend that got away from me, and i kept telling myself the next day would be better. that i’d leave earlier next time. and then i didn’t.”
she swallows. her eyes are shiny but she doesn’t look away. her free hand comes up and rubs once over her own sternum like the feeling is sitting there physical, something she needs to press against. her voice drops even quieter when she keeps going.
“i’m scared of messing this up. the baby. us. i keep thinking if i just work hard enough at everything else then home will stay steady on its own. like it can run in the background while i handle the rest. but it doesn’t. it needs me the same way the rest of it does. maybe more. and i’ve been treating it like it could wait. like you could wait. and that’s not fair. i know it’s not fair.”
you watch her face while she says it. the careful mask is gone. what’s left is just her, sitting on the couch in damp hair and old clothes, holding your hand like it’s the only solid thing in the room. her thumb keeps moving across your knuckles, steady and slow, even as her voice threatens to catch.
you squeeze her hand. the pressure is light but steady, enough to pull her attention fully back to you. “come here,” you say.
she doesn’t hesitate. she shifts until her side is pressed against yours, careful of your stomach, adjusting once, then again, until she finds a way to fit without putting any weight where it might be uncomfortable. one of her arms settles around your shoulders, warm and solid. the other hand finds the place on your belly where the baby had been moving earlier. she rests her palm there, open and still, like she’s waiting for the baby to move. her damp hair brushes your cheek when she turns her head slightly, the ends still cool from the shower.
for a few seconds nothing happens. the fan keeps turning. you can feel her breathing against your side, a little uneven. then a kick comes again, stronger this time, right under her hand.
baran’s breath catches in her throat. her fingers flex gently against you, tracking the movement like she’s afraid it might disappear. a smile breaks across her face, wide and sudden, that looks like it almost hurts.
“hi,” she whispers, so soft you almost miss it. her eyes are fixed on the spot where her hand rests. “hey, azizam. there you are.”
another smaller shift answers her. her thumb strokes once across the fabric of your shirt, slow.
“i’m sorry i wasn’t here for the ones earlier,” she says, still looking down. her voice stays quiet, almost like she’s talking to both of you at once. “i keep thinking about you sitting here alone with it happening and me not knowing. that’s on me. i should’ve been on this couch with my hand right here.”
“you’re here now,” you answer. your own hand comes up to cover hers, holding it in place against your stomach.
she nods against the side of your head. her arm tightens around your shoulders just a little. for a moment neither of you speaks. then the baby kicks again, a solid little push that makes baran huff out a soft laugh under her breath.
“oh, you’re really going now, huh?” she murmurs, leaning in closer so her words are aimed right at the curve of your belly. “you’ve got a lot to say tonight. i missed the afternoon show but i’m here now, okay?”
you see her smile when another flutter follows. her fingers spread a little wider, trying to catch every bit of movement.
“i used to think about this,” she says after a few more seconds, voice still low. “when we first found out. i’d picture sitting like this, feeling the baby move, talking to them so they know my voice. and then the days got long and i let those pictures sit on a shelf instead of making them real. that was stupid of me.” she huffs out the last part.
she presses her palm a little firmer, gentle but deliberate.
“i’m your maman,” she tells the baby, soft enough that it feels private. “the one who’s been late a lot. the one who’s going to do better. you might as well get used to my voice now. i talk too much when i’m home. ask your mommy. she’ll confirm.”
you let out a quiet breath that turns into something close to a laugh. “she does.”
baran’s arm squeezes you in answer. her hand stays right where it is, waiting for the next kick like it’s the most important thing in the room. the house feels smaller around the two of you, the earlier fight still present but quieter now, pushed to the edges by the steady warmth of her side against yours and the small, insistent movements under both your hands.
she keeps talking in the same low voice, almost under her breath. “you kicked a lot today, didn’t you? wore your mommy out? i’m going to be here for more of them. all of them. you don’t get to have all the fun without me anymore.”
another kick lands, right against her palm. she smiles again, smaller this time but deeper, and rests her forehead against the side of your temple.
after a few minutes she speaks again, voice low and close to your ear. the words come out slower than usual, like she’s choosing each one carefully so it lands right.
“we’re going to make a plan,” she says. her hand is still spread over your stomach, warm and steady, tracking every small shift. “not tonight if you’re too tired. but soon. days i come home earlier. weekends that are ours. texts that tell you when to expect me instead of leaving you hanging. i need it written down so i can see it and stick to it. something concrete. is that okay?”
you feel her breathing against the side of your head while she waits. her thumb keeps moving in that same slow circle over the fabric of your shirt.
“yeah,” you say. “that’s okay.” your voice comes out softer than you expected. “i want that. something we can both look at so it’s not just floating around in our heads.”
her arm tightens around your shoulders, just enough that you feel the solid weight of it. she shifts a little closer, careful, until there’s almost no space left between your side and hers. the damp ends of her hair brush your cheek again.
“and when i start slipping again,” she continues, quieter now, “because i probably will, at least at first - you tell me. right away. don’t wait until you’re this angry and tired. i can take it. i need the clear signal so i can course-correct before it gets like this again. i don’t always notice when i’m drifting until it’s already late. my head gets full and i lose track of the edges.”
you turn your face toward her. she’s already looking at you, eyes dark and open in the dim room.
“thank you,” you say. the words feel small but necessary. you smile at her, the first real one all evening, and it comes easier than you thought it would. “for saying that. for not making me chase you for it.”
she watches the smile for a second like she’s memorizing it. then she leans in and presses her mouth to your temple, soft and lingering. she stays there longer than a regular kiss, forehead resting against your hair, breathing you in. her hand never leaves your stomach. the baby kicks again under her palm, a solid little push, and she smiles against your skin.
“you’re active tonight,” she murmurs, the words aimed the baby. “still showing off. i felt that one.” her fingers flex gently, answering the movement. “you’re going to keep me up all night once you’re out here, aren’t you?”
you let out a quiet breath that turns into a small laugh. your hand covers hers again, holding it in place. “probably. takes after you.”
baran’s arm squeezes you again, more solid. she doesn’t pull back. she stays close, mouth near your temple, voice dropping even lower.
“i mean it about the plan,” she says. “i’ll write it down tomorrow. the days, the windows, the texts. and if i start sliding you just say the word. even if it’s short. even if you’re mad. just tell me so i can fix it while it’s still small.”
you nod against her. the motion makes her lips brush your hairline again. “i will. i promise.”
she stays quiet, just breathing with you. her hand keeps up its slow, steady pressure on your stomach, waiting for the next kick like it’s a conversation she’s determined not to miss. when another small flutter comes she answers it with a soft hum, almost under her breath.
“i’m right here,” she tells half you, half the baby. “both of us are. you’re not doing this alone anymore. neither of you are. i love you both, so much.”
“i love you too, baran.” you whisper and lean more against her, turning your head slightly to kiss her cheek.
her forehead presses a little firmer against you at the kiss. the earlier fight feels farther away now, pushed to the edges of the room by the warmth of her side against yours and the careful way she’s holding both of you at once.
Content: fluff, dr. Garcia being dr. Garcia, reader is called “dr. Sweetie
You were seldom in the ED department, but when you were, it was always a good time for the doctors there. You were a total sweetheart, and you always came bearing treats— homemade treats, which were objectively more sweet, hence your nickname.
You were going down there now to treat the baby Jane Doe that was abandoned. Right off the elevator you were being greeted.
“Dr. Sweetie. Always good to see you.” Mateo said in passing. You smiled and waved at him even though he was already walking away.
The atmosphere in the ED was cold and gray, the faint sound of chatter from people in chairs could be heard along with patients in pain. Much different from peds, but wasn’t gonna break your stride. You entered room six where the baby was thrashing around.
One of Robby’s pittlings (as they called themselves) were trying to calm her but failing miserably.
“What’s her issue? Let me see.” He handed her over to you.
