synopsis: Dr. Sevika hc’s — being with a Doctor who usually runs the ED like a tight-fisted screw , keeping everyone in line , tight and strict , undeniably has a thing for the med student she keeps at her side , you .
cw: Afab!medstudent!reader x Attending!Doctor!Sevika , age gap , smut , fingering , fluff , angst , death mentioned , maybe some inaccurate use of medical terms , self harm mentioned , strap-on , cunnilingous , nicknames used such as ; doctor , love, sweetheart , etc.
a/n: watch the pitt NOW guys
❝you’re shameless, love❞
Doctor!Sevika who always guides your hand when you use a scalpel. You feel the weight of her presence behind you, her fingers a solid precision as the beeping of monitors blur out into a familiar, systematic background.
“Ease in. More pressure.” She commanded, her voice composed no matter the situation like a screw that never came unbolted against storms.
You nodded, eyes veering off towards the depths of the scalpel melting into the skin, applying more pressure just like she said.
“Like this?” You whispered out, moving your head to the side to get a glance at her face. You wanted to see her lips move as she praised you—it never failed to make you feel warm inside, even if the words didn’t land as soft and buttery—but cold and acknowledgeable for someone of your skill.
“Just like that.” Her fingers moved over yours, rough hands turned gentle for co-ordination of the scalpel. “Good girl.”
Doctor!Sevika who always steals you from other cases. She barges in the room without blinking an eye at the person, only tracking you like a turret with a personal bone to pick.
“You, come with me, there’s a trauma 1 and you’re working on it with me.”
Doctor!Sevika who somehow looks even more sexier at the end of her shift. Her brown hair she holds half up half down grows messy—strands out of place that were usually so strict in place, eyes looking like they’re attached to dumbbells, and yet, you can’t keep your eyes off of her.
Doctor!Sevika who expects you to answer her questions no matter what you’re doing.
You’re surveying the severity of a life-threatening situation, walking around the gurney with practiced ease as Sevika strides in, watching like an overseeing hawk.
“What med do we give them?” She questions you directly, pulling on a pair of gloves and letting them snap against her thick, bruising fingers as she walks over.
“Epinephrine 1:10,000, one milligram for cardiac arrest.” You didn’t look up at her.
“Correct.”
Doctor!Sevika who smokes outside of the hospital by the ambulances at bay. She liked the nicotine rush. Liked the feeling of the smoke grazing her lungs despite knowing in depth what it did. Or maybe—just maybe, she liked when you would come out for a break, panting as if you were on the midst of a breakdown, and immediately straighten up when you see her, aiming to make a dry joke about her addiction to smoking beneath it all.
“Smoking, doctor?” You managed to catch your breath, making the words come out slippery and airless. “Thought you’d know better…” you shot her a sheepish smile—one that was supposed to be teasing, but your face was too exhausted in pouting lines to move sharply into real amusement.
“None of us know better in reality, we chose to work here, after all.” Sevika scoffed, though you saw—or hoped, and begged, that your words landed right as you saw her upper lip twitching north momentarily.
Doctor!Sevika who never lets you break news to a patient’s loved one’s alone. She can see the hollowness prolonging your face after losing a patient. One as young as a teenager—she sees the familiar blame, the guilt—the nauseating shame of needing to do something more than you could have done. It was a baggage she had learnt to leave at doors.
Doctor!Sevika who takes up a lot of space in the ER, bouncing between rooms like she was made to save lives. Despite the scrubs she wears, hiding any trace of body underneath, stethoscope loose around the neck, she never fails to be everywhere all at once, even if you told yourself that wasn’t possible.
Doctor!Sevika who never lets you overwork yourself.
Your arms ache, pain springing through it like stabbing needles from the chest compressions that never seemed to bring back even a faint pulse. Sweat created a sheen like layer over your skin, reflecting fluorescent light like a beam of a flashlight. The patient’s face becomes blurry in front of you, chapped lips—blood stained across their face. You couldn’t lose another one. Couldn’t afford anymore blood on your hands for the sake of your sanity.
Your fingers trembled, echoed voices directing information before a familiar one cut through.
“Switch. Now.”
You looked up swiftly. Your breathe staggered, head shaking.
“I’m fine.” You retorted back sharply, letting out a pant.
“This isn’t about you this is about the patient. You’re losing quality. Laura, switch with her now.” She waved her hand dismissively towards you, another doctor moving past you as you stumbled back. Her words were harsh and cold, but nothing could match her eyes landing onto yours amongst the storm.
“Take ten.”
“I’m fine.” You repeated, stepping closer to the end of the patient as your eyes scanned over them again.
Whatever Sevika was thinking behind her grey eyes; it was clear she wasn’t having your refusal. She stepped closer—dangerously close, intimately close, brushing a hand against your arm.
“I said take. Ten.”
Doctor!Sevika who started driving you home after your shifts has finished. You were waiting for another nurse to sign off for the day, leaning against the car-park as the weariness of the day that had burrowed itself deep within you starting to slither out.
You let out a tired sigh, the loneliness of the shifts always felt daunting after losing a patient. But it was inevitable. You heard the same lines everyday.
‘It’s not your fault.’
‘Don’t let it get to you.’
‘Leave the baggage when you come through the door.’
‘You did all you could. There’s nothing more you could’ve done.”
But that gnawing hollowness inside of you was interrupted by a flash of head-lights. You looked up, seeing that familiar stature with gripped fingers against the steering wheel.
Sevika.
She didn’t speak—didn’t bother to roll down her windows against the soft patter of the rain, only nodded her chin towards the passenger seat, unlocking the car with a subtle click.
Doctor!Sevika who , very dangerously, lets the line slip between professional and unprofessional. One too many times she’s dropped you off now, and each time she does she keeps getting closer and closer to your apartment, walking you in—taking a coffee for herself, smoking outside despite the winds disallowing the lighter to work for several minutes. It becomes to a point where you just invite her in. You were exhausted. Drained. Witnessed two deaths while the other three became your own. A busy day for the ED meant your barriers lowered, seeking out a warmth you thought you’d never get—which was undeniably Sevika. And after long, lilting glances, an emergency room made up of your equally as short glances and awaiting praise from Sevika, the tension became a presence the whole department could feel.
Doctor!Sevika who had to have you. Little visits became more profound. Her keys sometimes left on the side of your nightstand—her bag left at the front of the house, and her strap she purposely left at home for you to use left tangled on the bed.
Ever since things got serious—and you were occasionally switched out for night shifts, Sevika became almost snappy with the rest of the staff when she couldn’t order her favourite little thing around. Instead, during breaks—she’d FaceTime you, already expecting you to be up, and coerce you into angling the phone just right where she could see you bouncing on her strap, whining like a pathetic mess for her.
“Sevvy…come home,” you whimpered out, squishing your own breast as you heard her suck up a deep breath on the other side. But you were meant with a perilous coldness that felt too personal just for you.
“Tch. You have a lot of audacity, love.” She drawled, watching the phone. “Be a good girl and fuck yourself f’me. yeah baby?”
Doctor!Sevika who insists on doing ‘pelvic exams’ on you.
You know you’re soaking. She knows it as well. And yet you still drag your soddened panties down, wiggling off your trousers to kick them to the side.
“Part your legs.” Sevika hummed, letting her fingers skim over your upper-thigh, trailing further inwards towards the heat radiating off of you.
“Your pussy has no self control, does it?” Her steel eyes snapped to your face, her fingers sliding through your folds, collecting the slick there. “Not around me, anyways.” She smirked crookedly, letting her thumb rub slow circles on your clit.
You breathe hitched, hips pistoning forward against her fingers. So cold. Always so rigid like frost over your usually-warm body. “Sev..” you whined—a sound that reverberated from wall to wall.
“Tender, sweetheart?” She moved forward, easing two fingers into your weeping hole as they stuffed your cunt until they were full with her fingers. She knew exactly where to hit—how to hit, how to push and pull her fingers inside of you, watching you leak deliciously around her. “So sensitive for me…you have a thing for your attending, darling?” She shook her head, smirking to herself, before she wiped it off her face completely.
“How unprofessional.” She tutted, smacking your pussy as quick as her fingers had just entered you. “I’m just doing an exam, love.”
Doctor!Sevika who is always moaning at you to do your charting. You always want to skim around the generic work—but being more hands on meant recording everything else much frequently in bigger chunks. And you hated it…occasionally. The only reason you wouldn’t hate it was because it got Sevika’s attention. She turned to behind you, giving you an expecting look that meant trouble for later if you didn’t do as she said.
Doctor!Sevika who lets you break down in her arms after you’ve suppressed everything all day. She’s warm—feels like home beneath muscles you rarely got to see.
“Sh sweet thing, you did well f’me today.” She mumbled into your neck, her breathe warm against it as your frame trembled against her.
“I did well? I-I lost…I-“ you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. Words that felt too heavy even grief couldn’t compete in that moment. A feeling of utter despair.
“Who you lost doesn’t equal to your performance. Even then, you were excellent.”
Doctor!Sevika who occasionally breaks down with you. Sevika is a tough women who prides herself on staying composed no matter the situation, but whenever kids and children where involved, and loss followed, it always seemed to be the burrow of her day.
“I…” the warm lighting of your apartment lamp glowed directly onto Sevika’s face, smoothing away the prominent lines that would usually be there. And even then, the melancholy engulfing her features was hard to miss. “I had two patients. One six. One ten years older,” she swiped the edge of her nose with her thumb, leaning forward, elbows planted atop her knees. “Sisters, in a bad car crash.”
You stayed silent in these moments. It was rare an attending would break like this, especially someone like Sevika. Her voice was hoarse, unmistakable shakiness erasing the roughness of it.
“Couldn’t save them.” She finished—grey eyes like dull clouds hugging the floor ground, the tilt of her head avoiding the chase of light, bringing back those harsh lines that was like a remnant of the ED taken home with her.
You watched her hunched figure, eyes passing between the side of her face glowing in the light, and the other side shielded by the past.
“Sev,” you whispered—a nickname you gave her, even at work where other med students teased you about it, slipping from your tongue as you moved from the opposing sofa to sit next to her. But now the nickname felt more intimate. Felt more reserved for you and her only. “I know…” you let out a little empty laugh, faking flat in the air around. “I know you’ve heard this…so many times but..” you gulped, looking towards her. “I mean..I know I have but…it’s not your fault. You did everything you could’ve possibly done.”
You expected her to scoff. Expected her to roll out a cigarette that would burn her lungs into numbing her emotionally—but it didn’t come. Nothing came. Except for one sentence.
“You know, I only believe it when you say it.”
Doctor!Sevika who makes you exam her body late after shifts—night hitting the bar when you’re both alone in the apartment. You’re stripped of your clothes, wanting to writhe and moan atop of her as she lays before you, in the same state of undress.
You started at her neck—going into the anatomy, the potential problems—the way it works, all the while she kept a vibrating buzzing against your pussy
“Focus.” She’d snap, watching you try to grind down against her. “How are you going to be a doctor if you can’t focus under pressure?”
Doctor!Sevika who notices your self-destructive behaviour after a particular gruelling day. You don’t know how many patients you’ve lost across an almost fifteen hour-shift, but the day came together into one solid thing; pure turmoil. Drinking. Self harming. Pushing and pulling against her. No matter what though, Sevika will always be there for you.
“I’m not going anywhere.” She’d stand firmly in your apartment, watching tears travel down your face as if racing against each other. “If you think this will make me leave, you obviously believe I’m in the wrong profession.”
Doctor!Sevika who loves washing the grime off of your body after a long day. You’re half asleep, eyes half-lidded as she kneads your breast beneath her palm.
And you just let her. You let this older woman—with more experience than you and others combined, wash away the troubles on your body. It’s only when she trails her kisses down your body, ending up at your clit where she eagerly makes out with it, so you fully wake up.
“Mm…sweet girl.” She’d groan against you. “Sweetest thing i’ve had all day.”
Doctor!Sevika who rarely teases you when you’re both working. She’s focused—the same stern doctor who you had a crush on before all the confrontation, and it’s only occasionally where her warnings come off as a promise for what she’ll do to you later.
Doctor!Sevika who never lets any other attending or patient doubt you.
“Are you sure she should be doing this-“
Sevika cuts them off without so much as acknowledging them, scrubs heavy on her skin. “Do it.” She nods towards you, before leaving the room to supervise elsewhere.
Doctor!Sevika who loves the late-nights of eating takeaway and binge-watching a tv show when you both can’t sleep. You both know the reason why. In and out of shifts without a wink of sleep would do that to you sometimes—and the trauma of the hospital sometimes haunted your home.
Doctor!Sevika who will finger you to sleep, mumbling about some, ‘I can’t have my favourite resident lacking sleep. Rest, sweetheart.’ All while her fingers gently coerce you to sleep, cooing against that sweet spot inside of you that made you melt to mush.
Doctor!Sevika who knows when you’re trying to deflect the pain after a shift. You both ended up at your apartment again, the door slamming shut as a thickening silence comes through the home.
“Sev?” You looked up, pulling the bag of your back as you grasped onto her wrist, pulling her into a kiss that felt too demanding, even for you.
She raised an eyebrow for a moment, sliding her lips over your own before she pulled back—the taste of coffee and a shared cigarettes lingering on your tongues.
“Not now, sweetheart. Let’s get some food in you, yeah?” She sees your fingers trembling, but you reluctantly let go of her, eyes watering as she leads you through your own home with practised ease. “I want to, trust me I do. But you need to process this.”
Doctor!Sevika who never lets you out of her sight during work after hearing about you losing another patient. She’s like a constant camera tracking you, telling you to ‘take ten’, ‘take five’, to ‘go home’ when it got too much. She cared too much, and it ended up being the thing that softened her fully.
Doctor!Sevika who ends up loving you unconditionally.
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+ only mdni, smut obvi, these are all with an x waitress reader once again, more dom leaning abby, oral sex, fingering, strap on sex, dacryphilia if you squint, overstimulation, daddy kink, public sex, biting, hair pulling, condescending abby and uhh strength kink?
𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: by popular demand, here are the not so safe for work line cook abby headcanons. if I missed any warnings please let me know and I’ll fix that asap. but I hope you enjoy, these were so much fun to write <3
line cook!abby loves to crowd your space, especially after the two of you start dating. it’s never anything over the top, especially if you both are on the clock. but she just loves watching you have to go out on the floor after, breathless and flustered all because of her.
line cook!abby who throws around pet names like it’s no big deal.
“baby, table seven’s refire is up.”
“behind ya, sweet thing.”
“here’s those fries, pretty girl.”
and the first time someone else hears her calling you one of the many pet names she seems to keep tucked away in her back pocket—it’s like a nuclear bomb goes off in the kitchen and everyone is shell shocked.
because when did abby anderson ever call someone sweet thing?
line cook!abby absolutely uses her strength to her advantage, especially when she realizes just how flustered it makes you. at work she’s always offering to carry heavy things for you, moving you out of the way.
but when the two of you are alone?
she’s lifting you up onto counter tops to kiss you breathless, easily manhandling you into whatever position she wants (especially if you’re being a brat), doing all the work for you when your legs are weak and shaky from one too many orgasms. she likes being strong for you.
line cook!abby thinks it so sexy when you use her biceps as your own personal chew toy. she loves seeing the indents your teeth leave behind afterwards.
line cook!abby lovessssss overstimulating you. to the point where there’s tears in your eyes and your legs are trembling violently around her head. and when you think she’s finally satisfied, she’ll just crawl back up your body, pressing soft kisses everywhere she can reach mumbling something to the effect of, “sorry baby, you’re just so fucking pretty like this…couldn’t help myself.”
but a few heated kisses later and she’s begging you to cum just one more time on her fingers.
line cook!abby wore her harness under her work clothes once during a shift when she knew she’d be taking you home after. safe to say the two of you didn’t actually make it out of the parking lot before you were eagerly tugging down her sweats and gagging on her silicone cock.
line cook!abby’s stamina and strength are totally unmatched to any partner you’ve ever been with before. she could be running off 4 hours of sleep after just working a double and she’ll still be able to go for hours.
“aren’t you tired?” you’d ask, laughing breathlessly as she starts kissing on your neck the moment you cross the threshold into her apartment.
“nah,” she’ll murmur, teeth nipping at every bare inch of skin she can find which pulls a low whine from your throat. “been thinking about touching you all day.”
line cook!abby always holds your hand when she’s eating you out.
line cook!abby likes to act like she’s in charge all the time but the second you start kissing on her neck and telling her how good she is to you? she’s a fucking goner. immediately she’s all too willing and pliable beneath your soft hands and plush lips. and you’ll work her over and over with your tongue until she nearly crushes you with her strong thighs. but rest assured—you’re exactly where you want to be.
line cook!abby uses the dry storage room to sneak you away for a quick make out sessions during long shifts. strictly because the last time the two of you made out in the walk-in, she was barely able to function the rest of the night after seeing how your nipples hardened and strained against the thin cotton of your shirt like they were practically begging her to wrap her lips around them.
line cook!abby is loud as fuck in the bedroom. she cannot be quiet to save her life, and the first time she sleeps over at your place is also the very first time you’ve ever received a noise complaint from your building manager. but she wears it like a badge of honor.
line cook!abby absolutely loves it when you call her daddy.
line cook!abby is an ass girl through and through. she loves touching your ass on any and every occasion she can. again she’s not big on public displays of affection, but she’ll absolutely slip her hand in the back pocket of your jeans when the two of you are out together. and she’s absolutely checking out your ass from behind the expo line every single time you walk by. she’s constantly burning her hands on shit because of it too, which manny roasts her for on the daily.
line cook!abby can be so condescending when she’s talking dirty, and it only gets worse once she’s aware how much you like it.
“aww, you wanna eat me out, sweetheart? need to hear you beg for it.“
“god, look at how wet you are, sugar. ruining my fucking jeans.”
“all that kissing got you this worked up? you need me that bad, baby?”
line cook!abby likes the excitement that toys bring to the bedroom but she much rather prefers using her fingers and her tongue to make you feel good. it’s a far more intimate experience for her to be able to feel that she’s making you cum. and most times she’s far too impatient to get her hands on you.
line cook!abby has a whole private album on her phone full of pictures and videos of the you two having sex, and all of the tasteful nudes you constantly love to send her on your days off. one of her favorites is one she took of your sucking your own cum off her fingers. she’d make it her screen saver if she could.
line cook!abby has definitely fucked you in the parking lot after a closing shift because her jealousy finally got the better of her. but she can only stand to watch so many sleazeballs flirting with her girl right in front of her before she finally snaps. and she’s instantly pulling you onto her lap in the bed of her truck, lips bruising and wet against your neck as her fingers eagerly reach to unzip your jeans.
