♱ ℬ.

The dispatch sounds routine enough at first. A welfare check. A man in emotional distress. You and your partner arrive prepared to talk him through the crisis, giving him space, keeping your voices calm, trying every technique you’ve both been taught over the years.

You genuinely think you’re getting somewhere.

Then, in the space of a heartbeat, everything changes.

•

By the time additional units arrive, you’re frozen exactly where you were standing. You haven’t moved. You haven’t spoke. Your partner has to physically guide you away because your body simply… won’t listen to you anymore.

•

During the ride to PTMC, you don’t say a single word. Not when your partner ask if you’re hurt. Not when another medic checks your pupils. Not when someone gently asks if you can tell them your name.

You just stare ahead.

Your hands won’t stop shaking. They’re covered in someone else’s blood, and even after someone wipes them clean, you still feel like they’re stained.

•

The moment the ambulance doors open at PTMC, the emergency department goes unusually quiet. Everyone recognizes you. You’re the medic who’s usually smiling through impossible shifts. The one who’s always joking with the nurses during handoff.

Seeing you on the stretcher instead of pushing one… it doesn’t feel right.

•

Dana is halfway across the department before anyone even calls her name. One look at your face tells her everything she needs to know.

This isn’t a physical injury.

This is shock.

•

Someone starts asking you assessment questions.

"Can you tell me what happened?"

Nothing.

"Can you tell me your birthday?"

Silence.

Your breathing grows quicker. Your eyes never focus on the person speaking.

Dana quietly steps between you and everyone else.

"Enough."

The room falls silent immediately. She kneels so she’s in your line of sight instead of towering over you. Her voice is softer than anyone in the department has ever heard it.

"Hey."

Nothing.

"It’s Dana."

She doesn’t ask you to explain. She doesn’t tell you to 'calm down'. She doesn’t bombard you with questions. She just stays there.

She notices the way your fingers are digging painfully into your palms. Without saying anything, she gently places one hand beneath yours. Not forcing you to let go. Just giving your hands somewhere else to rest.

Your breathing suddenly catches. Then comes the first shaky inhale. Then another. Then your whole body starts trembling.

Panic hits all at once.

Months’ worth of composure as a paramedic collides with the reality that sometimes, despite everything, you can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved.

You try to apologize.

The words won’t come.

Dana recognizes what’s happening immediately.

"Look at me."

It takes several tries. Eventually your eyes find hers. She keeps her voice slow and steady.

"You’re here." "You’re safe." "You’re not on that scene anymore."

She repeats those three sentences over and over until your breathing begins to match hers instead of racing ahead.

•

When your legs finally give out, she catches you before anyone else can. She doesn’t care that she’s the charge nurse. She doesn’t care who’s watching.

Right now, you’re her priority.

The rest of the department quietly adjusts around the moment. A resident closes the curtain. Someone turns down the monitor volume. A nurse redirects incoming staff away from the room.

Nobody needs to be told.

•

Your partner, still visibly shaken themselves, watches Dana work. Later they’ll admit they were terrified they had lost you to—not physically, but emotionally. Seeing you finally respond to Dana’s voice is the first time they’ve been able to breathe since the call.

•

Even after the panic attack subsides, Dana doesn’t leave. She sits beside your bed while paperwork piles up elsewhere. Every now and then she asks one simple question.

"Need some water?"

A small nod.

Ten minutes later.

"Want another blanket?"

Another tidy nod.

She counts each one as progress.

•

Long after your vitals have settled, you finally speak. Your voice is barely audible.

"I thought…"

The sentence breaks apart. Dana doesn’t ask you to finish it. She already knows. Instead, she gently squeezes your hand.

"I know."

Before you’re discharged, Dana makes one thing very clear.

"You don’t have to carry this by yourself."

No lectures. No pressure. Just a quiet promise that she’ll help you take the next step, whether that’s getting home safely, talking to someone when you’re ready, or simply sitting with you in the silence until the world feels steady again.

•

After that day, whenever your ambulance pulls into PTMC, Dana always takes a moment to meet your eyes during handoff. She never makes a fuss about it. Just one brief look. A silent check-in.

You here?

And when you nod, however tired you are, she nods back.

Sevika was almost positive you'd left the bathroom door open on purpose. Steam bellowed through the crack of the bathroom door, wafting the scent of your strawberry shampoo through the whole upstairs. If it wasn't for the loud creak of the door -which admittedly you've been asking her to fix for a while- she could've gotten in undetected. "Sevika... you're not watching me shower! Again!"

"What- well why not? I'm not doin' nothing wrong..." you sigh as she peeks through the curtain her eyes immediately dropping to your tits, wet, dripping, soapy... a fucking tease.

"Because last time I let you watch the bathroom got drenched."

"But it put me in a good mood, didn't it?"

"Sevika-"

"Baby, *please*?"

The problem with Sevika was she had mastered the puppy eyes because she knew they worked on you. Completely unfair. "Fine. But not touching."

With a very loud, exaggerated huff you open the shower curtain completely as Sevika gets herself nice and comfortable, sitting on the toilet with the lid closed... stepping herself down to nothing.

At this point what did you expect? She's an absolute perv -only for you- but a pervert.

Giving her any attention would only have one result and that wouldn't be you finishing your showering peace, that was certain. Instead you ignore her, shampooing your hair as if Sevika isn't sitting there fisting her cock, hips bucking up into her own tugging hand.

She watches every curve, every movement with an honest admiration for you. No matter what you do, how you look, what you wear Sevika can't help but find you beautiful. It's a problem she's come to realise isn't all that bad and she could definitely have worse problems... like a wife who wouldn't put up with her antics.

You do, and that only makes her love you more.

Her small grunts and sounds of her spitting into her hand to jerk herself off easier are barely audible over the running water, but you can hear it. You risk a glance over your shoulder as you rinse your hair, suds of shampoo and bubbles running down your back and over the curve of your ass. Both of her hands are occupied, one desperately holding her cock while she humps into it, the other rolling and tugging her pierced nipple between her fingers.

Fuck. She's pathetic and perverted... but she's so sweet, the only reason she gets like this -so needy and pathetic- is because she loves you so fiercely.

So lost in her own pleasure Sevika doesn't realise you're watching her, not until you turn to face her and lift one ankle onto the side of the bathtub, opening you up for her viewing pleasure. "F-fuck baby... look at you." The sound that escapes her is undeniably a whine. Your big, strong wife reduced to whining and fucking her own hand simply because you're taking a shower... How did you get this lucky?

"Are you close ‘vika?" The whisper escapes you without permission as you cup your own tits, squeezing and turning on your own nipples, bottom lip held captive between your teeth. You're watching each other with lust, love and desperation.

"Can I... oh god baby can I cum? Please?" That little whine, the absolute *need* in the rasp of her voice is too much. With a nod your eyes drop to her cock right as she lets go. It's heavy and thick, painting her stomach with white lines, the creamy, salty goodness pooling in her belly button. "Fuuuck baby..."

Sevika is left panting, watching as you turn off the shower, climbing out of the tub you throw all the towels off the rack onto the now soaked floor. "I hope you enjoyed that, you bad girl." You smirk as you watch her clean herself up with tissue though... she's hardening again. "Seriously?"

Her eyes are dark with lust but also embarrassment. "...you bent over. What am I supposed to do? It just... happens." Giggling you grab her hand and lead her to the bedroom, it was definitely going to be a long night, and you definitely didn't mind.

It's not usual that Emily gets a real day off. Most times she's “free”, she's still taking phone calls and doing paperwork.

This time, though, she said she'd turn off her phone and she did. The night before, she made a show of turning it off and leaving it in her desk drawer, all the way in the home office. You laughed at her antics, but were clearly glad to see it — the thing had interrupted you way too many times. Then, she had made a dinner that you both thoroughly enjoyed and you actually managed to enjoy her for the night without that shrill ringtone in your ears.

This morning, she takes long to wake up. It's already nine by the time you open your eyes, something that rarely happens, and Emily is still sleeping, worn out, probably. From her long week or your activities the night before, well, that's yet to be determined. Either way, your stomach rumbles irritatingly, but you decide to ignore it for now.

Emily slowly blinks awake, her long lashes casting shadows on her cheeks when they move. You scoot closer, keeping her face in your line of sight. She smiles unconsciously at the feeling of being so close to you, even half asleep.

“Morning,” she mumbles, turning her face away even though you've told her a million times you don't mind the morning breath.

You tilt her face back to you with a soft hand on her jaw, “morning.” Smiling, you nip at her chin, then leave a kiss on her cheek.

Emily hums. “Any plans?”

“Sure,” you say, breathing her in after hiding your face in her neck. “They involve you and this bed.”

“That's it?”

“Mhm,” you agree.

Emily turns on her side, bringing your body with hers. Her hand drifts down to your waist, squeezing as she lands there, then she closes the gap between you, apparently over her own made up issue.

You kiss her slowly, savoring the time you have together, something that's not common or even to be taken for granted. Your fingers wrap in her silver hair, pulling just enough to sting, just enough that she lets out that delighted little sound in the back of her throat.

You're about to throw a leg over hers, growing impatient by the second, though your stomach has other plans. It rumbles again, causing you to groan annoyedly.

Emily laughs, pulling away reluctantly, “let me make you something.”

You shake your head, turning away and picking up her shirt from the floor. It's a button down, but you don't bother buttoning it up all the way, just enough to ward off the cold. “I'll just grab a banana and I'll be back.” You look back at her, pointing a finger, “don't move.”

She smiles, “wouldn't dream of it.”

Tiptoeing out of the bedroom, only because you forgot slippers and the floor is always so damn cold in the morning, you try to quickly make your way to the kitchen. On the way there, though, something catches your eye.

Doing a double take, you let out an involuntary yelp.

Because there's someone sleeping on Emily's couch. Someone you have never seen before.

Well, they were sleeping before you screamed. Now, the woman is slowly blinking up at you, her forehead creased in a frown.

Emily, mercifully clothed, in a t-shirt and sleep shorts — clothed nonetheless —, comes running out of the bedroom, her eyes fully open in panic. She doesn't even get a word out before you're hiding behind her and turning her body towards the intruder, hoping she knows what to do, due to being law enforcement and all. Maybe. Consciously, you know you're just being a bit of a coward.

“What the fu- Sarah?!” She exclaims surprisedly, frowning strongly now.

Oh. Sarah! Sarah?

The woman waves from the couch, placing her other hand on her forehead and pressing, perhaps to ease some pain.

You had no idea Emily's sister was in town, you didn't even know she had a key to Emily's apartment. Surely Emily would've said something about it?