“Uh, she’s definitely has a fever, but there’s something else we can’t figure out.” He explained. “You’re dr. Sweetie, right?”
You smiled. “In the flesh. And you’re,” you flitted your eyes down at his badge. “Whitaker?” He nodded.
“Yep. That’s me. Do I need to get her anything?” You shook your head, still patting her tiny back gently.
“I brought everything I needed down. She’s gassy, so I’m gonna give her some drops. I got this, you can go back to work.” You assured him.
“Okay.. bye.” Whitaker waved awkwardly before leaving.
It didn’t take long for the gas drops to kick in, baby Jane Doe was knocked out in no time. You left her to sleep peacefully and decided to look around for Garcia, she was always down here anyway.
You found her coming out of trauma one, her face stone cold as always. When she spotted you, her entire face switched into something soft.
“Hey. What are you doing down here? This is where joy comes to die, y’know?” You giggled.
“I love your jokes. I had to give the baby some medicine. She’s quite the handful.”
Yolanda scoffed. “All kids are. Which is why I love steering clear of them.” You rolled your eyes.
“Of course you think that. She’s sweet, the baby. She’s still in need of a home, you know?” You wiggled your eyebrows, Yolanda knew exactly what you meant and it was not happening.
“Ah, Sweetie! Find out what’s wrong with the baby?” Dana asked you, her pen and paper in hand.
“A little gas. I’m gonna leave you with these drops, if she’s showing the same symptoms as earlier, put a few droplets in her mouth and she’ll be fine.” You slid the box towards her.
Dana smiled. “Thank you, doll. It’s always nice seeing you down here.” You mirrored her smiled.
“You know I love you guys.” You beamed. You couldn’t dilly dally much longer, there were at least three kids upstairs that needed you.
You found Yolanda hanging around Robby’s workstation bullying Langdon. You snuck up behind her to press a kiss to her cheek.
“Bye, Yoyo!” You knew it would embarrass her and open up a can of worms, but it was totally worth it.
You and Yolanda were long gone before the gossip started.
“Garcia and sweetie? No way.” Javadi said when the news got to her. She didn’t know you that well, but she knew how sweet you are and how rude Garcia is.
“Oh all the way. I saw the shit right in front of my eyes. Opposites attract, I guess.” Santos sighed, a tinge of jealousy panging her.
“They are kinda cute. I mean, the way Garcia softens when she’s around. Super cute.” Emma gushed. Trinity sent her a look. “What? I have eyes.” She shrugged.
Dana smacked her hand on the counter. “Alright, gossip group. Break it up before Garcia gets back down here.”
———
Hours later at home, Yolanda and you were trying to decompress with a glass of wine and some tv. She nudged your foot.
“You kinda messed up my reputation earlier. Don’t want people thinking I’m soft.” You chuckled, rubbing your foot up and down against her arm.
“You are soft, Yoyo. Soft for me.” You leaned up to press a kiss to her cheek. “Plus the whole thing was payback for all that teasing the other day.” You smirked.
She rolled her eyes. “You’re so sensitive. Silly reason to blow my cover if you asked me.” Using words like “silly” was something Yolanda reserved for you and you only.
“Oh I’m the sensitive one. Says little Miss can’t be in a committed relationship.” Yolanda threw her head back laughing.
“That’s cold. But it’s true, you really sat me down.” Your smile softened a tad.
“Aww. Come here you softie.” You set your glass down to engulf Yolanda in a hug. She pretended to hate the physical touch, but of course you knew better.
Tags: momily, established relationship, angst, hurt/comfort, season 7 emily, no use of yn
Request: here! Celebrate 2k with me!
Word count: 0.8k
mom!emily masterlist
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When Emily had imagined this—and she often did—she imagined there'd be tears and impossibly tight hugs, about a million I love you's and I'm sorry's, too many wet, desperate kisses to keep count of. And she wasn't off the mark, but she didn't expect that you'd smell different, too. That you'd feel a little softer, that something about your eyes would change—their light dimmed out, the skin under them inky dark in a way that feels permanent.
She didn't expect to flinch at the sound of her own daughter's cry.
It's a sharp wail, a thunderclap of a sound, unfamiliar to Emily's ears. It rings from the monitor propped up on the coffee table and she can't hide the way she sucks in a breath, half gasp, half startled inhale. A skittish, porcelain fawn, shakenly searching for the source of the sound before finding it, before it sinks in, further, sharper, that she's a mother.
Your eyes are glassy as you wipe at her cheek. "It's okay, it's Vivian," you whisper. "She's probably just hungry."
Emily nods, her chin rising, dipping, rising, dipping. Vivian. Her baby. Her infant child who'd been born without one of her parents.
Her eyes brim with tears again.
"Can I—?" She rasps, the words collapsing, her throat clenching too tight. Emily tries again. "Can I see her?"
Your chin trembles, smile wobbling as you nod and take her hand. Emily clings to it. Your fingers slot together, as perfect as she last remembers, and it takes everything in her not to crumble, not to stand here and crush you to her chest until this feeling goes, until the cracks fuse over. She feels, again, like a broken doll as you both fit yourselves side by side in the narrow staircase, squeezing through when the space closes in too small, stubbornly refusing to let go.
Vivian's cries echo louder in the landing. Emily's heart clenches tight. You push open the nursery door and lead her in, your hand slipping out of hers as you near the bassinet. She can only watch, transfixed, as you reach down for your daughter, murmuring too quiet for her to hear.
You scoop her up, cradle her against your chest, and Emily's breath catches. The room is dim, her vision blurry, and Vivian is so, so small. Just a tiny little thing, quieting as she crumples into your arms. You gently rock her, smoothing over her dark hair, whispering feather-soft into her forehead. You look so natural doing it.
Of course. Of course you would be.
Emily finds herself stepping closer. You glance at her over your shoulder, almost as if you forgot that she's there.
"Is she okay?" She croaks out.
You nod. "Just hungry," you murmur, shushing Vivian when she lets out a little whimper, muffled into your chest. The sight thaws something in her and simultaneously presses, new pressure on her lungs, nearly crushing. She can feel her heart, thrumming as hard and frantic as a hummingbird's wings.
Emily wets her lips. "Can I…" she clears her throat, swallows, "Can I take her?"
Your face shifts, crumpling, and she hates instantly herself, for asking, for leaving, for dragging you into this big fucking—
"She's yours, Emily," you say hoarsely. "You don't…" your voice cracks, and you shake your head, swallowing. "She's yours."
Hers. This little girl, curled into your chest, her weight so slight as Emily takes her. She hardly weighs anything at all, but Emily's arms feel so boneless, entirely uncapable. She shouldn't be able to hold her up, Emily thinks.
But she does.
Vivian roots into her chest, immediately trusting, and Emily—she forces in a breath through her cramped lungs, trembling as she tightens her grip on her daughter. Her daughter whose age she doesn't know. She almost expects to drop her straight to the ground, but somehow Vivian stays, firmly cinched in Emily's arms, whimpering into her chest. It gears into a louder cry that snaps you out of your daze.
"I'll go get her bottle," you mumble, squeezing her elbow.
She nods and watches you leave, instinctively rubbing Vivian's back. She shifts her grip on her, adjusts her higher on her chest, cupping a hand to the back of her neck. Her hair is silk-soft under Emily's fingers; it dampens with the tears running down her cheeks. Similar tears wet Vivian's face, hot and slippery when Emily wipes at them.
"It's okay, Vivian," she whispers. Her voice is low and cracked and entirely unsoothing, but Vivian goes a little quieter at the sound of it. "Hi. Hey, honey. You're okay. Mommy's coming." Emily falters, looking down at her tear-soaked eyes.
Hesitantly, she presses her lips to Vivian's head. The smell of her shampoo drifts to Emily's nose, makes its way down to her lungs and stays there. She breathes in and lets her eyes fall closed.
can I request Addison Montgomery x f!reader where they almost kiss like 4 times throughout the work day (they’re not together yet) but always get interrupted. Maybe at the end Addison finally kisses reader! Thank you!
