#transmasc reader

I know demons are virtually the same as humans canonically, but I’ve always wanted to explore the brothers’ reactions to human things MC does, whether it’s a sneeze or a bruise or getting sick… And, well, here we are.

This won’t be canon compliant. This is set to take place sometime after Episode 15 and all seven brothers are included. The reader’s race and gender are ambiguous; no pronouns or physical descriptors are used**. There’s one bit where they’re stated to wear glasses & another where they had braces and currently wear retainers. But I feel like that’s a pretty easy thing to imagine, so… yeah!

**The reader is referred to with it/its pronouns once in Belphegor's snippet—skip reading it if it bothers you. i use these pronouns so i wrote that mostly for me 🤘

“Darling, what is that ghastly thing?” Asmodeus asks, breaking you out of your thoughts. 

“What thing?” you frown. The two of you are sitting in his bedroom, sprawled across his bed as you talk about stupid things. Asmodeus had been ranting about something when his eyes locked on something near you with startling focus. 

“This!” he says, pointing at your forearm. 

You follow his gaze, finding a spot of slightly discolored skin halfway down your arm. “Oh,” you say, “It’s just a bruise.” 

“A bruise?” Asmodeus repeats, his nose scrunched in confusion. 

“You know, a bruise,” you repeat. There’s nothing close to comprehension on his face. “...A contusion or whatever?” …Still nothing.

“I’ve never heard of such a thing,” the demon frowns. “And wow, is it unsightly.” Asmodeus remarks, disgust passing over his face before intrigue takes over it. He leans over you, before proceeding to poke at your skin curiously.  

“Ow, Asmo—” you hiss, batting his hand away. You don’t put much strength behind the gesture, but Asmodeus goes along with it anyway and removes his hand.  

“It hurts?” he then blinks owlishly. 

“Yes,” you say, letting your arm fall back to your side.  

Asmodeus shakes his head in disbelief. “Humans are so weird.” 

It’s late at night and you need to refill your glass of water. You’re tiredly walking out to the kitchen when a sudden noise breaks through the silence. 

“Hey.”

You inhale sharply, fear coursing through you until you recognize the familiar voice. “Holy shit, Beel,” you murmur, placing your hand on your chest momentarily and squinting through the darkness. You can only see the general outline of his form. “You scared me.”

“Sorry,” Beelzebub says. You think he must be frowning now. Again, it’s difficult to tell. “I thought you saw me.”

“Um…” you squint again. “No.” 

“Oops,” he says. You hear a light shuffling sound. “Can you see me now?” he asks. 

You blink again. “Sort of.”

Suddenly he’s standing right in front of you. You can’t suppress a flinch this time, instinctually leaning backwards. 

“Beel, stop that—!” you exclaim, nearly stumbling over yourself. 

He sets you straight with a hand on your shoulder, a frown rising on his face. “You can’t see in the dark, then?” Beelzebub hums.

“No,” you sigh. It’s as if he didn’t believe you—like he had to test it for himself to make sure. 

“Hmph,” Beelzebub frowns again. Or, at least, it sounds like he’s frowning. “That’s inconvenient.”

“I guess,” you concede. 

“What’s wrong with your skin?” Belphegor asks you one morning, when the two of you are relaxing in his room. 

“Hm?” you blink, momentarily distracted from looking down at your D.D.D.

“Your skin,” he restates. “Look,” he demands, pointing down at your forearm. You follow the demon’s gaze, only to find goosebumps scattered across your skin. 

“Oh, those are just goosebumps,” you answer casually. 

“Goose… bumps,” Belphegor repeats, his nose scrunched in evident revulsion. 

“Yeah,” you nod. “I’m not sure why they’re called that, but they show up on your skin if you get too cold.”

“Well, stop being cold,” Belphegor orders, as if you’re inconveniencing him. He probably thinks you are, although it’s entirely out of your control. You hardly have a chance to react before you’re promptly pelted in the face with a sweatshirt. “Here.” 