“What are you doing here?” Emily asks, still half shocked. The other half… you're not so sure. “How the fuck did you get in?”

“Mom lent me her copy of your key.” She waves a hand, now bored of the commotion.

“Just like that? Without asking me?”

Sarah shrugs, “I told her I'd stay with her, gently, she told me to come here. Nice place, by the way. Have you been back from London for long?”

“Um,” you clear your throat before Emily can reply. Catching her attention, you give her an awkward smile, “I'm gonna go change into something less- You know.”

Quickly darting into the bedroom, you let out a sigh of relief when the door is finally closed behind you.

More annoyed now than anything after the adrenaline has passed, you start looking for something to wear. Your first free weekend with Emily in weeks gets interrupted by her estranged sister. Seriously, what kind of cosmical joke–

You hear Emily introduce you through the door, the slight shiver present whenever she says my girlfriend right after your name. You walk further away from the door fast, not wanting to intrude.

Following Emily's lead, you find sweatpants and a modest t-shirt of hers to wear. Hopefully it'll tell Sarah that you don't intend to have visitors for long, even if the apartment is not yours. The point stands.

Slowly creeping into the living room, you find the silence oddly disconcerting. Emily is still standing, Sarah still sitting, and they're both just looking at each other without saying anything.

Ever so gently, you move next to Emily. As if not trying to spook a cat, for a second thinking of Sergio who's probably still sleeping, hiding from all the noise somewhere, you lay a hand on her arm.

She turns to you, her eyes immediately softening the slightest bit. You smile minutely, “want me to put the kettle on?”

“Oh, some coffee would be great. I have the worst headache,” Sarah complains from the couch, leaning back into the cushions now that you have interfered with their staring contest.

Emily ignores her, “we'd love some tea, honey, thanks.”

Moving to the open floorplan kitchen, you secretly curse the fact that there's no wall for you to hide behind to listen to their conversation. Unfortunately, you'll have to settle by pretending to be busy making tea, which usually just takes five minutes, as they talk.

“Did mom give you the security code as well?”

“Yes! April 14th, what's it for, anyway?” She asks curiously. Emily doesn't respond.

You think of Sergio again. His birthday. Or, well, his made up birthday. You both decided on one for him after Emily told you she had an old rescue cat at home, in the very beginning of your relationship.

In no time, you feel his tail on your shins.

Crouching down, you scratch behind his ears, whispering good morning to him and promising you'll put his food out soon.

“What are you doing here?” Emily finally asks again, crossing her arms.

Sarah sighs tiredly, “I went to a friend's birthday party last night.”

Emily hums knowingly, “and went back to mom's estate?”

Looking up, you notice Sarah nodding.

“She didn't want you there drunk, so you came here.”

“Look, I just had a little nap. I figured, you're my sister, so what's the harm?”

Stopping short in the middle of pouring Sergio's kibble into his bowl, “wait. What time did you even get in? How did we not hear you?”

“Don't worry,” she smiles. “I didn't hear anything, if that's what you're wondering.”

You feel your cheeks heating up involuntarily.

Emily clears her throat pointedly, “leave my girlfriend alone.” She walks over and sits on a barstool, her back to you as she stares her sister down. “What time did you get in?”

“Around seven,” Sarah shrugs. “Look, can I just have some ibuprofen and a small nap? I'll get out of your hair after, I promise.”

Scoffing, Emily turns, that deep frown still between her eyebrows. You wish you could smooth it out.

“Would you grab the advil, please, sweetheart?” She asks, her voice low and just for you. You smile encouragingly at her, hoping she'll understand what you mean.

Handing her the bottle, you squeeze her hand quickly before she turns away again.

“Not even a glass of water?” Sarah jokes, taking the pills. “Wow, you're reminding me so much of mom.”

Waiting for the tea to steep, you risk a look at them. From this angle, you can clearly see the resemblance in their sloped noses and the shape of their cheekbones. They both look more like Elizabeth than anything, you remember from the few pictures of Emily's childhood that you've seen.

Most photos were from official events, Emily with her parents and her sister, sitting in front of some expensive piece of art or in a well maintained garden. Their ten year age difference was clear, but only on height — Emily still had a baby face, no matter that she's older. Only a couple were of Emily alone, more candid, and she told you those were taken by her grandfather in her visits to the Alps. As children, they definitely looked more alike than they do now, but you can see it if you really pay attention.

You push both mugs towards the edge of the counter, closer to Emily. Your own mug stays beside you as Sergio jumps on the island, still impressively quick for an old man. You scratch his head, leaving a kiss on it.

Looking over, you see Emily extend her hand, holding out one of the mugs for Sarah to take. Her sister scrunches up her nose, but takes it anyway.

“How long are you in town for?” Emily asks, sipping from her own way-too-hot mug as usual, earning a glare from you as she casts you a glance. The blip of normalcy eases the tension in your shoulders.

“I thought I might stay,” Sarah shrugs.

“Not here?” She poses it as a question, or at least tries, but everyone in the room knows it's not one. Even Sergio.

Sarah rolls her eyes, “no, Emily, not here.” She drinks her tea, surprisingly making an appreciative face. “With mom, of course.”

You walk around the island, leaning back on the counter next to Emily's barstool.

She lets out a loud laugh, “good luck with that.”

“I think we can coexist in a ten thousand square foot house, right?” Sarah asks, looking unconvinced even as she says it.

Emily places an arm around your waist distractedly, “maybe if you stay in the pool house.”

Sarah looks at you both, cataloguing your body language, you're pretty sure. “Look, I don't wanna ruin your weekend.”

Emily waits her out, sipping her tea.

“I'll just go back to mom and crawl until she takes me back. I can take two hours of a lecture about my drinking problem.” Okay, that's new. You didn't know that.

Sighing tiredly, Emily shakes her head. “Stay.”

If you're being honest, that decision surprises you. You would've guessed Emily might've offered to drive her to Elizabeth's, or to pay for a hotel room, but now… You see the way Emily looks at Sarah, like she's just her little sister again.

“Just for tonight. And you're not going out to drink again.” She crosses her arms, as if talking to a misbehaving child, “actually, I'm hiding all of the alcohol.”

Sarah rolls her eyes yet again.

Emily turns to you, “let's eat something, I know you're starving.”

You chuckle slightly, “I kind of forgot about that, to be honest.”

As you're eating — even Sarah, who's managing to keep down some dry toast —, Sergio jumps on your lap.

“What's his name again?” She asks, pointing at the cat.

“Sergio,” Emily says, eating her scrambled eggs impressively fast for someone who claims she doesn't get hungry in the mornings.

“Oh!” Sarah perks up, “like that butler we once had!”

Incredulous, you look at Emily in question.

“Shit.”

You let out a loud laugh, “you named your cat after a butler?! You aristocrat.”

“Okay,” she protests. “Not consciously!”

“He was pretty somber. Like a black cat!” Sarah counters. “Mom claimed he was efficient but too depressing.”

You hum, “Elizabeth always manages to surprise me, somehow.”

“Have you met?” She asks, with genuine interest now.

“A few times,” you shrug. “She's always been cordial.”

“Yeah,” Emily scoffs, “she loves to pester us, not others. Just wait until you mov- I mean,” she corrects herself, “until she's more familiar with you.”

You find it cute how she's blushing. It's been a few weeks since she gave you a key, but has yet to properly ask — you know better than to rush her, so you haven't said anything.

Sarah presses her lips together in amusement, but keeps quiet. Thankfully.

When you finally manage to get some time alone it's because Sarah has succumbed to her much desired nap. In Emily's room, you start tidying up the clothes from the night before that have ended up on the floor.

Swiftly, you feel Emily's arms wrapping around you from behind, stopping your movements.

“I'm sorry.”

You frown, turning to catch a glimpse of her face, “for what?”

“I didn't even ask how you felt about her staying. I know you don't know each other.” She sighs, “even I barely know her.”

You turn in her arms, placing what you hope are comforting hands on her shoulders, “it's your apartment, your sister… You decide what's best.”

“Well,” she says petulantly, “I was hoping it would be our apartment soon.”

Smiling, you wrap your arms around her neck, “you were too afraid to ask, I gather.”

“I wasn't afraid,” Emily rolls her eyes.

“Sure,” you smirk. “Well, if it means that much to you, no, I don't mind if she stays. She's still your sister. You grew up together.”

“Grew apart together…” She mumbles. “Are you sure you don't wanna go to yours? Maybe christen some surfaces before you move in here.”

You give her a look. One that says you know exactly what she's trying to do.

Emily shrugs, “worth a try.” She squeezes your waist, leaving a peck on your lips. “This was supposed to be our free weekend.”

“Well, we can still have our weekend,” you argue, kissing her once, twice. “We still have a shower... And I don't know about you,” you walk backwards, pulling on her hands in the direction of the ensuite, “but I can be very quiet.”

Emily grins.

Ex!Wife Baran who is unsure of what to do about this information. Her knuckles have turned white from how hard she has been gripping the steering wheel. Her radio is playing some Disney song that has been engraved into her brain while her son sings along behind her. She wants to scream, or cry, or both. Surely whatever you have with that bitch won’t last right?

Ex!Wife Baran who has been checking her phone for any notifications from you more than she would like to admit. Knowing your hand is most probably down in some girl's panties right now (which is highly unlikely, considering it's 10am and you said you’ll be at the farmer’s market getting to know each other) has set her off. The poor receptionist at the daycare had to handle the blunt end of her bad mood as she dropped off her son. A mental note was made to drop off baked goods next time as an apology. 

Ex!Wife Baran whose mood hasn’t gone unnoticed in the Pitt. Her usual patient and understanding demeanor? Down the drain. “Just stop, I’ll do it.” “Dr. Santos, I expected more from you. What is this?” “Did you even go to medical school? Again.” Everyone has started walking on eggshells ever since Baran texted you at 10:17 am to let you know that Azizam was dropped off at daycare and all you sent was a like. A like? Just a like? Even an ‘okay’ would’ve been fine! Sorry if you were too busy ogling your new girl than properly texting the woman you were married to for six years.

Ex!Wife Baran who has to take a smoke break in the middle of her shift. It’s around 2 pm when her phone vibrates in her pocket. A text message from you pops up, “Azizam forgot Ser Monkey in my car. Will drop it off at yours later this evening if it’s alright.” She responds, “no problem, will be home around seven. See you.” You don’t reply after that. 

Ex!Wife Baran who has been pacing in her apartment ever since she put her son to sleep which has been proven difficult without Ser Monkey beside him. It’s now 8:30 pm with no sign of you and she has looked in the mirror more times than she could count. She’s in the middle of her pep talk towards herself on why she shouldn’t be this nervous to see you when the doorbell rings. 

