Pairing: Bottom!Natasha Romanoff x Top!Beefy!GN!Reader
Word Count: ~2k
Summary: You skip half of your workout, so Natasha only gives you half the pleasure she usually gives. (Until you get sick of it and fuck the attitude out of her.)
Tags: Reader has a penis, No pronouns used for reader, Brat!Natasha, Brat Taming, Teasing, Blowjob, Deepthroat, Throat Fucking, Face Fucking, Cum Eating
A/N: Inspired by me procrastinating working out, sigh. This was originally just going to be a drabble/smth really short but I got into it. I love writing Nat getting dominated so much.
Six… Seven… Eight… BOOM!
The weight you had been lifting slammed onto the concrete floor harder than you expected. You'd meant to put it down gently, but you were exhausted. You quietly groaned, running your hand along your face exasperatedly as the other gymgoers gave you confused and concerned looks.
The last place you wanted to be today was the gym. You'd barely slept last night and had a rough day at work; all you wanted to do was settle onto the couch and take a nap, preferably with Natasha curled up against you.
As you put the weights that had been on the bar back in their rightful spots, you glanced up at yourself in the mirror that ran all the way across one wall of the gym. You flexed a little bit, admiring the physique you had acquired after all these months of hard work. You looked great. Skipping the final few workouts in your routine for today would be fine, you'd just work harder tomorrow.
You quickly washed up in the locker room, grabbed your bag, and made your way to the elevator. You leaned agaisnt the wall as it ascended to you and Natasha's floor in the Avengers tower, excited to finally be able to relax.
When the doors opened to the apartment, you were greeted by the sight of your girlfriend lounging on the sofa, working on a crossword puzzle. Natasha smiled when she saw you walk in and stood up to give you a kiss. "Hey, detka. You're back from the gym early. Everything okay?"
You nodded, your hands lingering on her waist as the kiss broke. "Yeah, Nat. Just a bit tired. I only did half my workout today, I just wasn't feeling it."
Natasha raised her eyebrow at that, a look of confusion crossing her face. You never skipped out on workouts, and she liked it that way. Your size and beef were what she loved most about you.
She reached out, running her small hands along your bulging biceps, speaking in a low tone, "Is that so?"
She continued to run her hands along the expanse of your muscles. Her touch traveled from your biceps, up to your shoulders, and down your chest. She was touching you slowly, intimately, like she did when worshiped you in bed.
When her hands made their way past your abs, her fingers hooked into the waistband of your sweatpants and began to pull them down. She then dropped to her knees, smirking up at you with the same devilish look she had on those nights before you ruined her.
Your eyes widened, this being the last thing you expected to happen when you came home. You stammered, "Babe, what are you doing-?" But your sentence was cut off when Natasha leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your cock.
"Oh, fuck," you groaned, just that first contact being enough to rile you up. Natasha just smirked, her small, soft hand coming up to help stroke you to full hardness.
Natasha pressed soft, open mouthed kisses along your cock, stroking whatever part of you she wasn't kissing. She gave you long, sloppy kisses on the tip, and slow, languid licks along your shaft.
Your head was thrown back in pleasure. The feeling of your girlfriend's mouth on you was pure ecstasy, and you needed it after a long, tiring day like today.
Once you were fully hard, Natasha began to lick all along your shaft. She licked from base to tip, swirling her tongue around the sensitive head and sliding her tongue against your slit, making you shudder. "Fuck, baby, keep going," you groaned, your eyes still closed from the pleasure.
Natasha looked up at you, smiling devilishly as she saw the state you were in. You hadn't even the slightest idea of what she was doing. She pulled away for a moment to answer you, "I'm glad you're enjoying it, detka. I want make you feel good,"
You let out a loud moan as Natasha finally took you into her mouth, her warmth wrapping around the head of your cock. Her tongue lapped at the underside, your hands flying to her hair to hold her there.
She giggled, the sound sending another wave of pleasure through you. You pushed her head forward, trying to make her take you deeper, but she didn't budge. Her hands were locked around your thighs, and you only realized now that her nails were digging in, hard. She was holding herself right where she was, resisting your pushes.
You let off, not wanting to force her to do anything she wasn't comfortable with. To your disappointment, she pulled back again, and went back to giving your cock slow licks and wet kisses. Of course, you loved anything she gave you, but you were past the buildup point. By now, she was usually deepthroating you, playing with your balls, and desperately sucking.
You let this go on for a couple more minutes before you reached down, pulling Natasha off your cock and lifting her chin up so her eyes met yours. "What are you doing, Nat?" you asked, trying to understand why she wasn't going all the way. "Why are you just doing your warmup stuff? I want to feel your throat."
Natasha looked like an angel as she kneeled in front of you, looking as sweet and loving as ever. She sat back on her knees, removing her hands from your thighs as she spoke matter of factly, like she was simply discussing the weather, "You did half your workout, so you get half a blowjob."
You stared down at her, dumbfounded. You waited for her to explain more, but she just cotinued to kneel there, gazing up at you. After you were silent for about a minute, she asked, "Should I continue? You never stop me when I'm giving you head. Are you okay?"
You groaned in a different way this time, realizing she was serious. You didn't finish your workout, so you didn't get the full extent of pleasure. How wickedly clever. You looked down at her, asking, "You're serious? That's all it is? I finish my workout and I'll get the rest of this blowjob?"
Natasha nodded, a gentle smile plastered on her face as she pulled your sweats and boxers back up, patting your cock as it strained against the fabric. "Mhm. Finish your workout, and I'll finish you off."
You grumbled, turning back around and grabbing your bag. You knew Natasha was obsessed with your physique and prioritized your maintenance of it, but you never expected her to go this far. And now, you had to work out with a glaring boner on top of all the other shit you had going on today. Great.
You didn't rush through your sets. You knew Natasha would be able to tell if you bullshitted them, and you couldn't imagine that would lead to anything good. Your cock throbbed as you worked out, the memory of Natasha's lips around you and the natural boost of testosterone combining to be pure torture.
Half an hour later, you trudged back into your shared apartment. Natasha was back at her crossword again, smiling the same way she did when she saw you walk in the first time. She approached you with the same greeting, a gentle kiss. This time, she asked, "You did it right this time, moya lyubov? You finished all your exercises?"
Natasha knew you did, but she loved to tease. She knew you'd snap soon and slam your cock into her throat, but she loved the buildup more than anything.
You gave her a nod, leaning back against the counter that was by the door. "Mhm. Got it all done this time. Why don't you get back to sucking now, yeah?"
Natasha playfully rolled her eyes, but she got down on her knees again anyway. She loved having your cock in her mouth as much as you loved her sucking it, and she couldn't say no to you when you asked like that.
She pulled your sweats and boxers down again, your cock springing free. She gasped, it was even harder and throbbing more than it was when she sent you back to the gym. She immediately leaned in, nuzzling against your balls as she licked under the base of your cock.
"Fuck, you're so hard. You were thinking about me in the gym, huh?" she teased, kissing and licking along your shaft like she did before.
You growled, gripping the base, pushing your cock towards her lips. "Of couse I was. You have a mouth like that on you, and you think I was just focusing on my pr?"
Natasha whimpered as you began to force your cock into her mouth, her body betraying her and happily accepting it as you pushed deeper and deeper into her mouth. The teasing, in control woman from before was gone, leaving the needy, horny woman who just wanted to suck your cock.
She gagged slightly as you hit the back of her throat, but she didn't falter. She just worked you with her tongue as you held her head there, breathing through her nose. Her nails dug into your thighs again, but this time, it wasn't about defying you. It was about keeping control of herself.
After a couple seconds, you let her pull back, catching her breath. You tilted her chin up yet again, giving her a command this time. "Be a good girl, Nat. Suck me right."
And Natasha did just that. She leaned back in, sucking the head like she did before, but taking you deeper, too, just the way you liked it. She sucked with just the right pressure, making you tilt your head back again, and lavished attention on all your most sensitive spots.
She stroked you as her mouth moved down to kiss and suck your balls, a move that always made you tremble. The combination of her mouth on your sack and her hand stroking you had you close. She was too good at this.
Natasha felt your hands in her hair again, pulling her face back up and pushing your cock back into her mouth. You began to thrust, hitting the back of her throat with each buck of your hips. All Natasha could do was moan and whimper, addicted to the feeling of getting her throat fucked.
"Fuck, I'm gonna cum," she heard you groan from above her. She kept her head in place, unable to reply, but silently telling you to keep using her. She whimpered loudly at your next words. "And you're gonna swallow it all."
After a few more rough thrusts, you buried yourself deep in her throat and unloaded. She felt you trembling, you cock throbbing in her mouth as jet after jet of your cum slid down her throat. She took it like a good girl, not gagging once, and swallowing it all.
When you finally pulled out of her mouth, she was looking up at you with that same look as before. Sweet, loving, obedient. It drove you crazy. She drove you crazy. But you loved it, and you both knew it.
Natasha stood up, leaning on her tip toes to give you a kiss, fingers digging now into your beefy shoulders as you tasted yourself on her tongue. She looked up at you when she pulled away, smirking like she held the reigns even though she just got her throat obliterated. "See what happens when you do your workouts right, Y/N? Isn't it so much more fun?"
You laughed, pulling her closer to you. You let her think she had you figured out. It was adorable. You answered, "I suppose. But letting you get bratty and then fucking it out of you is the most fun thing of all."
Natasha turned completely red, hiding her face in your shoulder. She mumbled something that sounded like "not funny," but inside, she loved it. She made a mental note, knowing that if you ever needed gym motivation again, all she had to do was be bratty.
You stayed beefy the way she liked, and she got destroyed by you afterwards. Perfect deal.
Ahsoka isn’t much for hand-holding, but she keeps you close in ways that feel just as intentional. When she notices you getting a little anxious, it’s subtle, her fingers brushing yours seamlessly, a light, playful tug at your sleeve. Nothing obvious, nothing anyone else would clock. Just a quiet, grounding hey I’m right here with you, the kind that pulls you back to her without a word.
She prefers closeness that looks effortless. Leaning into you, looping an arm loosely around your shoulders, drawing you in like it’s second nature. She’ll keep you tucked against her while she talks or scans the room, like standing close is just where she belongs.
Ventress Asajj
Ventress likes to walk just right behind you. She doesn’t hold your hand, but every now and then she’ll catch the back of your shirt if you wander too far ahead.
“Slow down… unless you plan on getting lost again.”
She’s like a shadow that never really leaves your side. There’s something watchful about it, almost like she’s keeping an eye on everything around you without saying a word.
Her touch is subtle. She’ll play with the ends of your hair on your lower back, something small and secret that only you notice. And sometimes, it lingers, a gentle, slow brush down your back, fingers slipping through your hair for a second longer before she pulls away, like it never happened at all.
Princess Leia
Princess Leia is absolutely a hand-holder, she laces your fingers together like it’s the most natural thing in the world and rarely lets go. There’s something a little possessive in it, the way her grip tightens when someone else tries to pull her attention away, like she expects you to stay right there with her.
Even in the middle of important conversations, she keeps hold of you. She’ll be speaking with perfect composure one second, and the next she’s already turning, tugging you along with her without thinking, only to realize a step too late and glance back with a quick, breathy apology and a small, amused smile.
She takes her affection in small, stolen pieces. Quick kisses pressed to your cheek, your nose, little things she slips in whenever she can, as if she just can’t resist having a bit of you, even in passing.
She’ll pull you aside without warning, into some quiet corridor, hands already finding you like she’s been waiting for this. The kiss she steals is quick, but intense, greedy in a way that gives her away completely. And just as fast, she’s pulling back, smoothing everything over, stepping back into her role like nothing happened… except for the lingering look she gives you before she leaves, like she’s already planning the next time she gets you to herself.
Dedra Meero
Dedra walks five steps ahead of you, just one of many rules she’s set for your “mutual arrangement.” You don’t understand why she even keeps you around if she refuses to be seen with you, let alone touched in public. Her coldness remains a mystery.
And yet, you’ve somehow grown attached to her. The perfect straightness of her posture, the precision of her suit against her lean frame, the way her hair is always neatly pulled back, it all lingers in your mind. You can’t help but think of the one time she let you take the clip out, her hair falling free while your lips were locked together.
That was over a month ago.
And she’s been distant ever since.
Mon Mothma
Mon can’t afford to be seen sharing anything that personal, her role is too important, too watched. But she keeps you within sight whenever she can, her eyes finding yours across rooms for a quiet moment of reassurance, something steady just for her.
When she’s able to get close in public, it’s measured. A light touch at your elbow as she passes, fingers lingering just a second longer than necessary. The faint adjustment of your sleeve, smoothing it down with careful precision, like it’s nothing more than habit, but her touch is warm, intentional. Sometimes her hand settles briefly at the small of your back as she guides you through a room, subtle enough to go unnoticed,
In rare moments, between meetings, slipping away from the constant weight of her duties, she would meet you in a secluded room. Without hesitation, arms wrapping around your lower back as she pulls you close, like she’s been holding that need in all day. The kiss is deep and lingering, soft but full of everything she doesn’t say in public. When she finally pulls back, it’s slow, reluctant, her lips brushing yours once more before she presses two gentle kisses on each of your flushed cheeks, a quiet, tender habit, before she straightens herself and returns to being Senator Mothma again.
Bo-Katan Kryze
Bo-Katan has a tendency to hold your hand a little too tight, especially when the weight of everything starts closing in on her. Leadership, responsibility, it all presses down at once, and you feel it in the way her grip tightens without her noticing, like she’s grounding herself through you.
She doesn’t look at you right away. Her focus stays forward, jaw set, shoulders squared, but her hand never lets go.
You don’t pull away. Instead, you lift your free hand to her cheek, your thumb brushing gently along her skin, giving her something softer to come back to.
“Hey… you alright?”
That’s all it takes. Her expression softens, just for you. She lets go of your hand only to pull you in closer, her fingers firm at your waist. Her kiss is rough in a way that catches you off guard, not careless, but firm, deliberate. She doesn’t ease into it. One second she’s looking at you, tension still lingering in her shoulders, and the next she’s pulling you in, closing the distance like it’s something she needs.
There’s urgency in it, something unspoken and heavy, but controlled, like she’s holding the line between restraint and wanting more.
There are two Mandalorians standing guard in the hall.
Neither of them so much as glances in your direction.
Cinta Kaz
Cinta knows you’re shy, and she absolutely uses it against you. Especially when you two are on a mission on some far away distant planet where no one knows you.
Out of nowhere, she grabs you, quickly pinning your wrists behind your back as she leans in close. You barely get a second to react before her lips are on your neck, slow and seductive, finding one spot and staying there just a little too long.
“Cinta stop, right now!” you laugh through heavy breaths, but she doesn’t even pretend to listen.
She presses harder, more intentional this time, until it stings just enough, until she knows it’ll stay. Then she moves slightly, doing it again, leaving another dark mark beside the first like she’s claiming the space.
When she pulls back, there’s that look on her face, satisfied, a little smug.
warnings: suggestive, fluff, toxic relationship, power imbalance, Dedra Meero
Ahsoka Tano
After about twenty minutes of aggressively tossing and turning, very obviously hoping you’d wake up, she finally gives up, fixes her pillow, sits up, and grabs her controller. Next thing you know, she’s on Elden Ring, getting absolutely destroyed by the Fire Giant.
Even with her headset on, her quiet, annoyed sighs wake you. You shift, still half-asleep, a soft laugh slipping out. “If only someone would spoon me… and maybe get a little creative about it.”
The game shuts off instantly.
Then she’s right there, sliding back down behind you, one arm wrapping around you and pulling you in close, firm and certain. Her body fits against yours like she’s been waiting for this excuse.
Her hand slips under your shirt, fingertips brushing along your skin as her face dips into your neck. She presses a few soft kisses there, trailing upward toward your ear.
Then, low and close, her voice drops, quiet, amused, a little dangerous:
“Careful what you ask for…”
Ventress
She lies completely still beside you, her presence almost impossible to notice. Even her breathing is quiet, barely there. She would never wake you.
Her eyes stay fixed on the ceiling, lost somewhere deep in her thoughts… until they shift to you. And just like that, she’s pulled back.
There’s something about you, how warm and calm you look, that keeps her attention. A symbol of everything her life has been missing up until the point she met you. Her gaze lingers, tracing slowly from your slightly parted lips, down your neck, to your shoulder. When she notices it’s uncovered, she quietly reaches over and pulls the blanket up, covering you without disturbing your sleep.
She watches you for a moment longer. Then, without a sound, she slips out of bed. Every movement silent, like a shadow. By the time she’s dressed, it’s as if she was never there at all.
At the door, she pauses.
Just for a second, she glances back at you, something unreadable in her expression.
And then she’s gone into the night.
Princess Leia
When she can’t sleep, she writes.
She has a few journals, one for her schedules and responsibilities, another filled with small observations, strange patterns, little things she notices about the worlds she’s been to. It’s her quiet habit, something she keeps just for herself.
The room is dim, peaceful. You’re beside her, fast asleep, and every now and then she glances over at you. It settles something in her, knowing you’re there, safe, close.
When she’s done, she closes the journal softly and sets it aside, careful not to make a sound. Then she shifts back toward you, slipping under the covers and tucking herself into your neck, both hands resting lightly over your chest, right where your heartbeat is.
The warmth wakes you just enough. Half-asleep, you instinctively wrap an arm around her, pulling her closer.
She doesn’t say anything, just melts into you, finally letting herself rest.
Bo-Katan Kryze
She’s already irritated.
You’re almost fully on top of her, completely dead asleep, and she can’t move without waking you, which she refuses to do. So she stays there, tense, eyes open in the dark, her thoughts running faster than she’d like. Normally she’d be up by now, pacing, getting the restlessness out of her system, but tonight, she’s pinned.
Her hands move instinctively , slipping into your hair, then slowly down your back, repeating the motion just to do something with the energy.
You stir slightly.
“Mm… Bo-Katan Kryze,” you mumble, voice thick with sleep, “didn’t take you for such a softie…”
That’s all it takes.
In one quick motion, she shifts, rolling you onto your back, flipping the position entirely. Suddenly she’s above you, braced over your body, hands pressing your arms down on either side of your head. No escape now.
“Getting bold, are we?” she murmurs, a hint of a smirk tugging at her lips.
She leans down slowly, her face hovering just above yours, close enough that you can feel her breath, her lips barely brushing the air between you.
For a second, it seems like she’s going to kiss you.
But she doesn’t.
Instead, she dips lower, slipping beneath the covers.
Mon Mothma
She slips out of bed without a sound, careful not to disturb you, and quietly leaves the room to get some water. When she returns, she doesn’t lie down right away. Instead, she pauses at your side of the bed, her gaze settling on you, soft, lingering, like she’s allowing herself a moment she wouldn’t anywhere else.
She sits beside you, gently brushing a strand of hair away from your face before leaning down to press a light kiss to the tip of your nose.
You stir faintly at the touch, eyes barely opening.
“…you’re back,” you murmur, voice still heavy with sleep.
A small smile tugs at her lips. She doesn’t answer right away, just pulls the blanket up a little higher around you, tucking you in with quiet care. Then, after a brief pause, she leans down once more, this time pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips.
When she finally settles back into bed, it’s closer than before. You shift toward her instinctively, and she lets you, her arm slipping around you as you drift off again, this time with her right there beside you.
Dedra Meero
A loud crash pulls you out of sleep, sharp and sudden against the quiet of the night. You jolt upright, heart racing, disoriented, your hand instinctively reaching to her side of the bed. Cold. Empty.
Your vision slowly adjusts, the dizziness settling as you look across the room.
She’s there.
Sitting in a chair, posture rigid, expression tight with irritation. A shattered glass lies on the floor beside her, and in her hand, she slowly drags another one across the table’s surface with a quiet, grating sound.
Her eyes flick to you.
“Awake,” she says coolly, “or should I continue?”
You don’t answer. You just get up and walk toward her, drawn in despite everything, and settle into her lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
For a second, she doesn’t move.
Your hands come up to her face, holding it gently, and you lean in, pressing a soft, quiet kiss to her lips.
She freezes. Then responds.
Her hand comes up to your waist, firmly pulling you closer as the kiss deepens, controlled, but no less intense. And then suddenly, she’s standing, lifting you with ease, your legs instinctively wrapping around her as she doesn’t break the kiss for a second.
She walks you back without hesitation, until your back meets the cold wall behind you.
The contrast makes you inhale sharply.
Her hand slides along your thigh, slipping just beneath the fabric, fingers brushing warm against your skin as her lips finally part from yours..only just.
“Quiet,” she murmurs against your mouth.
Like she needs the silence just as much as she needs you.
You walk into the bar hoping to find her, and there she is. With Rex, both of them completely drunk, loudest ones in the entire place.
You stop in the doorway, unable to hide your smile. There’s something so endearing about it, seeing them like this, letting loose for once. No war, no pressure, no weight on their shoulders. Just laughter. Just being people.
The moment shatters when Ahsoka Tano suddenly climbs onto the table. “I’m taller than you!” she declares.
“Ahsoka- don’t-”
Too late.
She slips, goes down hard, dragging the tablecloth with her and sending glasses crashing everywhere.
“Oh my god, Rex! Shes gonna cut herself-”
But she’s already pushing up from the floor, hands pressing straight into shattered glass, completely unbothered and very much failing to stand.
You rush over. “Alright, party’s over, miss Ahsoka.”
*
By the time you get her home, she collapses face-first onto the bed. You sigh, moving in to help, boots off, gloves off, lightsabers set carefully aside.
“You’re so nice to me…” she murmurs, smiling softly into the mattress.
“Yeah? You’re not gonna like this.” - You hand her a glass of water.
She peeks at it like it personally offended her. “Oh. No. No way. Nu-uh. Nope.”
“Come on, Ahsoka. You need to drink water right now.”
“No way.” She turns dramatically toward the wall, pulling a pillow over her head.
You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Do you want a headache tomorrow?”
“…no.” She pauses. Slowly peeks back at you. “…but I want you.”
Before you can react, she force-pulls you straight onto the bed, arms wrapping tightly around you.
“Ahsoka-let go of me, you freak.”
“Hehehhh…” she mumbles, nuzzling closer. “You cannot escape now.”
“You’re impossible,” you mutter, trying to pry her off.
“No,” she mumbles, voice muffled, “I’m powerful.”
“You’re drunk.”
“I’m powerful and drunk.”
Ventress
You’ve been looking for her all evening, but she’s nowhere to be found. Eventually, you give up on the crowded places and head for her favorite hidden spot, the one she only goes to when something’s wrong.
And there she is.
Sitting at the very edge of the rooftop, staring out into the distance. Still. Quiet. There’s an empty bottle beside her.
“Hey, stranger…” you call out lightly. “Didn’t think to invite me to your little drinking party?”
Ventress glances back at you, eyes hazy. There’s something in them, sadness almost, but also something looser, like she’s stopped holding it back for once.
“Ah,” she exhales, a faint, crooked smile forming. “Apologies, princess. It was… unplanned.”
You scoff, stepping closer. “Who are you calling princess? I’m an assassin.”
“Oh yeah?”
She rises in one smooth motion, too fast, and suddenly she’s right in front of you, a tall, pale shadow, her gaze locked onto yours.
“I think…” she murmurs, voice low, dangerous, “you should assassinate me.”
You frown, thrown off. “Ugh wait..what are you even-“
You try to keep it grounded, but her hands come up, both of them, gripping the back of your head, pulling you in before you can finish.
“I can’t imagine a better way to go,” she breathes.
And then she kisses you.
Hard.
There’s nothing gentle about it, no hesitation, no softness. It’s intense, consuming, like she’s trying to take something from you or lose herself in it entirely. Her fingers tighten in your hair, then slide down, gripping your lower back, pulling you flush against her.
And you don’t stop her.
Holding your ground, you kiss her back just as fiercely.
When she finally pulls away, just barely, her breath still ghosting over your lips, you smirk faintly.
“It’s not your time yet, bounty hunter,” you murmur, teasing. “But when it does come… watch out for me, the greatest assassin of Coruscant and the univers-“
She doesn’t let you finish.
Her lips crash into yours again, cutting you off completely as she pushes forward, sending both of you tumbling to the ground.
Princess Leia
Princess Leia is sprawled lazily across her sofa, face down, one arm dangling off the side. A couple of half-finished martini glasses sit abandoned on the floor. Curls loose, pins half-fallen, strands of her hair tangled and spilling across her flushed face. She’s dragging her finger along the rim of one glass, absentmindedly, like she’s trying to focus on the sound.
Five emergency messages. You rushed here thinking the worst. Instead- This. Your expression softens instantly. She’s safe. Just… very drunk.
“I need your help,” she sighs into the cushion, voice muffled but dramatic.
You step closer, unable to hide the small smile tugging at your lips. “That serious, Your Highness?” She turns her head slightly, enough to glance at you. “Extremely.”
You crouch beside her. “Alright. What’s the crisis?”
A pause.
“…I can’t untangle my hair.”
You blink. She exhales, frustrated, pushing her face deeper into the sofa. “It’s revolting. I’ve made a strategic error.”
A quiet laugh slips out of you as you sit beside her, gently lifting her chin so she looks at you. “I’ve seen worse,” you murmur. “This is salvageable.”
You start working carefully through the mess, undoing what’s left of her braids, fingers patient and slow.
She watches you for a moment before her hand comes up, catching your wrist. “Why do you bother?” she asks, quieter now. Not defensive, just… curious. “You saw the messages. I sounded ridiculous.”
You shake your head slightly. “You sounded like someone who needed me.”
“I command fleets,” she mutters, almost to herself. “Negotiate alliances. And tonight I was defeated by my own hair.”
You smile faintly, continuing your work. “Good. Means you’re still human.”
She huffs, but there’s no real bite to it. Her grip on your wrist loosens, though she doesn’t pull away completely.
“…Don’t get used to this version of me,” she says after a moment.
“Too late.”
“…You’re very annoying.”
“And you called me for help.
She closes her eyes, relaxing into your touch. “…just fix it”
Bo Katan Kryze
Bo-Katan is a sad drunk. And its devastating.
She sits on her throne in near-total darkness, elbows resting on her knees, head bowed. The room feels heavy, like it’s pressing inward, like it’s swallowing the air along with her.
You hesitate, standing at the entrance. “…Bo,” you say quietly. “May I come in?”
She doesn’t look up. A small, absent motion of her hand. “You may.”
You step inside carefully, like anything too loud might break her, or make her shut you out completely. When you reach her, you lower yourself in front of her, trying to catch her gaze.
“Are you alright?” you ask softly. “Please… say something.”
Slowly, she lifts her head. And your breath catches.
She’s been crying.
“Bo…” your voice falters. “Hey, can I do something? I’m here, just..don’t-”
A quiet, hollow laugh escapes her.
Her hand rises, cupping your cheek, warm, steady, grounding you, somehow, more than herself. Another tear slips down as her eyes drift over your face, not quite focusing.
“I only ever wanted to be worthy,” she murmurs. “To be honorable.”
“But you are! You-”
Her thumb presses against your lips. Firm. Silencing.
“I don’t need your reassurance,” she says, low, edged with something sharper now. Control creeping back in. “I need honesty.”
Her gaze locks onto yours, clearer now, but heavier.
“Why are you here… hm?”
You try parting your lips to answer, but her thumb doesn’t move. You realize, too late, the question wasn’t meant to be answered.
Her grip tightens slightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to hold.
“Is it duty?” her eyes narrow faintly. “Pity?”
You shake your head against her hand, voice muffled. “Neither.”
Her thumb lifts, just enough.
“Then speak.”
“I came because it’s you,” you say, steady despite the pressure of her presence. “And you don’t have to sit in this alone.”
“You presume a great deal,” she mutters.
“Maybe.”
Her eyes search yours, something conflicted flickering beneath the authority she’s forcing back into place.
“…and yet,” she exhales, quieter now, “you’re still here.”
“I am.”
Another pause. The room still feels heavy, but not as suffocating. Her thumb brushes just slightly under your eye this time, slower, less forceful.
“Stay, then,” she says, as she pushes your face away softly. Voice low, controlled again, but not as cold.
Mon Mothma
You find her alone in her chambers, the lights dim, the city glowing faintly through the window behind her. She sits perfectly upright at first glance, composed, as always.
Until you notice the glass in her hand. And how still she’s holding it.
“…Mon,” you say softly from the doorway. “May I?” She doesn’t turn immediately.
“…you already have,” she replies, voice calm.
You step closer, slower than usual. Careful. Something is off. “Should I leave?” you ask gently.
“…no.” A breath. “Stay.”
You approach, stopping just beside her. “Have you been here long?”
“Long enough..” she says faintly.
You crouch slightly, trying to meet her gaze, but when she finally turns to you, it catches you off guard. Her eyes are glassy. Not from drunkenness alone. From restraint breaking at the edges.
“…Mon,” you soften. “What’s wrong?”
A small, controlled inhale. “Nothing that isn’t expected.”
“That’s not an answer.”
A flicker of something passes over her face, irritation, maybe. Or exhaustion.
“It is the only one I can afford to give.”
You hesitate, then reach for her hand resting on the armrest.
“I’m here,” you say quietly.
Her fingers tighten around yours, not desperate, not frantic. Just… firm.
“I know,” she whispers.
A beat passes. Then another.
“I spend every day,” she begins slowly, “ensuring others have hope.”
Her voice doesn’t shake. But something underneath it does.
“And yet,” she continues, eyes drifting past you, “I find I have very little of it left for myself.”
You swallow. “You don’t have to carry that alone.”
She lets out a quiet breath, almost a laugh, but without humor.
“I do,” she says simply. “That is the position.”
Silence settles between you. Heavy. Honest.
Then her hand shifts, turning yours slightly, thumb brushing faintly across your skin. The smallest break in composure.
“Where have you been today? I haven’t seen you at the archives.”
You glance down at your joined hands before answering, softer with a bit of tease.
“Busy being missed, apparently.”
A faint breath leaves her, almost a laugh, almost disbelief.
“…don’t be flippant,” she murmurs, but there’s no real bite to it.
“I’m not,” you reply gently. “I was just… elsewhere. Nothing important.”
Her gaze lingers on you, searching, quieter now.
“…you should tell me next time,” she says after a pause. “When you won’t be there…” Her words warm. “I would prefer to know.”
Dedra Meero
Dedra Meero does not fall apart gracefully. When she’s drunk, the control slips,and what’s underneath is… dangerous.Not loud. Just relentless.
She locks herself in the bathroom, and the silence inside becomes unbearable. Every thought she’s buried claws its way back up, every decision, every order, every consequence. They don’t come one at a time.
They flood her.
Her breath stutters, then fractures. Too fast. Too shallow.
Her hands fly to her collar, fingers digging in as if she can force air into lungs that won’t cooperate. The room tilts. The walls feel too close, pressing in, suffocating.
She tries to inhale.
Nothing.
Her mouth opens, but no sound comes out. No scream. No cry. Just silent, choking panic as her body turns against her.
She can’t breathe. She can’t escape it.
She can’t escape herself.
You’re on the other side of the door, pounding hard enough that your hands sting.
“Dedra! Open the door, please!”
No answer.
Your voice cracks. “I know you’re in there, just, say something..”
Nothing.
You drop to your knees, palms pressed flat against the cold surface, forehead almost touching it.
“Dedra, please…” your voice breaks completely now. “Open the door. I’m here. I’m not leaving you.”
A long, agonizing moment, then the lock clicks.
The door creaks open just enough. You don’t hesitate. You push inside and find her on the floor.
Curled slightly in on herself, back against the wall, chest heaving in short, broken breaths. Her hands are still at her collar, like she forgot how to let go.
“Hey, hey-“ you drop beside her immediately, trying to steady your own shaking. “Look at me. Dedra, look at me.”
Her eyes are open, but distant. Not seeing you. Not really.
You force your voice to soften, slower now. Controlled.“Breathe with me,” you whisper. “Just, follow my voice, okay? You’re okay. You’re here.” Her breathing stutters, uneven, fighting you.
You reach carefully, not grabbing, just grounding. One hand over hers, easing it away from her throat.
“In… slowly,” you guide. “You don’t have to get it right. Just try.” A pause. A broken inhale.
Better than nothing.
“There you go,” you murmur. “Stay with me.”
She doesn’t respond. Doesn’t speak. But she doesn’t pull away either.
Her gaze stays fixed somewhere behind you, empty, but her breathing, slowly, painfully, begins to follow yours.
And for now, that’s the only thing keeping her here.
A/N: This is my first entry into Andor Bingo, created by @sw-andor! The square I chose for this one is ‘guilt/touch-starved’ and damn if Mon isn’t perfect for that one? Beta read by the amazing @rescuethewretched who came at me with the Mon Mothma hype and the librarian!reader idea 🥰 This fic features mild Andor spoilers. Divider by the amazing @firefly-graphics.
The sounds of the city pierce through the contemplative hush of the library, signalling someone’s arrival as the doors unseal.
When the weight of politics, rebellion, and her daughter's arranged future becomes too much, Mon Mothma finds herself in the only place she can still breathe—by your side. But tonight, silence simply isn’t enough.
You find her in the garden again.
It’s always the garden when it gets this late. When the lights in the Senate chambers flicker off, after the walls of diplomacy and performance are no longer necessary. A safe place despite the fact Mon Mothma never felt truly safe.
You hesitate at the entrance, watching her from a distance. She sits with her usual perfect posture on the marble bench, framed by delicate flowers that seem to grow towards her. The cool night breeze catches the edge of her dress.
You approach quietly. She doesn't turn, but she speaks.
“It’s very late. Please go rest. You didn’t have to come find me.”
“I wanted to,” you say simply.
A small exhale leaves her lips, not quite a sigh. You sit beside her without waiting for permission.
Silence stretches between you, heavy yet not unfamiliar. You’ve shared plenty of silences with her. Some fragile. Some comforting. This one is different entirely.
“My daughter is engaged,” she says at last.
You glance at her. “Leida agreed?”
“She wanted it.” Her tone twists around the words like they're thorns in her mouth. “She thinks so very highly of Chandrilan tradition. I’m letting her believe that. The alternative means admitting I’ve failed as both a senator and a mother.”
You say nothing, as you’ve learned that with her, silence is sometimes the only safety she has.
She presses on.
“She doesn’t know what it costs. She doesn’t understand how much I’ve already buried beneath compromise. I have to smile. I have to make it look like this is part of the plan. But there was no plan. It was desperation.”
Her voice cracks slightly, just enough for your heart to ache in your chest.
“You’re doing what you have to,” you say softly.
“That’s the problem,” she replies. “Everything I do now is ‘what I have to.’ There’s no room for want anymore.”
Her eyes flick to yours. Blue, storm-bright, always holding more than she lets slip.
And then she says, “Except when you are here.”
Your breath stills.
She turns toward you, fully now, and you see her as not the Senator, not the figurehead of rebellion, but the woman. The woman wound so very tight, fraying at the seams.
“You, your presence, it’s the only thing in this entire galaxy that feels like something I truly want,” she says. “And I have tried so hard to pretend that wasn’t true.”
She doesn’t reach for your hand. She doesn’t touch you at all.
“I’m not asking for anything,” she adds quickly, as if afraid the admission itself might cost her too much. “I know what this is. I know what I can’t give you.”
You speak without thinking. “You already give me something. Every day.”
Her eyes shimmer with emotions that are not quite tears. The weight of too many years trying not to need anything.
“Then stay,” she says, quietly. “Just stay.”
It’s you who reaches for her. Your fingers brush her sleeve before finding her hand. She stiffens but doesn’t pull away. Slowly, she lets her fingers curl into yours, as if remembering how to hold something delicate.
“I’m not going anywhere,” you whisper.
She leans in.
It’s cautious at first, her lips brushing yours, a breath she’s been holding her whole life.
She closes her eyes, and for the first time in a long while, she lets herself rest beside someone who sees her and stays anyway.
You don’t speak again that night. You don’t need to. The stars above you twinkle. For once, Mon Mothma lets herself be held by something other than duty.
[ thanks for enjoying my work!! leaving a like, reblog, or follow means a lot to me. be sure to leave a comment or send an ask as well! my requests are open. - love, diego ]
SUMMARY: The hospital is the last place you want to be, but your evil little gallbladder has doomed you to it. The doctor that walks through the door seems to be having a day worse than yours by some cruel chance. You make it your side-quest to cheer her up, even if that does include a little bit of flirting with the pretty doctor when you almost definitely shouldn’t be doing that.
NOTES: Hospital setting, illness and accompanying pain (gallbladder related), slight panic/anxiety, Samira is scared of flirting in the workplace, the reader is not, kind of power imbalance with patient/doctor but Samira doesn’t fully indulge it, bordering on unrequited but more out of professionalism than anything.
REQUESTED BY: Anonymous.
NAVIGATION | PITT MASTERLIST | KO-FI
You do not expect to care what your doctor thinks of you. That feels like an important thing to establish, even if only to yourself, even if only because it becomes immediately untrue the second she walks in.
You have been sitting on a stiff hospital bed for nearly three hours, curtain half drawn, the hum of the department pressing into your skull. Every now and then, the pain spikes enough to make you breathe differently, shallow and careful, like you can negotiate with it to just leave you alone if you’re polite enough.
Mostly, though, it is the waiting that gets to you. Waiting turns everything inward. Every sensation becomes louder, every thought circles back on itself until you cannot quite tell what is real concern and what is your brain filling in gaps with worst case scenarios.
So when the curtain moves and she steps through, you are already too aware of yourself. Too aware of how you are sitting, how you are holding your arm, how your face might look. She pauses just inside, like she is giving you space even though there is nowhere else for either of you to go.
“Hi,” she says, soft but steady, and there is something in it that immediately cuts through the noise. “I’m Dr Mohan. I’m sorry you’ve been waiting for such a long time.”
You shrug one shoulder, attempting something casual and landing somewhere closer to awkward. “I’ve had worse waiting rooms. Splatter of red on the curtains is bringing in some dramatic vibes.”
It comes out before you can stop it. You brace for the polite, dismissive smile that usually follows that sort of thing in places like this. It does not come.
Instead, she looks at you properly. Not just at your chart, not just at the place you are holding yourself like it hurts, but at you. There is tiredness there. Not the vague sort that she can hide behind professionalism, but something deeper, something that sits behind her eyes like it has been building for hours.
It makes you want to do something about it, which is ridiculous, considering you are the one on the hospital bed.
“That dramatic effect is part of the service,” she says, and it is quiet, almost like she is unsure whether she is allowed to meet you there.