“Oof,” you say, peeling it off the crown of your head and putting it on. “Thanks, Belphie.”

“Shut up,” he murmurs. There’s a hint of pink rising on the back of his neck, as if he’s embarrassed. “Stupid human. Can’t even keep itself warm.” He huffs. You valiantly ignore the remark. 

“Why are there teeth in the bathroom?” Levi asks as he enters the room. And wow, what a way to make an entrance. Satan and you look over at Levi from where you’d been reading. 

“What?” Satan blinks questioningly, clearly just as confused as you are.

“Teeth,” Levi repeats himself, “in the bathroom.” 

How he expects the same exact remark to make more sense, you have no idea. It takes you a few moments to connect the dots, but you do eventually. “Oh!” you exclaim. “Those are just my retainers.”

“Your retainers,” Satan repeats. There’s a hint of sarcasm in his voice. “And what do they retain, exactly?” he asks sardonically. You scoff. 

“My teeth,” you respond. “Obviously,” you add, if only to combat his sarcasm. 

“So… what do you do with them?” Levi asks curiously, tilting his head as he looks at you. 

“I wear them every night when I sleep,” you explain. “They’re supposed to prevent my teeth from shifting.”

“Your teeth shift?” Satan exclaims incredulously. “You mean they can move?” 

“Um— yes,” you respond. “Human teeth always move, even after a person has braces.”

“What are braces?” Levi demands. 

“They’re metal brackets that an orthodontist puts on your teeth when they’re crooked. They guide the teeth into a more neat shape.” 

“I’m convinced you just made that up,” Satan says helpfully. 

You roll your eyes. “I had braces. But since my teeth can still move, I have to wear the retainers.”

“For how long?” Levi blinks. 

“The rest of my life.”

Satan whistles. “That sucks.”

You shrug amicably. 

“And I thought normies were weird,” Levi huffs. “But humans are even weirder.”

“Hey, wait: how’d you even see my retainers in the first place?” you realize aloud. “I always keep them in a case… in a drawer.” You wouldn’t just leave them on the counter—that would be pretty unsanitary. 

As if caught in a lie, Levi freezes and quickly bolts away. “Gotta go shower, bye—!” he says, slamming the bathroom door shut with more force than necessary. 

You stare after him in disbelief, an incredulous laugh bubbling up from your throat. 

“He was just curious,” Satan explains with a shrug. “Not that I blame him. Do your teeth truly keep growing?”

“Not growing, necessarily,” you contemplate. “Babies are born with baby teeth. Then, as you get older, you lose your baby teeth as your adult teeth grow in.”

“That’s similar to demons,” Satan confirms. 

“Our teeth eventually stop growing, but they can shift and move still,” you clarify. 

Satan shakes his head in annoyed disbelief. “Humans are truly an anomaly.”

You’re sorting through paperwork with Lucifer when you accidentally slide your fingertip against the corner of a page. “Ow,” you say instinctually, more out of reflex than genuine pain. 

“Are you alright?” Lucifer asks, looking up from his papers for the first time since you started this task.

“Oh, yeah,” you wave his concern off. “Just got a paper cut.” You squint down at your finger and grit your teeth in annoyance. You’re so concentrated that you don’t know Lucifer’s pensive silence or furrowed brows. 

“A….. paper cut,” he restates, a mix of bemusement and concern in his voice. 

“You don’t get those?” you ask. 

“You got hurt by a piece of paper,” Lucifer says incredulously. Suddenly he’s getting to his feet and striding over to you, taking your hand in his and investigating your fingertip. “Hm. You weren’t joking. How strange.”

He continues to study your skin with a frightening intensity. Your hand is almost shaking in his grip, as you attempt to fight off your restlessness at his proximity. Eventually Lucifer sighs and lets his grip fall away. “Does it hurt?”

