Trinity Santos I just know she’s good with her mouth. Something about ‘you have a lot to say, why not put that mouth to good use?’ Spending the night at her place and she is eating your pussy like a woman starved. She’s so drunk off your pussy and entranced by the sounds you’re making that she starts grinding down onto the bed, desperately trying to get herself off. After all is said and done she kisses you and just says ‘is that a good enough use for you?’
Samira Mohan is definitely a dead center switch. Truly depending on the day, she will either be under you as you fuck her nice and deep with your strap. Maybe even having you eat her pussy till she cries. Or she’ll have you face down ass up, fucking you through multiple orgasms until she is satisfied. She’d reach around and rub your clit too just to overstim you even more. She loves the noises you make but making you cum and you practically scream as it rips through you? That’s something special for her.
Cassie McKay I just know can degrade you and praise you seamlessly. ‘God, you’re such a slut for me baby. Only for me.’ If she gets off of a long shift but still wants to fuck you though, she’s doing it in the most efficient way possible. You will either be riding her or you guys are fucking while spooning. Her body hurts after her long shift and she’ll be damned if she has to stand for a second longer. Rightfully so, but if you want her to she will.
Parker Ellis is definitely a no nonsense type of person. If you have an attitude she will call you out on it. ‘Fix your attitude or I’ll fix it for you.’ And oh god does she. She’s got you folded up in the bed driving her cock into you so deep that you might have to the ER to check if you have a bruised cervix. ‘You were talking all those shit earlier, where is it now hmm?’ You cant say anything, hell you can’t even think! And she’s not stopping until she believes you’ve been dealt with.
Baran Al-Hashimi is gentle until she, well, isn’t. Much like Parker, she too has her limits but doesn’t have as short of a fuse. ‘You’re really testing my patience angel’ and she won’t tell you when she’s finally had enough. Not until you’re both home and she pulls you over her lap and fingers you until you cum over and over again. Until it’s dripping down her leg. Whenever she’s done with you she’ll make you suck on her fingers and then give you a stern talking to so you understand why she did what she did. Even though you both know it’s falling on deaf ears.
Mel King doesn’t have a super high sex drive. Like if you wanted to fuck then she’d fuck you yes, but, she doesn’t need it reciprocated. Though when she is horny, be prepared to be at it for ours. This is all pent up tension that’s been building since the last time y’all had sex. ‘God I’ve been needing this for so long.’ You’ll just be laying there as she rides your face, using you like a toy while you rub your clit. She’d be a fan of a double ended dildo, especially when you guys are opposite each other and she can watch as each thrust she does drives it deeper inside you. Or being able to see your creamy pussy leave a ring around it.
Dana Evans I think would be one to want her pussy ate while she talks about how stressful her day was. She’s going on and on about different incident, rude patients, rude coworkers. Whether you’re in the same field or not you’ll know a lot after this. ‘And then had the fu- shit baby right there- fucking nerve to abandon a baby in the bathroom.’ Once she gets a good 2-3 orgasms she’ll give you a kiss and then go out for a smoke before taking care of you too.
A/n: I’ll be completely honest I was thinking with my dick (spiritually) and this came out of it. I hope you guys like it!
Summary: Dana has been trying to find the right time for weeks now, if she could just make everything go perfectly for once. Alternatively: 4 times Dana tries to propose, and the 1 time she finally does.
CW: fluff, 4+1 trope, description of allergic reaction, reader wears makeup and has hair long enough to pin back
WC: 6.3k
Sequel to Three Weeks.
A/N: this request is from @tiredbisexualwithadhd 💛 Thanks for the request and the idea and for being so patient, I hope it lives up!
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The emergency department feels like it’s trying to tear itself apartment.
Patients are arguing in the waiting room, one is throwing a fit in triage, and hospital staff are running through the emergency department so frantically that they’re nearly colliding with each other.
Dana barely notices. “Has anyone seen Dr. Garcia?” she calls openly into the ED.
“She’s over in radiology.”
“Of course she is.” Dana runs a hand over her face. “Okay, don’t let her go back upstairs yet, Mohan needs her for a consult. Where’s Langdon?”
Dr. Whitaker pauses, having been speed-walking past the nurse’s station when Dana asks. “I think I saw him headed toward the break room a minute ago.”
“Tell him I need him to pick up another patient asap, he’s not as fast as he used to be.”
“Dana.”
“What?”
Robby appears beside her with a coffee in hand and an expression that’s way too calm for the state of the emergency department around them. “You’re yelling,” he says.
“I’m aware,” Dana says, smoothing a hand over a few stray strands of hair that have falling out of her claw clip.
“You’re scaring my med students.”
Dana leans back just far enough to look past him to see one of said med students immediately look away.
“Good, fear builds character.”
Robby chuckles at that, leaning against the workstation counter as he watches Dana sign off on another chart. “You seem more stressed than usual,” he says before taking a sip of his own coffee.
Dana rolls her eyes. “Not everybody can disappear on a three month sabbatical when they start spiraling.”
He shrugs. “Some of us develop healthier coping mechanisms than others.”
Dana levels him with a look. “Name one.”
“I bought a motorcycle.”
“And then you never wear a fuckin’ helmet, that’s not healthy, Robinovich.”
Robby watches her for a moment before saying calmly, “I think work isn’t the only reason you’re stressed.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He shrugs, taking another sip of his coffee before answering. “Don’t act like we both don’t know what’s hiding in the bottom of your backpack right now.”
Dana freezes before rounding on him, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You going through my stuff now?”
“No,” he says quickly, “I just know you’ve been carrying it around ever since you bought it because you can’t figure out how you’re going to do it.”
Her eyes are still narrowed in suspicion when she sags in defeat. “Is it that obvious?”
“To anyone who knows you? Yeah.” Robby leans in with a smug little smile. “How long has it been now?”
Lips pursing, she sighs. “A week.”
He looks taken aback. “You’ve been carrying an engagement ring around the hospital for a week?”
“Lower your fuckin’ voice,” Dana hisses, looking around to make sure Princess and Perlah aren’t listening in. “I just haven’t had time.”
“You haven’t had time to figure out how you’re going to propose to your girlfriend?”
“Don’t call her that,” she snaps, running a weary hand over her face. “This is a big deal and I just wanna get it right.”
Robby watches her cautiously for a moment before landing a heavy hand on her shoulder. “You know she’s going to say yes, right? You’re overthinking this.”
“I am not.”
“You are.”
Before Dana can continue to argue, someone from the nurse’s station calls her name urgently.
Robby steps aside so she can move past him, but he catches her arm briefly before she goes. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think she’s gonna care where you ask.”
There’s no humor in the laugh Dana gives him in response, and she doesn’t even look at him as she says, “Easy for you to say.” Then she disappears in the direction of the nurse’s station, more stressed than she was before.
Robby is left smirking to himself as he watches her go, and is still in the same spot he’d been standing in when the automatic doors to the ambulance bay slide open, this time with no paramedics rushing in.
Dana doesn’t even notice. She’s halfway across the department, slamming down the red phone to announce the chest pain that’s coming in via ambulance when she looks up and sees you.
You’re stepping through the doors balancing at least three pizza boxes in your arms, with plastic bags hanging from both wrists, and two cardboard drink trays balance precariously on top of the boxes.
Suddenly, you have the attention of the entire department at once.
“Is that food?”
“Please tell me one of those coffees is mine.”
“You’re my favorite person.”
You laugh breathlessly. “If somebody could maybe help me before I drop all of this, that’d be great.”
Langdon appears from nowhere (which brings an immediate scowl to Dana’s face), relieving you of the drink trays, and Mateo is on your left, lifting the pizza boxes from your arms, leaving you with only the bags around your arms.
“Oh my god, are those donuts too?”
“You people work like fifteen-hour shifts, you don’t eat unless somebody makes you,” you laugh. “Trust me, I know the drill. Help me get all of this to the break room.”
You follow Langdon and Mateo, laying it all out on the tables in the lounge and quickly snagging Dana’s coffee from the tray before anyone else digs in. You weave your way out of the room just as the rush of doctors and nurses start heading in past you. Some clap you on the shoulder as they pass, murmuring a sincere “thank you.”
You make your way back to the nurse’s station and slide up beside Dana, sliding the coffee toward her. “This one’s yours.” Medium roast, two sugars, with a splash of oat milk. You don’t have to say it and she doesn’t have to ask, you know how she likes it. “You didn’t have breakfast this morning.”
“It’s been a busy day.”
“Mmm,” you nod in agreement, more placating her than anything. “When is it not?” From your own bag hanging from your shoulder, you pull a small paper bag, folded over on itself. Inside is an everything bagel, toasted, with cream cheese.
Dana suddenly feels disconnected from the rest of the ER. The sounds of footsteps and her coworkers around her fade into the distance, because this - this stupid coffee handoff in the middle of the emergency room feels unbearably intimate and she could kiss you right here if she knew she wouldn’t pay for it later with hospital gossip.
You notice Dana staring off into space and your expression twists into concern. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she says too quickly. But her eyes travel toward the hallway leading to the lockers. She could go get it, right now. Right now would be good.
You tilt your head, trying to get into her line of sight. “Dana?”
The thought arrives to her, sudden and without warning, to ask you. The ring is fifty feet away, she could do it now, in the ER, surrounded by some of the people she’s closest to -
“Shit, I gotta get back.” You’re looking down at your watch, a grimace on your face.
Dana’s heart plummets. “What?”
“I’m already pushing it on my break,” you say apologetically. “I just wanted to make sure you ate something.”
Dana squares her shoulders, irritation blooming in her mind. Not at you, of course, but at her own indecisiveness. “Right now?” she asks.
You’re surprised by the question. Dana isn’t usually one to want you to stick around, she usually does her best to keep you out of her ER. “Yeah?”
Robby is watching the entire interaction with thinly-veiled amusement, like this is the best reality show he’s ever seen. He saw all of it happen in real time, the moment that Dana very clearly decided this could be it.
You reach out, your hand landing on Dana’s arm. “Don’t look at me like that,” you say with a smile. “I’ll see you tonight when you get home, alright?” You lean in and kiss her cheek quickly, acutely aware of how much Dana is not fond of PDA.
She opens her mouth and it almost looks like she’s going to argue with you for a moment, but in the end, nothing comes out. If she asks you to wait, you’ll know something’s up, and if she runs to her locker for the ring, you’ll definitely know something is happening. So instead, she just watches as you back out of the department, waving goodbye to the rest of the staff while several people yell thank-yous after you.
That was it. The moment had been right there, and she let it slip through her hands.
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The next attempt is made four days later.
The apartment is low-lit and warm, with music playing from the Bluetooth speaker connected to your phone in the kitchen, where you’re posted up, making dinner. You’d seen Dana’s location begin to move from the hospital about twenty minutes ago and started food right away, knowing she’d be both tired and hungry when she got home.
And you’re right.
On the other side of your apartment door, standing in the hallway that leads to your apartment, Dana stands on the other side of the door with her key in her hand, heart racing and mind moving a million miles per hour.
Because tonight, she’s going to ask. No more waiting for a perfect moment, or rehearsing in her head until she talks herself out of it. And no more carrying around this stupid ring, it’s just begging to be stolen. She’s just going to do it and get it done.
She unlocks the door and steps into the apartment.
“Hey,” she calls out into the apartment as she drops her bag on the floor in the entryway.
“In here,” she hears you call from the kitchen.
Dana walks further in, rolling her shoulders out of her jacket as she goes, hanging it on the coatrack behind the door. And as she rounds the corner into the kitchen, she sees you.
You’re wearing only a sports bra and pajama pants that sit dangerously low on your hips, your body is so soft that it should be illegal at the end of a day like the one she’s had. Barefoot, unbothered and relaxed in a way Dana could only dream of being right now. You’re stirring whatever’s in that pot on the stove with one hand, scrolling through your phone with the other.
Dana stops in the doorway, completely forgetting what she came home with the intention of doing.
You look over your shoulder at the sound of her footsteps shuffling in. “You look like you got hit by a truck,” you tease.
“I feel like I got hit by a truck,” she says flatly. “Whatcha making?” She cranes her head to get a look at the pot.
“Pasta,” you say, the tiniest bit of tension lacing your voice at what you know is to come.
Dana pauses. “…you break the noodles again?”
“They don’t fit in the pot otherwise!” you whine, childlike, waving around the spoon you were using to stir. “Besides, you’ll eat it anyways.”
“I’ll eat it anyways,” she repeats with a laugh.
She saddles up next to you, one hand reaching out and settling on your back against your bare skin, and you unconsciously lean back against the warmth of her palm. Dana doesn’t usually dawdle after work, she almost always disappears to shower right away, which is your first clue that something is off.
“Bad shift?” you ask, glancing over your shoulder at her.
“Long shift,” she corrects with a sigh.
You nod, understanding the difference without asking for details, because you know she won’t want to give them when she’s tired like this. “Go. Shower. Food will be almost ready when you’re done.”
Dana nods, even though she doesn’t want to go shower. If she leaves this room right now, she might lose her nerve, and then who knows if she’ll find it again? Nevertheless, the ick at the thought of staying in her scrubs for much longer wins out, and she disappears into the master bath for the fastest shower she’s ever taken.
She makes it back in record time, not quite feeling as refreshed as she usually would after a post-shift shower, but better than still smelling like sick people.
You don’t even have to turn around to know she’s returned. “I got that sauce you like, the one with the -”
“Sun-dried tomatoes,” Dana says, finishing the sentence for you.
“Yeah, that one, I remembered this time!”
You don’t see the fond smile that crosses Dana’s face as she stares at your back. “Of course you did.” You don’t even hear the weight in it. You’re already hustling around the kitchen, plating both her food and your own.
This is it, she thinks. The exact moment, when there’s no interruption, just the two of you in the kitchen, in soft clothes.
Dana takes a deep breath. “I was thinking -”
You cut her off with a yawn.
Well, you don’t cut her off, not in the rude way that interrupting would. But you yawn and it stops her in her tracks as you stretch your limbs and roll your shoulders.
“Sorry,” you say quickly, blinking it away. “I just can’t shake the tired today.”
The words stall in Dana’s throat and she curses internally as the moment fades away.
You move past it like it’s nothing, because you don’t know that it’s not nothing for her. “Okay, we need to eat, like, right now, because I need to sit down before I fall asleep standing up.”
“…alright.”
You pause, glancing over at her. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
But you’re looking at her like you always do when you know she’s not telling the whole truth, a scrutinizing, questioning look on your face. But instead of pushing her for the truth, you kiss her cheek as you pass with both plates full of pasta in your hands and head toward the living room.
“Good,” you say, “because I missed you today.” You set the plates down on the coffee table, clearly already having decided that tonight was the night to forego the formality of your dining room table and instead eating on the couch.
Dana joins you a second later, settling into the spot next to you as you talk. You talk about your coworker, you talk about the traffic on your way home from work. The mindless topics that couples talk about after they’ve been together for so long that there are no more big topics left.
And yet, you’re the one talking.
Now don’t get you wrong, that isn’t uncommon at all. Most days, Dana comes home too exhausted to keep up conversation, and frankly, she’s tired of talking at other people. It’s nice to come home and listen to the pleasant tone of your voice as you tell her about anything and everything that crosses your mind. She usually even asks you to keep talking when you stop, when you’re worried about talking too much.
But you can see that something’s on your partner’s mind. Dana doesn’t usually wear her emotions on her face, except for those moments when she’s too tired to hide them, and that’s where you find yourself now.
You move a little on the cushion, angling yourself towards her. “What?”
Dana blinks like she’s coming back to the conversation, like she had forgotten you could see her. “Nothing.”
You laugh, because that’s the least nothing “nothing” ever. “Dana.”
She sighs, pursing her lips. “You ever think,” she starts thoughtfully, “that maybe people make too big a deal out of things?”
You raise an eyebrow. “That’s vague.”
Dana smiles, looking down at her bowl. “Yeah, well…” The ring is still in her bag, but she could go get it. Or she could ask and then go get it. No, no, she needs it first, she can’t ask without presenting you with a ring.
You wait patiently for her to continue without pushing.
Dana swallows, trying to find the words. “I just mean…sometimes people spend so much time trying to make a moment perfect that they end up missing it entirely.” She laughs shortly, moreso at herself.
Maybe this is it. Maybe she doesn’t need the speech she practiced in the car a few days ago, maybe she doesn’t need candles or reservations, maybe she just -
You yawn again beside her, sleepily enough that your head tips toward her shoulder afterward. “Sorry,” you mumble. “Keep going.”
Dana’s face melts into a smile. “You’re falling asleep,” she says, nudging you with her elbow.
“I’m listening,” you insist, but it’s weak.
She looks down at the top of your head for a moment before choosing to go on. “I’ve been thinking that lately that maybe there are some things I don’t say enough.”
“Mhm.”
Dana’s thumb brushes against your arm as she reaches to touch your skin. “I think maybe…” she starts again, but the sentence trails off. Not because she’s lost courage, but because she feels your weight heavier against her side.
When she glances down, even leaning forward to look at you, she finds that your eyes have closed and your breathing has evened out completely.
Her expression twists in disbelief. “Seriously?”
You do not respond. You can’t, because you’re fast asleep, still with a nearly-full bowl of pasta in your lap.