Timing was never Addison's specialty. At least, not outside a hospital. All of the razor-sharp skills, instincts, and prowess that served her so well in the OR seemed to disappear entirely when it came to her love life.
With you, that cycle had continued. She had come to Grey-Sloan Memorial to aid the hospital in its attempt to regain its former reputation, figuring a change of scenery and the opportunity to connect with old friends might be refreshing. What she was not expecting was to have the "no workplace romances" rule she had set for herself tested on her first day.
"Dr. L/N is your new ortho attending. She may be nicer than I am, but I expect you to treat her with the same respect and fear that you give me. Is that clear?"
Dr. Bailey's voice cut through the chaos of the bustling hospital hallway, pulling Addison's focus from the chart in her hands. The redhead looked up and over towards the huddle of fidgeting interns she was addressing, then immediately at you.
Not what you're here for, she thought to herself after realizing she was staring. Nevertheless, she indulged for a few seconds more before finally returning her gaze to her chart.
Addison's resolve to avoid the way you had caught her eye didn't last long. Amelia was partially to blame, as you and the neurosurgeon apparently hit it off when collaborating on a trauma patient. As your paths crossed more, Addison found herself dismayed to discover that your personality only added fuel to the fire.
Then came the night Amelia had invited her to the viewing gallery to watch one of your surgeries. Addison had nearly escaped the hospital for the night when the other woman caught her, a hopeful expression on her face.
"Wanna come watch Y/N finish rebuilding some football guy's knee? I'll buy us all dinner afterwards," Amelia said, drawing out the last word in a sing-song tone.
A knot formed in Addison's stomach at the thought of going to dinner with you, but the pleading look on the other woman's face and the fact that she didn't have a good excuse conjured up meant she couldn't say no.
And so, Addison begrudgingly followed the other surgeon into the nearest elevator and into the gallery of the OR you were operating in. As she settled into the chair beside Amelia's, Addison's gaze did the same on you.
"Ugh, that's gonna be a long recovery," Amelia noted, observing the array of hardware you had already fixed to the bone that had been exposed. "I'd hate to have that guy on my fantasy team."
"You don't have a fantasy team."
"Touche," Amelia chuckled, seemingly unaware of how the woman beside her hadn't looked once at the actual incision in the patient's knee. Addison was instead watching the way you were motioning for one of the interns to take over, waving the smaller woman around to your side of the operating table. Her brow furrowed as the distance between your bodies narrowed, and you remained behind the surgeon-in-training to deliver instructions.
"Ooh, nice. If she's letting the intern take over, they're probably about to close up."
"Looks like she might let the intern do more than take over," Addison snorted, unable to suppress the jealousy that was bubbling up as you leaned over the intern's shoulder to get a closer look. Her eyes narrowed, remaining on you and missing the way Amelia whipped her head to stare at her, a smile spreading across her face.
"Is there a reason that might bother you? Besides the questionable ethics of a mentor-mentee relationship?"
"No."
Addison didn't move a muscle to glance in Amelia's direction, but her arms crossed in front of her chest in a weak defense. After a few seconds, she relented.
"Maybe."
"Addie," Amelia swatted her friend's arm and grinned.
"Amelia, don't."
"But don't you think there's a reason that I'm so excited? That perhaps I might be privy to some sensitive information?" Amelia persisted, finally earning herself the redhead's attention.
"What are you talking about?"
"Look-" Amelia put her hands up in mock surrender, "-all I can say is, I don't think you have to worry about Y/N going after any interns. Sources say she's got eyes for someone else."
And that's when Addison really started overthinking things. Knowing the attraction was mutual should have been all the encouragement she needed, and Amelia certainly wasn't a subtle wing-woman. But still, Addison hadn't been able to bring herself to make a move that night and of course after that, opportunities were few and far between.
---------------------------------
Grey-Sloan Memorial, though usually a busy hospital, was absolutely abuzz when Addison arrived that morning. She tried her best to ignore the chatter as she got updates from the departing overnight staff and prepared for rounds, but your name pricked up her ears more than once. Unable to go any longer without satisfying her curiosity, she turned to the closest available intern and tapped their shoulder.
"What's so important that you aren't discussing the questions you all missed on this morning's rounds?"
"Oh, Dr. Montgomery-" the startled intern shifted nervously under her gaze, glancing over at his peers for help, "-we were just discussing Dr. L/N's surgery later. She's undoing one of those botched overseas leg-lengthening situations and we're all hoping to watch."
"Well then I suggest you all get a move on and stop crowding up the hallway if you want to done in time," Addison responded. The three young adults scattered, charts tucked under their arms, leaving her to begin her journey to track you down.
Addison checked the ortho wing and surgeons lounge before she eventually found staring at x-rays in one of the imaging rooms. She hesitated outside the door, uncertain of whether or not she wanted to break your focus just to wish you good luck. She managed to talk herself half-way out of it by the time you glanced over at her as if you had felt her gaze. The redhead forced a quick smile and let herself into the room as if she had already been on her way in.
"Hey, sorry to interrupt. Just wanted to drop by and say good luck later. Your surgery is the talk of the town with my interns."
"Great," you sighed, hands dropping from where they had rested on your hips, "I don't suppose I could pay you to lock everyone out of the gallery later, could I?"
Addison's eyes widened as she realized you were nervous, a state she hadn't yet seen you in before. Though you were by no means as cocky as some of your predecessors, you had a collected confidence about you that Addison had assumed was second-nature by now.
"Don't tell me you're anxious about an audience. Surely you've had a crowd before?"
"It's been a while," you admitted, somewhat sheepish. "My last hospital didn't get a lot of big cases, and most of the OR's didn't even have a viewing gallery."
"But you don't mind when Amelia and I sit in."
Addison stepped further into the room to stand beside you in front of the x-rays lit upon the wall. She studied the mess of metal that you were planning to remove, selfishly wishing she had the afternoon free so that she could join the interns in watching you go about the feat.
"That's different. Much different," you scoffed. "I'd feel better if you were there."
You went back to studying the black and white images, but Addison could only focus on the last statement you had made. Suddenly very aware of the fact that you two were alone, the redhead let another somewhat selfish thought cross her mind. Her hand twitched at her side, just about to reach out and touch yours when the sound of the door opening made her stop short.
And before she knew it, one of the interns on your service had come to whisk you away for some reason Addison hadn't even heard over the sound of her pulse thudding in her ears. Swearing under her breath, the redhead once again cursed her lack of timing as she set about what was sure to be a very long day.
----------------------------
Despite the fact that her day was in fact long, Addison nevertheless found herself amidst the crowd of surgeons that had descended on the bar across the street from the hospital. Word traveled quickly through the hospital, and she doubted you had even finished updating your patient's family by the time she overheard a pair of nurses mentioning that your surgery had been a success. Amelia was stuck in surgery still, so Addison was forced to attend the impromptu celebration alone.
Your interns, to your credit, seemed to adore you and by the time that Addison walked into the bar they had you surrounded. She watched as you shook your head at them insistently, a smile betraying your efforts to deny the tray of shots that had been delivered to the table. Apparently not immune to peer-pressure, it didn't take long for them to convince you to participate.
Addison almost didn't hear the bartender repeatedly asking if she wanted a drink, too enamored by the way you arched your head back to take the shot.
"Sorry," she apologized, snapping out of her trance and taking a seat at the bar once the younger man finally managed to catch her attention. "Just a Merlot is fine, thank you."
Addison sipped her wine and scrolled on her phone, telling herself in five minute intervals that she would get up and make her way over to the corner of the bar your interns had claimed for the night. She was halfway through her second glass when she saw a blur of movement to her right and felt someone settle into the barstool beside her own.
"I thought you'd be too classy for a place like this."
You smiled, tilting your head at the redhead and then glancing around at the bar as if to emphasize your point. It was clear that you were now devoid of all the nerves that had plagued you that morning, and also maybe a little drunk.