Ex!Wife Baran who notices the faint lipstick stain on your neck as you hold Ser Monkey in your hand. She takes it from you, your hand brushing hers. “How was the date?” she asks, her voice clipped. You clear your throat, not really expecting her to start a conversation beyond “thanks for dropping it off.” “It was good.” “I can tell.” Your brows furrow slightly at the brattiness of her tone. “Baran, don’t start.” You sigh and pinch your nose, already sensing where this is going. “Don’t start what? You showing up at my doorstep almost two hours late?” You take a step forward, “she was drunk, I had to drop her off-” she interrupts you, “Was that before or after you fucked her senseless in the backseat of your car?” A dry scoff of disbelief leaves your throat. “That is not what happened.” Baran crosses her arms and leans against the doorframe. “Yeah? Then enlighten me.” 

you hear a knock on the door many days later and your stomach drops like a stone. you’ve been avoiding her texts the whole time. the first one came the morning after, simple and careful: you okay? then another later that day, and another the next. you left them all on read, staring at your phone until the screen went dark, because what the hell were you supposed to say?

you open the door and baran stands there under the porch light in a dark hoodie and jeans, hair pulled back neat.

“hey,” she says, voice calm but quieter than usual. “you haven’t answered me. figured i’d check in person instead of guessing.”

you don’t invite her in. you just stand there in the doorway, arms crossed tight over your chest like that might hold everything inside. the last few days have been hell with mornings spent dry-heaving over the toilet, breasts sore and heavy, this constant low-level panic sitting in your gut that won’t quit no matter how many times you tell yourself to breathe.

you took the test this morning. two lines. faint but there, staring back at you from the bathroom counter like some kind of accusation. and now she’s here, the reason for all of it, looking at you with those soft eyes like she still has every right to show up unannounced in your life.

“now’s not a good time,” you mutter, but she steps inside anyway, closing the door soft behind her. your son is at a friend’s house for a play date, thank god. you don’t need him walking in on whatever mess this is about to become.

baran doesn’t sit down or make herself comfortable. she just leans against the wall in the entryway, hands tucked into her hoodie pockets, watching you with a patient, focused look that always made you feel seen and cornered at the same time. “you look exhausted,” she says after a minute, “talk to me. what’s going on?”

you laugh, but it comes out sharp and bitter, echoing a little in the quiet house. you turn and walk into the living room because standing in the doorway feels too exposed, and she follows without asking, her steady presence right behind you making your skin prickle.

“talk to you?” you spin on her, the words spilling out hot and fast before you can stop them. your chest feels tight, anger and fear and this stupid ache all tangled up together. “after what you did? i trusted you, baran. you looked me in the eye and promised. you said it would just be one time, that you wouldn’t-“ your voice breaks and you press a hand against your stomach without thinking, the test still sitting upstairs like some kind of bomb waiting to blow up everything again. “i think i’m pregnant. i took a test this morning and it’s positive. the lines are faint, but they’re there.”

the silence stretches for a second, thick and heavy enough that you can hear the clock ticking in the kitchen. her expression doesn’t change much at first but you catch the flicker in her eyes anyway, something satisfied and relieved that she tries to hide behind a slow blink. it makes your stomach twist harder, because of course she’d look like that. like this was part of some quiet plan she’d been turning over in her head for months.

she steps closer, slow and careful, like you’re a patient she doesn’t want to spook. “you’re sure?” she asks, voice low and even, no panic in it at all. just steady focus, like she’s already thinking three steps ahead about doctor appointments and due dates and whatever else she’s decided makes sense.

“yeah, i’m sure!” you snap, backing up until your legs hit the couch and you sit down hard. the anger bubbles up hot and fast now, mixing with the fear that’s been gnawing at you for days, making your voice shake. “you did this on purpose, didn’t you? all that ‘just one time’ bullshit, the promises while you were inside me. you lied straight to my face. you always get what you want, baran. always so fucking precise about everything except when it comes to keeping your word with me. god, i trusted you. after everything we’ve been through, i still let myself trust you.”

baran sits down on the coffee table right in front of you, knees almost touching yours, close enough that you can smell her familiar perfume. her hands rest on her thighs, fingers tapping once before she stills them completely. she meets your eyes without flinching. “i’m not gonna lie and say i regret how i felt that night,” she says quietly, honest. she’s so calm and it somehow cuts deeper than shouting. “i missed you. missed us. feeling you like that again… it felt right. natural. we’ve done it before, back when things were good.”

you scoff, the sound sharp and ugly in your throat. “i’ve already told you. we’re not. married anymore, baran.” you punctuate the words, maybe it’ll get through her head for once. “you don’t get to decide that for me. you don’t get to just… take what you want and expect me to be okay with it. i trusted you.”

she offers this small, almost sad smile that just makes the anger flare hotter. “i know,” she says, leaning forward a little, elbows on her knees. “and i’m sorry it happened that way. i meant it when i said i wouldn’t. but in the moment…” she shakes her head, a dry little huff of breath escaping like she’s half laughing at herself. “you felt too good. it came natural, like muscle memory. call it a relapse, call it me being selfish, call it whatever you want. but i’m here now. i’m not going anywhere.”

the anger mixes with something else, this deep ache that’s been sitting in your chest since the divorce papers were signed. you feel tears burning at the corners of your eyes but you refuse to let them fall. “what am i supposed to do, baran?” your voice cracks, quieter now, the fight draining into something exhausted and scared. “we’re not together. we have a kid already and it’s complicated enough without adding another one into the mix. i can’t just… pretend everything’s fine. i wake up every morning sick and terrified and all i can think about is how it feels like my choice didn’t matter to you.”

she reaches out slowly, like she’s giving you time to pull away, and rests her hand on your knee, thumb brushing gentle circles. “your choice matters,” she says softly, eyes locked on yours. “it always has. i fucked up, i own that. but this baby… it doesn’t have to be a disaster. we were a good family, even when everything else was shit.”

she leans forward, elbows on her knees, looking at you like she’s weighing every word carefully before she says it. “you don’t have to pretend everything’s okay. i’m not asking you to. but you don’t have to do any of this alone either. if you’re pregnant - and we’ll get you a proper doctor’s appointment to make sure, run the bloodwork, all of that - i’m in this. doctor’s visits, go to the gas station in the middle of the night for you, whatever you need. i can move some things around at work. hell, i can move in if you want. help with kaveh,” she pauses and looks down at your belly with a soft smile. “help with this one. we make good kids together. you know that very well.”

you stare at her, heart pounding so hard it feels like it might crack your ribs. part of you wants to yell, to shove her perfect plans right back in her face and tell her to get the hell out. but another part - the tired, lonely part that’s been missing her steady presence in the house, the way she always knew how to make things feel manageable - actually listens. it scares you how much it listens. “you can’t just say that,” you whisper, voice cracking. “move in? like it’s that simple? we fought for months before the divorce. screaming at each other, nights where neither of us could even look at each other. what makes you think this fixes anything? a baby doesn’t magically fix us.”

“it doesn’t fix everything,” she admits, voice steady but softer now, like she’s talking to you the way she talks to patients when things are delicate. she reaches out slowly and takes your hand, thumb tracing gentle circles over your knuckles the way she used to when things got heavy between you. her touch is warm, familiar, and it makes the ache in your chest worse. “but it’s a start. i never stopped loving you. never stopped wanting our family whole. this baby… it could be that. if you let it be.”

you pull your hand back but not fast, letting your fingers linger against hers for a second longer than you mean to. the contact feels dangerous, like it could pull you right back under. “i need time to think. i’m angry with you. really angry, actually. you don’t get to manipulate your way back into my life like this, no matter how much you miss us.”

she nods, no argument, just her patient look that always makes you feel seen even when you don’t want to be. “i know. and i’m not trying to manipulate you. take the time you need, azizam. i’m not going anywhere.” she pauses, glancing toward the kitchen like she can sense the dinner you abandoned when she knocked. “look, kaveh’s at his play date, right? let me stay and help with dinner. i can make kotlet, i know you both love it.” she pauses,” and probably miss it.” she shrugs. it almost makes you scoff, she just smiles and gives you a sympathetic look. “you look like you haven’t eaten properly in days either. let me do that much at least. no pressure at all, just food. and quiet if that’s what you need.”

you want to tell her no. you want to send her home and lock the door and pretend none of this is happening. but the nausea has left you drained, and the thought of cooking right now feels impossible. plus there’s that stupid, traitorous part of you that doesn’t want her to leave yet. “fine,” you mutter, standing up on shaky legs. “but this doesn’t mean anything. we’re not… we’re not fixing anything tonight.”

baran stands too, slow and careful, giving you space but staying close enough that her presence fills the room. “i know,” she says again, a half-smile tugging at her mouth. “just dinner. i promise.”

the words hang between you as you both move toward the kitchen, the tension still thick but softer now, mixed with something complicated and familiar. she rolls up her sleeves without being asked, moving around your space like she never really left it, and for a minute it almost feels normal. almost. but every time her eyes flick to your stomach, the quiet satisfaction flickers again, and you wonder how long you can keep pretending this isn’t exactly what she wanted all along.

taglist : @pinkthrone445

“Hola preciosa, te ves hermosa como siempre.” Agent Vidal flirts as the sound of your typewriter clicks. The noise is as obnoxious as the agent.

“Detective, bájese de mi escritorio.” You say back without looking up.  But you're still as congested as hell. You rub another tissue against your nose, it’s chapped and pink.

“Why did you give Agent O’Connor a shot but you won’t even wish me a good morning?” Vidal questions, lowering her tone and bending in a little like you two were whispering secrets. 

You look up now, damn her manipulation. 

“Agent O’Connor and I aren’t together-”

“-Anymore, I know, she’s my partner.” Rio cringes, “Temporary babysitting.”  The agent decides on instead, scratching her chin.

“Then why don’t you get the dirt from her? I’m working here.” You snip back, sending yourself into a coughing fit. 

Wincing in pain when you were done, your whole body hurt. 

“Muñeca, you need to go home, you’re sick.” Vidal says now, like a fox on a new hunt. 

“Please go, I really don’t have the energy for whatever this game is today, okay?” You say, sniffling and typing once more. You just want quiet again.

A glass door opens and the chief falls across the room.

His voice is loud, i your teeth hurt.

“Vidal, get your ass in here!” His mustache moves like a catipiller on his lip, and the FBI agent doesn’t flinch, doesn’t twitch even an inch. 