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For once, the emergency department is quiet.
Multiple people would slap Dana if they even knew she was thinking the q-word, but she can’t help it. There’s no way it isn’t on everybody’s mind. Chairs is under control for once, nobody’s bleeding in triage, and nobody in the entire department is actively dying. It feels unnatural.
Dana leans back in her chair in the nurse’s station while rough-drafting next month’s nurse rotation schedule because for once it’s calm enough in here that she doesn’t have to do it at home.
Robby slides up beside her, leaning against the desk and glancing around the department suspiciously. “I don’t trust this.”
Dana doesn’t look up, adjusting her reading glasses. “Neither do I.”
“It’s too calm.”
“Well, because you said that, it won’t be for long.”
“Maybe everybody in the city decided to stop making bad decisions all at once,” he jokes.
Dana tsks and the slight shift in her posture causes the weight in her scrub pants pocket to shift. Her hand reaches down to steady it automatically before she can even think about it.
The movement doesn’t go unnoticed by Robby. “What is that?” he asks slowly.
“Don’t,” Dana warns, her eyes never leaving the schedule.
“Are you carrying it with you right now?”
“I always carry it.”
“No,” Robby corrects, sitting up straighter. “Usually you carry it in your backpack, today you’re carrying it in your pocket.”
Dana finally glances up at him, pulling her reading glasses off her face and lifting an eyebrow.
Robby’s face breaks out into a smile. “Oh my god,” he says. “You’re actually gonna do it.”
Looking back down at the schedule in front of her, Dana can’t help the smug smile that begins to make it’s way across her face, giving her away instantly. “Tonight,” she confirms. “I’ve decided, I’m done overthinking it. I just need to do it.”
“That’s very grown up of you,” Robby says, clapping a hand on her shoulder.
“Don’t ruin this for me.”
The red phone rings and Robby, closest to it, picks it up without hesitation. He listens for a moment before hanging up. “EMS incoming, allergic reaction with epi administered in the field. Three minutes out.” He pushes up off the desk with a stretch. “Nothing good ever lasts.”
Despite Robby’s comments, allergic reactions aren’t usually complicated once epi’s been administered, especially if done quickly. While epi-pens are handy, they only delay issues, and most allergic reactions are standard aftermath procedure rather than acute emergency.
The paramedics are wheeling a stretcher inside the bay doors quickly, though nobody is running, the lack of urgency confirming that this is most likely aftermath.
“Shellfish exposure at her workplace,” one of them is saying. “Patient self-administered epi-pen approximately eight minutes prior to arrival. Airway remained open throughout transport but hives have been worsening -”
Dana freezes, recognizing the jacket on the stretcher. Because she hates that jacket, she only ever keeps her mouth shut about it because she knows that specific shade of golden yellow is your favorite -
Everything else in the ER fades into white noise as Dana catches sight of you sitting upright on the stretcher. Your skin is flushed, with blotchy hives climbing up your neck, and you look terrified as your eyes scan the inside of the ER, looking for her.
Dana is at the side of your stretcher in an instant. “What happened?”
One of the paramedics starts to answer, telling her your vitals, about your airway, but she waves him off with a hand in his face, looking at you expectantly.
“Mandy brought food in,” you rasp. “There was shrimp in one of the dishes, she forgot I was allergic and I didn’t ask.”
“How much did you eat?” she demands.
“Not a lot.”
Dana is silent for a moment as she assesses you. “Get her into North-3, I want another set of vitals and respiratory on standby.”
The paramedics obediently move you into said room, Dana beside the stretcher the entire way. She helps with the transfer, despite your insistence that you can move yourself from the stretcher to the bed without help.
You’re stable, that’s the important part. Your oxygen levels are good, your blood pressure is recovering, the swelling never even fully compromised your airway. The second dose of antihistamines is already making the hives fade from the angry red to a just slightly pissed-off shade of dark pink.
Logically, Dana knows all of this. But emotionally, she’s one tight breath away from ripping apart your coworker with her bare hands.
“You need to stop glaring at her monitor,” Robby says from beside her.
Dana doesn’t look away from your room. “I’m not glaring.”
“Are too.”
Through the glass, you’re sitting upright in the hospital bed, blanket pulled over your legs while you scroll absently on your phone. You look exhausted, and you’re still flushed.
“She’s okay,” Robby adds.
“I know.”
That doesn’t stop her from drifting towards North-3 every few minutes, checking on you. Just in case.
Once, while she’s watching you from her normal spot inside the nurse’s station, you look up and catch her eye through the window and smile brightly at her, like you aren’t sitting in a hospital bed after being brought in by ambulance. Like this is normal and fine.
And there it is again: that unbearable warmth in her chest every time you smile at her - no, every time you look at her. The ring box presses against her thigh from inside her pants pocket again. Tonight, that little voice in the back of her mind whispers.
She looks at you again, at the hives scattered across your neck, at the hospital gown and the bracelets around your wrists: the hospital details, the red allergy warning, and the yellow Fall Risk one sitting just above the red.
Absolutely not, you would kill her.
If Dana proposed to you while you were sitting in an ER bed covered in hives, you would never let her live it down.
Of course this would happen today.
“I’m starting to think the universe might have it out for you.” It’s meant to be empathetic, but all Robby’s really doing right now is pissing her off.
“I’m glad my suffering is entertaining for you.”
“No, no,” Robby says, trying to hold the smile off his face. “I’m just imagining you trying to propose while she’s hooked up to a pulse ox. You know she’d still say yes, so why are you making such a big deal of this?”
“That’s not the point.”
No, it isn’t. Dana doesn’t want you to say yes out of fear or adrenaline, and certainly not just because you’re relieved you aren’t dead. She wants you laughing in your kitchen, or warm in your shared bed, it doesn’t matter as long as you’re safe. She wants the moment to just belong to the two of you and apparently the universe keeps taking that personally.
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Three weeks pass before Dana tries again.
Three weeks of the ring sitting in the bottom of her backpack to make sure that you don’t come across it accidentally. And it’s not because she’s changed her mind, definitely not, but rather because apparently every time she decided to propose, the universe responded by waging war. Either on your life or her psyche.
Dana calls it “pattern recognition.”
Robby calls it “avoidance.”
“You do know that your girlfriend surviving an allergic reaction is not a sign from the universe, right?” he’d said at one point, when she told him she was taking a break from the pressure she’d been putting on herself.
“Don’t call her that.”
And now somehow, despite all of that, Dana is standing in your shared bedroom buttoning the cuffs of the black blazer she’s wearing over her dress tonight with hands that are just a little too shaky, while trying very hard not to think too much about the velvet box hidden inside the pocket of this very jacket.
Tonight. Again. For real this time.
You appear in the bedroom doorway halfway through Dana wrestling with the cufflinks. She should’ve been smart enough to do this without putting the jacket on first.
Dana looks up briefly from her cuffs to you and does a double take, stopping her wrestling with the jacket to stare.
You don soft blue satin, with sleeves low enough on your shoulders that the sight of your collarbone almost causes Dana to forget her own name. Your hair is half pinned back, with just the tiniest bit of makeup on.
Beautiful.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” you ask with narrowed eyes.
Dana recovers quickly. “You look nice, am I not allowed to look at my own partner?”
Your laughter fills the room as you step further inside the bedroom, reaching out to help Dana finish buttoning her cuffs. “You look good too.”
Dana looks down at the dress that had been your idea. Black with long sleeves, not overly formal, but short enough that she had to wear opaque tights with it in case she happened to be on one knee at any point this evening. She didn’t really feel like flashing the entire restaurant. She lets you fix the collar of the jacket, your fingers smoothing along the base of her throat.
“Are you nervous?” you ask casually.
Dana almost chokes on her own spit. “What?”
“You’re doing that thing with your jaw,” you say, gesturing toward her mouth. “You grind your teeth when you’re stressed, I can see you clenching.”
She forces herself to unclench immediately, and you grin like you caught her doing something embarrassing.
You giggle at the look on her face before leaning in to kiss her. “We’re just going to dinner,” you mumble against her mouth.
Well, for you it’s just dinner. For Dana, this evening feels balanced on the edge of changing the rest of her life. Luckily for her, you pull back before she can spiral too hard.
“Ready?”
The restaurant is perfect for the occasion, the one you don’t even know about. It’s got low lighting and real candles on the tables and live piano music from somewhere in the restaurant. It’s the kind of place where the menus don’t list prices because if you have to ask, you probably can’t afford it. The kind of place where people get engaged.
You love it. It’s like a romance movie.
“Dana,” you whisper as the hostess leads you to a table, “this place is insane.”
Dana nods with a smug smile that doesn’t at all give away the fact that she spent two weeks trying to get this reservation. When you reach your table, she pulls your chair out for you before you can even reach for it yourself.
You grin up at her after taking your seat. “You’re being weirdly gentlemanly tonight.”
The waiter appears almost immediately with water, menus, and a bottle of wine that Dana doesn’t remember ordering but apparently selected during the online reservation process.
Everything is perfect. The restaurant is beautiful, you look incredible, the ring is in the pocket of the jacket that hangs on the back of her chair. Everything is lined up exactly the way she planned it, but somehow, Dana feels less prepared than ever.
Casual conversation, you’ll have dinner, and then the proposal around dessert. It’s easy.
Except the waiter interrupts twice while Dana’s trying to ask you about your day, and then your order comes out totally wrong, and the couple beside you is having what sounds like the final argument before a divorce.
When your food finally comes out (correctly this time), you’re studying Dana over the rim of your wine glass as you take a sip before finally deciding to say something. “Okay.”
“Okay what?”
“You’re being really weird tonight, what is up with you?”
Dana’s hands twitch toward her jacket pocket before she can stop herself, like she didn’t even mean to. You don’t seem to notice, or if you do, you don’t say anything about it.
“Are you okay?”
She hates how much she wants to answer that question honestly. Because the truth is that she’s terrified. Not that you’ll say no, she knows you’re going to say yes. But that somehow, she’ll fail to explain what this means to her. That the words she has won’t feel big enough, and that this moment, as planned and rehearsed as it is, still won’t hold the enormity of how much she loves you.
“I’m okay.”
You don’t look convinced.
But before either of you can continue, the waiter reappears carrying another tray, and everything goes wrong at once.
It happens very fast. There’s an apology as someone bumps into the waiter, a metal tray slipping from a flat hand, and the tilt of a wine glass, and suddenly red wine spills directly down your front. Pale blue, now complimented by a deep red.
Every table around you freezes. Even the couple at the table next to you pause their argument to watch.
“Oh my god,” the waiter breathes, horrified.
Dana’s eyes go wide.
And you burst out laughing. Not polite or embarrassed laughter, but full belly laughter as you stare down the front of your clothes.
“Well,” you say as soon as you can get a breath in, wiping your eyes to avoid your mascara running down your face. “At least nobody can accuse this place of having small pours.”
The waiter looks like he’s literally about to die from embarrassment.
Dana stares at you, taking in the wine dripping down your dress and the candlelight catching your genuine smile and the way you’re trying to reassure the waiter instead of getting upset. And her shoulders slump as she relaxes for the first time all day. The perfection is ruined.
Thank god.
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You escape from the restaurant almost immediately. Mostly because the moment the initial shock wears off, your embarrassment catches up to you all at once and you both agree it’s time to get out of there.
So the waitstaff boxes up your food and you decline the free dessert, but you do accept the restaurant’s horrified offer of a discount, getting 40% off the food you’re definitely going to go eat at home on your couch.
You make it home in record time, Dana driving like a bat out of hell so that you don’t have to sit in wet clothes longer than necessary. But even as you pull into the apartment parking lot, you’re both laughing, and Dana realizes something important: that this, you rambling beside her in ruined clothes while takeout cools in the back seat of the car, feels way better to her than the version of the night she worked so hard to plan.
As soon as you’re back in the comfort of your own apartment, you disappear into the bedroom, and you strip out of your ruined clothes while bundling them in your arms. Dana slips into the kitchen to get your food out of the boxes and onto plates, and she lays her jacket across the island to hang up later. The ring box is still tucked safely inside the pocket, waiting.
“Babe? Is this shirt yours or mine?”
Dana looks toward the hallway, but you don’t appear. “Depends, are you gonna give it back if you put it on?”
“…no.”
“Then it’s yours.”
“Great, thanks!”
Dana smiles to herself as she plates both your food and her own, and it still looks just as good as it did in the restaurant.
You emerge a minute later wearing one of Dana’s oversized t-shirts and a pair of pajama shorts so short that wearing them in public would be a hazard. Your hair is messy where you’d slipped your old clothes off without worrying about fixing it.
Dana looks up and catches sight of you, and there it is again, that feeling, and suddenly she isn’t listening to you anymore, she has no idea if you’re even talking. Everything has gone very quiet inside her.
You notice. You notice everything about her. “Hey, are you okay?”
She takes a deep breath, closing her eyes. “I was going to wait for something else.”
The fork is halfway to your mouth when you pause. “Wait for what?” you prompt.
“I thought…I kept thinking if I didn’t do it perfectly…then it wouldn’t mean enough.” She sighs again, opening her eyes to look at you. “But that’s not how you and I work.”
You put your fork down. “You’re not making any sense right now -”
“You take care of me.”
You blink at the sudden interruption, so out of left field. “I mean, yeah, you do the same for me.”
“No,” Dana says, shaking her head. “You bring me food when I forget to eat, you wait up when I’m late even though you’re tired. And you don’t just do it when it’s easy, you do it when it’s scary. When I’m not…the easiest to be around. When I shut down or get in my head or pretend I’m fine when I’m not.”
You open your mouth to respond, but Dana shakes her head again. “Let me finish.”
She takes another breath, still shaky. “I’ve been thinking about this for a long time now, since I took some time off last year,” she admits. “About how you’ve shown up for me in every part of my life I didn’t think anyone would want to stick around for.”
She doesn’t have to say it out loud: you know how much it hurt her when Benji told her he couldn’t continue to watch her burn herself out at the hospital anymore, that it was him or her career.
“I’ve been trying to do this for weeks,” she says. “And I realized tonight that there’s just never gonna be a perfect moment. There’s always gonna be something that interrupts us, or messes things up, or ruins the mood.”
Dana lifts her jacket from the island and digs into the pocket, and this time she doesn’t hesitate as she places the box on the island between the two of you. There are no candles or fancy restaurant, no onlookers there to witness. Just the two of you in a kitchen that smells like takeout.
“I’m not going to ask you a question.”
That makes you pause, and you eye her cautiously as you wait for her to continue.
“Because I already know the answer,” she continues. “I want to spend my life with you, and I’m hoping you want that with me too.”
For a long minute, you just stare at her, and she returns the eye contact expectantly. Your breath catches once, then again almost immediately.
“Oh my -” you start, but your voice breaks halfway through and you take a frustrated breath to try and steady yourself.
Dana’s eyebrows lift. “Hey.” That’s all she says, like it’s her version of “it’s okay.”
Your eyes flick down to the box on the counter and then back to her, then back to the box again. “You -” you try again, but this time your voice actually cracks. “Oh my god.”
Her expression twists into concern. “Hey. Hey, it’s okay, don’t cry.”
But you’re already shaking your head, tears stinging at your waterline, laughing at your own absurdity. “No, I just -” you try to swallow the lump in your throat. “I can’t believe you waited until I changed into pajamas.”
That catches Dana off-guard. “What?”
You gesture down at yourself, like it’s obvious. “I was in nice clothes. Ones you made me put on, ones that survived wine. And you let me change into this ratty shirt and -” your voice pitches up a little, incredulous even through tears, “-this is when you decide to do it?”
Dana stares at you, her own eyes wide. “…that’s your takeaway from this?”
You laugh again but it’s wet now, and you’re made completely a mess. “You are unbelievable,” you say as you step toward her, your hands coming up to her face. “I love you so much.”
And this time, when she leans in and kisses you, it doesn’t feel like interruption or timing or luck or anything else that tried to get in the way before. It’s just right.
Summary: After Dana comes home with a black eye and bloody nose, you beg her to stay home for her own safety. To your surprise, she agrees.
CW: hurt/comfort, domestic fluff, emotional and physical caretaking, non-sexual intimacy, smut, explicit sexual content, fingering (r!receiving), strap-on use (r!receiving), readers age is undescribed so you can imagine age gap or not
WC: 7.6k
A/N: The poll-winner is here! Hope you like it!
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You leave the entryway light on.
It’s been on for hours, a little amber square above the entrance to your luxury apartment, because you knew she would be late. The news had cut into your afternoon game show with the alert: a shooting at PittFest, multiple casualties and absolute chaos downtown. You’d stared at the screen with your phone in your hand, though you didn’t bother to call or even text. She never answers during her shifts because she can’t, and if she could, it would mean something is wrong.
So you cooked dinner, cleaned up the apartment, and waited for her.
Your partner works in an ER. Late comes with the territory more often than not.
It’s partner, by the way, not girlfriend. She makes that very clear, she’d shut it down years ago, citing she was not, in her words, “a fuckin’ teenager, for Christ’s sake.” Partner was the only word you both agreed on.
Dinner is long cold by the time you portion it onto a plate and slide it into the fridge, covering it with foil and doing your best not to feel abandoned. You turned the stove light on because you can’t stand overhead lighting when it starts to get dark outside. And then you hovered around the apartment for the rest of the evening with the windows open, listening for sirens, or for footsteps out in the hall, or for the little thunk the elevator leaves when it stops on your floor.