“you’re mine. fuck, need to hear you say it, baby.”
line cook!abby prefers having you on all fours when she’s strapping you down because she just loves watching how your ass ripples with every thrust of her hips. but when it’s her turn? she wants you underneath her so she can look you in the eyes as she rides the ever living hell out of you, which you obviously don’t mind in the slightest because she looks so fucking good doing it.
line cook!abby loves having her hair pulled, especially when you’re the one fucking her. she’s always guiding one of your hands up into her messy braid as she moans desperately into your mouth.
line cook!abby who was completely unaware when one of the new girls tries to flirt with her, as she isn’t even a blimp on her radar. but abby’s quick to discover that your jealousy is much worse than hers because you’re louder about it. you leave marks—huge splotches of red and purple left to bloom along her jaw and down the column her throat. amongst many other areas that are only visible beneath her clothes, ie. her inner thighs and breasts.
she’s not even the slightest bit embarrassed by it though, and in fact she sometimes encourages it just to feel your lips, tongue and teeth marking up her skin afterwards.
pairing. platonic!bad bunny (benito) x lesbian!reader
wc. 1k | My Masterlist
notes. HAPPY PRIDE MONTH!! This request was sent in April, but with everything going on it worked out that I'm getting it out now haha! I guess this is kinda a good way to come out and say that I'm bi :) yay pride!
tags. bad bunny x platonic!gn!reader, lesbian!reader, platonic!benito, friendships!, headcannons, all fluff and good vibes :)
🧡You and Benito had met a long time ago.
🤍The two of you met somewhere in some basement party in high school. He’d approached you with a wide smirk, introducing himself as Puerto Rico’s newest up and coming music artist.
🩷Although you’d laughed - quite loudly even - you’d introduced yourself politely to who would become your absolute best friend in the world.
🧡After that party, it wasn’t immediate that the two of you started to hang out all the time. It was more subtle; you kept running into each other at other parties, or even just around town or in school. Each time you saw each other though, it was like no time had passed between each meeting; like you two had already known each other for years.
🤍Then, one late night, he’d asked if you just wanted to hang out with him alone.
🩷Benito had been known to flirt with pretty much anyone. It had made you nervous, because you hadn’t told him you liked girls yet. You thought at first that he might’ve been trying to come onto you, but you agreed to hang out with him anyway, seeing where the conversation would go.
🧡But it never happened. You never did have to come out to him.
🤍He didn’t try to flirt or mess around with you while the two of you got late-night ice cream from the gas station. You didn’t have to tell Benito and he never really brought it up either. He just… knew, and didn’t make it a big deal.
🩷You weren’t exactly sure how or when he’d figured it out, if not immediately, but there was never a time where he treated you differently.
🧡From that night on, the two of you were joined at the hip. Practically inseparable from each other, you two did almost everything together!
🤍Benito spoke to you like you were his little sister. And annoyingly so. He loved to bicker with you. About anything. And pushed your buttons more than anyone else.
🩷“¿Ese vestido?”, “Voy a la tienda, y no, no te compro nada”, “Me llevo tus auriculares... ¿Qué?”
🧡But you knew you could rely on him too.
🤍Whatever worries you had, or whatever troublesome spots you were facing, you could always count on Benito. And he did the same with you. Both of you knew that no matter what, you would always have someone to go to.
🩷The two of you did a lot of growing together.
🧡There were times where the two of you had to go separate ways for a while, and months you would go where you would barely message each other.
🤍You weren’t immune to stupid fights, and sometimes those fights would last for what felt like an eternity.
🩷The two of you even kissed once - your first kiss with a man - and you grimaced, only to confirm that you were in fact not attracted to the opposite sex.
🧡Through it all, Benito never wavered his friendship with you, and you never did either.
🤍Even when he, in fact, became Puerto Rico’s - the world’s - newest up and coming music artist.
🩷To the outside world, he was this big macho man who had it all together. Seemingly everyone’s dream guy. But you were the one he called at 4am to pathetically complain about why his ex didn’t text him back yet.
🧡Benito was really quite generous with his fame, actually, especially when it came to you. He liked to keep you around in his entourage pretty much wherever he went, kind of like always keeping a piece of home with him.
🤍It would make him feel like a teenager again, getting to laugh until his sides hurt through all of the toughest times with you.
🩷When the two of you would go out, he was a fairly decent wingman. Or at least, that’s what you said to him so he didn’t get a big ego about it.
🧡It was almost like a game to him; he had so much charm to pull strings, that he liked to meddle with your love life.
🤍Out at bars and clubs, he would practically scour the women for you, taking notes of how each person responded. If they didn’t respond to his flirtatious remarks, he’d politely introduce them to you instead, seeing if they would respond differently.
🩷In fact, one of his favorite games was to flirt with you in front of other women until he could see who was jealous of who. If they started to glare at him, then he knew he would quickly send them your way. If the ladies glared at you, then he could take the reins.
🧡And if you were glaring at him, he just knew he was being overtly irritating.
🤍Later in his career when he started bringing women on stage with him, suddenly, you were attending a lot more of his concerts. He’d make you stand in the Casita as you knew he was having a field day spinning and dancing them your way.
🩷And you wouldn’t admit it to him, but sometimes it worked.
🧡Sometimes, you’d sit together and scroll through each other’s Tindr profiles. You weren’t sure how he did it, but he was pretty good at picking out people for you.
🤍But then again, he knew you almost better than he knew himself sometimes.
🩷If he let you, you would call him your brother.
🧡And sometimes, that just seemed to slip out of your mouth anyway.
end a.n. this one is a bit different from my normal content, but it was really fun to explore this aspect of friendship! let me know what y'all think <3 ~beee whoo you aaaare for youuur priiiiide~
(taglist) @percysley, @zoomingspark888, @forwardsreckonreboundddd, @conejodelbenito, @oceantides-and-daffodils, @whiteghostlyclouds, @kenstellation ,@videogamedriver
hear me out on abby gaining all her muscle back on catalina island and getting like half bigger than she was at her biggest pre-pillars and she has a pudgy tummy with slight abs still and her hair grows thick and strong a shiny and she smells like vanilla and fresh rain and
tags: reader is from district 10, sevika is from district 12, canon-typical violence, angst
a/n: i blame suzanne collins. english is not my first language — please correct me if you find any mistakes, ty. writing this was a torture never doing anything like that again :/
you don’t know what a person actually feels when they’re burning alive. not until the flame reaches you and you jump back in escape but it’s too late. you got hurt and now you’re going to burn too. just like them who you watched from afar.
that’s how you would describe being chosen for the hunger games, held by almighty capitol. or how you like to call it in your district — the topside.
seventeen years you watched the mandatory-to-watch broadcast of the games, where innocent children were killing each other or getting killed. and then how the victor was celebrated by the whole country. by the topsiders especially.
but no child can comprehend the possibility of being chosen to get murdered on the screens of thousands of people just for entertainment’s sake. and a reminder, of course. you can’t overcome the capitol.
despite the nudging voice that tells you this isn’t real and if it is you should flee, you act brave. say all your goodbyes to your parents, your older brother who you know hated himself for inability to volunteer because of his age and to all of your friends. you hope they will actually miss you.
you listen to your mentor leelan who’s a middle aged woman with clever, but beaten look in her eyes and almost dozen ideas for you to win although she knows that you’ll probably die like all the others. you respect her determination. you even laugh at whatever nonsense your escort and the prep team says.
“is there anything you’d like to say to your family, watching this right now?” the host, a man wearing ridiculously bright glasses and blazers asks.
“put the kettle on, i’ll be home in a blink of an eye,” you blink at the camera. “and don’t eat all the cookies, achilles. you think you’re watching me, but i have eyes everywhere,” you narrow your eyes now and hear the immediate laugh from the audience.
“oh, siblings,” the host chuckles, shaking his head.
you’re almost a perfect tribute, it seems to be. appearing to the people as charming, but dangerous and sharp, you win over many hearts soon enough. didn’t even have to be a career. no one except your team knows that you clench your fists until your nails sink into your palms enough to draw blood. no one except an avox, a girl who crossed capitol so they cut her tongue, who came into your room in the middle of a night because you started hitting a wall during your panic attack.
if it wasn’t for that, leelan could almost let herself believe in your win.
you’re excellent with blades and axes, probably won’t have much trouble with finding food and even can make a trap. all the things you’ve learned thanks to your district which specialises in livestock you even score a 10 — 10 for district 10, as someone from your team said.
but if you act like you’re on the brink of a mental breakdown as soon as you’re out of cameras’ reach, how will you act in arena full of poisonous and deadly forces you have to fight against? the boy from your district is in even worse state. he’s a lost cause.
you don’t interact with others much at the tribute center, trying to learn as many skills as possible, even though it’d be nice to have some allies. temporary allies, you remind yourself.
however one girl does catch your attention. she’s tall, dark skinned, her already short dark hair put up and you can see the well-developed muscles in her bare arms. you’re pretty sure it doesn’t end with just the arms. which surprises you because even if you’re the ones growing the cattle and preparing meat in your district, you don’t really get to have much. one would have thought district 12 can’t have it better.
her name is sevika and she’s 18. how devastated must have been her family — getting reaped her last year. you’re not so juvenile yourself too, only a year younger than her.
she’ll definitely be fine on her own, you think, watching her tying knots. you approach her, starting to do the same and thinking of all the ways you could start talking to her. but before you finally open your mouth to say something, she leaves to another section. not today, then.
and not all the other following days too.
sure, you did talk to some other tributes. a girl named mary from 5, kind and quiet. twins from 11, who made you laugh so hard you had to physically stop yourself because you remembered that you’re being watch and a hysterical laugh isn’t really complimenting. but still not to her and now it’s the day the games start.
all this time it’s like you’ve been asleep. now you wake up from the cold before the horn even sounds.the ground is damp and metallic under your back, and for a second you don’t know where you are. it could be a slaughterhouse. maybe it is. it smells like one.
the sky above you is orange, like rust bleeding into sunset. you’re standing in the center of what used to be a processing plant. abandoned, decayed. smoke still rises from some of the towers. steam hisses through broken vents. the ground is cracked cement, sliced with rails, stains and patches that could be oil or blood. doesn’t really matter which.
this is the arena.
you try not to throw up.
they placed you all around a giant broken platform, like a rusted gear in the middle of some long-dead machine.
in its center is the stock — weapons, food, water, gear, traps, maybe even medicine. you can see the outline of a crossbow, a few blades. there’s a black bag. some kind of armor. a bottle glinting under the lights. a lot of seems like a trap, cursed by the gamemakers.
around you, at the edges of the gear — other tributes stand on their plates. all waiting.
and there’s sevika, four tributes away. she’s not looking at anyone. not even the stock. her eyes are low. arms loose by her sides. like she’s waiting for the whole thing to be over.
she doesn’t look scared. just done.
you wish you felt the same.
you breathe in. you don’t have much time. you know what leelan told you: “don’t go to the middle. don’t be a fool.” but leelan’s not here and you don’t think you’ll find an axe lying around somewhere in the arena.
you run before you even realize that you’re running. fast and low. like cutting through a herd without startling them. tributes are screaming already. one falls on the platform. another lunges for a bottle, only to get their throat sliced open. blood sprays across a shattered crate.
you don’t look. you grab the small axe, half-buried under a sheet of plastic. it’s heavy but familiar. your fingers close around the handle like it’s home.
you run again — toward the shadows — and hope for the best. toward the smoke and dust and wreckage beyond the gear. you hide in a collapsed control tower on the outskirts of the plant. its roof is gone, but walls still stand, crooked and blistered by heat. the floor is full of ash. you lie down in it.
your hands are shaking. the axe is next to you, warm from your grip. you think of how are you even supposed to find food or water in a huge dead industrial complex.
you get out of your cover and find that around your collapsed towers are another ash towers. you try to find the highest point and when you do, you finally look around. you think you can see a slaughterblock not that far from you. that’s where you should head next.
you only let yourself to sit, just to wait out whatever’s happening in the gear. you hear the canon and count seven deaths already. seventeen of you left.
that’s when you see your mentor before you. “leelan?” your eyebrows furrow in disbelief “what are you– how are you here?” your hand tries to reach the woman, but suddenly it weighs more than any axe you held in your life so you can’t even lift your arms.
the mentor says something to you and you nod, but something feels wrong..
“are you okay?” your brother asks.
“are you here too? i don’t get it,” you mumble and that’s when you notice the blue gas you’re breathing all around you.
you’re hallucinating. you close your eyes, still hearing their voices. not the worse way to spend you first night, is it? your stomach disagrees.
your eyes open wide just a moment before they start showing the dead tributes in the sky. both from 6, 8, 9 and a boy from 12.
at the early morning the gas disappears, and that’s when you leave the tower and head to your new destination.
the slaughterblock smells worse than anything you’ve ever smelled before. it clings to the walls, seeps from the floor. old blood, rot, bile — all of it baked into the steel and concrete. the heat makes it worse, like someone turned the whole place into a slow cooker for ghosts.
you try to breathe through your mouth, but that just makes you taste it.
the room stretches into darkness, full of rusted hooks hanging from chains, swinging slightly in the stale air. gutting tables still sit in rows, some flipped over, others stained black. broken knives, meat saws, bones — so many bones.
your boots click once on the slick floor, and you freeze. you didn’t mean to make a sound. but it’s not just you. you hear it — screaming. no, not quite human. a pig. and it’s not dying quickly.
you follow the sound, stepping slow. between metal slabs and dripping pipes. the ceiling above you groans. you peek through the gap between two cabinets.
they’re there — two tributes from district 7.
you recognize them. the girl with the long scar down her chin. the boy with unrealistically crooked teeth. they’re butchering a pig they must’ve found somewhere deeper in the block. it’s alive. was alive. they’re laughing.
you grip your axe tighter, but you don’t have a plan yet. until your foot knocks into an empty metal bucket. it clatters like a gunshot. they freeze.
the girl turns first. “who’s there?”
you don’t answer, why would you? but she sees you anyway and lunges.
your axe meets her before your brain even catches up. the impact jolts up your arm — you feel bone snap, skin tear, the wet thud of meat. she hits the floor, twitching once. doesn’t get back up. you hear the canon.
you don’t stop. you can’t.
the boy’s next. faster than she was, not even stopping to look at his dead ally. he’s yelling something, but it doesn’t matter. you swing — he dodges. he slashes with a blade and slices your arm. again — your thigh. you gasp and stumble. he grabs your collar, grinning.
you grab his face. the two of you struggle — crash backward — into an old meat grinder.
it groans under the weight.
your fingers find a button. you kick him and press it as quickly as possible and then..
you watch.
the room is quiet again. except for your breath. and the flies. you stare at what’s left. then at your shaking hands.
“disgusting,” you whisper at yourself and hope that this might be to the sponsors’ liking. a terrible thought, but so isn’t everything?
you tear a piece of fabric from the dead girl’s shirt. wrap your bleeding arm. then your thigh. it’s not pretty, but it’ll do.
you take their bag which they must have taken from the stock. inside: bandages, antiseptic. painkillers, some kind of sunglasses.
the pig they were butchering is half-dead.
but you know what to do with that. you know where to cut. what to keep. what not to touch. it takes you twenty minutes to break it down. maybe less. your axe is sticky. your hands — slick.
you cook a few pieces over a pipe that still leaks fire. it’s dry, but warm. then you pack the rest in cloth, shove it in the new bag. and you leave.
you walk deeper into the structure, the walls closer now, darker. you’re so thirsty it makes your head pulse. no water at all. but it has to be somewhere, right? instead, you find a room in the back. some kind of office, long since emptied. the desk is broken. the windows cracked. but there’s a corner. dry and covered in dust. you sit there. you unwrap your arm. it’s bleeding again. you clean and bandage it, as best as someone who who has very basic knowledge of healing can do.
thirteen of you left.
you stay there for few nights, eating your pig, until the thirst becomes unbearable and water fills all your thoughts. not you, unfortunately.
you’re going to die of thirst before anyone gets the pleasure of killing you. that’s the thought that’s been gnawing at your spine for the past two hours you’ve been walking. the meat from the slaughterblock is still warm in your bag, your wounds are holding. but your lips are cracked. your head swims. everything is too loud.
that’s when you see it. the pit.
it’s not really a lake. not even a pond. it’s an open crater so wide you can’t see the other side through the smoke. the ground falls away in uneven steps of clay and metal and bone, and at the very bottom, there’s water — sort of.
it gleams in the toxic light, thick with rainbow shimmer, like someone spilled oil across a graveyard. you know that smell. sharp. chemical. like bleach, rot, ammonia.
and the bones. some old, some not.
you swallow hard. you need water, so you find a path — half-collapsed service scaffolding, mostly rust and wire. it takes almost twenty minutes to get down safely. you slip twice. once nearly fall. but your grip holds.
the deeper you go, the hotter it gets. the air sticks to your lungs.
you step through the bottom of the pit like moving through glue. you hold your breath when the fumes spike. the water’s close. but you’re careful. you know better.
and then you see her.
sevika.
standing by the edge of the chemical pool like it’s a mirror. her back to you. muscles tense. blade slung low, but not drawn. she crouches and pulls a bottle from her belt. dips it low toward the surface—
“it’s poisoned,” you call out, louder than you meant to.
she straightens. turns. her eyes find you — sharp, wary. in less than a five seconds she’s ready to attack.
but the air shifts and that’s when you know something’s coming. you feel it first — the way your teeth hum. then the tremor beneath your feet. then the shriek.
a shape erupts from the other side of the pool, tearing through bones and rock like they’re paper. a mutt. at least eight feet tall. boar-like, but deformed, furless, parts of its flesh replaced with glowing panels. its eyes flicker red. its tusks drip acid. it charges.
you draw your axe.
“allies?” you shout.
sevika nods once. “just don’t get in my way.”
the beast hits like a train. you dive left — sevika goes right. you slash its leg and sparks fly, it screeches and backhands you into the dirt. sevika climbs its back, driving her blade between its shoulder plates. it throws her off.
you roll. blood in your mouth. the mutt lunges at sevika — she dodges — you bring your axe down on its exposed jaw. it turns on you.
you think: this is it.
then sevika rams her knife straight into its eye socket. you don’t waste the opening and drive your axe into its throat, both hands, full weight. it collapses.
you both stand there for a second, chests heaving.
“that thing better not come back,” you mutter and slump onto a rock, your whole body’s shaking. sevika wipes blood from her face and walks back toward the water.
“you were serious about the poison thing?” she asks, finally.
“yeah. the fumes alone almost knocked me out.”
“so what now?”
you look at her. “we filter it.”
she raises an eyebrow, sceptical. “you know how to do that?”
you nod. “i think so. we used to filter rotwater at home. for the pigs. same principle, right?”
“you filtered water for pigs.” sevika snorts.
“and for us, sometimes.” you stand. “you need: cloth, rocks, sand. charcoal. some kind of container.”
“charcoal?” she raised an eyebrow.
“burnt cloth’ll do.”
“you’re full of surprises, 10,”
“shop kid,” you grin. “axes, knives, smoke filters. we sold them all.”
you spend the next hour gathering parts.
you build the filter from a broken pipe, with layers of sand, gravel, burnt scraps, and a ventilation mesh sevika pulled from an old cooling unit.
you watch the first drops trickle through into a cracked bowl. you both stare at it in silence.
“first sip’s yours,” sevika mutters.
you smile. “scared?”
“you built it,”
well, can’t argue with that. when you drink, it tastes like ash. definitely not that fancy water that comes in all flavours (you didn’t even know water could be flavoured before), but not deadly too. you don’t have any signs of being poisoned, so sevika takes a sip too. and then another. and other.