“Yeah,” you admit. “Paper cuts are just a minor inconvenience… But for whatever reason, they can really hurt sometimes. Feels like your skin is splitting apart.” They really shouldn’t hurt, but they do. One time, you had one that spanned your entire fingertip. This one doesn’t look nearly as bad, fortunately. But it still burns. 

“You’re rather breakable,” the Avatar of Pride notes. 

“It’s just a paper cut,” you feel the need to say defensively.

“Of course,” Lucifer responds, an indulgent and amused smile on his face. There’s a knowing smirk on his face and you roll your eyes, abandoning the argument. 

Solomon and you often get stuck accompanying one another to the human realm whenever you need anything. The demon realm is great, but it doesn’t have everything humans need. Besides, sometimes it’s nice to breathe in some fresh air or be among other humans. 

Today’s visit has a purpose, though. After a rather unfortunate incident involving Mammon, you, and a chandelier, you find yourself with broken glasses. (Thanks, Mammon.) It’s been roughly a year since you’ve had an eye exam, so it’s about time for another appointment anyways. Unfortunately, the Devildom doesn’t have eye doctors (and you still remember the perplexed look on Levi’s face when you casually asked him one day). That’s how you find yourself in your ophthalmologist’s office in the human realm. Solomon dropped you off with the promise that he’d return the moment you texted, leaving you to slowly waste away in the waiting room. 

Fortunately, your name is finally called and you’re able to undergo all of the various examinations. You emerge an hour later with dilated pupils, an updated prescription, and reassurance from the doctor that nothing is amiss. You manage to text Solomon—through slightly blurred vision—and he arrives within five minutes. 

You can only hope to slip into the manor unnoticed. But from the very moment you slip through the front doors, Mammon is bounding up to you like an overexcited puppy. He seems moments away from looping an arm around you and dragging you off into some misguided adventure when he locks eyes with you and freezes. 

“Whoa, what the hell—?” Mammon exclaims, staring at you intently. “Oi, human, don’t tell me ya got possessed—!” His hands clamp on your shoulders and he starts shaking you roughly. 

“Mammon, stop it,” you object, grabbing onto his shoulders and attempting to prevent him from shaking you any harder. He calms down a little, but he still looks confused. “I’m not possessed. I just had an appointment with an eye doctor.”

“Well, how’d they screw up so bad then, huh?” he spits. In another situation, his concern would be touching; but now, it’s mostly just amusing. “Ya look like a shark!”

“It’s just one of the tests,” you explain. “They had to dilate my pupils.” 

“Humans are crazy,” Mammon asserts. He’s studying you from far too close—occasionally changing his angle as if it will somehow give him new insight. “You look so freaky.”

“Thanks, Mammon,” you sigh. 

“Does it hurt?” he asks. “I bet it does; yer such a baby.” The insult seems to be a cover-up for his concern. 

“It doesn’t really hurt,” you reassure him. “It just feels a little strange. The drops really just affect your vision. I can’t focus on things in front of me, and it sort of looks like I’m seeing double.”

“Well, there’s nothing for it but resting your eyes,” Mammon sighs theatrically, looping an arm around your shoulders. “Let’s watch the next episode of Destroyman.”

“How is that supposed to help my eyes?” you ask skeptically. 

“Hey, I’ve been waiting for ya all day!” Mammon exclaims. “We’re watching the next episode, even if it looks all blurry to you.” The demon is soon yanking you along before you can object. 

“There’s the culprit,” Belphegor remarks, looking up at you as you enter the dining room for breakfast. The brothers are staring at you intently. 

“Good morning to you too,” you huff, shoving your hands in the pockets of your uniform and taking the empty seat at the table. It’s a bit unusual to see all seven brothers at the table like this, especially so early in the morning. “What’d I do?” you blink cluelessly. 

“You don’t remember?” Beel pipes up, blinking at you curiously. He seems to be mid-bite, with some food hanging out of his mouth. Lucifer chides him for table manners and Beel huffs, promptly demolishing the rest of his food. 