The end of her shift comes and goes without a word.
By the time you hear the key in the lock turn, you’re relieved instead of upset.
“Dana?” you call, standing from the couch. “I made dinner, it’s in the fridge. I can heat it up if you want.”
The door shuts and there’s no answer.
You frown, pausing halfway between the couch and the kitchen. Usually she calls back immediately, a version of “Hey, baby,” or a comment about the shitty hospital food she had for lunch. Especially when she comes home to a cooked meal. Instead, there’s just movement, you can vaguely make out the scuff of shoes on the entryway tile.
“Dana?”
Still nothing.
You pivot, rounding the corner toward the entry way, and stop dead in your tracks.
She’s standing just inside the apartment, her bag still slung over her shoulder and her coat unzipped. Her hair is still half-up in her favorite claw clip, though it’s a mess. Not a surprise after a day like today.
But her face?
“Holy shit,” you gasp, moving toward her quickly.
Her left eye is swollen and bruised; skin dark down to her cheekbone. The bridge of her nose is mottled blue with faint purpling already beneath it. There’s dried blood just under one of her nostrils like she forgot to wipe it away.
“Dana, what the hell -” Your hands come up and cup her face carefully, afraid of hurting her but also unable to stop yourself from touching her. Her skin is cold, really cold. “Oh my god, what happened? Who did this to you?”
She recoils with a hiss when your thumbs brush too close to her nose, her eyes squeezing shut for a second.
“I’m fine,” she mutters, but her voice is rough from exhaustion. “Just - just long a shift.”
“Fine?” your voice jumps an octave with panic. “You have a black eye, Dana, you’re - you’re -” You swallow hard. Up close you can see just how uncomfortable she looks, her jaw is clenched, from pain you assume, and her expression is worn out. “You’re hurt.”
“I said I’m fine,” she snaps. The same tone she probably uses on combative patients, but never with you. “It’s nothing.”
It is very much not nothing.
“Dana,” you say softly, refusing to let go of her face, even as she slides the backpack from her shoulders. “Talk to me, please.”
She doesn’t respond at first, but she doesn’t pull away either. She just stands there in your hands as she sheds her coat and you watch the fight drain from her eyes.
“Angry patient took a swing,” she says quietly. “He caught me off-guard while I was having a smoke.”
“I’ll kill him.”
She huffs, a weak attempt at a laugh. “Get in line.”
You falter a little at that. You know the hospital would be dealing with it, they have security and cameras, and you’re sure Dr. Robinovich has already made a bigger deal out of this than Dana wants.
“Come here,” you murmur, guiding her further into the apartment. “Let’s sit down, shoes off.”
She tries to pull from your grip. “I can’ -”
“No,” you cut in. “I’ll bet my last dollar this didn’t happen at the end of your shift, which means you worked through it. It’s time to relax.”
She’s silent as she lets you steer her toward the couch. She lets you keep a hand on her the whole way, and you’re not sure if it’s for her or for you. And when she sinks down onto the couch cushions, her eyes flutter shut again and she almost looks relieved.
You kneel in front of her and settle your hands on her knees. “Stay right here,” you say. “I’m getting ice. And water. And - and something for the pain. Don’t move, okay?”
You hear her chuckle and are surprised to see a small but genuine smile on her face. “My own personal nurse,” she murmurs, looking down at you.
You hurry into the kitchen before she can change her mind. Ice clatters together in a ziplock baggy, your hands clumsy with adrenaline. You get her a glass of water and the entire ibuprofen bottle from the cabinet. She doesn’t even move, still exactly where you left her when you return. Slumped into the couch like someone who’s run out of fuel.
“Ice pack delivery,” you say softly.
Her eyes crack open and track the items in your hands, then your face. You gently press the bundled ice to her swollen face and she inhales quickly as she hisses through her teeth.
“Sorry, sorry,” you whisper, pulling back a little.
“No, it’s -” She steadies the ice pack on her face herself. “It’s good, it’s just cold.”
Your other hand balances the water in your palm and the pill bottle in the crook of your arm. “Here, water. And ibuprofen.”
She takes the pills without argument, which makes you much more nervous than if she’d fought you. Dana doesn’t surrender control easily or often, especially not over her own body.
The bruising is bad. You catch sight of it again as she lowers her hands to take the water from you. It makes you both sick and angry, and you want to press for details, but you don’t.
“Do you want me to heat up your dinner?” you ask, pivoting topics. “It’s still good, promise.”
Her stomach betrays her with a growl. “…yeah,” she admits. “I’m starving.”
Relief wells in your chest. It isn’t often you get compliant Dana, and you’re grateful for it tonight. “Okay, good. Sit tight. I’ll be right back.”
“Bossy,” she mutters, but there’s no real heat behind it.
You hover while she eats. With her plate balanced carefully on her lap, the ice pack resting against her face in between bites, she moves very slowly. You keep refilling her water before she can ask, adjusting her napkin, nudging her fork back onto the plate anytime it threatens to fall off. Your knee bounces with nervous energy that you can’t burn off. Every time she winces it causes your heart to lurch.
“You know,” she eventually says through a mouthful of food, “most adults manage to feed themselves without supervision.”
It’s a joke, but you don’t smile. “You got punched in the face.”
“It’s an occupational hazard.”
“Dana.”
She sighs, poking at the remaining food on her plate. “I’m a big girl,” she says. “You don’t have to coddle me.”
But she doesn’t push you away or stop you when you steady the plate when she shifts uncomfortably in her seat.
You practically have to force yourself not to touch her for a whole five seconds as you lean back away from her. “Okay,” you say. “Not coddling.”
She glances at you over the rim of her water glass as she takes a sip. “Mhm.”
When she eventually finishes her food, you take her plate before she can even sit up, let alone stand. You set the plate in the sink and come back immediately, perching on the coffee table in front of her. She’s leaned against the back of the couch, head tilted up and eyes closed again.
“Dana.”
She hums in acknowledgement but doesn’t open her eyes.
“…don’t go back,” you whisper.
Her eyes open slowly.
“To the hospital,” you continue, your voice trembling now that the request is out there. “Please, you’re not safe there.” You swallow hard, trying to keep your plea even. “You’re running yourself into the ground for that place, I can’t -” You stop, unable to finish the thought. I can’t watch you get hurt again. I can’t lose you. You’re being dramatic, you know, but seeing here like this makes it too real.
For a really long moment, she just looks at you. Then she lets out a quiet laugh that sounds brittle. “Relax,” she says. “I’m done.”
You blink in surprise. “Done?”
She nods. “Done. Thirty years, and I’m done. And this, tonight…” she waves her hands up toward her face, toward the bruising that’s still not even fully there yet. “…this was the last straw.”
“Dana -”
“I brought my stuff home.”
She nods toward the backpack she left in the entryway. Slowly, she slides off the couch and retrieves it, and then dumps it on the coffee table next to you: out falls her stethoscope, a few pens in her favorite cup, and the photos you know she keeps taped to the Charge Nurse computer.
You don’t know what to say. You weren’t actually expecting her to agree to not go back, this must be weighing on her a lot heavier than she’s letting on. This is real, she’s really not going back.
“…okay,” you whisper. It’s not actually okay, none of this is okay, but you’re relieved. You reach out and take her hand, the one not still clutching the backpack, and brush your thumb over the back of it.
The rest of the evening passes slowly. With Dana not going to the hospital tomorrow, and you sure as hell not going to work while your partner is like this, there’s no reason to get up early, so you allow the late evening to blur into night without rushing to bed.
You clear the coffee table, moving quietly so you don’t jostle the couch where Dana still sits with her eyes closed. She insists she’s awake, but the exhaustion is evident even in her voice and she isn’t fooling you when her head begins to tilt forward.
By the time everything is cleaned up, she’s already shaking her limbs as she stands, trying to physically rid herself of sleepiness.
The shower is her idea.
“I’m not broken, kid,” she says when you hesitate in the bathroom doorway with your arms folded across your chest. “You can get in here with me.”
You don’t bother to deny her. Dana can have whatever she wants tonight.
The shower is both long and gentle. She lets you wash her hair, either because she’s tired or because she doesn’t feel like fighting anymore.
Back in the bedroom, you both get ready for bed in a silence that doesn’t feel awkward, but is certainly tense. At least, it feels that way for you. You keep glancing at her when you think she’s not looking, taking in the bruising, the way her mouth is permanently turned down into a subtle frown, the complete opposite of the Dana you’re used to.
The bed dips when she climbs in next to you, settling on her side facing the wall. Her body is stiff even now in the comfort of her own bed. You switch off the lamp and lay beside her, trying to give her space, if her earlier annoyance over your hovering was any indicator of how the rest of this evening will go.
But to your surprise, she moves. The tiniest little backwards scoot in your direction, an invitation so rare that you might’ve imagined it.
Dana Evans is not the little spoon. You can count on one hand the number of times it’s happened over the years you’ve been together. Dana is in charge, Dana is the caretaker, Dana is the big spoon.
That doesn’t stop you from wrapping your arm over her, settling across her waist gently. Then you hear her sigh, see her body melt into the mattress beneath you, settling backwards until her back rests fully against your front.
Her hand finds your wrist and pulls it closer, anchoring it to her ribs just under her breasts. Even as her breathing evens out and she drifts off to sleep, her fingers loosen but she never actually lets go of you completely.
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Week 1
Dana sleeps.
Not the half-asleep dozing she’s always done between shifts, the kind that never actually let her get through a full REM cycle; but instead a deep, heavy sleep that has her completely unresponsive all night. She sleeps through alarms she hasn’t turned off yet, she doesn’t toss or turn, she sleeps through sunlight peeking through the windows and the noise of the late-morning traffic outside your apartment. And when she wakes up, she’s disoriented like she doesn’t know where she is or why she isn’t at work already.
You take those first few days off, of course. A quick email to your boss with a vague explanation, no details. There’s no change you’re leaving her alone right now, not when she’s in a vulnerable state like this.
Most mornings she goes from the bed to the couch with your blanket wrapped around her shoulders and her hair wet from a shower or sticking up with frizz when she skips one. The bruises on her face deepen to an almost black before leaking into a sickly yellow. She eats whatever you put in front of her and her appetite is unpredictable, like her body still thinks it’s at the hospital and can’t spare the time to eat, only to be ravenous later.
By the third day, she’s hovering in the kitchen while you cook, leaning against the counter with her arms folded because she’s supervising you more than she’s actually helping.
“Smells good,” she says, her voice still a bit rough from her afternoon nap.
Eventually, though, she reaches for a knife to start chopping vegetables at a speed that would’ve made her coworkers laugh - Charge Nurse Dana, notorious speed demon, reduced to veggie slicing like she’s teaching a cooking class for beginners. To her credit, you’re the cook in the relationship, your boring 9 to 5 giving you more free time than she’s ever had.
Later in the week, people start checking in.
They text first, brief check-ins that you assume medical professionals do when they’re worried. Sometimes calls that she mostly ignores and voicemails she listens to on speaker while she stares at the ceiling for so long that you can almost see the war inside her.
You know she misses it, even if she doesn’t say it.
Then, inevitably, someone shows up.
You’re cubing chicken for the crockpot when the knock comes on your apartment door. Dana checks the peephole and you hear her call out that it’s Robby.
She opens the door to find him holding a paper bag from a takeout place two blocks away, the smell of greasy comfort food spilling into your entryway.
“Jesus,” he says as he takes in the swelling that’s just now starting to go down under her left eye.
Dana shrugs casually. “You should see the other guy.”
He doesn’t laugh, but his mouth does twitch. “I brought lunch,” he says as he holds up the bag like it’s proof of his usefulness. You all know it’s an excuse.
“Bribery works,” she replies. “She’s in there makin’ food, though.” You can practically hear her nodding toward you even though you can’t see them from the kitchen.
“It’s fine, this is for dinner anyways!” you call out to them.
You stay in the kitchen long past necessary, trying to give them the privacy you’re sure they need. But their voices drift in anyway.
“…shouldn’t have happened at all,” Robby is saying angrily. “Security still wants you to press charges. Administration is freaking out.”
Dana laughs, but it’s the same, ingenuine laugh you’ve heard all week. “Good, maybe they’ll fix something for once.”
There’s a pause where you can’t hear anything before Robby speaks again.
“You look like hell.”
“Feel worse.”
You grip the edge of the kitchen counter as you try to force yourself not to listen harder.
“…you serious about this?”
You know what he’s asking, and it causes your heart to beat rapidly.
When Dana doesn’t answer immediately, you imagine her staring at the floor, or maybe the wall absently. She always avoids eye contact with uncomfortable subjects, and this is one of them.
“Yeah.” There’s silence from both of them for a moment before she adds, “I meant what I said. I’m done.”
You let out a heavy sigh, careful not to be too loud. You keep your back turned to the entrance to the living room even as the tension unwinds from your body at her admission to someone other than you that she isn’t going back to that place.
Robby also exhales, like he’s been holding that breath since he walked in, the real reason he came. “Thirty years is a long time,” he says.
“Exactly.”
“You don’t have to decide right now, you can just…take some time, you know?”
You finally peek out into the living room, quickly so they don’t see you. Robby is leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, like he’s seeing her for the first time – this strange version of Dana Evans who isn’t in scrubs, who isn’t a Charge Nurse, who isn’t holding people together by sheer force of will because she’s too busy holding herself together instead.
“And if you change your mind?” he urges.
Dana shrugs casually. “Then I change my mind.”
“But not today.”
“No,” she says, shaking her head. “Not today.”
Robby nods slowly, accepting it even if he doesn’t like it. He reaches out and squeezes her shoulder. “Well,” he says, forcing a lighter tone. PTMC will survive without you. Probably.”
“Barely,” she replies dryly.
They share a small, tired smile.
You step into the living room then, handing over paper plates for the takeout Robby’s brought and pretending you didn’t hear the conversation. Dana glances up at you as she thanks you.
Later, after Robby leaves and the apartment settles back into the quiet of the afternoon, you notice her backpack is still where she always leaves it in the entryway, and you make the decision to put it away. It’s only in the hall closet, three feet from where it sat before, but those three feet make all the difference. It’s out of sight and mind, gone from your view because she’s not going to pack it up and take it to work tomorrow, and putting it away makes it not feel like a ticking clock on your sanity.
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Week 2
The second week brings energy.
On the second morning of the second week, you wake up to an empty bed and have a moment of panic before you hear the sound of cabinets open in the kitchen, followed by the clatter of a mug that’s been set down too hard on the kitchen counter.
You find Dana standing at the counter in clothes instead of pajamas, hair damp from a shower, with coffee in hand.
“Good morning,” she says casually, as if she hasn’t been sleeping sixteen hours a day for the past week.
“You’re…” you stare at her as you try to figure out the right word. “…vertical.”
“Don’t sound so surprised.”
There’s color in her face now, real color, not the flush from feverish sleep. The bruising has almost entirely faded to yellow, much less shocking against her skin. She looks…like herself.
Later in the day, she’s pacing. She’s restless, unable to sit still that’s the complete opposite of the way she’s spent the previous 10 days. She’s wiping counters that are already clean, reorganizing the drawers in your shared dresser, cleaning things in the apartment that you already keep spotless. You catch her standing at the large window that faces the street more than once.
“Do you want to go out?” you ask finally, when you can’t take it anymore.
She looks relieved at the question, like she didn’t want to bring it up yourself. But she quickly schools her expression into a more casual one.
“Yeah,” she nods. “Yeah, actually.”
The first outing is just the pharmacy, a quick in-and-out. You hover behind her the entire time, on-edge in a way you’ve never had to be around her before. She notices, of course, but she doesn’t call you out on it. She just bumps your shoulder lightly with hers and takes your hand every time she notices you getting restless.
By the time you make it back out to the car, she’s smiling. She’s clearly missed the Vitamin D and fresh air.
The grocery store is next. It’s hilariously normal, and Dana doesn’t seem half as nervous about being out and about as you are. At one point, you turn around and she’s disappeared, and she appears only a few moments later holding up a large box of something you like with a small smile on her face.
“I thought you were the one on bedrest,” you joke.
She snorts. “I was.”
You don’t miss her use of past tense.
Errands stack up after that, and you do them together: the post office, the gas station, a quick stop for takeout since you’re tired of cooking. Nothing strenuous, just normal life stuff that you’ve been avoiding ever since she left the hospital. People look at her face, then away quickly, most polite enough to stare. And she ignores them.
At home, she starts helping more. She jumps in when you’re folding laundry, she takes the trash out before you can get to it.
That night is different too. She still curls into you, she’s still the little spoon, like she’s gotten used to being the one held for once. One time, you wake up to find her already awake, watching you with a strange look on her face that disappears the second she realizes you’re looking up at her.
“Go back to sleep,” she murmurs, brushing hair off your forehead. I
You do.
The next day, you’re putting groceries away after another trip; nothing that was urgent, just a restocking on things you use regularly. But behind you, footsteps approach you and arms slide into place around your waist.
Dana presses herself up against you from behind, her chin settling on your shoulder.
“Missed this,” she murmurs, her breath hot against your neck.