“so what does your family do?” you ask out of curiosity and because you don’t like silences.
something in her expression flickers.
“my mother was a medic. my dad’s got a hardware stall,” sevika replies shortly, and you decide not to push. why would you want to know all about her family if later? to face that very family after you kill her or someone else does?
“i was hoping we’d at least get a beautiful arena,” you sigh playfully, after getting a look around
she grins. “yeah? so you could at least die somewhere beautiful?”
“something like that,” you roll your eyes.
after filling your bowls and bottles with water you get out of the pit, thinking where you should head next.
“wait,” you say and perform a shushing gesture to silence her. something’s wrong. as if the ground is shaking. “do you feel it? it’s like an earthquake—“ and the surface under your feet collapses right at that moment, sevika’s strong hand preventing you from falling, but the ground she’s standing on also starts shaking.
so you run with ground sunk down behind you.
“hey-hey!” you hear two familiar voices, male and female, from both of your sides. twins from 11. “we were thinking of going into the pit when we saw you two running. what’s happening?”
“game makers are expanding the territory of the pit,” you reply, smiling at them and glance at sevika. oh, she doesn’t trust them.
“can we join you?” they ask.
their bags catch your attention. must’ve gotten them from the stock. they’re quick, clever, funny and you like them. so before sevika says no, you say yes and she glared at you.
“great! follow us, we found something like control rooms,”
“control rooms?” you repeat, curious.
and you still feel her piercing gaze.
“they’re smart!” you whisper at her and she rolls her eyes.
the control core is deeper than you expected.
you follow the twins through a narrow hallway half-collapsed with rusted panels and ash. above your heads, wires dangle like vines. it smells like electricity, dust, and something else — old blood maybe. the deeper you go, the colder it gets.
the twins are chatty. you like that about them. it makes you feel, for a moment, like this isn’t real.
when you finally reach the room, it’s massive. high ceiling, metal walls, rows of broken monitors and blinking consoles. the control core must’ve once powered something big. the lights flicker on and off. it hums, almost alive.
you all sit in a circle. the twins pull food from their bags — sealed packets, dried fruit, bread. you offer them water in exchange. the deal is silent, natural. survival.
they talk about the games, previous ones, things they saw from the sidelines. the girl twin says she thinks the mutts are more unpredictable this year. the boy twin jokes he’s waiting for the flying leeches. you all laugh. even sevika smirks.
then you go deeper.
you slip on the glasses you found in district 7 boy’s bag, that are apparently made for the night vision. so do the twins. sevika takes the flashlight, checks its battery with a tap of her palm. works.
you move in a line. twin-boy in front, then his sister, then you, sevika watching the rear.
the corridors tighten. the temperature drops again. dust floats in the air like snow. pipes run along the ceiling. you check every side door. most are sealed. some open to reveal broken desks, shattered bulbs, spilled tools. in one room you find an old firebox and a control panel half-lit. in another — something you think is a ventilation map. sevika studies it while chewing dried fruit like it’s jerky.
then you see the first snake. it slithers from behind a console. only about the length of your arm. quick. sharp scales. sevika steps forward and crushes its head with the heel of her boot.
you look at the twins. they look at each other.
“weird,” you say. what would a snake be doing in here?
more steps. more snakes. you find another. and another. before you say you should head back, it happens.
the metal grates beneath your feet rattle. you freeze. a low sound starts building, like whispering steam.
and then — a wave. a swarm of snakes floods the corridor from every direction. tiny ones, red-eyed, fast. not natural.
they’re coming.
“run,” someone screams.
you scatter. the hallways twist and split and you take turns blindly, dodging through narrow gaps and hopping over pipes. the air is full of hissing. you swing yat anything too close.
the boy twin stumbles. a snake latches onto his leg. he goes down. his sister screams. no — she runs back, tries to pull him up.
more snakes pile on him.
you stop running. your body wants to go back. but sevika grabs your wrist.
“not now,” she growls.
you turn and the last thing you see is the girl dropping to her knees and swinging wildly with a blade as they swarm them both.
you don’t look again and you keep running. when you finally stop, your lungs burn. your skin is marked with shallow cuts and dried blood. the snakes aren’t following anymore. you collapse against a wall. sevika crouches near you, breath sharp.
“they’re gone,” you whisper.
she nods.
“we should’ve taken their bags,” sevika says.
you look at her and she sighs.
“don’t give me that look. it’s awful. but it’s the games. you survive or you die. nothing in between,”
you say nothing because you know she’s right. and that’s worse.
you find a hidden crawlspace near the end of the control core. small enough to feel safe. you both squeeze in. you rest in shifts, but neither of you actually sleeps. you sit back-to-back, watching the same crack in the wall.
at some point, sevika says, “they reminded me of someone. the twins,”
you don’t answer.
she continues anyway. “when i was little, there was this pair in our street. always stealing apples. always climbing shit. i think about them sometimes,”
you shift, “i have a brother,” you say, “older. wanted to volunteer for me. couldn’t. he watched the reaping with his fists clenched”
“did he say goodbye?”
you nod, “told me to break their rules. and their teeth,”
sevika chuckles. a quiet, worn-out sound. “maybe you will,”
“maybe we both will, you say,”
and for the first time since the games started, you think maybe you’re not entirely alone.
then you both watch the faces of dead appear in the sky. it’s only 9 of you left. you and sevika, both tributes from 1, 2 and 3. and the boy from your district. the one you nicknamed the lost cause.
“i don’t know how he’s doing it,” you say, furrowing. “he’s so unstable,”
sevika shrugs, assuming that maybe it plays in his advantage.
“do you think it’s been suspiciously easy or we’re just lucky?” you ask her and she raises an eyebrow to see if you’re serious. you are. she’s confused, so you are to elaborate, “well, i feel like thirst was the one thing that could actually kill me. there was some gas on my first day, but it wasn’t poisonous. were you injured physically?”
“no. were you?”
“yes, when i was fighting with tributes from 5, but it’s not much,” you reply carelessly, because you almost forgot about those.
you agree when sevika says it’s time for new bandages, and when you unwrap the old one on your hand, you see that your wound has festered and wrinkle your nose. ugly. sevika doesn’t look away but sighs. right, her mom was a healer.
“did you even clean it?” she asks but doesn’t bother with waiting for an answer and takes the antiseptic and bandages out of your bag.
you bite your lips, watching her hands work deftly. “do you have any other wounds?” you nod and tell her about the one on your thigh. “take it off,” sevika demands, talking about the bottom of your suit.
“aren’t you gonna buy me a drink first?” you say resentfully but before she says something insulting you slide your bottoms down enough for her to get access to your thigh. it’s cold — that’s all.
you both fall asleep. not intentionally and definitely not responsibly.
maybe it’s something about the warmth of someone nearby who doesn’t want to slit your throat — at least not now.
but you two jump wide awake when you hear screaming. loud and coming at you.
your axe is already in your hands, just like sevika’s blade in hers.
the careers. two from district 1, two from 2 and the last one from 3 — the so-called golden pack. tall, sculpted, polished like statues.
they weren’t running at you, but from someone. or something. that’s when you see them. two mutated tigers, striped in glitching patterns, like static crawling on their skin. their jaws stretch too far, and their claws spark on contact with stone. they’re playing and their favourite game involves tearing someone apart.
you and Sevika exchange one glance. then it’s chaos.
the careers don’t hesitate to turn on you — the girl from 1 nearly slices your cheek open, the boy from 2 screams something incomprehensible while flailing his blade.
you swing your axe. she ducks. sevika’s elbow meets her nose. it’s a war on two fronts.
the tigers circle.
they pounce and crush the boy from 3 in a snap of spine and spray of red. another screams. the tigers chase him. sevika watches. calculating.
they’re not attacking randomly. they’re actually toying.
you slash at the girl from 1 again, landing a deep cut to her ribs. she backs off, wheezing. sevika moves behind her. and then grabs and throws her straight into a tiger’s open jaws. bones snap like twigs.
you almost freeze, but she doesn’t. she grabs the next, taking them by surprise — the smaller tribute from 2 — and repeats it. the last tribute — girl from 2 — sees what sevika’s doing.
she lunges with a roar and stabs her deep, right under her ribs.
sevika screams. you turn just in time to bury your axe in the girl’s neck. she goes down.
while tigers play with very dead tributes, you two run as fast as possible before mutts turn their attention to you. when it seems like they’re not following, you finally let sevika sit and fall next to her.
your hands are already covered in blood. she’s breathing, shallow and sharp.
“that bitch,” she mutters.
“you’re okay. you’re okay,” you lie.
nothing in your packs can help her and you know that next day you have to go and find the careers’ pack, maybe they’ll have something. you press her wound, trembling. her blood soaks into your palms.
“sleep,” you whisper.
the next day when sevika assures you she’s fine — another lie — you quickly approach the area where your nap was interrupted yesterday. take all the food you see, which careers’ve got enough, but nothing of the medicine. you sigh.
sevika doesn’t even need you to tell her about that when you come back, your desperate eyes tell her everything. when she doesn’t resist eating, you can’t help but think that this might be her last meal.
then you start rambling.
about the first cow you ever helped deliver. about the time you and your brother painted axes with bright pink paint and your father got mad.
you keep talking until something heavy lands on your head. you look up, taking it into your hands.
a silver parachute. medicine.
your heart jumps, but you don’t hesitate.
you pour the contents over her wound, hands shaking.
sevika flinches. then gasps. you try your best and she tries to talk you through it. you wrap her tight. close the gash. press your forehead against hers.
you did it. you saved her.
a sigh of relief and joy and happiness escapes your lips when comes the realisation. it’s only three of you left now. the boy from your district, you. and sevika.
that’s when you hear the gamemaker’s voice that sounds almost amused. three tributes remain, they say. one final event. a gift for each of you, waiting in the heart of the arena. come claim it.
you and sevika don’t speak. you just nod once, gear up, and walk.
it’s inevitable anyway. if you don’t go to this feast now, they will still make you face each other, fight and die.
you walk through smoke and ruin, past twisted metal and the remains of places you used to hide. it’s almost poetic that the center is the gear — the giant rusted cog that once turned something important but now just rests in the earth like a jaw waiting to close.
you arrive first. he’s already there. the boy from your district.
he doesn’t look like he used to. he’s thinner. twitchier. eyes wild, too wide. his shirt is stained with blood that’s not his. he holds the knife like it’s part of him.
you open your mouth to say something, but he doesn’t wait.
sevika moves first — throws you behind a pile of rubble and blocks his blade with hers. they crash against each other, metal biting metal, and he’s stronger than you remember.
not skilled. just unhinged.
you scramble up, your axe in your hands, heart pounding. you circle. he throws a punch at sevika and she stabs at his leg — he dodges, growling.
then he sees you.
he drops from aevika’s line of sight and charges at you. too fast. your axe swings wide. his knife is already in motion.
it sinks into your chest. not fully in the heart, which would be faster, but close. you stumble back and he gasps.
his eyes meet yours, and suddenly he drops his weapon. stumbles away from you like he’s waking from something.
“no,” he says. “no, no, no — i didn’t mean— i thought— i—“ he falls to his knees, his hands are shaking and he starts crying.
sevika catches you before you hit the ground.
her arms wrap around you roughly, one hand pressed hard over the wound.
“what the fuck did you do,” she hisses — not to him. to you “you idiot. you stupid, reckless idiot,” she repeats, over and over, “you were supposed to win,”
you were supposed to win.
you can’t breathe properly. your fingers tremble, “shut up, sev,” the only words you can squeeze out before you you lift your hand and cup her face, making her lean in. her face is all angles and fury and grief.
your lips barely touch. a breath. a tremor.
then stillness. you’re gone in her arms.
sevika doesn’t cry. she lays you down gently, like something she carved with her own hands. then she stands. her gaze finds the boy still kneeling. he raises his eyes to her. and for a second, it looks like he’ll say something.
he never gets the chance.
viewers are not sure if what happens next is vengeance or instinct. but when it’s over, there’s only one name left to announce.
sevika.
you will never know that sevika won the games. you died, thinking it, but you’ll never know for sure.
you will never know that every month your family receives sevika’s winnings.
you will never know that the only family sevika has left — her father — gets killed by the capitol three weeks after her win because she refused to play by capitol’s games.
and you will never know that when twenty years later a pink haired girl sparks a revolution, she helps adding the fuel to the fire with you in her mind.
summary: a love letter to trying (or the time when you met your favorite people in the world, an overly stressed med student and her overly adventurous one-year-old, in your apartment's hallway).
notes: constantly suffering from chronic baby fever so this is a present from me to you because i spend way too much time thinking about abby as a mom <3
don't support the last of us franchise.
daily click. learn about palestine. donate and share!
・。.・゜✧・. ────
You’re stepping out of the elevator when you suddenly hear it— a series of light thumps on the floor, fast but determined like a tiny little elephant who really has somewhere to be right now. Another step and then you stop clumsily when a flash of golden hair comes rushing past you. You follow the sight with your eyes, tilting your head. A little girl is walking, no, stomping through the hallway. She’s no older than two years old, her thin shining hair in two short braids, blue jean overalls and red socks on her feet. She moves so confidently that you almost don’t think about it, almost have the instinct to look away as if to not accidentally appear nosy, but her tiny stature and wobbly sense of direction keep your attention.
You look around the hallway, expecting surely the sound of the little girl’s parent calling her name (something sweet and pretty and classic, you imagine; it’d suit her). You picture her name being followed by a tired sigh before her patents rush to catch up, maybe rolling their eyes in a way that pretends to be annoyed but unmistakingly holds a million times more affection. A perfect family, a tiny glimpse of a full life somehow existing right in your unimportant building.
The hallway is long and terribly empty. You look back at the little girl who is striding forward in less of a rush now, with no worries, like this is the same route she’s taken for years.
What are you supposed to say to get a kid’s attention when you don’t know their name? What’s something concise, yet nice, yet simple enough to be understood? Babysitting as a teen has prepared you for a lot, just maybe not all of it. It's been a little too long. You linger on it for just a second before spitting out the first thing that comes to mind. “Hi, princess,” It’s a little awkward, but you’re relieved when she immediately stops and spins around, like something about it sounded familiar— could be your sweet tone or the nickname, you’re not sure. The little girl tilts her head to the side, round cheek lightly squished against her shoulder. It's the cutest thing you’ve ever seen and it makes you giggle like a charmed kid. “Where did you come from?” you ask, but before you have the chance to reach her she pouts her lips, as if just now realizing that you’re not who she thought you were. And then she turns her back, like there's no time to waste, to return to her journey with renewed enthusiasm.
In a scarily fast moment, you realize that she’s going for the stairs. It would maybe be a slightly less terrifying idea if that stupid door actually worked— but it doesn't, it broke sometime last May and now it's awfully easy to open, no strength or shove required. Sometimes, if it's windy and quiet enough, you can faintly hear it swing back and forth from your apartment. The little girl reaches a hand out, not intimidated by the tall door more than three times her height. If you weren’t this terrified, you’d find it amazingly admirable.
You don’t register you’re running until you reach her, don’t register the sound of fast steps behind you or the scream of Rue! or anything else other than the heavy relief on your chest when you lift the baby by her armpits and hold her over your hip against your side. She’s fussing in your arms immediately, upset that she’s being interrupted, especially by a stranger. “I know, I’m sorry, baby. It’s okay, you’re okay,” you coo, though trying to be soothing when your heart is beating this fast is admittedly not the easiest task.
“Rue!” Someone repeats, and this time you do hear it. A woman is running down the hallway, hand coming down to mindlessly drop a tote bag bursting with groceries on the floor by the time she’s in front of you. The little girl reaches out her arms immediately, tiny fists opening and closing furiously and you sigh with relief as you carefully pass her over to the arms of the tall stranger. Her hair is blonde but darker than Rue’s, held back in a braid that looks both pretty and messy, like it was once pristine and then slept on. She’s wearing jeans and a half unbuttoned white shirt, a black tank top underneath. Her chest rises and falls and you notice that yours is no different. Adrenaline is a strange bond to share with a stranger, but it does make things less awkward, knowing you’re both here, feeling the same thing. You meet her expertly focused eyes for just a second before she turns to look at the little girl, searching for anything that could be wrong. “I’m so sorry, sweet girl. You’re okay, right? You’re okay,” the baby flashes a precious, wobbly smile at the sound of her voice, but she’s quickly distracted by the endlessly fascinating rainbow of groceries that lie on the floor. Her tiny head peeks over her mom’s shoulder to observe and it’s like you both can take a more soothing breath now, knowing she’s okay. “Thank you so much,” Abby says. You blink a couple times before you realize that she’s talking to you. “Sorry, I really don’t know how that happened. We were— we just got home from the store and I hadn't even put down all the bags yet and I thought— I was convinced that I shut the door, but…” her rambling drifts off and the stranger takes another breath, reddish embarrassment crawling up her neck.
You understand, suddenly, that she’s not only struggling with the stress of losing and finding her baby, but also the shame of having to face a stranger who might judge her for it. It feels insane to you, to think that she would be forced to prioritize that right now. “Oh, no, it’s okay!” you rush to respond. “I saw her immediately, and you were here in seconds! She wouldn't have gotten any further than that,” your smile is soft, but you speak with enough confidence to be reassuring (babysitting lessons, perhaps), “It was just a scare— don’t be too hard on yourself, please.”
Abby looks disarmed by your answer, her eyebrows raised in surprise. A short moment passes before she nods and smiles back, a small gesture without any less warmth. It’s the most relaxed you’ve seen her so far and it suits her beautifully, enough to make your face feel warm. Her blushing is much less forgiving though, more physically evident on her skin, spread over her cheekbones and the bridge of her pretty nose.
Rue giggles and it distracts you both, her hand waving excitedly at the colorful bird printed on a box of cereal as soon as she spots him. Abby looks at you for a second too long before she clears her throat, joking, “Sorry, she really loves that guy.”
You hum. “He is pretty cool, to be fair.”
Abby tilts her head, copying your sincere tone. “I don’t know, I always thought he’d be kind of a dick in person. He just looks like the type.”
Your startled laugh makes her smirk but she's frustratingly good at hiding it, free hand covering her mouth casually enough that you don’t notice. You look at the grabbing motion of the baby’s hands and pout with sympathy. “She loves him, though. We should probably get him off the floor.”
“Yeah, I should get that— I guess I just ran out with the bag, huh?” Abby huffs. She looks and sounds, physically, a lot less anxious now, less ashamed and more annoyed at herself.
“Would you like some help?”
“That’s okay, I got it,” she’s not sure that she does but she says it anyway, instinctively. Abby tries to lean down and Rue clutches her shirt, pulling enough to communicate that she is not ready to be put down yet. Abby straightens her back quickly enough to communicate that she is not ready to risk getting her any more upset for today. She meets your eyes for just a second. “Well, maybe some help.”
“Sure, just some,” you chuckle. “I’ll get it, don’t worry about it.”