You grin despite yourself. “Good. I was hoping for a bit of theatre.”
Her mouth twitches, just slightly. It is not quite a smile, but it is close enough that you feel it like a small victory.
She steps closer then, pulling the stool over with a soft scrape, sitting down in a way that is unhurried. You notice that immediately. Everyone else today has been quick, efficient to the point of feeling like they are already halfway out of the space before they have even entered it. She is not like that. She settles, like she intends to stay.
“Tell me what’s been going on,” she says.
You do, though you hear yourself talking too fast at first, like if you get it all out quickly enough it will make more sense. You explain the pain, where it started, how it moved, the way it has been sitting under your ribs like something unwelcome and stubborn. You mention the nausea, the way your appetite has disappeared, the way you tried to ignore it until it became impossible to ignore.
She listens. Properly listens. Not interrupting, not redirecting, just occasionally nodding, asking a question that makes it clear she is following every word. It does something strange to your chest. Not quite relief, not quite something you can name, but it loosens something that has been tight since you walked in here.
At some point, you realise you are watching her more than you are thinking about what you are saying. The way she leans forward slightly when you mention something important. The way her brow furrows when she is concentrating. The way she writes things down in quick, precise movements.
“You’re very thorough,” you say, before you can stop yourself.
Her pen pauses for a fraction of a second before resuming its scrawl. “It’s just part of the job.”
“Some people rush it,” you reply. “You don’t.”
She exhales, quiet, almost like a laugh that never quite makes it out. “I get told that a lot. Usually not as a compliment.”
“Well, they’re wrong,” you say, and then, because you cannot seem to stop yourself today, “I feel very cared for. Ten out of ten. Gold star for Dr Mohan.”
That gets you a real reaction. Not a full smile, but something warmer, something that reaches her eyes just for a second.
“You haven’t even had your test results yet,” she says.
“Details,” you reply lightly. “I’m reviewing the service, not the outcome.”
There is a pause. Not uncomfortable. Just a moment where she looks at you again, properly, like she is trying to place something. It makes you suddenly, acutely aware of yourself again. Of the hospital gown that never quite sits right, of the fact that you are trying to flirt with a doctor who is clearly having a worse day than you.
You shift slightly, wincing despite yourself as the movement pulls at the pain in your side.
Her attention sharpens immediately. “Sorry,” she says, softer now. “Does it hurt more when you move like that?”
You nod, the humour slipping just a little. “Feels like my bones are grinding together or something.”
She considers that, expression tightening in a way that tells you she is already thinking ahead, already fitting pieces together.
“We’ll get some more tests done,” she says. “Bloods, maybe imaging depending on what they show. I don’t want to guess.”
“Slow and steady,” you say.
Her gaze flicks back to yours. There is something almost wary in it now. “Something like that.”
You tilt your head slightly. “It’s a good thing.”
She does not answer straight away. For a moment, she just looks tired again. Not in a way that invites questions, but in a way that makes you want to soften something for her.
“You don’t have to convince me,” she says eventually, quieter than before. “I just… don’t always have time to do it the way I’d like.”
There is something in that you recognise. The feeling of being pulled in too many directions at once, of never quite being enough for all of them.
“Then I’m glad I caught you on a day you decided to ignore that,” you say gently.
Her lips part slightly, like she is about to say something else, something more honest than she probably intends to share with a patient.
Someone calls her name from outside the curtain. It breaks the moment cleanly in two. She closes whatever that thought was, tucks it away with the rest of whatever she is carrying today.
“I’ll be back once we have your results,” she says, standing. “Try to stay comfortable, okay?”
“I’ll do my best,” you reply. “No promises.”
Another almost smile. “I’ll take that.”
She leaves, the curtain falling back into place behind her, and the noise of the department rushes in again to fill the space she occupied.
You sit there for a moment, staring at the fabric, feeling something unfamiliar settle low in your chest.
The pain is still there. The uncertainty, the waiting, all of it remains exactly as it was. It just feels a little less unbearable now. Which is probably not something you should be attributing to your doctor being very nice to look at. Or the way she listened like it mattered. Or the way, just for a second, it felt like you were the only thing she had to focus on.
You press your lips together, trying to ignore the small, persistent thought that settles in anyway. You hope she’s the one who comes back.
You tell yourself not to build anything out of it.
That is the sensible thing to do. You are here because something is wrong, because your body has decided to become unreliable in a way that feels unfair and a little frightening, and she is here because it is her job to fix things like that. The interaction exists within that boundary. It should stay there.
It would be easier if your brain agreed.
Waiting does not get easier the second time around. If anything, it becomes more unbearable, because now you have something to anticipate. Before, it was just a general hope that someone competent would appear and take you seriously. Now it is her, specifically, that you find yourself listening for in the noise outside. The cadence of footsteps, the murmur of voices, every shift of the curtain makes your attention snap towards it before you can stop yourself.
It is embarrassing, in a quiet, silly way. Not something anyone else would notice, but something that sits under your skin all the same.
You try to distract yourself. Count the tiles on the ceiling, read the same poster three times over, check your phone even though you have nothing new to look at. None of it sticks. Your thoughts keep circling back, not just to her, but to the way she had looked when she thought you were not paying attention. Tired. More than tired, actually. Worn down in a way that felt familiar, even if your circumstances are nothing like hers.
You recognise that feeling. The one where you keep going because stopping is not an option, even when everything in you is asking for it. It makes the flirting feel different, in hindsight. Less like a bit of harmless distraction, more like something you were trying to offer without quite knowing how to frame it.
The curtain moves again. Your head lifts automatically, hope sparking before you can temper it. It is not her.
A nurse steps in, young and bright-eyed, but efficient and kind in a way that feels practiced, explaining the next steps, taking blood, asking routine questions you have already answered twice. You respond, you cooperate, you smile where appropriate, but there is a small, persistent drop in your chest that you cannot quite shake.
It is ridiculous. You are painfully aware of the fact that you have known this woman for all of ten minutes.
Time stretches again after that. Longer this time. Long enough that the pain settles into something heavier, something that drags at your patience and makes your thoughts slower, more difficult to manage. At some point, you shift wrong and it catches sharply enough to pull a quiet sound from you before you can stop it.
Your eyes sting, unexpectedly. Not quite tears, but close enough that you have to blink a few times to clear your vision. You press your hand more firmly against your side, like you can hold the pain in place if you try hard enough. It does not work.
The curtain moves again. You almost do not look this time, bracing yourself for disappointment.
“Hey,” she says, and the relief is so immediate it is almost embarrassing.
You let out a breath you had not realised you were holding. “Hi.”
She notices. Of course she does. Her gaze sharpens slightly, taking in the way you are sitting, the tension in your shoulders, the way your hand is pressed too tightly against your side.
“Pain worse?” she asks, already stepping closer.
You hesitate, then nod. “A bit. Nothing dramatic.”
Her mouth tightens at that, just briefly. “You don’t have to downplay it.”
“Sorry,” you reply lightly. “Didn’t want to seem like a difficult patient.”
Something flickers across her face then. Not annoyance, not quite. Something closer to frustration, but not directed at you.
“You’re allowed to show that you’re in pain,” she says, quieter now. “That’s kind of why you’re here.”
There is something in the way she says it that lands deeper than it probably should. You swallow, suddenly more aware of yourself again. “Right. Yeah.”
She exhales slowly, like she is trying to recalibrate something internally. Then she sits again, pulling the stool closer, grounding herself in the space the same way she had before.
“Your bloods are back,” she says, tone shifting back towards professional, but softer than before. “There are some signs of inflammation. We’re still waiting on imaging to confirm what’s going on, but I have a couple of ideas.”
You nod, focusing on her words, trying to anchor yourself in something concrete. “Okay. That’s good? That you have ideas?”
“It’s better than guessing,” she replies.
“Big fan of not guessing,” you say. “Always been one of my core values.”
That gets another small flicker of amusement, though it fades quickly this time. The tiredness is still there, heavier now, like it has had more time to settle.
“You’re still joking,” she says, almost like she is surprised.
You shrug, though it is more careful this time. “It’s either that or spiral, and I don’t think either of us has time for that.”
Her gaze lingers on you for a moment longer than necessary. There is something searching in it again, something that feels uncomfortably close to being seen.
“You don’t have to keep things light for me,” she says.
The words catch you off guard. “I know,” you reply, though it comes out quieter than you intend. “I just prefer it this way.”
It is not the whole truth, but it is close enough. The reality is more complicated. The humour is not just for her. It is for you. It is the only way you know how to keep the edges of your thoughts from turning into something sharper, something harder to manage.
She seems to understand that, or at least part of it.
She nods slightly, not pushing further. “Fair enough,” she says.
There is a pause then. Not empty, but not quite comfortable either. The kind that fills with things unsaid, things that probably should not be said in a space like this.
You become acutely aware of how close she is sitting. Not inappropriate, not crossing any lines, just close enough that you can notice the details you had missed before. The faint crease between her brows, the way her fingers tap lightly against her knee like she is holding onto restless energy, the slight tension in her shoulders that never fully disappears.
“You look exhausted,” you say, before you can stop yourself.
The moment the words leave your mouth, you regret them. Too personal. Too far outside the bounds of what this interaction is supposed to be.
Her expression stills. For a second, you think you have crossed a line you cannot uncross. Then she exhales, slow and controlled, and some of that tension slips.
“Long shift,” she says. It sounds like a default answer, something she has said a hundred times before.
You tilt your head slightly. “Feels like more than that.”
She lets out a quiet, almost humourless laugh. “You always this observant with strangers?”
“Only the ones I like,” you reply, the words slipping out easier than they should.
There is a beat of silence. You feel it this time. The shift. The line you are dancing along, the one that should not be blurred. Her gaze flicks to yours, then away, like she is actively choosing not to engage with that.
“That’s not appropriate,” she says, but there is no real heat behind it. More tired than reprimanding.
“Probably not,” you agree. “Sorry.”
You mean it. Not because you regret saying it, but because you can see how much she is holding together, how little space she has for anything that complicates that further.
She shakes her head slightly. “It’s fine. Just not something I can entertain.”
“Understood,” you say, softer now.
The air between you settles again, but it is different this time. Less playful, more fragile. You hate that you might have made her day worse.
“I wasn’t trying to make things awkward,” you add after a moment. “Just seemed like you could use a distraction.”
Something shifts in her expression then. Subtle, but noticeable. “A distraction,” she repeats.
“Yeah,” you say, offering a small, self-conscious smile. “I’m pretty good at being mildly entertaining in stressful situations.”
She looks at you for a long moment. “You are,” she says finally, and it is quieter than anything she has said so far. “It’s nice.”
The honesty of it lands somewhere you are not prepared for. You look away first this time, suddenly unsure what to do with the weight of that.
“Glad to be of service,” you murmur.
There is another pause, softer now. Then, unexpectedly, she says, “It’s been a rough day.”
You glance back at her, surprised. She had not seemed like the kind of person who would offer that up, even in vague terms.
“Do you want to talk about it?” you ask, before you can second guess yourself.
She hesitates. You can see the calculation in it. What she is allowed to say, what she should keep to herself, how much of herself she can afford to give in a space like this.
“Not really,” she says eventually, but it is gentler than a refusal. “I just didn’t expect to feel better sitting in a cubicle with a patient.”
You huff a quiet laugh. “High praise. I’ll add it to my patient satisfaction rating.”
That gets you another flicker of something warmer, something that almost feels like relief.
“Don’t let it go to your head,” she says.
“Too late,” you reply. “I’m already planning my next bit.”
Her expression softens, just slightly. “Try not to,” she says.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
She shakes her head, but there is no real resistance in it. For a moment, it almost feels easy.
Then your name is called from outside, followed by hers, sharper this time, more urgent. The moment fractures again. Her shoulders tense immediately, whatever small softness had settled there snapping back into something more rigid.
“I have to—” she starts.
“I know,” you say quickly. “Go.”
She nods, already standing, already pulling herself back into the pace of everything outside this curtain.
“I’ll come back as soon as I can,” she says.
You believe her. That might be the most dangerous part. She disappears again, leaving you with the echo of something you cannot quite name, something that lingers longer than it should.
The pain is still there. The waiting is still there. But now there is something else threaded through it. Something warmer. Something that makes the uncertainty feel sharper, not softer.
You press your head back against the pillow, staring up at the ceiling again, thoughts refusing to settle. You do not expect to care what your doctor thinks of you. You definitely do not expect to start hoping she might come back for reasons that have nothing to do with your test results.
You know something is wrong before anyone says it. It is not dramatic. There is no sudden crash of alarms, no rush of bodies into the space. It is quieter than that, which somehow makes it worse. The waiting stretches too long again, long enough that the earlier warmth starts to thin at the edges, replaced by something colder, something that settles low in your stomach and refuses to shift.
Pain has a way of distorting time. Each minute feels longer than it should, each small sensation pulling your attention back into your body whether you want it there or not. The ache in your side has sharpened again, not constant this time but coming in waves that make your breath catch if you are not careful.
You press your hand there again, like before, like that might still help. It does not. The curtain stays closed. Voices pass by, none of them hers. You try not to fixate on that, on the absence of her in particular, but it is difficult not to notice.
You tell yourself she is busy. Of course she is busy. This place does not slow down just because you are waiting. Still, your thoughts start to spiral anyway. Not all at once, not in a way that is immediately obvious, but gradually, building in the spaces between everything else.
The pain becomes something more significant in your mind, something heavier, something that must mean more than it probably does. Your earlier confidence in keeping things light slips, replaced by a quieter, more persistent unease.
You try to ground yourself. Focus on something external, something steady. The faint pattern on the curtain, the distant beeping of machines, the muffled conversations that blur together into something indistinct.
It does not quite work. Your breathing shifts without your permission. Too shallow at first, then too fast, like your body has decided on a rhythm that does not match what you actually need. You swallow, trying to correct it, trying to pull it back into something normal.
It only makes you more aware of it. Brilliant. You close your eyes briefly, pressing your head back against the pillow. This is stupid. You are fine. You are in a hospital. There are people everywhere who know what they are doing. There is no reason for your chest to feel this tight, for your thoughts to be slipping just slightly out of reach.
You have felt this before. Not often, not something you like to acknowledge, but enough to recognise it.
You really do not want to deal with it here.
“Hey.”
Your eyes snap open.
She is already inside the cubicle, the curtain half open behind her like she came in too quickly to bother closing it properly.
Relief hits you so hard it is almost disorienting.
“Hi,” you manage, though it comes out thinner than you intend.
Her expression changes immediately. Whatever she had been carrying before, whatever urgency had pulled her away earlier, it all shifts the second she looks at you properly.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, already moving closer.
You shake your head automatically. “Nothing. I’m fine.”
She does not buy it. Not even slightly. Your breathing gives you away before you can try to explain it differently.
“Hey,” she says again, softer this time, closer now. “Look at me.”
You do. It is easier than trying to keep everything else together.
“Slow your breathing down,” she says, calm and steady in a way that feels deliberate. “In through your nose, out through your mouth. You’re okay.”
You nod, even though your chest still feels tight, even though your body is not quite cooperating yet.
She does not rush you. She stays there, close enough that you can focus on her instead of everything else, matching your pace in a way that feels grounding.
“In,” she prompts quietly. You follow it, shaky at first, then a little more controlled. “Out.”
It takes longer than you would like. Long enough that you become aware of how this must look, how you must look, sitting here struggling to do something as basic as breathing properly while she watches. Embarrassment flickers through you, sharp and uncomfortable.
“Sorry,” you murmur, once you can manage it. “Didn’t mean to—”
“You don’t have to apologise,” she cuts in gently. “You’re not doing anything wrong.”
It lands in a way that makes your throat tighten for a completely different reason. You look away briefly, trying to steady yourself, trying to regain some sense of control.
“I’m fine,” you say again, quieter this time. “Just… got in my head a bit.”
She does not challenge it, but she does not entirely accept it either. There is a careful balance in the way she looks at you, like she is choosing what to push and what to leave alone.
“Your scan results are back,” she says after a moment, shifting the focus slightly. “It looks like you’ve got inflammation around your gallbladder. It’s painful, but it’s something we can treat.”
The words take a second to settle. Not nothing, then. Not your imagination. Something real, something with a name. Relief and apprehension twist together in your chest.
“Okay,” you say slowly. “That sounds manageable?”
“It is,” she confirms. “We’ll get you started on treatment, manage your pain properly. You might need to stay in for observation, depending on how things go.”
You nod, absorbing it piece by piece. The uncertainty shifts into something more structured, something you can understand.
“Right. Okay.”
She watches you as you process it, like she is making sure you are actually okay with it, not just pretending to be.
“You sure you’re alright?” she asks quietly.
You hesitate. Honesty feels like the wrong choice here. Too much, too vulnerable, too difficult to take back once it is out in the open.
“I will be,” you settle on instead.
It is not a lie. Just not the full truth. She studies you for a moment longer, then nods slightly, like she is accepting that for now.
“Alright,” she says.
There is a pause. It feels different this time. Heavier, more aware of itself.
You become conscious of the fact that this is shifting, that whatever this has been is reaching some kind of natural end point. You are no longer just waiting for results. Things are being decided now, plans put in place.
The space for this, whatever this is, is getting smaller.
“You did good,” you say, before you can overthink it.
Her brow furrows slightly. “At what?”
“Today,” you reply. “With me. With… everything, I’m guessing.”
She looks caught off guard by that. “You don’t know anything about my day,” she says.
“I know enough,” you say softly. “You still showed up for me. You did great.”
For a second, she does not respond. Then she looks away, just briefly, like she needs a moment to manage something you cannot quite see.
“Thank you,” she says, and it is quieter than anything else she has said.
You nod, not trusting yourself to add anything without making it heavier. The silence that follows is not uncomfortable. Just full.
“I meant what I said earlier,” you add after a moment. “About being a distraction. I wasn’t trying to make things weird.”
“I know,” she replies. “You didn’t.” Her gaze flicks back to yours, steadier now. “It helped,” she admits.
Something in your chest shifts at that. Warm and sharp at the same time.
“Good,” you say, a small smile tugging at your mouth. “I’ll invoice you for my services later.”
That gets you a proper smile this time. Brief, but real. “I’m sure you will.”
Another pause. You can feel the end of this approaching now. Not abruptly, not painfully, just inevitably.
“Once I’m not your patient anymore,” you say, the words coming out more tentative than you intend, “would it still be inappropriate?”
The question hangs there, fragile and dangerous. She stills. For a moment, you think you have gone too far again. Then she exhales slowly, like she is choosing her words carefully.
“That depends,” she says. “On the circumstances.”
It is not a no. It is also not a yes. It is something in between, something that leaves space without promising anything.
You nod, accepting it for what it is. “Fair enough.”
She stands then, the shift back into her role almost visible as it settles over her again. “I’ll get things started for your treatment,” she says. “Someone will be in shortly.”
“Okay.”
She hesitates for a fraction of a second, like she is considering something else. Then, quietly, “Try to get some rest.”
You huff a soft laugh. “I’ll add it to my list.”
Her lips curve slightly. Then she is gone again, the curtain falling back into place, the space returning to what it was before she stepped into it.
Only it does not feel the same.
You sink back against the pillow, staring up at the ceiling, your mind quieter now, your breathing steady again. The pain is still there, but it is manageable now. Named, understood, something that can be dealt with.
Everything else is less certain.
You turn your head slightly, glancing at the curtain like it might move again if you look at it long enough. It does not, but there is something settled in your chest that was not there before. Not just the relief, not just the residual warmth of being cared for in a way that felt genuine.
Something else. Something that makes the idea of seeing her again, outside of this, feel possible in a way you had not let yourself consider before.
You close your eyes, letting that thought sit there, unchallenged for once. You do not expect to care what your doctor thinks of you. You definitely do not expect to leave hoping this is not the last time she looks at you like that.
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summary ﹏ After a brutal hospital shift, you and samira escape to the rooftop to decompress, watching fireworks and finding quiet comfort in each other’s presence. What starts as a casual drink turns into a chaotic, healing night at a karaoke bar, where laughter replaces exhaustion. Beneath it all, unspoken feelings finally surface—soft, vulnerable, and undeniable. By the end of the night, a long-building connection turns into something real with your first kiss.
cw ﹏ fluff!!!! fem!reader. hospital setting&karaoke setting. coworkers to lovers trope. mutual pining. post-shift vulnerability. soft and grounding intimacy. gentle romance. hand holding / lingering touches. light alcohol consumption. first kiss trope.
reblog is a creator’s best-friend, thank you!!
The pressure in your bones seemed to finally slip away when you saw Robby turn his back to you, letting you skip away from his figure and how you should have finished to enter your files back into the desktop. Today had been hellish and all you wanted was to get home, get into a warm bath with a glass of wine… or a beer.
But the silhouette of Victoria and Cassie walking to the staircase reminded you of today’s date, of the firework happening and the view you’d have on the rooftop. Without much thinking, you followed behind them, shoes rubbing on the floor with tiredness coursing through your bones.
You couldn’t help but think of how hospital always seemed louder at the end of a shift, even when it wasn’t.
It wasn’t the monitors or the distant roll of gurneys or the clipped voices over the intercom—those were constants, part of the building’s bloodstream. It was something subtler, something that lived in your bones after hours of fluorescent lights and held breaths. A kind of lingering pressure, like your body hadn’t yet realized it was allowed to let go.
You felt it now as you pushed open the heavy rooftop door with your shoulder, the cool night air hitting your face like a quiet, grounding hand. For a moment, you just stood there, letting it sink in, letting the city stretch out in front of you instead of narrow corridors and curtained bays. Your scrub top clung faintly to your back, your hair half-fallen from whatever rushed attempt you’d made earlier to tie it up, and your entire body thrummed with the dull, satisfied exhaustion of having made it through.
Behind you, the door creaked again and you pushed yourself to not be in the way.
“You disappeared,” Samira’s voice said, low and edged with something that was almost teasing but not quite. “I thought maybe you’d finally run off and left me to deal with the chaos alone.” You glanced over your shoulder, a tired smile already pulling at your mouth. “Tempting,” you admitted. “But then who would you complain to?”
She huffed softly, stepping out beside you and letting the door fall shut behind her with a solid click. Up here, the hospital noise dulled to a distant hum, swallowed by the open air. The city lights reflected faintly in her eyes, her expression still carrying the remnants of the shift—tight at the edges, a little drawn, but softer than it had been hours ago. You pushed the memories of her panic attack, of how Robby had spoken to her, how you had wanted to tell him to fuck off.
“You’re assuming I complain,” she said.
“You do,” you replied, leaning your elbows against the low ledge. “Just… professionally.” That earned you a small, reluctant smile; it didn’t last long, but you caught it, tucked it away. For a while, neither of you spoke: surrounded by the coworkers, the friends, the noise of the city.
The sky above was deep and wide, the kind of clear night that felt rare in the city. Somewhere in the distance, you could hear the faint crackle of something—fireworks, probably, though they hadn’t started in earnest yet. The anticipation of it lingered in the air, like a held breath.
Samira moved to stand beside you, close enough that your shoulders nearly brushed. Not quite touching, but near enough that you were aware of her in that constant, quiet way you had become used to over the past months. You could feel the warmth of her presence even without contact, could track the subtle shifts in her posture, the way she leaned forward slightly, almost as if she was trying to place herself into your personal space.
“Rough one,” you said after a moment, your voice softer now. She exhaled through her nose, gaze fixed somewhere out over the skyline. “That’s one way to put it.”
You let out a quiet breath of your own, the memory of it flickering through you—the rush, the fear, the moments where things had balanced on a knife’s edge. The kind of day that left a mark, even when it ended without disaster. The cyber-attack, Orlando, the thoughts in shambles inside her head that she had tried to brush off again and again.
“You did good,” you end up by saying and her head turned just slightly, enough that you could see the way her brow creased. “We did our jobs.”
“Yeah,” you said, glancing at her. “And you did yours well.” There was a pause, longer this time; the kind that felt like it held something underneath it. Samira looked back out at the city, but you caught the faint shift in her expression, the way her shoulders loosened just a fraction. “You always say that,” she murmured.
“Because it’s always true.” Another silence settled, but it wasn’t heavy. Not like earlier. This one felt… easier, almost.
Then, somewhere in the distance, the first firework cracked across the sky. It bloomed in a burst of color—bright, fleeting, gone in an instant—and then another followed, and another, until the skyline was dotted with bursts of light that reflected faintly in the glass of surrounding buildings. You felt yourself smile without thinking, your attention drawn upward.
“Perfect timing,” you said. Samira glanced up too, her expression shifting again, something softer threading through the exhaustion. “You planned this, didn’t you?”
“Obviously,” you deadpanned. “I control the city’s fireworks schedule, didn’t you know?”
“Of course you do.” You laughed quietly at her words, the sound easing something in your chest.
For a while, you just stood there together, watching. The fireworks weren’t constant, coming in bursts that lit up the sky before fading back into darkness. Each one felt like a small interruption, a reminder that there was a world outside of the hospital that still moved, still celebrated, still existed in color and noise instead of antiseptic white.
You felt Samira shift beside you, her arm brushing yours this time, just briefly but neither of you moved away.
“Hey,” you said after a while, your voice tentative in a way you hadn’t quite expected. “Do you… want to grab a drink?” She didn’t answer right away.
You glanced at her, trying to read her expression, suddenly aware of the slight tension in your chest, the way your fingers curled against the edge of the ledge. “After today,” you added, a little lighter, “I feel like we’ve earned it.” Samira’s gaze lingered on the sky for another second before she looked at you, taking your words in.
There was something in her eyes then—something thoughtful, searching, like she was weighing more than just the question. “…Yeah,” she said finally. “Yeah, I think we have.” Relief slipped through you, quiet but undeniable.
“Good,” you said, smiling. “Because there’s a place I want to try out.”
The karaoke bar was everything the hospital wasn’t: it was loud, first of all; overwhelmingly, unapologetically loud. Music thumped through the walls, voices overlapping in a chaotic chorus of off-key enthusiasm. Colored lights flickered across the room, casting everything in shifting shades of neon and gold.
It smelled faintly of cheap beer and something fried, and the floor stuck just a little under your shoes but you loved it immediately. Samira, on the other hand, stopped just inside the entrance and stared. “You brought me here,” she said, her tone somewhere between disbelief and amusement.
You turned to her, grinning. “What? You don’t like it?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You’re thinking it.” She huffed, shaking her head slightly as she stepped further in. “I’m thinking that after the day we had, this might be… a lot.”
“That’s the point,” you said, nudging her lightly with your shoulder as you guided her toward the bar. “We need something that isn’t controlled, or quiet. Or… anything like that.” She glanced at you, one eyebrow lifting. “So your solution is chaos?”
“Exactly.” For a second, it looked like she might argue with you here, asking you to change the place for something more smoother, less chaotic, less loud. But then she exhaled, a small smile tugging at her mouth again. “Fine,” she said. “But if you make me sing—”
“Oh, I’m absolutely making you sing.” She gave you a look between amusement and exasperation and you just grinned wider.
It didn’t take long for the drinks to take the edge off.
You found a small table tucked near the back, close enough to the stage to see but far enough that you could still talk without shouting. The first sip burned pleasantly, warmth spreading through your chest in a way that felt almost foreign after hours of clinical detachment.
Samira leaned back in her chair, her posture loosening with each passing minute. The tension that had clung to her earlier began to slip away, replaced by something lighter, something that looked a lot more like the person you’d caught glimpses of in quieter moments. “This is… not terrible,” she admitted after a while, watching as someone on stage enthusiastically butchered a pop song.
“High praise,” you said.
“Don’t get used to it.” You laughed, resting your chin in your hand as you looked at her. “You’re relaxing.” She chuckled, rolling her eyes at the words leaving your mouth before looking at you. “I am not.”
“You are,” you insisted. “Your shoulders dropped like, ten minutes ago.” She glanced down at herself, as if checking. “That means nothing.”
“It means everything.” She rolled her eyes once more, but there was no real bite to it. Another song ended, applause filling the room as the next name was called. You glanced at the screen, then back at Samira, something sparking in your expression. “Oh no,” she said immediately, catching the look.
“Oh yes.” She gasped, her eyes widening as she realized what was going on. Her hand lifted, index finger pointed at you. “You’re not—” You smiled, nodding your head at her. “You said you’d sing.” Samira chuckled at you, almost snorting like she couldn’t believe what was going on right now.
“I said no such thing.” She shook her head, waving her hands at you like saying the conversation was over but you smiled again, tugging at her strings. “You implied it!”
“I very much did not.” You were already standing, grabbing her hand before she could protest further. “Come on.” She resisted for exactly half a second before letting herself be pulled up, her grip tightening around yours. “This is a terrible idea,” she muttered as you led her toward the stage.
“It’s a great idea,” you shot back. “Trust me.”
“I don’t.”
“Rude.”
But she was smiling, you could feel it in the way her hand didn’t let go of yours.
The first song was a disaster.
You chose it (something upbeat, something familiar) and dragged Samira into it with you. The lyrics flashed across the screen, the music kicked in, and for a brief, shining moment, you thought maybe this would go smoothly.
It did not; you missed the first line entirely and Samira came in too early on the second. By the chorus, you were both laughing too hard to keep up but it didn’t matter.
The crowd didn’t care—if anything, they seemed to love it more, cheering louder, clapping along as you stumbled your way through the song. By the time it ended, your cheeks hurt from smiling, your lungs ached from laughing, and something inside you felt… lighter. Samira stepped off the stage beside you, shaking her head as she caught her breath. “That was—”
“Fun?” you offered. “Ridiculous.” She replied, a bright smile on her face, shoulders loosened up.
“Same thing.” You shrugged and she let out a soft, incredulous laugh, her gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary. “…Again?” you asked, a little breathless. She hesitated for only a second or so.
Then, quietly, “Again.”
Time blurred after that: one song turned into two, then five, then more. Some you sang together, some you took turns on, some you completely destroyed in ways that would have been embarrassing anywhere else but somehow felt perfect here.
At some point, you lost track of how many drinks you’d had, at some point, you stopped thinking about the hospital entirely and at some point, somewhere between a slower song and the quiet lull that followed it, something shifted.
You were back at your table, both of you a little warm in the cheeks, a little breathless, the energy from the stage still humming faintly under your skin. Samira was quieter now, not withdrawn—just… softer. Her fingers traced the rim of her glass absentmindedly, her gaze fixed on something you couldn’t quite see.
“You scared me today,” she said suddenly. The words caught you off guard and you blinked, straightening slightly. “What?” She didn’t look at you right away. “When that high-risk patient came in,” she continued, her voice low, almost lost under the noise around you. “You went in before we had everything we needed. You didn’t wait.”
You frowned slightly. “We didn’t have time to wait.”
“I know,” she said. “I know that.” Her grip tightened around her glass, just for a second. “But you still scared me.” The honesty in her voice hit you harder than you expected. You studied her, trying to piece together the expression on her face—the tension in her jaw, the way her shoulders had drawn in slightly again. “I was careful,” you said, softer now.
She let out a quiet breath, finally looking at you. “I know you were,” she said. “That’s not the point.”
“Then what is?”
There was a pause, long enough that you thought she might not answer or change the subject, but she didn’t. “The point is that I—” She stopped, exhaling sharply, like the words had caught somewhere on the way out. “I don’t like the idea of something happening to you.” Your heart stuttered inside your chest and the noise of the bar seemed to fade just slightly, like someone had turned the volume down on the world around you.
“Samira…”
“I mean it,” she said, cutting in, her gaze steady on yours now. “I know this job comes with risks, I know we can’t avoid that. But when it’s you—” She stopped again, shaking her head faintly. “It’s different.”
The space between you felt suddenly smaller or maybe it was just that you were more aware of it now. You swallowed, your pulse quickening in a way that had nothing to do with the drinks or the singing or the lingering adrenaline of the day. “…Different how?” you asked quietly.
Her eyes searched yours for a moment, like she was deciding whether or not to say it. Then, slowly, “Because I care about you.” There it was; simple, direct and somehow heavier than anything else she could have said.
You felt it settle in your chest, warm and sharp all at once. “I care about you too,” you said, your voice softer than you intended. “I know,” she replied. Another pause, closer this time and what seemed to be more charged. “But that’s not—” She hesitated, then forced herself to continue. “That’s not all it is for me.”
Your breath caught, you could feel your heartbeat in your throat now, your fingers curling slightly against the table. There was a weight inside your stomach like you were afraid of what she could say at that moment. “Then what is it?” you asked, barely above a whisper. Samira held your gaze, for a second, she looked almost uncertain. Then she leaned forward, just slightly, her voice steady despite the flicker of nerves you could see beneath it.
“I think about you,” she said. “More than I should. I notice things I probably shouldn’t and when something happens—when you’re in danger, or even just… pushing yourself too hard—I don’t handle it like I do with anyone else.” Your chest tightened even more at her words. “I worry about you,” she continued, quieter now. “Not just as a colleague, not just as a friend.”
The implication hung there, unspoken but unmistakable. Your lips parted, but no words came out like you weren’t sure there were any. Samira’s gaze flicked briefly to your mouth, then back up to your eyes.
“If this isn’t—” she started, her voice faltering just slightly. “If you don’t feel the same, that’s fine. I just… I needed to say it.” You shook your head quickly, your hand moving almost without thinking to cover hers where it rested on the table. “No,” you said, your voice steadier than you felt. “Don’t—don’t take it back.”
Her fingers stilled under yours, her skin warm and smooth under your touch. “I do feel the same,” you continued, your thumb brushing lightly against her skin. “I just… didn’t think you did.”
Something in her expression softened, the tension easing just a fraction. “You’re not exactly obvious about it either,” she said. You let out a small, breathless laugh. “That’s fair.”
For a moment, you just looked at each other, really looked. Not like you did at the hospital, not in passing or in the middle of something else. This was different, this was deliberate. And it felt like everything was narrowing down to this one point, this one choice.
Your gaze dropped briefly to her lips, then back up. Her breath hitched, just slightly. “Can I?” you started, then stopped, suddenly unsure. Samira didn’t make you finish and she closed the distance instead.
It wasn’t rushed, not hesitant, either. Just… certain like it was meant to be. Her hand came up to cup your jaw, her touch warm and steady as she leaned in, her lips meeting yours in a kiss that was softer than you expected, but no less intense for it. Her lips were smooth, pressing against yours and you almost forgot where you were.
For a second, everything else fell away; the noise, the lights, the people.
It was just this—just her, just the feeling of her lips against yours, the quiet, electric shift of something that had been building for longer than either of you had admitted. You leaned into it, your free hand finding her wrist, grounding yourself in the reality of it. She kissed you like she meant it, like she’d been holding it back. It was soft, gentle, expressing all the feelings she had for you.
And when she pulled away, just slightly, her forehead resting briefly against yours, you could feel the faint, uneven rhythm of her breathing. “So,” you murmured, a small smile tugging at your lips. “That’s different.”
She huffed a quiet laugh, her eyes still closed for a second before she opened them again, her gaze warm and a little dazed. “Yeah,” she said. “It is.” You stayed like that for a moment longer, close enough that you could feel the warmth of her, the steady presence that had become something more without either of you fully realizing it.
Then, somewhere in the background, another song started, the noise of the bar rushing back in around you. But it didn’t feel overwhelming anymore, not like before. Now, it just felt like part of the moment.
“Another song?” you asked softly.
Samira smiled at you, nodding her head at your words like all the pressure of the day had finally slipped away from her shoulders and from her mind altogether.
Hi! So sorry it took me a while to get this out, I loved the idea but it took me forever to come up with an idea. Hopefully you like what I came up with. Also, loved writing Mom Dana, that was so fun. Thank you again for the request :)
(Warnings: swearing, very vague mentions of blood and procedures, i think that’s it? let me know if i missed anything)
—
It wasn’t every day you got to work in the Pitt.
Technically, you worked in the ICU and NICU. While you were first trained as a nurse to work in the Emergency Department and had started out there, you realized you preferred the slightly more stable elements and routine schedules of the N/ICU. There was less controlled chaos and unpredictable conditions.
All of the patients you dealt with were admitted patients of the hospital, their imminent care and diagnoses already having been taken care of by the ER doctors and nurses. All you had to do was keep them alive until it was time for them to move to a regular bed or up to the OR. There were usually only a handful of family members allowed into the unit at a time, so you mostly got to enjoy quiet nights and the better sides of people when their nerves had been eased. It wasn’t for everyone, but it was for you.
Plus, working there meant not having to work the day shift with your Mom. You loved her to death, but working that close to family for that amount of time would drive anyone to their wit’s end. She loved you just as much, and even she agreed with that. When you decided on your specialty and requested the transfer, she was happy to let you go. You were only a floor away if she needed you, out of each other’s hair and all the better for it.
But the night before your first day off in a while, Princess called you and uttered those godforsaken words. “Will you please please please pick up my shift?”
You groaned into the phone, already settled on the couch with a bowl of ice cream and your favorite show ready to go. “It’s my day off tomorrow.”
“I know, I’m sorry,” she winced, putting on her best puppy dog eyes hoping the energy of them would transfer over the line. “But it’s my man’s birthday and I promised I’d go to dinner with him. The place he wants to go fills up fast, and Robby already said they’re tight with staffing and can’t afford to let anyone go home early.”
You whined, slumping into the couch. “Princess…”
“I’ll get you a slice of cake?”
“…Chocolate cake?”
You could practically hear her high-fiving herself. “I’ll get you any kind of cake you want, baby.”
You bit back another groan, relenting. “Fine…put the trade in. I expect extra whipped cream on top.”
“Thank you!” she beamed, definitely doing a happy dance in her kitchen. “I love you, you’re the best.”
“Love you, too,” you sighed, hanging up the phone.
Great.
This was exactly what you needed. So much for eating yourself sick and watching too much TV tonight. Now you had to actually go to bed at a decent hour so you could get up for your shift.
That cake better be the best damn cake you’ve ever had.
—
You walked into the Pitt bright and early, dropping your bag off in the locker room before heading to the nurse’s station where Dana and Lena were talking.
“Hi, Momma,” you said, pressing a kiss to Dana’s cheek.
She turned to you with a smile, hooking her arm around your waist to squeeze you into her side. “Hey, baby. Heard you picked this shift up. Did Princess have to bribe you, or did I raise my girl to be that selfless?”
You scoffed. “What do you think?”
She laughed, smoothing down your scrub top. “That’s my girl. Always get what you’re worth.”
“Is that my favorite nurse?” Abbot called from Central 1, walking out to greet you. “Charge nurses excluded, of course. Love you Dana. You too, Lena.”