Your hands pause with a box of pasta in your hands. “Me too.”
She doesn’t let go though, if anything, her hold on you tightens. You lean back into her, relaxing into her arms and letting yourself be held.
But then you feel it.
It’s not her hands on your body or her breath at your neck, it’s lower than that. Something that’s solid, unexpected pressure on your lower back that’s definitely not something that could be explained away as an item in her pocket with how it presses into the exact center of your back, just above your butt.
You drop the pasta box onto the counter.
“…Dana,” you say slowly, because surely there’s a logical explanation you’re not seeing here.
She hums against your shoulder, far more calm than you feel right now.
You turn your head just enough to see the side of her face. She isn’t looking at you, sharp eyes looking straight ahead, but there’s a smirk on her mouth, which is still pressed into the top of your shoulder.
Your voice comes out incredulous. “Are you kidding me right now?”
Her hands move, one arm tightening around you, the other traveling to hold your hip. “What?” she asks, sounding deceptively innocent. “Too soon?”
“Too soon?” you echo, twisting in her arms as much as you can to look at her. “Dana, you’re still healing.”
She doesn’t move off you, but you can see her eyes narrow, some of the playfulness leaving her. “It’s been over a week,” she murmurs into your shoulder.
“I’m serious,” you say. “You don’t have to prove anything, I don’t want you to do too much too fast.”
She goes quiet, but whether it’s to consider your words or figure out her own, you’re not sure. Then she takes a deep breath, and you can practically feel the lecture coming.
“I don’t need you to be my mother,” she says. “I need you to be my partner.”
You’re facing the counter again, her arms locked so tight around you that turning toward her fully is impossible. But you don’t need to see her face. The conviction in her voice is enough, and you’re sure if you could see her, the expression on her face would match.
“You’ve been taking care of me for a week, and I grateful. Really,” she continues. “But I’m not broken. And I need my woman.”
You sigh dreamily despite yourself as she lifts her mouth from your shoulder and places a kiss to your neck. Your eyes close and your head tips back enough to give her room.
“Let me take care of you,” she murmurs against your skin. “I want to, I need you.”
The hand at your hip slides forwards, slipping beneath the waistband of your leggings. The fabric stretches around her wrist as she works her way inside, and you feel the pause when she realizes you’re bare underneath. No underwear. Her fingers drift lower, brushing over your mound, teasing lightly over your clit before swiping down through your slit.
“Already wet for me?” she teases, and you can hear the smile that’s returned to her face.
You nod with a shaky breath, letting your hair fall over your face. Both hands brace on the counter in front of you, your knuckles whitening instantly.
Her middle and ring finger press inside you, and you stretch easily to accommodate. She doesn’t linger, immediately moving, pumping them deep and steady inside you, curling as she bottoms out and the heel of her palm grinds against your clit.
You cry out, eyes screwing shut as she fucks you with her fingers, made only worse by her ruthless teasing.
“Poor thing, all pent up.”
“You needed this more than I do.”
“Fuckin’ love this pretty pussy.”
The kitchen fills with the sound of your ragged breathing and the obscene slick sound of her fingers moving inside you.
“Fuck, Dana,” you gasp, bending at the waist until your forehead rests on your arms.
She pulls out abruptly, leaving you both empty and aching, her fingers wet and dripping. Before you can protest out loud, though, she shoves your leggings down and fumbles briefly with her own pants, pushing them just low enough to expose what you felt earlier: the harness snug around her hips, navy blue silicone hanging heavy between her thighs. The tip notches at your entrance as she positions herself.
“Dana, pl-” The rest of the word is punched from your lungs as she pushes inside you with one swift thrust.
Her hands clamp down on your hips as she pauses to let you adjust to the intrusion. Her fingertips dig in harshly, squishing the fat of your hips in her hands.
This is the Dana you know. Dominance and confidence are rolling off her in waves. This past week, all of your carefulness and her fragility, dissolves under the weight of this Dana.
When you let out a deep breath and she watches the tension drain from your body, she finally begins to move, pulling all the way out slowly before sliding back in, her thrusts slow and controlled.
Her feet hook on the inside of yours, nudging them gently to encourage you to spread your legs for her. One hand splays on your lower back, holding you down, while the other stays planted on your hip, pulling you back to meet her hips.
“A-ah, shit - fuck, Dana -”
Your cries spark something inside her. She leans over you, her chest against your back and breath hot at your ear as her pace picks up. Her hips snap forward, harder, deeper, the strap driving into places your own fingers never could, hitting your cervix in a way that has your vision going white.
“Can’t believe I haven’t had you in over a week,” Dana grits out, her movements never slowing even as she speaks. “Missed this pussy so - fucking - much!” Each word is punctuated with particularly brutal thrusts that have you moaning loudly.
Your sounds egg her on more, her speed picking up until you can’t even think straight, and just as your last braincell tries to form a coherent thought, you’re cumming hard around the silicone, orgasm so sudden it has you letting out a loud, strangled sound. Your hips twitch wildly, running from her even though there’s nowhere to go, your hips trapped between hers and the counter.
She doesn’t stop, doesn’t even slow down. She just keeps driving into you, riding you through the aftershock until you’re reaching back blindly, grabbing at her hips with shaking hands, tears blurring your vision and your legs threatening to give out entirely until you’re nothing more than a puddle on the kitchen floor.
The rest of the week is no better.
Dana fucks you on every surface in the entire apartment: in the bedroom, in the shower, bent over the front-loading dryer in the laundry room, splayed out on the island in the kitchen, even in front of the window that faces the street when she’s feeling particularly voyeuristic.
Her energy has picked back up and her disposition channels entirely into ruining you every chance she gets.
She has you riding her in reverse cowgirl so she can stare at your ass while she smokes a cigarette in bed (which you chastise her for later, even though you weren’t complaining in the moment, she reminds you). She’s rubbing her own cunt against yours, or over your mouth, or your thigh, or even once over your ass while you’re face-down on the bed. She has you stretching your legs over her shoulders while she shoves you into a mating press, the captain, the hot seat; any position she can fold you into, she’s doing it.
By the end of week 2, you’re exhausted.
━━━━━━━━━━━ ♠ ━━━━━━━━━━━
Week 3
Dana is restless.
Not in the way that she can’t sleep, or that she’s irritable. But it’s like she doesn’t know how to be still anymore. The apartment is too small for her, she’s pacing the boundaries of an invisible cage like a tiger. If you’re standing up, she’s standing up. If you grab your keys, she’s reaching for her shoes. A quick run to the store turns into you wandering the aisles together because she doesn’t want to go home and just be there.
She burns through energy the way she used to burn through double shifts. The restlessness spillins into everything: reorganizing cabinets and half-finished projects, long showers that end with your cheek pressed against the tile, hands that can’t stop touching you once they start until you’re both sweaty and panting. Mornings blur into afternoons, afternoons into nights, marked by the pull of her mouth and the heat of her skin instead of the time on the clock.
And when she isn’t touching you, she’s watching you.
You catch her constantly. She leans in the doorway while you cook, propped on one elbow while you answer work emails or sit in virtually in meetings, her expression unreadable and filled with something you can’t figure out how to name because you’ve never seen it on her face before.
Something big is weighing in her mind, you can feel it. It’s partially in the way she watches you, and it’s made up of the restlessness that’s written into everything she does. She doesn’t talk about the hospital, but and you don’t ask. Partially because you already know, and because you don’t want to hear it out loud.
If this is the calm before the storm, at least you’re in it together.
It all comes to a head on the night you two host a dinner party. The idea was hers, and that should’ve been your first clue. She’s testing the waters.
It’s just dinner, for three people she’s known way longer than she’s known you. Three people who have seen her at her best, her worst, her bloodiest, her most exhausted. Three people who belong to the world she’s been avoiding talking about for weeks.
In the late afternoon, your apartment smells incredible: like garlic and onion and rosemary, with meat that’s been slow-simmered and smells rich. You’re dressed up like you’re ready for a job interview, in slacks that show off your ass and a shirt that shows off your figure a little too well for someone who’s just hosting a dinner for your partner’s friends.
The doorbell rings not long after and they arrive together.
You can hear them out in the hallway, voices overlapping and occasionally a burst of laughter. Dana opens the door and everything happens at once.
Robby barrels in first with his arms open, pulling Dana into a hug that’s so tight her feelings almost leave the floor. Jack crowds in right behind him with a hand landing on her shoulder, squeezing it with a reassuring smile. Lena slips through last, jugging a bottle of wine and her purse, her expression soft once she gets a good look at Dana.
“Look at you,” Robby says into Dana’s hair, sounding relieved. “You look good.”
“Better than when we last saw you,” Jack adds dryly.
Dana laughs, still half-buried into Robby’s shoulder. “Yeah, well. It’s not a hard bar to clear.”
Lena sets the wine down and steps in, cupping Dana’s face with both her hands and turning it gently side-to-side like she’s looking for any remaining damage. Once she seems satisfied that all of the bruising and swelling is gone, she pulls Dana into a hug of her own. “Missed you, boss.”
A complicated emotion flickers across Dana’s face at that, but it’s gone before you can quite figure out what it’s called.
And then they notice you.
“Hey!” Lena says immediately, arms opening just as wide. “C’mere.”
You barely have time to register what she’s saying before you’re pulled into a hug that smells like perfume and red wine. Robby joins in from one side, Jack from the other, and suddenly you’re in the middle of a three-person squeeze-fest that’s warm and a little overwhelming.
“Thank you,” Robby says quietly near your ear, obviously suggesting it’s for more than just dinner. “Seriously.”
Jack pats your back, firmly and twice. “You kept her alive for us.”
“Ignore him,” Lena laughs. “We loved you already.”
When they release you, you’re a little flushed and touched despite yourself.
Dana is watching the whole thing with crossed arms, looking both proud and tender.
The tension that’s been living under Dana’s skin all week seems to loosen as shoes are kicked off and coats are handed over and hung up. Someone grabs the red wine and heads for your kitchen. Voices bounce off the walls and the air feels warmer, your tiny apartment that’s normally just for you two feeling more alive than ever.
Your dinner table is crowded in the best way: serving dishes are passed hand-to-hand, wine refilled repeatedly without asking, elbows bumping as everyone settles in. Dana insists on carving the roast herself, waving off your offer to help. And then she settles at the head of the table out of pure habit, you immediately to her right instead of at the opposite end where you usually land.
“This is incredible,” Lena says around a mouthful of potatoes, pointing her fork at you. “If you ever leave her, I’m available.”
“Get in line,” Robby replies immediately. “I called dibs the minute I tasted the gravy.”
Jack laughs. “You two would starve in a week, neither of you can boil water without paging nutrition.”
“I think the implication is that I would cook,” you laugh.
“Excuse you,” Lena argues. “I can make toast.”
“Burning bread isn’t the same as toasting.”
Dana laughs and shakes her head as she reaches for her wine glass. “This is why nobody invites you anywhere, Jack.”
“You invited me.”
“Against my better judgment.”
You catch the curl at the corner of her mouth as she says it - its fond, not biting.
Robby leans back in his chair, patting his stomach. “God, this beats the cafeteria mystery meat. Last Tuesday they served something that looked like a hockey puck.”
“That was meatloaf,” Jack says.
“It was a crime is what it was.”
“You all have it easy.” Lena turns to Dana. “Night shift gets the real horrors. By midnight, it’s just whatever’s left in the vending machines and the stale cookies nobody wanted during the day.”
“At least night shift doesn’t have administration breathing down your necks,” Robby counters. “Pick your poison.”
“At least admin goes home eventually,” Lena says. “I had a psych hold try to bite me last week.”
Dana’s fork pauses just before her mouth. “You okay?”
“Oh yeah,” Lena waves it off. “They missed. Mostly just ruined a perfectly good set of scrubs.”
“Occupational hazard,” Jack says. “Better than the projectile vomited across three beds.”
“Do not continue this story while I’m eating,” Robby warns.
“I’m just saying, it was an impressive distance -”
“Jack.”
“Fine, fine.” He lifts his hands in surrender, then looks to Dana. “See what you’re missing? Top-tier entertainment.”
That same look from earlier shows itself on Dana’s face again before she schools her expression into a smile again, taking a sip of wine. You feel her foot slide against yours under the table.
Lena leans forward with her elbows on the table. “We did have a med student hurl during a trauma, though. Nearly took out a whole instrument tray.”
Jack groans. “I told them not to bring him in, kid looked like he was gonna pass out during rounds.”
“Natural selection,” Robby says.
“You’re awful,” Lena tells him, but she’s laughing.
Dana shakes her head. “First rule of trauma: don’t lock your knees.”
“Second rule is not to puke in your mask,” Robby adds.
“Third rule,” Jack throws in, “if you do puke, at least aim away from the patient.”
“Jesus,” you mutter to yourself.
All four of them turn to you at once, grinning.
“Welcome to emergency medicine,” Lena says cheerfully, as if any of this is completely acceptable and polite dinner conversation.
Dana’s hand lands on your knee for a moment under the table, a silent apology paired with a small smile.
Robby raises his glass. “To Dana not being there to witness any of this.”
There’s a moment that follows the toast where it’s not exactly awkward, but it’s heavier than the conversation has been so far.
But then Dana lifts her own glass a second later. “It’s a tragic loss for the hospital.”
“May we all be so lucky,” Lena adds.
Jack nudges Dana’s shoulder with his. “Seriously, though, it’s not the same.”
Her expression is soft as she sips her wine. “Yeah,” she says quietly. “Well.”
You reach for the hand that’s on your knee, squeezing it gently.
Jack clears his throat, apparently deciding to rescue the mood. “So, has she been completely insufferable these last few weeks?”
You open your mouth but then glance at Dana, who’s watching you with narrowed eyes. “…she’s been very helpful,” you settle on.
The table erupts with laughter.
“Oh my god,” Lena wheezes. “Blink twice if you need rescue.”
Jack leans forward. “I can get you out of here in like thirty seconds, tops.”
Dana kicks him lightly under the table. “Touch my partner and you die.”
The rest of dinner is easy and light. Plates are abandoned in favor of second glasses of wine, stories are told with embellishment that makes the hospital sound like some sort of thriller movie, told with shorthand communication that comes from years of comradery. But eventually the night winds down with the slow accumulation of cues: empty glasses, phones checked for the time, the slow gathering of belongings.
Lena tries to stack plates, but stops when you insist she leave them, that you’ll take care of it.
Coats reappear and shoes are hunted down from the entryway.
“We’re doing this again,” Robby says as he pulls Dana into another hug. “Soon.”
“Yeah,” Lena adds. “Don’t disappear on us.”
“You know where we are,” comes from Jack.
Dana nods. “I know.”
Then they turn to you one-by-one, wrapping you in the same affection, promises tossed over shoulders as they disappear out your front door.
You don’t bother with the kitchen tonight, it can wait until the morning.
Instead, Dana disappears down the hall and when you join her in the bathroom, she’s already leaning over the sink, brushing her teeth with a distant expression in her eyes. You fall into the routine beside her, shoulder-to-shoulder with mint foam on your lips.
For a bit, the only sound is the rasp of toothbrushes. Then Dana spits, rinses, and sets her toothbrush down. She doesn’t look at you, instead she stares at herself in the mirror.
“I think…” she starts, but then stops as she considers her words. “I think I want to go back.”
You close your eyes for a moment, mint still sharp on your tongue.
You’ve felt it building all week. It lived in the pacing, the sleepless energy, the way she devoured the hospital stories tonight like she’s starving. She isn’t made to exist outside of that hospital for long. It’s carved into her bones, wired into who she is as a person. The woman you fell in love with is the woman that hospital made, you can’t hate it.
You rinse your mouth to buy yourself a second of time, then meet her gaze in the mirror.
“…yeah,” you say finally. “I figured.”
Dana’s eyes search yours in the mirror. “Yeah?”
“I knew it was coming.” You nod. “I know you.”
You turn to face her instead of continuing through the mirror. “I’m not mad,” you add, because you can see the question on her face. “I’m just worried. What happened wasn’t a fluke, Dana. You got hurt, badly.”
“I know.” The way she says it isn’t dismissive or defensive. “I’m not going to go back the same,” she continues. “I want a real conversation with admin. Security, staffing, protocols, all of it. Not their usual ‘we’ll look into it’ bullshit.”
You search her face, looking for the familiar stubborn denial, or for the determination that sometimes scares you. Instead, you find her thoughtful, almost resolute. Like she’ll really push for big changes.
“Okay,” you say slowly. “I can live with that.”
She looks relieved at that, and she reaches out, cupping your cheek, her thumb resting just under your ear. “I’ll be careful,” she murmurs.
You lean into her hand, closing your eyes for a second.
“C’mere,” she says quietly, pulling you to her. She wraps her arms around you, your cheek settling against her shoulder. She holds you tight, chin against your temple, and she presses a kiss into your hair.
You finish getting ready for bed quickly after that. Not because it’s awkward, but because the exhaustion of the day has wrung everything out of you and you’re tired. Lights get turned off, your doors and windows are checked.
You settle into bed and she follows, an arm wrapping around your middle, her face tucking into the curve of your neck like you haven’t been holding her the same way for weeks now. Little spoon, right where you belong.
You fall asleep before she does.
Dana stays awake with her eyes open in the dark, listening to the rhythm of your breathing.