“You were roaming the halls in the middle of the night like a ghost!” Mammon explains before anyone else can. He sounds particularly energetic this morning. “It was freaky.”

Roaming the halls at night? You don’t remember doing that, which can only mean one thing. “Oh, I was probably just sleepwalking,” you realize aloud. 

“Wonders truly never cease,” Lucifer says dryly. “Just how many eccentricities do humans possess?” he muses. 

You sigh, remembering all of the strange interactions you’ve had over the past few weeks. “I’m not choosing to do any of this, you know,” you frown. “I can’t control it.” It’s not like you wanted to get a paper cut, or a bruise, or goosebumps. These are just facts of life. 

“We know, dear,” Asmo reassures you. 

“It’s okay,” Levi says, barely sparing you a glance as he stares down at his plate. “None of these human behaviors are super annoying.” That’s very meaningful coming from Levi of all demons. 

“They’re just weird,” Satan supplies helpfully. You roll your eyes at him. 

“It seems my brothers were just… worried,” Lucifer explains. 

“Hey, you were worried too!” Mammon objects. “You were the one to—” Whatever the Avatar of Greed means to say next promptly fades into obscurity, as Lucifer sends his younger brother a murderous glare to silence him. 

“Okay,” you eventually remark, uncomfortable with the sudden tension settling in the room. “Well, sorry to disturb you guys, I guess. Sleepwalking is normal for humans, though.” 

“I’m starting to think nothing about humans is normal,” Satan mutters under his breath. Lucifer nods in agreement. You just roll your eyes and pretend not to hear the remark, serving yourself some food and beginning to eat breakfast. Despite the fanfare, it’s nice to know the brothers care about you—even if they don’t show it in very orthodox ways. 

“Oh,” a familiar voice says one afternoon. You blink blearily, your dizzy vision momentarily clarifying to reveal Diavolo standing over you. You’re crumpled on the floor, your cheek pressed to the cold hardwood as sweat rolls down the nape of your neck. “I must say, when I heard of your absence, I assumed you ditched classes for the day.”

It’s difficult for you to process what he’s saying; his voice sounds warped. The headmaster just hums. “Are you… all right?” he asks. You can barely manage a weak nod. Diavolo sighs. “Forgive me for the foolish question. You’re clearly not all right. Here, let’s get you up…” 

You hardly have the chance to object before the demon is lifting you into his arms as if you weigh nothing at all. He sets you on your bed with deceptive gentleness, before staring at you and frowning. 

“I don’t suppose you know what’s happening to you,” Diavolo says. 

“I think I’m sick,” you manage to respond. Your voice sounds a little raspy and your airways feel a bit tight. You clear your throat, wincing at the dryness the gesture provokes. You must have a fever, because your body temperature keeps oscillating between frigid cold and searing warmth. Before you can think better of it, you blink dazedly and reach out to grab Diavolo’s hand. “Tell me if I feel warm.”

He’s clearly a bit confused, but he allows you to guide his hand to your temple. 

“You’re hot,” he observes after a moment.

“Thanks,” you huff deliriously.  

“Your temperature,” he clarifies with a knowing smile, shaking his head. “What does this mean?” Diavolo frowns. 

“I have a fever,” you answer. “When a human’s body temperature is too high, it causes sickness.”

“What can be done about it?” he continues. 

“Depends,” you reply. “Sometimes it breaks on its own; sometimes you need antibiotics.” 

“Antibiotics,” Diavolo repeats, the concept clearly foreign to him. “I can’t say I’m familiar. But it’s clear that you should rest. I’ll watch over you.” Whatever else he says is lost on you, as you close your eyes and surrender to the persistent fatigue burning your eyelids. 

You wake several hours later to a room devoid of Diavolo. You’re not exactly surprised that he had to leave—he’s the ruler of the Devildom, after all. He surely has far more important things to do than look after you. You blink away traces of sleep as you look around the room, your vision clarifying to reveal Solomon sitting in the armchair in the corner of the room. You blink at him silently. 