People say that to Abby a lot— don’t worry about it! She hears it from her colleagues when she inevitably asks for the notes from the last class she ran a little late to, from a few of her kinder professors when she’s a day past some assignment’s deadline, from the guy at the grocery store that picks up the packets of M&M bags from the floor when Rue’s curious hands knock them over, from her dad when she asks if he’d be okay with babysitting for just a tiny bit longer. It always makes her stomach turn with guilt, some cases more intense than others, her lips usually pursed as she turns around and takes a breath. This time when you say it, she finds the guilt passing through her with ease, a short visit that makes her shoulders tense before it gets replaced by something else. She believes you, for some reason. Her brain is quiet except for thinking, for once, that there could really be nothing to worry about.
Your hands move casually as you pick everything up, resting on your knees like it’s not uncomfortable, like they might as well be your groceries. The idea is startling. Abby thinks, suddenly, that if someone were to walk into this scene, they wouldn’t read you as a kind stranger. Your ease would hint to something else, a friend, a lover, a picture of a family. Abby finds herself looking at your hands again, brought back to reality only by the slight tug of her hair. Rue plays with her braid distractedly, mumbling to herself about her froot loops friend— except she hasn’t quite learned to pronounce it yet, so it sounds more like oot oops.
Abby chuckles, brushing some of her loose baby hair behind her ears, mumbling back answers to her gibberish to keep her entertained even if Rue doesn’t seem to need it. She’s always endlessly thrilled to just be outside, perhaps the one trait she got from her grandpa rather than her mom. Other than her light snoring.
“She loves you a lot,” you comment, rising from your knees with the bag hanging on your shoulder. You don’t ask and Abby doesn’t think about it— you just start walking back to her apartment together. “Don’t you, Ru-Ru?” the baby giggles, her head turning to you, blue eyes sparkling. You laugh, “Oh, you like that name. It suits you, Ru-Ru.”
“That’s what my dad calls her,” Abby explains.
“He sounds like a man with taste,” you say. “What do you call her?”
“Princess.”
Your smile is wide and pleased. “That suits her even more, I fear.”
“I think so, too,” Abby agrees, a proud little glimmer in her eyes. She stops in front of her door, B06 engraved in silver. Is it always such a short walk from the elevator? She’s seriously thinking about it until, after realizing in an embarrassing second that she never introduced herself to the person kind enough to chase after her baby, help pick up her groceries and carry them home, Abby suddenly turns to you with widened blue eyes and pretty, reddened cheeks. You forgive her before she even says anything, and forget your traitorous reason before it gets a chance to warn you about how dangerous that thought is. “God, sorry, I never told you my name. I’m—”
“Abby, right?” you smile softly at her surprised face, chuckling before you explain, “One of our neighbors is an old friend of mine and she kinda threw this welcome party for me when I moved in. I promise we weren’t gossiping, but I think someone mentioned you.”
“Oh,” Abby nods casually, brushing it off as if she won’t be spending all night thinking about what your first impression of her might’ve been like. Rue fusses in her arms, a little grunt as she kicks her legs to be put down. “Sorry— I‘ll be right back,” Abby shares a quick look with you and you wave goodbye, not surprised to be missing Rue as soon as she turns around. You watch them walk inside together, a tiny hand waving back at you and making you smile as she excitedly makes her way to her playpen, shrieking bye-bye! Abby places a kiss on top of Rue’s blonde hair and makes her laugh with some noise that you don’t quite catch. She’s comfortable here, walking amongst colorful toys and biology books. She moves like an expert, pulling down her shirt where it rode up somewhere along the way. You make half an effort not to stare, but it’s half more than the effort Abby makes to not let it get to her head. The most confident she’s felt so far, she asks you, “Did that totally innocent welcome party of yours happen, like, two weeks ago? I think I heard some music.”
“It was extremely innocent,” you insist, eyebrows raised teasingly, “And no, sorry, not sure what that was— I moved here like a year ago.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
You grace her (or yourself) with a second of silence before you laugh at her awkward expression, the way she brushes a hand over her flushed face and huffs. “Fuck, that’s embarrassing. I’m kinda terrible at keeping up with this type of, uh, social stuff.”
“It’s not embarrassing, I promise. It’s a big world,” you reassure her. “Even bigger when you’re doing a million other stuff.”
You tell her your name and Abby, who is young like you but also highly knowledgeable on little specific human interaction cheat-codes that come with being a mom, nods her head and makes her eyes light up with what seems, to the naive eye, like recognition. “Oh, that’s right!”
You stare for a second before squinting your eyes. “Are you lying to me, Abby from B06?”
Abby grins, wondering when was the last time she found being caught this funny. “Yeah, sorry. I’ve never heard that name in my life.”
You laugh the loudest you have so far and a daydreamed life flashes in Abby’s head— in that big, dramatic way that it does only when you’ve been watching too many rom-coms every night, or when you’re getting too much dating advice from your friend who’s been married since eighteen, or maybe when you fall in love with a pretty stranger who seems to be able to read your mind. It’s an idealized vision of an idealized world, and Abby finds herself being completely okay to clutch it in her fists to keep, because it’s fucking lovely.
“Well, I forgive you,” you tell her, unaware (maybe?) of the chaos that you’ve induced inside of her. “You’re a busy girl.”
Abby tries to think of a good, smooth way to tell you that she could see herself saying your name everyday, placed adoringly after good morning and I miss you. All she comes up with is, “I got enough time to learn it.”
─────✧･ﾟ: *✧･
You play with the hem of your shirt, pajamas made of mostly Abby’s clothes every night, a scent on them that’s not yours but it might as well be. It’s yours in all the ways that matter, in the same sense that she is. Abby walks out of the bathroom wearing her usual pajamas— a shirt that fits too loose and boxers that are a little too tight around her thighs. She doesn't seem to mind them, and you don’t seem to wanna complain. She knows by the way you look at her. You’re leaning back on your palms, your head tilted, the same shyness and sparkly adoration in your eyes that you’d get when you didn't know each other all that well. It’s not too often that she sees that nervousness anymore, but she still gets glimpses of it, a blink of something on your face or your tone or your breathing that says I have a crush on you and I’m hoping you can’t tell. She likes that nervousness the best right now, the way it’s timid and then settles into something like cockiness when you remember that she’s looking at you just the same, when you remember how much you like the way she copies the tilt of your head and teases you as if she's not also smiling like you’re the most beautiful thing in the world.
Abby loves every moment like this, loves getting home and helping prepare dinner and making Rue laugh before kissing her goodnight, loves doing the dishes with you and flirting and talking about the day. Today, she’s especially looking forward to the latter.
“So, how was it?” she asks, the back of her thighs resting against the dresser. She’s trying to play it cool and she's annoyingly good at it, even now.
“Hm?” you hum, leaning further back to rest on your elbows, your back almost fully touching the bed. Abby feels a little bad keeping you up, but she knows she’ll be tossing and turning all night if she has to wait until the morning to ask.
“The school meeting.”
“Oh,” you smile wide enough to look silly and beautiful, sweet enough to rot teeth. She feels like she could sink in it, your smile and the relief it brings to her well hidden nervousness. “I loved it so much, Abs.”
Abby is smooth when she walks closer, soft when she cups your cheek, but there's something anxious in her eyes if you know where to look. “Yeah?” she insists.
You nod your head and kiss the palm of her hand, your lips pressed together in that funny way of trying to hold back an excited giggle. Abby smiles and feels nostalgic for the time, many many months ago, when she’d bring a finger to her lips to shush you and then remind you in an expert whisper that Rue is sleeping in the other room. She doesn't have to teach you much at all anymore, and every moment that proves that to her feels like the most beautiful, unfamiliar peace.
“I’m so happy,” you announce, looking up at her. You’re tired enough that it feels almost like being drunk, which is maybe why a short giggle manages to escape. Abby finds it contagious, your joy moves through her as naturally and importantly as the pumping of her blood. “I’m so excited for all of it.”
It’s the second parents' meeting that you’ve attended at Rue’s school— but you spent that first one sitting quietly by her side, practically hiding behind her, too aware of yourself and of the fact that you don’t really know what you’re doing. “Nobody knows,” Abby confessed on your way home, a hand on the steering wheel and another over your leg, her fingers tapping a comforting rhythm. “Parenting is beautiful, it just comes a lot less naturally than you’d think. That thing about a biological, primal wisdom or whatever— it’s a nice concept. But the best things I know came from me actively trying.”
Her words echoed in your head when you said yes to attending this school meeting alone, when you smiled and made the effort to look as calm as you could, kissed her cheek and said “of course!”. Being Rue’s parent doesn’t always come naturally, but it comes from the most genuine love, every single time. Of course you can go to her meeting when Abby can’t reschedule work, because of course you want to know about how Rue is doing in school. It’s an honor to be there for her, to speak for her when you know she needs you to. This is you actively trying.
“How were the other parents?” Abby asks, lying on her side now, her finger tracing unreadable patterns on your cheek. She craves physical contact more than she’d like to admit— but it works great, because you never ask her to admit it if she doesn't want to. The pads of her fingers say enough.
“They were cool, they were all very sweet to me. Well, Leo’s mom is a little passive aggressive but she’s that way with everyone,” you comment through a yawn, the side of your face comfortably pressed against your pillow. Abby hums, agreeing. “Sophie’s mom was the nicest, she sat next to me and invited me to join her and Jade’s mom for brunch.”
“Which Sophie?”
“The one that gave Rue a Valentine’s gift, that milk chocolate that she loves.”
“Oh, I like that Sophie.”
“Me too. I think I wouldn't mind joining a weekly brunch cult with her mom.”
Abby laughs in the way that she only does when she’s sleepy, where she sounds almost like her teenage self, shy and sweet. By the time it dies down, you’re almost asleep. But then, softly enough that you almost don’t hear it, she asks, “How do you think you would feel if she called you that?”
You make a questioning little sound that sounds like "what?" but not quite.
“If Rue called you mom.”
Your eyes open in a second, though not without effort. You look at Abby’s face, her pretty, relaxed features, and answer honestly. “I would probably cry. And then kiss her cheeks for as long as she let me.”
Abby chuckles. “Like when she fell off the swing and got the tiniest scratch on her knee?”
“Yeah, just— the joyful version of that, I guess. They would be the happiest tears ever spilled,” you explain, so sincere that Abby almost tells you. And you know her enough to read it on her face, the way she barely parted her lips and then pressed them back together quickly. Your head lifts from the pillow. “Wait, why? She told you something? Did she ask about that?”
Abby is great at keeping it cool, but less so once she’s been caught. Her nervous chuckle says it all. “I…”
“Abby, I swear to god, I will not let you sleep until you tell me.”
She more than believes you, but a flash memory of her pinky finger wrapped around Rue’s holds her back from spilling any more details. “Sorry, baby, I’m not allowed to say.”
“Oh my god,” you drop back onto your pillow, this time lying flat on your back. “You think she’s gonna say it?” you ask, and Abby is unsure if you’re asking her or the ceiling or a godly presence way above it. Or yourself, most likely. “It’s okay if she doesn't, maybe she was just curious. Maybe she needs time. I mean, obviously. She probably won’t say it, like, tomorrow, right?” you turn your head and look at her, so wrapped up in your inner monologue that you don’t process the amusement and adoration that’s all over your girlfriend’s face. “What if I react super weird and she doesn't say it again?”
Abby’s lips stretch into the softest smile, so in love that she almost forgets to answer and instead holds her hand on the back of your neck and pulls you close to press a kiss against your forehead. Your eyebrows are still furrowed worriedly when she pulls away, and she brushes her thumb over your cheek as she lets out the kindest hum, acknowledging your question. “You’re not gonna react weird, sweetheart.”
Momentarily flustered, you shake your head to remember the point that you’d been thinking about. “But I shouldn't cry, imagine how confusing that would be for her— what if she thinks she made me upset?”
“That won’t happen. She cried happy tears when you moved in, remember? She knows what they are,” she says. It’s one of the best memories you have, the nervous look on Abby’s face when she asked you, rambling, “It would be a big change, but not the worst, right? You’d just be a couple doors down the hall. It would be a lot of the same in a lot of ways, just with us.”
After that came the late nights at your apartment, dates hidden behind the excuse of packing, half empty boxes on the floor and Abby stuck to you like glue, a kiss or ten whenever she got too carried away with excitement. A couple weeks later came your clothes in her closet, your favorite blanket on the couch, and Rue’s eyes glimmering with happy tears as she hid her face on your neck and tried to understand her feelings. Then, after a few minutes of patiently rubbing her back, came her little frown of concentration and the way she attentively listened to you and Abby explain that her reaction was normal, that sometimes happiness feels like too much to hold in just a laugh or a dance. “Oh, okay,” she’d said, in this cute proud tone that she gets whenever she learns something new that makes sense to her. It was the sweetest thing. She’s the sweetest thing— and you can’t believe this is your life, that you get to take care of her and hang out and teach her new things to be proud of.
“You think she wants me to be her mom?”
Abby smiles. “You are her mom, baby.”
Rue doesn't say it the next day. You don’t overthink it— couldn't if you tried. It's a nice feeling to be so happy that you don't feel the need to think. She doesn't call you mom that morning, but she runs to the doorway where you’re putting on your shoes to get to work and wraps her arms so tight around your legs that you have to balance yourself with a hand against the wall. Her hair is messy from sleep, her yellow pajama shirt wrinkled, her eyes blinking lazily as she looks up at you and asks, “Back soon?”
“Soon as I can, princess,” you promise, leaning down to kiss her head. What is there to overthink? What more could you possibly need?
You can do this forever, have mornings like this and feel grateful in a way that you didn't know existed until now. You love the way it comes at random times, the way you’re still you, still grumpy when your coffee tastes watery, still a little bad at getting to the train station on time, still learning not to burn the first batch of pancakes. It’s a big change, but not the worst, right? It’s a lot of the same in a lot of ways, except Abby is there at the kitchen kissing your cheek, and a tiny head of blonde hair is peeking from the back of the couch, gummy smile and freckled cheeks, saying, “I like my pancakes like that, mom!”
Going on vacation with gf!abby headcanons °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
Content: just fluff no warnings, soft!gf!abby, lil bit of reader eye-fucking Abby at the end. word count: 523
⋆☀︎.
gf!abby who goes overboard on the 'essential' items. You take a glance at the cavity of her suitcase and agree with the sensible items like sunscreen and a first-aid kit, but you raise your eyebrows at the tub of protein powder and protein bars she's packed.
You take note of the fact that she only packed the specific flavour of protein bars that you like and smile.
gf!abby who insists on carrying your suitcase despite carrying her own heavy baggage as well. When you try to grab it back she gently swats your hand away and says "Don't worry about that love, I got it. Just focus on choosing where we should eat".
gf!abby who is insanely organised. Every time you travel she's tasked with booking the flights and accommodation and also holding onto your passports and boarding passes. You feel like you're not doing enough so you offer your help, turns out she actually enjoys this part of planning vacations and just asks you to make her a cup of tea instead.
gf!abby who is strict about showing up early for everything. Which is why you catch her checking what time you need to arrive at the flight gate by, five times.
gf!abby who, once you've boarded the plane, watches you like a hawk every time you leave her side to use the restroom. Her mind concocts these irrational, outlandish scenarios: someone on the plane is armed or dangerous, and for some reason, you’re their target.
Whilst you're washing your hands and topping up your lip gloss in the mirror, Abby's beady blue eyes are scanning your surroundings like an undercover F.B.I. agent.
gf!abby knows you’re deathly afraid of turbulence and that flying scares you a little. So, she holds your hand throughout most of the flight, presses warm, comforting kisses to your forehead every now and then and gives you her dessert once you’ve finished yours so you can distract yourself with something sweet.
gf!abby whose mind has been overtaken by one thought in the months leading up to your vacation. The pretty outfits you packed and how beautiful you'll look in them.
She’s excited to take you out to dinner and watch you sit in front of her all pretty and dolled up, playing with your hair like it’s not driving her crazy.
gf!abby who can’t stop taking photos of you, capturing the moment forever so she can look back on them when she’s at work.
gf!abby who looks insanely attractive in the bikini you bought for her. Muscles popping, sweat trickling down her abs and strong quads demanding attention- you can’t focus. And when she turns her back? Oh my god your body’s forgotten how to function.
The muscles rippling underneath the skinny straps of her bikini top should be on the front cover of a body building magazine. And her ass? Holy fuck, you’ve forgotten why you’re even at the beach now. You don’t get in the water and walk along the sand to savour the scenery. No, you do it just because Abby’s doing it and you want to be as close to her as you can.
⋆☀︎.
︎ ☠︎︎ taglist: @freakyjorker @moonylvs @abbyslefttiddie @sevikas-whore @van1llafairy @mxmsuki @h2pinky (I forgot the taglist again *sigh* I rlly need to lock in omg 🙄)
‧₊˚ ☁️⋅𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ . ** MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, THIS IS AN 18+ BLOGI DO NOT GIVE ANYBODY PERMISSION TO REUPLOAD OR PLAGARISE MY WORK. IF YOU SEE SOMETHING I'VE WRITTEN ANYWHERE ELSE OTHER THAN HERE OR MY A03, PLEASE LET ME KNOW VIA ASK **
₊˚ 𓂃 ₊ ˚ ✧ abby anderson is in trouble, and it's all her son's cute daycare teacher's fault — at least, that's what she tells herself each time you make her heart pound in her chest. she doesn't even know if you like women but the more time you both spend together, dancing around the edge of something, the more she wonders; is she the only one whose interested or is there something here?
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : explicit language, no outbreak au (modern), use of Y/N, fluff, references to sex/sexual acts, kids/de-aged characters (yara and lev as abby's kids - 6+3 respectively), lesbian pining, slight misunderstandings (they think each other are straight in the beginning), doctor!abby as well but i don't go too much into that, anxiety mentions (abby has a lot of mom guilt and stresses easily about her kids), just straight up yearning, kissing, dry humping (to quote madeline argy: "bring back dry humping"). vague mentions of neglect/abuse in side characters backgrounds.
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 : 15,824k
𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 : not gonna lie, this is the fic idea that brought me back to this site and i'm not even sorry. it was just supposed to be a small little drabble but it quickly went out of control, to the point i've had to cut scenes from my outline cause the word count was getting way too much for a one-shot. also please note: i used to be a childcare practitioner and have worked in nurseries for a few years with different age groups but i have no idea what the american daycare system is like so take the actual daycare things with a grain of salt bc idk what u guys do.
i may potentially make a series out of this and add other parts in the future cause i grew quite attached to the characters in this au. also this is lev's shark backpack, for visualisation reasons, cause i fell down a rabbithole while writing and had to decide amongst three. [ read on ao3 ]
The rain is coming down so heavily now she’s finding it hard to see through her windshield as she finally pulls into the daycare’s parking lot, but arriving does nothing to lessen the absolute panic Abby feels at being a whole twenty minutes late for pick-up. This was, not to be completely dramatic, her worst nightmare come true. Lev had only been at the daycare for less than a month and she was already late to collect him, thoughts of what the daycare staff probably thought of her, what other parents who might have seen him playing on his own as the last other child finally left, had plagued her mind the whole drive over. And no amount of slamming her palm on her horn had made the other drivers speed-up.
She takes a moment to herself when she kills the engine before she sucks in a breath, ripping her door open and sprinting out into the torrential downpour, immediately feeling her whole body soaked with the icy cold rain. Shit, ‘I should start bringing a coat for myself in the car’ she thought to herself, she always made sure she had backups for the kids but always failed to forget about herself.