“Hi, Dr. Abbot,” you smiled, accepting his hug.
Dr. Robby was hot on his heels, already ushering you away from Jack so he could have his turn. “Hey, kiddo. Long time no see. Princess made you cave, huh?”
“I’m getting a slice of cake out of it.”
They both laughed, Abbot patting you on the back. As more and more of the day shift showed up and clocked in, they started to assemble by the nurses station. The night shift shuffled over for handoffs, clearly ready to be done with their shifts. You looked around at all the familiar faces, glad to have at least one good thing about this shift going for you.
You smiled as you saw Dr. Mohan turning the corner, tying her hair up as she walked.
“Samira!” you grinned, pulling her into a hug when she quickened her pace at the sight of you. “I didn’t know you were working today.”
You tried not to linger on the smell of her shampoo as she hugged you, or the way the palm of her hand felt at the small of your back. You always felt happier around Samira. You couldn’t explain why. She just made your day brighter and the tension you always carried in your shoulders ease.
You reluctantly pulled away, taking in her beautiful smile. “You look great. How have you been?”
“Oh, you know,” she said sheepishly, shrugging. “I’m an R4 now. Still trying to figure out what speciality I want to go into. Pretty much just bouncing back between here and my apartment these days.”
You chuckled, patting her arm. “Oh, honey. You’ve got to go out with us sometime. Donnie does a mean Elvis when he drinks too much at karaoke bars.”
“Yeah, maybe sometime,” she nodded, finding herself matching your smile.
“Alright,” Robby clapped, gaining everyone’s attention. “Time for rounds. Let’s get these handoffs done so the night crew can go home. Everyone check with Dana for your assignments, she’s got the board arranged how she wants it. Don’t mess it up. Shout if you need something. Cool?”
A chorus of murmured agreement spread throughout the slowly dissipating pool of people, everyone fanning out to their assigned areas for the day. You walked over to the nurses station, glancing at the clipboard.
“Uh…Mom? I don’t see my name. Where do you want me?”
Dana walked over to grab the clipboard from you, realizing you hadn’t been added into the rotation yet. She’d made it the night before with the intent of Princess coming in, and when Princess called to tell her she wouldn’t be coming in, she made the call to spread out the rotation so her spot would be covered if no one was found to fill in. She didn’t hear about you agreeing to work until early this morning and had forgotten to fix the chart.
She analyzed it another moment before nodding. “Well, triage is full. I can stick you with a doctor for now until the rush picks up.”
You nodded. “Okay. Who?”
“How about we put you with Samira today, huh?” she grinned, a knowing look in her eye. “You two seem to get along.”
You could feel heat pooling in your cheeks. “Mom.”
“What? It’ll give you two some time to catch up. You’re friends, aren’t you?”
You let out a sigh, stifling a glare. “I’ll remember this next time Dad calls and I lie and tell him you stopped by my place when you’re really lingering here because you want to smoke and he won’t let you at home.”
“You wouldn’t dare!”
“Guess you’ll have to find out,” you mused, turning on your heels to go find Samira.
You found the first patient assigned to Samira, Mateo and Ellis prepping you for handoffs so they could finally clock out from their shifts. You gathered all the information you could before she joined you in the room, a smile on her face as she greeted the patient.
“Hello, Mrs. Hayes. I’m Dr. Mohan. What brought you in today?”
You took that as your cue. “Eleanor Hayes. 82, was admitted after complaints of dizziness, general fatigue, and thirst. History of Type 2 diabetes. Presented with symptoms of hyperglycemia and a blood glucose level of 380 on arrival. There were also signs of dehydration. Was put on IV fluids and an insulin drip. The rest of her labs came back normal, we’re still waiting on a urine analysis. She should be ready to go if it comes back normal and she’s finished with both courses of treatment. Until then, we’re keeping her for monitoring so we can reassess after.”
Samira nodded in understanding, giving the patient a compassionate smile. “I’m sorry to hear that, Mrs. Hayes.”
“Please, dear…call me Eleanor.”
“Eleanor,” Samira gently corrected. “Sounds like we’re on the right track with your treatments. Are you currently taking any medications?”
Eleanor nodded. “My insulin, and Metformin.”
“And you take both every day?”
Eleanor smiled sheepishly, folding her hands in her lap. “Most days. I forget sometimes.”
“That’s probably what caused most of the symptoms. I know it can be difficult keeping up with your routine, but it’s very important that you do. You’ll feel much better and won’t end up back here again. I know you don’t want to be here any longer than necessary. But that’s alright, Eleanor. Everyone forgets sometimes. We’ll get you fixed up and on your way in no time. Is there anyone you’d like us to contact? A husband, children?”
“You can call my wife, dear,” Eleanor smiled, motioning towards her purse.
“Oh,” Samira paused, trying not to stutter. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”
Eleanor chuckled, raising her hand. “It’s alright. Don’t fret. If you’d asked me a few years ago, you’d have been right. I was with my Frankie for fifty-two years before he passed.”
Samira pursed her lips, shaking her head sympathetically. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s alright, dear,” Eleanor waved a hand. “We had a wonderful life together, but it was his time. Besides…I wouldn’t have met my Maggie if I didn’t move into assisted living. We’ve been married almost a year now. We have ten grandbabies between the two of us.”
You walked over to Eleanor’s bag, fishing her phone out of her purse. It had been intermittently buzzing since you’d walked into the room.
“I’m gonna assume this is a few of them?” you asked, passing her the phone.
She laughed as she read over the text threads. “That’ll be Maggie’s fault. Every time either of us has so much as the sniffles, she alerts the entire extended family. I come from a long line of worrywarts.”
You pointed towards the nurses station. “See the blonde lady with her hair clipped up? That’s my Mom. She takes the cake for worrying.”
“Maybe we’re related,” Eleanor mused, patting your arm.
Samira smiled as she watched the two of you talk. But she knew she had to move onto the next patient, already on Robby’s watchlist when it came to spending too much time with patients. She’d promised to be as efficient as she could without sacrificing patient care, and that meant sticking to her selfmade schedule.
“We’ll get the rest of those lab tests back for you as soon as we can, Eleanor. Excuse us for a moment, I’ll see you soon.”
Eleanor nodded gratefully. “Thank you, dear. You’re a sweetheart.”
“You’re very welcome.”
You followed Samira out of the room and over to the desk so she could update her chart. You took the empty stool next to her, watching her with a fond grin.
She glanced up at you when she felt your eyes on her. “What?”
“Nothing,” you shrugged, watching her work. “Just…you were good with her.”
Samira playfully scoffed. “I’d hope so. It’s my job to be.”
“No, that’s not true. I’ve worked around lots of other doctors and not even half of them have the patience and understanding you do when it comes to working with the elderly. You made her feel comfortable and at ease. That’s not an easy thing for doctors to do, especially in the ED. Take the compliment, Mohan.”
She stared at you a long moment before nodding. “Well…thank you.”
You nodded, reaching for your own charts to start filling them out. She watched you work for a little while before clearing her throat, a sheepish look on her face. You looked up, raising a brow.
“Um…” she started, brushing some hair out of her face. “I told you about how I’ve been looking into fellowships to apply for once my year here is up. I’ve…I’ve been told by a few people here that I should consider going into Geriatrics. Do you…um…do you—”
“Think you’d be good at it?” you finished for her, making her nod.
“Of course I do. You’d be good at anything you tried, but you seem to have a natural ability for it. You should definitely look into it.”
She nodded, still looking unsure. “Yeah. It’s just that it’s been suggested to me that I’m better suited for it because of the relaxed pacing. Some people seem to think I’m too slow for the ED.”
You frowned at the crease between her brows. The thought of anyone making her question her abilities or doubt her work ethic made something inside of you seethe. If anyone tried it with her today while you were around, they’d certainly get an earful.
You reached down and unclasped the watch on your wrist, motioning for her to give you hers. She hesitated before holding her arm out to you. You fastened the watch around her wrist, twisting it around until it sat just right.
“There,” you grinned, patting her forearm. “Now we’ll be on time.”
—
You made it through a few more cases before Dr. Robby pulled you onto a case with him.
A woman with burns from a cast iron skillet had come in with a baby in a carrier. Her husband apparently couldn’t take off work to watch their son while she got treated, so she just drove herself to the hospital with the baby in the backseat. Her own mother was called for backup and was on the way to help.
“This is Mrs. Skinner,” he informed you when you walked in. “And this is baby Cody.”
He carefully scooped up the crying baby from his carrier, gently passing him to you. “This is one of our best NICU nurses. If you don’t mind, I’d like her to watch him so we can get a better look at you.”
Dr. Robby had always taught his doctors and nurses to be sensitive with new mothers. They didn’t like anyone handling their children or taking them where they couldn’t see them. He knew they tended to be more comfortable with female caregivers, and he knew your experience in the NICU would help the patient feel better.
You took the baby from him, sitting on the nearby stool so you could hold him more securely. “He’s beautiful, Mrs. Skinner.”
“Thank you,” she smiled nervously, her eyes bouncing back and forth between Robby applying cream to her burn and you holding her child.
“You said his grandma is coming to help?”
She nodded, focusing her attention back on him. “She’s on her way. She doesn’t live too far, shouldn’t take her too long.”
“What’s her name?”
“Pearl,” she answered.
He nodded, taking a step back to poke his head out the door. “Perlah? A woman named Pearl will be coming in soon for Mrs. Skinner. Show her to the room when she gets here?”
“You got it, boss.”
“Thank you,” he replied, resuming his treatment.
You watched from the corner as you gently rocked the baby back and forth, bouncing your knee every once in a while to make him smile. Soon enough, his grandma walked into the room to take over for you. Robby finished up with the treatment and instructions for at home care, holding the door open for you to file out.
“You’re great with kids,” he observed as he reached for the hand sanitizer dispenser on the wall. “I can see why you left us for the NICU.”
You shrugged. “I didn’t leave you. I just transferred. I still see you guys sometimes.”
“Yeah, when you hear about free donuts in the lounge. You and Donnie could’ve been track stars with the way you run for them. Maybe you missed your calling.”
You chuckled, reaching for the dispenser after him. “I don’t run for much, but a donut will get me moving.”
“Maybe you’ll rub off on your favorite resident today, then.”
You didn’t need to be looking at him to hear the shit eating grin on his face. It was becoming more and more apparent to you that he’d also had a hand in your rotation today. When they wanted to be, he and Dana could be quite the meddlers together.
You looked up at him with a glare, lowering your voice. “God, you too? Have you been talking with my Mom?”
“Don’t need to, kiddo. I’m not blind. I see those eyes you make when you see her. They sparkle almost as much as they do when someone tells you there’s donuts.”
You shoved your elbow into his side, earning a chuckle. “Leave me alone, you ass. And stop calling Samira slow. She doesn’t like it, and it’s mean. She’s not slow — she’s thorough.”
Robby’s smirk softened into a smile as you defended her. The way your nose scrunched up in defiance reminded him so much of Dana. He’d missed seeing you both in the same room like this.
“She is thorough,” he nodded. “And her patient satisfaction scores are great. But—”
“Are you trying to go toe to toe with me, old man?” you mused, raising a brow.
Robby laughed, shaking his head. “Oh, I remember now. That’s why I let you leave us for the ICU. That one of a kind snark I already get enough of from your mother. It’s not for the weak.”
“I’m glad you remembered that,” you said with a sickly sweet smile, patting him on the shoulder. “Leave Samira be for the day, alright? I’ve got her.”
“Oh, I’m sure you do.”
That earned him another elbow in the ribs.
—
You remembered exactly why you transferred out of the ED when the casualties of a gas leak were paraded in one by one over the course of an hour.
An office building down the street had accidentally busted a line during construction on an expansion, and what was supposed to be a board meeting of department executives turned into a mass snoozefest. They’d only been discovered when the catering company who was supposed to feed them all weren’t buzzed into the door on time. After calling a handful of numbers from the full parking lot with no response, they knew something was wrong. Someone called 911, and here they all were an hour later.
You must have started 15 people on oxygen and hooked them all up to an IV before there was finally a lull in incoming patients. You stood at the foot of the bed of one of the patients as Dr. Langdon assessed their mental status once they’d finally woken up.
“Never a dull moment, huh?” he asked over his shoulder, grinning when you bit back an insult.
“I hate you.”
Langdon feigned offense, bringing a hand up to his chest. “Ouch. I thought I was your favorite resident?”
“I’m her favorite resident,” a voice from behind you said.
You turned around to see Samira standing in the doorway, her face shockingly blank for how disheveled she looked. Her hair had half fallen out of her ponytail, the scrub gown overtop her clothes smeared with a streak of blood. She’d managed to remove her gloves, and you could see her hands clenching and unclenching into fists by her side. She was a mess.
“Jesus,” you muttered, immediately moving to her side.
“What happened to you?” Langdon asked.
“Cricothyrotomy,” she managed to say, her eyes glazed over. “A man going into severe anaphylactic shock was brought in, I couldn’t get the scope past his chords. That was all that was left to do.”
You slowly reached for her arm, giving her ample time to pull away if she wanted to. “And?”
She sucked in a breath that sounded like it was her first real one since the whole thing started. “He should be alright. Garcia took him up to the OR.”
“Nice save,” Langdon praised, glancing between you and Samira. “Why don’t you two go take five? We’re all good here.”
You silently nodded in thanks, reaching for Samira again to guide her out of the room. She followed blindly as you led her down the hall and into the staff lounge. You closed the door to give her a moment of peace and quiet, pulling out one of the chairs at the table so she could sit.
She sat still and quiet as you gently pulled the surgical gown over her head, throwing it away in the medical waste bin. You checked her over to make sure there wasn’t blood lingering anywhere else. When you were satisfied, you moved to her hair. You gently pulled the hair tie out of her hair, drawing your fingers up through the strands as you brought them into a more secure ponytail. Once you’d secured it again, you smoothed your fingers along her hairline to flatten any flyaways that had gotten out of control.
She still hadn’t spoken.
You moved over to the sink to grab her a mug, silently thanking your mother who made sure there was always a pot of freshly brewed coffee in the staff lounge any time she was on shift. You poured her a cup, placing it in front of her along with a tiny capsule of creamer, a packet of sugar, and a spoon.
You sat across from her, waiting for her to speak. When you realized she wasn’t going to, you reached over to gently take her hand. This seemed to finally snap her out of her thoughts.
“Sorry,” she murmured, clearing her throat.
“Don’t be,” you reassured her. “Take your time.”
You waited, running your thumb along the back of her hand. You watched as she opened her mouth to speak, only to close it once she’d decided against it. After the third time, you gently nudged her.
“Samira?”
She finally looked up at you, her breath caught in her throat. “I thought he was gonna die.”
“Oh, honey,” you sighed, squeezing her hand tighter. “But he didn’t die. You saved him.”
“But—”
“Samira. You saved him. You.”
You could feel her nails digging into your palm, but you didn’t pull away. She needed the contact, and you realized just how much you needed it too. You reached your free hand up to run your thumb along her wrist, subconsciously counting the beats of her pulse. Her heart rate was slowing down.
“It’s days like this that I really feel like walking out and not coming back,” she admitted, finally mustering up the courage to look you in the eye. “Maybe you had the right idea.”
You frowned, shaking your head. “No…no, I’m not sure I did.”
She raised a brow in confusion. “What?”
You’d had this feeling all day about working in the ED that you couldn’t shake. Sure, you hated the hours. The chaos of it all made you want to rip your hair out, and some of the patients made you want to bang your head against a wall. You certainly preferred the patients of the ICU who so very conveniently were sedated and had breathing tubes down their throats. At least they couldn’t bother you.
But there was just something about the ED — a light.
You could see it in the faces of the patients who were finally being listened to and heard. You could see it in the smiles of the doctors and nurses who got to help and discharge people who were having the worst day of their lives. You could see it down in the Pitt in a way no other department or ward could replicate. It was shining bright and glowing warm like the sun.
And when you were near Samira, you were standing in full view.
She was born for this. She doubted herself and let the words of other people weigh too heavily, but you never doubted her for a second. She was a candle in the dark if you only took the time to look. It baffled you that more people didn’t.
“I’ve been thinking,” you started, sitting up in your chair. “I’m considering transferring…back to the Pitt.”
The look of shock on her face was clear. You could see her grappling for the right thing to say, but you cut her off. If you didn’t say it now, you might not get another chance to.
“You’re considering Geriatrics, right?”
The look of bewilderment slowly cleared. “Um…I—yeah. Yeah, I am.”
“You’d still be part of the ED then. You could do Geriatrics Emergency Medicine. You’d do your fellowship here, and you’d probably be placed in this hospital anyway. It’s not like people are lining up for the speciality.”
She was looking at you like you were crazy, but there was a hint of something in her eye that told you she was feeling the same type of crazy too. “I don’t know…”
“Samira, I love you, but I’m gonna literally jump you if you give up on this. I will be the last thing you see before I take you out.”
She couldn’t help but laugh. “I think I’d like to see you try.”
“You think I won’t? Ask Robby. He put me on the night shift for a week last year because I almost killed him when I caught him on that stupid bike without a helmet. Ahmad said my tackle was so good that I should have applied for security instead of nursing.”
Samira was really laughing now. “Are you serious? You tackled him?”
“I wouldn’t call it a tackle so much as an aggressive bear hug. It was a coincidence that he lost his footing and we fell. I have witnesses to corroborate, but Robby will tell you otherwise.”
“You really are your mother’s daughter,” she mused, still cracking up at the thought of you sacking Robby.
You laughed, nodding. “What can I say? She taught me well.”
A comfortable silence fell over you both. You squeezed her hand again, relishing in the warmth of it. You could tell she was mulling over your suggestion, too in her head about making the right decision. Her ability to overthink was both a gift and a curse.
She finally looked up at you, taking a deep breath. “You’d…you’d really come back?”
You bit back a smile. “Depends. Would you stay?”
Samira couldn’t fight back the warmth rushing to her cheeks, turning away from you. You smiled wide, squeezing her hand again.
This is what you needed. This, her. You’d suffer through every combative patient and all the miserable hours if it meant getting to see her every day again. You hadn’t realized just how much you missed having her in your life until she was back in it. All it took was one day, and you were ready to uproot it all. The thought should have scared you, but it didn’t.
“I’ll make you a deal. You submit your fellowship applications, and I’ll submit mine for a transfer. Sound good?”
She still couldn’t look at you, biting her tongue as she nodded through the flush. “Mhm.”
“Hey,” you nudged her, gently pressing your thumb nail into her palm to get her attention. “Pretty girl. Still with me?”
“You’re really going for the jugular today, huh?” she murmured into her shoulder, braving a glance up at you.
You smiled again, gentler now. “Do we have a deal?”
“…I think we do.”
You could’ve collapsed onto the floor from excitement. But you bit back a sound of glee, steeling yourself until you could speak to her without babbling like an idiot. This was going to be a problem.
“I’ll go tell my Mom,” you said, reluctantly standing. “You good? Need anything?”
She took a sip of the coffee you’d made her like she just remembered it was there. “No, thank you. I’ll be right there.”
You nodded, heading out the door to the nurse’s station. Your Mom was standing there with Dr. Robby and Dr. Abbot, mulling over schedules for the upcoming week. They paused their conversation as you approached, knowing grins on their faces.
“Hey, kid,” Abbot smirked, leaning against the desk. “Need something?”
You bit back a retort, sucking in a breath of courage. “Yeah, actually…forms for a transfer.”
Robby did you the courtesy of pretending to be surprised. “Really? I thought you liked the ICU.”
You nodded, shrugging. “I do. But I, uh…”
“Like the people here more?” Abbot asked with a smirk, earning a smack on the back of his head from Dana.
You groaned, rolling your eyes. “Momma, help.”
Dana smiled, opening one of the filing cabinets to pull out a stack of forms. She put them all onto a clipboard, sliding it across the desk towards you. You looked at them in confusion, flipping through the pages.
“Filled them out for you, baby. Just waiting on your signature,” she smirked as she handed you a pen. “Robby signed off already.”
You looked at the bottom of the forms to see Robby’s signature across the dotted line. Your gaze snapped up to meet his, shock written all over your face.
“How’d you know?”
“Samira’s wearing your watch, genius,” Abbot replied for him.
You nearly choked, suddenly feeling very exposed. “No idea what you’re talking about.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he mused, patting you on the back. “You just let me know when you want me to fit you on the schedule. Ellis and Shen have been waiting for you to come back.”
You narrowed your eyes, calling out to him as he started to walk away. “Who says I want to join the night shift?”
“I’ll get you over to the dark side one day, Evans!”
“Fat chance!” Robby called after him, glancing over at you with a smile. “She’s ours.”
Dana rolled her eyes, tilting her head over to the breakroom. “Oh, please. She’s hers. You’re just lucky Mohan happens to be here too.”
“She loves us, too. You love us, don’t you?” Robby asked teasingly.
“I hate you all,” you whined as you walked away from their teasing, trying and failing to ignore their laughter.
You took the long way back around to the breakroom where you’d left Samira just to avoid anyone else catching on like they did. The usual chaos was ensuing — patients screaming, staff scrambling, the works. But suddenly, none of it mattered. It all faded into the background as you stepped back into the staff lounge, shutting the door.
Samira was at the sink washing out her mug. She looked much better than she did just a few short moments ago after dealing with the anaphylactic patient. She looked over her shoulder as she heard you come in, raising a brow at your embarrassed demeanor.
“Are you alright?”
No, my Mother and Robby have been plotting behind my back because it’s apparently painstakingly obvious to everyone but you that I’m head over heels for you, you wanted to say. Kill me now.
But you just nodded, putting on a brave face. “Mhm. Got the forms filled out and gave them to Robby.”
She raised a brow. “Already? That was quick.”
“Yeah, my Mom helped,” you huffed out a laugh.
Samira smiled shyly, leaning back against the sink. “I guess it’s my turn, huh?”
You nodded, glancing down at her wrist. “Yup. Shouldn’t be too hard getting them in on time. You’ve got my watch to help.”
“Right,” Samira murmured, subconsciously reaching down to fiddle with it like she just remembered you gave it to her. “Your watch.”
“Keep it. Seems like it’s in better hands with you.”
“Is that a dig?” she asked feigning offense, but you could see her biting back a smile.
“A little birdie told me you might need some help with time management,” you shrugged, grinning. “But I think it just looks nice on you.”
She smiled again, something in her chest cracking open for the first time in a long time. Something warm and budding that made her feel like she could finally take a breath that wasn’t rushed or in a stolen moment.
“I’ve missed you,” she murmured, forcing herself to maintain eye contact. “We all have.”
You smiled, nodding. “I’ve missed you, Samira. The most out of everyone, but don’t tell Langdon I said that. It’ll hurt his feelings.”
She laughed, the sound so beautiful you wanted to bottle it. “Your secret is safe with me.”
You grinned, pushing off the wall to take a step towards her when a shadow moved under the door.
“I heard that!” a muffled voice on the other side of the door said, followed by the sound of footsteps retreating.
You winced, shutting your eyes tight. “Was that Langdon?”
Samira nodded, whispering as if the damage wasn’t already done. “I think so.”
Of course it was. Just your luck. Shit.
You heaved a sigh, groaning. “Great. Now I have to fix that.”
Samira laughed, taking another step towards you to meet you halfway. Her hand fell into yours, warm and sure. You squeezed it tight, looking up at her.
“I’ll help you fix that,” she mused, stifling another round of giggles.
You rolled your eyes, leaning into her. “Maybe it’s not too late to rip up those forms.”
➻ summary: running into the same beautiful stranger over and over again on the weekend of an old friend’s wedding. maybe you can forget about your own loneliness for a night?
➻ warnings: 18+ MDNI, oral sex, fingering, thigh riding, hickies, Samira needs a break, one night stands, drinking alcohol, scissoring? idk what’s the proper word for rubbing your pussies together?
➻ author’s note: started out because I saw the above picture of Supriya and immediately thought about wedding guest Samira and marking her up- @ovaryacted had a little idea that inspired me too.
You didn’t believe in fate. Didn’t believe in childhood fairytales where the girl gets the guy or the underdog gets the win or dreams come true. You’ve spent your adult life making your own dreams come true, making your own way- alone. Working hard and- didn’t you deserve a break? To let your hair down and fucking enjoy something- or enjoy someone? To stop fucking working and just- be.
You landed at the Philadelphia airport in the afternoon- still answering emails from your phone to try and finish up some work before the rehearsal dinner that night. An old college friend- roommate who was nice enough and still kept in touch even all these years later. She went on to become a doctor and even went on to marry another doctor and- you’re happy for her. Really- you were, but weddings always seem to make you feel lonely while you’re supposed to be celebrating someone else’s love and support them- and here you were dreading spending the weekend alone because the only person you knew was going to be the center of everyone’s attention.
“Oh fuck sorry-” lost in thought and in a hurry to get to the hotel so you can open up your laptop and try to finish your project report before the deadline, “sorry I’m just-” an idiot? Lost in thought about how lonely you feel? Pathetic? All words seem to escape you when you finally look up from helping the poor stranger you slammed into pick up their ticket and scattered belongings-
“No, no it’s my fault,” she waved you off, “looking at my phone and not where I’m walking.” Beautiful didn’t begin to even do her justice- she was otherworldly. Bouncy dark curls were shook loose from her ponytail after you slammed into her- framing her soft, tanned face that showed a dimple with her beaming smile. You had never been speechless- but fuck if you weren’t grasping for words in this very moment while she hurried off.
Samira was looking forward to this weekend as much as you were- ready to drink her problems away and forget that she came here alone. At least she had other friends from the hospital joining her, nurses and doctors here to support their colleagues and get wasted on their dime- all to just end up back at the hospital for a never ending cycle of suffering from patients and admin. All she could think about after running literally into you at the airport was how pretty you were and how bad she wanted this weekend over- head pressed against the window the entire cab ride to the hotel.
They spared no expense, lavish hotel where the rehearsal dinner would be held tonight and wedding tomorrow- rooms for out of town guests and accommodations made for rides and places to venture out to. It made your heart ache a little- gorgeous, pillowy soft sheets that called your name but all you could think about was work- because it distracts you from your own personal demons. There was a little cafe next to the hotel where the free WiFi was as strong as the coffee they poured- a little distraction before having to get ready.
“This seat taken?” You almost said yes, already annoyed that your project was taking longer than necessary to work through but when you looked up- soft, deep brown eyes flashed back with a dimple winking at you from her cheeks. The girl from the airport.
“N-no, please,” you quickly pulled your laptop and mess of notebooks and scrap paper closer, “I should buy you a coffee for running into you earlier.” Her smile was just- room brightening, making the air feel lighter and her soft laugh was enough to make your body relax.
“You look busy,” Samira gestured towards your stacks of mess, taking a sip of her coffee before introducing herself to you.
“I tried to finish before I landed,” you explained. “But of course there’s no rest for the wicked.” You don’t want to bore her with your work but she asked, tilting her head and sitting just a bit closer to where you can smell the warmth of her perfume and whatever she put in her hair that morning- airplane air always seemed to dry her hair out. It was refreshing to Samira- hearing about someone else’s work when they weren’t a doctor so she doesn’t automatically go through differentials in her mind or work up potential treatments from their labs. Eventually she had to go, needing to get ready for tonight and meeting up with a few other staff from PTMC that came for the wedding. You didn’t even think of the possibility of asking for her number- of running into her again because you had to get into the mindset of dressing for tonight.
“This seat taken?” A familiar voice, soft and light cut the tension that you felt from being alone at a table as far away from the action as possible. She looked beautiful- sitting down immediately to your left with a smile that made you feel like you belonged in this moment. You immediately felt better- a familiar face in a sea of people you didn’t know.
“How do you know the lucky couple?” You asked- a sip of wine helping your nerves a bit after seeing how she pushed her hair from her shoulder to give you another deep inhale of that perfume.
“We work together in Pittsburgh,” conversation flowed so easy after that- the wine helped but Samira just made you forget about your stress. She sounded so fucking smart- the way she relaxed you has you believe she’s a damn good doctor. She talks with such passion and tells you about her case studies and papers and before you both know it you’re walking back to the elevators together after all but the hotel staff were in the banquet room cleaning up. You lingered- both going to rooms at the opposite sides of the hall and for a moment she swears your eyes flash across hers in a silent question but-
“I’ll see you tomorrow?” Not a question, more like an invitation- because when she says ‘count on it’ with that smile you’ve been dying to taste. That night it’s all you could think about- how soft her lips looked and how they might taste and- you woke up sweaty and panting. Dreams in a blurry haze of moans and softness. The next morning you see her in the hotel restaurant- pulling a chair out for her to sit with your face buried in your laptop.
“I thought you were done with working,” she laughed- shutting the laptop for you so you can eat and enjoy your breakfast because otherwise you’d be distracted and end up eating cold eggs and dry toast with room temp coffee to wash it down.
“Just one more email- I promise!” It was never one more email but she rolled her eyes in a way that made you mouth water. The same way hers did last night, showering with cold water in hopes that it would freeze the thoughts and feelings she had about you. Freeze the way her hand slid down her body to quell the ache that had been brewing all evening.
“You could take a break. I’m sure you deserve one,” she’s one to talk. Constantly checking in with Trinity or Victoria about how the ED is doing without half the staff- most of the ‘grown up’s’ at the wedding. Samira was watching herself in a mirror- telling you to take a break and relax when she herself keeps going and bouncing around the ED so she can forget the pressures of home or the stress that her patients have. She cares. That part was so clear when you listened to her talk about her patients- when she said she gets in trouble for spending too much time on their care but the just need someone to listen to them- just like she needed someone to listen to her.
That night during the ceremony you found yourselves shoulder to shoulder- sitting on gold chairs with white satin cushions, smiling at your friends vowing their love for each other, whispering small remarks and jokes behind hands that poorly concealed the giggling. She looked beautiful again- somehow even more so than yesterday. Dark brown, satin dress dipping low to allow her cleavage to be present in the conversation, hair softened and still bouncy- red lips taunting you for a kiss. You can’t- you live in the other side of the country and getting into something with someone wouldn’t be wise. Even if it’s just for a night because all you know is that you’ll never stop thinking about her.
Later into the evening, when the lights dim and music gets louder- after you and Samira have been giggling together over work horror stories and sips of wine, shoulders brushing together and faces getting a little close for it to be considered an accident- the question doesn’t need to be asked outright. Samira’s eyes droop just a little too low- from your eyes to your lips, all before slowly dragging back up to your eyes again. You both stand- wordlessly walking together towards the elevator to call it a night, not even paying attention to who sees or caring to say good night to anyone.
The tension- burning a hole through your guts and you can feel it the entire slow ride up to the floor that held your rooms. Your hands- barely brushing together so you can feel the silkiness of how smooth her skin was and grounding you before you can bolt down the hall to your room and lock yourself away until your flight tomorrow morning. It’s hard to think- hard to breathe in this fucking stuffy elevator when all you can smell is her perfume that wafts off of her like the scent of a candle and you’re the moth to the flame. Your heart races- you’re sure she can fucking hear it when the elevator doors open and you both step off with the lingering question in the air.
“It doesn’t have to be anything more than tonight,” Samira breaks the tension- cutting through the thick air with scalpel like precision. She’s honest. Soft. Her voice light and gentle when she reaches her hand out a fraction of an inch out to you. She can feel your thoughts- your mind racing the same way hers is because she doesn’t do this kind of thing but she does deserve a break- right? Her heart races the same way yours does when you take her hand- nodding with a shy smile and a little ‘yeah- yeah okay.’
It’s not the stumbling around- awkward, desperate fumble you’re expecting. It’s soft- Samira ushering you into her hotel room before locking the door and leading you to the bed after you both kick off your heels. You don’t do this- you don’t hook up or have one night stands with strangers but as you sit on her bed and give yourself a moment to feel the satin that runs along her thighs- you don’t fucking care. Your knees brush together- hands just learning the curves of her waist while she noses along your neck to tease you before placing the softest kisses there.
Your lips have yet to touch. All you both do is explore each other- shy hands feeling the swell of your breast when she cups her hand and smiles against your collarbone when you sigh into the touch. Soft touches along her thigh when you push the fabric of her dress just a bit up- feeling the smoothness of her skin against your fingers. There’s a moment- a pause when your noses brush together- when your half lidded eyes that were partially glazed over focus on the other in front of them and the soft, shuddered breathing slows.
A pause before the kiss. Before your lips slide over Samira’s. Before she sighs into the kiss and tastes the wine on your tongue when she slides hers along your own. A pause before you both moan into the other’s awaiting mouth and swallow the desire that had been bubbling all weekend. She tasted better than you could ever imagine- warm and sweet on your tongue with a spice that nips your bottom lip when she pulls away. Her lipstick smudged- red smeared in the corner of her mouth when she drags her lips down to place soft kisses along your jaw. You’ve never felt anything so soft and fucking sweet before- never had something like this in your hands and maybe it was the alcohol that you all but inhaled to calm you but your mind was spinning- but maybe it was just her.
With shaky hands you reach down to bunch up the fabric of her dress- pushing the skirt up to her waist so you can pull her into your lap to get as close as possible to her body and warmth. It was instant- Samira’s body reacted to yours with excitement, with desperation and need in the way she immediately slotted your thigh between her own. The kisses no longer slow and sensual- fire and need replaced every ounce of sense you had left. All you felt was her tongue against yours- sloppy kiss with open mouths sharing air and whimpers from how she dragged her pussy along your thigh. It was the perfect about of friction for her- the soft drag of her pussy along your thigh, the lace of her underwear catching her clit in the most delicious way aided the burning ache that she failed to take care of the other night.
“Fuck, feels- feels good,” Samira mumbles against your lips- swallowing your own gasps because her knees is pressed right against your core- dress bunched up to feel her pressing deeper against you until you flipped her onto her back to lock your thighs together and drag your unclothed cunt along the lace of her thong. Her eyes rolled in the back of her head- moans getting breathier against your lips that you slotted back against her own. Each roll of your hips into hers felt amazing, so glad you fucking decided to forgo underwear tonight so you can feel exactly how good her pussy was. Your wetness seeping from your body and wetting the other side of her panties that already had a spot from her own cunt- her own weeping hole desperately needing more attention than she’s ever able to get.
“Like that pretty girl?” Raspy moan leaving your lips- hands eagerly grasping the thick meat of her hips and ass to help drive your hips deeper into her. Samira whimpered- needing just a little more to help drive her over the edge but it felt so fucking good to taste your skin. To taste and lick along your lips before you pull away to peck and lick along her neck and down the valley of her breasts- following the path she all but laid out for you to take. You pushed the fabric to the side- hand covering the expanse of her chest before using your lips to nip and suck at the skink thats been begging and calling out to you all fucking night. Your other hand is pulled from her breast- tight grip from Samira to force two fingers into her mouth for her to suck and slowly lap her tongue around before she trails your hands down her body- finding their way through the tightness that you both were locked on before circling her swollen clit. It was euphoric- her head thrown back while you swirled a slow path of your tongue around her nipple before sucking it harshly into your mouth.
“Wait- fuck,” Samira was drowning in how fucking good this felt- how you placed deep, dark marks along her chest and your fingers circled her clit before shoving themselves into her tight pussy. Her legs all but fell open for you- not caring how loud she sounded, fisting your hair to hold you along her chest so your mouth could suck and bite at her other nipple while you finger fucked our her first orgasm of night from her. Wetness slipped down your hand- your thumb padded along her clit while your fingers slid in and out of her velvety walls so slowly to feel the way she fluttered around them- how she clenched and sucked your fingers in after cumming on them. Still needy and shaking underneath you. You’re both quick to rid each other of anymore clothes- expensive dresses thrown about her room with no care of where they end up.
“Fuck- you’re doing so good baby,” you end up on your back- thighs wrapped around Samira’s head while she buries her tongue deep inside your pussy to help give you as good an orgasm as you’ve given her. “Right there- like that, yes-” your hand rested along the side of her face- thumb slowly dragging up and down her soft skin while looking into deep brown eyes that can’t tear themselves away at how pretty you fucking look with your chest heaving from the pleasure she tongue fucks from you. “Such a good girl- keep going,” your praise makes her eyes roll back, has her fingering herself faster while she eagerly ducks your clit in her mouth and follows the same pace of her fingers along your leaking walls. You tasted so fucking good- sweet and tangy and like the juiciest piece of fruit she’s ever had the pleasure of slurping into her mouth. “Pretty girl licking pussy like it’s her job- almost there, fuck me-” her teeth gently slide along your clit, not to hurt but add to the pressure other tongue and the force of her lips- and you fucking cum against her mouth. Thighs clamping down around her head with the same intensity that your pussy has when you clench around her fingers before spasms rip through your body in a wave of fire along every nerve.
Samira kisses up your body, tongue leaving a wet trail around your belly button and up to your chest where she places another mark underneath the heaviness of your heaving chest- teasing a nipple into her mouth while she slides her body against your and slots your thighs together. It was hot- bodies sticky with cum and sweat and saliva and yet you and Samira don’t fucking care. Your tongues dance together- hands grab at her ass to drag her bare cunt along your thigh slowly to hear those beautiful whines that she makes. Fingers digging into the plush meat of her ass before gliding down to the dripping pussy you’ve been wanting to feel again- sliding into her cunt with ease because her tight grip sucked your fingers in with a moan against your mouth. She grinds harder- her thigh rubbing along your wet pussy lips to the point that your clit is catching the friction and burning your body from the pit of your stomach.
“Another one baby?” You smirk, titling your head at her blissed out face when she nods- grinding back into your hand to fuck herself on your fingers and chase another orgasm you were so fucking generous with. “Pretty girl wants to cum again,” mumbling into the skin of her jaw- nipping and teasing little kisses to help the pleasure wash over her body when it inevitably given into how your spear your fingers in her cunt and run along that velvety spot that makes her see stars dance behind her eyes. The way her body grind and shakes has her thigh nudge your cunt into just enough pressure for your own orgasm- cumming with a shaky gasp into her mouth where you both breathe in each other’s exhausted, spent moans.
At some point you eventually fall asleep in Samira’s bed, face buried in her chest after you cheekily mouthed more marks for her to sport underneath her clothes later in the week- her hand fixing the tangles in your hair and soothing fingers brushing along your back.
Samira wakes up alone- naked in her bed with makeup smudged all over the white pillow and hair in every direction. Her chest does ache- she said it only has to be for a night but a small part of her hoped for something more. You left no trace. Put your dress back on, grabbed your phone and heels in your hand to walk down the hall after scribbling your number on the hotel notepad for her to find while she packed that afternoon.