“Oh, you’re awake,” Solomon says. “How are you feeling?”

“…Fine,” you admit, touching your temple experimentally. Your headache has subsided a little, but your skin still feels a bit warm. At your movement, Solomon pushes himself to his feet and feels your forehead. 

“Your temperature’s coming down, finally,” he hums. 

“What are you doing here?” you finally manage to ask. 

“Diavolo summoned me,” Solomon explains. “Supposedly, he attempted to enlist the help of the brothers, but they proved to be rather useless. They are… woefully uninformed when it comes to humans, after all.”

That’s true. “Thanks,” you remember to say. He didn’t have to come, after all. Just because he’s the only other human, doesn’t mean he’s relegated to nursing you back to health. 

“No problem,” Solomon nods sincerely. He doesn’t seem too bothered by the whole arrangement. “It’s nice not to be the only human. Although, I expect around the clock service and care the next time I fall ill.”

You smile tiredly. “Of course,” you agree. It’s a frighteningly easy promise to make. 

After your sickness, you notice that the brothers begin to ease up on you a bit. Mammon’s no longer texting you in the middle of the night, demanding that you entertain him; Lucifer doesn’t mind if you occasionally take a day to complete your work remotely at the mansion; Asmo’s physical affection is gentler than normal; Levi doesn’t tease you about being a normie as much; Beelzebub doesn’t ever touch your plate or food; hell, even Belphegor is behaving himself—no longer interfering with your naps or sleep. 

One afternoon, Lucifer approaches you in the living room. He greets you before settling on the couch next to you, his posture rigid and proper. “You may have noticed that my brothers…” Lucifer starts, before pausing and shaking his head, “...that we have been acting a bit different than normal.” You nod. 

“In the past few weeks—especially in light of your bout of sickness—we realized that we’ve been neglecting you and your health. A demon’s stamina is much stronger than a human’s—we need less sleep; food is more of a luxury than a necessity; our bodies are more resistant to injury… You understand.”

“What I mean to say is…” Lucifer trails off again, an uncharacteristic sign of hesitation from him. He takes a slow breath. “I apologize for the oversight.”

“It’s okay,” you reassure him. 

“It is not,” Lucifer states firmly. “We have neglected to consider just how difficult this transition must be for you. We—I—didn’t think to ensure your health and safety were priorities.”

“But no more. I’ve spoken to Diavolo and Solomon at length, in addition to doing some elective research, to ensure we are not so unprepared in the future. And, should your accommodations be unsuitable—should anything here be unsuitable—I want you to inform me at once.”

That… sounds a lot more serious than what you were expecting. You blink. “That’s— That’s really not necessary,” you try to say. 

“It wasn’t a request,” Lucifer interjects smoothly. It’s a firm but well-meaning statement. “Do you understand?”

You swallow. “Yes.”

“Good.” There’s a hint of a smile on his lips now. “Truthfully, my brothers were very worried for you.” Lucifer pauses for a moment. “I was very worried for you,” he admits.

You’re sure you look surprised now. Lucifer only laughs, before getting to his feet and placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. You can almost convince yourself that the look in his eyes is unbearably fond. But he’s soon withdrawing, leaving you to wonder if you imagined the entire interaction.

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after basking in the praise of your teammates, your eyes raked over the crowd in search of one person. your stomach flipped as you caught sight of your girlfriend, megan, proudly repping your jersey. she was jumping up and down with her friends, cheering for you. you were sure your smile was the biggest it had been all night. megan had always been your biggest supporter, always making sure to be there for you through your highs and lows, and you were so appreciative of that.

you quickly jogged over to her, taking off your helmet on the way and dropping it on the field carelessly— your focus was set on only one thing. megan made her way down to the sidelines right as you caught up to her. the girl wasted no time in pulling you in and crashing her lips into yours. you could barely kiss her back because you were smiling so hard.