Her braid is slightly windswept and completely soaked, stray baby hairs stuck to her sopping forehead when she reaches the door to the building, punching the code in with frozen fingers and finally stepping inside when she hears the door open.
She stands for a second, dripping on the doormat and wipes off her shoes. She can’t do much about the way her clothes drip on the laminate floors of the hallway, nor the way her shoes squeak as she walks down it but at least she’s not tracking in dirty footprints she supposes. When she does reach Lev’s room, her heart stutters for a second when she sees the lights aren’t all on, the room slightly dimmed. ‘Was he gone? Did someone take him away? Am I that bad of a mom?!’ She spirals mentally, before noticing some movement in the side of the room that is still dimly lit.
She pushes the door open, sighing in relief when she sees her son playing in the home corner, pretending to chop up wooden fruit and handing the pieces with a gummy grin to his teacher. You, his beautiful, sweet teacher who eagerly took the half of a strawberry he had extended to you and thanked him profusely before pretending to eat it. You’re telling him how tasty it was when Abby finally makes her presence known.
“I am so, so sorry! That rain came out of nowhere a-and I know I only work 20 minutes away from town but I swear, no one can drive in this weather” Abby’s eyes are wide, big and apologetic as she presses a wet kiss to the top of her sons’ head.
“It’s fine, Dr Anderson, don’t worry. When it gets like this we expect a couple of the parents to be late, especially those who work up on the mountains or outside of town.” You give Abby a soft smile, attempting to comfort her. You’re well aware of how easily she begins to spiral with worry — something you picked up on during her induction into the setting.
She’d been stressed then, going over all the paperwork not once, not twice but three times in fear she’d forgotten an allergy (he had none) or had written both her personal cell and work number down incorrectly (she hadn’t). Then there was Lev’s trial visits, spending a few hours getting to know the staff in the room he was in and bond with them, as well as socialising with the other children. Lev had, understandably, cried big fat tears down his little face as Abby had left but she’d only made it so far down the hallway before her own eyes had begun to water.
Cue you, having seen the tall woman’s body sliding down the wall from the window, stepping out into the hallway to console Abby, of all people. Not the child but the grown woman opening sobbing into her jacket. You’d been so understanding, offering her a tissue seemingly out of nowhere to wipe her eyes, and by the time you’d pulled a wet laugh from Abby she’d realised she could no longer hear Lev crying.
“Wha— He… He stopped?”
“Yeah, most of them do. I think it’s the whole, out of sight, out of mind thing.” You’d shrugged, “He will miss you, but he’s just realised it’s not as scary as he thought it was.”
You’d stood up then, offering a hand to Abby to do the same. She took it sheepishly, embarrassed about her emotional display but you’d waved her off. “You’re not the first parent to cry at drop off and you won’t be the last. But be prepared, he’s gonna be so overwhelmed with emotion when you pick-up he’ll burst into tears again. It’s gonna tear out your heart strings but he’s fine, just got a lot of big feelings in a little body. They all do”
And boy were you right, but it didn’t pierce Abby’s heart as much as it would have if you hadn’t warned her it was going to happen. She’d never had any issue settling Yara into school after she’d adopted the siblings, in fact she’d barely got a ‘bye’ from the six year old before she was off into her classroom leaving Abby to stand in surprise and, embarrassingly, rejection of her own daughter. Recounting that story to Manny had earned his howling laughter and a ruffle of her hair, which then led to Abby swatting her colleague and long-time friend on the arm right in front of a patient. That was a great Monday.
Maybe the difference was Yara was ready to socialise from the get-go, Lev had been clingy and shied away from people. Abby had taken some time off from working in the practice for adoption leave to help Lev settle better, finding groups for moms with children who are a little more socially wary to ease him into socialising again. Mel and Owen would say she babied him but, as Ellie once pointed out during a coffee catch-up, he kind of is a baby.
Which is why it was a big step, not just for Lev, but for Abby when it came time to send him to daycare. She knew he was ready, but it was a big step for him. She was worried he may regress, finding it hard to socialise with a larger crowd of children or having difficulty identifying a ‘safe person’ in one of his teachers.
Quickly though, Lev had attached himself to you and, in a way, after that day and — admittedly, the subsequent days Abby had also cried like his first actual day — getting to know you more during the pick-ups’ and drop-offs’, Abby found herself getting attached too. A stupid, embarrassingly quick crush had begun to form and she felt like she was a teenage girl again, counting down the minutes until she got to see her crush in whatever class they shared.
“We’ve had a great day, haven’t we Lev?” You ask with that sugary sweet smile to the toddler, the one Abby’s come to find her heart flutters at, idly tidying up the home corner Lev had been playing in when Abby arrived as you spoke. You’ve got a handful of wooden toy fruits collected in your hand, all matched together before you pull out a wooden fruit crate and toss them in as gently as possible, before setting them on the toy kitchen’s shelf. “I’ve put some photos on the app for you, we explored the garden didn’t we? And found some mini beasts!”
Abby had been immersed in the daycare world long enough with Lev to know Mini Beasts meant… Bugs? They meant bugs right?
“Got worms! ‘nd stinkbugs!” Lev shouted cheerfully, turning to Abby with his arms in the air. She was close enough, she thinks. She goes to scoop him up then pauses, remembering her soaked clothes. As if also noticing Abby’s dilemma, you jump into action.
“Got all his stuff ready, raincoat and umbrella…” Lev’s shark backpack is thrown over one of your shoulders while you’ve already got his raincoat opened up for him to put his arms into, kneeling down to help him button his coat before Abby can jump in.
“Y’don’t have to do that, Y/N” she sighs, guilt lacing the words. She knows you don’t mean to make her feel like a shit mom, so effortlessly and thoughtfully helping the little boy but it’s just another thing she feels like she’s fucked up tonight. “I know it’s probably way past your shifts ending time, I can do that”
You level her with a look, shaking your head softly. “I’m not gonna rush you guys out and besides, maybe I just like hanging out with my bestest friend ever, Lev!” She finishes the buttons on his coat, giving him the gentlest pinch of the cheek Abby has ever seen and a ruffle of his hair. Absent-mindedly, Abby then makes a note to take Lev for another haircut since it’s curling at the nape of his neck.
“Okay, I think you’re all good for your mama to take you home, Levy-boy!” She feels her cheeks heat at you calling her mama, and damn if her little crush isn’t getting out of control. She has to bite at her tongue to distract from the immediate thoughts of you in her home, in her kitchen, in full domestic bliss. You sitting on her lap on her favourite arm chair, giving the kids that doting look before saying ‘ask your mama’ when they try and get something out of you. No! Fantasies of… God, she was soft — domestic bliss, really?! — Well, they were for when her head hit the pillow.
It’s only then, when she’s shaken all thoughts of how soft your skin would be as she held you during a family movie night, that Abby notices the rain boots on his feet, a teal blue and not his. She quirks a brow, looking up at you. “These aren’t his, I’ve got ‘em at home. I know, I know, I’ll bring them in tomorrow” Abby bends to take them off his feet but your hands gently go to her wrist, small and dainty in comparison to her muscled arms.
“They’re daycare spares, you can just leave ‘em out in the hallway tomorrow ‘nd one of us will take them to the mud room. His shoes’ll get soaked, even if you carry him so I figured I’d save him from getting wet feet.”
Fuck, see. Thoughtful.
As if noticing the attention on his footwear, Lev stretches a leg out to show the rain boot off, which earns him one of your soft melodic giggles and smiles. Abby could kiss her son for gifting them with that giggle, for that smile.
It’s no wonder the kid let you put the rain boots on him, they’re not just a solid teal blue colour but have ocean wave patterns along the edges near the soles. “See, sp’ashin” He says, as if justifying it to his mom. Abby sighs, relenting. “Fine… Thank you, I’ll… I’ll make sure we bring them back tomorrow… And bring his ones in, y’know, in case it rains like this again”
Your pleased smile makes Abby’s stomach do a flip, so she distracts herself from it by finally scooping Lev up. “C’mon buddy, say bye to Y/N. We gotta go pick up Yara from her play-date, okay?”
“Is she doing good, I know you were a little worried about them when it came to making friends” You follow Abby and Lev out the room, finally turning off the lights in the room and walking out into the well-lit hallway. There’s still some other staff walking around, and another parent making a mad dash for the door — their child covered by their own jacket — which makes Abby feel a little bit better for, at least, not being the last parent to collect their kid.
“Yeah, I mean she’s still a little stand-offish with people but she’s got a solid group of four friends in her first grade class so… It’s one of those kids that she’s having a play date with” Abby had pretty much gone overboard vetting that child's house too before she agreed to let Yara go unattended for dinner, so she was anxious about getting to her.
You could pick up on that, or at least the residual nervous energy from being late so you kept your response short. “I’ll let you guys head out then, but I bet she’s had a blast”
Abby doesn’t doubt that but she can’t help the tight smile on her lips, nerves beginning to boil over. What if they made something Yara doesn’t like? What if they have small portions and won’t give her seconds even if she’s hungry? What if she and her friend had a falling out cause Yara tried to mother he— “Dr. Anderson!”
Your voice cuts off her mental spiral, Abby’s blue eyes wide as she looks at you. In her arms, Lev is looking over his mom’s muscular shoulders at the rain outside of the window which is still coming down in lashes. “Wha… Sorry, did you… Did you say something?”
A faint laugh spills from your pretty lips but your eyes have concern in them as you look at the other woman. “I just said ‘Have a good night’ but you were off in your own head. Y’okay?”
Abby swallows nervously and hikes Lev up further on her hip, her sodden blazer and shirt moving uncomfortably against her equally wet skin. “Yeah, fine. I gotta go, but thanks for everything. See you in the mornin’?” It’s phrased as a question, but you both know it’s as set in stone as the sun rising.
She darts out the door, her hand over Lev’s head to secure the hood from his raincoat, before you can respond. She quickly unlocks her car, fixing Lev into his car seat at record speed and ignoring the icy pelting of rain on her back as she bends half-way into her car. It’s only when she’s got him all secure and closed his door that she looks back at the daycare’s main doors to see you still standing there, offering a small wave goodbye to them.
Abby mirrors your movement, cheeks heating once more before she jumps into the drivers seat and finally makes her way out of the parking lot.
That wasn’t the last time Abby was late picking up Lev, although it was the latest she’d ever been. That was one of the hard parts about being a working mom, the Mom Guilt™ tends to eat you alive. She’d adjusted Lev’s hours to be more compatible to her hours at the clinic, even giving herself a set day off so she could spend a day at home and collect him earlier than she would do if she was at work. But, Lev was still at the daycare from start to finish most days and she couldn’t help but worry.
It became a routine though, Abby being the first parent to arrive and the last to leave. And oddly enough, it was always you she’d see. Not that she didn’t want to see you, but it felt oddly intimate getting to spend those few minutes so early just chatting with you.
Not that she was complaining, not when she got to see your beautiful face and hear your voice before her day began and before her night began to end. Abby wasn’t religious but she might start saying prayers of thanks to any and all deities to keep this going.
She wasn’t sure what your hours were and she’d made a joke once about how you seemed to never get to have a lie-in or go home early. She could have swore your cheeks heated just a little and maybe you looked a little… Guilty? Like a child caught doing something you shouldn’t be. But maybe she was seeing things, it still being so early in the morning.
It became one of Abby’s favourite parts of the day, seeing you at drop off and collection. Getting your full attention, and soon the conversations weren’t just about the kids but about each other. Abby learned about your time in high school and college as a kids Summer Camp Counsellor and, in turn, Abby talked about growing up in Salt Lake City with her dad, practically raised by his fellow doctors and nurses and how he’d moved up to Jackson when she headed off to college to finally slow down before retirement, opening his own practice which Abby now runs.
It felt nice, like the two of you were bonding. Abby had to remind herself to not read too much into it, you were just nice. She didn’t even know if you liked women, never mind if it was your intention to make her heart thunder in her chest whenever you’d ask about something Abby had fleetingly mentioned three weeks earlier, already forgotten herself.
You had this magic way of easing the mom guilt she had and she didn’t know how you managed it.
Realistically, though, she knew Lev saw the daycare staff and kids more than he saw Abby and Yara and that realisation had her sobbing into her pillow while a rerun of Stargate SG-1 played in the background.
Abby had mentioned this self-depricatingly during one of the morning drop-offs, trying to disguise it as a joke. Maybe her face didn’t sell it though, or maybe you just knew her too well at this point but suddenly she felt your hand on her shoulder with a comforting touch.
“Dr. Anderson, stop” And she did, like a pup following an order, falling quiet and looking at you with an open expression. “You’re being too harsh on yourself. It’s a lot being a working mom and you’re doing amazing, and Lev is far from the first in the building… Or even the last one to leave. I promise”
“Th-Thanks..” Abby had managed to stutter out, a shy smile creeping on her lips. She hadn’t said it for praise or compliments, in fact she wasn’t sure why she said it. Something about you just.. Made it easy for her to speak. “I just.. I think cause I see him as the first to arrive and the last to leave in this room, my brain starts to go crazy thinking of him alone for ages until the rest of the kids turn up”
You shake your head, brows scrunched up in a disagreeing face. “I swear, after you leave it’s like a stampede of kids. I’m telling you, Lev and I barely get, what?—” you look down at Lev as if asking him to confirm. He and Yara are helping set the tables for breakfast with you, his small eyes looking as if he’s also pondering your question. “Five minutes? Maybe, of peace. And at the end of the night it’s maybe… Ten, fifteen at most before you get here. But I’m telling you, he’s fine, i’m fine, and more importantly you’re fine, Doc”
Abby felt a little bit better at your words, nodding. She glances at the clock, sighing when she realises she’s gonna have to leave soon to drop Yara off at school. “We better get you to school, huh Missy?” she calls down to her daughter, black hair in an intricate braid Abby had been forced to practice doing all weekend. Apparently, braids were an important thing in first grade.
Yara gives Lev one last hug and Abby bends down to press a kiss to the top of his head before the two move towards the door. You’re murmuring a ‘see you tonight’ when Abby turns to you, “You can call me Abby.. By the way. You keep calling me Doc or Dr. Anderson, but.. You can call me Abby”
The blonde wasn’t sure why saying that made her palms sweaty, or why her heart was racing. But then you smile, lips slowly curling and eyes averted from hers. You nod your head, testing the name on your tongue. “Abby.. Abby it is then” It sounds beautiful coming from your lips and she finds herself eager to find more ways to get you to say her name over and over again now she’s heard it.
She’s walking out with a silly, dumb smile stretched across her lips, Yara’s small hand in hers when the six year old gets her attention. “Mama, do you like Miss Y/N?” She says it quietly, like she knows it’s probably embarrassing. Abby’s eyes widen, darting around the hallway to make sure no one else heard the young girl. “Wha— Subtlety, c’mon.. why, uh.. why do you ask, Goob?”
Yara takes her hand from Abby’s, crossing her arms over her chest and looking up at her mom with a look far too condescending to be on a six year old. “I am being subtle, that’s why I waited t’be outside. And your hands get sweaty when you talk to her”
Abby stares at her daughter for a moment before sucking in a deep breath, looking at the hanging paintings of children’s art work in the hallway like it might tell her how to have this conversation. “Should we get ice cream at the diner after dinner tonight” is what she says instead, ushering her daughter along and out the door. Yara just lets her.
Soon the two of you are not just talking in the mornings and the evenings but through the day, albeit only through the daycares app. You justify why you spend so much time updating it is because you know Abby gets anxious and maybe seeing how Lev’s day has gone will help make her feel better by the time she comes to collect him.
Your colleagues give you knowing looks, all well aware that your own crush on Abby is the reason you do so much. If it weren’t for the fact you make the point to go above and beyond with all the kids then maybe then they’d have an issue with it, favouritism and all, but you don’t. Actually, bonding with Lev so much and Abby in return has made you feel so guilty you’re writing extra detailed posts for all the kids activities.
But if going the extra mile for all thirteen of the kids in your class just to see Abby’s comments on Lev’s posts, her reacting with emojis and her smile at the end of the day when she collects then it’s worth it.
And she lives for these updates, not just like any parent would but because she feels like you’re actually taking the time to have fun with the kids, not just keeping them entertained to make the day go easier.
Her favorite post was one you made during some ‘Healthy Living’ week Abby didn’t even know was going on, about how the kids had tried new fruits and vegetables they may never have tried, all done some obstacle courses and played pretend with fake gym equipment. After that sentence followed a photo of him on the post, his big cheesy grin directed at the camera. He’d pushed his short-sleeves up past his shoulder and was flexing his ‘muscles’ to the camera ‘like his mama has’, showing off for his friends.
And when she’d asked him about it on the drive home from daycare, he’d not stopped talking about how ‘big’ and ‘strong’ (“Super-duper strong!”) his mama was. Abby printed out the photo and framed it in her office at work, her heart full at the thought her son admires her that way.
It’s Wednesday, Abby’s set day off and while she’s very much aware that there’s a pile of laundry needing to go into her washing machine and a playroom currently looking like a crime scene, she’s sat in a coffee shop on main street across from her friends.
Her hair is, for once, free of its usual braid and left down for ease, which immediately led to ribbing from Manny. Abby’s not sure how the topic shifted, maybe it was Manny teasing her that was a gate-way, but all of a sudden you were the topic of conversation. Namely, Abby’s big fat crush on you.
Yeah, she should have stayed at home.
“Guess you could say she’s hot for teacher, eh?” Manny’s loud laugh fills the coffee shop, their friends low laughter following as the blonde’s cheeks blaze.
“Knock it off, she’s… She’s just sweet, y’know” Abby’s eyes won’t meet any of their looks, voice quieter than usual. “And she’s good with the kids, both of them. That’s, like, mom kryptonite”
“She’s a daycare teacher, Abby. You’d hope that she was good with kids” Owen laughs, his newborn splayed across his chest as he leans his chair back against the wall. It’s their second kid, a baby girl and the group have spent a majority of their get-together passing the baby around like the world’s most precious game of pass the parcel.
It’s funny, when Mel and Owen first announced they were pregnant Abby had felt sad. Not because he was her ex-husband and she regretted the divorce, wanted it to be her instead of Mel carrying his baby but just because she realised she did want to be a mom, that all her friends were also falling pregnant. She was embarrassed by her jealousy, her yearning. If it wasn’t for Mel and Owen getting pregnant after one too many wine coolers at a group ski retreat, Abby wouldn’t be where she is now— Mom to Yara and Lev, the happiest she’s ever been.
“No, you.. You don’t get it. It’s not just Lev, it’s Yara too. She doesn’t just know their quirks, she gets them. She knows that if Lev’s had a portion but he’s still hungry, he won’t ask for anymore no matter how much he wants it. That you’ve gotta put it in front of him. She knows Yara used to.. That she was the one looking after him even when she was small, so she gives her some job to do at drop-off’s and collections so she feels important but isn’t being a kid looking after a kid.” Abby’s face is burning hot now, her heart is fluttering at the thought of you and she can’t help but feel embarrassed until she feels Nora’s hand at her back, rubbing soothingly.