‘Maybe it can be something for more than just one night?’
-- something more explosive happened first; as one of the very few things samira had outside of work and her research, she could not stand the thought of losing you, even more so at the expense of letting you know how she felt about you. little did she know, neither did you. baby steps would have to do until one of you slips up. unless something more explosive happens first. 1618 words.
cw: samira mohan x female!reader; spoilers for her storyline in s2!! and they were roommates (omg they were roommates) and also best friends. fluff!! confessions!! but before that, reverse comfort.
[ i should stop final-editing these at 1 am. + trinity req anon, it is on the way! mapping out the skeleton of the oneshot before i unleash the 7 rounds of proof-reading and editing 🫡. ]
masterlist | rules
"...you're staring,"
"it's not a bad view,"
"yes, it is a bad view," i laugh, throwing a look at her over my shoulder before fixing my attention back on the paper i was writing, "i haven't gotten around to washing up yet, i've been actually locked in on this thing all day,"
"fine, you caught me, i was plotting how i can kidnap your laptop without you noticing,"
"yeah - well, you're supposed to be resting, 'mira, it's already late enough as it is, you came home later than usual, and you've got a shift tomorrow, bright and early," my eyes shift from the screen of my laptop towards samira and where she lay on the new sofa we bought together - as friends. a stinging reminder to myself not to fall in love with your best friend, ever.
"you look like you need the rest more than i do," she mumbles sleepily, letting out a yawn she hid behind the sleeves of her sweater.
"which is impossible, because one of us works a 12 hour - sometimes more - high demand job and the other writes papers whenever they feel like it all from the safety and comfort of their apartment - trust me, i'm asleep most of the time you're gone," the room fills with the sound of my typing, "i'm just spending more time on the project today because someone fucked up the methodology and i need to fix it up before we submit a soft copy to the boss for checking in 3 days,"
"sounds like you've got time," she muses with a singsong tone.
"nice try, bad influence," i shoot her a look, sticking my tongue out playfully, "i'd prefer to get it done now so i have a reason not to open it when the groupchat is blowing up and everyone else is panicking about not having their section done the day before we have to send it,"
"how responsible," samira snorts sarcastically, shifting around 'til she was staring up at the ceiling, letting out a loud sigh.
my typing pauses and when i glance over at her, she didn't even turn over to glance at me. samira always joked about being able to feel me staring at her, even at the airport when i see her before she sees me in the crowd, or the mall foodcourt when we were still in university. she always turned to look at me to catch my eye immediately then she would always hold my gaze until i looked away first, and even then, out of the corner of my eye, there she was, still gazing right at me. in turn, i would always joke that it was a very useful feature in our friendship when i would both catch sight of something in public that i was definitely going to talk about with her later. but in all honesty, it always made my stomach curl in the best and worst way when i realize her eyes hadn't left me at all, that they would search for me and then linger.
i clear my throat to attempt to catch her attention, followed by a soft cough when samira still didn't budge. she seemed lost in thought - very lost.
i turn back to my laptop once again, proceeding with what i was working on, and after a moment, i speak up, "you alright?"
"hmm?" that was when samira turned her head to regard me with a slightly confused expression, "did you say something?"
"i was asking if you were alright," i huff, "clearly, you aren't,"
"i'm good, kind of,"
the way she seemed to deflate just the tiniest bit made my heart clench.
a few clicks later, i was closing my laptop and walking over to the sofa, "scoot over,"
"huh?" samira asks with a raised eyebrow, pushing herself up into a sitting position, making space for me to plop down beside her, "didn't you have that thing -"
"i might just about shoot myself in the leg if i need to stare at the excel sheet any longer, my vision was going all blurry - honest to god, the rows were moving,"
the way her brows furrow when i looked at her after saying that told me she definitely didn't believe me, but she didn't say anything, just getting comfortable and laying her head beside where mine was.
that ugly vintage clock she saw at a thrift store and just had to get and pay a whole paycheck to get repaired ticks in the corner, the sound of her breathing mingling with it. i could smell her fancy shampoo and it smelled right, on her, better on her than it ever did on me, and the apartment started to feel like home again.
"'mira -" my head turns to her and the words die on my throat when i see she was already staring at me. i swallow thickly, unable to look away. for all her ability in being able to pinpoint if my eyes ever fell on her for longer than a split second, i did not share that skill. if i was being honest, it was often that things like that would happen - i would turn and she would already be staring, half-smiling, and when i looked away i wouldn't be able to shake off the feeling of the strange weight of a stare on my back.
"...yeah?" she nudges me with her elbow.
i blink about 62 times before looking away, "anything you wanna talk about?"
samira stiffens, voice coming out a little softer, "what makes you think there's anything i wanna talk about?"
"seemed like a long shift," my eyes lift to meet hers again with a shrug, "you seem even more run down than usual, even if you spent a few extra hours back at the hospital,"
samira opens her mouth to argue.
"please don't lie and say it's fine, something is clearly on your mind - you need rest and you aren't getting it if you're like this,"
"like this?" she lets out a soft laugh.
"you know what i mean, samira,"
we both look away, the room once again filled with the soft ticking of that damned clock and a car passing by outside on the street.
"...i don't know what to do,"
"...about?"
"my mom, my career," she scoffs and there was just a tinge of hurt, "mom - she sold the house in new jersey and is going off on some adventure with her boyfriend and she refuses to hear me out, and today - robby - he -"
by the time her voice cracks and the tears start spilling from her eyes, i have my palm pressed against her back, rubbing soothing circles on her back as she hiccups, "i - i don't - i don't know what to do -"
"you don't have to talk now, honey, breathe," my free hand presses against her chest, over where her heart was starting to thunder.
"i - i was ready," she exhales raggedly, "but i didn't - i didn't want to leave you,"
my eyes soften, "it's okay, samira, we can talk about this later -"
"i don't want to leave you," she just about sobs, reaching for the hand i had on her chest, squeezing the life out of it, "i'm not going to leave you,"
"'course you're not," i smile reassuringly, squeezing her hand just as tightly, "you're my best friend,"
somehow, she looks just a little more crestfallen at that.
"you don't understand," she sniffles.
"what don't i understand?" my hand lifts to wipe away her tears.
"i love you,"
my heart stops, my stomach starts doing sommersaults.
"i love you too, samira," i swallow thickly as i brush the hair from her face, "you know that." but truthfully, she doesn't know the half of it, is what i remind myself with a heavy heart.
"no - i love you," samira says a little more firmly, "i've loved you ever since we graduated and you went off on your own and i went into med school. ever since we renewed our lease even though we agreed to move out and go our separate ways after university. i was scared - really scared, and i thought by leaving to go back to new jersey with my mom, i - i could pretend -" she trails off, shaking her head and looking down for a split second before meeting my gaze again, a new fire in her eyes, "but now, i realized that maybe the world is telling me not to run away from it."
oh.
there were no words to verbalize how i was starting to feel, nothing to describe the absolute flood of emotions that washed all over me, the warmth that was crawling up from my stomach to my chest.
"but if i've made you uncomfortable -"
i press a fingertip over her lips, "stop talking and breathe for a few, genuinely, your heart's beating a thousand miles a minute,"
she still stares up at me with those eyes. those beautiful doe eyes, soft and expectant, an unfamiliar glint of nervousness in them from the anticipation of what i was going to say, her grip still tight on the one i had on her chest tightly. the kind of eyes i could get lost in forever, and eventually find home in.
i couldn't resist the urge to smile wider, releasing her hand so both of mine could move to cup her face, "don't worry, you're not the only one," i smooth my thumbs over the swell of her cheeks, "i love you, samira, just the way you love me too."
contains: reader is a lesbian but never physically described and isn't referred to with any pronouns, alcohol, language, some fluff, some angst, some suggestive themes, slow burn...,physical and emotional hurt/comfort, one (1) physical fight between reader and a stranger, coworkers/friends samira & reader, reader is out of the closet and samira's gay awakening, samira struggles with accepting it, everyone else in the friend group is gay bc i said so, some mentions of javadi/mateo and santos/garcia cause why not, it's pride weekend in pittsburgh and the gang goes out!
description: samira mohan had never really doubted her sexuality, but after you began working at the hospital and became one of her closest friends, maybe it was time to.
a/n: was listening to 'what i want' by muna the other day and thought it was so samira coded 😆 pls listen to the playlist if you can, i promise it enhances the story! consider this a super late pride month gift, i hope you all like it 🫶 (and pls forgive any and all medical inaccuracies, thank youuu)
ao3 link | spotify playlist
samira mohan masterlist
"Good morning," a singsong voice spreads through the room.
Samira turns her head to see you walking towards her with two paper cups in hand, one outstretched in her direction as soon as you're within reach.
"Good morning! What's this?"
She gently grabs the drink from you and takes a sip, eyelids fluttering shut as she savors the taste of perfectly made tea. When she opens her eyes a moment later to thank you, she sees that you're already looking at her with a soft smile and nervous eyes, breath catching in her throat.
"Good?"
It takes a moment for her to register your question, eyes darting in every direction but yours before she clears her throat. "Yes! It's perfect, thank you."
That’s been happening more and more frequently as of late; you'd give her a big smile or laugh at something she said and her stomach would flip a certain way. She had been concerned at first, not having felt anything like it before, but she soon realized that it didn't feel unpleasant, only...different.
"Whew, okay, I was nervous 'cause I tried making it exactly how you do, but the break room was out of your usual sweetener so—"
"You know my usual sweetener?"
You feel as if you've been caught doing something wrong, but a simple shrug is all you give her before saying, "I've seen you make it a few times now. I figured it would give you a couple extra minutes to talk to your first patient before Robby starts nagging you."
Samira stands there stunned for a couple seconds, lips parting and eyebrows furrowing in amazement. "That's so thoughtful."
Bumping her shoulder with yours, you shoot her a wink and a smile before grabbing a tablet and heading down the hall to check on your own patients. "What are friends for, right?"
Right. Friends.
Which is exactly what you are, she reminds herself.
When you first started working here almost a year ago, your friendly, infectious personality was a welcome change of pace among the team, and you quickly became the glue everyone could rely on to deal with difficult patients or just be a listening ear. You and Trinity had gotten close right away, finding out you were both lesbians making for immediate camaraderie, and that led to other members of the staff, namely Victoria, Mel, and Whitaker, also coming out.
That left Samira as the odd man out of your little group, but no one seemed to mind, always making sure to include her in your hangouts and constantly joking that every gay friend group needed a mandatory ally. That used to always get a laugh of agreement out of her, but the last couple months haven't felt the same, and she was having a difficult time pinpointing why.
The first half of the shift passes quickly, the staff working in a fluid, well-oiled manner and the main group of you finding time to chat amongst yourselves in between caring for patients. A few hours later, Samira walks into the break room and sees you laughing with Victoria, Mel and Whitaker.
"What are you guys talking about?" She questions with a smile, grabbing some water from the shared fridge. You offer her your bag of chips, waiting until she's grabbed a couple before responding. "We're trying to figure out our pride plans, I didn't realize it's already next weekend."
Samira makes a noise of surprise in the back of her throat, eyebrows raising at the admission as she leans against the counter. "Right! I forgot about that."
She notices that you're looking at her with a calculating gaze, head slightly cocked to the side. "Have any plans?"
Shaking her head, she swallows a mouthful of water before answering. "Nothing yet. To be honest, I've never actually...been to Pride before."
You and the others gasp, eyes going comically wide at the news. The reactions have the desired effect, making the curly headed woman laugh and shake her head fondly while softly telling you all to quiet down.
At that moment, Trinity walks in the room and asks what's going on. Once Victoria explains the conversation, the resident only shakes her head and claps a hand on Samira's shoulder.
"Honestly, don't even worry about it. Huckleberry's actually gay and he's never been."
Whitaker then snaps his head up from the sandwich he's currently stuffing into his mouth, a muffled, "How did you know that?" coming from his direction.
"Nebraska doesn't exactly seem like the pride capital of the world," Trinity tells him through a laugh.
Shrugging in defeated agreement, the man goes back to his lunch as you look at Samira and wait until she makes eye contact. "Well, we don't have anything specific locked in yet, but...do you want to go with us? We're gonna do all three days, head out Friday after we get off, Saturday go to the picnic then out to the club, and then probably the parade on Sunday. If you're down."
Samira thinks it over for a second, taking in the hopeful looks on everyone's face before nodding her head and saying, "Yeah." She quickly adds, "I'd like that."
That's all it takes for the rest of you to cheer, immediately switching to discussing outfits and where to meet. Samira finds herself unable to tear her eyes away from your grinning face, something curling in her gut at the thought of spending an entire weekend with you.
The next few hours pass by in a breeze, mostly filled with your friends coordinating plans and Samira trying to stay focused on her work. Towards the end of the shift, as she exits a patient's room, a hand shoots out to lightly grab her arm. Samira spins around, eyes widening in surprise as they land on you.
"Hey, can I borrow you for a sec?"
She nods in agreement, assuming it’s something patient related. It's not until you've steered her into an empty stairwell that she finally speaks, a nervous feeling creeping up her back. "What's up?"
"Uh, well..." You hesitate for a second, looking conflicted, before locking eyes with her and saying, "I just wanted to check in with you, see how you were feeling about the whole pride thing." Samira's brows scrunch together in confusion, mind racing to try and understand your train of thought until she sees that you're fidgeting with the hem of your scrub top. "You know...since you've never been before. I just wanted to make sure you'd be comfortable and not, uh, overwhelmed or anything. Or like we were pressuring you into going, I know you're not generally one for going out, so if you don't want to, you don't have to."
The other woman blinks at you, brain taking a moment to process your words before a slow exhale leaves her. Suddenly, the concern you're showing for her seems to make a lot more sense. She lets out a soft chuckle and gives you a reassuring smile. "Are you worried about me?"
The question catches you off guard, and a warm feeling spreads through your cheeks. You shift uncomfortably on the spot, averting your gaze before admitting, "Well, yeah. I mean, it's gonna be a lot to take in, y'know?" Samira's smile softens even more, a fondness blossoming in her chest that she tries to ignore, instead focusing on the concern you're so freely displaying for her well-being.
"I'll be fine, I promise." She hesitates for just a moment before reaching out to give your hand a brief but firm squeeze, the contact sending a spark of electricity up her arm. "Besides, I'll have you all there with me, right?"
Her words cause your expression to immediately relax, any trepidation melting away at the trust in her eyes. The corner of your mouth quirks up into a crooked smile as you give her hand a quick squeeze back. "Yeah, of course. We'll take care of you."
Samira can't help the way her heart skips a beat at the reassurance, and she tries to distract herself by making a shooing gesture with her free hand. "Alright, alright, get back to work. Robby's probably about to bust a vein looking for us." You laugh at the comment, a bright, bubbly sound that goes straight to her head, but then you drop her hand and head back through the doorway, throwing a wave over your shoulder as you do.
The brunette takes a moment longer to linger in the stairwell, watching as your face lights up when Dana stops you to say something she can't make out through the window in the door. Shaking her head to clear it of those thoughts, she pinches the bridge of her nose and takes a deep breath before pushing past the same entrance, doing her best to ignore how she can still feel the sensation of your hand in hers.
The rest of that week and the next fly by, suddenly it's the Friday evening of Pride weekend and Samira is buzzing with anticipation as she knocks on the dark wooden door in front of her. Everyone had decided to stay over at your apartment for this weekend, for it was both the closest to the festivities they wanted to attend and had the most room. Mel was the only one not joining until Sunday, as she wasn't a fan of bars and felt bad being away from Becca for that many days.
A few seconds pass before the door swings inward to reveal you, clad in a comfy pair of shorts and loose t-shirt, skin still a bit damp from a seemingly recent shower. An excited “You made it!” reaches her ears, but Samira has to fight to keep her eyes from roaming over your form, swallowing hard and licking her suddenly dry lips before she finds her voice. "Hi. Is everyone else here already?"
"Nope, you're the first one." You engulf her in a hug that she barely reciprocates before pulling away and taking her bag from her, registering but not commenting on the death grip she has on it. "Come on in, I just finished cleaning up."
She follows you inside, eyes immediately traveling over the room and taking in every detail. It's exactly what she would have expected from you: cozy, comfortable, a bit eclectic, with a few books, journals, and personal projects lying around. Seeing this other side of you brings a soft smile to her face before she realizes it and schools her expression, instead focusing on you setting her bag down next to the couch.
"So," you start, standing up straight and clasping your hands together, "I was gonna wait 'til everyone got here to pick but I'll give you first dibs." Samira raises her eyebrows in anticipation of your next sentence.
"For sleeping arrangements, two people can fit on the couch, and I have a blowup mattress that fits one, I usually put it where the coffee table is." Nodding along, the other woman is doing the math in her head, noting that that's three spots so far for the four of them staying over. "And for whoever wants to, one person can sleep in the room with me." A wide smile rests on your lips as that statement causes the opposite reaction in Samira. "Pick wherever you feel comfortable, the couch and air mattress are super soft, I promise. I just figured since you're here early, I'd give you a heads up."
Her heartbeat quickens as she processes the options. The idea of sleeping in the same room as you is enough to make her palms sweaty, but the thought of crawling into bed next to you, mere feet away, has her stomach tied in knots. "Um..." she hesitates, clearing her throat to find her voice. "I think I'll just take the couch, if that's alright." It takes a lot more effort than she'd like to admit to keep her tone nonchalant.
With a nod and a simple, "Sounds good," you don't seem phased by her answer, and she finds herself confused at the slight feeling of disappointment she feels that you were just checking to see if she was comfortable and not trying to hint at anything. Your phone buzzes then, and you grab it from the table to check the message. "Oh, that's Whitaker! Him, Trinity, and Victoria will be here in a few minutes."
Heading into the kitchen, you begin laying out snacks before digging through the fridge and cabinet until you find what you're looking for, returning with a tall bottle of clear liquid and five shot glasses in hand, holding a finger in each of them. "You want anything to chase? I have limes and juice in the fridge."
"A lime is good for me, thanks." Samira raises an eyebrow as you place it all on the coffee table and begin to pour the drinks. "Wow, you really came prepared, huh?" She stands and moves closer, peering over your shoulder to get a better look, immediately recognizing the tequila's familiar scent.
"Yeah, of course, it's the first time everyone is over my place, I wanna make sure we all have a good time." You chuckle as you glance behind you, and the brunette swears there's a certain look in your eye as you do before there's a loud knock at the front door.
"That'll be the rest of them." As you pad over and swing it open, loud greetings ring down the hallway, Samira laying eyes on the trio and embracing them all as if they hadn't seen each other barely an hour ago.
"Now that we're all here,” you announce, “I think it's time for our first shot."
Whitaker and Victoria groan as Trinity cheers and slips her bag off her shoulder. "That's what I'm talking about!"
Samira can't hold back a chuckle at their antics, standing next to the couch and watching with amusement as the four of you follow and move around the coffee table with practiced ease. Her heart rate climbs as you grab the lime slice she asked for before rounding the furniture and standing in front of her, a lopsided smile on your face. "As requested."
She accepts the glass and lime with a small thanks, her hand brushing against yours in the process and leaving her fingers tingling. She's about to say something else when an arm loops around her shoulders, Trinity stepping up behind her and leaning in close, winking at her in a playful gesture. "Get ready Mohan, you're about to have the weekend of your life." She squeezes Samira to her side, an action that both distracts her from the anxiety growing in her chest and causes her excitement to rise.
By this time, you're across the table, shot glass raised in hand as everyone follows suit, waiting for you to lead the charge. "To us. Happy pride, guys." Resounding cheers fills the room and everyone downs their portion, a couple gags being heard, quickly followed by laughs from you and Trinity.
"Yikes." Samira quickly sticks the lime into her mouth and bites down, relieved when the citrus erases some of the bitter taste. Despite the initial burn, she can't help but let out a laugh at the reaction of the others, and her body automatically relaxes in Trinity's grasp.
"Wait." Everyone turns to look at the green eyed woman who is now pointing at you. "We need to decide who's sleeping where."
"Well, Samira already called dibs on the couch, so there's still another spot there, the air mattress, or the room with me."
"I got the bed!" Trinity immediately drops her arm from around Samira and moves to grab her bag, tossing it over her shoulder as she runs into the bedroom. Whitaker only sighs as he nods his head and mumbles, "Guess I'll take the couch again."
When Trinity returns moments later, she has her hands on her hips and a triumphant smile on her face. "That mattress is so fuckin' comfy, it's nicer than mine."
Everyone laughs at her statement, and Samira turns to Whitaker, eyebrow twitching. "You've been here before?" He simply nods, and Trinity jumps in to elaborate. "We've crashed more than once after a night out."
Samira lets out a forced laugh, a strange streak of jealousy hitting her as she fiddles with her hands, eyes finding their way to yours and finding that they're already staring back. Victoria must notice it, as she clears her throat and says, "I don't think we established yet; who's sleeping on the air mattress? "
"Mm, sounds like you, Crash." Trinity claps a hand on her shoulder with a faux sympathetic pout before Whitaker intervenes and offers to switch with her. "You can have the couch if you want, it's really comfy actually."
"Are you sure? Isn't the mattress kind of small for you?" Victoria objects, feeling bad for the man.
"I don't mind, I got used to it growing up, and I don't move in my sleep, so I'll be okay."
You let an easy smile cross your face at the interaction, watching as Whitaker makes his way over to the couch and takes a seat, testing out the cushion and giving a nod of approval.
"Alright, that sounds like everyone's situated then. Let's start getting ready so we can be out of here by ten." Walking towards the closed door next your room, you gesture to it as you tell everyone, “This is the bathroom in case anyone needs, there’s a decent sized mirror in here, along with the big one next to the couch and the one in my room.” After telling everyone where to find water and the rest of the snacks, you head into your bedroom and close the door, changing into your outfit for the night.
Samira's eyes briefly glance in that direction, wondering what you'll appear in. She shakes her head to try and clear that thought, focusing back on the task at hand and heading into the bathroom. Why does everything have to be so confusing lately?
She looks around quickly, not wanting to be nosy, before taking in her reflection. The outfit she chose earlier is simple and comfortable, but she's beginning to doubt her choice now.
After spending a couple minutes walking in circles and trying to hype herself up for the night ahead, she does a final check in the mirror and leaves the bathroom, walking to the living area to see what the others are wearing. Their outfits are colorful and show off their personalities, even Whitaker putting the effort in with a nice polo and well fitting jeans.
She's broken out of her thoughts a few moments later as Trinity steps out of the bedroom and gives her an enthusiastic whistle. "Okay, looking good, Mohan."
The curly haired woman feels a small swell of confidence at the compliment and shoots her friend a half smile. "Thanks, you too. Your shirt is perfect." Trinity winks and twirls for good measure, causing Samira to let out a small giggle.
"Now come on, it's time for touch ups." The two of them along with Victoria are standing in front of the large mirror next to the couch when the door behind them opens and you step out.
The three turn to see you approach, all of their eyes taking in your outfit for the evening. It's simple but flattering, so perfectly your style, and Samira feels that confusing but familiar tug in her stomach.
You lean against the couch, crossing your arms and observing the trio of women in front of you. Trinity speaks up first, raising an eyebrow and saying, "You look hot as fuck, dude." You laugh and wave off the compliment with a, "I've worn this before, I'm not trying to do anything crazy." They all chuckle and turn their attention back to what they were doing, a certain brown pair stealing glances through the mirror.
“We all look amazing, actually. If none of us kiss a stranger tonight, I’ll be shocked,” Trinity jokes.
The thought makes Samira’s skin crawl, but she convinces herself that it’s the idea of kissing a random person that makes her feel that way. "Okay, I think it's time for a second shot now!" The curly haired woman surprises herself with the announcement, but she knows she needs a little more liquid courage before they head out.
Trinity cheers, immediately grabbing the bottle off the kitchen table and filling up the group's glasses. You hold yours up, waiting for everyone to do the same before saying, "To lots of fun and making good memories this weekend." After a resounding cheer, you all throw them back quickly and go back to preparing.
A short while later, the entire group is almost ready and looking to call a car to take you to your destination. Victoria is snacking on some chips she found in your cabinet as her and Whitaker are talking about some movie coming out soon, and Samira is looking past them with the faintest pout on her lips, catching your attention.
At that exact moment, Trinity looks up from her phone with a grin, announcing that their driver is on the way. She and Whitaker head to the front door to put on their shoes, while you lean against the side of the couch to get in Samira's line of sight. "Everything all good? You’ve been kind of quiet."
She jolts a bit at the question and being pulled out of her thoughts, not having realized what she was doing. Her first instinct is to brush it off but she's never been good at lying to you. "I'm alright, just a little nervous, I guess."
Nodding your head in understanding, you give her a genuine smile and raise your pinky between you. "I'll be by your side the whole time, and if at any point you wanna leave, we will, no questions asked. I pinky promise."
A wave of relief washes over her at your words, the intensity of her earlier discomfort immediately lessening from your presence and reassurance. She smiles and raises her own hand, linking her pinky with yours and gently pulling them towards her so you're just a bit closer. "Okay. I trust you."
The two of you hold each other's gaze for longer than necessary, your heart stuttering just so at the look in her eyes. Before anything else can happen, Trinity's voice rips through the moment, yelling for you to get your asses outside.
Samira snaps her eyes away from yours and rushes to pull her shoes on, mentally cursing Trinity, and herself even more so for wanting to let whatever had just happened go further, blaming the alcohol flowing through her veins. The five of you pile into the SUV waiting at the curb downstairs, and the ride to the bar is filled with animated conversation between the whole group, the nerves Samira felt earlier having mostly faded in the warm atmosphere.
Despite it being just past ten, the streets are extremely crowded, with pride flags everywhere you look and music spilling from almost every building. You eventually reach the club and step out of the vehicle, the line leading into the building already stretching down the block. Trinity, ever the smooth talker, immediately walks up to the bouncer, not wasting any time to get you all inside.
You follow close behind, noticing the way Samira's eyes flit around trying to take everything in, and you reach out to interlock your fingers and give her hand a gentle squeeze, hoping to ground her in the overwhelming atmosphere. She shoots you a grateful smile and squeezes back, letting herself be led through the club and towards the bar.
Music blares loudly around you and the neon lights of the club have you blinking rapidly to adjust. Trinity leads the way easily, slipping through the crowded dance floor and making a beeline to the counter to start giving drink orders to the busy bartender. The rest of you gather around in a circle, laughing as Whitaker starts to dance to the beat of the song pumping through the speakers.
Trinity taps your shoulder a short while later to ask for your help with the shots, shoving one in Whitaker's hand to get him to stop his "moves." After they're all handed out and downed, Trinity yells over the music, "Let's hit the floor before getting the next round, I'm already buzzing and I need to dance." Whitaker sighs dramatically at her words but she pays him no mind, grabbing his wrist and dragging him into the crowded mass of people.
The youngest of your friends follows them, holding one of your hands as the other drags Samira behind you, her inhibitions lowering the further she walks. When your group reaches a small pocket of the dance floor, you spread out a bit, twirling each other and letting the beat guide you.
Trinity and Victoria immediately start dancing together, smiles wide and moves fluid, showing that this is something they've done before. They're pressed close, hands on each other's hips, and Samira watches them with wide eyes as she dances alone. You take a moment to look at her, taking in the entranced look in her eyes and the bit of a shine on her cheeks. You find yourself moving toward her and grabbing one of her hands to spin her around, grinning as she lets out a bit of a yelp then stumbles, her back now pressed against your front.
"You having fun?" You have to lean down to speak in her ear, the music too loud to hear you otherwise. She nods in response and gives your hands a squeeze where they're resting just above her hips, the feeling bringing butterflies to your own stomach.
The pair of you stay in that position for a while before you break the silence. “Look. Whitaker found a dance partner.”
Samira turns her head to find what you’re talking about, seeing your friend talking to a very cute guy, one set of hands interlocked as the mystery man has his other on the small of Whitaker’s back.
“Good for him,” she smiles, her mood brightening even more. The two of you continue watching the other pair and cooing at how compatible they seem, happy for your friend.
You both begin swaying your bodies together in time with the beat, her shoulders moving with every breath and the action causing the front of her body to press ever so slightly into you. The brunette’s head begins to spin as your warmth envelopes her more and more, mind going blank from the pounding music and strong drink. You feel her hips push further into you and your fingers flex in response, suddenly feeling the overwhelming urge to hold her tighter, your movements becoming more intimate in the hot, hazy atmosphere.
Samira feels an exhale brush over the shell of her ear, thoughts clouded and heart racing. The sensation of your chest moving with every breath distracts her, her own pulse thundering so hard she wouldn’t be surprised if you could feel it too. A jolt of pleasure shoots up her spine as your hand grazes her stomach, a small gasp escaping her and you almost miss it in the music.
You definitely notice the sound, leaning down further so your lips are hovering right over the skin of her neck, breath coming out in slow, deliberate puffs. She shivers at the feeling, body shifting closer to yours as her breathing gets shallower. Your thumb starts tracing small, slow circles above her hip bone, trying to not get swallowed up by the moment.
When your nose grazes the edge of her collarbone, you realize how close you are and pull back just enough that there's a couple of inches between your bodies. Samira subconsciously follows, grabbing both of your hands and placing them on her shoulders as she continues swaying. Taking that as a cue that you're not overstepping, you bring your bodies together once more, feeling her begin to rub your knuckles with her thumbs.
The song changes then, something more upbeat starting up. Despite the urge to continue dancing, your head is starting to spin and you need a break before you do something drastic.
"Let's grab that next round." You speak directly into her ear, voice barely loud enough to be heard over the music. She nods, and you reluctantly pull away to guide her towards the spot in front of the bar where Trinity is already ordering more shots.
Samira feels the loss of your presence immediately but shakes it off, trying to keep her mind clear in the alcohol and oxytocin fueled haze. Your green eyed friend has a knowing smirk on her face when she sees the two of you approaching, shooting you a wink that confuses the woman next to you. Whitaker has a similar look on his face, but you ignore them both in favor of grabbing two of the small glasses that have already arrived.
Handing one to Samira, you clink the glasses together before the five of you throw them back quickly, the burn in your throat becoming more and more pleasant with every passing second. As you place the empty container on the counter, Trinity moves it towards the bartender and takes your hand, pulling you back out onto the dance floor that is now even more crowded than before.
Your little group finds a pocket within the throng of people, a slight sheen of sweat covering all of you as the night progresses and the drinks continue to flow, strangers who think your friends are cute offering to foot the bills. Trinity and Victoria are back at it, dancing together as Whitaker throws his head back and laughs, his arms moving every which way with no rhythm whatsoever.
You're swaying yourself just slightly, letting the alcohol and vibe of the surrounding crowd carry you. You notice Samira watching the two girls again, this time with her bottom lip pulled into her mouth as she stares and tries to mirror their movements a bit, and you can't help but smile at the look of concentration on her face. Your hands move on their own accord, resting on her hips with your fingers lightly gripping the material of her shirt.
She lets out a small groan at the unexpected contact, eyes fluttering closed briefly before she can stop herself. The moment they reopen, however, they land on yours and she lets her head tilt to the side, biting her lip harder than before as she takes you in, mind whirling from the close proximity. A smile tugs at the corner of your mouth as you take in the shine in her eyes, your thumbs rubbing soft circles across her waist.
You can see her swallow hard, her eyes flitting down to your lips before going back to hold your gaze, your heart starting to beat rapidly as she leans forward. She has her right hand resting on your hip now, fingers grazing across the fabric there and your tongue grazes your bottom lip in response. She sucks in a quiet breath at the action, moving even closer and pressing her chest flush to yours. As soon as you think she's going to do something else, you feel an arm throw itself around your shoulder, shattering the moment.
"I love you guys so much!"
Victoria has wrapped herself around both you and Samira, a huge grin on her face but barely able to keep her eyes open, and you know she's past her limit.
Samira stiffens as the moment between you two has ended, a feeling of disappointment spreading through her body. She sees how Victoria is now clinging to you, and in turn, you're helping hold the younger girl up. Samira's mind is racing and a thousand thoughts flash through her head before she pushes them all away to focus on the situation at hand. "Looks like someone's had a bit too much to drink, huh?"
Right then, Trinity rushes up to the three of you with an exasperated look on her face. "What the hell, Crash?!"
Looking over at you, she wears an apologetic expression before explaining that she took Victoria to get some water, but when she turned around, she had disappeared. The short haired woman then leans in to whisper something in your ear that causes you to quickly glance over at Samira before looking around at the crowd, causing her eyes to narrow slightly.
"I think that's our cue to leave, we should find Whitaker and head back to my place," you call out to her.
"Yeah, that's a good idea," Samira responds meekly. In spite of herself, her body slumps, all the confidence and excitement from earlier vanished, and instead replaced with anxiety and uncertainty. She finds herself avoiding your eyes as she tries to keep her expression neutral and looks around for your missing friend.
It takes a few minutes, but you and Trinity eventually find Whitaker standing by the bar, chatting up another guy. He notices you both approach and excuses himself, coming to stand between you.
"Whatcha guys up to?" He says, a lazy smile on his face and a red tint to his skin.
You raise an amused eyebrow at how relaxed he seems, giving him a once over before speaking. "We're headed out, Vic's pretty wasted so we're gonna call it a night."
Trinity chimes in to add, "Plus, it's getting pretty late as it is." Whitaker groans at the statement but nods his head and agrees, saying goodbye to the man he was talking to and slinging an arm around your shoulder. You all walk towards the exit together, squeezing through the crowd of people, and the cool air hits you as you emerge onto the sidewalk outside.
Luckily, a car had already been called and is pulling up to the curb as you walk towards the street, everyone piling in and making sure the baby of the group is doing okay. The ride back to your place is mostly filled with Whitaker and Trinity's lively conversation, the pair going back and forth and trying to keep a mostly silent Samira involved. She manages to add a couple comments here and there, eyes darting to you as discreetly as she can manage while keeping Victoria from slumping against her seatbelt.
Upon arriving, you and Trinity manage to get her upstairs without issue, and as soon as your front door is open, the two of you lay her on the couch to begin taking off her shoes.
Victoria groans in protest at her situation, a pout on her lips as she tries to swat your hands away from the straps on her heels. You chuckle and swat her back, telling her, "You'll thank us in the morning."
"Not fair," she grumbles as you both successfully take her shoes off and toss them to the side.
Whitaker takes this opportunity to go through his bedtime routine and tuck himself into bed, and you're glad you thought to blow up the air mattress before you all left.
After some convincing, and a bit of manhandling, Trinity manages to get the youngest into the bathroom to brush her teeth and change into comfier clothes. When Victoria makes her way back out, this time in sweatpants and a t-shirt that swallows her small frame, you help her settle onto the couch and pull a blanket over her. She buries her face into the pillow and murmurs a quiet, "Thank you," to the two of you, and you smooth her hair down in response.
Turning around to walk over towards the two women now standing in the kitchen, you jerk a thumb over your shoulder and ask, "Does anyone need to use the bathroom before I hop in the shower?"
Trinity's eyes widen like she just realized something and nods before making a beeline to the door and shutting it. You let out a soft laugh as you realize that you're left alone with Samira for the first time since you were interrupted earlier.
Watching her for a moment, you intend to crack a joke like you usually would, but the look on her face tells you not to. "So...how did you like the club?" The hesitation in your voice makes you internally cringe, you've never felt this awkward around her before but the tension between you was new, so you were navigating it as best you could.
The question catches Samira off guard and she flounders for a moment before managing to stammer out a response. "Yeah, the, uh...it was cool. Lots of people," she tries weakly and almost winces at her own words, a heavy atmosphere settling over the room.
At that moment, Trinity finally emerges from the bathroom, clutching her stomach as she grabs a water bottle from the bridge. "I had to piss so bad earlier and I forgot until you said something." That finally cracks both you and Samira, the two of you laughing at your friend's candor.
Trinity takes a deep breath, shaking her head playfully before joining in on the giggles. "TMI, I know, but I was gonna burst."
Samira waves a hand in front of herself, saying, "No, no, it's fine. I get it." She smiles warmly, some of the tension draining out of her shoulders, and a yawn comes out of nowhere, causing her to clap a hand over her mouth.
You let out an exaggerated gasp and point at her with mock outrage. "Are you tired, Samira?"
She shoots you a playful glare in return, rolling her eyes and telling you to shut up.
"Well, I happen to be pretty sleepy myself, so can I hop in the shower first?" Trinity looks between the two of you with a playful smile, and you narrow your eyes at her before nodding your head towards the hallway. "Try not to use up all the hot water. Again."
The short haired woman calls out, “Oh my god, that was one time, let it go!” as she shuts the door.
Samira catches on, a frown adorning her lips that she quickly dampens when you look her way. She hadn’t realized just how close you and Trinity were, and it throws her for a loop.
Smiling politely, she pulls out her phone and begins scrolling through social media, trying to push away the almost jealous feeling creeping into her mind. When it's clear that the other woman isn't going to make an effort to speak to you, you excuse yourself to the patio, grabbing a hoodie on your way.
As soon as you're gone, Samira cradles her head in her hands, frustrated for not being able to get a hold of herself and say something to you. Gaze dragging to the glass door you just exited, a multitude of scenarios float around her mind, and none of them are something she wants to think about at the moment.
Trinity reemerges from the bathroom while the curly haired woman is still sitting at the kitchen table, looking spaced out and aggravated all at once. "Shower's all yours if you want it."
Brown eyes trail up to meet her friend's, and she forces out a smile and a quiet thanks before rising from her seat and trudging over to the hallway, her peripheral vision catching how Trinity opens the patio door and joins you outside.
When Samira finishes her shower, she walks out to see you and Trinity sitting at the kitchen table talking, and elects to head over to the patio instead of joining the two of you. The fresh air helps her clear her head a bit, and though she'd rather be having this internal battle by herself at home, she doesn't want to bail on the joint plans you've all made for the weekend.
You can't say it didn't make you a bit nervous that Samira chose not to hang out with you and Trinity, but you remind yourself that not everything is about you and that she could have a completely different reason for doing so. Looking around and realizing you're the last one left to wash up, you head to the bathroom with your towel in hand, ready to end the day and start anew in the morning.
Flashes of the night echo through your head as you pull your shirt over your head to get ready for your shower. The moment the water touches your skin, you close your eyes and try to focus solely on the heat running down your back, but the image of Samira avoiding your eyes and her lack of conversation flaunts itself over and over at the forefront of your mind. Frustrated, you turn the water as cold as it'll go.