Three weeks. It was three weeks of you doing your best to build a world inside your tiny shared apartment that she could survive in.
You took time off work without hesitation. You filled the fridge, managed the bills, you kept your home running like she wasn’t breaking down in the middle of it. You never made her feel like a burden, even when you were doing everything for her. You kept her going. Meals, medication, ice packs, clean laundry, your quiet company every second of every day keeping her sane when she couldn’t tolerate anything else.
But even now, even when she wanted to go back to the place that scared you so badly, you weren’t trying to stop her from being who she is.
Her nose brushes the back of your neck as she sighs into your skin.
You’ve been her calm in the storm, not the cage. You deserve more than the half-life you’re living around her hospital chaos.
The word girlfriend was never an option for her. She hates it, it feels juvenile, temporary, meant for people who don’t know what they want. Partner had sufficed all this time, but now it doesn’t feel like enough.
Wife.
She presses her face deeper into your shoulder, finally closing her eyes as certainty settles over her.
contains: established relationship. secret relationship. female!reader. attending!reader. reader uses she/her pronouns. bisexual!dana. jealous!dana. fluff. flirting. teasing. suggestive themes. language. medical inaccuracies. MEN & MINORS DNI.
description: on your first day as the new ed attending at ptmc, you and your wife dance around the reveal of your relationship.
a/n: another fic from my 'cherry red kisses' event! the original ask can be found here, thank you to that anon for this request, i loved the idea ❤️ also for this sake of this fic, dana isn't super close to any of her coworkers bc otherwise they'd know who her wife is lol happy reading everyone, and let me know what you think! 🩺
☾ ao3 link ╱ playlist ╱ taglist ╱ masterlist 𖤓
Dana strolls through the sliding doors of the emergency department as she's done countless times and enters the hustle and bustle of the day shift. The fluorescent lights overhead cast a harsh brightness on the sterile linoleum floor, the faint scent of cleaning products lingering in the air.
The sound of beeping monitors and busy chatter of physicians and patients fill the space as the charge nurse scans the room, her gaze falling on the familiar faces of her colleagues busy with their own tasks and responsibilities.
She heads straight to the nurses' station, greeting her fellow nurses with a warm smile and a quick "Mornin'." Her sharp eyes flit to the schedule board, scanning the list of patients already checked in and waiting, planning out the day in her head.
Reaching for the closest tablet, she plucks her reading glasses from her shirt pocket and settles them low on her nose as she begins reading patient notes.
"...And coming back to our nurse's station—Oh, she's arrived!"
Dana looks up to find Dr. Al-Hashimi walking in her direction with a polite smile on her face as she's talking to someone beside her. Gaze shifting over, she sees it's the new doctor—you.
Her wife.
"Dana, I'd like you to meet our newest attending," Al-Hashimi starts.
Looking back towards you, she continues, "Since you've already met Lena, this is Dana Evans," she gestures to the older woman, "our day shift charge nurse."
Dana's gaze flicks from Al-Hashimi to you, a faint hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. She adjusts her glasses slightly, shifting her weight as she looks at you and back to Baran.
"So they say," Dana greets you in her usual no-nonsense tone, her hand gesturing to the room around you three. "I hope you're ready for the chaos of our ED."
You nod at the other woman and cock your head just slightly, eyes dipping down to her lips before locking with hers.
"I'm sure I'll manage."
Al-Hashimi chuckles in confusion, not expecting the slight tension between you and the nurse.
"Right...Well, I have to go check on a patient now. Doctor, would you like to come with?"
"Sure, right behind you," you answer, but your gaze lingers on Dana for another second before trailing after the other attending, leaving the blonde to observe from the nurses' station as you walk away.
Dana can't help but let out a quiet hum of approval, eyes following the confident stride of your figure until you disappear into a patient's room. She adjusts her stance, leaning slightly against the counter while absentmindedly toying with her wedding ring.
The sounds of the ED seem to fade into the background as Dana's thoughts drift to you and the secret the two of you are keeping from your colleagues.
You did start to have a conversation about whether you would tell people once you officially started since your different last names would hide the connection—but that night, you had been in the mood for something that involved less talking and successfully distracted Dana before you could come to an agreement.
She lets out a deep sigh, shaking her head slightly as a small smile tugs at the corner of her lips. The last thing she needs to thinking about right now is sex, even if you do look especially good in your scrubs…
The blonde's mind quickly snaps back to work when she overhears a couple of hushed voices talking nearby.
"I wasn't expecting her to be a hottie though," Princess giggles.
Perlah only tsks, waving off her friend.
"You say that about everyone."
At that same moment, you stroll past and wave at the duo with a genuine smile, causing them to both return it. When you walk into another room and slide the curtain behind you, they look at each other as Princess raises her eyebrows.
"Okay, she is," Perlah chuckles before whispering something in Tagalog that Dana doesn't understand.
She turns around then, catching the duo's attention and ending their gossip session.
"Alright, you two, don't you have somethin' else to do?"
The hijabi woman laughs at being caught before walking over and nudging the charge nurse with her elbow.
"Come on D, even you gotta admit the new doc is good looking."
Dana shoots a dry look at Perlah, lips barely twitching under the weight of professionalism.
"I'm here to work, not ogle my coworkers," she deadpans, tapping away on the tablet without looking up. "Now go check Mr. Callahan’s vitals before he stages another jailbreak to the vendin' machine."
Princess leans in with a grin and giggles away.
"You’re avoiding the question!"
Dana finally lifts her gaze—slow, unimpressed, eyes glinting like she's one more comment away from assigning them both bedpan duty. She raises her left hand and waves her ring finger, gold wedding band catching the lights above.
"One is plenty for me," she says flatly. Then, after the tiniest pause: "...And I have excellent taste."
She turns back to her screen with finality—leaving just enough silence for Perlah and Princess to exchange knowing looks.
Dana forces her eyes firmly to her tablet, pretending to focus on the patient notes instead of the flush creeping up her neck.
Shit, she thinks, I shouldn't have said that last part.
The duo just smile, clearly unbothered by her stern stare. Princess bumps Perlah as they walk away, more Tagalog filtering out between them.
"So, Nurse Evans."
Dana looks up slowly, the sound of her name on your voice slithering into her ears and sending a spark down her spine. You're standing right in front of her now—close; too close for what's appropriate at work, but just right for you.
She lifts a brow, cool and composed despite the way her pulse jumps.
"Yes, doctor," she drawls, tapping the tablet with feigned disinterest. "Need somethin'? Or are you just here to disrupt my workflow on your very first day?"
You cross your arms and shoot her an amused, almost cocky smile.
Always so professional.
"Just thought I'd stop in," you say, shrugging. "Say hi."
Dana gives a noncommittal hum, fingers continuing to move across the device with practiced ease as she avoids eye contact.
"Mm-hm."
You shift your weight, and her eyes then finally raise and flick over you, casually taking in your figure and the way your scrubs hug all the right spots. It's a bit distracting, but she has no intention of letting on.
Her gaze lingers a beat too long before sliding back down to her screen as she clears her throat.
"Well, now you've said hi. Congratulations."
She cracks her neck, nonchalant expression belying the subtle flutter in her chest.
"Anythin' else, or can I get back to work now?"
Your smile morphs into a smirk, clearly aware of the effect you have on her.
"Yes, actually. I wanted to ask—"
The telltale sound of the phone's ringtone interrupts, and Dana's head whips in its direction. She walks over and picks it up, looking at you as she nods at the information being told to her.
Hanging up the device, she sees Baran walking up behind you and calls out, "Incoming trauma! Pedestrian versus car, three minutes."
"Alright, let's get ready."
Dana's demeanor shifts back to full business mode, any hint of playfulness disappearing as she goes into charge nurse mode, relaying instructions to the nearest nurses and doctors in a clear, concise tone.
Al-Hashimi walks up to you then, placing a gentle hand on your back and guiding you towards the ambulance bay.
"Come with me, this will be a good case for you to learn our workflow."
You nod, falling into step beside her as the two of you briskly walk in the direction of the ambulance bay. Despite your best efforts to appear focused and composed, you can't help but steal glances at Dana, who's still barking orders with practiced ease as she prepares for the incoming trauma.
The next few minutes pass in a flurry of activity as the team gears up, with Dana directing everyone to their assigned roles and ensuring everything is set for the patient's arrival.
In between organizing the chaos, her eyes keep drifting over to you, watching you with an intensity that's difficult to miss.
Finally, the whir of the approaching ambulance announces the arrival of the incoming patient. You turn your focus to the situation at hand, working seamlessly with the other doctors and nurses to assess and stabilize them.
As the patient is rushed into the trauma bay, Dana moves with precision and authority, calling out orders and ensuring everyone is on task. Her eyes flick to you occasionally, pride flickering in her gaze as she watches you in your element.
The next several minutes are a whirlwind, and through it all, you fit right in with the rest of the team, calling out orders with Baran's lead and showing off your knowledge to the greener doctors.
As the patient's condition stabilizes and they're rushed off to the ICU, you finally let out a deep breath, shoulders slumping slightly with the weight of the adrenaline dump.
Tossing your gown and gloves into the designated bin, you and your fellow attending walk out onto the main floor as you're discussing how the trauma went and how she prefers to approach cases like that.
You're still riding the adrenaline high, your words spilling out animatedly as you approach the nurses' station.
"I never get tired of that," you admit, running a hand over your neck.
Baran smiles, nodding in agreement.
"You were fantastic," she compliments, then adds, "You work very well under pressure."
"Thank you, that means a lot to hear," you smile.
She pats you on the shoulder before heading off to check on another patient, leaving you to gaze after the blonde checking on the patient board a few feet away.
You stand there for a moment, eyes locked on Dana as she goes over the patient board, her slender fingers tracing the air in front of her.
Despite the hectic pace around you, your gaze remains on her, drawn to the way she effortlessly commands the space with her presence and the stern expression that makes your heart flutter.
"Perlah, hold down the fort, will ya? I'm goin' for a smoke," Dana calls out.
The woman in question gives an acknowledging wave, barely looking up from her paperwork.
"Sure thing, D. Don't take too long."
Dana offers a quick nod in response before striding through the glass doors and stepping into the cool morning air.
It hits her skin in a refreshing manner, washing away the stress from the trauma, and she sighs deeply, eyes closing as she savors the momentary peace. Her hand slips into the pocket of her scrubs, retrieving a small pack of cigarettes and a lighter.
She slips one between her lips and leans back against the wall, lighting it in a practiced motion.
"Smoking's bad for you, y'know?"
Dana immediately looks up to find you standing across the walkway. She doesn't even seem surprised, just raising an eyebrow and giving you a small eye roll.
"So you've said."
Inhaling deeply, the rush of the nicotine settles into her bloodstream before she pushes the smoke out through her nose.
"What would you suggest instead," she drawls, "meditation?"
You shrug your shoulders and walk closer until you're standing directly in front of her, hands slipping into your scrub pockets.
"I can think of a few healthier ways to unwind."
Her lips curl upwards just slightly but she doesn’t take the bait. Instead, she takes another slow drag, eyes hooded as she watches you over the ember’s glow.
"Such as?" she challenges softly.
Before you can answer, the glass door slides open beside you two.
"Dana, we need you back inside for—"
Perlah pauses, glancing between the two of you with sudden realization dawning on her face.
"Oh."
The blonde hangs her head in annoyance at her break being cut short, sighing deeply as she puts out her cigarette in the designated ashtray before flicking it into the trash bin with practiced precision.
“Be right there.”
Perlah gives her a tight lipped smile and a quick nod before disappearing back inside, leaving you two alone once again.
Dana lets out a frustrated huff, eyes darting over to you with thinly veiled annoyance.
"Thanks for that," she sighs, fingers ghosting over her pocket where the pack rests.
You flash her a sheepish grin, knowing full well a rare break of hers was just cut short, but you can't help but find her reaction somewhat endearing.
"I was only trying to look out for your health," you tease, raising your hands in mock surrender.
Dana can't help but let out a snort, shaking her head.
"Oh yeah, I'm sure that's all you were doin'," she responds dryly, rolling her eyes at your obvious attempt to get under her skin.
Her teeth sink into her bottom lip, betraying her amusement despite her best efforts to remain irritated.
You can't help but find her stubbornness adorable. Stepping closer, you lean in just enough to be in her personal space, catching the faint scent of her perfume.
"Maybe I just enjoy seeing you frustrated," you say with a smirk, watching as her eyes narrow.
"Watch yourself," she huffs. "I'm the boss around here, remember that."
She pushes off the wall and heads towards the entrance, straightening her posture as you stare after her.
"We both know who's really in charge," you call after her in a teasing voice.
Dana doesn’t turn around but you could swear you see her shoulders shake with a suppressed laugh as she disappears back into the ED. You follow shortly after, still grinning like a fool as you stroll up to the big board and figure out which patient to check on next.
The shift continues, the morning growing more hectic as more patients stream through the ED doors. Dana is all business now, her demeanor back to strictly serious and professional. She rarely even glances in your direction, though you catch her eyes flicking over to you every once in a while when she thinks you're not looking.
As the hours wear on, you continue with your teasing, never missing an opportunity to slip in a subtle innuendo or playful remark whenever Dana is nearby. You know you're pushing her buttons and honestly, you're having way too much fun to stop. Every quick glance from her, quirk of her eyebrow, and tight-lipped response only fuels you more.
Dana, to her credit, does her best to remain impassive, pretending not to be affected by your relentless flirting. But you can see the slightest twitch in her jaw, the way she'll bite her tongue when she thinks of a snarky reply, the quick dart of her gaze towards you before she catches herself.
Her resolve is admirable, and you're determined to break it.
During a short lull in the chaos, you manage to catch her in a quiet corner of the ED. She's checking something on her tablet and you seize the opportunity to step in closer, leaning your hip against the wall next to her.
With a smirk, you tease, "You know, I think I could use a coffee right about now."
She doesn't look up, eyes locked on the task at hand.
"Then make one. Didn't Baran tell you where the break room is?"
Quirking an eyebrow, you lips turn downwards before you huff out a laugh.
"Wait a minute...are you, are you jealous?" you question.
Dana finally looks up then, narrowing her eyes and scoffing at your statement.
"Jealous? Please."
She turns back to her tablet, fingers tapping away, but you don't miss the slight pink tinge that dusts her cheeks.
"Babe..." you whisper with a slight pout. "That's so cute of you."
She lets out a huff of annoyance, shooting you a glare over the top of her glasses. It's as ineffective as it is endearing.
"Don't 'babe' me," she says with a roll of her eyes before turning around and giving you her back.
"It's just annoyin' hearin' everyone talk about you when we have more important things to worry about!" she whispers.
You can't help but chuckle, taking in the way her shoulders tense with frustration.
"Aw, were the nurses gushing over me all morning?" you tease, tilting your head to get a better look at her side profile.
She grumbles something under her breath in response, hand waving in the air.
"It's all I've been hearin'," she retorts. "Every little thing you d—"
She stops abruptly, realizing she's only giving you more ammo to mess with her.
"Ugh, I'm done talkin' about this," she groans instead, shifting to lean her hip against the wall.
You raise an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips.
"Oh, no, keep going," you tease. "I wanna hear how annoyed you got when all the nurses were talking about how smart and good looking the new doctor is."
She scoffs, turning around to shoo you backwards until you're a few feet away. "Go find somethin' to do and quit botherin' me, how 'bout that?"
Laughing, you give her a half-hearted salute and a quick wink before turning around to go find Baran.
You weave through the busy ED, still grinning from your little exchange with Dana, and the curly haired doctor quickly spots you and waves you over to a patient’s room.
“Ready for another?” she asks, already stepping inside.
Nodding with a smile, you push thoughts of a certain charge nurse aside and fall back into the rhythm of medicine.
One patient turns into another, and then another after that. The shift is busy and your mind is a whirlwind of information and assessments, leaving little room for thoughts that didn't involve saving lives.
As it often happens when the ED is at its busiest, lunch is skipped, and before you know it, the evening sun has begun to dip in the sky.
Finally, you manage to finish up with a particularly difficult case. Exhaling sharply, you lean back against the counter of the nurses' station and rub a hand over your face, exhaustion weighing heavily on you.
Dana takes note of your tired state and approaches, crossing her arms across her chest.
"When's the last time you ate?" she asks, a hint of genuine concern masked beneath her usual stern expression.
"Been a while," you admit, cracking your neck. "Lost track of time."
Dana huffs under her breath, eyeing you with that familiar mix of annoyance and care.
"Unbelievable," she mutters, then reaches into her snack drawer and pulls out two granola bars, slapping them into your hand. "Here. Don't pass out on my shift."
Peeling back the wrapper with a grin, you lean in to catch her eye.
"You always take care of me."
She turns away quickly, but not before you see the soft smile on her lips.
"Just eat it," she grumbles, like she isn't already planning a good meal for when you two get home.
You take a bite, the sweet and crunchy treat immediately lifting your spirits. As you chew, you steal a sidelong glance at Dana who's now engrossed in paperwork again.
"Thanks," you say sincerely, crumpling the wrapper and tossing it into the trash.
She simply nods, not looking up from her work.
"Just don't make a habit of runnin' on empty."
Despite her stern words, there's an undertone of affection that only you can hear. It's these little moments, the subtle ways she shows she cares, that make everything worthwhile.