“Yeah, she’s too far gone. Someone take Abby out back” She hears Ellie murmur under her breath, earning a soft dig from Dina and a few laughs from the table.
“Shut up,” She huffs, taking a sip of her drip coffee and pulling her phone out. She taps through the apps and pulls up your posts on Lev’s daycare profile. “I mean, how am I not supposed to like her when she’s hardworking and it has to do with my kid. She knows Lev is obsessed with sharks so she organised this whole ocean themed water activity for all the kids with Lev as her helper. He told all the kids the different types of sharks and how to distinguish them, and he actually started to make more friends than he had before”
She’s got her phone extended across the table — Ellie, Dina, Jesse and Mel huddled together and watching — scrolling through the various posts, pulling it back for a second only to show them a photo she’d had saved to her favorites since last month.
“And, look— I know it’s just a Mother’s Day card, we all got carbon copies, but she knows how I get and when I got it she told me about how the whole time he was making it, Lev couldn’t stop talking about me. Like she knew how much that was gonna make my day… What?” Her gushing comes to an abrupt stop, brow raised when she spots Ellie and Dina smirking. Beside them, Jesse is looking at his caramel macchiato with raised brows, wide eyes and like he’s trying to force his face to stay straight.
“What, assholes, are you gonna tell me you all got the same line?” She asks, crossing her arms over her chest with a huff.
“Oh, no. We didn’t get nearly the same amount of attention as you did, Ab” Dina says pointedly, though she can hear the held-back laughter and smile as she speaks.
“What are you—” Abby starts, but Ellie is already taking Abby’s phone and scrolling to the second picture, the one of the inside of the card. She turns the phone back to Abby, but all Abby sees is the inside message and Lev’s ‘signature’ (aka his crayon scrawls which extend across both inside pages).
She looks at her friends, brows raised and a clueless look upon her face. “What, did they not write Happy Mothers Day inside yours?”
“Well let me ask the audience,” Ellie deadpans before swinging her lanky body to the side to look at Mel and Owen. “Mel, Owen, what did the Mothers Day card you guys got say on the inside?”
Owen uselessly looks at Mel, whose face is lightly scrunched in thought. “Happy Mothers Day, from… And then kiddos name, why?”
Ellie’s head rolls to the side, a look on her face that says ‘See! Told ya so’ and Abby quickly snatches her phone from the auburn haired woman’s grip before she can show her card off to the rest of their friends.
Looking at the picture again, brows furrowed as she reads: Happy Mothers Day to the best mom. Lots of love followed by Lev’s signature. It’s your handwriting, she’s learnt it by now from the few notes you’ve had to pass in regards to weekend activities for the kids and such nearby you’d recommended to her one night. In fact, it looks like your best handwriting, like you made sure each letter was perfectly legible.
Abby looks up at her friends, suddenly feeling like a teenage girl again. “S-So what, you think—”
“She wants you” Manny cuts in, laughing once again. “I’m reading that right, aren’t I?” he adds after a moment, looking at the rest of their friends.
“Okay, people who actually know Y/N, can I get a raise of hands who think she.. Might like me” The words aren’t fully out of her mouth before five hands rise in quick succession, Mel reaching over to her baby sleeping on her husband's chest and raising her hand too.
The baby’s hand being raised is what really makes Abby feel like she’s being mocked by her friends, if she’s completely honest. “Okay, couldn’t have said anything sooner, assholes?”
“Abby, how are you one of the smartest women I know and simultaneously, the stupidest?” Nora asks lazily, her tired eyes only brightening with humor. Abby didn’t know how she was even here given she’d only finished her double at the hospital at six am, and despite her many attempts Nora won’t come work for her at the clinic. Something about not wanting to use influence to get a job she didn’t earn. Bullshit, she was Abby’s friend and an incredible doctor.
“One time I picked up JJ late, before you had Lev there. She was nice and all, but I was out of the door in, like, two minutes. Took me until I had him at home to realise she’d practically herded me out of the door as she did handover.” Jesse recounts, his lips pressed together tightly as he tries not to smile. “Just saying, she can get parents out quick when it's late. So why do you think she’s havin’ these big, long conversations with you each night?”
Abby’s mouth is slightly agape, stunned being one way of describing how she feels. She’d spent so long sure her crush was silly, unreciprocated. But had she been so focused on herself and concealing it that she hadn’t bothered to look and see if maybe it wasn’t just her who felt that way.
She’s off in her own head, brows scrunched up in deep thought — replaying every interaction, every touch you’ve both shared — when Mel nudges Owen. “Hey, isn’t that…”
Every head at their table turns to look at the coffee shop counter where you stand, oblivious to the audience you’ve now earned, ordering coffee. “Yeah, that’s Y/N. Must be on her break, damn… I wish I worked on Main, practically next door” Dina whispers, as if you might hear them.
“Guys, stop looking at her” Abby hisses, averting her eyes to her coffee in front of her and hoping her friends don’t garner your attention with their stares.
“Ah, I get it. She is pretty, I see why you’re so wound up by her now” Manny throws an arm over Abby’s shoulder, pulling her strong shoulders in close and giving her a squeeze. Then, with a tone of finality, “I want to talk to this girl.”
Her blue eyes widen, head shaking side to side as she looks from Manny to the rest of her friends. “Absolutely not”
But Dina is already calling you over, saying your name so sweetly with her hand beckoning you over. Abby can see your eyes widen with surprise and your cheeks go rosy, seeing such a large table of people apparently wanting your attention. But Abby’s sure when your eyes fix on her, even if it was for a moment, you seem to relax just a little bit.
“I’m going to kill you guys” Abby hisses though a smile at her friends before you get close enough to hear, but none of them take any notice and instead focus on you.
You stand awkwardly, not quite knowing what to do with your hands and, in the end, deciding to cross your arms over loosely. Abby’s eyes drift over to your arms as you do so, spotting dried orange paint on your skin and something glinting, most likely culprit being glitter.
“Hey everyone, didn’t expect to see you guys until tonight” Despite your awkwardness, your humor is still solid and you don’t sound nervous at all. But you can’t help your eyes from wandering to Abby, to the sight of her with her hair loose in front of you.
It’s new, at least to you, and it kinda makes you breathless. Abby’s beautiful always but with her hair straight and down it’s just.. Different. “Hey, Abs” you shoot a small wave her way, Abby returning it with a small, warm smile.
“We try and catch up for coffee as a group at least once a month, especially with our workaholics.” Dina is quick to take the lead with the conversation, leaving Abby to want to sink into her chair and hide. “We were actually just discussing the kids crafts and you guys outdid yourselves with Mothers Day this year. Seriously, mine’s framed on the mantle”
There’s that blush at your cheeks again, one Abby wants to see again. Except she’s picturing a very different way of putting it there, one she probably shouldn’t be thinking of at a table full of her friends. Or in public.
She can’t help but wonder if you’re realising that they’ve realised a difference in their cards versus hers. Had you even meant to do it, was it unintentional but still.. With some sort of meaning behind it.
“Oh, this is Nora and Manny — they don’t have kids so you won’t know who they are but—”
“Actually,” you interject, cheeks darkening further as you do. “I think I recognise the names. Manny… Emanuel Alvarez and Nora Harris?”
Their surprise on their faces must be clear cause you're quick to finish, “You’re on Lev’s paperwork as emergency contacts, I make a point to memorise names and numbers for the kids in my group.”
You can’t see but Dina is smirking at Abby, mouthing the words ‘I told you so’. Her wife, beside her, has to bite her fist to stop from laughing.
“Well now I feel terrible for not knowing anything about you, sit! Join us while you wait for your drink” Shit, Abby knows that voice. That’s Manny’s charming voice, the one he uses when he’s trying to talk a girl into bed or get what he wants in some other way. She’s heard it way too many times back in the day at the Tipsy Bison.
Worse, it works but maybe it’s actually the rest of the group's encouragement that makes you sit on one of the free chairs with them. “So, daycare. Sounds like you’ve very nurturing, from what my friends tell me. They make you sound like God's gift to daycare. Tell me, do you have children of your own, a husband?”
Subtle, Manny. Subtle.
You huff out a laugh awkwardly, jaw twitching as you try and find words. “No, I don’t. To both”
“No? Wife then? Partner? Hey, we’re waving all kinds of flags with this group” Abby briefly considers whether or not using the laminated menu to stab her eyes out would put her out of the misery which is Manny trying to… Wingman? For her.
“Uh, sadly no” Yeah, Abby can see the regret in your eyes for agreeing to sit with them. But she can’t seem to care at this moment, sitting up a little bit straighter when you say the word sadly. What does that mean, you wish you had a wife? Did you have someone in mind? C’mon Manny, ask more questions!
Like the cat that got the cream, his smile curls at his lips. “Ah, I see. You got your eye on anyone?”
Your eyes glance at Abby, her hair catching your attention for the fourth time since you’d been called over. It looked so long, so silky. You wanted to run your fingers through it, braid it for her. You shake out of that thought, breathing out finally like you’d forgotten to. “Uh, maybe, Jackson isn’t really—”
“Iced Latte for Y/N” Saved by the bell, or the barista in this case.
“Shoot, I better go, but I’ll see most of you later tonight for collection. Have a nice day you guys!” They watch as you practically speedwalk to the counter and out of the coffee shop towards the daycare.
After a few moments of silence, Jesse is the one to break the silence. “Did Manny just scare our kids daycare teacher off by asking if she was married right from the get go?”
“Might have also had something to do with us all staring at her like creepy dolls” Ellie says around the rim of her coffee cup before gulping down the last of her coffee.
Manny puts his hands up in mock surrender, “At least we confirmed—”
But Ellie is quick to cut him off, “What, that she’s a girl kisser? Good going, genius, you could tell that by looking at her.”
“Pretty sure it was obvious when she gave us a group hello and Abby her own one” And as much as she doesn’t want to, she’s gotta say her ex-husband does have a point.
Abby spends the rest of the time the group remains at the cafe over-analyzing each look you gave her, every reaction you had, every word you said until it’s time to go home and rush her chores.
“I’m telling you, it was, like, the world’s scariest version of ‘meet the parents’ except it was all her friends and they were all parents of kids I was building a megablocks tower with ten minutes later.” You’ve pretty much sank yourself into the cushions of the old, worn sofa in the staff room, recounting your break to your friends and colleagues hours later on your lunch break. “Have you guys ever played Resident Evil, or seen it? That family from Biohazard? It was like that except they obviously weren’t rotting… Or evil”
Around you your colleagues laugh, namely because a majority of them are working mom’s in their early to late thirties who have no idea what you’re talking about.
“Okay, understandably creepy” Cat, one of your only colleagues close to your age, says as she scrapes the sides of her yogurt pot. “Still, objectively funny”
“So, you’re comparing getting called over by the good doc’ and her friends to meeting the parents, huh?” One of the older women, Caroline, butts in before you can respond to Cat. Her words make you wish the sofa would consume you, if only to hide the blush you knew had to be visible at this point.
It became public knowledge amongst the staff about your crush on Abby, pretty much from the start. You didn’t need to say anything, everyone sort of picked up on it easily, and suddenly it was as if you didn’t need to race to be the first to speak to Abby. No, they made sure they were busy as soon as they saw her walking into the room.
And when you suddenly started staying late to do the closes each night and starting your shifts early to talk to her in the mornings? They let you with minimal teasing. Minimal but still humiliating. Your manager told you they wouldn’t always be able to pay you for the overtime you were doing but, in all honesty? Talking with Abby, hanging out with Lev and Yara? It didn’t feel like working. It felt right.
Sometimes you imagined it when you were at home, in your tiny apartment that felt empty more times than not. You imagined some cozy home, curled up on a sofa, the four of you like a family in a living room surrounded by bookshelves. Not only filled with the sci-fi and classics you’ve heard Abby mention she’s reading in passing but your fantasy and romance ones, the bottom shelves for the kids books.
Imagining making breakfast, kissing Abby on the cheek before she heads out to work. Getting to see her come back from the gym, muscles strained and sweaty. You’d seen her once leaving the gym when you’d had a Wednesday booked off and the sight of Abby post-workout was enough for you to bite your fist and file the image away for later, but now your thoughts are just of easing her onto the couch and giving her a massage to ease the knots in her back.
You kind of missed when your crush first started, when your daydreams were all heated. How you’d fantasised about Abby’s form, of her manhandling you and licking into your mouth like she was starved. Of wrapping that beautiful, infuriatingly neat braid around your fist as Abby devoured your cunt, chin glistening and messy as she laps at your folds. Those were the fantasies that decided to reappear in your mind every time you saw Abby in the beginning, ones you’d have to bite your lip and try not to think of as she spoke.
Now? Now you’re straight up yearning and it’s a pain.
You huff out a sigh, ignoring the gentle, teasing laughter of the group of women. “It’s not funny, it was like I was being interrogated and all while she was sat there — not saying anything, mind you — with her beautiful, blonde hair out of that braid she always wears and I just wanted to… I don’t even know. God, is it bad if I say I just wanted to play with it? Is that a new level of sad?” There’s a pout at your lips as you sigh and Caroline reaches over to ruffle your hair, cooing softly in that motherly way she does.
“They’re sizing you up, Hon’, why else y’think they’re askin’ if you got anyone warming y’bed?” Arlene, another one of the older women, says softly. She’s stabbing her fork at some sad looking salad she’s put together but doesn’t seem all that interested in. “Betcha whole tab at the Bison she likes ya back and they’re fishin’ for her”
God, you wish. You thought you’d had a chance, the first time you’d met Abby but now you were pretty solidly aware you couldn’t be her type. Still, the thought makes your heart race.
“You’re forgetting one crucial fact: she’s not into women, ‘Lene. Has a whole ex-husband and everything” You groan out the word ex-husband like it did something personally offensive. She’d only mentioned the man briefly, no name or description but you cursed the man on a daily basis for letting a woman like Abby go.
“Whose to say Comp-Het didn’t have something to do with that” Cat mumbles, causing Arlene to lean over asking “Com-what?”
Caroline sucks in a breath, making a noise of disagreement. “I don’t know… Just cause she’s got an ex-husband don’t mean she can’t like women, or what if she likes both? You don’t know why their marriage ended, what if she realised the only cock she wanted was on the end of one of those strappy things?”
You’re groaning, head held in your hands at that comment while Cat cackles loudly. Her laugh can most likely be heard in all the classrooms and you have to reach over to smack her to get her to stop. You will not be dealing with cranky toddlers ‘cause a conversation about strap-ons of all things woke them up.
“Now I know I’m old and I don’t wanna get myself in trouble,” Arlene starts, causing you and Cat to glance at each other in silent dread. As the only two queer people on the daycare staff, neither of you knew where this could go. “But I always figured when you looked like that you kind of had to be a Lesbian. There’s takin’ care of your body and then there’s runnin’ for the Lumberjack Qualifiers, darlin’, you know?”
Cat makes a noise as if weighing up her answer, “No, sadly, straight women can be buff. It’s fucking cruel cause then we get baited but there’s no rules”
Arlene nods as if she’s digesting the information then turns to look at you with determination. “I still say her friends were checkin’ into you for her, not that you ain’t obvious about your lil’ crush on her and everything but what if she thinks you’re not into her?”
“Yeah, that Dina — JJ’s mom — she’s a tricky girl, bet the reason Dr. Anderson was so quiet was ‘cause they called you over before she knew it. I’m telling you, she was probably talking about you and got all shy cause her friends were embarrassing her”
You sit up at that, finger pointed at the older woman. “Okay, firstly— I am not obvious, I actually make a point to be extremely professional and only go all starry eyed after she leaves.”
“Keep tellin’ yourself that, Sweetheart”
“And Secondly….” Your mouth hangs open for a second, not quite sure what else you could say to argue. The thought of Abby being flustered in that moment? It made your heart race with excitement. Cruel, cruel excitement. “If.. If you’re right, what do I.. What’s next? I can’t exactly ask her out, she’s a parent—”
Your manager's voice calls out from her office, right across from the door to the staff room. “Yes you can, as long as there’s no favoritism, favours or inappropriate behaviours that would reflect badly on the setting.” She says it in the familiar bored drawl you’re used to hearing from her, your eyes wide at the thought that even your manager is invested in your love life.
Around you, your colleagues are all trying to stifle their laughter.
Cat stands up, taking her trash to the garbage as she speaks. Shit, if she’s going back then you’re due back soon too. “You talk to her enough in the morning and at night, you can’t find a way to ask her out to coffee one day or something?”
“What, ‘Hey, I know you employ me for a service to care for your kid but do you maybe wanna go on a date with me, winky face?’”
“Yeah sure, but maybe don’t say winky face out loud” If it wasn’t frowned upon, you’d be throwing all of the sofa cushions at your friend right now.
“It doesn’t have to be a date, sweetheart. You could always ask her to hang out as friends first, then see how she is outside of these four walls.” Caroline adds as you stand, tossing the remnants of your own lunch in the garbage.
You’re nodding slowly as you leave the room, trying to convince yourself that the idea isn’t a bad one that could go horribly, horrifically wrong and end with Abby avoiding you forever. You glance at the clock in the room when you get back, only five more hours until you see Abby to see if you’ll actually do it.
Abby makes sure she’s early tonight, not just ‘cause it’s a Wednesday and she has the ability to do that but because she can’t be alone with you in that room without bursting into flames. The longer she had to dwell on your run in with her and her friends this morning, the more she wanted a zombie apocalypse to start so the undead could rip her apart. That might be more painless than seeing how uncomfortable her friends and their questioning might have made you.
Her mission is simple: get in, get Lev, get out. Try to avoid potentially seeing you look at her with disgust or any lingering weirdness. Maybe look into Witness Protection, see if they have exceptions.
She feels like luck is on her side, three other parents in the room and staff all busy talking to them. She can see you off in the corner, talking to another parent and unaware of her presence. Maybe she can keep it that way, just long enough to get the attention of another member of staff to let them know she’s taking Lev and make up some story about how they’re in too much of a rush to do a full handover.
Speaking of Lev, where the hell is her son? She can’t see him in his usual places, the construction area or the water tray. He’s not in the book corner, surprisingly, nor is he in the home corner like he had been that night Abby got caught in the rain.
She’s about to start panicking, blue eyes wide as she scans the room when she sees a familiar head of hair. Fuck, mission obstacle — He’s clinging to your legs, his toy giraffe clutched under one arm while his other is looped around your calf, his head rested against your knee.
Damn it, thwarted by her own kid. She’d even gone to the lengths of calling in Manny for babysitting duties so Yara wouldn’t complicate her ‘get-in-get-out’ plan but all of it had gone out of the window when Lev decided to attach himself to you like a keyring.
Abby sighs, hands awkwardly going into the pockets of her jeans as she waits for you to notice her. Luckily, since Abby is no longer actively hiding from you, she’s quickly spotted. You hold up a finger, signalling to her you’ll be a moment and bend down to whisper something in Lev’s ear. His tired eyes look up and then brighten when he sees Abby, a shout of “Mama!” from his tiny lips before he’s sprinting across the room.
Abby’s quick to squat down and scoop him up, watching as he rubs his eyes with tired fists. “Tired, Goober? Should we go to sleep early tonight?”