She’s here to liaison, chief isn’t her boss, in fact, she took dumps in the morning bigger than the man. 

You’re almost impressed by her rude display. 

Vidal continues to watch you ignoring her for a few minutes before reaching into her dress suit pocket and pulling out a handkerchief. It was embroidered with all kinds of flowers. 

She lays it over your left hand and sighs. 

“Mi amor, feel better.” She says and you wait until Vidal’s walked away to lift the handkerchief. 

It’s gorgeous. If you had to guess, you’d say her mother made it for her. You don’t want to put your raw nose into such a piece of art. You fold it and set it in your pocket, sure that Agent Vidal didn’t mean to give you such a personal item. 

Hours go by, Harkness comes by and harasses you a little, you aren’t interested in playing with your ex. It was old news. You’d left and you weren’t going back. 

Harkness leaves and licks her wounds (with the alcohol in her desk no doubt).

You’re writing up a report and then you would have to go back down to the morgue. 

All of this was taking too long, and you were so sick. All you wanted to do was pull the blinds closed and sleep on your sofa. 

You had the smallest office in the whole precinct. You didn’t even have a computer yet, still using a typewriter to make your reports. 

It was bullshit, but part of you wondered if it was because you were O’Connor’s ex that you were in police department exile. 

Well to everyone but Agent Vidal. 

By lunch time, you’d drawn the blinds and closed the door. The lights off, still, your headache only grew to monstrous levels. 

You were delirious. The pain was only building. So you were sure you hadn’t missed the social cue from a certain FBI agent. 

If she’d knocked, you didn’t hear it. 

But there she was, walking into your office with a bag and a thermos. 

You winced at the metal noise as the door shut, covering your face in your hands. 

“Buenas traded hermosa,” Vidal whispered as to not hurt you. 

You must have looked as good as you felt. 

“What do you want?” You grumble, not understanding why the FBI agent would kick you while you were already down. 

“I come bearing gifts, Ven a sentarte y a comer, comer.” Vidal speaks Spanish to you as if it were a language only you two speak. It’s somehow sweet when she does it. But you blame it on the sickness that you would ever think that.

You try to sit up at your desk, opening your eyes to see that Vidal is now in her white button-up and slacks. A few flyaway hairs fall from her normally perfect bun. Her button up jacket gone, she appears more human now, not so plastic.

Rio is unpacking a feast on your desk, but you are more intrested by her exhausted expression.

“How’s your case going?” You ask accidentally, forgetting you hate her. 

Vidal takes this as an invitation to pull up a foldable chair and sit across from you.

“O’Connor keeps scaring our witness,” Vidal tells you while she pours two cups of soup and two teas.

The steam rising catches your eye, and your stomach grumbles.

“I’m not hungry.” It’s sort of a lie, you don’t want to do this. Not with Vidal. 

“Come on, you’ll love it. Best Caldo de Res in fifty states. And the tea will help, I swear.” Vidal insists, and you reach forward and take the tea in the thermos first: accepting a tentative taste. The steam warms your face like a kiss, a sweet promise you’ll feel better again one day. 

The first sip hits better than alcohol. It warms your whole body, and you sigh, leaning back. Cradling the cup like it’s your long-lost lover. 

Vidal eyes you but doesn’t verbally celebrate her victory. She’s not that type, to enjoy being right with low blows and coarse conversation. 

No, she’s got a bigger prize in her eyes, and so she speaks low.

“The perp has a strange boot impression. Can’t figure it out yet.” Vidal tells you as if she can distract you from hating her. 

You swallow the tea, and Vidal watches the way your lips bend and curl.

The steam wafts in the low-lit office until you respond. 

“You found the body in the East Wood?” You say, distracted by the puzzle. Unaware that Agent Vidal has pushed the soup closer to you, you pick it up with a metal spoon and gaze off into space.

“Yeah, right by the snow run off that meets the creek.” Vidal says, and you moan again at the first glance of soup. It’s garlic, it’s chicken, it’s nice and hot. You close your eyes in delight.

“Loggers use that trail, boots would be steel-toed. A few of them might even limp, working in logging their whole life. Injuries and a strange gait could change the boot print. They’d know those woods, too.” You supply and cup the side of the mug to swallow more broth. 

Come to think of it, you’d not eaten for at least a day. 

Agent Vidal, hummed at your advice, already thinking of the names of surrounding logging companies. 

While she fills from both thermos in your mugs. Making sure you get it while it’s nice and hot.

You eat in mostly silence, Vidal occasionally tells you about the case. But mostly she just tries to distract you long enough to refill you on soup and tea.

An hour goes by and by the time Vidal packs up you are due down by the morgue.

“Let me walk with you, I gotta go that way anyway,” Vidal fibs, and you don’t fight her, full belly and sleepy. Happy for once. 

The FBI agent didn’t need to go down to the morgue, but you didn’t need to know that.

Every day that week, Vidal brought you different soups and teas. Not asking, simply showing up in your office at lunch time with gentle conversation and kindness. 

O’Connor and a few guys around noticed, not liking it. Making rude comments, grunting, and gossiping.

Agnes even tried to talk to you about it, but you didn’t pay her any mind. As the older, jealous cop raged on about how Vidal was not good for you. How would you need to see that, to see how good Agnes was instead?

“What do I need to do for you to take me back?” Agnes groaned annoyed at how long she’d been in the dog house. 

“Get out.” You repeated, looking over your casenotes at the photos. 

“You think sleeping with Vidal is going to make our relationship better?” Agnes spat, and you didn’t even look up. This was so toxic, so on brand.

“We’re not together, we’re over. Now leave my shitty little office.” You repeated monotone.

“You do this and I’ll hate you forever.” O’Connor growls out, baring her teeth at you.

Finally, your chin lifts to look at her. 

“I can’t be the only thing you love about yourself anymore. Now please, go.”

Oh, how fun your morning coffee’s with ex had gone. 

 It was the same words over and over, and you had work to do. You’d wasted enough time with Agnes. 

You and Vidal continued your dates; she’d stop by with another coffee or tea by 4. Anything to get another few moments with you.

Never asking, but not intruding either, a friendly face who just wanted to sit with you. 

It wasn’t until the second week that you noticed your headache leaving and your cold sweats diminished. 

Vidal brought in lunch again, and you eyed it. 

“What restaurant do you go to for all these good soups?” You ask, and Vidal didn’t react immediately, opening the thermos like it was clockwork. 

“Oh, one close to my house,” she shrugged it off. You smelled the lie instantly. 

“The one near Jimmy's? The one with the red sign?” You ask, and Vidal nods absently, making sure not to spill as she pours.

“Yeah, that’s it.” Vidal answers, looking up, realizing that she’d been lazy on that one. 

You give her a knowing smile.

There was something special about the bad fibs, instead of the liars you were used to. 

“Vidal, where do you get the soup?” You repeat like a detective, and the agent sits across from you.

“Let a woman have her secrets.” The FBI agent teased, winking at you. She’d been doing that a lot recently, and you had to admit the mysterious agent was charming. 

You cleared your throat awkwardly, picking up the teacup first. 

“I um, I owe you-“

Vidal said, waiving a hand and swallowing the tea before stopping you.

“Don’t be.” Vidal brushes it off like it’s absolutely nothing. 

“Oh, I almost forgot I have-“ you reach into your pocket to take out the handkerchief, you’d cleaned it and gone so far as to carefully iron it. Appreciating the beauty in such a piece. 

Vidal shakes her head again.

“Keep it, I have more.” Another lie falls out, and you arch an eyebrow.

“You always lie like that?” You ask,, and it takes the FBI agent a moment to react. 

“Lie?” The gorgeous woman almost squeaks.

“Yeah, you have a tell.” You laugh a little, your throat finally letting up with the delicious teas. 

 Vidal was happy to see the light coming back to your cheeks.

“I do not, Estás loco, cariño.” Vidal rattles off and you narrow your eyes. But the corner of your lips curls up. 

Vidal likes it when you do this. 

The sunlight hits through your tiny window, lighting up the steam from your mugs. It looks dramatic like Studio 50. 

You have a contest of who can blink first. Neither of you budge, until Vial smirks.

“What is it?” She’s gotta know.

“Fat chance, I’m not telling you.” You scoff, laughing, only for Vidal to wiggle her eyebrows at you.

Making you blink first. 

“Got you, you’re fibbing. Not a chance I have a tell, my facial features are stone cold to the bone.” Vidal answers making you giggle again. It turns into a few coughs and your coworker pushes the tea into your hand. 

You are coughing to hard to thing of how her fingers linger against yours as she passes the mug. 

You drink and try to catch you breath. 

“You gone to a doctor yet?”

“It’s almost gone, just lingering cough.” You summarize, sipping the tea again greedily. 

Sensing a tone change in the room, you look over the mug steam to see Vidal’s demeanor shift. 

“You okay, Vidal?” You ask, unsure what’s happened. 

The FBI agent leaned back in the metal folding chair. 

“My mom died a few years back, lung cancer. It took her really fast, one day she was cooking, and then the next, it was a small cough.” She looks you in the eye with the saddest smile ever. You can see all that love stuck in Vidal’s chest as she told you this story.

“So small, just a cough, and then it just got worse. She made those handkerchiefs for me, a thing we could do with our hands while we waited for her to die.” Vidal took a sharp breath in, and you wanted to stop time.

To give this poor woman a minute back of the comfort she so freely gave to you. 

You were mourning a woman you didn’t know, watching her daughter break open in front of you. 

“They’re beautiful.” You whispered, it wasn’t enough. How could you say the right thing in this moment, though? 

“Thanks, cariño,” Vidal didn’t let the tears fall, but you could see them threatening. 

“I’m so sorry, Vidal.” You add, because it’s not enough. 

“Call me Rio, will you?” The FBI agent shared the tenderness a second longer before you frowned. 

“Did you just manipulate me into calling you by your first name?” You mostly joke, sitting back in your creaky office chair to match her body language. 

“No, but I was hoping to ask you to dinner tonight?” Rio pivoted well, you had to admit. You think for a moment. 

“I don’t know.” You answer honestly, and Rio leans forward in her chair again, elbows resting on your desk. 

“I make a mean meal, as shown.” Rio nodded towards the empty thermos. 

“I thought these came from a restaurant near you.” You narrow at her, folding your arms over the other against your chest. 

“Eh, small falsehood. Besides, I cook better than anything in this town, my mom taught me every recipe.” The older woman told you, not giving up easily. Her lips move so smooth, you wonder what it would feel like to kiss them.

You couldn’t argue with that. Still, the real question kept bothering you. 