"I'll admit, it's not my usual scene. But I wanted to drop by and congratulate you before I head home for the night. My interns are very loud talkers and from what I heard, you did a gorgeous job."
"If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were keeping tabs on me today. Not that I mind."
A laugh caught in Addison's throat at the light accusation, and she moved to pick up her wine glass to avoid fumbling over her words. She could only drink for so long, however. As the stem of the glass touched back down on the bar, she felt herself starting to blush over her apparent speechlessness.
"Would you mind," you spoke again, leaning closer, "-if I kissed you while my interns are distracted?"
Addison nodded, relief flooding her system as you mercifully let her stop floundering and closed the remaining distance between the two of you.
Summary: Carrington has what she could probably classify as the two worst days of her life. You have to make sure she doesn’t fall apart.
Warnings/Notes: Self harm (Basically episode one but better for Carr)
Word Count: 2641
A brown paper bag. Cliche? Maybe. But you lost your lunch box last week and the new one wasn’t going to come until tomorrow.
So, in a law firm, a brown paper bag in the fridge should hypothetically stand out. There’s multiple black lunch boxes for the men, there’s Dina’s white one, Liberty’s blue one, Allura’s pink one, Emerald’s green one, heh, and then an empty spot where yours was. Gone.
(Yes, maybe you’d forgotten to write your name on it after being used to the previous one already being labeled, but still, come on.)
You stood still for a few seconds, just staring at the fridge in the break room. It was just a shitty salad you threw together the night before but damn it you were hungry.
You went to the bathroom to touch up and order online instead when you heard… a suspicious crinkling from one of the stalls. Followed by the sound of a fork, and chewing.
Only one stall door was closed and it was the one at the end of the row, tucked snugly against the wall, and also in the dark since the light above it had burnt out. When you bent down to take a subtle glance at the shoes, you frowned.
“Carr, is that you?” You asked, trying to sound nonchalant. You started fixing your hair in the mirror.
Silence. Then a gulp. “Yep.” Was all Carrington replied.
“Are you eating in the bathroom?”
“Uhm,” she hesitated. “All of the seats in the break room were full.”
Lie number 1. The room was empty.
“You do know we’re not in high school. You don’t have to eat alone in the bathroom because there’s nowhere to sit.” You crossed your arms.
Carrington bristled, not that you could see it. “Well, maybe I like the privacy. It’s hard to find anywhere that’s quiet in this damn building.” Lie number 2.
The sound of a fork again, and a little more crunching. You leaned back against the wall. “I guess. Somebody stole my lunch, so now I have to pick up from somewhere.”
The silence that followed was so long you almost wondered if she died in there. Then, finally, the wrinkling again. “…what was your lunch?”
“A chicken salad. And some chips.”
“I didn’t see your bag in the fridge, someone must’ve taken it earlier,” Carrington’s voice lifted a little in pitch.
“I lost my usual bag, it was just in a paper bag.”
Another pause. Then, quietly, “…shit.”
A few seconds later the stall door opened. Carr was sitting on the toilet lid, your salad container on her lap. An unusual expression of guilt was spread over her face, and if you weren’t so busy staring at it, you would’ve noticed how frazzled she looked all around.
Her ‘home-permed’ hair as she called it was frizzy and coming out of the pin that held it in the back. Her makeup was minimal. She only had one earring and was sporting some deep shadows under her eyes.
“I’m sorry, Y/n,” Carrington stood up and put the lid back on your salad. “Fuck, I thought this was one of the guys’. I would never steal from you on purpose.” You were one of the few people in this office that genuinely seemed to like her. The other women pretended they did but everybody knew their friendship didn’t break skin.
She offered you the container and gave it a shake. “There’s still half left. You can have it, if you want. Or… or I’ll pay for your new lunch.”
Now that she was out of the stall you could really see how wrecked she looked. She had days like that sometimes, and it was those days you’d hear grumblings of missing lunches from your coworkers. Primarily Allura and Liberty, but more recently the men.
“No, it’s okay.” You pushed the salad back at her. Carr was your friend. Sure, she was a little noncommittal and blunt but the two of you had to stick together in this hellscape, at least until something better came along. “You look like you need it more than I do.”
Carrington looked like she wanted to protest but then her face softened and she sighed. “God, do I…” She ran a hand through her hair, forgetting the clip in the back. When she found it, she tore it out and threw it into the nearby sink. “I’m sorry, I really am, it’s just been an awful day. I haven’t had time to go shopping and I gave Amabel all the food. I meant to go this morning but then I had to get her off to her uncles and didn’t want to come in late. I thought I took Ryan’s lunch…”
A worried smile spread over your lips. “Well, he’d certainly deserve it.” You murmured, then softened your voice. “Are you going to go shopping later?”
Carr was probably the most productive worker at the firm. She was certainly the hardest, at least. And for a time she was Dina’s prodigy until the other women came along. They took two cases and were applauded while Carrington took five and was shunned.
That’s clearly what was going on now. Another attempt to prove herself before the holiday bonus season had left her with little time to do anything else but work.
“Yeah, I hope so,” Carrington rubbed her forehead. “If I get out at four, at least. I have to get Amabel by 5:00. She’s getting her molars and she’s been a pain in my ass recently, I can’t get anything done at home.”
For a moment it looked like she was just going to collapse in on herself. You stepped forward and rested a hand on her side.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” You asked. You knew Carr struggled but not like this.
She shook her head, then chuckled weakly. “Let me have your lunch…”
“I already told you that you could, moron.” You nudged the container so it pressed into her. “I can pack extra tomorrow if you want.”
“No, no, you don’t have to…” she trailed off, a flicker of childlike hope in her eyes. “You would do that?”
“I will.” You smiled. “Salad okay?”
She couldn’t help but smile too. “Yeah… Salad’s okay.”
Though when you came in with 2 salads the next morning, you were met by a phone call to your office from Dina, asking you to bring Carrington’s stuff out of her office and to her car.
You did as asked, surprised, and deeply worried. With all of her stuff carefully in the box, and the two lunch bags set on top, you wandered into the parking lot.
She was sitting in her car, staring down at her arm. When you knocked on the door she flinched and pulled her sleeve up. Just the sight of you made her face crumple.
“Oh, god, you. Why did it have to be you? Anybody but you… I didn’t want you to see me like this,” Carr muttered, wiping her face as she turned her head away. “Fucking Dina, that bitch…”
Startled, you placed her stuff down in the back seat. When it was clear that she should not be left alone, you climbed into the passenger's seat and closed the door.
“I have no idea what’s going on.” You admitted. “What happened in there?”
“I’m leaving.”
Blunt. Straight to the point. Yet lacking detail; the usual Carr.
“Okay, uhm… why?”
“Why?” She scoffed. “Look at me, Y/n, am I somebody you want around? Someone worth keeping around? Someone you want to stay and work with?”
When you nodded, she smacked her hand on the tire. You caught a glimpse of red on her sleeve but didn’t focus too much on it yet.
“Bullshit! Carr snarled at you. “Don’t lie to make me feel better. You might as well tell me the truth, even if it breaks me. Nobody else cares if it does.” She then tried to push you out of the car but all she could really muster was pathetic punches to your arm and shoves that wouldn’t damage a blade of grass.
You let her take it out like a child before finally grabbing her hands when you had enough. Your mouth was open to speak, but it fell closed when you got a good look at her arm. The sleeve was stained with blood.
“Y/n, don’t look at that…” Carr was crying now, silent tears and trembling lips. “Just stop it, leave like everyone else… please.”
But she didn’t fight as you pulled her sleeve back, though she winced. The fabric smeared slowly-drying blood over her arm. Centered in the red patch were 4 lines into the skin, too fresh to scab but old enough to have stopped gushing.
Immediately you reached for a tissue and folded it once. Then you applied pressure to the cuts, the white paper turning pink.