Despite his eyes being closed and one fist still rubbing at one, he shakes his head. “Still want my books, mama”
You must have wrapped up with the other parents in the short amount of time Abby’s had Lev cause suddenly you’re there, and even with the room being lively with other kids and other adults Abby can’t help but feel like all that noise quietens when you appear.
“Hey, Abs” You sound oddly shy, so unlike you and it makes Abby’s heart race. She thinks back to the conversation she and her friends had earlier this morning about how they all thought you might like her back and damn how she wants that to be true.
She manages to say a hey of her own, awkwardly sounding it out and somehow making it sound apologetic. “Seems busy in here, surprised you were able to do anything with this one clinging to you like a koala. I would’a picked him up earlier if I knew he was tired, you could have put something on the app. I don’t mind”
You shake your head, reaching up to give Lev a soft stroke on his face as he nuzzles into Abby’s chest. Abby already knows he’s either gonna fall asleep on her like this or on the car ride home. “It’s fine, honestly. Wouldn’t survive in this job if you weren’t used to tired kids attaching themselves to you”
You do the normal handover, giving Abby all the information about his day, meals and toileting before there’s a pause. This is where you’d both naturally fall into conversation, where you’d share something personal like an interest in books or, in Abby’s case, whatever documentary she’s watching this week.
But no, silence. Awkward silence, like neither of you want it but you both also don’t know how to end it.
“I’m sorry!” Abby says abruptly, then mentally slapping herself in the face cause she knows she could have eased into saying that. “You know, about my friends… This morning? They’ve got no sense of boundaries and they shouldn’t have started grilling you like that. It was… It was weird, I’m sorry”
Your mouth hangs slightly open, eyes a little wide like you didn’t expect her to say anything about it, which makes Abby wish she didn’t but there’s not much she can do about that now.
“No, no— it’s, uh.. It’s fine, not the first time parents have inquired about my personal life, won’t be the last.”
“Still, there’s boundaries. They— We shouldn’t have cornered you like that. I’m sorry, especially about Manny.”
The only thing that stops Abby from continuing her nervous apology spiel is your light laugh as you look at her, bottom lip drawn between your teeth. She can’t help the way her eyes are drawn to the movement, how she wishes it were her teeth your lip was caught by. She looks up just in time to see you catch her staring, which only causes the both of your faces to brighten with embarrassment.
You shake away the nervousness, shrugging casually. “No, seriously it’s fine. Besides, it’s not like there’s much to gossip about in my love life. So they were getting nothing anyway”
“Really?” Abby can’t hide the surprise from her voice, looking you up and down obviously. She couldn’t see why you wouldn’t have anything going on, you were quite possibly one of the most beautiful girls she’s ever seen.
You let out some shaky, nervous laughter as you shake your head. “Really. It’s kind of far and few to find girls who like girls here in Jackson that aren’t already taken or a word I can’t say cause there’s kids around” You let that marinate, watching Abby carefully to see her reaction.
Abby, to her credit, does her best not to react. On the outside, she’s nodding like people do to say I’m listening, continue but on the inside she feels like a teenager jumping up and down on their bed.
“Plus, work makes it difficult to meet anyone who doesn’t get it so…” You add after a beat, a little awkwardly since you didn’t get a reaction from Abby.
“I get that,” Abby adjusts Lev where he lays on her shoulder, his tiny fingers toying with the end of her braid. She’d put it in her usual style, much to your disappointment, once she’d started stress deep-cleaning the house following your interaction at the coffee shop. “I’ve not had much time to meet anyone the usual ways, always figured once I stopped working at a big hospital and stuff, I’d have time to get back out there again but…”
She had tried after the divorce, she’d had a few casual relationships but those were all before she adopted Yara and Lev. “Plus it’s hard, with the kids. Don’t want to invite someone into their lives who doesn’t get it or who might leave”
Your eyes are on Lev as you let out a wistful ‘yeah’, eyes softening when you notice his eyes fluttering closed. Abby can’t help but watch you, watch as you look at her baby boy with a look she’s only ever seen in herself, in photos captured by friends of her playing with the kids. She wants desperately to believe you’re imagining yourself as that person Abby is waiting for, that she’s not alone in being stupid for you and you her.
“It’d be nice though,” Abby’s voice sounds slightly breathy and her heart is thundering so hard in her chest as she aims for a coolness she knows in this moment she does not possess. “Plus it’d be fun to be able to have the kids going around in a circle of ‘ask your mom’ at some point, you know”
She watches you carefully as what she says finally registers in your head, eyes averted from her gaze but moving up slightly, as if looking at an invisible camera on The Office. A soft intake of breath as you slowly nod, swallowing thickly as you process. “Yeah, pretty sure that’s every queer mom’s right of passage” You say slowly after a moment, a short laugh falling from your lips.
You look like you want to say something else, but your eyes drift to Lev again and soften with a smile. “You should, uh… You should probably head home. Someone’s decided to call it a night while we were here yapping”
Abby cranes her neck to look down at her son, softly snoring against her chest and leaving a nice wet patch of drool on the neckline of her t-shirt. “Guess I should…”
Awkwardly, she tries to toss his backpack over her shoulder but it’s difficult to get it to stay without jostling Lev. She freezes slightly when she feels you start to help, your soft hands against her skin as you position the backpack so it will stay. She could have swore your hands linger, as it tracing the muscles in her arms before you let go of her.
“See you tomorrow?” Abby mumbles as she leaves, feeling like her heart is about to race out of her chest. Unknowingly, she leaves you in the same state.
Later that night, when all the children have gone home and the daycare is getting closed down for the night, Caroline walks by just in time to see you and Cat jumping up and down and around in circles, hands clutched together as you both chant “She’s gay! She’s gay, she’s gay, she’s gay!” excitebly over and over.
You may have chickened out of asking Abby out on a date, or even to hang out as friends, but there was still some cause for celebration.
“Whole tab at the Bison, huh?” she calls to Arlene when she appears behind her a second later, the manager beside her. The older woman grumbles, but her motherly smile is beaming at you and Cat. “That girls gonna be drinkin’ like a fish on your card, that’s for sure, ‘Lene”
Abby should have known something was up the moment she got three separate messages all relating to going out to the Tipsy Bison on Friday night. It started casually late Thursday morning during a lull between patients, opening the groupchat to see Dina’s message.
[ Dina ] : Guys we should get sitters and go to the Bison tomorrow, let loose
Simple, casual. Nothing she found suspicious, because there was always a message in the groupchat about hanging out. That’s the issue with being a group of friends with young kids, you can say you want to make plans until your throat goes dry but actually getting said plans out of the groupchat? Practically impossible, especially if they don’t involve aforementioned kids.
Abby expected this to be the same, and maybe she should have questioned it when later that night the groupchat exploded with sudden interest from everyone. It was strange, how this one night everyone seemed able to commit to plans with barely twenty-four hours notice but Abby just shrugged it off. She didn’t confirm or deny if she was going, phone left open in her hand as she falls asleep on the sofa that night.
It definitely should have been suspicious when Jesse shouts her name during drop-off in the morning, catching Abby just before he drops JJ in as Abby’s about to leave, and asks if she’s going with them.
“No, sorry, can’t. Wouldn’t have been able to book a sitter so last minute even if I tried” Abby shrugs, waving her friend off. And yet, somehow she still ends up in the dimly lit bar later that night, Dina’s mischievous smirk being kissed off her face by her wife.
Abby’s still not sure how she ended up being talked into coming, or how Joel Miller ended up stuck babysitting not only his step-grandson but Abby’s kids as well; All she knows is Jesse walked away and she was left dazed and confused, like she’d just entered a deal with the devil.
They’re all stood at the bar with the exception of Mel and Nora who were saving their seats at one of the few round tables in the bar big enough to fit the size of their group. Manny’s buying the first round, which translates more to flirting with the new bartender. At least, she’s new to Abby — It’s been a while since she’s been out drinking like this, most nights when she needs a stiff drink she just curls up with scotch after putting the kids to bed.
Abby can’t help but feel like there’s a certain energy though that falls over the group, a weird layer of excitement and deception but that may be because Dina has a devilish smirk on her face and it’s been directed at Abby since they stepped foot into the bar.
“Okay, what’s your damage tonight?” Abby finally asks when the group return to their table, sitting with her back to the bar trays in hand with the amount of drinks Manny decided to order in this first round. Abby’s already picturing herself on a liquid IV just looking at the tray solely holding shots. She has to shout to be heard, the music loud and the bar crowded, voices overlapping
It’s addressed to the table as a whole but Dina, ever the ringleader, takes the bait first. “What? Can’t a girl be excited we’re all out for once. Drinking.”
Abby narrows her eyes as she reaches her hand out to grab a shot, looking around at the group. It’s not just Dina who makes her suspicious now, it’s everyone. Manny, for the most part, is quiet — which is worse. She can see Nora and Mel whispering back and forth in each others ear and she’d try and force Owen to tell her what they’re saying, but he’s got that far off look in his eyes she recognises as him straight up disassociating while he downs his shot and then chases it with his beer of all things.
“No, no. You’re being weird,” she shouts again, crossing her large arms over her chest as she leans forward to glare at them all closer. “What are you guys up to?”
“Nothin’, nothin’, can’t a group of people go out and drink on a Friday night without a reason?” Ellie shouts across the table, leaning on her tattooed arm while Dina strokes the skin idly. “Just cause we had kids doesn’t mean we can’t—”
“Abby, next rounds on you! You should go to the bar and grab them, grab them now” Dina suddenly cuts in, eyes unfocused and staring off behind the blondes head, causing Abby to look around the table at everyone’s still full drinks.
“How about when we’ve actually started drinking them” She deadpans, confused at the urgency in which Dina said it. Dina has a smile on her face, nodding like she agrees, but Abby can see her tells; the twitch at her cheek as her jaw grinds slightly, the way her eyes widen slightly as she tries to think of how to get what she wants. Her eyes glance around the table, making eye contact with each and every one of them and like dominoes falling, everyone picks up their glasses and tries to subtly start drinking faster.
“Okay, what the hell guys?!” The exasperation in her voice is clear as she throws her hands up in the air, looking around at the group. “I’ll still buy the damn drinks but this isn’t college, we don’t have to drink so much so fast”
“I just think the bar is pretty busy, going now might mean you’ll make it back in time for when we are finished?” Mel throws a soft smile Abby’s way, her eyes glancing behind Abby’s head every so often towards the bar, clearly trying to placate her. Sure, it was busy but it was a Friday night and pay-day weekend. It was bound to be, but it still wouldn’t warrant Abby needing to go back to the bar when all their drinks were barely touched.
“I’ll still be back before you guys finish your drinks if I leave when you’re half-way though them, quit chugging them” She makes the point of picking up her own beer and drinking it slowly, savouring the taste and looking at all their friends. In front of her Dina, eyes still off behind Abby’s head sighs with annoyance and sags into her chair, eyes tracking something off to the side. Ellie’s quick to pull her in by the shoulder, murmuring into her ear something Abby wouldn’t be able to hear even without the noise of the bar.
Owen changes the subject then, lessening the weird tension that’s in the air, by complaining about work. He works as a Sheriff’s Deputy in town but ever since Mel had their second kid, he’s been on permanent desk duty. Somehow, for the deputies that don’t get out once in a while, they’re filled with drama. Manny recounts how a patient was trying to get his number this morning, which everyone ignored as the usual Manny flirt-parade until he added that she was eighty-two and had three husbands under her belt.
Finally, when everyone's drinks seemed reasonably half-drunk, Abby stands without saying anything to go and order but she’s quickly stopped by Jesse. “Uh, no sweat, Abby. Dina was just jerkin’ ya around. I’ll get the next round, you just… Stay here”
Okay, back to weird.
In front of them, Nora is nodding like she thinks Jesse has had the greatest idea ever, Ellie and Dina talking over each other to get Abby to sit back down. For a group of people who seemed so determined to get Abby to the bar no less than twenty minutes ago, they seem desperate to keep her at the table now.
“Nu-uh, you guys were practically chasing me over there a while back. I’ll cover it now, b’sides — I’m probably gonna call it a night after another round or two. It’s been a long week” She’s turning around before anyone can stop her, Jesse’s hands trying and failing all too late to keep her fixed facing the group. She doesn’t notice anything at first, half expecting the bar to be on fire or gremlins doing some Coyote Ugly shit on the bar.
She walks towards the bar, through the crowds of people stood where the makeshift dancefloor and the seating meets when she sees something out of the corner of her eye. Her friends think she’s missed it, that they’re in the clear, but no. She’d recognise you anywhere.
It’s like time goes still, like someone threw a blanket over a speaker to muffle the noise of the bar. The music seems to quieten in her ears, people seem to go slower as she watches you. More specifically, watch you and Cat.
Your head is thrown back as you dance, back pressed against the other woman's chest as you both dance together. There’s drinks in both your hands, but Cat still has her free one resting casually on your hip and you seem so carefree and happy, it can’t be the first time you’ve done this.
Abby’s blue eyes unfocus slightly, looking off behind you and the sound of rowdy laughter cuts in, the noise of the bar suddenly coming back to her as she realises the rest of your coworkers are also there. There’s two older women cheering the two of you on as you look like you’re grinding your ass back against Cat’s crotch.
Right. Of course. You didn’t… You didn’t like Abby, why would you like Abby when Cat was clearly…
Abby turns to look back at her friends, already trying to figure out a way to get the hell out of the bar without making them aware but she knows she can’t do that when the first thing she sees is varying looks of pity and apology on all their faces.
They’d seen. Oh god, that was why they were trying to keep her at the table. Abby’s not sure how she has the strength to but she slowly walks back to the table and slumps down into her chair, crestfallen.
She’d been so sure you liked her, or, at least, she’d gotten her hopes up that you might just like her as much as she likes you. And after you’d both not-so-subtly confirmed to each other that you did both like girls, she thought surely that was also a point in the Y/N-likes-Abby-back column but after that display?
“Shit, I’m sorry, Abs. I didn’t— I knew they were all comin’ to the bar tonight but if.. If I knew she was gonna.. That she and Cat.. I would’ve—” Dina’s apologetic voice comes quick down Abby’s ear, the other girl having appeared suddenly and quickly over her shoulder and comforting her in a hug Abby didn’t ask for or particularly want, but allowed nonetheless.
After a moment, Abby takes a short breath and smoothes her face into a mask of calmness. She will not break down at the bar, she’s a grown-ass mother of two. She is much too old for that, especially when it’s over a crush. “I think I’m gonna head to the bathroom a sec.”
Abby doesn’t wait for an answer before she’s up and out of her chair, walking in the opposite direction and towards the dingy women’s bathrooms before anyone can stop her.
There’s a pleasant buzz in your system, that familiar state of officially drunk but just barely as you move around on the dance floor. The Tipsy Bison is relatively busy, but that’s more to do with it being payday weekend and the only bar on main street rather than actual preference. You don’t mind though, whatever gets liquor down your throat after a long week is good — especially when it’s not you that’s paying.
That’s the funny thing, you look at a group of daycare teachers and expect them to be saints, yet here they all are. A group of seven women, four of which in their early fifties feeding shots down your throat and egging each other on as you drunkenly dance with each other. It is a celebration though, as it’s not every day you discover the girl you like might like you back and that you actually might have a shot, especially in Jackson. That’s why she accepts the heavy handed drinks from Arlene like a birthday girl on her twenty-first.
The music is normally ass in here, Seth’s usual playlist a total bore but there’s a new bartender he hired that actually seems to enjoy variety in music, so when you and Cat heard a song you were both actually fans of and recognised you were pulling each other on the dance floor. You were both drunk enough, courtesy of Arlene, to not care about your surroundings and dance like you’re both at a big city club.
Cat’s arm is thrown over your shoulder, pulling your back against her chest as you both clumsily grind against each other to the beat of the song but you’re also both laughing and singing along, trying your best to not spill your drinks on the floor and make a sticky mess.
Your dancing is too close, but you two have never been more than just friends so it doesn’t feel like there’s anything wrong with it, especially since there’s nothing that feels right about it that way.
Abby on the other hand?
You could imagine how good it would feel to dance with her like this, although you both might be a little too grown up to dirty dance in a club like this. But the thought of it is nice. Your back against her chest, her sexy toned chest rubbing up against her abs and her tits? You bite your lips at the thought of it, of her hands wandering across your body.
Okay, not thoughts to have while your ass is pressed against your friend. You take a moment to reassess, suddenly very aware of your bodily functions.
Spinning around, you giggle drunkenly as you look at Cat. “Gotta hit the stalls, forgot how much I was drinking. If I’m not back in fifteen, send a rescue party — might be consoling a drunk girl”
She gives you a thumbs up and you make your way towards the toilets, but out of the corner of your eye you see two familiar faces. You can’t stop yourself, way too friendly when intoxicated as you skip along to the bar to see Dina and Mel as they buy a round.
“Fancy seeing you two here,” You say playfully but your enthusiasm is curbed when the two women's faces look less than impressed with you. You might be drunk but they don’t normally look at you like you kicked a puppy, do they? “We’re just out for drinks for payday, you two doing the same?”
You hope if maybe you point out it’s not just you that’s drunk they won’t be as annoyed, but Dina just nods, avoiding eye contact and pointedly tutting under her breath as if your very presence irritates her. Had you done something? Or was it just that detestable that you have a life outside of work? You didn’t think Dina would be that type of parent but there’s always one who surprises you.
Mel takes some pity, pointing to a table near the back as she speaks while Dina just huffs, visibly annoyed. You shift uncomfortably, regretting coming over more and more. “We’re, uh… all out, not something we do very often”
At that your interest piques, ignoring Dina’s attitude towards you. Your eyes are seeking something out, or rather someone, scanning all the heads at the table for a familiar face or a familiar back of the head but you don’t see it. She said all, didn’t she? Where’s Abby then?
As if knowing exactly what you’re searching for, Dina turns to you stern faced and with narrowed eyes, venom in them. “She’s in the bathroom, I’d say to say hi but she’s already seen how busy you were” Her arms fold over her chest and even in your intoxicated state, you can’t help but feel like you’re getting told off by your mom.
Your brows furrow in confusion, wondering when you’ve been busy all night? Did she mean when you helped Arlene and Caroline bring the trays of drinks over to the tables for their rounds? “Huh?”
But they’re gone before you can get a clearer answer, a muttered see ya from Dina before they’re walking away with their own trays of drinks. Your confused look follows them all the way back to their table, watching as Dina and Mel must say something cause suddenly they’re all looking at you. The stares vary from pitying to annoyed and you’re not sure why the feeling hurts.
You stumble away from the bar dejectedly, pushing your way into the bathroom and wincing at the stark overhead lighting. In the main bar area of the Tipsy Bison it’s all low lighting but in here, it’s broken overhead lighting that feels a little too cold in temperature and makes you look sickly no matter how you look really.
The sight of yourself in the mirror is… Well, a sight. Hair messy and slightly sweaty, your skin has a sheen to it too from the humidity you’d barely noticed inside the bar and your makeup — which was applied at six am and barely touched up after the daycare closed in the staff toilets — is also messy, eyeliner smudged under the eyes and lipstick barely there from the drinks. The dulled sound of the bars music makes you feel like you can actually think, which is maybe not the best idea cause your mind is swimming with questions.