“Is this some kind of bet or something?” You sniffle, hating how weak you sound. Tightening your arms over your chest like this won’t hurt as badly when Rio admits to it. 

“What?” She says, instead, confused, not moving away. 

“You and Agnes are- whatever you two were and you work together. I’m her ex, is this some kind of a bet or a vendetta? What revenge or something?” You cringe at yourself, wincing at the idea of any of that. 

Rio can’t believe this. 

“Do you- what the hell? Is that why you’re in this tiny ask office? Are they, are they treating you different for-” Rio stands, the veins in her forearms flex and you actually fear her wrath for a moment. 

“It’s fine, honestly I-”

“No, no it’s not. You believe that I’m asking you on a date to get back at Officer O’Connor, has that happened to you already?” Rio’s furious, in your defense, it’s the most white knight look you’ve ever discovered. 

“Rio- it’s fine. I’m okay really it’s okay!” You exclaim but as Rio turns to walk out of your office to high tail it to your boss, to have his ass on a platter next you reach out and grab her by the arm. 

Rio’s body relaxes an inch under your touch. 

She’s still sizzling with outrage, but she doesn’t move, not while your touching her. 

“I just need to earn my stripes, it’s alright. If you complain, it’ll only make it worse.” You try not to excuse the shitty treatment you are getting. 

You’d broken up with Agnes, and she’d been trying to get back with you ever since, and this bullying was an all-time low. 

“This isn’t right.” Rio seethed, and you weren’t immune to this display. 

Your hand moved down to the agent's hand, and your fingers laced in hers. 

Rio’s hand tightened in yours, squeezing as if to understand. 

“What is?” You ask honestly. You worked in a police force as a detective for murders and sexual offenses, not a lot of happy endings here. 

“That’s why you were so guarded, you thought I was nasty like them.” Rio’s voice lowered, finally understanding your hesitancy. 

“I was, but that was like five thermos lunches ago. I will try not to punish you for the acts of others.” Your answer is gentle; you can’t believe how warm Rio’s hand is in yours. 

“I’ll be patient,” Rio’s gaze moved down to where your hands were laced. 

“Really?” You had never heard of such an offer. Your fingers are digging into her skin like you’re afraid she’ll change her mind on the spot.

“Yeah, you’re worth the wait.” Rio softly added, and you leaned your head against the back of her shoulder. 

“Does this mean the restaurant with the red sign close down?” You flirt easily, enjoying the safety that Rio’s company engulfed you in. 

The heat of her body as your forehead rested on her crisp white button-down, you could enjoy the outline of her muscles. 

God you knew better than to to fall again. 

But the intimacy in the way Rio cared for you, you’d dated emotionally stunted women for so long, you’d forgotten what it was liked to be wooed. 

“I’ll make you soup every day, just promise me you’ll get that cough looked at?” Rio asked, a hesitancy, a fear that you won’t take care of yourself if she looks away. 

“Promise.” You wrap another arm boldly around Rio’s middle. She leans into you further, letting a backwards hug turn into a longer hug. You could fall asleep upright with the agent like this. Who knew Rio was such a teddy bear? 

“Any requests?” She asked, and you yawned against her. Rio was already listing all the different recipes in her head. Sure that one of the tea’s would finally rid you of your sickness. While she worried, you felt exhaustion gnawing at you.

“How good are you at being big spoon?”

“M-mommy… We shouldn’t be doing this.” You whimpered, your stepmothers fingers buried knuckle deep in your dripping pussy. Her body pressed yours into the corner of the couch, kissing and licking up your neck as she curled her fingers slowly.

“It’s okay baby, remember what I said last time?” Your stepmothers voice was so soothing and as you looked at her you couldn’t help but admire how pretty she was, even in your situation. Wanda’s fingers curled inside you again making your back arch with her. “I asked you a question pretty girl.”

Racking your brain you answered, “that, um… that all mommy’s made their little girls feel good?” She kissed your forehead and smiled, “Yes! Such a smart girl. Don’t you like when mommy stuffs your needy pussy?”

She knew how embarrassed you got when she talked dirty like that which only made you squirm more. “Mommy please…” she cocked her eyebrow at you before continuing to mark your neck. “Mommy, need you… I wanna cum.”

Wanda’s fingers rewarded your honesty by starting to pump inside and out of you. “Thankyou baby for telling mommy what you wanted. What would you do without me hm? Who could take care of your needs.”

She didn’t expect you to respond, already whining into your arm and squirming on her fingers. Pulling up your shirt she admired your tits, taking one nipple in her mouth as she fingered you. “Mommy, wait, I’m gonna- mommy!”

You tried to get away from her but Wanda only held your hips down with her spare hand. “Be still baby, you can cum whenever you want okay? Will you let me make you feel good?” With what little strength you had you managed to nod.

Wanda quickly adjusted so she could wrap her lips around your clit as her fingers fucked your sore pussy. It didn’t take long until you were tipping over the edge calling out Wanda’s name as your thighs squeezed around her head.

She released you when you tried to pull her away from the overstimulation which she allowed. Pulling her fingers out she kissed up your body slowly. “Such a pretty girl, so good for her mommy. I just wanna keep you all to myself and never let you go.”

Her lips connected with yours and she led an intense kiss as you tasted yourself on her tongue. “Mommy can we go to bed? I’m really tired.” She smiled as you struggled to talk and backed up from you.

“Yes baby we can go to bed, but mommy needs you to clean you up okay?” Your words of protest feel apart as her tongue cupped against your folds. Wanda had been teasing you for so long you felt sore and throbbing. Your hips couldn’t keep still as her tongue drank your previous release out of your dripping pussy, savoring the taste of you.

She continued for another five minutes, only stopping because you had started crying and saying it was too much.

When the ED finally knew about your and Dr. Baran Al-Hashimi’s relationship, everything began to flow a bit more smoothly with work. Mel and Samira regularly came to you for advice on whatever the hell was going on in their lives. It actually started happening so often, some more of the “pittlings” group chat—affectionately named by Trinity for her, Javadi, Mel, and Dennis—would come to you and Baran instead of Robby. Family advice, medical advice, romantic advice, that was all now your and Baran’s territory. 

Baran initially was… hesitant. She kind of had this thought that it was unprofessional to be so close to the younger residents—she’s always one to follow the rules down to a T. Breaking one would be like a moral failing in her mind—until a few weeks of it passed. She realized that this was getting her closer to her staff. She could bring them bagels in the morning and talk them through their newest situationships after their shift. It became a tradition. All of you sitting in the park, you and Baran, hand-in-hand on a bench across from the group (Trinity, Dennis, Victoria, Mel, and Samira), debriefing the shift. 

You and Baran spent plenty of time with her son, Kaveh. But this was something different. Not parenting a young boy, trying to teach him how to navigate the world, but helping young adults. Young adults who remind both you and Baran of yourselves when you started working as doctors. Young adults who had… iffy parental figures. 

“I just can’t with my mom anymore.” Victoria groans from the park bench, head in her hands, lavender hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands. The city lights flicker from behind all of you. 

“Have you tried setting firmer boundaries with her?”

Baran asks beside you, thumb brushing over the back of your hand mindlessly.

“Have you met Eileen Shamsi?” Trinity says the name almost mockingly, letting out a dry laugh. “That woman is scary. A brick wall wouldn’t be a firm enough boundary.” Vic elbows her. Trinity puts her hands up defensively.

“What is she trying to get you to do?” You chime in, hand settling on Baran’s knee as your head tilts to the side. Just a small touch while you’re helping Victoria like she’s your own daughter.

“She wants me to go into surgery.” Victoria groans, rubbing her eyes. “And, no offense to surgery, but I just can’t. I’m not doing this job because I want money. I want to help people! She just can’t understand that!”

“No offense taken.” You reply immediately, soft and sure. Gentle in a way Victoria definitely needs right now. “You’re passionate, Victoria. That’s rare in this field. If your mother can’t see that, she needs to start trying to understand.” You look over at Baran, whose eyes are already on you with a soft smile, clearly admiring you. You have to pause for a second before getting back to the conversation. “You know what. Let me talk to her, Victoria. You could spend a day with me in the surgery wing and maybe I'll get a chance to… explain some things.”

Victoria’s expression lights up.

“You would do that? Seriously?

“I’ll talk to her tomorrow.” You confirm, smiling warmly at her. You squeeze Baran’s knee. She leans over and kisses your cheek.

“Victoria, I'm so glad you’re finally giving surgery a chance. You know, there’s such better opportunities in this field for—“

Dr. Shamsi’s incessant attempts to convince Victoria that all of what she loves about the medical field is naive and misguided are cut off by your voice as Vic and her mother walk into the surgery department.

“Dr. Javadi, Dr. Shamsi. It’s so good to see you both.” You say with a warm smile, pulling off your gloves. Perfectly professional, perfectly poised—Baran and you had spent the night at home discussing how to go about this like it was planning a battle strategy. Even as she held you in the warm lighting of

your bedroom after putting her son to sleep, she was still helping you come up with ideas.

“Well, we’re both very glad you could make room for Victoria today.” Shamsi replies, her hand pressed into the small of Victoria's back, like she’s trying to literally push her closer to you. “I think you could be a very positive influence on my daughter.”

“I hope so.” You turn to Victoria. She looks positively miserable. “But, I must say, I'm a little surprised Dr. Javadi was interested in spending a day in the surgery unit. My wife keeps telling me how amazing she’s been doing in the ED.”

Victoria seems to release a little bit of the insane amount of tension that has been holding her together. She doesn’t even look at her mother—who actually scoffs when you say that. She just keeps looking at you with… hope. You smile warmly back at her before turning to her mother again.

“Well, Victoria needs a chance to see how much better suited she would be here. Her gifts are special. I don’t want her wasting them in the emergency medical field." The annoyance is clear in Eileen’s voice. Not at you, necessarily. But at her incredibly gifted daughter’s passion for Emergency Care? What?

“Mom. Wasting? Are you kidding me?” Victoria actually snaps back, her anger clearly bubbling over.

“Yes, wasting. And you know I'm right. A surgeon gets to use their talents properly. You know how much more a surgeon can make in comparison to—“

“Dr. Shamsi, if I may interject.” You stop her before the two of them can break out into a full blown screaming match in the middle of your department. Or before you get the urge to scream at Eileen yourself. “Your daughter is undeniably brilliant. I can see that, you can see that, and all of her coworkers can see that. But what makes Dr. Javadi as good as she is as a doctor, is her passion. I find it incredibly rare to find someone who cares as much as Victoria does about saving lives.”

Eileen is silent for a moment, looking at you like she’s calculating what to say next. She has no argument against that.