“wait- megan, i’m all sweaty and shit.” you pulled away, gesturing to your dirt-covered uniform as you became very aware of how gross you felt. but megan simply rolled her eyes and settled for wrapping her arms around your neck, “you know i don’t care.”

you settled into a comfortable flow of conversation— with megan expressing how proud she was of you for making the catch, along with lots of congratulating from her and her friends. you accepted it all with an appreciative grin, only for your expression to switch to one of mock annoyance as megan pinched your flushed cheeks. you would make sure to pinch her back later when she wasn’t paying attention— it was only fair.

the moment was cut off by the sound of your coach calling your name. you looked back to see the rest of the team heading toward the tunnel. seeing this as your queue to part ways with the girls, you gave megan one last peck on the lips and waved goodbye to lara and dani. “i’ll meet up with you guys later!” you called out while jogging back, almost tripping over your helmet you had discarded on the ground, much to the girls’ amusement. you playfully flipped them off and walked away with your helmet, hearing lara say something about losing aura.

-

the energy was high in the locker room— loud and celebratory. you, on the other hand, were tucked away in the corner typing rapidly on your phone. bryce, the starting running back, walked by mumbling “screenager.” you were about to defend yourself by arguing that you were older than him, but a familiar notification on your screen diverted your attention.

you reread the message thread a couple times, fully focused on the conversation that had you flustered-

“look at you smiling at your phone,” you were pulled out of your dazed state by bryce’s teasing tone. you rolled your eyes and got up off the bench, heading for the showers but not before flicking the running back’s ear.

the warm water soothed your aching joints— a sign you maybe needed to stretch more. as you showered, your mind drifted to megan. specifically, megan in your jersey. it wasn’t usually something you would look twice at, the girl was always repping your number at your games. what made this special was that she was wearing your jersey, the backup one you kept in your closet. it made your heart flutter seeing her wear something you claimed as your own. she also just looked good in it. the way it was a little too big, baggy on her frame. the v-neck collar hung a tad bit loose around her neck, displaying her collarbones. the way she had pointed out that it smelled like your cologne, and she liked that. she wanted your scent to stick to her, wrap around her body as if it were you.

before you knew it, you were all done showering. you made quick work to get dressed and get all your stuff together, eager to see your girlfriend (and eager to finally get some food in your system). 

just as you were about to walk out the door, you were stopped by cam, the team’s star quarterback, “yo, the team’s going out to dinner to celebrate the win. you comin?” he asked, but you could tell he had already knew what your answer would be.

you gave him your best apologetic look as you said, “ah, sorry dude. i’m not feeling the best, probably gonna have to miss out on that.” you rubbed the back of your neck, hoping he wouldn’t press anymore and let you be on your way.

cam gave you a knowing smile, “right, right. well, i’ll see you at practice next week?” you nodded, dapped him up, and headed out the door as nonchalantly as you could. but in reality you were very much speed walking to the parking lot.

-

“you’re staring, idiot.” megan laughed at your trance-like state from across the booth. the smell of bacon and eggs frying filled the air, and you could feel megan’s foot tapping lightly against your ankle under the table as the two of you waited for your food.

getting called out for your blatant staring, you made a show of looking anywhere but megan, blurting out “oh- sorry, i must’ve zoned out thinking about the political and economic state of the world, or something. ‘cause, you know, i’m an intellectual and shit,” you honestly just wanted to make the girl laugh. and you got your wish as megan burst into a fit of giggles that made you grin shamelessly. you just knew your cheeks would be sore the next day from how much you had been smiling that night.

“you’re so corny!” megan exclaimed through her giggles. you loved the way her eyes always formed into crescents when she laughed or smiled really hard— it reminded you of a fox.

“me!? i know you’re not talking, you’re way cornier than me!” you both knew you were probably being way too loud for a waffle house at 9 pm, but you truly couldn’t care less in the moment. as your laughter died down, you found yourself just admiring her again, and this time it came from both sides of the booth. but your staring match was short-lived as the overwhelming urge to make megan smile again took over. 

you stretched dramatically, not so subtly flexing your arm muscles. the girl across from you rolled her eyes at your dumb theatrics, but the smile never left her lips. “so, how’d i look out there? pretty sexy, right?” you flashed her a smirk.