What the hell was that? Why did it seem like Dina Woodward-Williams hated you all of a sudden? Matter of fact, why did it seem like a core group of your classes parents — not to mention your crushes best friends — disliked you to varying degrees. And speaking of your crush, what did Dina mean when she said Abby saw how busy she was?
Shit, Abby.
Didn’t she say Abby was in the toilets?
“Abs?” You say tentatively, your voice is rough, from drunkenly shouting over the music all night so everyone could hear you. She might have left, but behind you there is a closed stall.
After a few moments of silence, you hear a huff of breath and see a pair of feet appear under the crack at the bottom of the stall through the mirror. The door unlocks and she appears, looking beautiful and… Her eyes are slightly red, like she’d been crying and you can’t stop yourself as you turn around and move towards her with concern.
You go to reach out but she takes a step back and you… You can’t help but feel the pain of the rejection but you respect it. “Abs, Abby… What’s wrong, are you…”
“It’s.. ‘m fine, Y/N. S’all good” Despite this, Abby’s shaking her head and pushing past to wash her hands, clearly wanting to ignore the elephant in the room that was her crying in the bar bathroom.
“I didn’t realise you guys were here, you should have come over ‘n said hi to us”
“It’s fine, you looked busy… Like you were havin’ fun”
Busy… There’s that word again. Still, Abby doesn’t seem irritated with you the same way her friends did, just.. Deflated.
“Yeah?” Your dopey smile is wide, eyes are too as you stare up at Abby like she’s something of wonder.
“You know, on the dancefloor” Abby then adds, words slightly slurred, definitely bitter. You’re not sure why.
“Oh yeah,” Your airy little giggle as you sway tipsily makes Abby want to wrap her arms around you and keep you close for the rest of the night. “Cat and I get a little crazy when something we actually know and can dance like we’re in a club comes on”
“Yeah,” Abby’s own words slur slightly, but even she’s just tipsy as she laughs lowly. Still, she’s hit that level of intoxicated tonight where she’s not even trying to hide her bitter tone. “And there you were a few weeks ago sayin’ somethin’ about barely any girls in Jackson. All along one was workin’ with you”
It takes a moment for you to process what Abby says, your sweet smile falling and brows furrowing in confusion as you shake your head. You move closer to Abby where she stands gripping the sinks. “What?”
“Your girlfriend? Saw you two dancin’ tonight, you seemed… Pretty close”
“Cat?” You ask, your voice small and confused. “Cat’s not my girlfriend, Abs. We’re just friends”
“Not what it looked like t’me, not with her hands all over you ‘n your ass against her”
Suddenly all the air in the dingy bathroom doesn’t feel like enough, not as you stare at Abby as she looks genuinely irritated at what she saw. You can understand it, even when you’re drunk like this you get why she probably thought you and Cat were a thing. You both were a little too handsy while you drank, neither thinking much of it but to an outsider? To someone who (you hoped) liked you watching from across the room?
You move closer to Abby, like a moth to flame, and crowd her up against the sinks with a needy look on your face. Your hands are either side of her, her own almost touching yours as she looks down at you with this intensity you feel yourself melting under. You want to wipe that look of jealousy, the bitterness, from her perfect face.
“Just friends, just drunk. Always get too handsy when the liquor is flowing” It’s said as a joke but your voice comes out too breathy, too soft like you’re trying to coax her into believing you.
“Her or you?” The words are heavy, loaded, like one answer could mean the difference between Abby snapping.
“Both” a beat, then, “You don’t like seein’ Cat’s hands on me?”
The tension in the air is stifling, your eyes heavy not just with the alcohol but lust as you look up at Abby, mouth slightly agape as you whimper at the dark look in the other woman’s eyes. It’s answer enough about what she thinks of Cat touching you, friends or not.
Your eyes move slowly to where your hands are, moving them slowly up until your fingertips are touching Abby’s thick hands. You can hear your soft panting, feel your heart racing as you ease closer into touching her — even something as innocent as touching her hands making you feel breathless.
When you look back up at Abby, her blue eyes are dark and stormy, locked on your lips and you have to let out a shaky laugh to release some of the tension.
“This why Dina was a bitch to me at the bar?” You ask quietly so only she can hear, even though Abby is the only other person with you in the bathroom.
“Yeah,” Abby’s voice is low, rough and it sounds like pure sex to you in a way no-ones ever has. The kind of gruff voice that makes it sound like she’s parched, desperate and you have to squeeze your thighs together to ease the ache building at your core. “She got wind of your work outing. Wanted to give me a chance to make a move”
Your fingers thread through hers as she starts to speak and once you’ve got your daintier fingers interlocked with her thicker ones, still slightly wet from washing them, your hands both remain either side of Abby.
“Yeah?” Your throat feels thick, words getting caught as you say them from how affected you are. It no longer feels like you’re out in public, just caught in a bubble of yourself and Abby as you lean into her space, legs tangling so a thigh presses between hers.. It’s not just you, Abby’s starting to look equally as wrecked by the sudden proximity between the two of you.
Maybe it’s the alcohol.. Okay it’s definitely the alcohol that’s making you both this reckless. Both your chests are rising and falling quickly, small panting breaths falling from each of your lips as you both teeter on the edge.
“Would you of?”
“You were dancing with her” Abby’s voice is low, her breath hot against your cheek as your faces seem achingly close. You can hear the disgust in her voice when she says her.
Between your thighs you can feel how embarrassingly affected you are by the other woman, by the thought of her making a move on you. What if you'd danced with her tonight, got to feel everything you were thinking of when you danced with Cat.
“I was thinking about you the whole time” The words come out as a whimpered confession, like you were having flashbacks to every sinful fantasy that came to mind as you danced of Abby and you have to bite at your bottom lip to stop from letting out an embarrassing sounding whine.
Of course, Abby tracks that movement almost instantly and you can see her eyes dilating at the sight. Her expression is still dark though and she raises a single brow as she stares down at you, lips so achingly close to yours. “Yeah? Wanted t’be me you were being a little slut for out there?”
That shouldn’t make your heart race and your mouth dry the way it does, slowly your tongue darting out to wet your lips as you pant softly. You had a million ideas of what Abby might be like in this situation, if she’d be a gentlewoman and wax poetic in your ear, a downright tease or if she’d talk dirty, degrade you while making your body light up.
Your eyes are fixed on Abby’s, but they’re heavy lidded with lust and say so much while saying nothing at all. It’s pure need, desperation the way you look at her because yes, you did want it to be her you were grinding against, you wanted it to be her whose hands were on you only so her fingers would ghost across your skin and so you could tease her with your body.
And the best part is you can see it mirrored in her own eyes, see the hunger and the desperation bleeding through. Abby looks like she’s hanging on to her final restraint, the one thing holding her back from jumping you and that desire you see in her? It feels good. It feels good to know it’s not just you, that it’s potentially never just been you that’s wanted this.
You nod up at her over and over, the desperation bleeding out. God, you want her, need her and it feels like pure torture to have her this close finally and not taste her on your tongue.
“God, please let me touch you, kiss you, ‘nythin..” Abby’s voice is wrecked as she speaks and she has that same look of need in her eyes you’re sure is reflected in yours. You’re not sure how you answer, another nod, a whine but next thing you know her lips are on yours and her tongue is sliding against yours, the kiss messy and dirty as your hands go to each other's bodies.
You’ve got your hands all over the place, one fisted in her hair messing up that pristine fucking braid you’ve daydreamed of for months and the other touching her everywhere. It’s against her throat in a light hold one moment, moving down her chest and groping at her small, perfect tits the next. It’s pushing up her shirt and raking the nails against her torso, her abs quivering under your touch, then it’s lower pushing her legs open wider so you can press closer and repeat how it roams.
It’s not just you that’s handsy now either, Abby lets you keep your faces pressed firmly together greedily and takes full advantage of having both hands to explore your body. God, your perfect body. Her imagination did not compare to actually feeling your skin beneath her fingers, feeling each reaction to her touch. How her large hands could hold your tits and grope them easily while you mewled into her mouth, a needy mess (not that she was much better)
“Thought about this f’months,” Abby murmurs, voice low and fucked out, as she breaks the kiss to drag a trail of open mouthed kisses down the column of your throat. Her hand moves to the back of your neck to manoeuvre you enough so she’s got the perfect angle, perfect access to as much skin as she can reach as she leans down. “You’re so fucking perfect”
All you can do is whine, rocking your hips forward so your clothed cunt can drag against Abby’s jean-clad thigh and press your own thigh against her too. “Shut the fuck up, am not. You’re the one… Fucking look at you” The words are said so breathlessly and yet with such adoration, such belief that Abby can’t help but pull her lips away from your neck just long enough to gaze at your face adoringly. The both of you are biting back small noises and clinging onto each other as you both rock slowly against each other.
Abby’s almost shaking with need as your hands slide down to her hips, holding them firmly and forcing her to grind against your thigh. “I-I need you… I need you so bad” Her husky voice whimpers, forehead falling against yours as she feels herself grower wetter in her boxers. It takes everything in you not to moan at how easily Abby has become submissive under your touch, how quickly she’s started to become lost under the pleasure.
Not that you’re doing much better, eyes rolling shut as you move against Abby’s thigh and feel the drag of fabric against your clit. You’re nodding softly, hand coming up to her jaw to capture her in another tender but hungry kiss, half-devouring her as she whines into your mouth. Your hand is sliding down to her jeans, fingers unbuttoning them when the bathroom door slams open. You both pull apart slightly, eyes wide in shock and embarrassment and skin flushed as you’re caught dry humping each other against the sinks by Cat.
Cat who doubles over with laughter when she sees the two of you, clutching onto the hand-dryer for support only to accidentally turn it on. “You said come and get you if you were long” she shouts over the dryer, shaking her head and smirking. “Congrats guys but maybe take this back home so Seth doesn’t go all… Seth on you guys”
She doesn’t even wait for a response, stumbling back out into the bar laughing leaving you and Abby half embraced and feeling like ice water has been thrown on you both. Slowly, nervously, you turn and look back up to Abby. You’re not sure why but now you’ve both been shaken out of the haze of lust and drunken courage you’re worried that maybe, just maybe Abby might be having second thoughts.
“Abby?” Your heart is racing again, lip drawn between your teeth as you worry it. God, what if clarity hit and she’s sobering up enough to realise she doesn’t want this. That you should have never crossed the line. Shit, her kids involved in this, she’s probably already regretting it. You’re visibly spiralling, eyes wide and worried.
Abby’s large hands come down to cup your cheeks, the pads of her thumbs softly brushing against your cheeks soothingly. “Hey, hey, calm down” The words are spoken so gently as she moves the two of you around so your back is to the sinks, and she gently lifts you up so you’re sitting on the counter top. “Talk to me, what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?”
Fuck, she’s perfect and it only makes you more nervous. You let out a shaky sounding breath, a sad look on your face curtesy of your drunken emotions. “I… really like you, Abby. Like, really really like you a-and I don’t want this to be something you’re regretting, cause I know you’ve got your kids and I get that if you don’t wanna carry on ca—”
Abby cuts you off, shaking her head and looking at you with such a soft, sad look. “When did I say I’m regretting anything? Or that I don’t wanna keep seeing you? Shit, I’ve been thinking about you since I met you so I don’t think I could stop if I tried”
“But Lev and Yara, I don’t wanna make things complicated for you or for them”
“Leave my kids to me, okay? I know what I’m doing, I know what I want. I want you, I’ve been wanting you and I don’t just want you in bed.”
That gets your attention, looking up at her with a hopeful glint in your eye and an excited smile threatening to curl at your lips. “Yeah, really?”
“Yeah, silly. I want you at the dinner table with us, ‘wanna see you on Saturday mornin’s in your pajamas cooking eggs and waiting for the coffee with me before the kids wake up.” Her stupid, beautiful face is lit up with a fond smile. You lean into her touch, her hands still cradling your face as she speaks. “Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been thinking about you in other ways too but… I’m not regretting this, but if you don’t think you’re—”
“I’m not, I-I mean I’m not regretting this, not that I’m not ready. I want.. I want that too. I want all of it” Laughter spills from both of you at your panicked and nervous babbling, leading into a comfortable silence. It feels like the outside world slowly starts seeping in, the muffled sound of the bar’s music and peoples talking becoming more audible — like the bubble the two of you were in finally popped.
Slowly, Abby moves her hand to brush a stray piece of hair behind your ear and press a soft kiss to your forehead. “What do you say, wanna listen to Cat and get out of here?”
A wide, unapologetic grin is stretched wide across your lips at the thought of leaving with her, of this being real and not just a figment of her imagination anymore. “What, not into people walking in on us kissing, Abs?”
“Not if I can help it.” Easily she kisses you one last time, short but thorough before she’s helping you jump down from the counter top and throwing an arm around your shoulders.
You can still taste her on your tongue as you both pull the bathroom door open and walk back out into the bar, intent on leaving and going home, whoever's home that may be. And if, over the loud music and crowd, the two of you can hear cheering and shouts from both groups of friends, you both choose to ignore it.
“I don’t think a relationship is what I want, y/n.”
You stared at Ellie from across the apartment, refusing to blink, even when your vision was blurred with tears. The kitchen light that Ellie was under showed her guilt, like she was starring in a play about fucking everything up.
Your charger still sat plugged into the wall beside her bed, and the shampoo from her shower was still fresh in your hair—when Ellie suddenly decided to end you like it meant nothing.
"You don't think?" Your voice cracked under the weight of reality. "Ellie, look around us." You spread your arms towards her apartment like it was some sort of evidence.
"This whole fucking thing is a relationship, els. I stay here every weekend without fail, and your friends call me your girlfriend—and you don't correct them, because you want it to happen."
Ellie's jaw tightened, and you sucked in a shaky breath—trying to stop the anger that was clawing its way out of your chest before it consumed you whole.
"but the second it becomes real, the second that I actually ask what the hell we are—you 'don't think it's what you want?'"
"Y/n—"
"No—"You shook your head. "No—don't do that. Don't act confused, Ellie."
The tone of your voice lost control as you went on.
"You think Dina doesn't see it? You think she stopped flirting with you because she suddenly found Jesse more interesting than you?"
A bitter laugh escaped your lips without even meaning to. "Dina stopped because she saw me with you—because she saw the way you looked at me and thought that you weren't heartless enough to fake 'whatever' we are. "
Ellie scoffed at you, her face blushing red instantly.
"you don't know what you're talking about, y/n."
"Oh, I know exactly what I'm talking about, Ellie." Your chest heaved. "Everybody does." And your tears finally spilled over.
You pointed towards the framed photo on the shelf, a photo of Dina grinning beside Cat, Ellie had shoved it halfway behind a stack of records—like hiding it somehow made her lingering attachment to Dina, less obvious.
"Everybody sees how fucking pathetic you are for her, Ellie!"
Ellie's expression turned cold.
"Shut up."
"No, you shut the fuck up, Ellie." Your voice shook angrily now. The anger and heartbreak tangling together until it became one feeling, that you could barely breath through.
"if Dina told you to jump, you would ask how high before your feet even left the fucking ground."
"that's not true."
"Oh, that's bullshit." you shouted. "you're still in love with her, Ellie. You revolve your whole life around whether or not Dina might finally look at you the way...—I look at you!"
Ellie dragged both hands through her auburn hair with a frustrated groan, pacing around the kitchenette once before turning back around.
"you sound fucking crazy right now."
You laughed at Ellie. A laugh that sounded so ugly and so broken to even be yours in the first place. Tears slid down your face even faster, forgotten by the coldness of the apartment.
"Crazy? You wanna know what's crazy, Ellie? Letting somebody hold you every night, kiss you like they mean it, tell you that they need you, and still acting shocked that they fell in love with you."
Ellie looked away.
"—and then letting everybody see that you would destroy anybody who gets close to you.. just to keep chasing someb—Dina, who doesn't even love you back."
Ellie suddenly snapped. "Shut the fuck up, it's not my fault that you're in love with me!"
And Ellie breathed in hard, like she knew it was useless to protect herself, but Ellie's ego kept her from just standing there and taking it. "I don't know why you expected me to give a shit." She muttered.
something inside of you screamed, like a dog that had a loud bark and a deep bite to accompany its naturalistic sound.
"Are you fucking kidding me!?" You asked.
"You met my fucking parents, Ellie!" You jabbed a finger into her chest." You. asked. to. meet. them." You enunciated every word with another finger jab to Ellie's chest.
Ellie opened her mouth to defend herself again, but you didn't stop for her.
"You held my hand at dinner. You kissed me in front of them. You slept in my childhood bedroom with me wrapped around you, and looked me in the eyes to tell me that you saw a future with me."
Ellie's face twisted with frustration and borderline disgust. "Jesus christ, y/n, that's called acting!" She shouted. "You're so fucking stupid for not knowing the difference!"
For a second, all you could do was breathe—and then the rage inside of you exploded so violently that all you could do was scream.
"Oh, I'm stupid?" You screamed. "at least I'm not some desperate fucking loser sitting around, waiting for fucking Dina like a fucking dog that was abandoned on the side of the road!"
"Fuck you, y/n!"
"No, fuck YOU!" You grabbed the nearest pillow off the couch and hurled it at Ellie's head. "You use people, Ellie! You take every fucking ounce of love they give you and throw them away, the SECOND that you get fucking scared."
You stormed into the bedroom before Ellie could get another word in.
"Where the fuck are you going?!" Ellie yelled after you, but you kept moving.
Your hands shook violently as you yanked open drawers and started shoving your clothes into your weeken bag. Shirts. Socks. The hoodie you left here three months ago and so on.
You crammed everything in without folding any of it.
Your toothbrush was still damp from this morning beside her sink. You grabbed it and tossed it into the bag without another thought.
"y/n—"
"Don't start." Your voice came out cold, making Ellie freeze as you zipped the bag so hard that the sound cut through the tense room like a butcher knife.
Ellie's eyes were glassy, red around the the edges.
And for one horrible, ignorant second...it looked like she wanted to stop you, but you swallowed hard, gripping the strap of your bag so tightly that your knuckles turned snow white.
You shoved past Ellie's shoulder hard enough to make her stumble, new tears stinging at your eyes as you stormed through the apartment, and yanked the front door open.
"I hope you like Jesse's leftovers."
B's note: WHEN THE ONE IDEA THAT YOU'VE BEEN REWRITING FOR MONTHS FINALLY CLICKS AND IT STILL DOESN'T SOUND GOOD BUT AT LEAST YOU FINISHED IT AND CAN POST IT😭😭😭😭but on a serious note, I legitimate have been stuck in like null zone of my brain for MONTHS, especially with my university finals that I just finished doing. I'm so grateful to make it through another semester.
I'm even more grateful to be back on tumbld and invest time in my hobbies, even if it means rewriting the same thing a bunch of time!! I'm really hoping that you guys (HOPEFULLY) enjoyed this solo fic that I've been working on since forever in time. Feel free to lmk what you think in the replies or reblogs... it's always appreciated!
was hella listening to loud bark by mannequin pussy for the large amount of time I spent onn this😭so there's a niche reference to loud bark in the fic LMAO!! but please listen to them too!! they are so incredibly amazing!!