“What did you do this with?” You asked softly.
“…I have a little pocket knife on my keys,” Carrington mumbled. All of the anger was gone from her body, her shoulders slumped and head back against the headrest. She wouldn’t look at you. She couldn’t. “Sebastian got it for me, said I should have something to defend myself…”
And yet she used it to hurt herself. You reached over and opened the knife. “Was it clean?”
She nodded. “I never used it… please, Y/n, stop mothering me.” Her voice cracked. “I’m fine… I just needed to… to calm down. It helped…”
You didn’t reply. You didn’t even know what you could say. Part of you wanted to scold her but you knew that would only shatter her more. So you opted for gentle silence as you placed 4 bandaids over the 4 cuts.
Finally, you spoke. “What happened in there?” You tried again.
Carr’s eyes squeezed shut like she’d rather talk about anything but this, but she was so worn down… she couldn’t fight you.
“They’re leaving…”
“Who’s leaving?”
“…Allura and Liberty,” Carr finally croaked. She bit her bottom lip hard and took a deep breath. “Dina told them they should start their own law firm. Them, and one other. They took Emerald. I-I know I shouldn’t have expected it to be me, but… fuck, I’m the hardest worker. I-I handle the shitty cases nobody wants. I let people do what they want with me if it gets the job done… I thought they liked me. I mean we’re not best friends but…”
She trailed off and wiped her face with her uninjured hand, the other arm now draped over her lap.
“They said it’s because I steal their lunches, and I’m more of a human than a lawyer.” She tried to laugh but it fell through. “Dina said it was because I’m an ugly duckling… All of this time, it doesn’t matter what I did or how hard I worked. I… I was never going to go anywhere because I’m not pretty.”
And that was that. Her teetering voice finally broke like shattered glass and she just started to sob. Heart broken sobs of betrayal. The people she thought cared about and supported her never did at all. And it wasn’t her fault.
Carr was too tired and distraught to fight as you wrapped your arms around her. She clung to you like you were the only land in the open sea and cried until her throat was sore. Even then she didn’t let go.
By the time she calmed down her face was pressed against your neck and she was sniffling, clinging to your arm. You were squeezing her, stroking her hair, rubbing her back; anything to comfort her.
“So… I flipped out.” Carr whispered hoarsely. “I threw a bunch of Dina’s things and told her I was done… security was waiting for me at the door.”
“Throw anything at her?”
“Are you kidding…? She would’ve sued me into the grave,” she smiled sadly and hid her face from you with a soft hiccup. “I wanted to though… I broke that ugly ship.”
You chuckled. “Thank god.” You tried to lean back but she clung to you. Gently, you cupped the side of her face and lifted it towards the light.
“Don’t listen to any of them,” you murmured. “They’re all just assholes.”
“They don’t have smile lines…”
“They can’t even smile because of how much plastic surgery they had.” You shook your head. She smiled weakly. “You are beautiful. You’re 10 times more beautiful than they ever would’ve hoped to be… Allura, I mean… I can’t imagine how much she paid to look how she does. And you look beautiful naturally.”
Carr’s eyes watered and she pressed her cheek into your palm like a kitten. This was all she ever needed. Someone to just… be kind to her without reason. It had been so long. “Stop bullshitting me…”
“I’m not. You’re beautiful. They probably can’t even turn their heads to see themselves in the mirror. And they only have to be pretty because they’re shitty lawyers. You make them jealous, I bet.”
“If you keep going down this trail I’m going to think you fancy me,” Carrington rasped as she finally pulled herself together. She pulled away from your touch but held your hand still.
“Would that be so bad?”
Something changed in her expression. Surprise, confusion, then faint relief and joy. She swiped at her face and smiled tiredly. “I guess not…” Then she frowned. “I’m going to miss being your coworker. You’re the only real friend I’ve had in a while… you’re probably the only reason I would stick around if I didn’t trash Dina’s office.”
“You say that like you’re leaving me.”
“Well, Y/n, I am…”
“I’m not.” You huffed. “I can’t stay here. I’m not going to work at a place that clearly favors employees when they promote equal opportunities for women. If you can’t succeed here unless you’re pretty, then I’m not working here.”
Carr opened her mouth to protest but you cut her off.
“I don’t care where I end up, but not here. If possible I’d like to stay and work with you… wherever you go.”
She looked away, eyes glossy again. Her shoulders heaved with a few deep breaths. “I was thinking about starting my own law firm…”
“Then you’ve got a partner.” You smiled softly. “If you’ll have me.”
Carrington rubbed her face again but she couldn’t help that infectious smile. “I wouldn’t want anybody else.”
“Me either.” You squeezed her hands, glancing down at her wrist. “You’re not worthless, okay? I might be your new law partner… but I’m also your friend. I know I can’t stop you from doing this, objectively, but I’m here for whatever you need. I care about you and I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”
“I don’t want to do it either, it just…” she trailed off. “This was the first time.”
“And the last.”
“…and the last.”
With a smile, you kissed her knuckles. “Let me go grab my shit. Then we can get a celebratory lunch somewhere. I packed more salads and I don’t think I can eat them.”
Carr laughed. “Be quick. I’m starving.”
You turned to leave but she pulled you back and kissed your cheek. You flushed and she grinned. Before you could say anything she pushed you out of the car and waved you off.
You packed up your desk, slipped a strongly worded letter under Dina’s door, and then strolled out to your car. Carrington was driving away when you came out to reserve seats at a nearby restaurant. You watched her drive a circle around the building, flipping off the security cameras before speeding off.
With a laugh, you did the same and left without looking back.
Summary: On your first date with Carrington, you realize she isn't all as confident as she seems. Request
Warnings/Notes: No warnings! Ignore the gif I'm too lazy to remake it. Still in a bit of a writers slump but this was too cute not to do :)
Word Count: 2261
“You showed up.”
A voice caught your attention. You finished scanning the line on the menu before lifting your gaze.
Across from you stood an older woman, brunette hair framing her face perfectly. Her dark eyes met yours briefly. Then she scoffed and removed her coat.
“You thought I wouldn’t?” You prompted, leaning forward with your elbows on the table.
“No. I mean no, I didn’t think you wouldn’t.” She grimaced at her own reply. “Nobody ever stands me up. I’m just surprised Susanne was competent enough to actually plan this.”
“Susanne is very competent.”
“Hence why I haven’t fired her.”
Susanne was Carrington’s assistant, and your close friend. She mentioned her boss once while the two of you were drunk, you begged for a picture, and the rest was history. You didn’t expect her to actually set the two of you up on a date but you were incredibly thankful for it.
“I hear you fire a lot of people,” you decided to opt for a little teasing. Susanne had mentioned that Carrington enjoyed a good playful bickering session. Well… she enjoyed real bickering, so a little flirty debate should do the job.
“You’d be surprised how many unqualified people splat right on my desk.” She snorted softly, opening the menu. “Then I’m the one left to scrape them up and toss them out. It’s almost embarrassing.”
You laughed. “And I’m assuming it’s the same with your clients?”
“You wouldn’t believe it.” Carrington replied. “I can’t legally share too much, but I sign so many NDA’s I don’t know if I’m even allowed to breathe. I’m better off than every person I know, but I’m not that level of clinically insane.”
“That’s reassuring.”
“I’m glad I could bring you comfort,” she lifted the water from the table, pressing it to her lips momentarily before sipping. “Since you know so much about me, tell me something about you. And flag the waiter because I don’t do anything past surface level without wine.”
Carrington ordered an expensive bottle of red wine. Despite the alcohol, she didn’t get past surface level anyway. Deep questions were met with incriminating stares and casual comments were laughed off. The only thing she would talk about was her work because it was safe. But you weren’t one to give up.
After placing orders for your food, you took a sip of your wine for extra courage. “You being a lawyer is very impressive and all, but I’m not looking to just date a lawyer. I’m interested in what’s under the suit.”
“You’d like to see me naked.”