And Victoria? She stands beside her mother, looking at you, tears welling up in her eyes. She takes a deep breath as she listens to your words, trying to steady herself so she doesn’t have to cry in front of either of you. It’s just… no one in her life had ever treated her like she was good enough just for caring. Like her worth wasn’t dependent on how much money she made or how “successful” her parents thought she was. And here you are, standing up to Eileen fucking Shamsi because… well, you see her. 

“You have so much to be proud of, Dr. Shamsi. Your daughter is an exceptional doctor. I don’t think any of that pride should be dependent on the medical profession Victoria chooses to specialize in.” Your gaze softens as you turn to Victoria. She nearly sniffles. “Wherever she is, I'm confident that she will flourish. It’s extremely rare to find doctors like Dr. Javadi. And if she feels that her style of care is best suited for emergency medicine?” Your gaze turns back to Eileen. “I don’t think I, nor anyone else in this hospital should try to change that.”

Eileen takes a deep breath. The room is dead silent for a moment. “Right.” Is all she says, her hand dropping from Victoria’s back. No more pushing. “…I should be going. Thank you for your… insight, doctor.” She gives you a nod as she takes a step back. Her eyes focus on Victoria, who is very purposefully not even glancing in her mother’s direction.

“It’s nothing. Thank you so much for bringing Victoria to me today. I’m sure Baran will be happy to hear I got to spend some time getting to know one of her favorite residents better.” 

And with that, Eileen nods politely and just… leaves. No more words to Javadi, no more incessant attempts to belittle her own daughter. It’s just Victoria and you. Standing together in the surgery wing of the PTMC.

“Victoria, I hope I didn’t come off as too harsh, I just didn’t know how much—“ 

Before you can finish what you were saying, Victoria is wrapping her arms around you, head pressing against your shoulder. It’s clear she’s crying from the way her shoulders heave with every breath. A look of horror dawns on your face. Were you really too harsh? Did you just ruin something for Victoria—

“Thank you, so much.” Victoria mumbles against your lab coat as she sniffles. 

You soften immediately. Oh. Before you process it all, your arms are wrapping around Victoria in return, pulling her close.

“No. Thank you. Thank you for caring as much as you do. You’re using your gift for good. We need more doctors like you in the world, Vic.” You give her a squeeze before pulling away just slightly to see her tear streaked face. “If you ever have any problems with your mother again, just tell me and Baran. We’ll handle it.”

She sniffles again, nodding as she wipes her cheek with the sleeve of her purple hoodie. “Okay. I will.”

“Good.” You laugh softly, hands rubbing up and down her arms comfortingly. “Now go get yourself cleaned up. I don’t want my whole department thinking I made you cry, okay?”

Victoria laughs too. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” You say simply, a warm smile on your face as you let her go. “Just go.”

“So? How’d it go today, eshgham?” Baran leans in, pressing a kiss to your cheek as you two walk out to her car. Her hand lingers on your back, rubbing gently up and down.

“Really well, actually.” You smile at her just as you stop before the car. “I think Eileen might actually back off a little now?”

Baran’s eyes go playfully wide, a surprised laugh leaving her throat. “Wow. You got Eileen Shamsi to calm down a little?” She leans in and kisses you. Not just a little peck on the lips, but a longer, lingering kiss. “This is why I married you.”

You both laugh as you pull away with one final peck on the lips. Just as you’re about to get in the car…

“Wait!” Victoria Javadi. Running across the staff parking lot to find the two of you.

“Victoria… what are you doing here?” Baran asks with a small laugh as Vic reaches the two of you, panting slightly.

“I just wanted to say thank you again. For everything.” She looks at you first, expression soft and grateful in a way that makes it so very clear she means every word with so much weight. “Both of you.” She then turns to Baran, who already has that loving, maternal look on her face.

“Anytime, Victoria.” You respond easily, shaking your head. “Your mother is…”

“Insane. She can be totally fucking insane.” Victoria fills the words in for you. Baran actually snorts.

“Okay. Well. I maybe wouldn’t use those exact words. But yes.” You nod. “She’s a lot. And sometimes you just… need someone to be in your corner.” You look over the car, at Baran, who is already smiling at you. “I’m glad you have two of us now.”

You let out a deep breath you didn’t know you’d been holding in. Securing this job was the only way you’d planned on paying for your bills this winter. You didn’t have a single alternative option. Sevika guided you to the hall before she very carefully twisted the knob, opening a door. You peeked inside.

Inside was a little girl in a pastel pink dress, she was perhaps only just two years of age. When she saw you, she walked closer, standing only a few inches away from you, looking up at you with curious eyes.

Then, she ran to Sevika’s legs, throwing herself all over the other woman. Sevika, caught off guard, chuckled and bent to pick her up. She seated the little girl there on her hip, “this little menace is Mira.”

“She’s adorable. She’s got your eyes, aww…”

“Yeah, but don’t let that fool ya’, she’s still very difficult to take care of.”

“Oh, I don’t believe any child is difficult, they just need to be understood in their own way.”

Sevika just nodded with a little smile before she walked, holding Mira, “c’mon.”

You followed her into the kitchen.

“You’re not to give her anything sugary without checking with me first, she gets very hyper when you give her even the littlest nibble of chocolate so I overview her sugar intake,” Sevika explained.

“Understood.” You nodded, “anything else?”

“She can pretty much express herself and communicate already,” Sevika glanced at Mira who was sucking her own finger. “I’ve gotta warn ya’ though, y’can’t take your eyes off her. Not even for a second. She’s very… active.”

You blinked. Mira giggled as if she was already plotting how to ruin your day, then kicked her legs.

“If she waddles too fast, runs and falls over— don’t baby her. That’ll make her cry and shit. Just tell her everything’s okay and nothing happened. She usually never cries from shit like that.” Sevika opened the fridge to show you where she’d kept Mira’s food, “oh!— and she’ll likely plead you give her candy or anything sugary— don’t give in. Ever. Always check with me.”

“Alright. Hawk eyes and no sugar. That’s easy.”

“Oh, and she climbs everything and screams a lot.” Sevika added casually.

You looked at Mira, “you sure? She looks so sweet.”

“She’s just a little shy.” Sevika passed Mira to you.

You almost dropped the sudden weight but then adjusted, and lifted to seat her on your hip, “there we go…”

Mira paused, looked up, gauged your expression and giggled, burying her face in your torso.

“Aww, she’s so cute.” You told Sevika.

Sevika raised a brow, nodding to Mira. You looked down— she was chewing your blouse.

Your eyes widened but before you could say or do anything— Sevika’s voice filled the kitchen area.

“Mira.”

Mira stilled, let go of your blouse and turned her little head to face Sevika— licking her lips, staring innocently.

“Oh, she listens to you.” You said, wishing you had an ounce of Sevika’s authority.

“She listens when she feels like it.” Sevika closed the fridge door.

Mira pressed her forehead against your chest, tiny fingers curling into your collar. You couldn’t help it— you melted. “It’s okay…”

Sevika wasn’t convinced it was though— she knew her daughter better than anyone. Knew her fully well to expect—

“Mira! Sweetheart! Sitting— sitting is good,” you tried to make her sit back but Mira decided that standing right there on your hip would be more suited to her caliber.

“She does this… a lot. She thinks she’s immortal.”

Mira squealed so loud you swore you went deaf in one ear, “up! High!”

Sevika was going to intervene but then your hands hooked under Mira’s tiny underarms, you secured your hold and then swept her tiny body through the open space, lifting her high up— Mira giggled and squirmed, kicking her feet but she was clearly enjoying this.

“Little menace, aren’t you? Hmm?” You twirled her, lifting her high up once again.

Mira squealed, “again, again!” She blabbered.

Sevika just stared. “Damn, you’re good.”

You settled Mira down against your chest again, smiling, cheeks flushed a little from the sudden exertion.

Sevika leaned against the kitchen counter, uncapping a water bottle to take a sip, “usually she cries and throws herself on the floor when someone new picks her up, but with you— I’ve gotta give it to you, you’ve got a gift for charming people.”

You smiled in the moment— not catching how she said “people” instead of just “kids”. Mira beamed at you as if she’d already decided you were her new favourite human being. Sevika put the half empty water bottle down.

“I’m gonna head out for work. You call me if you need anything. Anything at all.” Sevika grabbed her blazer off the chair’s back, “you be good, okay, baby?” Sevika kissed Mira’s head, and waved.

“Bye bye, mama!” Mira giggled, buzzing with energy.

“Bye, sweetheart.” Sevika gave her a last smile before she was out the door.

“Guess it’s just you and me now.” You told Mira.

Mira grinned— no, she fucking smirked. “’gain.” She stomped on your hip.

By the time Sevika got back home, the place was so quiet she had to take a step back and check the plate on the door to make sure it was still hers. When she stepped inside, she saw you washing Mira’s little bowl in the sink, everything was so tidy…

“Oh, welcome home.” You greeted, putting the bowl away.

“She asleep?”

“Mhm…”

She stepped inside cautiously, loosening the knot of her tie with two fingers. She closed the door behind herself and walked to you, stopping a few feet away.

You glanced a little.

“She’s deep asleep,” you reassured. “She told me decided my shoulder was squishy and she fell asleep.”

“She likes you.”

“I hope that’s not a problem— many moms don’t like it when—”

“It’s not a problem. I’m glad actually.”

You smiled, nodding slowly. Sevika looked so awfully pretty in this lighting. You couldn’t even help it.

“You look… you look pretty.”

“What?”

“Tired!— I said tired.”

Sevika stepped closer. “I heard you the first time. Just never been called that a lot.”

Your cheeks reddened, you could hear your heartbeat in your ears. “We shouldn’t— umm—...”

“Yeah, it’s a cliché trope, ain’t it?” Sevika chuckled, her nose already brushing yours.

You couldn’t help grinning. “You really read those shitty romance books?”

“Maybe… One or two.”

The rest of the conversation melted away when she kissed you and you didn’t push her away. You kissed her back ten times harder, pushing her against the kitchen counter, hands on the broad expanse of her chest.

“You’re really pretty.” You breathed out softly.

Sevika’s hand held your waist. “You’re—...”

“It’s okay… look at me.”

She did. She lost herself again. Sevika grunted, grabbing the undersides of your thighs with both hands as she pushed you to sit on the kitchen counter as she kissed you deeper.

“Y’know this shouldn’t happen.” Sevika sighed softly.

“Says who?”

Sevika blinked before she just tossed you over one shoulder, marching off to her bedroom.

“Oh my goodness, you’re so strong, it’s almost humiliating.” You murmured.