Once you're done, you quickly dry off and get dressed, eager to get into bed and slip into unconsciousness. Slinging the towel over your shoulder, you swing open the door only to bump into the woman you couldn't stop thinking about.
You're caught off guard by the sudden impact, and your hand reflexively lands on her hip, both of you taking a moment to steady yourselves. Realizing how close your bodies are, you find your gaze being pulled down to her own, and your hand slips back to your side, the loss of contact causing her to shiver.
It's the first time you've been this close to her since outside the club, and you're struck by two things. The first being a scent coming off her skin, a subtle combination of the lotion she uses mixed with her own natural scent. The second being the look in her eyes.
"Sorry, I was about to knock and see if anyone was in there."
You take half a step back, clearing your throat and taking a moment to respond. "No worries, I was just finishing up." Your eyes stay on her a moment longer, taking in the way her shirt falls from her shoulders before moving to the small bit of exposed midriff, a light dusting of goosebumps appearing on her skin.
Reaching a hand out, you stop just short of her waist before slipping around her to head towards the kitchen, suddenly in need of water. You grab a glass but don't even bother filling it up before taking a long drink directly from the faucet, willing yourself to calm down. You've never felt this out of control around her before, but after blurring the boundaries earlier, you're not sure what to feel.
At the same moment, Samira locks herself in the bathroom, taking a deep breath as she grips the sinks with both hands. What is happening right now, she thinks to herself.
Despite her efforts to stay focused, her mind is racing. Everything today has been so confusing, and she can still feel where your hand was caressing her, a small shiver crawling down her spine and causing her to squeeze the sink harder.
She can't even remember what she came in here for, moving to sit on the toilet instead. When she exits the bathroom a few minutes later, her eyes have to adjust to the dim lighting of the living room, seeing you sitting on the couch scrolling on your phone. Seeing a lack of Trinity makes her assume the woman has already gone to bed, and she takes in the sight of a sleeping Victoria and Whitaker, a small smile spreading onto her face at seeing how surprisingly peaceful they look.
"Oh, you're done."
Standing up and meeting her halfway, you gesture behind you to where you were just seated. "I set up a blanket and pillow for you, there's extra in the basket on the other side of the couch if you need." Looking around, you tell her, "You know where to find the water and all that, but if you need anything else, just come in the room and wake me up, I'm a pretty heavy sleeper so it might take a couple tries."
She's struck by how casually you're able to act, and she tells herself that your ability to ignore the earlier awkwardness means that she should be able to do the same.
"Right. Okay, thanks." She nods, pulling her bottom lip into her mouth as she tries to find the words to apologize for her earlier awkwardness, but they don't come, so she only watches as you cross the room to close the curtains in front of the sliding door and walk towards your room before turning around.
"Good night, Samira. Sweet dreams."
A part of her wants to say something to make you stay, but she swallows that down before simply nodding.
"Night," she responds softly, her own words feeling foreign to her ears. With that, you give her a smile that makes her stomach flip and disappear into your room, closing the door behind you.
The moment you're gone, she lets out a breath she didn't know she was holding, and moves to flop face first into her designated pillow, causing Victoria to groan next to her. When the girl's snores become audible, Samira rolls onto her back, staring at the dark ceiling and willing for sleep to come rescue her.
The next morning, she wakes to the sound of crackling, eyes bleary as she raises a hand to rub the drowsiness from them. Smelling the distinct aroma of pancakes, she sits up, letting the blanket slip from her shoulders just as you turn around to begin placing plates on the kitchen table.
Eyes flicking up as you register movement from the living room, a bright smile overtakes your features, causing Samira to mirror it on instinct.
"Morning, sleepyhead."
The continuing ease of your demeanor from last night causes some of her lingering anxiety to fade, so she gives you a real smile as she stands up and pads over to the kitchen table. "Morning. Guess I was more tired than I thought.''
You point at the pancakes on the table, giving her a playful look in the process. "Grab some breakfast, it'll help you wake up."
"Right, let me brush my teeth first."
As Samira leaves to the bathroom, you hear your bedroom door open and a pair of footsteps thumping until they stop directly behind you and you feel a forehead press against the back of your neck.
"Please tell me you have headache medicine."
Turning to look over your shoulder, you catch a sliver of Trinity's hair and chuckle before facing to the stove. "Yeah, it should be in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom."
She lets out a low grunt but doesn't move from her current position, leaving you stuck in place as you continue cooking.
"Oh. Good morning, Trinity."
Your friend finally stands up and turns around to see Samira standing at the kitchen table, looking at the pair of you with a tight lipped smile, nothing like the one she had on a minute ago.
Trinity's eyebrow raises almost imperceptibly before smiling at the other woman warmly, observing the rigid way Samira's standing. She walks closer until she's a few feet away before telling her, "Morning. I hope you slept well."
Samira's smile becomes genuine as she seems to remember something, before taking a seat in the empty chair to the right of your designated one. "I did, thank you."
Whitaker and Javadi wake up soon after, and when Trinity returns, the four of them sit down to enjoy the fruit of your labor while you quickly wipe down the counter. As you take your seat next to Samira, you slide a mug in front of her before reaching out to grab a couple of pancakes for your own plate. "Your tea."
It takes her a second to realize you made her specific concoction in your own home, and her stomach flutters at the thought. You then tell everyone to dig in before the food gets cold, but as Samira does, she can only think of how since that morning last week, you began having the drink ready for her at the beginning of every shift without fail. And now you're doing the same outside of work.
Her heart palpitates at the possibilities.
Shaking her head to stop from overthinking it further, she tunes back into the conversation around her, looking at each of her friend's faces and reminding herself to enjoy the moment and the presence of her favorite people.
She slips into the discussion easily after that, Trinity and Whitaker teasing Victoria for her behavior the night before and the younger woman whining in embarrassment as you laugh and tell them to leave her alone. Soon enough, breakfast is wrapping up and everyone disperses to begin getting ready for the day.
As you head to your room, you see Samira out of the corner of your eye heading into the bathroom with a stack of clothes. When she emerges a few minutes later, she peeks into your room, looking around before turning towards the living room.
"You need something?"
"Oh, I was just, um, looking for Trinity."
"She just went down to grab something from her car, she should be back soon." You quirk an eyebrow at your friend, taking in the nervous look on her face and the way she fiddles with her thumb. "Everything okay?"
"Yeah! Nothing to worry about." Her smile doesn't reach her eyes, but you don't push any further.
Less than a minute later, the aforementioned woman walks through the front door and Samira makes a beeline for her.
"Hey, I know it's last minute, but would you...happen to have an extra outfit? All the ones I brought are pretty simple, I didn't realize everyone would be dressed so nice."
Trinity clutches both of Samira's hands in her own and squeezes her eyes shut before bowing her head and whispering something to herself. The curly haired woman stands there confused before her friend looks back up with a gleam in her eye and a huge grin.
"You have no idea how long I've waited for this day."
She drags Samira to your room, grabbing her luggage and rifling through her belongings. "I literally packed extra clothes for you and Javadi just in case."
Right then, you fail to stifle a giggle, and Samira feels her cheeks warm.
"Yes! This is perfect." Standing up and spinning around, Trinity holds up two pieces of pink fabric, closing one eye as she pictures how it will look together. "Okay, try this on and let me know if you like it."
Samira slowly makes her way to the bathroom before seeing that the door is closed and purses her lips before moving off to the side to wait.
"Dennis just went in, he said he might be a while," Victoria calls from the living room.
"Here, you can change in here, we'll leave." You move from your spot by the nightstand and head towards the door, grabbing Trinity who shoots the other woman an encouraging smile and a thumbs up on the way.
After slipping the borrowed clothes on, Samira stands in front of the long mirror in your bedroom, adjusting the strap of her top and taking a deep breath to steady herself. The fabric feels soft and almost intimate on her skin, clinging to her form in a way she's unaccustomed to. A wave of self-consciousness washes over her, and she nervously heads out to the living room to get the others’ opinion on her outfit.
"Shit."
Your low curse goes unnoticed by her, but she looks up from fiddling with her waistband to see the four people in the living room staring at her with wide eyes. She lets out a nervous laugh and rubs the back of her neck. "Too much?"
Trinity and Victoria's jaws hang open for a few seconds, before they're both shaking their heads vehemently.
"That color is perfect on you." Trinity finally responds, beaming with pride and her comment snaps you out of your stupor.
Whitaker and Victoria both compliment her immediately after, smiling at the change in her usual look before Samira's eyes land on you.
"You look...really nice."
Despite the overwhelming support of the others, it's your words that cause a warm fuzzy feeling to spread through her stomach. She bites her lip and looks down, mumbling a shy 'thank you' before her head shoots up as she tries to act unaffected.
"We should head out, the picnic is gonna fill up pretty fast and I wanna get a good spot," Trinity announces to the group, standing from the couch and raising her eyebrows at you before discreetly nodding her head in Samira's direction, causing you to roll your eyes.
Gathering your supplies by the door, you walk out one by one and make your way out of the building before heading down the sidewalk towards the park. Luckily, the first of today's events was within walking distance of your place, which saved you time trying to find parking.
Upon arriving, your group sets up an ample amount of space, laying down blankets and pulling out the food you prepared. As the others go about setting up, Samira stands to the side unsure of how to help with the process, watching as the rest of you move around, laughing and chatting.
She feels Trinity poke her in the side playfully, causing her to jump and turn. Following her line of sight, Samira's gaze lands on you and Trinity clears her throat. "Maybe you should go lend a hand."
She hesitates for a moment, wondering if you'll actually want her help, but with another nudge from her friend, she finally decides to step up and approach. "Hey, need any help with anything?"
Looking up towards the sun, you squint a bit before smiling and waving Samira closer. "Yeah, you wanna help me set up the little tent?"
Samira breathes a sigh of relief, always worried about going where she's not wanted but happy to be of assistance. "Sure thing."
You both crouch down next to the picnic spot and begin unloading a small tent and a couple of poles. Samira looks around the area, noting the number of people also beginning to settle in for the festivities. A few minutes pass in comfortable silence as the two of you construct your little makeshift shelter, and you miss the way the brunette steals glances at you every so often.
Soon, all the materials have been put in place and the two of you crawl out of the front, surveying your work. "Looks pretty good, huh?" You sit back on the edge of the blanket and take in the atmosphere surrounding you. People are beginning to set up blankets closer to the stage, music wafts down the sidewalk from people's speakers, and the late spring breeze fills the air.
The rest of your group is done setting up, so you all take a seat and begin enjoying the festivities, conversing amongst yourselves. A couple of hours later when the park is almost completely packed, a group sets up in the only empty space beside yours, and you don't pay them any attention until you happen to be looking around and catch one of their eyes.
It's then that Samira takes notices, a look of confusion crossing her features before the woman closest to you leans over and begins saying something. Victoria nudges Whitaker lightly, laughing into her hand as he simply raises his eyebrows, looking over at Trinity, who's cautiously observing Samira.
You entertain the woman for a bit, eventually shaking her hand when she raises it in your direction, and she introduces you to her group as the rest of them all wave and begin including you in their conversation.
The change in your focus causes Samira's stomach to clench, and she tries to distract herself, but she can't help glancing over, watching as you chat with the woman and her group. She sees your easy smile, the way your eyes crinkle at the edges, and wishes that that was her being bathed in your attention, having a conversation that's making you laugh. She can't help but notice how effortlessly comfortable you are, the natural way you interact with these strangers, the charming way your body leans forward when speaking to others.
Soon after, you turn around to your friends and begin introducing them, going one by one until you get to Samira, who stiffly waves at the group, causing Trinity to stifle a laugh. The other women return her greeting, before one of them speaks up, eyeing you all individually. "Wow, I love your guys' vibe. Are you all friends from school or...?"
Her eyes bounce around to each of you before landing on Trinity, a questioning look on her face. Trinity takes the cue and responds, "Actually, we met through work."
"That's cool, what do you guys do?" Another voice pipes up, belonging to the woman who's been flirting with you. She looks to you expectantly, the corners of her mouth lifting.
"We're all doctors. Emergency medicine," Samira interjects matter-of-factly, brushing an invisible crumb off of her pants.
"Well, technically, not all—" Whitaker starts explaining but is quickly cut off with an uncharacteristic glare from Samira and sheepishly smiles instead.
One of the girls’ eyebrows raise at the revelation, while the flirty one turns her head over to look at you with new interest. "Wow, so we're in the company of heroes," she smiles, a coy edge to her tone.
"I don't know if I'd use that word exactly, but we do what we can," you chuckle.
The woman's eyes light up. "Modest, too. That's a good look on you." The others around her laugh loudly, and Trinity tries to hide her amusement by coughing into her hand.
Shaking your head at the compliment, you grab the water next to you and take a sip to divert the focus away from yourself. "So what do you guys do?"
They begin explaining, but Samira tunes them out, choosing instead to stand up while adjusting her pants. "I'm gonna go do a lap. I'll be back."
That catches your attention and you immediately look up from your conversation. "Alone? I can go with you."
"No, it's fine, you’re busy." She shoots you a closed mouth smile before turning to Victoria. "You wanna come?"
Victoria nods in relief before standing up, shaking her legs and groaning slightly as she follows after her friend. As they walk away, the woman who's been flirting with you speaks up. "Sorry if this is too forward, but, are all of you guys single?"
You're still watching Samira walk further and further away when Trinity clears her throat and brings your attention back to the conversation.
"Oh! Um, I am, and he is," you point to Whitaker, "and so is our friend with the curly hair. The other two are seeing someone."
"That's cool, most of our group is too, this is the first time in a while we've all been able to go out together."
You can tell the girl is trying not to be so obvious anymore, but you entertain her to try and stop from thinking about what Samira's doing. "Nice! What else do you guys have planned for this weekend?"
One of the other girls says that they're thinking about going to a specific club, the same one that your friends had planned on for tonight.
"That's funny, that's where we wanted to go later," Whitaker pipes up, and he's immediately pinched by Trinity, who pretends like nothing just happened.
The girl that had been talking to you lets out an excited squeal, gently placing a hand on your arm. "Oh my god, really? This is meant to be, we should totally meet up!" Her friends all nod in agreement, and she looks at you with hopeful eyes.
You look over to Trinity to gauge her reaction, but she just shrugs nonchalantly. Turning back towards the other group, you nod. "Yeah, that could be fun."
"Great! Let me get your Instagram so we can stay in contact for later."
"Yeah, sounds good." The two of you trade handles, and she beams as your friends intermingle and chat for a while.
Eventually, she and her group begin gathering their things and move to leave, the woman cheerily calling out, "It was nice to meet everyone, hopefully we'll see you guys tonight!"
After waving goodbye, Trinity quickly turns toward you. "What was that? You're actually gonna meet up with that girl?"
You shrug nonchalantly, popping a grape from the fruit salad into your mouth before replying. "What was I supposed to do, say no? I didn't wanna be rude," you chuckle, "and she seems harmless enough."
Trinity exhales through pursed lips before placing her hands behind her and letting her head drop back to soak up some sun. "Can't wait what your girl is gonna say when she finds out."
"You're still on that?" you sigh, throwing a piece of strawberry in her direction.
Her head snaps up when she feels something bounce off her chest, looking around until she identifies the culprit. Snagging it off of her leg, she chucks it at you before responding. "I'm just saying dude, I wouldn't rule it out. Anything is possible."
"Easy to say when a hot attending flirts with you on your first day."
Trinity beams at that, sighing contentedly. "Damn, I did manage that, huh?"
You shake your head at her, a small grin appearing as you take in the smug expression on her face. "Yeah. The rest of us don't have it so good."
"What can I say? I'm irresistible," she smirks, doing a quick hair flip for emphasis. "Seriously though, you can't deny the chemistry between you two. No matter how much you guys try to act like it's not there, it's obvious to the rest of us."
Whitaker finally chimes in from his place on the ground, eyes closed. "Yeah, it's not very subtle."
Trinity waves her hand in the man's direction. "Hello! Even Huckleberry can see it."
You groan and run a hand over your face, taking a deep breath. "Look, I'm not saying you guys are liars or anything, but as far as we all know, she's straight so I'm not gonna hope for any kind of miracle. I'm too old for that shit."
Trinity gives you a sympathetic smile, reaching out to pat your knee. "Fair, fair. All I'm saying is to keep an open mind. You only live once."
Whitaker chooses then to chime in, sitting up and grinning at you. "And you've got quite a few years left, so what's the rush anyway?"
Ripping a blade of grass up from the ground next to you, you toss it at nothing in particular, resigning from the conversation before you can get your hopes up. "Whatever."
As if you summoned her, Samira walks back up to the group with Victoria in tow.
The two women sit back down, and it's obvious Samira's a bit flushed from the heat, her chest heaving just slightly. Victoria grabs a bottle of water, taking a grateful sip after the walk, before turning to Trinity and raising an eyebrow. "Did that group from earlier leave?"
"Yeah, like maybe five minutes ago," Trinity's face betrays nothing as she answers the question, her gaze shifting over to you before looking towards your friend. "But it turns out they're going to the same club we are later."
Samira's head whips up, her gaze landing on Trinity with a slightly accusatory look in her eyes. "You guys told them about that?"
The short haired woman purses her lips before nudging Whitaker's foot with her own. "He did, actually."
"It just kinda slipped out," he defends, slouching a bit and rubbing a hand on the back of his neck.
Samira bites the inside of her cheek and swallows a sigh, knowing she could never truly be upset at the man. "Well, I guess we have that to look forward to, then..."
Noticing the slight tension, Victoria chimes in. "Hey, there's no guarantee that we'll even see them, right? It's a big club."
She opens her mouth to speak again but stops as Samira cuts her off. "Yeah, and even if we do, it's not like we're obligated to interact with them." The woman then shrugs and looks around to play off her discomfort, failing to notice the way you and Trinity make tense eye contact.
The silence that follows is thick with uncertainty, causing Whitaker to clear his throat and turn to you. "I don't think it would hurt to say hi if we do, though. Right?"
Everyone else follows suit and suddenly there’s four pairs of expectant eyes waiting for a response, and you let out a sigh. "I mean, I don't see the harm if we happen to run into them. We're all there to have fun, right?"
That seems to ease the slight tension that had built, your friends going back to discussing the night ahead, but you're stuck in your head thinking about how to navigate all the possibilities that could occur with it.
After a couple more hours, you collectively decide it's time to wrap up and head back to your apartment to wind down and get ready for the night ahead. Moving a bit slower than when you arrived, eventually you're all back in your living room, relaxing on the couch while a rerun of a 90's sitcom drones on in the background.
You nod off without realizing, startling yourself awake and causing your friends to laugh at you before you shake your head and stand up from the couch, groaning the whole way. "Okay, we gotta start moving or I'm gonna knock out for real."
Victoria lets out a loud yawn as she sits up, stretching her arms over her head before rolling onto her stomach and burying her head in her favorite throw pillow. "Can we just stay in for the night? I'm already so tired."
A chorus of "no"s and "get your ass up" follows her statement, and she whines in protest, the sound muffled by the pillow. Trinity stands up in response, placing her hands on her hips and staring daggers down at her friend. "Get the hell up, Javadi, no one told you go that hard last night, come on."
She whines one final time before standing up and heading towards the bathroom, Trinity trailing behind and making sure she doesn't take forever. Turning around, you see your other two friends laying in various positions on the couch, both of them on their phones. "I think I'm gonna change into something else, I'll be back."
You don't catch the way Samira stares after you until you disappear into your room, eyes gazing at your door long after it's closed.
Rifling through your closet, you decide on something a bit dressier, slightly nervous about meeting up with the girl from the picnic for reasons you can't explain.
Reemerging into the living room a few minutes later, you see that Whitaker and Victoria are now sitting on the couch while the remaining women are nowhere to be found.
"Where's the other two?"
"Bathroom. Trinity's doing Samira's makeup," Whitaker explains before pouring the crumbs of the chip bag into his waiting mouth.
You nod and cross the living room to sit on the couch next to them, mindlessly scrolling on your phone. As you're laughing at a video of someone falling down stairs, the bathroom door opens and your eyes dart up to look.
Trinity steps out first, followed by Samira, and you can't help but notice how different she looks. Her curls are even shiner and more defined, and her eyes are accentuated with a bit of black eyeliner, bringing out their depth. The pink outfit from earlier is replaced with a sleek, flowy black and green dress, drawing your eyes down and then back up. It ends mid-thigh, showcasing her long, lean legs, and her gut twists as she sees you ogling.
The two of you stare at each other for a beat before Trinity begins slow clapping and wipes a nonexistent tear from her eye. "Two different looks in one day, I'm so proud of myself."
You force yourself to look away, cheeks heating up as you nod and clear your throat. "Yeah, it's definitely...different."
"Now that you're done, can I use the bathroom? I've been holding it this whole time," Whitaker asks, and the two women immediately separate to leave room for him to speed past and shut the door.
Victoria springs up from the couch to get a closer look at Samira's makeup, ooh-ing and ahh-ing before turning to Trinity with an excited look. "Do you think you can touch up mine too? The eyeliner looks so pretty."
Trinity presses a hand to her chest and waves the woman over with the other as she replies, "Of course, Crash, get in here," clutching her makeup bag and dragging the younger woman into your room, leaving you and Samira alone.
Without the presence of the other two, a bit of the tension returns, a slightly awkward silence descending upon the space. You fidget in your spot, and Samira stands with her weight on one foot, looking out the window while drumming her fingers against her thigh to the beat of the faint pop song flowing through your speakers.
Choosing to break the stalemate, you stand up and walk over to the side of the coffee table closest to her, grabbing your glass from earlier and taking a sip before turning to the other woman. "That's a really good color on you, is that Trinity's too?"
Samira looks down, running a hand over the fabric to smooth it down, as if she's forgotten what she's wearing. "Huh? Oh, uh, yeah. She somehow has a Narnia sized closet in her suitcase."
The joke makes you chuckle, intentional or not, and you can feel the friction between you begin to fizzle out, Samira joining in on the laugh. You tease her for the reference as you normally would, and she throws a light jab back, the two of you falling back into your usual state of existence. By the time the rest of your friends return from their respective ventures, you and Samira are on the couch cackling away like nothing had happened, much to the relief of the three people standing in front of you.
"So...baddie baddie shot o' clock?" Trinity asks with a grin, pointing to you both. Without waiting for an answer, the short haired woman grabs the bottle from the day before out of the fridge and begins pouring a decent sized amount for all of you. Despite Victoria's attempt to protest, you all down the first one with little issue, Trinity already starting the second round.
You all spend the next hour joking with each other, the ambience light and full of laughter, and you think that this might be the happiest you've ever been.
"Wait, we have to take a picture to send to Mel!" Samira exclaims, pulling out her phone and trying to position the front camera in a way that will capture everyone.
Once she has it, she tells everyone to squeeze in and smile, and without hesitation, you prop your chin on her shoulder from behind and throw an arm around her waist, using the other to give a peace sign while grinning the entire time. The other three follow suit and pile in, smiling and waving in Whitaker's case, before Samira sends the photo off in your group chat and places her phone on the table.
You don't budge from your current position, opting to continue the conversation while wrapped around Samira, and she makes no move to push you away. A couple of minutes later, her phone begins to ring and when she picks it up to see who it could be, you see Mel's contact photo on the screen initiating a video call, squealing as Samira answers. "Hi King, we miss you!"
"Hi guys, I miss you all too!" Your blonde friend waves at the camera and Samira passes it around so everyone can say their individual hellos before it gets back to her.
"Everyone looks so nice, are you still going out to that club tonight?"
"Yeah, we're gonna head out in a few but we're so happy you called, we can't wait to see you tomorrow," the woman in front of you explains, beaming at the screen while you chuckle from your place on her shoulder.
The conversation ensues for a bit longer, Mel even handing the phone to Becca so you can all say hi to her before the blonde bids goodnight and reminds everyone to hydrate in between drinks.
Victoria speaks up after letting out a heavy sigh, "We should probably head out so we don't get there too late, yeah?"
A chorus of agreements echo around the room before each one of you begin moving, shoes getting slipped on, purses getting grabbed, and one more shot being poured. Samira picks her glass up while Trinity sets up yours, handing it to you with a smirk before all of you meet in an effortless cheer. Knocking it back, the warmth of the liquor slides down your throat before settling in your stomach, and the group files out of the door, the beginnings of another memorable night coming into focus.
You arrive at the venue quickly, thanking the driver before closing the door and turning towards the entrance, Samira slipping her hand into yours and tugging you towards your friends. Once in line, Trinity leaves to see if she can expedite your entry yet again, and the woman next to you shivers just enough to grab your attention.
"The liquor blanket not doing its job?" You chuckle, rubbing one of her arms while her other hand does the same.
"Not enough, I guess." She attempts to play it off, but you can tell she's genuinely cold, so you step closer and tuck her into your side while moving your hand to her back, hoping that will help.
Samira immediately relaxes as your body heat seeps through her dress, and she lets out a content sigh, laying her head on your shoulder. You continue like that until Trinity returns, informing your group that she has successfully finessed your way to the front of the line and into the venue. Your group cheers before heading through the entrance, music flooding your eardrums and bodies already beginning to move to the beat.
After adjusting to the dark atmosphere, you all head to the bathroom, wanting to take advantage before the line gets out of control. When you're next, Samira leans in to your ear, her alcohol-induced courage already kicking in. "I wanna dance," she shouts over the music.
You look over to see her face lit up from the neon wall lights, the sparkle in her eyes and carefree expression making your heart jump. "Yeah?" You manage to yell back, your dangling hand grazing her own.
Samira takes a step closer to you, lips nearly touching your skin. "Yeah. Come with me?"
You give a slight nod, and she clutches your hand, pulling you through the sea of people towards the dance floor before you can say anything to your other friends.
The club is packed, and the song becomes clearer the deeper you enter, but Samira pulls you into the middle of the crowd and starts to move her body to the beat. You follow her lead, letting the music take over your mind, the alcohol making your movements extra fluid.
The two of you dance in sync, mere inches apart, keeping up with the other's movements and feeding off each other's energy. A bead of sweat begins to run down your neck, and your eyes wander over Samira once more, gaze sweeping over her face, down to her hips, and finally landing on the curve where her thigh meets her torso, the way the dress clings to her skin making her look even more enticing.
Samira catches your stare and sees the way your pupils grow while your bottom lip is trapped between your teeth, feeling a shiver run down her spine. Emboldened by the attention — and the alcohol — she moves even closer, only a whisper away. She's sure you can feel the heat from her skin as she presses her body into you, moving in time with the beat.
Without warning, she turns to lean back into your chest, and her breath hitches, the feeling of you pressed so close intoxicating in a way liquor couldn't hope to compare. She feels her hips being pulled in time with yours, and her mind slows to a stop from the rush of sensations coursing through her body, eyes closed as she lets herself go completely.
Staying that way for what feels like an eternity, everything disappears when she spins around to face you again, arms immediately wrapping around your neck and bringing you closer. Moving together, you're lost in your own little world, the sounds and people around you fading to a faint hum. Your hands come up to rest on her waist, keeping her locked against your body. A wave of desire washes over you as you register the way her eyes are blown out, mouth slightly parted as she looks at you through dark lashes.
She feels electric under your touch, skin warming where your fingers are pressing into her sides, and leans into you on instinct. Feeling her heart pounding in her chest, the noise of the club buzzes in the background as the heat of your skin sticks against her own. The feel of your hands on her and the adrenaline coursing through her veins drown out every thought except for the one screaming at her to get closer. So she gives in.
Leaning in until your noses are touching, breath mingling together in the limited space between you, she runs a velvety hand over the nape of your neck and your eyes flutter shut. As her gaze roams your face and she decides to finally close the gap and fulfill her deepest desire, she sees something over your shoulder that stops her in her tracks.
A dumbfounded Whitaker is standing less than a yard away, two drinks in hand as he scrambles to turn around and bumps into Trinity and Victoria behind him.
"Whoa, what the hell, Huckleberry, be careful!"
"Um, I just—" His wide eyes flit around the room nervously and that's when the other two women see what caused his reaction.
Samira then jerks away from you, causing your eyes to snap open in confusion as you take in the flustered look on her face.
"I— I have to go to the bathroom, I'll be right back." Weaving through the crowd before you can register what just happened, Samira disappears and everyone else is by your side in a heartbeat.
"Was that what it looked like?"
You turn to Trinity in shock when you realize they must've seen you two, running a hand over your face in frustration.
"I'll go check on her," Victoria declares, slipping past and heading in the direction of the bathroom.
"I texted to see where you guys went, I would've kept us at the bar if I had known," the green eyed woman explains, and you pull your phone out to see that you indeed had an unread message. Noticing that the notification above Trinity's is an Instagram DM from the girl at the picnic earlier, you decide to ignore it until your group leaves and pretend you saw it too late. Instead, by a stroke of horrible luck, someone walking behind you bumps your hand and you accidentally tap on it, opening the thread.
"Fuck me."
Debating on what to do now that she'll be able to see you read her message, you decide to be truthful and tell her you're here, not wanting to lie in case you run into her later. She responds before you can close out of the app, letting you know she’s walking in with her friends, so you simply double tap the message and shove your phone back in your pocket.
"What was that about?" Trinity nods toward your phone after seeing the look on your face.
"The girl from earlier is here and wants to meet up." Your tone is clearly exasperated, and your friend winces as she tries to think of how to help. "What do you wanna do?"
Squeezing your eyes shut for a moment, you attempt to gain control of your spiraling emotions. "I don't even know at this point, this is so fucked, dude."
As you try to process everything that's happened in the last few minutes, Whitaker tries to provide some guidance. "She seems cool, why not use this as a distraction?"
You huff out a breath, staring him down in disbelief before reminding yourself that he's well-intentioned and only trying to help. "Dennis, normally I would, but I was literally about to kiss one of my closest friends, who just so happens to be straight, this girl is the last person I want to see right now."
As if the universe decided to open floodgates of hell just for you, you see a waving hand above the crowd, eyes flicking up to catch the gaze of the exact person you were hoping to avoid.
"Hi! I didn't think I'd run into you so fast!"
Plastering the best fake smile you can manage at the moment, the girl from earlier closes the distance and gives you a hug, surprising you before you reluctantly return the gesture. Pulling back, she signals behind her as the rest of her group walks up.
"You remember my friends!"
"Yeah, it's good to see you guys again." Giving them a curt nod, they begin a conversation that you want desperately to escape, your eyes scanning the crowd for one specific woman. Seemingly hours later, you finally catch a glimpse of the curly hair you’ve been searching for.
All smiles and dragging a concerned looking Victoria behind her, Samira finally makes an appearance, and you're immediately concerned.
"Oh my gosh, hi!" She goes up to each person in the group and introduces herself again, the complete opposite of her reaction earlier, and you look at your younger friend with a worried expression.
Victoria walks over until she’s close enough to whisper in your ear. "She had a moment in the bathroom, not exactly crying, just…in shock, I guess? Then she said she wanted a drink, but I lost her on the way to the bar and she was downing shots by the time I finally found her.”
Glancing back at Samira, she looks elated from this view, but you know better. She barely said two words to these people earlier, and suddenly she was best friends with all of them? This wasn’t going to end well.
"Jesus," you exclaim. You run a hand over your neck, frustration bubbling up. "She's gonna drink herself into a coma because she almost kissed me."
Victoria rubs her eyebrows helplessly, eyes flickering back to the group where the picnic girl is still talking to Samira and now Whitaker. "I tried to stop her, but she's quick when she wants to be."
Handing two cups of water to you, she adds, "I managed to grab these, she wouldn't take them from me but maybe you'll have better luck."
"I'll give it a try," you say grimly, taking the drinks from her. You step over to the edge of the circle, where Whitaker is now taking a selfie with the other group of girls and a grinning Samira. You call her name and she looks over, face lighting up.
"Hi!" She leaves the cluster to come stand in front of you, swaying on her feet. "What're you doing?"
"I thought you might want some water," you reply simply, not wanting to risk saying too much and causing her to react in front of everyone.
She cocks her head curiously, studying you intently, but the look fades just as quickly as it arrived. She grabs the waters from your grip and chugs the first one with ease, wiping her mouth before raising the second. "Thanks, I was feeling a little dehydrated." Her words are slightly slurred, and the look in her eyes with her overly perky attitude have you on edge.
"You doing okay? Victoria said you had a few more shots while you guys were gone." You're hoping against all odds she'll say she wants to leave, but luck is not on your side tonight.
She shakes her head vehemently, waving off your worries. "No, I'm fine. Just wanted to get my buzz back." When she smiles widely at you, your heart drops, hoping you won't have to drag her out of here and make a fool out of both of you.
"Promise?" You try to keep the doubt out of your voice, but your worry is obvious. “I just don’t want you to do something you’ll regret in the morning.”
She then puts her hands on your shoulders and leans forward, close enough that you can smell the alcohol on her breath. "Don't worry," she reassures you, nose scrunching up. "It's too late for that." She pats your cheek with a little too much force before walking back towards the group, leaving you speechless.
Trinity comes to your side, a solemn expression covering her features. "This went sideways fast," she mutters, watching the other group laugh hysterically at something Samira said.
At that moment, she leads them all further into the crowd as a song she loves comes on, raising her hands in the air and whooping loud enough to hear over the music. You follow right behind, wanting to keep as close an eye on her as possible without letting her know you are. Everything seems to be going as well as it can for a while, but then some man you've never seen before sidles up behind Samira, and you're instantly on edge.
You push your way over until you can see that he has a hand on her waist and it’s rapidly lowering. Rushing up to them, you immediately remove the offending limb away, moving Samira behind you as the man sizes you up. "We got a problem?"
"Yeah, you need to keep your hands to yourself." You can feel your heart rate increasing, hands beginning to shake as you clench them into fists, already preparing for the worst case scenario.
He looks you up and down, clearly undaunted by your hostile stance. "Or what?"
His cocky response brings all attention to your group, the members of his crew approaching to stand by his side and see what all the commotion is, trying to convince him to let it go once they realize what happened.
Whitaker sees the situation escalating and gets between you, trying to diffuse the tension. “Dude, just leave. There’s no need for this right now.”
The guy ignores him, eyes locked on you as he assesses the circumstances. “I don’t think you understand. I asked what you were gonna do if I didn’t keep my hands off her, and you never answered.”
"Break your fucking jaw, that's what. Now go listen to your friends and get the fuck out of here."
He huffs out a laugh, pivoting to walk away, and you turn to the side to say something to Trinity when you suddenly feel a searing hot pain on the side of your face, squeezing your eyes shut as an intense throbbing begins to bloom behind your eye.
Stumbling back, you finally open your eyelids to see the man in front of you shaking his hand, a smug look on face as his friends stand there frozen. Trinity immediately jumps in, shoving him backwards as you regain your balance. Feeling a hand on your arm trying to pull you backwards, you shrug it off before rushing forward and pushing past your friend, hooking a clenched first upwards and connecting with your assailant’s nose, hearing a satisfying crack and subsequent cry fall from his mouth.
He collapses onto the ground, clutching his face as a stream of red begins to trickle between his fingers. "You bitch, you broke my nose!"
You smirk as you stand above him, savoring the sight of an asshole like him receiving the consequences of his actions. "It’s not your jaw but that works for me."
The man's friends pick him up and begin dragging him away, one of them apologizing for his actions before disappearing into the crowd.
"Okay, we need to get the hell out of here before security shows up, come on," you hear Trinity speak into your ear, and you suddenly remember where you are, the grin slipping off of your face as you look around in panic. "Where's Samira?"
"She's with Javadi and Whitaker, they're probably outside by now, let's go meet them."
The two of you quickly make your way outside, the brisk night air instantly cooling you down, but you wince when you go to wipe your temple and make contact with your eye socket.
"Oh my god, are you okay?!"
Two warm hands cup each of your cheeks, and you flinch at the pressure before opening your eyes to see a wide brown pair looking back at you.
"I'm fine, he barely made contact." Your attempt to brush Samira off is futile, and when you remove her hands from your face, she clutches the one you just punched that man with and begins examining as best she can in her drunken state.
"And your hand! What were you thinking, we're doctors, these are literally our most important tools!"
"I'm fine," you emphasize, Victoria coming up to the pair of you and looking around nervously. "Um, guys, I think we should get out of here, what if someone called the cops? Or that guy comes back and he still wants to fight you?"
Whitaker chimes in as well, putting a hand on your shoulder. "Yeah, I'm with her on this one, it's probably best if we get out of here." He casts a cursory glance around the area, keeping an eye out for potential threats.
Samira's fingers are skimming over your already-bruising knuckles, a crease forming between her brow as she takes in your injuries with clear concern.
"Fine, let's walk to the next block and call a car from there," you concede. The adrenaline is still pumping through your body for the moment, but you know you'll be hurting very soon.
Your driver arrives quickly, and when you all pile in, Samira makes sure to sit right beside you, squeezing both of your cheeks in one hand and turning your head every which way.
"Ow. That hurts."
"Well, you should've thought of that before starting a fight!"
"I didn't start shit, that asshole hit me first!" Trinity shushes you, and you realize how much your voice was raising in volume. Meeting the driver's eye in the rearview mirror and mumbling out an apology, you turn back to Samira to continue defending yourself. "He was being creepy as fuck and he had his hands all over you, obviously I was gonna step in."
"Did you ever stop to think that I had it handled?" Samira tells you in a stern tone like she was scolding a child.
You scoff, briefly looking out the window before resuming eye contact. "Do you even realize how drunk you are? I wasn't gonna leave that up to you, I'm sorry."
That seems to get through to her for a second before she shakes her head, trying to compose herself and come up with a coherent response. "You need to be more careful, he could have seriously hurt you. I think we should take you to the hospital and get you looked at."
You look at her in confusion before vigorously shaking your head. "What, so Ellis or Shen or someone can see me like this? Absolutely not, there’s four other doctors in this car who can check me out."
Samira rolls her eyes at your stubbornness, leaning back in her seat and shutting her eyelids as she lets out an exaggerated sigh. Trinity catches your attention and nods her head at Samira before raising her eyebrows, and you let out a quick huff before flipping her off and laying your head against the window, watching the city lights pass you by.
Victoria and Whitaker try to keep the conversation lighthearted during the rest of the ride, but the tension is palpable as you all finish the drive back to your place.
Once the car pulls up to your building, you all make your way out, with Samira sticking closely by your side and Whitaker on the other. Trinity and Victoria walk a little ahead of your group, and you can see them glancing over their shoulders every few seconds.
Now that you're out of immediate danger and the worry has worn off, the alcohol regains control of Samira and she stumbles on the walk to your front door, causing you to throw an arm around her waist to keep her from falling.