Dana may play the tough charge nurse in the ED, but behind the scenes, she's all about making sure you're taken care of.
As the end of the day approaches, you stretch your arms overhead, feeling the satisfying pop in your shoulders after a long, busy shift. Scanning the room one more time, you can't help but feel a sense of accomplishment. The adrenaline rush of a busy day gives way to a satisfied fatigue; the kind that comes with knowing you made a difference and navigated through every challenge thrown at you.
You glance over at Dana, who's now busy with Lena, finalizing a few things as they work on the handoff for the night shift.
Her demeanor has relaxed slightly since earlier, a sign that she's also feeling the exhaustion settling in. You observe her fully in this moment: the way her forehead creases in concentration, how her fingers move deftly across the keyboard, the way her lower lip catches between her teeth as she double checks every detail is correct.
She looks up then, catching you staring.
"What?" she asks, eyebrow raised.
"Just admiring the view," you reply with a lopsided grin.
Dana glares at you, and you see the way Lena glances between the two of you in surprise.
"Stop," the blonde chides, returning her focus to her work.
You raise your hands in mock surrender, knowing better than to tease her too much in front of other people.
Lena clears her throat then, awkwardly breaking the tension.
"I'll, uh, I'll just go start on those discharges."
Dana gives her a nod, eyes focused on her paperwork until the redhead is out of earshot. She then looks at you with a tired expression and tilts her head.
"You're exhaustin', y'know that?"
She receives a beaming smile in return as you laugh.
"And you still married me, so whose fault is it, really?" you whisper.
The other woman lets out a long, exaggerated sigh before letting out a chuckle of her own.
"Touché."
Looking around her desk, she begins tidying up before looking at you.
"Go grab your stuff so we can get outta here, I'm starvin' and I know you are too."
"Yes, ma’am," you say in a playful tone before turning to head to the lockers with a renewed pep in your step.
When you get back, it's Dana's turn to go get her things so you sit in her designated chair and start spinning in it to pass the time.
"Ready to get home?" a soft voice behind you asks.
Stopping your movement, you see Baran leaning against the counter, hands in her pockets with her usual amused expression.
"You have no idea," you reply, exhaustion weighing down your voice.
"You should be proud of yourself, though. There's not a lot of doctors that out there that could slide into our system that seamlessly."
She chuckles before looking down at your bag and seeing you've changed back into regular clothes.
"Are you waiting for someone?"
"Oh, um..."
You're not sure what to say. Dana has been purposely keeping you at arm's length the entire shift so no one would catch on, and you're unsure if she'd be okay with you revealing it now.
The woman across from you catches your hesitation and raises an eyebrow. There's curiosity in her gaze, and she folds her arms across her chest as she waits for you to elaborate.
"I was actually—"
"Ready to go?"
Like a guardian angel swooping in to save you from this awkward conversation, Dana shows up at that exact moment. Relief floods through you, a small smile tugging at your lips as you turn to find the blonde standing a few feet away.
Baran then glances between you both, a quizzical expression settling on her face.
"Oh, do you two know each other?"
You stiffen for a moment but recover quickly with the tiniest tilt of your head and a subtle, practiced smile.
"We just, um…" you trail off, casting the blonde a quick look.
She catches on right away, but instead of giving a vague answer like you expect, she looks at with the softest eyes you've ever seen. Then, she reaches out and gently hooks a finger around the chain dangling under your shirt and pulls it out for everyone to see.
A wedding band hangs from it, the same one Dana has been wearing for a couple of years now.
"If you consider marriage 'knowin' each other', then yeah. We do," the nurse chuckles.
Baran's eyes widen in surprise, looking between the pair of you as the realization dawns on her.
"I—oh!" she stammers, clearly not expecting this. "Well...that explains a lot," she adds with a soft laugh.
Dana gives you another look after that—warm, proud, and just a little mischievous.
"Yeah, we weren't sure if we'd tell people, but..."
Her hand wraps around the back of your neck and caresses the area there. Goosebumps break out on your skin at the sensation and the public display of affection, not having expected this at all.
"Cat's out of the bag, I guess," she hums.
You lean into her touch, feeling a flutter in your chest at her words and the way she's suddenly so openly affectionate.
Baran gives you both a warm grin before glancing at the time on the clock nearby.
"Well, I should get home to my son," she says, turning back at the two of you. "And...congratulations. You make a very good couple."
Dana lets out a laugh, letting go of your neck and dropping her hand down to her side. She then looks over at you and shrugs, a coy glimmer in her eyes.
"Yeah, we did alright."
When the other doctor leaves, you stand up from your chair and stretch your back, releasing the bit of nerves that built up during that conversation.
Hearing something hit the ground, you turn around and find Princess, Perlah, Santos, Javadi, and Ellis all standing there with shocked expressions.
"I knew there was something up with you guys!" Trinity exclaims.
Princess just points at you both, eyes wide.
"Wait—and neither of you said anything when half the floor was flirting?"
Dana sighs deeply and gives them a dry look.
"Took a lot not to say anythin', trust me."
With that, Dana grabs her bag with one hand and slips her free one into yours, pulling you towards the sliding doors to the ambulance bay.
"Anyways, good night ladies, see you in the mornin'!"
Both of you receive a chorus of shouts in return but wave them off, exhaling deeply when the cool night air hits your skin.
"How much you wanna bet everyone else will know by next shift?" You chuckle.
Dana matches your laugh, shaking her head at the scene you just left behind.
"With that group, I say in the next hour, at most."
"Well, shit," you reply, swinging your free arm lazily as you walk with her through the parking lot.
With the tension from the workday lifted off your shoulders, a sense of contentment settles in, and you can't help but look over at the woman beside you. In the glow of the lamplight, she looks so serene, and a wave of affection washes over you.
Sensing your gaze, she turns to look at you, raising an eyebrow.
"What?" she asks, a hint of a smile on her lips.
"Just admiring the view," you respond, flashing her a cheesy grin.
She only scoffs.
"You already used that line today, cornball."
"Maybe," you say, tugging her hand gently to slow your walk. "But it's still true."
Dana rolls her eyes, but she doesn't pull away—doesn't hide the small, fond smile that finally breaks through.
"God help me," she mutters, voice thick with affection as she shakes her head. Then, quieter: "Love you anyway."
You stop walking entirely, turning to face her fully under the dim glow of the parking lot light.
"Love you more," you reply, stepping closer.
She sighs again, but it's only it’s half-hearted—her eyes are soft, and her body is drawn to yours.
“Impossible.”
Closing the gap, you brush your lips against hers in a tender kiss, brief but full of affection.
Dana hums into it, one hand coming up to cup your jaw for just a second before pulling back.
"Alright, alright," she murmurs, voice warm and low. "That's enough romance for one day. Let’s get home so I can cook you a good meal."
You grin at the thought, feeling your stomach grumble at the mention of food.
"Sounds perfect to me," you say, starting to walk again.
Dana matches your stride, slipping her hand back into yours as you continue through the parking lot. As you walk, the silence that settles over the two of you is comfortable, and you think about how you can't wait to see what future shifts with your wife will be like.
; age gap . guided smoking?? . fluff . established relationship
"Hey stranger".
You recognise your wife's voice. The thick accent that snakes around the syllables has become a distinct comfort. You turn and are met with her shorter figure leaning against the brick wall of the ambulance bay, arms crossed over her chest.
Exhaling a cloud of smoke you smile softly at the woman. "Hi" you murmur as she approaches. Dana stands in front of you, tilting her jaw up. She's close enough that her sweet perfume is mingling with the sharp smell of your cigarette. Her eyes travel to your left hand, said cigarette held firmly between your index and middle fingers spouting smoke.
"Those will kill you, you know?" She takes it from your hand and brings it to her lips, taking a long drag before dropping her hand to her side. "I could say the same to you" you murmur, eyes fixated on her lips as they blow smoke to the side. "I'm old" she retorts.
You chuckle. "Maybe I'm just trying to catch up" you shrug, gesturing for the half smoked cig. "Give it back". Dana sighs and brings her hand up between the two of you. You reach for the cigarette again but she flinches away when you do.
"Baby..." you practically whine out. Your wife grins at your desperation before bringing the cigarette to your lips. The faint lipstick mark left on the paper makes your stomach curl with lust. "Inhale" she instructs and you do, eyes locked on hers.
You welcome the bittersweet taste into your mouth. Dana watches you closely and finds herself jealous of the smoke, the way it gets to lick at your mouth and coil around your insides.
The woman revels in the way you lean back from her hand to exhale, tilting your head so your jawline is highlighted from the strain while the smoke spills from your lips.
"You got any patients?" Dana rasps out. You shake your head.
The woman hums, her jaw momentarily twitching upwards. You take the opportunity to lean down and press your lips to hers. You exhale into the kiss, hand finding Dana's waist and squeezing as her tongue dips into your mouth. The dull burn of the cigarette still lingers in your chest, harsh flavour on your tongue as you press the muscle further into Dana's mouth.
The kiss is slow but charged, the weight of each of your days being made easier with the proximity of the person you both feel most comfortable with, each other.
Your actions elicit a low groan from the nurse, her hand landing on the front of your scrubs and gripping tight. "You think– you'll be home... early tonight?" Dana huffs out as you kiss her between words unrelenting. You nod, kissing the corner of her mouth before leaning back and taking in her slightly disheveled appearance. "I'll make sure of it" you say softly to her.
You can’t fight yourself from leaning back in, groaning when her palm is firm against your collar pushing you back. “Down girl, we should probably get back to work”. Her eyes remain on your lips and you chuckle.
if we’re mutuals, and I don’t care whether we’ve been mutuals for twelve (12) minutes or three (3) years, you can send me a message any time about any thing. family life is shit? bitch, tell me about it and even if I can’t help, I can listen. struggling with mental illness and feel like you can’t talk to anyone? talk to me. literally. you always can. saw a cute cat? SEND THAT BITCH MY WAY
𝚂𝚈𝙽𝙾𝙿𝚂𝙸𝚂 ∶ ɯhen чou return to Phılαdelphıα for α long-overdue vısıt ɯıth чour brother Jαcob， ⠀чou expect nothıng more thαn α quıet ɯeekend of sıblıng bondıng， ⠀but the moment чou step ınto Abbott Elementαrч， ⠀everчthıng shıfts. the lıne betɯeen curıosıtч αnd temptαtıon stαrts to blur. ın the cıtч thαt once felt lıke home， ⠀ чou fınd чourself torn betɯeen rekındlıng old tıes αnd explorıng the heαt of α connectıon чou never sαɯ comıng.
englısh ıs not mч fırst lαnguαge， ⠀but I hope чou enjoч ıt. constructıve feedbαck ıs αlɯαчs ɯelcomed! ɯc ∶ 3.9k. no use of ч/n. edıted ın the slıghtest.
Another day, another drama at Abbott Elementary.
Jacob was pacing back and forth in the teachers’ lounge, halfway through the school day, already feeling his nerves tingle. In a good way. He was on the phone, trying to make a reservation at one of the city’s most highly rated restaurants. He was still on hold when the rest of the crew walked in. Barbara and Melissa were deep in conversation about a student, while Gregory and Janine were exchanging those lovey-dovey glances that said everything without a single word. Everyone settled into their usual spots, watching as the eighth-grade teacher almost tore his hair out, trying to talk to the restaurant manager.
“Hey, Jacob!” Janine called out. “I am pretty sure you are going to dig a hole in the floor if you keep that up.” she pulled her lunch out of a cooler bag, setting it on the table alongside some papers she was reading. Jacob let out a huff of disbelief and hung up the phone with a frustrated click.
“Sorry, guys,” he mumbled, defeated. Sliding into his seat next to Gregory, propping his face in his hand, expressing a dead giveaway for how peeved he was. “It is just… On Monday, I got this audio.” he opened his messaging app, found the specific chat, and pressed play on the days-old message.
“So, I do not know if you have got plans on Friday. If you do, cancel them. Why? ‘Cause I am coming to town, and we are having a sibling sleepover. We can do clay masks, cocktails, or whatever you want. So, Friday night, clear your schedule because your best sibling is coming to town!”
“I just heard it today, and it is already Friday! I am screwed trying to get a reservation at that downtown rooftop,” he concluded with a dejected sigh.
“And who would that sibling be?” Barbara asked, taking a bite of the garlic bread her work-wife had made for her. Melissa, meanwhile, was scrolling through her phone, not paying much attention to the videos on her timeline, but still listening in.
“My older sibling,” Jacob replied your name with a shrug, getting up to make a fresh pot of coffee for himself and anyone else who wanted some. He did not notice the stunned looks on his colleagues’ faces until he took his first sip of the hot brew and turned back to them. “What?” he asked, genuinely confused.
“What do you mean, ‘what?” Melissa jumped in, a hint of her South Philly sass in her voice. “What do you mean you got a new sibling? Your brother was already a lot to handle during Christmas break. I swear to God, if this sleepover’s at my place, I am kicking you out... They are multiplying, Barb!”
“Yeah, Jacob! You never mentioned you have another sibling! Tell us what they are like!” Janine said, her hands clasped together, leaning forward with excitement.
“Are they just like you?” Gregory asked, paying more attention to how he was going to bite his lifeless sandwich than the conversation itself.
“Oh, no. They… They are the complete opposite of me; I think you can tell from the message! A wild, sexy journalist in Manhattan, with a very uninhibited personality and—”
“Incredibly stunning?” you finished, leaning against the doorframe, a relaxed smile on your face. Hearing your brother describe you like that was always an honor, especially since the last few years of adult life had made contact between you two sparse, almost nonexistent.
The teachers all turned their attention to you, their faces a mix of shock as they put a face to the voice from minutes earlier. Jacob knew you were coming today, but not that you would surprise him during his lunch break. He could not contain his smile. He sprang up and practically skipped over to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face in your neck, taking in a scent that had not changed in years. A mix of sweet, smoky mint and cherry lollipops. When he pulled away from your bear hug, he held your hand and guided you into the room, stopping you in front of the two veteran teachers' desks.
“These two fabulous ladies over here are Barbara Howard and Melissa Schemmenti, basically the moms of the group.” your eyes scanned both of them. The Black woman greeted you with a warm smile and offered a handshake, which you returned. You did the same with Melissa, but the redhead was observing you from head to toe. “Those two lovebirds over there are Janine and Gregory.” they waved, and your smile widened since you had heard a few stories about the couple.
“It is a pleasure to meet all of you. Jacob told me a ton of stories about some of you, and it is an honor to put faces to the names.” you kept it short, letting your brother sit back down as you leaned against one of the chairs, your hands on the backrest, holding yourself straight.
“Wish I could say the same,” the redhead muttered, turning her attention back to her phone. Jacob’s eyes closed as he heard what his friend said, hoping his sister would not make a big deal out of it. She did not.
“Alright, Jay Jay, I just stopped by to let you know in person that our rooftop reservations are locked in. I knew you would not see the message in time. I will send you the hotel address later, okay? Have a good lunch.” you sounded more authoritative than you meant to, but it was just your way of letting your brother know he did not have to worry about a thing this weekend. Your attention was now on everyone. “And again, it was a pleasure to meet you all.” that was all you said before you left the teacher’s lounge, leaving a lingering scent of perfume and confidence in your wake.
“They seem cool.” Gregory said, and apparently, almost everyone agreed.
The sun-drenched streets of Philly welcomed you with a soft, inviting warmth. You walked with a smile, nodding to the uniformed city workers who passed by, each one a friendly face. The day felt almost obscenely pleasant, and the city’s embrace felt oddly familiar, like it was welcoming you home. But the weight of Manhattan still clung to your shoulders like a second skin, a constant, low-grade hum of unresolved chaos. This whole trip was a direct consequence of a fresh, raw breakup, a necessary escape to give your ex some space to clear her stuff out of your apartment, a task currently under the watchful eye of your best friend.
Turning a corner, you found a small boutique and ducked inside. You needed something less casual, less boho than the clothes you had packed. A fresh-start outfit.
The hours melted away that afternoon. You got lost in the city, exploring until it was time to head back to the hotel. The ritual of getting ready felt sacred: the steam of the shower, the soft hum of the hairdryer, the meticulous care you gave your skin, the final touch of the new outfit. You had sent the hotel address to your brother earlier and were waiting for him at least twenty minutes before the reservation time. The restaurant was only a block away. Punctual as ever, the intercom buzzed, and you answered, a thrill in your voice as you said you were coming down. You slipped on your dark shoes, grabbed your clutch, and stepped into the elevator, descending to meet Jacob, who was somehow even more on edge than you were. The poor guy’s palms were slick with nervous sweat, a knot of nerves twisting in his stomach. He was praying the night went perfectly, because he ached for the big sister he had not seen enough, the confidant, the protector, the part-time mom who had guided him until their paths took different turns.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the city, the crew was gathering at Janine’s apartment, a cozy chaos of a space piled high with pillows and blankets. It was their pre-game before heading to a club Ava had gotten them into under some kind of sketchy bargain.
“We are telling you, Ava. Jacob is with his sibling now… And they are nothing like him!” Barbara assured their boss.
Melissa chimed in, settling onto the couch beside the principal. “I just hope they are not a problem… We got to protect our own, you know?”