The door closed behind you both and you swore something changed.

Sevika pinned you to the mattress, her breath hot against your face as she rubbed your pussy over your panties, smirking when she heard your little whine of feeble protest that was only a part of the foreplay you both had been engaging in.

“Do you want me to take out the strap or do you want these fingers?” Sevika asked, her pointer and middle finger searching for your clit over the fabric.

Once she did find it, she pressed it and rubbed a firm circle around it making you squeak out an answer, “the strap, please…”

Sevika feigned surprise. “Greedy girl, greedy girl.”

Sevika got off your body and walked to the drawer, which opened to reveal several straps inside of different colours and shapes and… textures?

“Oh, boy, you must have an active sex life.” You watched her strip her body of clothes and put the harness on.

“Eh,” Sevika fixed it in place, “it’s been quite inactive since Mira was born, y’know? Could barely put the kid to sleep let alone bang someone in peace.”

“Yeah, that makes sense.” You made room for her on the bed once she climbed back on, strap glistening with lube she’d generously smeared over the shaft. “C’mere, babydoll.”

“Oh, oh, Sevika… we shouldn’t even be doing this. What if Mira wakes up?” You parted your legs either way.

Sevika positioned herself as she grunted out an answer, “then we deal with it,” slowly, she pushed inside, filling your tight pussy up, “guess you just gotta keep quiet, ain’t that right, mama?”

Your eyes fluttered shut, “oh, you’re actually so— shit, you’re big…”

Sevika’s elbows rested against the mattress making it dip at your sides, her nose was almost brushing yours— that’s how close she was. Your hands were wrapped around her body, her broad back and muscles making you feel much smaller in comparison although you were not that. Sevika chuckled as she saw your expression, your awe at her perfectly sculpted physique.

“Not the first time a pretty lady’s been mesmerised seein’ me.” Sevika told you.

You tried to roll your eyes playfully and scoff, “sure, sure. You’re so humble.” You said dryly making Sevika laugh before she pulled away from your face.

You didn’t like how addictive her presence had become. The moment she pulled away, you couldn’t help craving more and wishing she’d been cradling you closer. You didn’t want to seem needy though.

This was just one of those heat of the moment things— that’s what you told yourself.

Every thrust made you see heaven itself. The bed creaked under you both and the feelings were all mushed up, and you were so confused actually. Your hand searched for hers blindly, your eyes closed, lips parted just enough for her to know just how good her strap game was.

Sevika leaned down slowly, her grey eyes fixed on you as she captured one of your nipples in her mouth— slowly sucking it, flattening her tongue just right and dragging it around the nub to make it tingle just perfectly.

Your right hand went in her hair, messing it up, fingers tangling. “Shit— oh, oh, Sevika, you’re good at this. You’re really…” you panted for air, “... Good at this…”

Sevika smirked, flicking your nipple with her tongue and the strap slammed deeper. “Think you can fold for me, baby?” Sevika asked.

You nodded, “make me.”

Sevika’s eyes darkened with lust, one big hand of hers grabbing your ankles together and she folded you with ease— knees against your chest. Your pussy squeezed around the strap which felt bigger in this position.

“Fuck! Sevika!” You moaned her name.

She grunted, adjusting her position— and set out a brutal pace. You could only gasp for air as you let her use you however she pleased.

It didn’t take too long before a spurt of squirt left you. “Shit. You’re a squirter.” Sevika let go of your ankles. “That’s hot.” She pulled you in for a kiss again, leaning down closer to you.

You kissed her back, “mmm… fuck, Sevika… this isn’t right.”

“Hmm?”

“I work for you.”

“Why can’t we just do both?” Sevika’s eyes flickered to your lips again, like she was tempted to kiss you again, “it’s just us— us who call the shots.”

“You. It’s you who calls the shots.”

“No, ma’am, you’ve got free will and consent.” Sevika said with a little smirk.

You licked your lips. “Ma’am, hmm? You tryna get another round of this now?”

The heavy, industrial metal of Lin's armor usually announced her arrival long before she actually crossed your threshold. It was a steady, rhythmic, almost comforting thudding against the floor of the hallway, a sound built from decades of authority, unyielding duty, and the crushing weight of Republic City’s safety resting entirely on her shoulders.

For years, that sound meant the Chief of Police was on official business. But lately, over the past few months, that heavy tread had subtly, completely softened. She had taken to showing up at your place without the clanging badges of her office, without her heavy metal armguards, sometimes wearing nothing more than her casual clothes. Yet, even stripped of her literal armor, her posture remained as rigidly guarded and structurally defensive as if she were constantly prepared to intercept a blow meant for someone else.

It had started with small, practically invisible excuses that she threw out like shields to justify her presence. A leaky pipe beneath your kitchen sink that she fixed with a swift, unspoken flick of earthbending, her sharp eyes scanning the woodwork for any other signs of wear before she even greeted you. A loose, weathered window frame that rattled violently in the autumn wind, secured with a seamless molding of stone before you could even think to ask for a toolkit. Then, those physical fixes morphed into tactical ones; she began patrolling your specific neighborhood with a frequency that defied any logical police scheduling, ensuring that Equalist threats, gangs around the city, or even rowdy teenagers stayed miles away from your doorstep.

Eventually, the thin excuses wore away entirely, and she simply stopped making them because she couldn't find the words to justify what her body was doing automatically. Lin was just there.

She would show up in the late afternoon, claiming she merely had a few spare hours between exhausting shift handovers, and she would sit heavily at your kitchen table. She would quietly read through stacks of dry, mundane city reports while you cooked, her eyes tracking the ink but her ears tuned entirely to the sound of your footsteps, inserting herself into the quietest corners of your life so deeply that her presence eventually felt as natural, and as necessary, as the air you breathed.

Today was an exceptionally quiet, suffocatingly still afternoon. The rain was tapping a soft, monotonous, relentless rhythm against the glass panes, casting a cozy, dimmed, and amber light across your living room that made the rest of the chaotic city feel thousands of miles away.

Lin was sitting on the very edge of your couch, a rare and almost jarring sight of her without her metal cables, her uniform, or her usual defensive stance. Instead, she was using a small, coarse whetstone to sharpen a pocket knife she had carried for years, her eyes intensely, almost desperately focused on the silver blade. Her jaw was set, and the repetitive, scraping sound of metal against stone filled the room, distracting her mind that was clearly drifting away.

You walked over from the small kitchen, holding two warm, steaming cups of jasmine tea, the fragrant vapor rising between you like a gentle mist. You slipped onto the opposite end of the couch, moving with a deliberate slowness so as not to startle her out of her thoughts, and set the mugs down on the wooden coffee table with a soft click.

Leaning back into the cushions, you pulled a thick, woven blanket over your lap and just watched her for a moment, appreciating the rare lines of exhaustion that she only ever allowed to show when she was behind your closed doors. For a long, drawn out time, neither of you spoke a single word; it wasn't a tense or awkward silence, but rather one filled to the brim with the domestic, heavy warmth that had been quietly building between you for months, a silent agreement of companionship that didn't need no translation.

shhhk

shhhk

The silence stretched, comfortable and deep, punctuated only by the sound of her whetstone. You watched the sharp line of her jaw, the way her brow furrowed just a fraction more when the wind picked up outside, sending a fresh sheet of rain against the glass. She looked so entirely unmovable, yet the very fact that she was here, sitting on your couch dressed comfortably, felt like a miracle. You tracked the movement of her hands, the flex of her forearms, feeling a sudden, strange heat beneath your collar that had nothing to do with the tea.

"You know.."

you began softly, your voice cutting through the quiet, rhythmic hum of the rain and the scraping of the stone, "I was just thinking about how incredibly nice it’s been lately. Having you around like this.."

Lin didn't look up from her knife, but the fluid, steady movement of her hands slowed down to a sudden, agonizing drag against the blade. "What do you mean by that?" she asked, her voice low, gravelly, and entirely level, though her fingers tightened perceptibly around the hilt of the weapon.

"Just... us,"

You said, a small, genuine, and completely defenseless smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you shifted your weight to look fully at her profile. "Spending all this time together over these past few weeks..It feels like you’ve been around almost every single day, keeping me company, fixing things before I even notice they're broken, and just making sure I’m alright. I was sitting there in the kitchen thinking about how grateful I am for it, Lin. It's been really wonderful having you here so much, just sharing these ordinary days with me...I don't think I've told you how much it..means to me."

It was a completely innocent comment, a gentle, loving acknowledgment of the routine you thought you both shared. But the words hit Lin instantly.

The whetstone slipped entirely from her grip, clattering loudly and sharply against the wooden surface of the coffee table before rolling to a stop. Her entire body locked up. Her breath caught sharply in her throat.

Inside her mind, a sudden blinding panic flared to life, a realization that crashed through her walls. For months, she had been acting on pure, raw, and unadulterated instinct; she had stayed because staying near you was the only time her chest didn't feel constricted by suffocating anxiety. She had protected you because the mere, passing thought of anything harming a single hair on your head made her blood run entirely cold.

She had craved your space

Your laugh

The way you looked at her when the rest of the world looked at her with expectation.

There was no doubt she absolutely loves you

It wasn't a passing fondness, it wasn't a deep, platonic friendship, and it wasn't just a protective duty. She was devastatingly and hopelessly in love with you. It was a consuming, desperate, and aching hunger to be your everything, to be the person who held you through the night, who stayed by your side until the world ended.

And hearing you speak so innocently, so sweetly about her presence made her feel entirely exposed, stripped bare to the bone, and completely horrified by her own selfishness.

How could she let herself get this close to you?

How could she let herself want something so beautiful and so fragile when she was a woman who only knew how to break things, how to fight, and how to push people away before they could leave her?

"Lin?"

You asked, your voice dropping slightly, the smile completely fading from your face as you noticed the sudden, alarming rigidity in her shoulders.

"Hey, what is it? Are you okay?"

"Fine,"

she choked out, the syllable tearing from her throat, raspy and completely devoid of its usual commanding grit. She immediately leaned forward, her movements jerky and uncoordinated as she grabbed the fallen whetstone with trembling, pale fingers and shoved it deep into her pocket. She wouldn't look at you; she kept her gaze desperately locked onto the grains of the floorboards between her boots. "I'm fine. Just... just remembered something important I forgot to handle at the station. A report for the council. I should go. I need to leave."

She made a frantic move to stand up, to flee the room before the truth choked her, but the sheer emotional vertigo, the weight of the realization, kept her pinned to the cushions like a physical weight. You frowned deeply, a tight, painful knot of worry forming in your chest as you watched her. The sudden shift in her energy was jarring.