Once you hand Victoria your keys and she unlocks your apartment, you're quick to sit the drunk woman on the couch and move to grab her a glass of water when Trinity stops you. "Let Javadi handle that, I wanna check your eye out and make sure it's okay."
With a groan, you still comply, plopping down onto a kitchen chair while your short haired friend grabs your first aid kit, slipping on a pair of medical gloves and pulling out a penlight. “Well, it’s bad, but it definitely could’ve been worse.”
“Yeah, he hits like a bitch.” You groan out, annoyed that the man managed to catch you by surprise.
Trinity laughs, and after checking your pupil response and feeling around your orbital socket, she decides you're cleared of any major trauma and releases you to start getting ready for bed.
"Thank fuck, I’m exhausted," you reply tiredly, standing up and slowly making your way over to the bathroom. As soon as the light flips on, you're met with your battered reflection and flinch at the sight of your bruised eye socket, swelling already setting in. Through the door, you hear Trinity whispering and Samira mumbling out a response, causing you to sigh.
After washing your face as gingerly as possible, you brush your teeth with haste and slip into your room to change into a pair of old sweats and a t-shirt before heading back out into the living room. Samira is still sitting on the couch, a pillow now behind her head, and she grins when she sees you emerging. "Come here," she slurs, waving you over to sit next to her.
You groan and head over to the couch, maneuvering around a sleeping Victoria and Whitaker, sitting next to her and slouching forward with your elbows on your knees. "Yeah?"
The woman pats her legs, and you follow her silent demand, laying your head in her lap. She begins running her fingers over your scalp, massaging it every few seconds and causing your eyes to flutter shut, a blissful sigh escaping your parted lips. She does this for several minutes, and eventually one of her hands moves from your head and starts tracing the bruise under your eye. "Does it hurt?" She asks softly.
"Uh...it’s pretty sore," you admit, slowly opening your eyes to find her staring down at you in concern. The hand on your face moves to your cheek before gently grazing your jaw. “You have a scratch too,” she says, barely above a whisper, her other hand continuing to run over your scalp.
You bring your hand up to feel where she was talking about, indeed finding a scratch right where described. You hiss upon accidentally pushing it too hard, and Samira takes your hand in hers, running a thumb over your knuckles. "That needs some ointment, I think I have some arnica in my bag."
"Yeah, okay," you acquiesce, giving in as you sit up and she pats your shoulder as if asking you to stay put.
She returns with the gel and a bandage, sitting back down next to you and beginning to unscrew the jar. She gently lifts your chin to get a look at your injury, and a chill races down your spine when her other hand begins to apply the gel to your face.
"Hold still," she murmurs, the pad of her thumb gliding over the cut, leaving a thin line of cooling gel in its wake. You stay as still as possible, trying to ignore the goosebumps raised on your skin. Her other hand grips your jaw once again, tilting it back to assess her work. Once she deems it satisfactory, she begins to apply the bandage to your face, the touch of her fingers on your skin feeling better than the actual medicine.
When she leaves to put the ointment away, you pull out your phone to see her handiwork in your front camera, not fully trusting that she managed to do a professional job in her current state, but not wanting to say anything to her directly.
After a minute, she returns to your side, flopping back down to her spot on the couch and pulling you back into your previous position, her hand immediately resuming its earlier ministrations. You lay there in silence without complaint, simply enjoying the sensations created by her touch. In the middle of your silent bliss, Samira asks "Are you mad?" from her place above.
Squinting to look up at her, you take in the slight pout on her lips and shove down the urge to run your knuckles along it. "Why would I be mad?"
She shrugs her shoulders slightly, moving her hand from your head to the couch. "You got injured because of me, and I was ignoring you before that." The guilt is evident in her voice, and the way she won't meet your gaze makes it even worse.
"Whoa, Samira. This wasn't your fault at all, that guy was being an asshole and trying to take advantage of the fact that you were drunk, don't apologize for that."
The other woman looks away in the middle of you talking, but when she looks back, her eyes are glossy with unshed tears, and you do your best to sit up quickly, body aches slowing you down.
"I just—" she hiccups, "It was so scary seeing him attack you like that, if something more serious had happened to you, I would never forgive myself."
Tears begin running down her face now, and you don't hesitate to pull her into a hug, sighing when she immediately curls into you and begins sniffling into your neck. You feel her tears soaking your shirt, and your heart splits all over again. Knowing how sensitive and empathetic Samira is, this will loom over her for a while, and that thought alone makes your chest ache.
Once her breathing evens out and you hear soft snores coming from below, you pull back to see the woman in your arms fast asleep, having finally succumbed to the alcohol and her exhaustion.
Laying her down as gently as possible, you cover her with a blanket and turn the lamp in the corner off, escaping into your room and quietly shutting the door.
"She okay?"
Seeing Trinity look up at you from where she's lying in bed on her phone, you gingerly nod, letting out a long sigh as you do. "She was feeling guilty about what happened at the club, but she's asleep now."
Trinity puts her phone down, giving you a sympathetic look. "That's rough. It's not her fault and I'm sure she knows that, but the girl's heart is so big it's going to take her a while to forgive herself."
You sit down on the edge of your bed and run your hands over your face, groaning at the prospect of dealing with the sober repercussions of this in the morning.
"Yeah. That's what I'm worried about." Sliding under the covers, you roll onto your side facing away from Trinity, signaling that you were done with the conversation.
Your friend takes the hint, putting her phone away and falling asleep soon after, but you weren't as lucky, tossing and turning for hours to come.
The next morning, you drag yourself to the bathroom after waiting for a reasonable time to climb out of bed, standing under the running water of your shower and praying for it to wash away all the conflicted feelings swirling inside of you. Once you hear Trinity moving about in the next room, you realize you've taken longer than planned and hop out right away, sliding into autopilot mode and emerging from the bathroom soon after, feeling slightly better but nowhere your usual self.
Your eye is considerably more sore than the previous night, so you grab an ice pack from your freezer and hold it to your face as you attempt to make breakfast.
"How about you sit at the table while I handle this, Rocky?"
Quirking your unaffected eyebrow, you huff at your green eyed friend before doing as you're told and releasing your duties to her. "You're not giving me a damn nickname."
Trinity only smirks at you, turning around to grab the necessary equipment from your cabinets. "If you didn't want me to call you that, you shouldn't have gone after that dickwad like you did."
You glare daggers at her back, but remain seated as you let out a long sigh through your nose. Not bothering to respond to her, you lean back in your chair and resume icing your wounded eye, checking your phone's unanswered notifications. Seeing a DM from the picnic girl asking if you're okay, you groan as you realize you completely forgot about her after the fight. Debating how you should answer, you're interrupted by quiet groaning coming from the living room, seeing that both Whitaker and Victoria are waking up.
"Well, good morning sunshines. You're just in time to help with breakfast, come on." Trinity waves them both over, and the pair comply after freshening up, setting placemats and utensils on the table in front of you before moving to take their own seats at the table.
"How're you feeling?" Victoria asks, wincing when you pull the ice pack away from your face.
"Just peachy."
She frowns at your response, causing you to smile then quickly groan when it pulls at your injured skin.
Breakfast is finished a short while later, the four of you now sitting and beginning to dig into your food, not a single word being uttered over content sighs and chewing noises.
Your gaze keeps drifting over to the living room, part of you eager and anxious to check on the only missing member of the group. The clock on the wall tells you it's close to ten now, and you begin to wonder if she'll awaken anytime soon. A little under ten minutes pass and you're about to get up and check on her when the tell-tale sound of feet hitting the floor reach your ears and the sight of a disheveled Samira appears moments later.
"Sleeping Beauty finally decided to grace us with her presence?"
You kick Trinity under the table for that remark, watching as the curly headed woman in front of you rubs her eyes and looks around the table embarrassingly. "Sorry, I didn't mean to sleep in so late."
"Don't worry about it, go wash up and come join us, there's plenty of food left," Victoria tells her with a smile before Samira returns it with a tight lipped one of her own, disappearing for a bit before taking a seat across from you.
The tension is instant, the feeling enveloping everyone at the table and leaving you all to wonder who will break the silence first.
"I, um, don't remember everything from last night, it's broken up into bits and pieces."
Your heart simultaneously lifts and deflates at Samira's explanation. On one hand, you're elated she might not remember that she cried in your arms or what led up to the fight, but on the other, you almost hope she remembers the near kiss you shared and would miraculously admit romantic feelings for you. The thought suddenly makes you sick and you push your plate away, no longer interested in eating.
"But from what I do remember..." She finally looks up from the table and around at everyone, locking onto you for a moment before casting her gaze to the side. "I am so sorry for putting you guys in that predicament. We were supposed to have a fun night, and I ruined it."
Victoria shakes her head quickly and assures her she's being too hard on herself. "You didn't ruin anything, we still had a blast." Whitaker nods in agreement and gives her a reassuring look as well. "Yeah, it's not your fault. You didn't do anything wrong."
Trinity chimes in as well, telling her not to beat herself up over it, and you all manage a small smile in response, not saying anything else and going back to eating. Once everyone is finished, they leave one by one until it's only you and Samira. Not a word is spoken between the two of you, and after letting out a small sigh, you move to stand, the sound of your chair moving along the floor.
Purposely taking your time putting your dishes away, you wait to see if Samira will say something, anything to you, but her eyes stay locked onto her plate, pushing around her food until you have no reason to stick around and sullenly retreat to your room.
At the table, Samira swallows the lump in her throat and blinks the unshed tears away.
When you close your door, you head to your closet, seeing Trinity sitting and applying her makeup in the full length mirror next to it.
"The parade starts at twelve, and I know Mel likes to be early, so we should leave kind of soon to get a decent spot."
Your friend looks up from her spot on the floor, hairbrush in hand and nods in agreement. "Yeah, sounds good."
She finishes soon after and heads into the living room soon after to let everyone else know the plan, leaving you alone. Feeling the beginning of worst case scenarios sneak into your head, you physically shake them out and try your best to focus on the task at hand. Trying a couple of different outfits on until you find one that you feel most comfortable in, you complete your look in the mirror, wincing at the discoloration decorating your eye, and head out to your friends.
Everyone is waiting in the living room, and Trinity stands up with her bag in hand, looking over everyone's outfits to give a final stamp of approval. She looks you up and down, nodding her head in satisfaction as her lips move into a smirk. "Simple but sexy. I like it." You attempt to roll your eyes as you swat at her arm, but you don't disagree.
You catch Samira looking at you in your peripheral vision, but she says nothing as you move to grab your shoes at the entrance, leaving you to quietly sigh to yourself. Victoria texts Mel that you're starting the walk over to the beginning of the parade, and the five of you make your way out of the building and onto the sidewalk, the sun a welcome addition to your somber mood.
The walk takes a little under twenty minutes, and by the time you all arrive, a large crowd has already gathered. Trinity leads the way until she finds an acceptable amount of open real estate, dramatically stretching her limbs to mark the territory, everyone following suit before making yourselves comfortable.
"Guys! Hi!"
All of you turn around immediately upon hearing a certain voice, cheering when you identify the person it belongs to. A huge smile lights up Samira's face at the sight of Mel, the woman running up to your group and getting engulfed in an enthusiastic group hug. "We missed you this weekend," Trinity states, still holding her friend in her arms.
"I missed you guys too, I'm so happy we get to hang out today," Mel replies, moving from person to person and giving individual hugs.
When she gets to you, her hands shoot up to her mouth as she stares at your face in horror. “What happened to your eye?!”
Feeling heat creep up your neck as people around you turn to see what the commotion is, you clear your throat and give Mel an embarrassed smile. “It’s…a long story, I’ll tell you later.”
She nods in understanding, patting you on the shoulder as Trinity grabs her attention, much to your relief.
Chatting amongst yourselves until the parade starts, each of you begin waving the respective flags you brought and enjoy the floats going by. The event lasts well over an hour, and your group cheers excitedly the entire time, making sure to take pictures and video here and there. Once the last float passes, Trinity turns to the group, hands on her hips as she gauges everyone's expressions.
"What do you guys feel like doing now?" She questions, the others throwing out ideas while Samira's eyes seem distant, clearly lost in thought.
"I'm hungry," Victoria says, checking her watch quickly to get the time. It has been a while since breakfast and she's already eyeing a nearby food truck, looking around for approval.
"Yeah, let's grab lunch," Whitaker agrees with a smile, and everyone murmurs out varying degrees of consent before beginning the walk over.
After getting food and finding a small patch of grass, your group starts up a new conversation, and you glance over at Samira, noticing her expression is still far away. Not being able to stop yourself, your concern wins out and you nudge her shoulder softly. "You okay?"
She jolts, snapping out of her daze to look over at you and nodding her head before plastering an overly enthusiastic smile on. "Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry."
"We can head back to the apartment if you're not feeling it out here. I don't think anyone would be opposed to a nap after the last couple days." You chuckle, trying to lighten the mood, but Samira only scratches her cheek and reassures you that she's okay before turning to everyone else and joining the conversation.
Being brushed off stings more than you'd like to admit, reminding you of her demeanor at the club last night, but you choose not to dwell on it and instead enjoy the company of your entire friend group.
The afternoon goes on relatively normally, the six of you gelling as you usually do, and you can't help but notice how animated Samira is in conversation with the others. She laughs and interacts with each person with a smile, and her mood from earlier seems like ages ago now. You don't get much time to dwell on the matter, the sun chasing the horizon before long. Victoria yawns loudly as the group slowly begins to pack up, agreeing that it was time to head back to your place.
The walk back is much more cheerful, Samira and you both being active participants in the conversation this time, though rarely with each other. Everyone walks through your entryway at a more relaxed pace, the energy from earlier now dissipated as everyone begins to mentally prepare to begin a new week. When Mel enters your living room, she lets out a noise of excitement, and you remember that she hasn't been here before.
You give her a quick tour of the place, and when you show her the balcony, she immediately loves it, complimenting the view. She eventually wanders back into the main area, plopping down on the couch and looking around some more, taking in all the little details you put into the place. With everyone now winding down, you know your weekend together has officially come to an end.
Several minutes later, Victoria is the first to break the comfortable silence, standing up and stretching her arms out in front of her. "Well, I know it's still kind of early, but I think I'm going to call it a night."
"We should too," Trinity adds, slowly rising to her feet and nodding to Dennis. "I'm ready to pass out."
"Yeah, I could get a couple of errands done before the work week starts up again," Mel explains with a sigh as she stands from her spot.
The goodbyes are heartfelt, and even though you'll all be seeing each other in only a few hours, the atmosphere is still melancholic. Eventually, everyone heads out of your apartment, waving over their shoulders in promise of another group hangout soon, and as you shut your door, your heart deflates a bit. Samira said goodbye and even hugged you, but you can’t shake the feeling that she remembers more about last night than she’s letting on. The apartment feels lonely without your friends' happy chatter, and you sigh deeply as you sit down at the kitchen table with your laptop, catching up on emails while you have the time.
After a restless night and nervous morning, Samira is back at the hospital for her next shift, determined to put the weekend behind her and focus solely on her patients. She's always been able to separate her work life from her personal, and though there hasn't previously been much of a personal life to separate, she doesn't doubt her ability to.
The challenge proves easier said than done, Samira being greeted with the sight of you walking alongside Dana the instant she steps onto the floor. The older woman is reminding you to ice your eye, causing you nod bashfully, and she feels a flutter in her stomach before internally cursing herself.
Samira wastes no time walking over, intent on not showing how emotional she truly feels, to you or anyone. Reaching behind the counter to grab a tablet, she stands barely a foot away, seeing how you look up at her from where you're also reading patient charts.
"Good morning." Giving her a small smile, you slide the usual paper cup over to her, watching as a slightly surprised look graces her face.
"Oh. Thank you." The brunette grabs the cup from you and takes a sip, shooting you a closed lip smile. It's not quite as warm a thanks as she's given you the previous couple of weeks, but it's a Monday morning, and you've both had a tumultuous last few days, so you brush it off as that and nothing else.
She honestly wasn't sure if you'd still keep up with your morning routine after the events that unfolded between you, but she finds that she's more ashamed than anything that you don't hesitate to continue it, unsure of how to move forward.
Rounds start soon after, and with it, the inevitable looks and questions that come with your coworkers asking what happened to your eye. You brush them off, simply explaining that it's a long story and you don't feel like talking about it. Inevitably, rumors and guesses float around the floor anyway, and when you see Samira standing behind a whispering Princess and Perlah with a pinched expression, you sigh and wish for the day to end as quickly as possible.
Over the next few hours, you notice that while Samira isn't avoiding you, she's not as talkative as she usually is, with you or anyone. You're unsure how to feel about the realization, but you focus on your cases instead, not wanting to let yourself get so distracted that they slip through the cracks.
Eventually, you respond to picnic girl's message from the day before to tell her that you're fine and gently shut down her request to meet up again, citing scheduling difficulties due to your job. She seems to get the hint, only letting you know to reach out if you're ever free, and you breathe out a sigh of relief at having one less thing to worry about.
Finally, it's the end of the day, and you clock out generally unscathed. You managed not to lose any patients that day, and that's always a huge win in your book. Walking out with the rest of your friends, the conversation is quiet but steady, everyone being tired from the weekend.
Your gaze keeps being drawn over to Samira, and you see that while she doesn't seem as drained as the rest of you, she's definitely distracted. Her shoulders are tense, her gaze is fixed on the ground, and she's uncharacteristically lagging behind. Eventually, she comes to walk even with you, glancing over but immediately looking away. Feeling the tension, you look around and notice Trinity watching you, sending you an encouraging look as she walks ahead.
"Hey." You lightly bump Samira's arm with your own, capturing her attention the way you have countless times before. "How are you doing? You were pretty quiet today, even Robby didn't nag you."
She nods quickly, still not meeting your gaze. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired. I didn't get a lot of sleep last night." It comes out quickly, more like her own thoughts being spoken aloud than having a conversation.
Peeking over at her again, your heart drops at how closed off she seems, and you swallow the lump forming in your throat, giving her a small smile even though she's not looking at you. "Yeah, me too. I almost feel like we could all use a vacation."
She nods at your joke, but the movement is jerky, and your gut tells you there's something else going on. As you open your mouth to ask another question, she suddenly stops walking, and it's then that you realize you've reached her car.
You stop as well, turning to face her while still keeping some space between the two of you. You're unsure of what you should do, if you should push or leave her alone, and you shift awkwardly on your feet while the silence stretches out. Finally, when you can't take the quiet anymore, your mouth opens and the question you've been wanting to ask falls out before you can stop it. "Are we okay?"
Her gaze darts over to meet yours, holding your gaze with a thinly veiled look of hurt. "Of course we are."
Clenching and unclenching your hands from their place in your jacket pockets, you take a deep breath in an attempt to soothe yourself. Your initial reaction is to press further, but you know it wouldn't achieve what you want, not at this current moment. So, you accept Samira's answer, patting her shoulder as you walk past and telling her you'll see her in the morning.
She whispers a reply before getting in her car and shutting the door, and you resist the urge to look back. Reaching your own car, you call out a good night to your friends across the parking lot, not in the mood to entertain anymore conversation.
Over the next few days, Samira is back to her usual self, and she's interacting with everyone as she ordinarily would. The pair of you are back to normal for the most part, talking and exchanging inside jokes, but you can't help but feel that she's still being cautious around you. Her smile doesn't quite reach her eyes when you say something witty, and you've noticed that she doesn't initiate as much physical contact as she did before.
You try to convince yourself that you're being paranoid, but something in your gut tells you that you're right, and you can't shake the feeling. Even talking with Trinity and Whitaker doesn't completely settle your mind, but after a few weeks, you've accepted this as your new normal.
It's now another Friday night, and your friends are all gathered in your living room, on the second movie of a double feature. Trinity had suggested Bottoms first, and Victoria then mentioned wanting to watch I Can't Think Straight. No one beside you and Trinity had seen that, but Whitaker, Mel, and Samira said they were up for it, so twenty minutes later, you're all tuned in to your TV once again.
You're trying to pay attention to the screen, but you're finding it increasingly difficult to focus on anything but the woman sitting on the opposite end of the couch. You've been sneaking glances at Samira ever since the movie started, unable to keep your eyes away from her face for more than a few minutes at a time. The emotions that fill her eyes as she watches the characters on the screen are mesmerizing, and the urge to ask her what she's thinking is so strong that you have to bite the inside of your cheek to prevent yourself from acting on it.
During the sad scenes, you see what looks like Samira wiping her cheeks, and though the room is barely bright enough to see clearly, your chest still clenches. By the time it finishes and the credits begin to roll, you begin to stretch your arms above your head, facing the group to ask their opinions. You pause when you see Victoria and Samira sporting watery smiles, laughing at each other when they realize that they've both been crying. Mel and Whitaker look charmed, and you're glad everyone seems to have enjoyed the movie.
Looking across the room again, you notice that Samira is still wiping away tears, her head leaned back against the couch and her arms wrapped around herself, a sight that causes you to chew on your bottom lip in contemplation. "So...how did you guys like that one?"
Victoria is the first one to answer your question, launching into the themes and representation, and Mel quickly follows with her opinions on certain shots and the soundtrack. When Trinity and Whitaker join the conversation, you scan the room and notice the lack of input from Samira, who's gazing off into the distance with a faraway look in her eyes. After a few minutes, she stands from the couch and causes everyone to look up at her.
"I'm gonna get some air." With a tight lipped smile, she clears her throat and makes her way to your balcony, closing the sliding door behind her.
You turn back to your friends, not wanting to blatantly stare after the other woman, but Trinity catches your eye as you do, causing you to purse your lips and shrug. Glancing at the clock a short while later, you see that it's been half an hour since Samira's been outside, and you decide to finally check on her.
Rising to your feet and rolling your shoulders, you tell your friends you're going to join the other woman and to keep helping themselves to your snacks. As you move the curtain aside and step out onto the balcony, you're met with the sight and sound of a sniffling Samira who startles when she realizes she now has company, and you quickly begin stuttering out an apology.
"Oh shit, um, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt—"
"No! It's okay." She's turned away from you, wiping her face with the sleeves of her zip up hoodie and trying to steady her voice. "I'm sorry, you shouldn't have to apologize for walking around your own home."
You nod before remembering she can't see you and think about how to respond. "I just, uh," you fumble for the right words before finding them. "I just wanted to check on you, you've been out here for a while and I needed to make sure the raccoons hadn't gotten you. There's an aggressive one I've had to fight for my plants a couple times." You internally smack your forehead for making such a lame joke at an obviously inappropriate time, but when you hear a broken laugh choke out from the brunette, you figure it wasn't that bad.
Samira wipes her eyes one more time before turning around to face you, smiling at your failed attempt at lightening the mood. "Thanks. Sorry, I really didn't mean to be out here this long, I just..." She trails off before rubbing a hand across her face and mumbling, "I guess the movie just hit a little close to home."
Feeling emboldened by her admission, you take a few steps closer to her, your body stopping once you reach the railing, leaving a couple of feet between you both.
She takes a deep breath, exhales slowly, and the words begin flowing. "There were just some things that felt— I just related to a few parts more than I thought I would, and it brought some personal stuff up." She gives you a small, rueful smile, a hand returning to her face to wipe away a stray tear. "I guess...I guess I've just been thinking about something...in specific lately."
Your heart speeds up at the thought of what that could be, but you keep your expression neutral. Nodding to let her know you're following along, she continues.
"It's just..." Her words keep dying off, and it's obvious she's struggling to articulate what's on her mind. You're tempted to speak, to offer possibilities of what she's alluding to, but your brain wins the battle to have you shut up and listen. Finally, Samira lets out a deep sigh and turns to face you head-on, looking you dead in the eyes. "Can I ask you something?"
Your heart stops and your mind starts racing, the air in your lungs feeling stuck and like it's dissipating all at once. You clear your throat and adjust your posture before responding, praying your voice wouldn't betray your nerves. "Yeah, of course, anything."
"It's pretty personal, so if you don't want to answer it, I won't be offended, but..." Her eyes turn downcast for a long moment before she looks up at you with the most vulnerable expression you've ever seen her wear. "How did you...know? That you were gay." She whispers the second part so quietly that you could've chalked it up to the wind, but when it registers in your brain, the seriousness of the moment grabs you in a chokehold, and you know your next words will make or break it.
"Well…honestly, it was like, a series of moments that led up to one night. And the next day and night, actually." Her eyebrows furrow slightly at your response, and you push down the urge to smooth away the crease between them. "It's kind of a long story, but if you're open to it, I can tell you what happened."
Samira looks at you with those impossibly doe-like brown eyes and nods her head, causing you take a deep breath and mentally prepare yourself to relive that part of your life. You look behind her at the forgotten pair of chairs you set out here when you first moved in and gesture for her to take a seat before you follow suit.
Thinking about where to start, the memories start flashing in your mind like a deck of cards, and you have to close your eyes to keep yourself from getting overwhelmed. Opening them once you feel safe to, your eyes flit about the space before locking with Samira's. "Well, I'll start at the beginning, I guess."
The other woman slides one leg under the other, wringing her hands in her lap as she sits back in the chair.
"I had this best friend growing up, like most lesbians do," you huff to yourself, the noise between a cross between a laugh and a scoff, "and we were super close, from elementary school to our freshman year of high school. Did literally everything together, hung out after school, the whole nine." A small smile adorns your face as you recall those years, and Samira finds it sweet, a fluttering feeling blooming in her own stomach.
You begin telling her story after story of this girl, for no other reason other than the memory of her resurfacing a specific happiness that you wish you could live in. The nerves on the brunette's face have since eased, her expression now curious and attentive, and you occasionally find yourself side tracked by it while speaking.
"So, our freshman year, this one Friday night, we're in my bed after we had just watched a movie on my DVD player, Stick It, of all the movies in the world." Samira's eyebrows quirk in confusion but she says nothing to interrupt you. You tell her how you had scooted closer together, a faraway look in your eyes as you're transported back to that exact moment.
"All of a sudden...she kisses me. Quick, just a peck on the lips, it lasted probably a tenth of a second. And we start giggling, like teenage girls do, and I thought it would be funny to kiss her back, so I did. It lasted longer than the first one, and when I pulled back, neither of us were laughing." Samira's knees are pulled to her chest now, her eyes laser focused on your face and the sad smile gracing your lips.
You tell her how you had both confessed your feelings for each other later that night, barely able to sleep because of how excited you were. Recalling that next evening when it was time for her to leave, you walked her home, stopping at the park between your houses and sitting on the swings, eventually laying in the grass to gaze up at the stars.
At this point, the woman next you hasn't said a single word, and you're grateful because you need all the strength you have to spit out the last part of the story. "We kissed again then, talking about how we'd be together through the rest of high school and after. I dropped her off at home before it got too late and she got in trouble, and I walked home on cloud nine."
You feel tears begin forming at the corner of your eyes, and you look away to wipe them. You tell Samira how you weren't allowed to have cell phones at the time, so you had to wait for the following Monday to talk to her again. "I was waiting for her like I did every day, but when she walked out of the house, she looked more sad than I had ever seen her. Turns out, her dad's job transferred him to another branch and they were moving that coming weekend. The company would take care of everything, so they didn't have to wait around for the house to sell or whatever."
The tears begin to fall now, and you wipe them away as you talk, no longer bothering to hide it. "I saw her at school that week, and then she was gone. I gave her a slip of paper with my house number, and we talked that away for a while, but she started calling less and less, and eventually, she stopped calling at all, and when I tried to call her, it said the number was no longer in service."
You take a deep breath then, leaning your head back to ease the pressure starting to build. "I've looked for her on social media over the years, but never found anything. I just assumed she got married and changed her name or something." Sniffling, you wipe the last of your tears away, and Samira finally breaks her silence a few moments later. "Can I hug you?"
You hear the crack in her voice and when you look over at her, you see that she's crying too. That causes your eyes to well up again, and when you simply nod, the other woman rises from her chair to climb in your lap and engulf you in a hug. Reciprocating immediately, you let her warmth and steady heartbeat soothe you, staying in that position for what's probably several minutes.
Once you've calmed down, you raise your head from its position in the crook of her neck and begin to shake your head. "I'm so sorry, I did not mean to trauma dump like that, you asked me a question and I took over the conversation." A hoarse laugh slips from your mouth as you try to brush off the vulnerability you've just showed, especially when you realize the position you're both in, but Samira doesn't let you off the hook that easy. "No, don't say that. I'm honored, actually, it takes so much courage for someone to be that open, and it means a lot that you felt safe enough to tell me that story."
She pulls back to look you head on, the eye contact keeping you in place as her eyes scan your face, no doubt noting the tear tracks decorating your cheeks. "Thank you for trusting me."
Your own hand is lifted to your face, fingertips gently ghosting along your skin as you try to figure out how your eyes are still producing tears. "Yeah," is all you can manage for a moment as you study her expression, noting how she's no longer crying but regarding you with a look you're afraid to decipher. "Of course."
Samira then removes herself from your lap and takes her previous spot on the chair next to you as you try to figure out what direction to take the conversation in. "So, um," you clear your throat, "Can I ask why you wanted to know how I knew?"
Her eyes dart to the ground as she rubs the back of her neck, and a small frown appears on her face. "Well," she starts hesitantly, struggling to vocalize what she's been feeling. "I've just been...wondering? About myself lately, I guess."
Nodding in understanding, a memory of pride weekend flashes across your mind. "I can relate to that."
She shoots you a small smile, hands fiddling with the hem on her pant leg, and you sense the nervous energy coming off of her in waves. Clearing her throat again, she lets out a deep sigh, the sound causing you to raise an eyebrow questioningly. "I've just never really allowed myself the space to question my sexuality really, and now that I'm an adult, it almost feels like it's too late."
You bite your lip then, wanting the brunette to let out everything on her mind the way she allowed you to.
"There's all kinds of what-ifs in my head, I guess. What if I'm wrong, what will people think, what will my family think..." she trails off, a frustrated huff following.
"Seeing that movie tonight really put things in perspective for me. I related to aspects of both of them, never feeling truly comfortable with a man, but worried what that meant for me, and my future. It was helpful to see adults realizing their true selves and coming out, and not just teenagers. The pieces are finally starting to fall into place, but it's terrifying, honestly." Her hands come up to cover her face then, and your heart drops, knowing that feeling all too well.
"It is," you reply softly, keeping your voice free of judgment.
Her hands drop to her lap, and she gazes at you with vulnerable eyes. "How did you handle it?" She whispers, her voice overcome with emotion.
You take a few moments to collect your words before answering her seriously. "Honestly, not well at first. Having to accept I didn't like boys was the harder part, personally, and it definitely took me longer, but I've never felt more free than when I did."
She takes in your answer, eyes fixed on you as you speak, and the small frown on her features fades slightly. You continue, feeling the words flow like they did earlier. "My advice is to listen to yourself. Don't push these feelings aside because you're scared." Her gaze falls from yours to the floor as you watch the wheels turning in her head, wondering what thoughts are going through her mind.
Her eyebrows furrow as she chews on her lip, your words weighing heavily on her shoulders, and you see the way she's tensed up. Feeling the need to comfort her, you reach out and place a hand over hers, the gesture catching her off guard as she snaps out of her thoughts.
"I know it's easier said than done, but don't think of all the what-if's at once." Her fingers gently curl around yours, sad eyes returning to your face as you speak again softly. "You'll drive yourself crazy that way."
Samira nods in acknowledgment, and you can tell that she's still hesitant, but her shoulders lower and she relaxes into her chair, all while holding your hand. "Yeah, you're probably right."
She takes a deep breath, slowly exhaling through pursed lips as she attempts to compose herself. Your gaze is still on her, roaming over every one of her features in silent admiration as she tries to find her place again.
Eventually she speaks up, asking you more questions about your journey, which you answer openly and honestly. You both laugh, you cry, you share personal stories no one else has ever heard. While telling you about a girl she knew in college, Samira glances behind you in confusion before her eyes widen. "Oh my god, is that the sun?"
Following her gaze, you look over your shoulder and see the first hints of dawn stretching over the horizon. Your eyebrows raise in surprise and you look back to her in shock. "Damn, how long have we been out here?"
Samira looks around in confusion while patting herself down. "I have no idea, I just realized I must have left my phone inside."
"Shit, me too." You laugh to yourself at the realization that you just spent the entire night talking with the other woman, a warm feeling settling in your chest. Rising from your seat, you suddenly remember your other friends that you left inside several hours ago.
Upon entering your apartment, you see that the rest of your group is nowhere to be found, and you look around in confusion when Samira speaks up from her place next to the couch. "Trinity text us around midnight to let us know everyone was leaving and didn't want to interrupt."
You finally locate your phone on the floor and when you unlock it, you see the same message in the group chat, but above it, a private one from Trinity.
[Yesterday, 11:57 pm] Baby Apple 🍏💚:
go get ur girl 😜
You roll your eyes with a smile before locking the device and sliding it into your pocket while facing Samira. Seeing the other woman yawn makes you realize how tired you are, and it suddenly becomes impossible to keep your eyelids open, an idea popping into your head at the same time.
"Hey, I don't know about you, but I'm beat."
Samira suddenly looks bashful, catching on to what you're implying. You see the way she begins gathering her things and avoiding eye contact with you before realizing it sounded like you were kicking her out, your next words rushing out all at once. "And, um, if you're too tired to drive yet, you're more than welcome to crash here."
She freezes in her haste to grab her purse, turning slightly towards you and studying your expression, like she's trying to see if you're being sincere. When you give her a small smile, a wave of relief seems to wash over her before she responds. "Are you sure? I don't want to impose—"
You quickly shake your head and wave your hand through the air, dismissing her concerns. "If I wasn't sure, I wouldn't have offered. Plus it's dangerous to drive in that condition anyway, so all the more reason." Samira's smile is timid, but she nods and sets her belongings back down.
Realizing you were backed up on laundry, you scratch the back of your neck as you navigate how this will work. "Well, I just remembered that I don't have any clean blankets for the couch right now, so if you're okay with it, you can sleep in the bed with me. It's super comfy, I promise, I've gotten great reviews." Heat begins to creep up your cheeks when you realize how that sounded, but Samira seems to ignore it as she nods and tells you to lead the way.
The two of you are already in comfy clothes from the night before, and you both have a routine of showering as soon as you arrive home from work, so you wordlessly slip under your comforter and settle into your preferred sleeping positions. Your blackout curtains bathe the room in a pleasant darkness, and it doesn't take long for either of you to succumb to your exhaustion.
You sleep more soundly than you have in quite some time, and when you finally crack open your eyes, you catch a sliver of sunlight casting itself onto your closet door. A small groan escapes your throat as you attempt to roll over, but you realize that something around your waist is stopping you. Your eyes widen as reality catches up, and you look over your shoulder to see Samira snuggled up against you, face pressed in between your shoulder blades. While you're frozen in place, she sighs in her sleep and burrows even closer, a warm leg sliding between your own.
You're suddenly wide awake, the weight of her body pressing into yours causing your heart to pound against your rib cage. You can feel the rise and fall of her chest touching your back, her hand having snuck under your shirt and gently clutching at your skin. The intimate position causes butterflies to start swarming in your stomach and your eyes stare straight ahead, your mind warring with itself. You know it's wrong to enjoy this the way you are while the other woman is unaware, but you also don't want to wake her up and cause an uncomfortable situation.
Before you get a chance to decide what to do, Samira begins to stir behind you, and your eyes are shutting immediately while you pretend to be asleep. Her close proximity means you hear the hitch in her breath as she fully awakens and realizes the way she's holding you; you feel the way her arm gently slides off of your waist as to not wake you. Once she fully untangles herself and slips away from the bed to the bathroom, your eyes slip open when the door clicks, rolling onto your back and covering your face with your hands while thinking, What the fuck was that.
In the next room, Samira is sure she's going to have a heart attack. She's never known herself to be clingy in her sleep, always one to establish clear boundaries anytime she happened to share a bed with someone. With no prior experience on how to handle the flurry of sensations ripping through her body at the moment, she turns the faucet on and begins splashing water on her face. "Come on Samira, get it together," she whispers to herself.
Locating her spare toothbrush she's left here since her first sleepover, she slowly brushes her teeth as she tries to understand what it is she's feeling. Though a huge part of her would love nothing more than to crawl back under your covers, the more rational side accepts that she should go home and not take up any more of your time. Once she's finished, she presses her forehead against the door, hyping herself up to go back in your room to grab the hoodie she somehow took off in her sleep and slip out of your apartment undetected.
Little does she know, you're currently staring at the ceiling, trying to wrap your head around what just happened. All you can picture is the way she felt behind you, the way you fit together so easily. It takes every ounce of self-control you possess to not get up and pace the room, to get all of the newly built-up energy out. You're still lying there with your gaze fixed above you when the bathroom door creaks open and Samira reenters the bedroom, freezing in her tracks upon seeing that you're awake.
Lifting yourself up onto your elbows, you stare back for a moment before asking, "Hi. You sleep okay?" You don't know what compels you to say that when you saw the answer for yourself firsthand, but once it slips out, you find that you're nervous for her reply.
She's shifting her weight from one foot to the other, picking at a nonexistent piece of lint on her shirt before she responds. "Yeah, thank you. It was as comfy as you said it would be," she answers calmly, but there's a tentativeness in her voice that make you want to scream into a pillow. "Did you um, did you sleep okay? I didn't kick you or anything, did I?" She gives you a sheepish look, and the corner of your mouth turns up at the nervous energy she exudes.
"No, don't worry, I slept well. Better than I have in a long time actually."
She lets out a huff that sounds a little bit like a laugh, fidgeting with her sleeve and avoiding your gaze. "Well, I don't want you to feel like you have to get up or anything, so I'm just gonna—" She begins to motion towards the front door, but you feel a pang in your chest at the thought of her leaving, blurting out your next words before you can think better of it. "You don't have to go yet. We can hang out, if you want. I have more frozen TV dinners than I know what to do with." You chuckle to make it seem less awkward, and though you're hyper-aware of the fact that this is the second time in mere hours that you've tried to keep her from going home, something inside you isn't ready to part just yet.
She stops mid-step and you see a look of hope cross her face. Her gaze is fixed on yours as she asks, "You're sure?"
The words echo her earlier hesitation when you said she could sleep over, and you have to force down an affectionate laugh. "Yeah, the least I can do before I kick you out is feed you."
Her full lips spread into a wide smile, dimples on display and all, causing your heart to stutter momentarily as she replies, "Okay, then, I guess I don't have any choice."