“Yes. But that’s not what I meant.”
“I have no problem with you seeing me naked.”
“Would you rather undress right now or tell me something personal?” You smirked.
She scowled. “You’re getting a little mouthy, Y/N. I don’t owe you any explanations. For all I know, you could be some little bitch sent by my enemies. You’ll worm your way under my skin and into my brain like a parasite.”
Oh. Okay.
“Number one: Ew. Number two: I’m sorry, but if you’re not going to tell me anything about you, I’m not doing this. I don’t want to date a robot or somebody I know nothing about.” You frowned. “If you won’t tell me anything, this won’t work out. For all I know, you could be the psychopath. It makes me feel like you don’t actually want this to work out.”
“It’s not that…” she muttered, pressing her hands together, the leather squeaking softly. “I’m just… not used to somebody wanting to know about me.”
You sighed. “Fine. Let’s play a game. I’ll tell you something about me, and then you do the same.” You suggested. When she didn’t fight, you smiled. “I’m a big physical media collector. DVD’s, CD’s, all of that.”
“That’s interesting, in this day and age.” Carrington was quiet for a moment, scanning through her brain of anything she could share, anything worth sharing… anything that wouldn’t reveal too much. Finally, she murmured the first thing that came to mind: “I was born left handed.”
“Born?”
“I’m sure you’ve heard how they used to beat it out of kids in Catholic school? They certainly beat it out of me.” Carrington laughed a dry, bitter laugh. “They didn’t beat the devil out of me, though. I mean, here I am, on a date with a woman.”
You tried to laugh, for her sake. She was finally admitting something personal (and painful) to you. The last thing you wanted to do was drive her back into her shell. Especially when it was something more personal than you had expected.
“Are you religious?” You prompted.
“God no.” Carrington shook her head. “It’s all just bullshit meant to comfort people because the big wide world is twoo scawry for them,” she shuddered a little. “I got kicked out of Catholic school for cussing out the nuns.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes.”
“That’s amazing.” You laughed again. “How old were you?”
“Twelve… maybe thirteen? The head nun was a pain in my ass. I’d like to take her to court for emotional damages and whack her down with a hammer in the parking lot.” Carrington replied. After the words left her mouth, her wide eyes flicked to you as if expecting backlash. When you just smiled, she faintly grinned too. “Only after everyone had left, of course.”
She was feisty, that was for sure. A part of you was worried she would actually do it. The other part of you thought it was maybe deserved, on the off chance it did happen.
“I’ll be your alibi.” You promised as the food arrived. You ordered some pasta while Carrington opted for a ridiculously priced salad.
That made her smile again. “You’re insane. I don’t give out compliments often, but you can’t be real. You should probably turn me in before I hurt somebody.”
“Where’s the fun in that? She sounds like she deserves a good whacking.”
“Honestly, she’s probably dead. But a girl can dream.” She twirled her fork between her fingers, then pressed the prongs to her lips for a moment of deep thinking. You were already way more tolerant of her… opinions. She was taking a liking to you, she didn’t want you to be the only one asking the questions. “Do… you have any kids?”
You shook your head. “No. No kids, just me.”
“Lucky.”
“Lucky?” You laughed. “Do you have a kid? Don’t tell me; 3 teenage boys.”
“One, preteen daughter,” Carrington gave you a pointed look. “Amabel. She’s… well, she’s like the better version of me.”
You smiled. “I can’t quite think of anything better than you.” You added in a teasing attempt to make her blush. It almost worked but she turned away at the last second. “Does she look like you?”
“If I had blue eyes and was pale as a fucking vampire. She doesn’t like going outside, but she’s very smart. She’s like a little me if I grew up in a nice environ…” Carrington trailed off. “But she’s a pain in the ass too. She inherited my smart mouth and her fathers stubbornness.”
“He’s not in the picture?” You asked hesitantly.
Her smile twitched but remained in place, forcefully. “He’s–well, he’s my friend, sometimes, usually when it benefits him or I haven’t scared him off.” She took a hefty bite out of her salad, taking the time to chew. “But she sees him often enough. He’s not a deadbeat or anything.”
“Well, that’s good.” You were encroaching on a delicate subject, but also a personal one. You had to move carefully. “Can I see her?”
Carrington’s brows raised in surprise. Then, as if she had been waiting for you to ask, she pulled her phone out and held up a photo of the girl. She was certainly her mothers daughter. Before you could reply, the phone slipped out of her hand and into your pasta. The fork flew and clattered to the ground. Some of the remnant sauce splashed up, staining her gloves.
“Fuck!” You both exclaimed at the same time. A few people glanced in your direction and a waiter rushed over some towels.
Carrington swiped her phone back while you wiped the worst of the sauce off. While she was removing the last few specks, you noticed the sauce clinging to her leather gloves and gently grabbed her arm.
The second your thumb brushed her wrist, she yanked back. “What are you doing?” She snarled. It was almost as if a switch had been flipped. Whatever was sitting across from you was a wild animal rather than a woman.
“I was just trying to…” you held up a wad of paper towels, then pointed to the sauce on her hand. “May I?”
“No. No, you may not. Don’t just touch me.” She stood up, pushing her chair in fast enough that the whole table shook. “We barely know each other! You can’t just grab me! Especially not there!”
The whole restaurant was watching now, all wide eyes on Carrington’s sudden lash out. A nearby couple, one Carrington had been glaring at earlier, snickered. A group of older ladies looked appalled. Even the waiter appeared amused.
“I didn’t mean to–” You glanced around. She was making a scene. If you weren’t so confused, you would’ve been embarrassed, but you were mostly focused on making sure she didn’t leave. “I’m sorry, alright? Can you sit back down?”
As if snapping out of a trance, Carrington’s head swiveled around, taking in the watchful eyes. Then, finally, she looked at you. Her eyes were wide too; no longer in anger, but in fear. She snatched her phone and stormed off towards the bathroom, shoulders drawn in tight like a shield.
You waited. 2 minutes. 5 minutes. 10 minutes.
Finally, at 12, you draped your jacket over your chair and headed to the bathroom. Her coat was left behind so you knew she hadn’t left yet. Well, you hoped she hadn’t left. Someone like her might see no problem in abandoning her $400 coat and fleeing through the back.
But she was in the bathroom when you wandered in. The sink was on and her hand was under the spigot, cold water soaking her glove. At one point she had been washing it, as shown by the remnant soap bubbles in the sink, but now she was staring through herself in the mirror. You stared at her through the reflective glass in hopes she would turn. Either she didn’t see you, or she didn’t care.
The former was proven true when you finally came to her side and cleared your throat.
The almost hazy film over her eyes faded the second she turned to you. Her face fell and she slammed the sink off. “What?”
“Are you coming back to the table?”
“You want me to?”
“Do you want to?”
Carrington looked genuinely startled. She glanced between you and herself in the mirror. Her perfect appearance had been marred: her face flushed, her hair ruffled from where she’d been clutching at it, her one glove soaked, now dripping on her dress…
“You’re not leaving…?” She finally rasped. “Not after what I did?”
You frowned. The sincere surprise on her face was heartbreaking. She thought you would’ve run off by now. “No. I’m not leaving.”
“That’s stupid. I lost my fucking mind out there, and you’re staying? What’s wrong with you?”
“A lot.” You smiled faintly. “I really didn’t mean to upset you. I’m… I’m not quite sure what I did, but I won’t do it again. I didn’t want to drive you off.”
Carrington sighed. “No, I overreacted. You… you didn’t do anything that awful. I just don’t like my gloves being touched. Ever.”
“Okay.”
“…okay? That’s it?”
“I won’t touch your gloves again.” You assured her. “But I would really like it if you came back to the table with me.”
“Really…?”
“Yes, really.” You offered your hand. When you realized the irony, you started to pull it away, but stopped when she took it. Her grip was firm beneath the leather and she didn’t show any signs of letting go.