“The real question is: is this person hot? Or is this another Jacob-ish, twink little boy performance?” Ava asked, taking a long swig of red wine.
Janine shifted, a slight flush on her cheeks. “Hot… Clearly into women, though.”
Melissa’s eyebrows shot up. “What are you talking about? Jacob never said a thing about them, and we did not see anything today that screamed ‘queer lullaby,” she laughed, a casual, knowing rumble.
Janine held up her hands, trying to explain herself to the group while keeping half an eye on Gregory. “They… They do not talk like they’re looking for a guy’s approval. Direct, no time for nonsense, and they look you right in the eye.”
“Decisive people are hot.” Melissa mused, more to herself than the group.
A beat of silence hung in the air, a series of confused glances shooting between them. But no one dared to argue. The silence broke, and the conversation shifted to another topic entirely.
The dinner flowed as if no time had stretched between you at all. It was a seamless continuation of a childhood conversation, the clinking of silverware on plates, and the low hum of the restaurant, a quiet backdrop to your shared smiles. Jacob’s laugh was a sound that always warmed your heart, and being with him here made you think about the future. You longed to share your lives again, to exist in the same orbit, but you had built your true life two hours away in the city. It was a two-way street, you realized; if he did not make the effort to move toward you, you would both be stuck. Maybe that thought was what had been consuming your mind. Until now.
“Why would you never come to Manhattan?” you finally asked, the question that had been eating at you all night slipping out. He took a slow sip of his white wine, his gaze fixed on the table before he finally sighed.
“Because... You accomplished this beautiful life over there. A killer job, friends who are like your sisters, and—”
“Is that jealousy? Of the girls?” you burst out laughing, reaching across the table to grab his hand. “Jay... For the love of everything holy! You are my little brother, my baby! My life, as different as it is from yours, does not mean I want you any less. You are my life too... Despite our issues, that never meant I did not want you. I am not her, Jacob. You are never, ever going to get rid of me.”
A smile bloomed on his face, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. For him, it was like taking a breath after years of holding it, of drowning in a feeling he would mask with holiday calls and birthday texts. Just then, his phone buzzed on the table. He picked it up, a silent apology in his eyes as he read the message.
“Okay... Gregory is asking if we are done here and if I want to hit the dance club with them,” he informed you. “You want to make this a sibling night out?”
Without a moment of hesitation, you agreed. You grabbed the check and paid the bill, throwing in a final jab with a wink. “Tell them the drinks are on the best history teacher.” you smiled.
“They are here.” Barbara announced, nudging her work-wife with a subtle elbow to get her to straighten up. Melissa did just that, taking stock of the masterpiece Jacob called sibling. In those lights, with that outfit and their hair artfully messed up, they had an air that Melissa was used to fawning over but was completely inexperienced with, given she had only dated boring men and her encounters with women had not gone beyond a few stolen kisses at clubs. And you were… Something.
“Ladies... Gregory,” you greeted, a small, effortless smile on your face as you slid into the booth beside Jacob. “I believe we have not been properly introduced.”
Ava extended her hand and took yours in a firm, intentional grip. “Coleman, Ava. School principal,” she replied, a charming smile on her face as she met your gaze directly. You noticed her knee brush against Melissa’s under the table.
The fiery-haired woman was uncharacteristically quiet. You could tell from Jacob’s stories that this was not her usual state. You also knew that Melissa was probably the protective one for your brother in this city, and you could feel her analyzing you from the moment you walked in.
Barbara, meanwhile, was all smiles, making it clear she was open to including you in the group. Jacob was the first to grab drinks for everyone, raising his glass to toast your arrival.
Your attention kept snagging on Melissa. Every time she glanced your way, your eyes locked with an undeniable precision. The hum of conversation and the thumping of the surrounding music faded into a blur. Then, the group started getting up to hit the dance floor.
“Oh, no. My brother and I are exactly the same when it comes to dancing,” you commented, standing up to smooth out your tailored trousers. “The only difference is I am not brave enough to embarrass myself in front of this many witnesses. I am going to hit the bar for a refill. You all have a blast out there on the dance floor without me, please.”
On your way to the bar, you could feel someone following you. You had just placed your order when the low, husky voice of the teacher who had consumed your thoughts invaded your hearing.
“Are you really here to do clay masks with my guy over there, or do I have to be worried?” she leaned against the counter, not looking at you, raising a finger to order another old fashioned.
Your margarita arrived. After a long sip, you turned to face her, tracing the defined lines of her jaw that told you she was being completely serious.
“Honestly? That is the last thing I want to do, but if Jacob wants it, I will do it to see him happy. And do not you worry, it is not going to be at your place... He told me you do not take kindly to strangers. Speaking of which,” your green eyes met hers, so full of curiosity and heat that you momentarily lost your train of thought. “I need to thank you for taking care of my boy. From the bottom of my heart, that means the world.” you held up your glass to toast her.
“No need to thank me. Jacob is one of the best friends I have ever had in… No one cares how many years.” she clinked her glass to yours and smiled, a little more relaxed now. Then she laughed to herself.
“Care to share what is on your mind, Miss Schemmenti? Guess it is just us now.”
Melissa raised a brow, her tone dry but not dismissive. “Seems that way. Hope I do not bore you to death.”
You turned to her fully, chin resting in your hand, studying her face with the kind of focus that made most people squirm. Melissa, though, did not flinch. If anything, she met your stare head-on, daring you. “Somehow I doubt you are boring,” you said softly.
Her lips twitched, not quite a smile, more like she was trying not to give you the satisfaction. “Keep talking like that, and I will start thinking you’re flirting.”
“And what if I am? Come on, what is on your mind?” you tilted your head, feigning innocence.
“It is just... Earlier we were wondering if that “queer-gene” runs in your family, but I guess that little flirtation with our principal answered my question.” she murmured the last part, her eyes dropping to the drink she took a long swig of. It was clear Melissa felt a hunger for you; you were a new figure, a mystery she would love to unravel.
“Cut the crap, Schemmenti. We both know you got that ‘ah-ha’ moment when I caught you undressing me with your eyes, and I undressed you right back.” you responded with a playful smirk, your bodies close enough to feel the heat radiating off of them.
That earned you a real reaction. Melissa leaned back, a low laugh rumbling from her chest, raspy from whiskey and decades of Philly grit. She looked at you like she could not quite decide whether to shut you down or pull you closer.
“You are something else,” she muttered, shaking her head. But her eyes… Her eyes lingered.
The song faded, the DJ blending it into something sharper, louder, pulling the small crowd back into motion. But neither of you moved. Melissa’s hand was still in yours, her thumb brushing absently over your knuckles like she had not realized she was doing it.
“Looks like your brother got some good taste in company,” she said finally, voice low, almost drowned out by the bass.
You arched a brow. “Is that your way of saying you like me?”
Melissa snorted. “Do not get ahead of yourself,” but the way her gaze lingered on your mouth betrayed her.
You leaned in just enough for her to catch the challenge in your tone. “I think you are not used to being the one chased.”
Her laugh was short and sharp, but it cracked at the edges, like you had struck a nerve. “You do not know a damn thing about me.”
“Then tell me,” you shot back, steady, unflinching.
For a heartbeat, she froze. Caught between the instinct to push you away and the heat building every second, she did not. Then she let go of your hand, but only so she could grab her drink from the bar, finishing it in one rough swallow.
“You really do not quit,” she muttered, setting the glass down harder than she meant to.
You stepped closer, voice a low murmur only she could hear. “Not when the reward looks like you.”
Her head snapped toward you, eyes narrowed, jaw tight. But instead of pushing you back, she laughed again, this time softer, almost disbelieving. She shook her head, muttering something in Italian under her breath.
Then she leaned in, lips brushing your ear as she spoke: “Careful, tesoro. You play with fire, you are going to get burned.”
You smiled, turning just enough that your lips nearly grazed her cheek. “Maybe I like the heat.”
The silence between you was charged, the kind of silence that stretched tight like a wire, ready to snap. Melissa’s eyes flicked down to your lips again, quick, involuntary, but obvious.
And that was all you needed.
You did not kiss her. Not yet. Instead, you pulled back with a knowing smirk, grabbing your clutch from the booth. “I am heading out.”
Melissa blinked, caught off guard. “This is it?”
“I am heading back to my hotel,” you said, grabbing a napkin and a pen from your purse. You scribbled your room number and the hotel initials, then slid the paper to her. You finished your drink in a single gulp. “But if you are curious… Here is my room number.”
Her fingers hovered over the napkin, her face unreadable, but her eyes betrayed her. Dark, hungry, alive.
Melissa gnawed on her bottom lip, her gaze fixed on the dance floor where her friends were having the time of their lives. She was caught in a crossfire between feeding her hunger and having the decency not to kiss her friend’s sibling without his blessing. But given the situation, she knew she would only see you sporadically, if ever again. So she decided to take the risk, a secret she would never let spill, not even to Barbara. You seemed to read her thoughts.
“If you want to make those thoughts happen, I am more than willing to help.”
You left her standing there and made your way back to the group to say goodbye to your brother, claiming you had to head out early to get some rest. He did not need to know that everything was already planned and that you would possibly be in the company of the most beautiful woman that city had to offer. As always, he was extremely understanding and seemed excited about the surprise you had for him tomorrow. You told him to be careful and to text you when he got home or if he ended up crashing at someone’s place.
An hour later, you were in your hotel bed, a glass of wine in your hand, and wrapped in a fluffy white robe. Your hopes were dwindling, and you just needed sleep to arrive. The movie on TV was so captivating that you barely heard the knock on the door. You had to turn the volume down before you walked over and opened it, revealing the redhead standing there with nothing but a trench coat covering her curves. A smile bloomed on both your faces.
“Melissa,” you said, pulling her in by the coat’s lapel. You locked the door behind her, pressing her against the white wood.
She whispered your name like a prayer, her eyes meeting yours with a hungry look, wanting to see your reaction to the matching lingerie and garter belt she had worn just for the occasion.
The room was suddenly charged with heat, a slow, deliberate tension that had been building all night now ready to ignite. Every glance, every small touch. The brush of a hand, the tilt of a hip. It was a conversation of its own.
Melissa’s lips grazed your neck, a whisper of a kiss that made your breath hitch. You melted against her, one hand threading through her hair, pulling her closer, savoring the way her body fit so naturally against yours.
“You are trouble,” you murmured against her mouth, your voice husky.
She smirked, eyes glinting with mischief. “Only the good kind,” she countered, pressing another kiss against your jawline, lower this time.
Every inch of hesitation you had carried all night dissolved. The trench coat fell to the floor, followed by your robe, leaving only the two of you in the soft glow of the hotel lamp. Your fingers traced her spine, her hands memorizing the curve of your waist, and the world outside ceased to exist.
It was slow at first, exploratory, a careful dance of lips and hands mapping each other. Then urgency took over, a fire neither of you wanted to put out. Melissa’s mouth found yours fully, deep, claiming, testing, while you wrapped your legs around her, pulling her closer.
Time did not exist. Only the heat, the pulse, the closeness, the shared breath, and whispered names that felt sacred in the quiet of the hotel room. Every sigh, every shiver, and every stolen moan became a language only the two of you understood.
Finally, after what felt like both an eternity and a single heartbeat, you pulled back slightly, foreheads resting together, gasping in unison, grins spreading despite the flushed heat.
Melissa brushed a strand of hair from your face. “Damn, baby. You are perfect,” she whispered, her voice low, satisfied, and entirely yours in that moment.
“Melissa… You are unforgettable,” you replied, lips twitching into a wicked, content smile.
The night stretched ahead, endless and yours, full of whispered secrets, laughter, and a newfound closeness that neither of you wanted to let go of somehow.
this work was written on september 10th, 2025 and previously published on october 25th, 2025 under the account @lawolsonlover but due to some changes to the text and moving accounts, i have decided to publish it again.
hi! can i request a melissa x reader fic where they’re dating and reader decides to tease (piss off) melissa by dressing up as a dalas cowboys cheerleader for a halloween party. Melissa doesn’t find it funny and punishes reader when they get home (ripping the costume off) maybe some rough dom mel?? (make her extra mean please🙏)
its so specific but i thought of this the other day😭😭
You Made Your Own Bed;
Now Lay In It
Melissa Schemmenti X Reader
A/n: idk why I have a hard time writing Melissa as the dom but I gave it a shot lol not the normal soft and nurturing lover but it is implied in the end
You and Melissa had been secretly dating each other for some time now. Things were going great. Really great actually. Except for one thing.
She still wasn’t ready to out your relationship.
Your relationship with the redhead was exciting in the bedroom, rough even, followed by tender loving.
Once Jacob and Caleb moved out, getting an apartment together, you spent a lot of time at hers doing mundane tasks (I.e., cooking, grading, cleaning, binging).
But lately you are growing old of feeling like her dirty little secret.
“Why can’t we tell our friends, Mel. I’m pretty sure they already know. You aren’t as subtle as you think when you check me out from down the hall.”
“They don’t know anything, they are oblivious.”
“But what’s the big deal? Are you embarrassed of me?”
She stops chopping vegetables to turn and look at you. “Gods no! Why would I be embarrassed? Look at you. If anything you should be embarrassed.”
“Now you know that’s not true. Where’s the confidence from last night when you tied me and rode my face? Thank you for that by the way. I thoroughly enjoyed it.”
She rolls her eyes scoffing.
“I’m serious. I want to scream it from the roof tops or at the very least tell our friends. Or what if we plan matching couples costumes and let them draw their own conclusions. Just something!”
“Hon. I’m not ready.”
“I don’t get it. You were fine flaunting around Captain Rob or even what’s his face that stocked the vending machines. Why not me?”
“Because you mean so much more to me than they ever did. Not some uniform or a hookup for my favorite teas. And once it’s out there the bubble bursts and it becomes real. We open up our relationship to be scrutinized by everyone else.”
“That’s a cop out and you know it. This is already real. It’s been 8 months. 8 exclusive months of falling head over heels in love with you.”
“Just give me some more time…”
“To what end all your other hookups? Is that why you don’t want anybody knowing about me? About us? Y’know what, I don’t want to know. I’m not gonna push you but I just need to think.”
You head for the door and once you’ve gathered your keys and purse you hear her bellow from behind you. “Don’t you dare open that door.”
“You’re not in charge right now. Until you can claim me to our friends then I’m done letting you claim me in the bedroom.” And with that you left.
She was frozen for a moment, waiting for you to change your mind and walk back through the closed door. But when you didn’t, the tears threatened to spill. She marched back into the kitchen and threw the pot of sauce in the sink. No longer having an appetite.”
A week later and you are talking with Janine and Jacob about your costumes for Ava’s Halloween party. “So what’s everyone wearing?”
Everybody is giving hints and you look longingly at Melissa but she won’t meet your eye. You wanted to go as Velma and Melissa as Daphne but she said people would talk.
Ava walks in and always with that flirtatious lilt comes up behind you. Her hand slides across your shoulders in a friendly manner but Melissa definitely didn’t see it as such. And you aren’t sure if you are the only one that heard the growl ghosted in the air.
“What about you, hot sauce? Got something spicy for us?”
You ignore her flirting as you are in the middle of a heated stare off with your, maybe, girlfriend. “It’s a surprise. No hints.”
That weekend you’re getting ready for Ava’s Halloween bash. You pull out your softest push up bra squishing them as far up as possible. Tying the front of your top before pulling the shorts up over your skin tone tights.
You’ve curled your hair with big bouncy curls and settled on a light eye makeup and a Merlot matte lip stain. Pulling on your boots you head out the door after one last check in the mirror. You smile dangerously knowing you're playing with fire.
But that was the plan wasn’t it? Add gas to the fire until she explodes. Of course, Melissa was already there. On time. You find your group when Janine waves you over and they all fan over each other's costumes.
Ava comes from the hall and bee-lines to you as soon as she sees your in attendance. “Here I thought you and red had been doing the nasty this whole time. But clearly I was wrong cause anyone in their right mind would not wear that in the same vicinity as her temper.”
“It’s Halloween. And I can wear whatever I want. If Ms. Schemmenti has an issue with it then that’s her problem.”
“Girl. You have a death wish. Just let me know before the catfight so I can livestream it.”
Everyone just rolls their eyes as she leaves to parade around her guests like a celebrity. “I’m gonna go grab a drink, does anybody need one?”
They all decline the offer raising their semi full cups or bottles. “Alright, I’ll be back.”
On your way to the refreshments an unfamiliar face had blocked your path. “Damn. You must be Y/n. Ava’s told us about you. Trying to get you to come to our night crawls. She’s got a good eye Y’know.” She’s clearly checking you out and you’re flattered but it wasn’t her you wanted a reaction from.
Looking past her shoulder you see Melissa in a figure forming red dress with a slit up the side. Purple gloves that went past her elbows. And her hair…her hair was curled to perfection. Voluminous waves ready for the red carpet.
The strapless dress was barely able to contain the girls that rose and fell with the frustrated sigh she released when she spotted you. You were almost ready to cave and sign away a lifetime of being her dirty little secret. Almost.
You know she saw you gawking when the smirk paints its way across her lips. She crosses her arm still shooting daggers at the woman blocking your form from you. Maybe she hasn’t seen it yet.