"Perfect." You match her grin, swinging your feet off the bed and grabbing your phone to check the time as you head to the bathroom to freshen up.
A short while later, you and Samira are sitting in front of your coffee table, having lunch as promised, watching The World Unseen. One of the things you two had discussed the previous night was the lack of lesbian media she consumes, and you willingly offered your vast knowledge of movies, television, and books to her. Seeing how much she liked I Can't Think Straight, you informed her that the two lead actresses had starred in another film together, to which she immediately asked about watching.
Every so often, you sneak a look to see how she's enjoying it, and you're pleased to see her so enraptured. Your thoughts are so laser-focused on her reactions that it takes you a moment to realize that the credits are rolling and she's looking over at you in question, tears in her eyes. "Wait, that's how it ends?!"
You look at her sheepishly as you push a box of tissues across the table. "I didn't wanna give anything away..."
A disbelieving laugh escapes her as she grabs one and dabs at her eyes. "I can't believe you let me get so invested for that." She attempts to give you a mock offended look, but the way she's fighting a smile undercuts it.
"Good news is, you have another lesbian movie under your belt, you're practically an elder gay now," you joke before popping a chip into your mouth.
"Oh, I wouldn't go that far," she snorts, shaking her head as she leans back on her elbows, the action stretching her t-shirt across her chest and causing you to divert your gaze, suddenly finding the floor interesting.
"So what's next on your list?"
Whipping your head back toward the woman, you give her a curious look, pausing the TV before turning to her. "You're down to watch another one?"
Samira shrugs, trying to look nonchalant while reaching for the bag on the table. "I mean, we're kind of a roll, and I trust your movie taste more than the people on Reddit."
"Well," you sigh dramatically and placing a hand over your heart, "I'm honored you trust me more than random strangers on the internet." She throws her head back and begins giggling, the sound filling the apartment, and you think that you could listen to her laugh forever.
Before you get too distracted, you pick up the remote and begin looking for the next title, already having a few in mind. Over the next few hours, you watch D.E.B.S. and The Watermelon Woman, explaining the cultural significance and random facts about each movie. What you fail to realize in between your comments is the way Samira looks at you with wonderment and affection, a shine in her eyes she's never had before.
When you finally look back at her to ask if she wants to watch another movie, her expression is neutral, looking past you to the TV. "So what's your #1?"
Thinking for a second, the answer pops into your head but you look at the other woman with a hesitant expression, prompting her to ask you what it is. "Um, I don't really wanna bring down the mood." You scratch your cheek as Samira insists you put it on, and after she finally convinces you, the opening scene of Portrait of a Lady on Fire is playing.
"Don't say I didn't warn you," you whisper, both of you now settled against the back of your couch.
2 hours later, Samira's crying into one of your throw pillows as you unsuccessfully try to wipe up all of your tears with your hands. Once you've both calmed down, you look over at the other woman, giggling once you see the redness of her eyes and tear marks on her cheeks, knowing you look the same. "I told you."
A watery scoff leaves her mouth as she grabs tissues from your table and does her best to clean her face off. She takes a deep shuddering breath and shakes her head, trying to collect herself before speaking. "What a way to end the night."
That phrasing brings you back down to earth, and you run your tongue across your upper teeth as you realize the entire day has passed. "Yeah, what a finale."
Samira checks her phone and lets out a quiet sigh, placing her feet on the floor. "I should get going, I've taken up enough of your time."
Your heart sinks hearing her words and your eyes dart to the ground, mentally chiding yourself for acting like a child. You force a smile, attempting to keep your face indifferent, as you respond, "Yeah, I guess you're right."
She rises from the couch, and you follow, the two of you now standing in front of one another, the silence growing more and more oppressive by the second. Just as your brain supplies a thought to break the silence, Samira beats you to it. "I had a lot of fun tonight."
"Even though you cried a bunch?" You can't help but tease the other woman, enjoying the way she playfully rolls her eyes at you. She lets out a huff that sounds more like a laugh and gently pushes your shoulder. "Shut up, you cried just as much."
Turning around to grab her bag from your kitchen table and sling it over her shoulder, she walks towards your front door as you trail behind. Once she finishes putting her shoes on, she turns to face you and is slightly taken aback by the sad look in your eyes.
Twisting her hands together, the movement catches your gaze as she speaks. "We should do this again, honestly." You look back up at her, keeping eye contact. "I, um, wanted to thank you for...making me feel so comfortable and listening to me and answering all the questions I had. I know it was a lot, but I'm really grateful that I have someone like you in my life." Her eyes are misty now, and your lower lip juts out before you pull her in for a hug.
"Of course, Samira, I'll always be here for you." You're rubbing her back gently as her arms are wrapped around your neck, and you're reminded of how she held you earlier in the day. "Anything you need, day or night, you can get ahold of me, okay?"
The feeling of her body against yours is calming, and you have to fight the urge to pull her closer, taking comfort in the weight of her in your arms. She leans in more, burying her face against your neck, and you feel yourself melting at the affection. Your eyes are squeezed shut as you commit every inch of the moment to memory, taking in the scent of her as much as your heart can take. Before pulling away, you hear a whisper of, "I will."
Once you've separated, you reach past her to open the door, eyes flitting between her own as a small smile graces your lips. "Let me know when you get home, yeah?"
She matches your expression as she steps into the hall and turns to face you, walking backwards towards the elevator as she replies, "Promise. Have a good night, and don't stay up too late."
She pushes the 'down' button and gives you a thumbs up, making you laugh at her cheerfulness. The two of you hold each other's gaze the entire time she steps into the elevator and the doors close, catching her final wave as they do. Heading back inside and locking the door, you amble towards your room while replaying the previous 24 hours in your head.
The whole drive back to her apartment, Samira's hands are gripping the steering wheel as she stares ahead with a look akin to shell shock. That was the first time she spent that much continuous time with you since Pride weekend, but with wildly different results. The emotions she'd spent so many hours combing over were becoming clearer and clearer, but something was still keeping her from seeing the bigger picture.
When you see Samira at work the next week, you were unsure of how she'd act around you once the two of you were outside the little bubble of your apartment and back in your regular environment, but she seems like herself, an elevated version, even.
Your group interactions are a little longer, and the conversations feel different, more personal; each of you seems like you know your friend a bit more than before. It makes you happy to see Samira comfortable in her skin, and more often than not, you catch her looking at you as you talk, her gaze open and honest.
A few weeks later, the curly haired woman asks you to help her come out to the group, which you quickly agree to. She tells you that she's now comfortable enough to come out to the people she considers family, and you're more than happy to be part of something so personal to her.
For your next shared movie night, everyone is at Samira's apartment for a change, the woman wanting to do it in an environment she's fully comfortable in. She gives you nervous looks throughout the night, in which you wordlessly reassure her every time.
During a lull in conversation after dinner, Samira clears her throat to catch everyone's attention, and a slightly nervous feeling settles in your stomach. "Hey, guys?" With all pairs of eyes on her now, her heart is beating so hard she's afraid it'll burst, but she reminds herself of the times you told her that everyone here loves her and only wants the best for her. "I have something to tell you all."
You feel Trinity nudge you under the table but you ignore it and bite the inside of your cheek, not wanting anything to ruin Samira's moment.
After taking a deep breath, the curly headed woman looks around at everyone individually, eyes lighting up when they land on you before letting them slip shut. "I'm...a lesbian."
There's a pause as everyone processes the news, but not a second later, the room erupts in cheers and as you all rise from your seats to engulf Samira in a group hug, tears running down her face as she feels the acceptance and love surrounding her. Your pride in the strength it took for her to get to this point is evident, and you have to wipe a tear from your own eye, grin so wide it almost hurts. Looking down at her, she meets your gaze with a watery smile of her own, mouthing thank you as everyone pulls away to give her room to breathe.
"I knew no one in this group would turn out to be straight," Trinity is quick to joke, earning her a smack to the shoulder from Victoria as you let out a quiet sigh. "Seriously though, we all know the journey it takes it to get here, and we all love you, Samira. Welcome to the club." She wipes a tear from the crying woman's face, her own eyes misting over as she does.
The look on Samira's face is one of pure relief, the tears flowing freely as she looks around at the circle of friends who all hold copious amounts of affection in their eyes. "Thank you guys. It really feels good to get that out." Everyone responds in various ways, the consensus being that they love her and are happy for her being true to herself. Samira finally manages to stem the tears when her eyes land on you, smiling as you send her a reassuring wink.
Later that night, you're all spread around her apartment, talking amongst yourselves with Samira's calming playlist looping in the background.
"So that night we left you guys on the balcony, did she come out to you?" Trinity asks during a pause in your private conversation.
Chewing on your bottom lip, your gaze moves past her to the woman in question before moving back to your green eyed friend. "Uh, yeah. We actually ended up talking until the sunrise."
"No shit." Trinity takes a swig of her beer before nodding slowly. "So, did you tell her about you-know-what?"
A short laugh leaves your mouth, shocked but not surprised that she's bringing this up now. "No, I didn't, obviously. That would've been the worst timing ever." You rub your fingers over your eyebrows as Trinity shrugs her shoulders and purses her lips. "Yeah, true. That was weeks ago though, you haven't tried bringing it up since?"
Pausing for a moment, you think back to the opportunities you had to admit your feelings for Samira before shaking your head. "Honestly, I don't even care about that now. Like, yes, I still have feelings for her, and all the time we've spent together lately made them even deeper, but the main thing I care about is just making sure she's okay and that I'm a safe space for whatever she needs."
Trinity blinks once at you, then exhales deeply as she pats your knee. "You're in deep shit, dude."
Groaning softly, you let your head fall back against the wall as you take in what you just said. It definitely sounded more intense than you thought it would, but you find that it's true to how you feel, and your lips quirk at that.
Trinity is looking at you with an amused expression, and you feel yourself squirm inwardly, uncomfortable now that you've admitted the weight of your feelings. She opens her mouth to add something further, but the sound of giggles reaching your ears causes you to look up, and you see that Samira is currently engaged in conversation with Mel and Whitaker. The way she looks so casual and carefree causes you to smile involuntarily, and when she looks over, you forget to look away, gaze lingering a moment too long.
Your expression must have revealed your inner thoughts, as Trinity lets out a chuckle while shaking her head, causing you to finally look over at her. Raising her eyebrows, she tells you, "If you don't stop looking at her like that, she's definitely gonna figure it out."
The blunt statement causes your eyes to widen slightly and you let out a scoff of your own, attempting to play it off. "I wasn't even—" You're cut off by Trinity's disbelieving laugh, shaking your head as you avoid her gaze again.
Later that night, your friends file out of the apartment one by one, tired from the week but happy to have been part of such a special occasion.
"See you on Monday, Samira. Sweet dreams." Victoria gives the hostess a hug and waves past her to where you're sitting on the couch, with you reciprocating the gesture and telling her to get home safe. Once your friend is gone, and it's just the two of you, the brunette plops down next to you, letting out a long huff of air. "I'm so exhausted."
Your eyes roam over her face, noting all the angles and planes of it, filing them away in your memory. "Yeah, it was an eventful day."
She sinks further into the couch and her head lolls to the side, eyes closed as she relaxes fully for the first time. You're still watching her, admiring the way her eyelashes lie on her cheeks, the way her lips are parted ever so slightly, the subtle rise and fall of her chest as she breathes. A few moments of silence pass before she speaks, not opening her eyes as she does so. "I can feel you staring at me."
A quiet gasp leaves your mouth and you're about to argue when you realize she's right, chuckling softly at being caught. "How can you even tell, your eyes are closed."
Her eyelids flutter open then, regarding you with a look that pins you to your seat. "I always feel it."
Your breath hitches in your throat at the intensity of her gaze, your own eyes locked with hers as you try to form a response. "You're...very observant," you finally manage to mumble, your attempt at normalcy failing miserably. Samira doesn't seem to mind, though, as her lips quirk up in a small grin of her own. "And you're a bad liar," she counters, a hint of playfulness in her tone.
This had become a recurring theme over the past few weeks. Every since Samira had come out to you, she felt more comfortable joking around with you to the point where it could be interpreted as flirting. You've gotten used to it for the most part, throwing your own little digs back, but on certain occasions — like now — she catches you off guard, and it takes you a second to recover.
She takes your silence as an opportunity to keep going, her wide smile bordering on sly as she adds, "I can read you like a book now."
You feel heat flood your cheeks at the implication of her words, a lump forming in your throat as you become hyper aware of her proximity to you, her eyes still boring into yours. Taking a deep breath, you force yourself to respond despite the fluttering in your stomach. "Oh, can you?"
"Mm hmm." She opens her mouth to say something else when a yawn escapes instead, causing you to laugh and let go of of the breath you were holding. "I think it's time for you to head to bed."
A huff leaves her mouth when you interrupt her, but the stern expression she was attempting to convey is ruined by yet another yawn. "Fine," she groans, "but only because my couch isn't as comfy as yours. My back will be tweaked for days if I fall asleep here."
You snicker at that, pushing off from the couch and holding your hand out to her at the same time. "Come on, sleepyhead."
She rolls her eyes at the nickname but still places her palm in yours, letting you pull her up to her feet. You accidentally use more force than necessary because Samira crashes into you, causing you to stumble backwards before she steadies you by your waist.
Her hands are surprisingly firm as the two of you stare at one another. You can feel the heat from her hands seeping through your shirt and you have to stop yourself from shivering, heart thudding in your chest at this new position. Clearing your throat, you try to play it cool as you tell her, "You gonna let me go, or are we just gonna stay like this all night?"
That seems to snap her from her daze, and she quickly steps back while clearing her throat. "My bad, I think the delirium must be settling in." She gives you a shy smile before scratching the back of her neck, unsure of what to do now.
"Yeah, I think we should both call it a night." Outside, you look calm, but your pulse is still beating wildly and your voice comes out a bit hoarse, betraying your real emotions. Thankfully, Samira doesn't comment on it, instead nodding in agreement and yawning again. "Definitely."
Once you're standing at the front door with your belongings, you suddenly find yourself not wanting to leave, but knowing the other woman deserves some privacy after the events of the day.
"I'll text you when I get home. And I'll let you know which movies are next on our list." Our list. You had begun calling it that instead of 'my' list, and though the change was subtle, it tugs at Samira's heart, feeling touched at how easily you include her newfound identity. Her eyes soften at your words, and you observe the way the corners of her mouth curve upwards, flashing those distracting dimples. "You better."
Giving her one of your exaggerated salutes, you barely squeeze out a "Yes ma'am" before her arms are wrapped around your waist yet again, and you hear an emotional, "Thank you for tonight," whispered in your ear. Barely able to reciprocate the gesture, Samira quickly pulls away and plants a kiss to your cheek, the affected skin tingling immediately as she continues. "I couldn't have done it without you."
Forcing yourself to focus, you reply with an astounded expression. "Of course. Like I said before, I'm always gonna be in your corner."
Her answering smile is bright and genuine, your heart swelling at how the woman in front of you is glowing with happiness. Once you finally part after exchanging a few more quips, you're on your way out of her building and settling into your car, cheeks sore from how wide you're beaming. Catching a glimpse of yourself as you check your mirrors, your face drops as you realize that Trinity was right, and you're in deeper than you previously thought. "Shit."
At work, you find yourself constantly stealing glances at her in between patients, taking in every detail as she works. You hope you're not being obvious, but then you think about the night she said she can always tell when you're looking and wonder. During any breaks and spare moments you have with the rest of your coworkers, talking and laughing, your eyes always find their way back to the woman constantly occupying your thoughts, a trace of hope coloring them.
Unbeknownst to you, Samira is having very similar thoughts, though hers are also intertwined with ones of self doubt. As much as she's becoming more confident in her identity, she also is struggling with her burgeoning feelings for you, more so doubting that you return them. As caring and attentive as you've been since the brunette came out, she's convinced herself that it's strictly platonic, because in her mind, who would want to take on someone who doesn't truly know what they want yet?
The next several weeks pass by uneventfully, the only difference now being that Samira began to make your inside jokes in front of your other coworkers, and you're worried someone will misconstrue them and think something is going on between you two. Yet, as much as you try to fight it, you can't help but feel charmed by the other woman, her natural attentiveness and sincerity a light on even the darkest of days. Your continuous movie nights don't help your predicament, though you're aware that you'd be happy with Samira in your life in any capacity, romantic or not.
One day, she told you she wanted to try going out to more gay clubs and events around the city, and you were more than happy to oblige, different variations of your friend group joining on occasion. The pair of you spend quite a few nights at a plethora of different spaces as Samira figures out she is and isn't comfortable with, and you can see the way she blooms before your very eyes.
Unsurprisingly, she's very popular wherever she goes, plenty of women chatting her up and offering to buy her a drink or give their own contact information. Your jealousy flares every time it happens, but as you have no real reason for it, you push it aside and focus on having as best of a time as you can manage. More than once, people would ask if you two were a couple, and after denying that that was the case, you made sure not to hover so close to the brunette for fear of limiting her prospects or making her feel uncomfortable.
You'd be lying if you said you didn't catch a hint of something in her eyes each time you had to shut down the assumption, but you were never quite sure if that was the case or just wishful thinking on your part. Either way, the look was quickly wiped away, and the two of you would spend the rest of the night with an acceptable amount of space between you.
The first time Samira tells you she had a date lined up, you feel sick but still had to put on a brave face and pretend like you were happy for her, while inside it felt like someone was taking a knife to your chest. That date turns into two, which turns into three, which turns into the other woman telling the brunette that she was no longer feeling a connection.
In all your life, you've never felt anger like you do when Samira explains what happened with teary eyes and a dejected tone to her voice. You feel nothing but white-hot rage bubbling up in your chest at the thought of someone treating her so callously and your hands shake with the force of it, but you know you wouldn't be any use to her that way. Taking a deep breath and pulling her in for a hug, you tell yourself to control your emotions and rub her back as she mumbles her anxieties and fears into the side of your neck.
Samira goes on a few more dates with other people but eventually pulls back from the social scene altogether, electing to go back to regular nights in at your apartment. You can't deny that the selfish part of you is happy about it, but you don't let that show—instead, you're patient, present, and kind. Movie marathons resume like they used to, soft conversations about identity, heartbreak, and healing comfortably woven in. You speak as much as you listen, Samira always making sure you feel like you can share what's on your mind the way you allow her. The curly headed women feels the instant relief when it's just the two of you, and she attributes it to being more naturally introverted, but somewhere in the back of her mind, the real reason lingers relentlessly.
Fall is giving way to winter now, and the underlying tension between the two of you has been steadily rising with no end in sight. The hospital's holiday party is looming on the horizon, and your entire department has been talking about it for days. Most of the chatter has been complaints about management and how they allegedly don't have money for staff but can pull this off. The rest has been murmurs of excitement from the younger employees, mainly you and your friends. Though you do share similar sentiments as the senior personnel, you always look forward to any reason to get dressed up and spend time with the people you love outside of life or death situations.
The day of, your group agrees to get ready at your own places and meet at the venue, giving each other time to decompress beforehand. You're one the first employees to arrive, having gotten ready quicker than you expected, and stroll in to the entrance with a look of awe. The hall is decorated beautifully, much more lavishly than you expected given management's constant budget excuses, and you quietly scoff to yourself. Walking in a bit further, you see Dana and Robby talking animatedly at the bar and decide to join them.
"Hey superstar!" The older woman spots you first, giving you a hug and a kiss to the temple when you reach them. After also greeting you, Robby asks you what you'd like to drink, and after letting him know your poison of choice, he turns to face the counter and flag the bartender down while you and Dana begin catching up on life outside of work.
At her apartment, Samira is practically yanking her hair out as she looks over all of the outfit choices laid on her bed. She's been on edge the entire day, and it's all coming to a head as she looks at the three dresses she's been considering spread out in front of her, groaning in frustration. Realistically, she's aware it's just a work party and that no one will truly care what she's wearing, but no matter how much she tries to tell herself that, it doesn't stop the anxious thoughts that she needs to look perfect.
As if struck by lighting, she suddenly remembers something long forgotten in the back of her closet, the result of a shopping day with Trinity months ago. Samira had instantly fallen in love with the dress, though she had nowhere to wear something so formal at the time. With a bit of convincing from her friend, she purchased it with excitement before bringing it home and letting it collect dust since then. Pulling it out with a squeal, she hangs it up behind her door and gets to work on her makeup and hair, overcome with a renewed sense of enthusiasm.
A short while later, the rest of your friend group are trickling into the party, all of you ooh-ing and ah-ing at each other dolled up in your fanciest looks. Trinity and Whitaker joined soon after you, while Victoria walked in shortly after Mel, and upon seeing the look on her face while walking alongside her parents, you could tell she needed this.
Ordering her a drink when she reaches your little huddle, she begins to vent about an argument she and her mom had on the drive over, and all of you are listening intently as you pass a glass her way. Downing it instantly, she places it on the counter and takes a deep breath, to which everyone widens their eyes and nervously chuckles. "Careful Crash, we don't need a repeat of pride weekend." Trinity giggles when the younger girl huffs and continues with her story, hands moving about animatedly as she does.
Half an hour later, Mel is in the middle of asking you a question about a book recommendation you gave her when she looks past you with a big smile. "Oh, there she is!"
You freeze, drink halfway to your lips as you turn your head toward the entrance. It's like time slows down as you take in the sight; Samira, clad in a long burgundy dress that leaves her shoulders uncovered, curls pulled back minus a couple defined tendrils framing her face, gold jewelry complimenting her gorgeous skin. She’s scanning the room, looking lost — until her eyes land on you.
And oh, the smile that lights up her face when they do. It’s like someone flipped a switch inside her, and she begins making her way over, heels clicking softly against the floor, every step matching the beating in your chest.
“Hey,” she greets when she reaches the group, slightly out of breath like she’s been rushing. “Sorry I’m late.”
The girls immediately begin gushing over her look, inspecting her outfit and complimenting how flawless she looks. The curly haired women covers her mouth shyly but accepts the praise with a beaming smile, giving them all of the details with a proud look.
The previous conversation picks up again, Samira standing next to you now, and it's then that you realize you didn't greet her when she showed up. Leaning in toward her ear, you whisper low enough that everyone else can't hear, "You look beautiful, by the way."
Your breath on her ear causes goosebumps to appear on her skin, her head turning to look at you with sparkling eyes, and she replies back, "Thank you. Though, I'd argue you look better."
You both hold one another's gaze, neither breaking contact until someone bumps into her from behind, jolting you both back to reality and turning to see a slightly inebriated coworker apologizing profusely to the woman before stumbling away with his drink. Chuckling awkwardly, you tug at the fabric near your collar before looking around the room, feeling like you've been caught doing something wrong.
Samira turns back and observes the way you avoid eye contact, itching to reach for your hand and reassure you. Normally you're the more collected one while Samira calculates her way through most social interactions, but for reasons she can't name, she feels unusually secure of herself tonight.
Sliding her hand over your forearm and gently squeezing, your eyes snap up to hers and your lips part just enough to bring her focus to them. Before she can ask if you're okay, a voice from the front of the room announces that the food is ready, giving you an excuse to pull your arm away and follow your retreating friends to a nearby table.
Samira lingers behind a moment longer, collecting her thoughts as she watches you walk away before biting the tip of her tongue. Taking a deep breath, she shakes her head slightly and makes her way over, slipping into the seat beside you without hesitation. Every once in a while during dinner, Samira's knee brushes against yours, but you do your best to ignore it, chalking it up to the size of the table.
Eventually, Trinity is off talking to Yolanda, and Mateo asks to steal Victoria away while Whitaker and Mel are engrossed in a heated debate about the physics in comic books. The woman next to you catches your eye and pulls her bottom lip into her mouth when you don't look away. Staring at each other for a long beat, Samira finally breaks the stalemate. "Um, I was thinking about getting some air. Wanna come with me?"
The question sends a slight shiver down your spine, but you nod your head without reading too much into it. "Yeah," you reply, sounding casual despite the blood now rushing through your veins, "that sounds good."
After grabbing your coats from the check in area, you follow her out of the nearby glass doors. Both of you inhale the cold air at the same time, breaths curling into visible clouds against the night sky.
"Damn, it's chilly."
The other woman laughs at your comment before noticeably shuddering, and you direct her towards one of the outdoor heaters stationed in a more private area of the patio. The difference in temperature is a welcome change, but the two of you are still facing each other awkwardly, hands shoved in your pockets. Glancing around, you notice that the space is completely empty aside from you both, and your stomach begins to twist.
Beginning to lose her nerve that compelled her to bring you out here, anxiety begins creeping up Samira's throat as she tries to refocus. Her gaze lands on one of the heaters, and she concentrates on the way the fire dances behind the glass screen. When she looks back up, the wind is the only source of sound as the two of you stand across from each other, gazes locked in another staring contest that you're determined to win this time. It proves to be extremely difficult as the heater casts a warm glow over her features, highlighting her dark eyes and the soft angles of her face.
You can't help but think she's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen.
After what seems like hours, she exhales sharply, breaking the silence. "I kind of had a whole little spiel in my head earlier," she says, voice quiet yet steady, "of things I wanted to tell you."
Breath catching in your throat, the determination in her words knocks the wind from your lungs. You take a small step closer. "Yeah?"
Samira swallows hard, fingers now twitching at her sides. "I’ve been trying to convince myself I was just projecting or reading too much into things," she admits shakily. "'Cause I tend to do that a lot," she lets out a nervous laugh, "But lately, every time someone assumes or asks if we’re together, I feel this…ache. When I have to deny it."
Your blood is rushing in your ears.
She lifts her chin slightly, eyes searching yours for something—confirmation maybe, or courage—and finally whispers, "I don't think I want to anymore."
Eyes widening slightly in shock, you exhale harshly before raising a hand to cover your mouth. "Samira, I..."
She interprets your reaction negatively and rushes to continue. "Please, just hear me out," she says softly, taking a hesitant step forward. "Every time I'm around you, it's like this...tug. A pull." She lets out a quiet sigh before continuing. "And at first, I thought maybe it was because you were the first person I trusted in a really long time but...."
You can't move or speak, only staring at the woman in front of you and waiting with bated breath.
“But it didn’t go away,” her voice trembles with emotion. “The more time passed, the stronger it got. And I kept thinking...what if the reason I never felt like this before is because I was waiting for you?”
A beat of silence passes, heavy with questions and insinuations. Then ever so slowly, she reaches up and brushes the back of her hand against your cheek, touch lingering against your skin.
“I never expected any of this,” she admits, eyes glistening under the soft glow of the fire. “But somewhere between the movie nights and bad dates and you holding my hand through it all...I fell for you.”
Your breath hitches. You’ve imagined this moment countless times but never thought it would actually happen.
And now that it is?
You step forward until your bodies are flush, left hand coming up to cover the one on your face and the other intertwining itself with the one at her side.
“Samira…” Your voice cracks saying her name. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that.”
Her bottom lip trembles as her eyes search yours for any indication that you're lying. When she doesn't find it, she inhales harshly and parts her mouth in shock. "Wait, really?"
You chuckle softly, leaning into her touch and feeling your heart soar as she presses her forehead against yours. "Yeah," you breathe, freeing your right hand to gently grip the back of her neck, your thumb brushing across her pulse point. "The day I met you, I never stood a chance."
Hearing those words, the woman lets out a noise of disbelief before leaning in and capturing your lips in a kiss that leaves you feeling lightheaded. It's tentative at first, both of you familiarizing yourselves with the other. After a few seconds, Samira gains the confidence to open her mouth and deepen it, which you happily accept.
You kiss back fiercely, fingers sliding under her jaw as your other hand pulls her closer by the waist. She gasps softly, the sound muffled by your mouth, and your tongue takes the opportunity to sweep over her bottom lip before biting it.
When you finally pull apart minutes later, both are of you are panting softly, lips swollen and shiny with saliva. The other woman stares at you in disbelief, a shaky laugh escaping her lips as she cups your face in both palms. "God, I've wanted to do that forever."
You grin, breath uneven as you bump your nose against against hers. “Took you long enough.”
A shiver runs through her and you're reminded of the brutal chill surrounding your little bubble. Without breaking contact, you slide your hands over her upper arms and begin rubbing them gently. “C’mon,” you whisper, voice rough with emotion. “Let’s go back inside before we both freeze…or someone walks out here and catches us. Trinity would have a field day, oh my god.”
Samira laughs softly, fingers trailing down your neck as she nods. “Yeah…definitely don’t want that.”
But neither of you make a move to leave—staying under the flickering warmth of the heater a moment longer, stealing another, longer kiss; slow and sweet this time, as if promising, this is just the beginning.
SYNOPSIS: You and your friend, Samira Mohan, tread the line between friends & something else. During a night out, you both get a taste of what that something else might look like.
CONTENT/WARNINGS: MDNI/18+. NSFW. SMUT. Alcohol consumption (everything is consensual). Sort of Dom! Reader/Sub! Samira (both are switches & fems though). Girls kissing passionately! Nipple play. Dry Humping. Fingering. Dirty Talk. Flirting. Making out in the backseat of a cab. Samira has a crush on reader & vice versa. Samira & Reader are residents at The Pitt (R3s). Samira & Reader are close friends & around the same age (29). Touch deprived! Samira Mohan. Both Samira & Reader are bisexual.
A/N: I truly can't explain how this happened, but let’s just say I locked in so hard I blacked out. I just want to love on Samira Mohan, so I did. MOVE JACK IT'S MY TURN! I also took some inspo from the scene in Black Swan where Natalie Portman and Mila Kunis kiss, lmao oops. I made both Samira & reader bi considering I'm bi so I could relate to it and I hope others are able to engage with it as well! (I almost psyched myself out of posting this okay be nice). Proof read by moi. Reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. <3
NAVIGATION | MASTERLIST | AO3
If someone had predicted where the night took you both, you would’ve laughed in their face.
It was supposed to be a simple night out for drinks. Both you and Samira had finally gotten a couple of days off; more like you forced the girl from going back to The Pitt when they didn’t need any help. You always told her the same thing: “If you keep going at this rate, you’ll get grays before you hit 35, hun.” She would only roll her brown eyes at you, a cheeky dimple poking out on the side of her face as she laughed it off.
It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, two close friends sharing quality time with one another after their workdays ended. That was how it started anyway, through brief conversations and minor interactions with the resident whenever your shifts aligned. You could see right through her, how her job was all she had, how all she knew was the chaos of the PTMC to match the havoc of her psyche. Albeit, her gorgeous smile and kind demeanor hid it well for the most part, at least when Robby wasn’t grilling her, but when you urged her to go home to prevent an adrenaline crash, she actually listened to you most times.
Samira would bring tea in advance during the mornings you worked together, repeatedly warning you that your heart would give out with all of the caffeine you consumed on a daily basis. You simply shrug at her and chug the liquid out of your thermos, watching her as you do. It'd make her grimace, grumble even, but you’d take it so long as you got something.
“You should listen to me, you know. Try some tea, it won’t kill you as quickly.” Samira lectured, trying to bribe you with using brown sugar instead of the agave sweetener she likes.
“I’m not letting you take my coffee away from me, sorry. We will just have to accept our differences.”
“Forgive me for caring about your health. Let’s just hope I’m in the room with you when you’re tachycardic.”
Lunch times were your favorite, often opting to sit outside with Samira for a breather, sharing bits and pieces of your meal together, whether it came from home or you ordered it in advance. At night, when it was time to call it a day and repeat the cycle the next morning, Samira would be there to walk with you back to your place, or you would take her to hers. You’d give each other a rundown of the day, of the chest tube you had to put in or the new case study Samira was looking into and finally got to use in practice.
These little moments always eased your nerves after dealing with so much intensity on a daily basis, and it only took a couple of late-night walks to realize you liked Samira’s company, and more so you wanted it outside of working hours. On one particularly hard shift and a relatively quiet stroll, you knew you didn’t want to be alone, and even with the reassuring squeeze on your shoulder, a part of you craved her calming presence to tether you to the Earth.
“You want to go out for a drink? I know a good bar nearby. They make good margaritas.”
She nodded silently, offering an understanding smile, and walked side by side with you the entire way to the bar, stayed with you for the rest of the night, and even rode in the cab back to your apartment. When you woke up with a hangover the next morning, you were surprised to find Samira hovering above you, wiping your forehead with a cool compress, soothing the throbbing in your temples before the wave of nausea hit you.
“Wanted to make sure you were okay. You went a bit hard last night.”
The rest was history.
Tonight, she took your advice and said yes to your invitation for drinks at a club downtown, another location you had mentioned to her a while ago. Samira, ever the overthinker, came by your place to get ready, bringing a bag with some outfit choices, seeking out your input. She didn’t say anything when you told her to wear the halter top and mini skirt, coming towards her to hike her skirt even higher and align her boobs closer to the center of her chest, giving them a push-up effect.
“You’re a pretty girl, Samira. You’ve got legs and a face that can start wars, use them. If you flirt with the bartender, maybe we’ll score and get ourselves some free drinks.”
You told her that with a playful smile and a slight twinkle in the corner of your eye, your dark lashes emphasizing the flare. Samira watched you finish the touch-ups on your makeup, the heeled boots and leather pants you wore did everything to sell a fantasy of you she got to witness firsthand. She’ll never admit to watching the way the curve of your ass looked in the stretchy material of your pants, or how the low neckline of your top revealed the little pieces of ink along your shoulder and arms that were usually hidden under your scrubs. She occupied herself with grabbing the rest of her belongings and throwing them in her purse, oblivious to how you eyed her from afar, re-applying the last bit of your lip gloss before calling the Uber.
At the club, it was another story entirely. You held her hand on your commute and reassuringly squeezed her wrist when you started to woo the bouncer, batting your lashes at him and brazenly puffing out your chest. It seemed to work when security let you both in, leading Samira further inside and ignoring the people who bitched outside about you two skipping the line.
Some flirting with the bartender and three cocktails later, you and Samira were on the dance floor, swaying your hips to the upbeat song filling the space around you. You don’t think you’ve ever seen your friend so relaxed, so free; inebriated yes, but enjoying herself nonetheless. Samira’s face was craned up to the sky, the bass of the beat thrumming through her entire being, rushing from the top of her head to the balls of her feet. Her hair bounced with the rest of her, loose waves spinning around with every bop of her head and twirl of her hips.
You followed her lead, holding her waist and guiding her movements from behind. She laughed at the feel of you, clutching your wrist and bringing your hand to the middle of her lower body, keeping her in place while you synchronized the circular gyration of your bodies. Meshing to her back, she could feel you pressing up behind her. Tossing her head back over your shoulder, she granted you a whiff of her perfume, giggling in her ear in the process, teasing her with the ghost of a bite on the side of her neck.
Samira pivots on her heel and turns to face you, smiling wide as she throws her arms over your shoulder and around your neck, your hands taking their natural place on her hips, beckoning her to you. She was all teeth and dimples as she rolled into you, dancing chest to chest, eyes on you and tuning everything else out. Neither of you cared for the other people in the space with you, honing in on the way she felt in your hands, the material of her skirt, the open back of her halter top, the ease with which she danced with you under the dim lighting.
Closing the gap between you, whatever was left of it, her nose grazed the tip of yours, barely tasting the vodka on her breath. You watched her face, how her gaze drifted from your eyes to your mouth and rapidly returned back up. It was subtle; you’d almost miss it if you blinked too fast, and thankfully your strict attention made sure you caught it.
“I’m having so much fucking fun.” God, she was drunk, you think anyway from the way there was more black than brown in her eyes. To you, she’s never looked prettier, smiling without a care in the world under bright shades of pink and purple.
“I bet. That’s the liquor talking.” Placing a hand on her back, you sensed the faint shiver that washed over her. “You got a couple of eyes on you, sweetie. Think these guys want a dance.”
“I’d rather not, thank you very much.” She didn’t even bother to acknowledge the men in question who had been eyeing her up and down all night, opting to keep her regard on you the entire time. “I very much prefer dancing with you.”
Pride bloomed in your chest, fighting the urge to steal a kiss right then and there. You held off, your hands treading dangerously close to her lower spine, sneaking towards the waistband of her skirt.
“Good, that means I don’t need to worry about you scurrying off with a stranger and leaving me behind.” Samira laughs hard then, loud enough to filter through the music in the club. You savored the scene in front of you, taking her in as if she hung the moon and the stars, as if she were that.
Must’ve been the tequila catching up with you.
“Trust me, that’s not happening.” Her knuckles rasp along your jaw, the tip of a nail poking your chin and skimming your bottom lip, pulling away to move a loose curl behind your ear. “I couldn’t leave you behind, that’s a federal crime.”
You sure fucking hoped that was the case.
It was about 2 am when you and Samira called it a night, heading to your place and resting into one another in the backseat, tumbling into bits of cackles as your sense of direction remained skewed from the alcohol still coursing through your veins. Her head rested against your shoulder, your hand on her thigh to keep her nearby, absentmindedly painting circles into her soft brown skin. Her head lifts to look at you, doing your best to ignore the way the haze in her eyes sends a surge of warmth through your body.
“What?”
“Nothing…” Her voice trails off, leaning more into you in the backseat.
“If you have something on your mind, Samira, you can tell me. Probably the best time considering I’m seeing two of you right now so I won’t remember.” You both giggle again, the sound ringing in your ears with her sudden close proximity.
“Just wanted to say I had a lot of fun is all.” She beams shyly at you, breathing heavier in your direction and placing a hand on your side to keep her from sinking into the cushion of the seat.
“Yeah?” You quirk your face in amusement, the corner of your lips curling upwards at her eager nod.
“Yeah.” Her forehead is against yours, beaming almost to herself, boldly glancing at the shiny gloss still on your lips.
“You’re so silly,” shaking your head, your goofy expression was mirrored by an intoxicated Samira Mohan, both ends of her mouth flexing with a chuckle.
“Your fault. I forgot how many shots we had.”
“It was two big ones, but shit, I might be wrong I lost count.”
The bubble of comfort you found yourselves in extended beyond the backseat of the Uber, the hand on your side wandered up to stroke your forearm aimlessly, focusing on the tattoo on your bicep. Samira hums at the feel of your skin, following the intricate lines the ink left behind, trying to learn the story behind it and the patience you needed to endure the needle piercing into your flesh over and over again. It was strangely intimate, close enough to feel her light exhales on the side of your cheek and her heart pounding in her ribs.
“Samira.”
“Hm?”
“If you want something, tell me before I think I’m reading this wrong.” Taking a hand to the back of her neck, your thumb caressed her nape, causing her to bite her lower lip.