So you took her back to the table and you finished eating in a gentle silence. You were a little worried she would still flee, but she didn’t. She finished her food, wiped her face, and clasped her hands.
“I have to admit… I’m surprised.” Carrington finally rasped. Her eyes bore a hole through the table, refusing to meet yours. “I mean, I’ve been on a lot of dates, a lot of people want to sleep with me.” She tried to laugh. “But nobody ever wants to really know me. I’m not quite sure how to react.”
You had figured that out earlier, but it felt nice to hear her say it. Finally she dared to look up. The vulnerability was almost glassy in her eyes; fear, anxiety… but at your lack of response: acceptance.
Before you could reply, she cleared her throat. “Anyway, I appreciate this. I’m glad I didn’t scare you off.”
“You’d have to do a lot more to scare me off.” You nudged her foot beneath the table. “Does that mean you would be up for a second date?”
“A second date?”
“Yes. Something similar to this, but maybe somewhere else.” You chuckled softly. “If you’d like.”
For a moment, you weren’t sure what she was going to say. Carrington took a big gulp of her wine before nodding. “I think I would like that, yes.”
Summary: Carrington accidentally says something awful about her girlfriend, not knowing she’s just around the corner. Request
Warnings/Notes: None! Enjoy some angst + fluff <3
Word Count: 3185
Carrington’s coffee run was one of your most important jobs as her assistant. The make of the coffee, the temperature, the arrival time, the way you arrive with it… it all stacks up like dominos. Do everything right, the tower is high and her day starts off well. Make one mistake, the tower is unsteady, and so is she.
You were ahead of schedule today.
Being Carrington’s girlfriend meant extra perks such as a ride to work with her rather than rushing to take the bus or a taxi. You arrived at the building the same time every day now. Which meant you memorized the route and surrounding factors. An old man walks on the left side of the sidewalk, get around him before you come upon the dog walker or you’ll be stuck. And don’t look at the woman in the pink, she’s always trying to sell you something.
Said dog walker was absent this morning and you arrived 10 seconds at the shop earlier than usual. The coffees (yours included) were waiting. You scooped them up, left your usual tip, and dashed off.
The lobby man greeted you with a curious smile when you rushed past. He was unaware of your record breaking route. But he enjoyed the frantic look on your face as you practically ran to the elevator anyway. You’d do anything for Carrington, especially to impress her. It sounded sweet to you, but the others found it amusing. They didn’t know of your girlfriend status yet, though. To them, you were her puppy assistant and she was your mean, scary boss.
The elevator opened up on her floor and you rushed down the hall. You were on your way to rounding the corner to her office when the doors opened and you heard voices.
Carrington. And… Allura?
Carr had probably picked up another opposing client to Allura’s and they were discussing it. This was starting to happen more often now. It was sort of petty, you thought, but you’d never voice that opinion, especially not when Carrington beamed after winning.
And on the rare occasions she lost? Well, she’d come to you with reluctant emotion and you’d hold her through it until she rebuilt herself and was ready to strike once again.
You stopped and listened, not wanting to intrude.
The two women were arguing as usual. It was quiet enough you could only pick up a few words, but it was slowly growing more heated.
“Please, Carrington, you can’t do anything for yourself,” Allura said mockingly. “You have your silly assistant do everything. Do you even read your files or does she do it for you? Because I think you would ask her to, and she would probably do it.”
“Y/n? Y/n is nothing more than a doorkeeper to me. She’s just a pushover and wants to impress me.” Carrington laughed. “Everything else she does for me is because she gets bored and likes showing off. I don’t need her.”
Carrington could be very cruel, but she was never cruel to you, not even when you first started working here and knocked one of her pens off the desk which should’ve been an immediate elimination.
She didn’t take pity on you, but she did find you interesting, if not sweet. And for some strange reason she did her best to act the same way to you. Nobody would believe it if you told them so you kept her unusual kindness to yourself. Maybe it was because she had a crush on you, but it worked out, because you felt the same.
Your relationship was still new, though. Nobody knew except Carrington’s friend Sebastian and her daughter Amabel who you met at dinner. Aside from that, you were simply her assistant. And the way she was talking about you made you feel like even less.
“Like I would believe that. I’m sure she does all of your hard work, finds your evidence, signs the paperwork. All you do is blabber and spew her recycled words.”
“I don’t need her. If she left right now and I never saw her again, I wouldn’t even notice.” Carrington scoffed. “And neither would you.”
You didn’t hear what Allura said afterwards. You’d already set the coffee down and left.
You didn’t know what to think, your head was spinning.
On one hand, you knew Carrington was probably just trying to get Allura off her ass. When she was angry she said the most vile things that came to mind without thinking of the consequences. She certainly hadn’t expected or known you were around the corner listening. What she said could very well not be her true feelings at all.
But it hurt. More than you expected.
Even if it was a lie, hearing her call you useless and not knowing if she truly believed that broke your heart. You cared about Carrington and did everything you could to please her. You might even say that you loved her.
But did she love you? Or was she just using you? Did she even need you or was it true what she said, that she was just sending you off on errands so you could feel better about yourself? You wouldn’t put it past her. She had a strange way of showing she cared that included: not adding a period to her texts, messing up your hair, staring at you from across the room and expecting you to understand what she’s thinking, and taking your things. Not in the cute sweatshirt-stealing way. Once you found all 24 of your pens in her desk drawer, and your computer mouse too.
But she could also be very loving. You would take turns having ranting sessions after hours together in her office. If you were visibly stressed, she would lessen your workload and try to send you home, which would usually end with you relaxing in her office while she worked. She was a stickler about you taking the time to eat and drink throughout the day, and Amabel privately told you that if she wasn’t nice to you, Carrington would change the wifi password. So she did… care.
Even though you knew that, it was hard to believe it. All you could think about were Carrington’s cruel words. ‘She’s just a pushover. I don’t need her.’ Those hurt, but the ones that made your eyes water were what followed; ‘If she left right now and I never saw her again, I wouldn’t even notice.’
So that’s what you did.
You took the elevator, ignored the confused look from the lobby man, and went out into the garden behind the building.
The uncomfortable steel bench out back had never felt so welcoming. You sank down onto it, buried your face in your hands, and cried.
You were content with crying until you couldn’t anymore, but the buzz of your phone momentarily caught you off guard. A message from Carrington, asking where you were. She didn’t really care, she just wanted her coffee. You watched silently as 4 more notifications came through, all consisting of the same question, just a little angrier, period included.
Finally, a different text came through.
‘Please just let me know if you’re okay’
You read and reread the text a few times. Well… she did notice that you left. She probably found the abandoned coffee by now, you hadn’t even bothered to grab yours.
In your heart, you knew she’d probably march down there, scold you, and then hold you until you stopped crying if you told her where you were. Carrington didn’t enjoy talking things out and usually waved them off until the bubble burst, but on rare cases you were her only exception. If she came down and you told her what you heard, you knew she would apologize and comfort you, but for the time being you just wanted to be alone until the sting faded.
‘I’m fine. I felt sick so I went home, sorry.’ You sent back. You were starting to feel sick, a headache creeping in from the tension. Heartache too. Because what if you weren’t enough for her, and her affection for you was just pity?
A few moments passed before her next message. ‘Wish you had told me sooner, I was worried.’ A pause, then another: ‘Get some rest, I’ll stop by after work’
All you could do was like the message unenthusiasticly before getting on the bus and going home.
Your bed was a welcome embrace, a soft, comforting hug you so desperately longed for. You sank down into it without a second thought and fell asleep.
The hours passed by mindlessly as you slept. You could’ve slept the day away, but a persistent knocking at your front door roused you from slumber. Carrington.
“Y/n? Open the door,” she called firmly, banging her fist on the wood. When you didn’t reply she softened the impact. “I’ve got soup..”
You were hungry…
Slowly, you hauled yourself out of bed and opened the door. And there she was, in the same outfit from earlier, this time with a worried expression. Her cold eyes were softer, brows drawn in concern. When she saw you the fear eased slightly. At least you were alive.