You look back to the innocent girl in front of you. Well how innocent could she be if she’s a part of Ava’s nightclub circle. “Yeah, she’s tried. Not really my thing though. It was nice meeting you.”
You step around her and continue towards the drinks table first. You grab a bottle of beer before pouring three shots.
You carry them over to Mel and Sea Barb against the wall and offer them each a shot. “Happy Halloween!” You raise your shot in toast before tossing the plastic in the nearby trash.
“What are you wearing?” Melissa seethes still not taking her shot.
“I’m a Dallas Cowboy Cheerleader, it’s funny!”
“It’s atrocious.” She offers. People don’t know whether to boo you or hit on you.
“Cmon, what do you think Barb?”
“Oi, Matey. I may be Sea Barb but I am not going down in This. Ship.” With her finger in the air she marches off back to the dance floor. And you just laugh as she flings her shoes across the floor landing who knows where.
Turning back to face Melissa and her eyes are dragging up your exposed legs and tummy. You smirk when her line of vision makes eye contact with you. “Were you just checking me out?”
“You know I love your body.” She whispers only you can hear. “But I don’t approve of this.”
“Well that’s the thing, who are you to give me permission on what I wear for Halloween? You didn’t like my other ideas, either. You had a choice.”
She knows what you are really asking. You’re baiting her. “Besides, I was checking you out.” You lick your lip pulling it between your teeth. “I very much approve. But I should go before my hands start to wander. Wouldn’t want people to start talking, now would we?”
She scoffs again and this time there’s no smile to her face. Her knuckles are white beneath the gloves as she grips tighter around her arms. Positively fuming.
“Have fun, Jessica Rabbit.”
She watches you sway back into the sea of people. And you know she’s checking out your legs. She loves how long they are and when they wrap around her head. She’s said it, time and time again.
Once back with the trio Janine and Jacob are on you in an instant. Gregory was busy pretending not to care. Or actually, you truly don’t think he cares about any gossip. “You’re alive?! Did Melissa see you?”
“Yeah. She tried to scare me off. It didn’t work.”
“You have a death wish.”
“You look really hot but I bet Ava has other costumes you could use.”
“I’m not changing. Why should I? Melissa isn’t the costume police.”
“Yeah but aren’t you guys…?”
“Aren’t we what?”
“Nevermind! Happy Halloween!” She clinks her cup against the side of your beer effectively changing the direction of the conversation. “Who even are all of these people?!” She yells over the music.
“I don’t know but let’s dance!”
The group starts dancing and integrating with the rest of the crowd. You feel Melissa’s eyes on you so you put a little extra sway into your movements. Your hands are dragging along your body where you know her hands would if she would just get over herself.
Dancing in a circle you catch her glance from across the room and she’s seething but even from here you can see her pupils dilated following your hips.
Pushing off the wall, she steps up behind you. Not close enough to question the nature of your relationship but enough for you to hear her. She plasters her mask on dancing with the group before leaning over to you.
“Change or we’re going home.”
“I’m not changing.”
“You’re testing my patience.”
“What are you gonna do about it?” She huffs again but doesn’t say anything.
Before you can push her further Ava appears and pulls you away from the group. “Cmon cowgirl, it’s time to circle twerk!” She pulls you to an open space and everyone crowds around.
You are definitely not about to do this. You look back in the direction you came from looking for your friends to help get you out of this. “Oh Ava. I don’t think… Yeah, I’m not doing that.”
“C’mon hot sauce.” She starts shaking her ass on you and you stand there eyes bewildered with your hands in the air.
Soon you feel the familiar hand wrap around your waist pulling you back flush against her. She squeezes your hips clearly thinking deeply about her next move. She steps around you and points a finger in Ava’s face.
“If you have any sanity left you better move that circle elsewhere. And don’t ever rub up on my girlfriend like that again.”
Everybody kept dancing barely paying attention and Ava sports a wicked grin. “Alright, Everybody! Twerk contest over here in 3 minutes! Winner gets an Ava Coleman Spa basket for $50!”
She flips her hair in Melissa’s face, “it’s about time. I was gonna up my game.”
Meanwhile you are staring at the back of Melissa’s frame and you don’t know if you’re gonna cry, laugh, or jump in her arms. You’re frozen. Rooted to your spot.
Melissa turns around and notices the shocked faces of your coworkers throughout the crowd.
“You guys are dating?” Janine yells and you don’t know why she’s so shocked. She pretty much alluded to it earlier.
You see the tension leave her body at finally saying it out loud in front of your friends. She doesn’t know why she was so scared. She doesn’t care what anybody thinks. And you were right. It’s been real. The entire time and whoever knows or doesn’t know has no weight in the matter.
“Yeah.” She breathes. Stepping into your personal space and claiming your lips in a needy display of claiming you once and for all.
Your hands thread through her hair pulling her closer as her hands wrap around your lower back making you arch into her.
“Damn that’s hot!” A no name bystander whoops and she pulls back glaring at his audacity.
She looks back at Jacob and Janine who are bouncing with giddy. “She won’t be if she doesn’t change her ridiculous costume, though.”
“I told her Ava had spares she could wear!” Still very much intimidated by the red head.
“Trader. I’m not changing.”
“Then we’re going home.”
She drags you to the coat closet and you stop her. “What, embarrassed to be seen with me, Ms. Rabbit?”
She pins you against the wall and kisses you rough and when she pulls back you know you should be gasping for air but you are drunk on her. Her lips on yours, her body against you, the feel of her bare skin peeking through the slit in her dress.
“Not you, hon. But I can’t be seen with Dallas cowgirl.” She fumes before reaching into the closet for her coat and throwing it over your shoulders.
Off in the distance you hear Barb’s voice float above the sea of people. “Ahoy, sailor!” It was very fitting with her current state and the fact that she was dressed as a pirate.
“We gotta take Barb home first and then I’m gonna teach you to never test me like this again.”
You lean in to whisper in her ear. “Yes, Padrona.”
She stares blankly back at you and you know she’s short circuited. “Go get Barb, baby. I need you and I can’t wait much longer.”
“Fuck. Right. Stay right here.” She goes and grabs Barb from the dance floor and you spot her shoes under one of the tables and grab them.
“Shit Barb, where are your shoes?”
She raises her hand like she’s about to lead a rally. “I. Don’t. Know!” And everyone blindly cheers for her.
“I’ve got them right here, babe.”
“Oh thank god.” She grabs Barb’s coat from the closet and leads you both from Ava’s house to her car.
She helps her best friend into the back seat and once she settles into the driver seat she reaches for your hand. “I’m happy to be seen with you, hon. But you’re in so much trouble when we get home.”
And you try with all your might but you just can’t seem to contain the smile that threatens to spill across your lips.
“Good.”
She pinches the inside of your thigh and you yelp instantly feeling your shorts soak as they were too tight to wear any underwear without pantylines.
The entirety of the drive, after dropping Barbara off with her husband and continuing your trek to Melissa’s, you’re a mess. Your constant wriggling in your seat did not go unnoticed by your girlfriend.
“Are you wet right now?
“Drenched.”
She pulls up to the house and upon entering you shed her coat and wait for her next orders.
“I want you out back and strip this ridiculous costume off.”
Your cheeks blush at the prospect of being naked outside. But you do as she says. You strip on the back porch. Untying the top and sliding the shorts down your legs over your boots.
She steps out behind you and you're standing there in the chilly air, arms crossed over your body. “What if your neighbors see?”
“Did I say you can talk?” She pulls your arms down to your sides. “Don’t hide from me.” And you obey. Standing there in your push up bra and tights and- “boots too.”
You pull them off without another word. She grabs your boots and costume and tosses them into a tin trash can. “I don’t ever want to see this again.”
You smirk at the reaction the offending fabric erupted in your girlfriend still dressed as Jessica Rabbit. She pours some lighter fluid on top of the clothes before handing you the pack of matches.
Stepping behind you she unsnaps your bra and flings it on a chair. “We’ll keep that. I couldn’t stop staring at your boobs all night.” Her hands wander to your breast and pinch your nipples before palming them both in her hands.
Shifting to move her hands down your belly her nails rip the fabric of your nylon at the apex of your thighs. When her fingers find your swollen clit you start rocking against her hand.
Sucking in a gulp of air your head falls back against her and she clicks her tongue. “Uh uh. I want you to burn them.”
You arch your back, grinding your ass into her while one of her hands wander, squeezing one of your breasts through the cup of your bra, roughly. The other is teasing your sopping center.
Nonetheless, your head snaps forward concentrating on striking the match. It took a couple tries but once the match lights, you drop it into the bin watching your Dallas cowgirl costume roar to life in the golden embers of the flames.
“I’m still upset with you and your decisions tonight but I’m so inlove with your body and all I could think about was how I could bend you to my will.”
Your head is thrown back on her shoulder once again as the fire dances across your eyes.
“Turn around and on your knees.”
You do as she says even though the wooden deck makes your knees cry out. You’d give her anything for finally claiming you in front of your friends.
She walks away from you and leans against the rail and you pout at the distance.
“You’re gonna use that tongue of yours until I deem it worthy.” Scrunching and shifting the dress up her hips, she props a heel on the bench next to her and your mouth instantly waters. She wasn’t wearing any panties and she’s drenched. “Come here.”
You start to stand to close the distance and she clicks her tongue again. “Tsk tsk. Crawl.”
You glare at her daringly and when she doesn’t budge, you crawl until you are seated directly in front of her. You’re face to face with her cunt and it’s taking all your restraint not to dive in.
“Are you gonna be a good girl and make mommy cum?”
You nod. Waiting for permission to speak.
“Good. Now eat me.” And you don’t need any further instruction.
You dive in plunging your tongue through her labia before zeroing in on her pulsing clit begging for your attention.
You flick it over and over with your tongue, getting her to use you as she needs. Her hips stutter on your tongue with one hand in your hair and the other still holding her dress up.
When you suck the pert bundle into your mouth she doubles over. Her hand claws and your back and shoulders leaving angry red marks as she holds you close to her sacred core.
“You’re mine. And that stunt you pulled…” She sucks in a gasp of air when your teeth nibble her bundle of nerves. “After I cum, I won’t be going easy on you.”
And that’s what you wanted all along. You wanted her to lose control. Reminding her that nobody else could please her the way you do.
You reach up to grab her ass and pull her deeper onto your tongue and she smacks your hands away. “Just your whore mouth, no touching.”
She leans back against the rail and pushes the top of her dress down to play with her own breasts. She’s not wearing a bra underneath and her nipples stand to attention against the crisp evening air. She’s palming and pinching as her hips rut on your tongue.
She’s so sexy like this and you sigh into her pussy when the dress falls slightly blocking your vision now that she isn’t holding the hem up for you. You attempt to wiggle your nose into the fabric so you can watch her cum but to no avail.
Her breathing is frantic and you focus on her moans, she’s close. You spread your knees further against the wooden deck to get a better angle. Your hands resting on your calves, holding you up as you’re practically becoming an extortionist underneath her. Sticking your tongue as far as you can into her wet vessel, your nose is pressing into her clit like a video game controller.
“Don’t stop.” Another moan. “Keep doing that- oh god. Just like that!” Both of her hands fly to your head on either side to encourage your tongue penetrating her to the high holy gates. “Fuck, I’m cumming.”
Her legs tremor as she settles onto your mouth and the rest of her limbs stiffen as she falls over the edge. Your neck is kinked and you’ll worry about that tomorrow as long as she keeps cumming.
Who cares about oxygen anymore. You’d happily drown between her thighs.
She sucks in air and you don’t give her time to catch her breath before latching onto her clit, sucking and nibbling. “You brat!”
She’s back to clawing at your shoulders, biting her own lip before a scream rips through the chilling air. “Fuck, I’m cumming again!”
She holds you against her for a few more moments before pushing your head away. “Mmhmm, you little shit.” She hums before her knees give out. She hikes up her dress again and she settles onto your lap.
She’s so sexy and you hate that your knees are protesting but you know she needs a moment before she can stand and bark out her next orders.
Once she caught her breath, you aren’t even sure if she realizes, she starts slowly rubbing her sensitive pussy against your stomach. Riding out the aftershocks of her back to back climax. When they stutter, she breaks her role for just a second with a dopey grin.
“Such a good girl for me. You’re lucky I can’t resist your pretty little mouth.” She kisses you hard, tasting herself. You moan, half pleasure and half pain, and she must notice.
Without breaking the kiss she pushes up on her knees allowing some feeling back into your calves.
Once she breaks the kiss she hoists herself up onto the bench behind her. “Can you stand?”
You nod but she notices the wince as you rub your knees.
“Go slow. I don’t want you passing out. We’re just getting started.” She helps you up and once at your full height she turns you around til your back is to her once more. Her hands massage your hips and works their way down over your thighs. She places a kiss over your hips and she pulls you back to straddle her legs. “Sit.”
Once seated in her lap, she spreads her own legs and you hook your feet around her calves. She ducks under your arm and you hold onto the back of the bench when her tongue darts out to lick the side of your breast. Her eyes trail down your body where her fingers find your dripping cunt.
“This is all for me. Nobody else.”
“All for you.”
“I didn’t ask you to speak. It wasn’t a question.” She plunges 2 fingers in and you gasp, or more so, squeal as you clench around her fingers. Her thumb finds your clit strumming a threatening rhythm.
A needy whine falls from your lips and she pulls out fully before plunging back into your core. “So warm.”
She picks up her pace and you're already so close. “Please, let me come for you.”
“I think you can do better than that.”
You’re not sure how but you’ve contorted your upper body, straining to hold back your pending orgasm. You’re partially on her, the back of the bench and the seat. Her legs are holding you open and the contrast from the slight breeze and the speed of her fingers has you teetering on the edge of exploding before she gives you permission.
“Please, padrona. I’m so close. I wanna show you how much I love you. Only you can make me cum like this. Please, I’m gonna die in your lap if I can’t cum. Ti prego.”
“Then let me have it. Show me.” She bites the side of your boob and you scream out into the night.
“Shit! So good!” You yell and your body is shaking on top of her. “Oh god, Mel!” She pulls her fingers out and strums your sensitive bundle until your juices are splashing and she can feel your wetness drip down the inside of her thighs.
“Such a good girl. I can't wait to taste you.” You’re still shaking and your legs inevitably clamp around her wrist halting any further movement. “Take a moment and then I want you bare and on the bed. Probably gonna get a noise complaint from the neighbors for your little performance there.”
You still can’t find your voice, your throat is raw so all you can do is nod. You bury your face in the crook of her neck, breathing her in. Your chest and face are flushed from the intensity of your crash and now you are suddenly aware that you are outside and the whole block most likely heard you. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what’s going on in her backyard.
You climb off of her, not quite sure you can even hold yourself up but you don’t want to give the neighbors anymore without a subscription.
Besides, you trust Melissa not to let you fall. She may be in dom mode and stubborn, but in her own time and fashion, she will always catch you.
You make it half way before you pause. The friction between your legs and the remnants of your torn tights is too much, too soon.
Melissa steps in front of you with a wicked smile cause she knows you are struggling to stay upright on your own. She puts the lid over the burning pile in the trash to snuff out the flames. Turning back to you she lifts you into her arms and your legs instinctively wrap around her waist.
You bury your head into her neck and the silk of her dress soothes your swollen pussy. She sets you on a barstool once inside and fetches a glass of water. She takes a drink before filling it back up for you. “Drink this, hon. You’re gonna need it.”
And when she steps back up to your side and rubs your back, you can see the now very apparent wet spot you left in the center of her dress.
“We’re not done yet. I think you are capable of doing what I asked.” She points to the stairs and you set the glass down before pushing yourself off the stool. She slaps your ass and you squeeze your thighs together again.
Once upstairs, you can feel the atmosphere shift. She takes her time with soft caresses and loving kisses. She was still in charge and you were more than willing to submit to her. But the intimacy was much more raw and deep. Like she poured her soul into every touch.
She held you after you both came together and breathed each other in. “I’m sorry for the costume.”
“That was a low blow.” She laughs. Both delirious and exhausted from the night’s events. “But I’m sorry, too.”
You lean back, just enough to look into her eyes with questions in yours.
“I’m glad our friends know now. I was worried about the bubble popping and things changing when you first brought it up. And when you asked again last week I panicked because I wanted things to change.” You pulled back again, scared this time.
“You can say no and we can keep going like we are but I was sorta hoping you would maybe want to…”
You give her a moment to organize her thoughts and she strokes your arm while she does.
“I- hon, I think that I’d like it if you didn’t have to leave here all the time. Like if you just had your things…here.”
“Are you asking me to move in with you?”
“I guess that I am.”
This time you pull back with a giant smile and you analyze her features. “Melissa. I’d love to have my things here.”
She smiles and smacks your arm as she rolls her eyes.
“I’d love to move in with you.” And you kiss her softly, lovingly, before curling up in her arms. She kisses your hair before releasing a deep breath.
“i know you’re close. i can feel it. i can feel exactly how close you are and that’s exactly why i’m slowing down right now. because i want more time with you like this. desperate and squirmy and trying so hard to be good and finding it harder and harder to manage. you’re so beautiful right now. the way you look. the way you feel. the sounds you’re making. i’m not ready for it to be over yet... so just breathe for me. stay right here. i’ve got you completely and i promise i’ll take care of you. just not yet.”