“I think…I want you to kiss me.” Her big brown eyes were glazed over when she met your gaze, the sight alone sending your heart racing.
“You think?” God, you could hear your pulse in your ears, or was that your second heartbeat? “Gotta be better than that.”
“Please, just kiss me.”
Fucking finally.
Tilting forward, your lips mesh together like you’ve been dreaming about all night. The kiss was messy, clumsy even as Samira’s brain caught up with the rest of her, slithering her tongue along your bottom lip to ask for permission to taste more of you. Opening your mouth, your tongue quickly found hers, swirling around it while holding her face with a hand on her jaw. She sighs happily against you, her exhale landing on your top lip while attempting to bring herself closer to you, sitting with one of her thighs between yours.
The Uber came to a stop in front of your apartment complex, forcing you to part from her with an embarrassed grin. You reiterate a hasty thank you and take Samira’s hand with a coy smirk, speed walking into the lobby of your building to catch the next elevator up. Swiftly grabbing your keys for the front door and unlocking it as fast as you could, you shut the door behind you as Samira kicked her heels off and tugged you forward for another kiss.
“Hold on, hold on. Let me…fuck…wash my hands.” She was busy staining your cheeks with her lipstick, touching any part of you she could get her hands on.
“Mood killer,” she jokingly muttered over your lips, landing a few kisses down the column of your throat and biting at the juncture of where your neck meets your shoulder.
“Old habits die hard. Plus, do you know how nasty clubs are? You’re supposed to be the smart one here, darling.”
Smooching her pout, you were able to peel off your boots along the way to the kitchen, rinsing off your hands with Samira next to you doing the same. Impatient as ever, she dragged you to the couch once the paper towel flew out of your grip, sitting you down and crawling into your lap with your arm wrapping around her waist. She practically climbs over you, needy lips finding yours again and humming at the feel of you, her palms riding up your chest and landing on your shoulders before running through your hair.
A moan punches out of her, instinctively shifting her hips over your thighs as her skirt rides up her body, revealing more of her to your greedy hands. Littering kisses down her neck, you went to undo the knot of her halter top, jerking the material down to expose her breasts to your eager sight. Kissing along her collarbone and sternum, she arches towards you, presenting more of herself without shame. Deciding to provoke her a bit more, your lips glide over the swells of her breasts, grinning at her unsteady exhales, a sign that she was anxiously lusting for more with every smooch you give her.
“Stop teasing me.” She almost sounded like she was on the verge of tears, desperation laced in her tone the more you dragged this out.
“Can’t I have a little fun with you?” You quipped, eyes widening a bit when she took one of your hands and placed it on her ass cheek under her skirt, guiding you over the thong she wore underneath.
“Touch me.” She damn near growled against your lips, a hunger unfamiliar to her overriding her senses.
“Yeah? You need me to make it better, Samira?” She nods, gasping the second your free hand reaches up from between her inner thigh to stroke her cunt through her panties, marveling at the wetness already soaking through the cotton. “Need me to touch you right here, hm?”
“Fuck, yes, please,” she cried out, bucking her hips to grind into your hand, bumping into your fingertips at the right angle that would give her aching clit more of that delicious friction.
Not wasting another second to toy with her, you plucked her thong to the side and gravitated to her slick pearl, the first contact of your fingers against her forced a whine out of Samira as she closed her eyes and deepened the curve in her back. She didn’t care how desperate she sounded, her whimpers and breathless keens turning your living room into a choir for you to enjoy, reveling in every mewl she willingly offered you. Rubbing circles over her clit, her hips bucked into your hand, oblivious to your lips inclining back to her breasts, wrapping around one of her nipples.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Samira clutched at your head, keeping you in place as your tongue flicked over her saliva-covered breasts, clenching around nothing with her arousal dripping down your fingers.
You don’t think you’ve ever heard her curse so much before, groaning around her perky nipple and nipping at it lightly, moving to give the other neglected breast equal attention. Keeping your thumb on her sensitive nub, you plunged a digit inside her, noting the loud moan turned to a whine when you burrowed another, curling them to the roof of her entrance.
“How does that feel, pretty girl?” You mumbled, grasping her hip to keep her steady above you, keeping your eyes on her the entire time.
“So good, so damn good.” She was lost in the pleasure, stars fired under her eyelids as she fucked your hand, chasing her own pleasure. “God…I’m going to cum.”
“Yeah?” You upped your ministrations, pressing your thumb harder against her clit and pumping your fingers with more force. “Come for me, ‘Mira. Want to feel you around me. Just let go, baby.”
A few more drives of your fingers and Samira’s cunt tightened around your digits as she fell into release, crying into your mouth when you snatched another bruising kiss, swallowing all of her little noises for yourself. She came much faster than you both anticipated, but you didn’t mind, not when she slumped against you and struggled to catch her breath. Her head rose to peer at you chuckling below her, slipping your soaked fingers out of her twitching entrance and clasping her shaking thigh.
“What’s so funny?” Samira blinks slowly at you, cupping both of your cheeks and holding your face in her palms.
“Just didn’t think you’d sound like that. You’re loud.”
“Shut up.” Heat creeps up to her face and you laugh harder, squeezing her ass affectionately.
“I don’t mind.” You kiss her slowly once more, biting her bottom lip playfully and coaxing a huff out of her. “Kinda want to see just how loud you can get, if you’re up for it.”
Samira was never one to back down from a challenge, humming in competitive intrigue. A lone finger moves over the neckline of your top, tracing over the lining that still kept the rest of your body hidden from her curious eyes. Tugging at the side of your top, she stares down at you, smirking as the same ravishing throb she felt before beats between her legs.
SYNOPSIS: On Samira's birthday, you help her test out one of her new gifts.
⟢ PROMPT 3 OF KINKTOBER: sex toys
CONTENT/WARNINGS: MDNI/18+. NSFW. SMUT. Alcohol consumption (everything is consensual). Sort of Dom! Reader/Sub! Samira (both are switches & fems though). Girls kissing! Oral sex (Samira receiving). Munch! Reader (cause duh). Sex toy usage (rabbit vibrator). Dirty Talk. Flirting. Samira & reader are roommates & in a secret relationship. Samira & Reader are senior residents at The Pitt. Samira & Reader are friends & around the same age. Both Samira & Reader are bisexual. Mentions of other characters & the rest of the younger Pitt gang. Trinity is a party animal and we love her.
A/N: Happy Holidays to all those that celebrate! I've been meaning to post this and it's taken me a bit to finish, but I finally like how this came out. I'm dedicating this specifically to @loverwrites, consider this a Christmas gift from me to you. Had to show my girl Samira some love, and that's exactly what I did. Proofread by moi. Reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. <3
NAVIGATION | MASTERLIST | AO3
It was Samira’s 30th birthday, and for once she decided to do something to celebrate it.
Over the course of the last year, she’s managed to finally make friends at her job, built up the tolerance to actually have a social life and bond with people she wanted to share experiences with. Now as she sends the dinner invite to the group chat Trinity had made with all of the new residents and interns, she was met with a bunch of celebratory emojis after happy birthday messages flooded her phone for the first time in years.
Surrounded by her friends, the mix of carbonara and wine Samira had earlier swirls in her belly as she takes another shot of tequila. Her head swings back towards the cushion of the bar booth she squeezed in with everybody else, the shot glass in her hand rattles against the hardwood surface as she slams it down.
Trinity had brought her a gift like the others had, dressed in a cute bag with colorful tissue paper peeking at the top of it. Greedy fingers tear at the paper and dig inside to pull out a box, her brown eyes widening at what was revealed to her.
A rabbit vibrator.
Samira shoves the box back inside the bag as everyone around her burst into a fit of drunken giggles. Trinity in particular breaks into a fit of laughter that booms loud over the music playing around them.
“Are you fucking with me?” Samira says with faux irritation, glancing at Trinity who slurped at her margarita obnoxiously.
“What? I thought it would be funny.” She shrugs nonchalatantly, a smug smirk plastered on her face. “And just so you know, I made sure to get you one with the good kind of silicone. It’s premium quality. I think you’d like it."
“You’re ridiculous Santos.” If Samira were sober, she’d actually feel the slightest bit of embarassment at her gift. But the alcohol was currently doing wonders at lowering her inhibitions, so all she could do was smile and join in on the laughter.
“I think it’s funny.” Samira turned her head to spot you currently sitting to her left side, leaning into the edge of the booth. “It would definitely help with your stress levels.”
“Oh shut up.” She rolls her eyes at that. “You do realize you’re the reason why my stress levels are so high to begin with, right?”
“Why? Cause I get on your nerves?” You grin from the side of your face, swirling your glass around aimlessly. She can’t help but mimic your expression, a dimple poking out of her cheek as she hums in response.
“Something like that.”
If only it were that simple.
There were countless times where Samira found herself vexed by your existence in particular, and as much as she tried to pretend like it didn’t bother her, she can’t help herself. Not when she’s envisioned your face every time she brought her hand between her thighs late at night, dreaming of the way your tongue would feel against her body when you were sleeping on the other side of her bedroom wall.
That of course was no longer just a fantasy after she made a drunken confession months ago, and you did in fact show her just how well your mouth worked. Being roommates had its benefits, and one of the many conveniences it came with was being able to find an easy way to get off without having to go too far.
Yeah, you bothered her. A whole fucking lot.
And she thinks you knew just how much.
“She’s gonna use it later,” a very inebriated Victoria jokes, hiccuping as she hugs her beer with both hands, body tilting further into Whitaker the more she talked.
“Or use it on someone else from here,” Dennis mumbles, not as drunk as the rest of the group, but still tipsy enough to be more than a bit honest.
“I forget just how much Trinity has corrupted you two,” Samira fires back, brushing off the way Trinity raises her palms up, guilty as charged.
“Nothing wrong with having a sex life, Samira. We’re all entitled to one of those.” A very calm Mel interjects into the conversation, nursing her dirty shirley temple. Always trying to be the voice of reason, she looks over at her companion with slightly sympathetic eyes.
"Maybe we should find you someone to kiss at the bar,” Victoria suggests, leaving Samira to raise an eyebrow at her.
“Make this dirty thirty worthwhile,” Whitaker adds on, causing Victoria and Mel to chuckle amongst themselves.
“How about we turn down the enthusiasm for a sec and not plan out my future sexcapades?"
“You’re so boringggg.” Trinity groans dramatically, shaking her head and muttering under her breath about needing another drink from the bar, slipping out of the booth to do just that.
Samira exhales and fully leans back into her seat, letting the alcohol coursing through her system cloud her judgement even more. Mel starts to talk with Victoria and Dennis while you nudge Samira’s thigh with your own, bringing her attention back to you.
“So you’re not going to make this ‘dirty thirty’ worthwhile?” You ask her lowly, staring at her with a little twinkle in your eye. To anyone else, they would see two friends talking, but you both knew better.
“Please don’t call my birthday that. It sounds so…raunchy.” You chuckle at that, leaning in close enough to be able to smell Samira’s sweet perfume.
“And what’s wrong with that?” Boldly, you sneak a hand over her knee under the table, your palm landing over the soft expanse of skin revealed thanks to the short skirt she wore that totally wasn’t on purpose. “Who says you can’t have a little bit of fun?”
“And what do you suggest I do for fun then?” Samira replies, not telling you to move your hand one bit. Instead her legs open up, a shiver rolls down her spine when your fingertips ghost higher up her leg, inching towards her inner thigh.
Before you could give her an answer, Trinity comes back to the table with another set of shots for you all to drink. Your hand leaves their spot between Samira’s legs, much to her dismay as she tries not to pout at the loss of contact. However, she sighs discontentedly, your ears pick up the sound and you bite the inside of your cheek to stop from pointing it out.
Everyone grabs a shot of whatever fruity concoction Trinity had ordered at the bar and cheer to Samira’s big birthday milestone. Your heads all bend backwards at different intervals while drinking down your shots, Trinity of course finishing first and hollering right after.
Samira swallows her shot in one easy gulp, hissing from the light burn in her throat, blinking the brightness of the lights away. Your laugh was the last thing she hears before everything around her blurs into the background.
Losing track of the rest of the night, Samira finds herself in her bed, wavy hair sprawled out over her sheets and clothes thrown carelessly on the floor with her head angled towards the ceiling. Her legs were bent over your shoulders, hands digging into your scalp as you worked your mouth over her pussy. She moans at the feel of your tongue folding over her sensitive clit, twitching with every pass of the wet muscle following her recent orgasm.
A breath passes her lips as you finally detach from between her legs, giving her cunt one final wet kiss and littering more on her inner thigh. She sits up on her elbows with blown pupils and messy hair to watch you lick the remaining slick off your lips, looking back at her with a smirk. Crawling up to her and planting kisses up her bare body, you line your mouth with hers, swallowing her groan with a suck of her bottom lip, pulling it from its place with a pop.
“Forgot how sweet you taste after a couple of shots,” you tease, smiling at her like a lovesick idiot.
“That’s all the oxytocin rushing to your brain. It’s making you say things,” Samira says, taking hold of your face with both hands to kiss you again, never being able to get enough of you.
“Nah, pretty sure it’s the vodka,” you kiss her once more. “Or the tequila,” you kiss her collarbone. “Or maybe it was the beer. Who knows, anymore” she giggles when you smooch her shoulder, fingers rubbing the nape of your neck.
An idea pops into your head. You leave Samira on the bed to go find the gift bag Trinity had given to her earlier, tearing at the box to pull out the new rabbit vibrator that was inside. A mischievous smirk appears on your face as you look over at the girl in the bed, walking back to her and reclaim your spot between her legs.
“Want to give this bad boy a try?” you propose, and Samira stares at you with wide eyes.
“Right now?”
“Yeah. Why not? It’s still your birthday.” As if to warm her up to the idea, you turn the toy on with the press of a button, rubbing the larger end of it against her skin. “C’mon ‘Mira. Let me play with you for a bit. I’ll make you feel good, I promise.”
The grin on your face widens when you see her nod, gently guiding the vibrator to Samira’s pussy. Her hips jump at the sensation of the low vibrations pulsing at the entrance of her cunt, arching her back towards the toy. She hums when the bulbous tip makes contact with her clit, tossing her head back against the pillows and gripping the sheets with a free hand.
“Right there?” you ask her sweetly, dropping a kiss on the side of her knee that remained hooked over your shoulder. “Yeah, right there, baby.”
A louder moan punches out of Samira when you increase the vibration pressure by two clicks. You tighten your grip around one of her legs to keep her steady, the other keeps the toy right against her sweet little button, the nub throbbing under the constant onslaught of stimulation the toy’s been giving her. You can see the way the shine of her slick stains the purple silicone, reminiscing the tangy taste of her still on your tongue.
“Fuck, fuck, oh god,” Samira’s hips continue to buck towards the vibrator’s tip, chasing the consistent feel of the toy against her. You watch her in amazement, encouraging her grinding with light kisses around her hip.
“That’s right, angel. Take what you need, ‘Mira. Want to watch you fall apart again, just like this.”
You click a button and the vibrator buzzes even louder, a whine pours out of her along with more of her arousal now dripping down the soft material. Samira opens her eyes to meet your gaze already on her face. Keeping your hand anchored, you drift higher up her body, mouthing at her soft stomach and sternum before wrapping your lips around a nipple, tonguing her breast until it grew stiff from your touch.
Samira keeps your head by her body, greedily shifting towards your hand to have you press the toy harder into her clit. You give her exactly what she needs, angling the tip just right to have her legs shaking under you. Releasing her nipple with a pop, you peck her chin and jaw, your mouth hovering over hers, breathing in every exhale.
“Know you’re close. Be a good girl and cum for me, Samira.”
You watch as Samira’s eyes roll to the back of her head, keening one final time as her orgasm slams into her with full force. Her hands dig into your shoulders as she trembles from the intensity of her climax, whimpering in your mouth when you swoop in to kiss her. You keep the toy against her to help her ride out her high, praising her for letting you touch her like this, for squirting and making a mess of her new toy and your hand.
When she gets a bit too sensitive, you finally pull the vibrator away from her pussy, kissing her cheek and any patch of skin you could reach. Samira laughs, lighthearted and airy as she tries to catch her breath.
“Wow. I actually can’t feel anything,” she tells you, smiling wide with her brown eyes glazed over, body still twitching from the aftershocks.
“That good huh? Guessing you’re gonna have to thank Trinity for this one.”
You both laugh into the warm air of Samira’s bedroom, the smell of sex and the erotic mix of your perfumes fill the walls. Hovering close to her, the same scheming expression from earlier shows up again on your face.
“You want to try the dual end too?”
“In a minute. I really want my mouth on you now.” She lunges towards you and flips you over so you're on your back, peeling your soaked panties down your legs to get more access to you.
In Samira’s book, this will go down as one of her favorite birthdays in a very long time.
𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: you've been crushing in silence on your best friend. when you're brought in to her hospital, unsure if you'll make it, you finally decide you should tell her.
𝙬𝙘:
𝙨𝙤𝙣𝙜: sun bleached flies by ethel cain
𝙖/𝙣: pittfest warning!!!!! can't wait for whoever voted for this to regret it. don't hate me, happy ones to come!
gonna mention the four baddies in my comments who wanted this especially i hope you guys are happy and that you don't block me after finishing this :p @meshlajetii @solielleilos @backt2u @noyaisasimp
mira ☆
i'm soooooo jealous and scolding my boss for next letting me take off.
have so fun tonight !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
you'd woken up practically at 11am after a long, long night of drinking with your coworkers. you picked up your phone and squinted at the message your best friend messaged you, smiling at your phone.
will miss you tonight bby and i'll kill robby for u, save some lives!
today was the first day of pittfest, and you were so excited. you loved the lineup so much. you'd begged your best friend samira to take off the day and come with you, but the pitt was so severely understaffed, robby didn't even let her have a chance to finish.
you understood, but of course was disappointed. samira's boss was always on her case, you hated hearing about it. you just wanted an opportunity get all dressed up and listen to music and drink with your best friend. and maybe you also just wanted the opportunity to see her in a cropped tank top and short shorts with her makeup done.
you were really hard on yourself when it came to samira, mental battles raging in your mind every morning. she was your best friend, your straight best friend. even if you wanted to, and god, you wanted to, you couldn't be with her. you could never tell her how much you wanted her, for how long.
you two had known each other for years, way before you realized you had feelings for samira. you'd met at a bar one night in your very early twenties and did shots together, and then you followed her back to her dorm room and slept over there. it was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. you watched her excel greatly through med school and she supported you every step of the way as you got your degree and got your job.
one night, only two years back at this point, samira came over after a long, long day at the pitt. you'd poured her a glass of wine and cooked her dinner, you knew how rough of a day she was having and really wanted to see her smile.
after eating, she just sighed and looked at you, and then asked you to go over to her. you did, and she stood up and just pulled you in for a hug, holding you for so long. it wasn't the first time you guys have hugged, of course, but it felt different this time.
"thank you," she whispered into your ear, hand caressing your back. "you mean everything to me. i love you so much."
you were rendered speechless at first, your heart beginning to race. "i-i love you too."
samira was so beautiful, she always was. but that was the first night you realized just how pretty her lips were and how badly you wanted to kiss them.
you managed to act as normal as you could since that night. it got easier with time, to hide your feelings. she knew you liked girls, you'd been on dates with them and she was always there to hype you up. and same, vice versa, you were happy when she finally had time to go on a date with some random guy a few months back, and was there to comfort her when she came to you afterwards about how awful it was. at least she tried. men always fuck up in one way or another.
you'd gotten ready for pittfest, doing your makeup and throwing on a denim corset top with a long white skirt. you were going now with your closest friend from work, veronica. you sent a mirror selfie to samira of your outfit. she wouldn't see it until later.
everything was going fine. you were jamming, drinking a little bit. and then suddenly, gun shots began to ring out, so quickly, one by one.
you and ronnie scrambled around, mashing with the crowd to try to get out, tears spewing out of both of your eyes, grasping to each other for dear life so you didn't lose each other in the crowd.
more gunshots began to ring out and you instinctively put ronnie in front of you, protecting her, pushing her quickly. you were glad you'd done so, especially as a bullet entered right through your hip, knocking you down.
"y/n!" ronnie turned and saw you shot, the blood soaking your white skirt.
"i'm fine," you wince. "we have to get out of here."
eventually, you'd made it into the back of an emergency vehicle and were traveling upwards of 100mph to the hospital. you were losing blood quickly, ronnie doing the best she could as she held her cardigan down over your wound to stop the blood from spilling out quicker. you were getting woozy now.
you'd pulled up to the entrance of the pit and were given a red wristband, ronnie crying as she watched you be wheeled into the hospital.
you closed your eyes and were breathing really heavily, in a ton of pain from the wound.
"do you know your name?" a brown-haired doctor had asked you. you recognized him, this was frank langdon.
you open your eyes and stare up at the white fluorescent light on the ceiling. "yeah. y/n, l/n."
there was a small lull. it would've gone unrecognized if you weren't fighting for your life.
"whitaker, go get doctor mohan," langdon had said.
"she's going to worry," you said, shaking your head slowly, begging langdon with your eyes to not get her.
you watched langdon look back over to whitaker and nod anyway. it made you start to cry, the idea of samira seeing you right now, like this. you knew it would scare her. you didn't want to scare her.
you heard her footsteps rapidly approach your bedside. she didn't say anything, not at first, just immediately jumped in to aid in patching you up.
"langdon, she's bleeding through it--" you hear her say.
langdon responds with something. you couldn't hear it. you were just staring at samira, tears blurring her, and you just prayed to god that she would look at you.
"mira," you say softly.
and there it was, mohan, breathing quickly, looked at you, grabbing your hand with her blood-soaked gloves, leaning over you a bit more.
"what happened?" she said. you can see her more clearly now, tears were present in her eyes.
your lip quivered and tears spilled. "you're so pretty."
she was confused. you held her hand tighter.
"please tell veronica nothing is her fault. god, samira, i love you, i love you so much."
"y/n, i love you too--"
"no," you cut her off, swallowing. "i am in love with you." you let out a sob. "shit, i never told you. i'm so sorry."
the doctors were still operating and quietly listening in. samira's tears hit your face.
"you're...you're going to be fine," she said, starting to cry more now too.
you shake your head and move your hand from her grasp and cup her face. "please just smile. once. i need to see you smile."
she put her hand over yours and forced a smile through her tears.
you can't help but close your eyes, smiling. "there it is."
as your hand fell limply from samira's face as she let your hand go, she had to silence her blood curdling scream she so badly wanted to let out with a hand over her mouth as the tears streamed. she fell to her knees at your bedside, mumbling "no" repeatedly under her breath as she held your loose hand in hers again.
she knelt up, tears hitting the floor, holding your cold face in her hands.
"please," she cries. "please, i love you too, please."
she kisses your forehead, then your lips once, as if to hope by some miracle, it would wake you up again.
when the chaos eventually ends, she finds herself on the roof of the pitt still in tears and had just broken the news to veronica. she held the necklace she was wearing, a locket you had gifted her for her birthday one year and she stares up at the stars.
Prompts used: ꒰ 15 ꒱ all-too familiar coconut shampoo, ꒰ B ꒱ mismatched socks, and ꒰ 𓆟 ꒱ a grey sky laden with rainclouds from this prompt list
Beginning notes: samira isn't coming back for season 3 and I'm currently devastated over it 💔 so I wrote this cute fluffy fic to help myself cope
The sky outside the apartment was gray, rainclouds already beginning to roll in that early morning. Despite nothing having yet fallen, it was a clear indicator of the storm soon to come.
You were still curled up in bed, yawning every few minutes like clockwork. The sun had just barely begun to peek its way out through the clouds, but even if it was shining fully you'd still declare your right to sleep in.
Samira, on the other hand, was already up and out of bed, getting herself ready for a long day of working in the Pitt. She'd just gotten out of the shower, and you could smell her coconut shampoo wafting through the air, all-too familiar to you.
Beads of water trickled down her bare back as she exited the bathroom, focused on drying herself off with a towel so she could get changed into her scrubs. Your eyes lingered on her smooth, chestnut-colored skin, noting the dewy glow it had to it from the shower she'd just taken.
"You're torturing me," the soft grumble escaped you, a slight pout on your face as you craned your head up from where it was still resting against the pillow in hopes of getting a better glimpse at her body. "How can one person be so gorgeous? It just isn't fair."
A snort of amusement escaped her at your words as she began to pull her underwear on, your gaze instantly dropping down to her legs at the movement. "I'm torturing you? Really?" Samira shook her head and rolled her eyes affectionately at your nonsense.
"Ughhhhh, come back to beeeddddddd," you whined out pathetically while rolling around somewhat, as though you were attempting to entice her with clingy cuddles. Your feet came untucked from the blanket at your actions, revealing the mismatched socks you had on.
She raised a questioning eyebrow at your behavior. "Nice try. Y'know, for a second there, I almost felt a pang of sympathy for you." She paused for effect, smirking as she pulled up the pants of her scrubs. "Almost."
You playfully narrowed your eyes at her, pretending to be offended. "How dare you not feel bad for abandoning me in my time of need. 'Deprived of cuddles' is the absolutely worst way to die, which you should know since you're a doctor."
She merely sighed and shook her head in exasperation, tugging the top of her scrubs on next. Having to convince you that no, she couldn't stay longer, and yes, she really did have to go every single morning before she left for work was a thing as certain as the sun rising and setting each day. "Babe, I love you, but I highly doubt you're going to die. You do this whenever I leave for work, without fail, and without fail, you're always still alive by the time I get back home in the evening."
You let out a dejected little sniff at her words, clearly aware just how right she was but not wanting to have to admit it. "This time could be different," you petulantly mumbled under your breath as one last act of defiance.
Samira couldn't help the way her lips curled upwards into a fond smile at your childish behavior. She also wanted to stay with you longer, but she couldn't let you know that, because you'd just exploit the information and use it as a tactic to keep her there. And it'd work, too.
"I'll be home later tonight," she stated while leaning down to place a kiss to your head, smiling for a second time at your loud groan. "What's wrong this time?" She asked teasingly, knowing exactly why you were so upset.
You just stared up at her with an unimpressed glare, looking as though she'd just confessed to destroying a priceless family heirloom or something. "You missed," came your huff of a response, pointing to your lips as though to indicate where the kiss should've gone.
"Oh, of course. My mistake." She leaned down and kissed you properly this time, her soft lips molding to yours in a way that had you letting out a muffled moan in delight. That was always the only thing that could pacify you in the mornings enough for her to slip out the door: the kiss before she left.
Her big brown eyes watched you with a tender look, her hand reaching out so her thumb could gently caress your cheek. "I'll be back later, I promise," she murmured reassuringly. "I love you."
"I love you, too." You were quiet for the first time that morning as you settled back in bed, simply observing as Samira finished getting ready. She grabbed her stethoscope and adjusted it on her neck, then clipped her ID to her scrubs before picking up her bag to take with her.
Even though you were sad to see her go, you knew she'd come back again once her shift was over. She always did.
"Miss you already," you called out after her as she finally got the small window of opportunity you gave her to leave, not missing the faint expression of fondness on her face as she went.
End notes: I'm gonna miss her so much 🤧 at least we get more of parker (hopefully emery will come back. we'll just have to wait and see)
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⊹₊⟡⋆ a/n: noah when i catch u. I really hope this is like a april fools prank broo, samira is such a good valuable character💔 ALSO i’m not sure if anyone has done this idea so pls let me know so i can give credits
⊹₊⟡⋆ word count: 2.3k
⊹₊⟡⋆ summary: You and Samira Mohan fall for each other, but just as you confess, she leaves anyway—showing that love isn’t always enough.
You noticed the distance before you understood it, but even then, you didn’t let yourself believe it was real.
At first, it felt like nothing—just small shifts, the kind that happen naturally when life gets busy and people get tired. Samira stopped lingering after her shifts. That was the first thing you clocked, though you didn’t think much of it at the time. She used to hover like she had nowhere better to be, leaning against the counter with her arms crossed, watching you finish charting with that quiet patience she pretended not to have. Sometimes she’d scroll through her phone, sometimes she’d just stand there, glancing up every few seconds like she was making sure you hadn’t disappeared.
“Walk me out?” she’d ask, like it was nothing, like she hadn’t been waiting specifically for that.
And you always said yes.
It became routine without either of you acknowledging it. You’d finish up, grab your things, and fall into step beside her, shoulders brushing every so often as you made your way through the dim hospital corridors. The conversations were never particularly important—complaints about patients, half-formed thoughts about your futures, random jokes that only made sense because you were both so exhausted—but they mattered in a way neither of you ever said out loud.
Those walks were yours.
Now they weren’t.
Now she clocked out right on time, slipping out before you even realized she was gone. The first time it happened, you assumed she was in a rush. The second time, you figured maybe she had plans. By the fifth time, the pattern was too obvious to ignore, but even then, you told yourself you were overthinking it.
Because the alternative felt worse.
The texts changed next.
That was harder to explain away.
Samira had never been the most consistent texter, but when it came to you, there was always an effort. Late-night messages, random check-ins, things that didn’t need to be said but were said anyway. You got used to seeing her name light up your screen at odd hours, used to the rhythm of her thoughts spilling into your phone when the rest of the world was quiet.
At some point, that stopped.
Not completely—never completely—but enough that you noticed. Her replies got shorter, more delayed, like you were slipping down a list of priorities she didn’t have time to explain. Conversations that used to stretch for hours now died after a few messages, replaced by silence that felt heavier than it should’ve.
You tried not to take it personally.
You failed.
Because this wasn’t just anyone.
This was Samira.
And Samira didn’t just drift.
She chose.
That was what made it hurt.
It took you three weeks to say something. Three weeks of watching her pull away in careful, deliberate increments. Three weeks of pretending you didn’t notice, of swallowing questions before they could reach your lips, of convincing yourself that if you just gave her space, she’d come back on her own.
She didn’t.
So you cornered her in the supply room.
Not because you planned it. Not because you had some speech prepared or a clear idea of what you wanted to say. It just happened. You saw her slipping inside, alone for once, and something in your chest snapped tight enough that you couldn’t ignore it anymore.
The door clicked shut behind you, louder than it should’ve been, and the sound made her pause.
“Are you avoiding me?”
The question came out before you could soften it.
Samira stilled, her back to you, hand hovering midair as she reached for a box of gloves. For a moment, she didn’t turn around, and that hesitation hit harder than anything she could’ve said.
“…No,” she answered finally.
It wasn’t convincing.
“You’re a terrible liar,” you said, the words steady even if your chest wasn’t.
That got her to turn.
You almost wished it hadn’t.
Because you knew her. You knew the way she carried herself, the way she held eye contact like it was a challenge, like she didn’t back down from anything. But now her gaze flickered, just slightly, like she couldn’t quite hold onto it.
Like you were something she was trying not to look at too closely.
“I’m not avoiding you,” she said again, softer this time.
“Then what is it?” you asked, sharper than you intended. “Because you don’t text anymore, you barely talk to me unless it’s about work, and you stopped—”
You cut yourself off before you said too much.
Before you said you stopped choosing me.
Her expression shifted anyway, like she heard it.
Silence stretched between you, heavy and thick, filling the small room until it felt impossible to breathe around it.
“I’m leaving.”
The words were quiet.
Simple.
Devastating.
They didn’t land right away. Your brain lagged behind, trying to make sense of something that didn’t fit into the version of reality you’d been clinging to.
“…What?”
“I put in a transfer,” she said, like it was nothing, like she hadn’t just pulled the ground out from under you. “It’s been in the works for a while.”
A while.
The phrase echoed in your head, sharp and disorienting.
“A while?” you repeated. “Since when is a while, Samira?”
She hesitated.
Just long enough.
And everything clicked.
The distance. The fading texts. The way she’d been stepping back before you even realized there was something to step back from.
“Oh my god,” you breathed, the realization settling heavy in your chest. “You’ve known.”
“It wasn’t finalized—”
“You’ve known,” you said again, louder now. “And you didn’t tell me?”
“I didn’t want to—”
“Didn’t want to what?” you cut in, anger rising because it was easier than anything else. “Tell me? Or deal with this?”
Her jaw tightened. “That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it?” You stepped closer without thinking, frustration pushing you forward. “Because it feels like you just decided to disappear and hoped I wouldn’t notice.”
“I’m not disappearing.”
“You’re leaving the hospital, Samira!”
“And I’ll still exist outside of it,” she snapped, but it didn’t land.
Because you just shook your head, something aching in your chest.
“That’s not the same and you know it.”
It wasn’t just about the building. It was about everything tied to it. The late nights. The shared exhaustion. The quiet moments that only existed because you were both there, in the same place, at the same time.
That was where you happened.
“You didn’t even think I deserved to know,” you said, quieter now.
“I did. I do.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me?”
She looked away.
And that was your answer.
“Because this—” she gestured between you “—is exactly why.”
Your stomach dropped. “…What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means this wasn’t supposed to turn into something that made leaving hard.”
The words hit harder than you expected, knocking something loose inside you.
“Wow.”
“I’m serious,” she said, like she couldn’t stop now. “We said no strings. No expectations. Just… whatever this is.”
“A situationship,” you said flatly.
She winced. “Yeah.”
“And you think that means it doesn’t matter?”
“I think it means we knew what we were doing.”
You let out a shaky laugh. “Did we?”
Because somewhere along the way, it had stopped being casual for you.
You didn’t know exactly when. Maybe it was the night she fell asleep on your shoulder in the break room, her head heavy against you while the fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. Maybe it was the time she showed up with your favorite snack after a brutal shift, tossing it onto the table like it wasn’t a big deal even though she’d clearly gone out of her way.
Or maybe it was something smaller. The way she always found you in a crowded room. The way her gaze lingered just a second longer than necessary. The way she said your name like it meant something.
You thought she felt it too.
“You’re acting like this is easy for me,” Samira said, pulling you back.
“Is it not?”
She hesitated.
And that was enough.
“God, Samira…” You dragged a hand through your hair, frustration bleeding into something softer. “You’re really just going to walk away like none of this mattered?”
“It does matter,” she said quickly. “That’s the problem.”
“Then stay.”
The words slipped out before you could stop them.
They hung there between you, heavier than anything else that had been said.
Samira stilled, like the entire world had narrowed down to that one sentence.
“Stay,” you repeated, quieter now. “If it matters, then don’t go.”
For a moment—just a moment—you thought she might.
Something in her expression shifted, something raw and unguarded breaking through the careful composure she’d been holding onto.
But then she shook her head.
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because this place…” she exhaled, and the fight drained out of her voice. “It’s not good for me anymore.”
Your anger faltered.
“What?”
“I’m burning out,” she admitted. “I can’t sleep. I can’t think. And every time I walk in here, it feels like I’m just waiting to mess up.”
“That’s not true—”
“It is to me,” she said, cutting you off gently this time. “And that’s enough.”
You didn’t know how to argue with that.
Didn’t know how to fix something that wasn’t about you.
But it still hurt.
“You could’ve told me.”
“I know.”
“I could’ve helped.”
“I know.”
“Then why didn’t you let me?”
She swallowed, her voice quieter than you’d ever heard it.
“Because if I let you, I wouldn’t be able to leave.”
The truth settled between you, heavy and undeniable.
And somehow, that made it worse.
Because it meant you mattered.
Just not enough.
You took a step back, putting space between you before you did something you couldn’t take back.
“You don’t even want to try,” you said.
“That’s not fair.”
“Then what is it?” Your voice cracked despite your effort to hold it together. “Because it feels like you already decided I’m something you can live without.”
She flinched. “I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Silence stretched again, longer this time, like something was ending and neither of you wanted to acknowledge it.
“They approved the transfer,” she said eventually. “I leave in two weeks.”
Two weeks.
Fourteen days.
It didn’t feel like enough time.
“…Okay.”
The word felt small. Insufficient. But it was all you could manage.
She looked like she wanted to say more, like there were words sitting just beneath the surface that she couldn’t quite bring herself to say.
But she didn’t.
“Are we… okay?” she asked quietly.
The question almost made you laugh.
“Yeah,” you said.
You lied.
Because what else could you do?
Ask her to stay again? Beg her to choose you over everything else?
No.
If she was going to leave, you weren’t going to make it harder for her.
Even if it destroyed you.
She nodded slowly, like she didn’t quite believe you, but she accepted it anyway.
That was the thing about the two of you.
Always almost.
Always just enough to feel real.
Never enough to actually be something.
“Okay,” she said.
And then she walked out.
The absence she left behind felt immediate, like the air had shifted the moment the door closed.
You stayed there longer than you meant to, staring at nothing, trying to process something that refused to settle.
Two weeks.
You didn’t know what to do with that.
The first time you met Samira, you didn’t think she’d matter.
She was just another face in the chaos of the Pitt, another person moving quickly through crowded hallways, focused and distant in a way that made her seem untouchable.
It wasn’t until later that you realized how wrong you were.
You remembered the first time she really talked to you. Not just a quick exchange or a passing comment, but an actual conversation. It had been late, well past the point where either of you should’ve still been functioning properly. You were both exhausted, running on caffeine and adrenaline, and somehow that made it easier.
She’d leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching you with a quiet curiosity.
“You always stay this late?” she’d asked.
“Only when I have no self-preservation,” you’d replied.
She’d huffed a small laugh at that, something soft and unexpected.
“Good to know I’m not the only one.”
That was how it started.
Not with anything dramatic or obvious.
Just two people, too tired to keep their guard up.
Later that night, the subway felt too loud.
Too crowded.
Too full of people who weren’t her.
You sat by the window, staring at your reflection in the dark glass, watching the city blur past in streaks of light and shadow.
Everything felt off.
Like something had shifted just slightly out of place.
Two weeks.
Your phone buzzed in your hand, pulling you out of your thoughts.
You didn’t have to look to know who it was.
Did you get home okay?
The message sat there, simple and normal, like nothing had changed.
Like she hadn’t just told you she was leaving.
You stared at it for a long time, your thumb hovering over the screen.
You typed.
Deleted.
Typed again.
Yeah.
Three letters.
That was all you could manage.
The typing bubble appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
And then—
Nothing.
The train rattled on, the steady rhythm filling the silence she’d left behind.
Stops passed one after another, people getting on and off, life continuing like nothing had changed.
But everything had.
Because somewhere between one station and the next, the realization settled in your chest, heavy and unavoidable.
She wasn’t just leaving the Pitt.
She was leaving you.
And the worst part?
You were going to let her.
Because that’s what this was.
No strings.
No expectations.
No reason for her to stay.
Still, as the train disappeared into the dark tunnel, one thought lingered, louder than all the others.
She got away.
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