“I called you 12 times. You wouldn’t tell me your favorite soup so I got chicken noodle from that place you like.” Carrington tried to scold you as she held the container out.
You took it silently. A ‘thank you’ formed in the back of your throat but no matter how hard you tried, it wouldn’t come out. Instead, you retreated into your apartment, leaving Carrington the choice to follow.
And follow she did, confused.
“Did you lose your voice?” She came to the conclusion quickly and started searching for a bowl. “I have some leftover cough drops you get me that usually help. And the soup will help too. How much do you want?”
You watched as Carrington busied herself with getting you soup. When you didn’t reply she took it upon herself to decide and then popped the bowl into the microwave.
“You scared me when you disappeared like that. I found the coffee but you were just gone, thought maybe Allura had eaten you or something,” she snorts, cracking up at her own joke. “Don’t do that again, though. You’re my girlfriend but if you start slacking off and be a shitty assistant, I’ll have to fire you.”
“I bet you wouldn’t miss me,” the bitter reply came out before you had a chance to stop it.
Carrington stiffened. “What did you say?”
“I bet you wouldn’t miss me.” You repeated. “Because you don’t need me. You wouldn’t notice if I disappeared.”
“Well, clearly I did, so that’s bullshit.” She snapped back, then realization spread over her face, eyes widening. You were repeating her words back to her and she didn’t even recognize them. “You were eavesdropping?”
“That’s what you’re worried about?” You scoffed. It was just like Carrington, always caring about the wrong thing rather than the real problem. “Not that you said all of those horrible things about me? What do you even think about me? Am I just a pushover?”
Her expression flickered from confusion to agony, then finally settled on anger. “You really believe I think that? That’s how little you think of me, Y/n?”
“That’s not what I’m saying!” You snapped, trying to get your point through her dumb, thick head. “I’m saying that what you said hurt me! Really fucking badly. And you don’t seem to care about it at all. I know you’re fluent in shit talking but as your girlfriend it really hurts. Why can’t you understand that?”
She went silent. So did you. Just staring at each other in an icy room frozen solid.
The beeping of the microwave jolted the both of you out of the stand off. Carrington turned to grab the soup and you stormed off into your bedroom. You weren’t sure whether to cry or scream. She was just so… infuriating. Did she even care about you? Because she clearly couldn’t see the big picture here.
You must’ve started crying at some point because you instinctively wiped your face when the door opened. You tried to glare at the other woman but were caught off guard when you saw similar marks beneath her eyes too. Your heart sank at the sight. Carrington never cried.
She silently brought your bowl of soup over on a tray and set it in your lap. Then she crossed her arms, gloved fingers picking anxiously at her sleeves. “What I said was an accident.” She avoided your gaze, now pacing. “It slipped out just to get Allura off my trail and then I kept going, like I always do. Coming up with bullshit on the spot is the one trait I inherited from my mother. I don’t know what I’m saying until it’s already out and I’ve hurt people. But I didn’t mean a single word of it, and if I knew you were around the corner, I never would’ve said it.”
Your eyes bore such an intense stare into your soup you were worried it would start boiling from the heat. You couldn’t look at her and she couldn’t look at you. “That doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt.”
“I’m not good with feelings.” Carrington replied. She rubbed her whole face with a heavy sigh. “That’s not an… I’m not trying to make an excuse, I’m just giving you the reason why. I know it hurt you, it’s just not something that would hurt me so I struggle to understand it. But I’m trying, Y/n. And I’m so fucking sorry.”
Finally you lifted your head and your eyes relished her form; tense, uneasy, almost nervous. You were the first person in her life that had ever wanted to stay and she was terrified of losing you, even if she wouldn’t admit it.
“I’m so sorry.” She repeated in a softer tone. When you didn’t cower at her coming closer, she took a tentative seat on the edge of the bed. “I didn’t mean any of it, but that doesn’t make it right.”
A tear slipped down your face, splashing into the soup. You had hoped she didn’t hear but her shoulders tensed at the sound. You quickly wiped your face. “It doesn’t.” Your voice was hoarse, pathetic. “Because it makes me feel like I’m beneath you. That… that I really am just your dumb assistant you let parade around you because you pity me.”
Suddenly, a hand gripped your arm so tightly you nearly spilled the bowl. You lifted your head in surprise, nervous eyes meeting Carrington’s. Blazing right on her sleeve, fires raged within her chocolate eyes, staring almost through you.
“I would never confuse love and pity.” Her voice quivered, anger faltering as she took in your disarray. “I don’t pity you, Y/n. I adore you… and I don’t say it enough. Somehow, you and your infuriatingly kind smile wormed your way into my heart like a parasite. And the worst part of it all is that I don’t want you to leave.” She tried to laugh, it came out cracked. “I never thought I was somebody capable of love. My father broke my heart and my mother told me in turn I was broken. I’ve never felt this way about anybody before that wasn’t my blood and now that I do, I’m terrified of losing you because I love you. And I know I’m going to fuck it up. And for both of our sakes you should probably just give up on me and tell me to fuck off before I hurt you anymore.”
Your tears dried as an uncomfortable silence fell over the room. Carrington despised opening up to you, only opting to in dire situations such as this, you would probably have to have a talk about that. Because as hurt as you were, you did understand her. And you didn’t want to lose her either.
You laid your other hand on top of hers. “You’re not broken. And I’m not sending you off.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“So are you.” You bit back. “But you’re my idiot, and I love you too. You’re not perfect, neither am I… We’re going to hurt each other but I’m willing to work past that as long as you are.”
Carrington sniffled. “You sound like a damn… handbook.” She slapped your hand gently, drawing her shoulders close and taking a deep breath. Then she relaxed. “I say stupid shit all the time, Y/n. This won’t be the last time I do.”
“We can work on that.”
“What are you gonna do, Pavlov me into trained insults?”
“I was thinking compliments, actually.” You smiled, rubbing the back of her hand. “Compliment me.”
“Compliment—?” She glared at you. “…you have a beautiful smile.”
Your smile widened. Then you leaned in to give her a gentle kiss, squeezing her hand. “Good, see?”
Carrington shifted awkwardly. She rubbed her thumb under her eyes before straightening up. “This is ridiculous. You’re ridiculous.” When she noticed how you were staring at her, she hesitated. “Ridiculously… kind?”
Another kiss. Her eyes opened, a new look taking root in them.
“How many kisses before your clothes come off?” Carrington said bluntly, tugging your collar.
You couldn’t help but laugh. “A lot. Because I’m hungry and this soup is currently more tempting than you.”
That earned you another playful slap to the elbow before a kiss to the cheek.
“Fine.” She growled. “But I owe you, and I want to make it up to you, if you’ll let me.” Her voice was unusually soft, if not bashful.
You couldn’t help but smile again. “Later.” You assured her. “I just want to eat and cuddle for a bit. You don’t have to make anything up to me either, I already accepted your apology.”
“Okay, well, I think you should let me anyway.” Carrington unzipped her boots before laying on your bed. She watched you eat before scooting closer, though she stopped before any contact was made between your bodies.
You bridged the rest of the gap, draping your arm over her waist. She snaked hers around yours and tucked her nose against your neck.
“I really am sorry. I need you. And I really would notice if you disappeared… I was freaking out.” She whispered. “Almost called out of work too.”
You giggled. “You’re that helpless without me?” You whispered in the same tone.
She huffed. “I was worried about you.”
“Because you need me to do all the real lawyer work.”
“Shut up,” Carrington grabbed your chin and kissed you hard. Then, before you could react, she pulled away and tucked her face back against your neck. “I’m taking a nap.”
You couldn’t help but smile, relaxing into your bed and her arms. Sleep tugged at your eyes and you let them fall closed. The last thing you remembered was Carrington giving you a soft squeeze and then the world went dark, curled in her embrace.