"Lin.. Don't go yet..—" you pleaded gently, throwing the blanket aside and shifting closer to her, the distance between you vanishing until your knees were nearly touching hers. The proximity was suddenly electric, the air thick and heavy with a tension that made your pulse jump.

"You're shaking..Talk to me. Don't do this—"

"I told you, I'm fine."

She snapped, her voice rising, but the bark lacked any of its usual iron bite. It sounded fragile, papery, and completely shattered at the edges, like a glass vase that had already cracked and was waiting for the final blow to fall apart.

"I have a job to do. I shouldn't be slacking off here anyway. The city doesn't run itself."

"You aren't slacking off, and we both know there's no urgent council report right now,"

You said softly, your voice a stark contrast to her defensive edge. You reached out, your hand hovering over her arm, the heat radiating off her skin making your fingers tingle. You desperately wanted her to stay, desperately wanted to close the final inch between you.

"You've been working yourself to the bone for weeks, and you finally take a breath—and now you're trying to run away? Did I say something wrong? Did I cross a line?—"

"No!—not at all."

Lin intercepted quickly, her head snapping up slightly before she forced her eyes back down. Her fingers dug into the fabric of her own trousers, her knuckles turning stark white.

"No, you didn't do anything wrong. You never did anything wrong. That's the damn problem."

When she finally, reluctantly tilted her head fully toward you, your heart dropped completely into your stomach. Lin the unyielding, iron willed Chief of Police, the woman who had faced down criminals without blinking had a thick, heavy gloss of tears gathering in her sharp, green eyes.

They didn't fall yet, held back by a lifetime of trained discipline and sheer force of will, but they brightened her eyes with a heartbreaking vulnerability that you had never seen on her face before. Her jaw was clenched so hard the muscles jumped beneath her scarred skin, her lips trembling slightly as she fought a losing battle to keep her breathing steady and even.

She looked entirely, hopelessly lost, like a child caught in a storm she couldn't get her way out of. She had never felt anything this overwhelming or this heavy in her entire life, and she felt dirty, like she had crossed a sacred line, like she had no right to harbor these intense, aching desires for the person who trusted her as a friend.

Witnessing this unfold in front of you, without thinking, you closed the final gap between you, your breathing hitching as your chest practically brushed against hers.

You reached out, your fingers hesitant for a fraction of a second in the air, trembling slightly against the sheer gravity of her presence, before you gently, reverently placed your warm hand against her cheek. The contrast was staggering, your soft skin against her weathered, scarred jawline. Your thumb brushed just beneath her eye, catching the very first stray tear that finally managed to escape her grip and track a slow, wet path down over her pale scar.

That single touch

That gentleness

was her absolute undoing.

If you had yelled at her, if you had pushed her away in disgust, or if you had demanded she leave, she could have handled it perfectly. She knew how to fight. She knew how to build against anger, rejection, and hatred—she had done it her entire life. But this—this soft, unconditional care, the radiating warmth of your skin against her face, the pure worry in your eyes just for her, completely shattered the very last of her defenses, crumbling her walls into dust.

A ragged, broken, and choked sob tore violently from her throat, a sound so raw it made your own eyes sting. She closed her eyes tightly, more tears instantly spilling over your fingers as she leaned her forehead forward with a heavy, defeated thud against your shoulder. Her entire frame shook, a rare, terrifying tremor running through her strong, muscular shoulders as she buried herself into you, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps against your neck, her lips pressing inadvertently against your collarbone with every shuddering breath.

"I'm sorry," she whispered fiercely, the words hurried, frantic, and completely broken as they tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop them. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to—I never meant for any of this to happen. I'm so sorry, [Your Name] . I'm so sorry."

"Lin...hey, breathe for me, just breathe.." you murmured, wrapping your arms securely around her broad shoulders, pulling her trembling body tightly against yours, feeling the rapid, terrified thumping of her heart against your ribs. The proximity was overwhelming; you could feel every muscle in her back tense and unbend, could smell the scent of copper and rain that always followed her.

"You don't have to apologize for a single thing. You're safe here. Just tell me what's wrong, please. You're killing me here, seeing you like this."

"I ruined it."

She choked out, her hands coming up to grip the fabric of your shirt, clutching at you with a terrifying, white-knuckled strength like a drowning woman reaching for a lifeline in a storm. She pulled you so close you could feel the heat of her core through your clothes. "I'm ruining this. I'm ruining us. I just... I couldn't bring myself to stay away from you. Every single day, from the moment I wake up, it's all I think about. Coming here. Keeping you safe. Hearing your voice. Being near you. Never have I thought I'd say..I fell... I fell for you, so hard [Your Name] ." The sentence hung heavy in the air for a brief pause.

"And I hate myself for it because I didn't want to mess up what we had. I didn't want to lose your friendship. I didn't want to force myself into your life and make you feel trapped or uncomfortable around me. I'm a mess, and I'm selfish, and I'm so sorry."

The confession was messy, desperate, and filled with a lifetime of deeply rooted self doubt, fear of abandonment, and the belief that she was fundamentally unlovable. She was waiting for the axe to fall. She was bracing her entire body for you to pull away in shock, to tell her that she had made a terrible mistake, and to confirm her worst fear: that she had ruined the only safe place she had left in the world.

"You think you're forcing yourself into my life?" you asked, your voice shaking slightly with the sheer weight of what she was saying. You didn't pull away; instead, you squeezed her closer, burying your hand in the hair at the nape of her neck, your fingers tangling in the short, silver-grey strands. "Lin, look at me...pull your head up.."

She hesitated, her breath hitching, before she slowly lifted her head from your shoulder. Her face was flushed, her nose pink, and her eyes were completely wide and raw with a vulnerability she usually kept buried under miles of steel. Her lips were parted, trembling, just inches from yours, and the sudden, breathless proximity made the air between you thin out completely.

"Listen to me very carefully," you said, making sure your voice was as solid and unyielding as the earth she bent, though your eyes flicked down to her lips for a split second before locking back onto her green gaze. "I haven't just let you come over because I'm a polite friend.. Or just tolerating you everyday.."

"In... in all honesty, I've been sitting on this couch every single afternoon, counting down the minutes until I hear your boots in the hall. All the small things you do when you're around me—even if the space between us is completely quiet, or you're just reading some case report, or—whatever it is you're doing... they all remind me exactly why I fell for you!"

The words spilled out in a breathless rush, messy and unstructured, but you didn't care. You were desperate to get everything out into the open, needing her to see, without a shadow of a doubt, that you love her just as deeply as she loved you.

Lin stared at you, her jaw loosening slightly as her sharp mind struggled to translate the sheer weight of what she was hearing. Then, her gaze dropped to your mouth, a sudden, heavy hunger flaring through the tears still pooling in her eyes.

"You... what?"

"I love you Lin.."

You confessed, letting the words settle into the quiet room like a promise. "I haven't just been tolerating you. I've been completely, utterly miserable every time you have to go back to the station. I love your company. I love how safe I feel when you're near me. I love the quiet moments we share. I love you. All of you. The stubbornness, the scars—everything. You haven't forced yourself into my life at all. I've been sitting here for months wishing you would just stay forever."

Lin blinked, her breath catching entirely in her throat, her grip on your shirt tightening so hard she practically pulled you off the cushions and into her lap. "No... don't... don't say that just because I'm a pathetic mess right now. Don't play with me, [Your Name], please. I can't handle it if you're just trying to make me feel better."

"I'm not" you replied back, your voice dropping to a whisper as you tilted her chin up, your thumb brushing over her lower lip, feeling it tremble against your skin. "Do I look like I'm playing? I have never been more certain of anything in my entire life. I love you, Lin. I have for a very long time.."

She searched your eyes desperately, looking for any hint of pity, any sign of a cruel joke, or any trace of a lie, but she found absolutely nothing but pure sincerity and a deep, unconditional affection meant entirely for her. The space between your faces felt charged with an unbearable weight, a magnetic pull that neither of you knew how to break.

"It doesn't make any sense"

She whispered, her breath hot against your skin, her voice incredibly small, a stark, heartbreaking contrast to the powerful woman who commanded an entire city's defense force. "I'm not... I'm not good at this. I don't know how to do the soft sappy stuff, [Your Name]. I'm bad at talking, I'm bad at feelings, and I usually end up driving everyone I care about away. I'm a disaster. Why would you want this?"

"Because you're also the most fiercely loyal, protective, and deeply caring person I have ever known," you replied, your heart aching at how little she valued her own heart, your eyes tracing the sharp lines of her face, wanting nothing more than to press your lips against her skin. "You don't have to be 'good' at the soft sappy stuff. You just have to be here. With me. We'll figure out the rest together. I don't want some perfect fantasy, Lin. I want you."

"You really want me? Like this? With all of my baggage? All the late nights, the bad moods, the city's problems?"

"More than anything in this world,"

you murmured, a tear finally escaping your own eye from the sheer, suffocating emotional gravity of the moment.

"Every single bit of it."

You slowly closed the remaining distance between you, gently, firmly pressing your forehead against hers. Lin let out a long, shaky, and trembling breath against your lips, the warmth of it sending a shiver straight down your spine. She was still a little hesitant, her muscles slightly tense as decades of old, protective instincts tried to scream at her that this was too good to be true, that she was going to wake up in her cold apartment alone.

But as you slid one hand up to gently cup the back of her head, weaving your fingers through the soft, graying strands of her hair and anchoring her to you, you pulled her just a fraction closer, until her nose brushed against yours and her lips were a mere breath away from your own. The tension broke like a snapped wire.

With a deep, shuddering, and final sigh, Lin Beifong finally let go of the weight.

"God, I've wanted to hear you say that," she breathed, her voice cracking as she finally, completely broke, her lips brushing against yours as she spoke the words.

She leaned entirely, heavily into your touch, completely abandoning her rigid, defensive posture as she wrapped her strong, muscular arms around your waist, pulling you flush against her chest until there was absolutely no space left between you. She held onto you with a fierce, desperate grip, holding onto the love, the comfort, and the beautiful future she had been too terrified to ever dream of, grasping it tightly with both hands and silently swearing to herself that she would never, ever let go.

Author's Note

OMGGG I'M SO SORRY THIS CAME OUT LATE. I literally lost the progress of this request. I thought I saved it BUT I DIDN'T. BUT thankfully I wrote this on a piece of paper first and just transferred it here again. Aughhh Ó⁠╭⁠╮⁠Ò

Anyways what truly matters that it is finally out^^ Thank you anonymous for this wonderful request!! I truly did enjoy writing this. Had me so locked in. 😋