“hm, honestly i couldn’t tell you. i was focused on the ref the whole game, he was pretty hot,” she teased.

“wha- he was like 60!” you complained, going to argue that you easily mogged the guy, until you saw that megan was holding back laughter. “oh, you’re just tryna ragebait me,” you said with a flat expression, not very amused.

“i’m kidding, kidding! but yes, you looked very hot on the field.” you felt her foot stop it’s tapping on your ankle, instead choosing to just rest there. your stomach flipped as the teasing tone of her voice switched to something a bit softer.

“yeah? well i gotta say you look fine as hell in my jersey right now.” you matched her energy. megan was about to say something back, but the tension was interrupted by the waitress bringing your food to the table. you had completely forgotten about the food, but it immediately returned to the top of your priorities as the waitress set your plate in front of you. you both thanked the woman and after she had walked away, you wasted no time in digging in.

“holy shit, these hashbrowns are gonna make me bust.”

“y/n!”

-

the drive to your apartment was spent in a comfortable silence— the faint sounds of a random playlist you put on being the only noise. the adrenaline of the night was finally wearing off, exhaustion taking it’s place. your gaze kept drifting to megan as she drove. the way her side profile was illuminated by the soft moonlight had you transfixed. at a red light, you leaned over the console to place a kiss on her cheek, and the soft smile she gave you made your heart flutter.

as the two of you reached the front door to your apartment, something in the air between you had shifted. it wasn’t caused by a specific action, nor was it a sudden change— just a mutual feeling that had been building since you left the diner. megan hugged your arm while you fumbled for the keys, resting her chin on your shoulder. you could feel the small puffs of air she was letting out on your neck, leaving goosebumps on your skin.

you unlocked the door and walked into the familiar space with megan still clinging to your arm. the quiet darkness of your apartment indicated that your roommate was probably passed out in his room by now. your thoughts were cut off by megan cupping your cheek and pulling you down for a kiss. it was soft and slow, but you could tell it was something she had been wanting to do for the past couple hours. you melted into her warmth, finding comfort in her embrace after the heavy exertion of that night’s game.

the kiss grew into something more passionate, with megan’s hands sliding into your hair and your own gripping her waist. the girl pulled away after a while, resting her forehead against yours, “i need you, baby,” she breathed. you brought your hand up to stroke your thumb over her cheek.

“yeah?” you planted another short kiss on her lips and she hummed in approval. you wasted no time in hoisting her up and carrying her to your room. she giggled at the gesture and wrapped her legs around your waist, muttering something about you dropping her— her teasing had no end. you made it into your room and sat at the edge of your bed with megan straddling your lap. you just looked at the girl for a moment, admiring the way her brown doe eyes stared down at you, pupils blown out and cheeks flushed. 

“you’re so pretty, it’s driving me insane,” you whisper, earning a soft smile from megan, her cheeks becoming a pink shade that matched her hair streaks. she hid her face in the crook of your neck, placing small kisses across the skin. “i’m serious. you in this jersey is making me crazy.” you run a hand through her hair.

she finally faced you, her hands planted on your shoulders as you felt the heat from both of you radiating in your lap. “well, why don’t you do something about it, handsome?” she said in that smooth tone that always made you fold. you flipped her onto her back with your hands next to either side of her head. you pressed your lips against hers once again, and this time her tongue slipped into your mouth. your tongues swirled slowly around each other, eliciting little whimpers from the girl under you.

you pulled away for a second, “i wanna-” you couldn’t resist going back for more, but managed to pull yourself away again, “i wanna taste you while you wear my jersey.” you managed to speak before immediately going back to her lips. megan let out a breathy moan at your suggestion. she nodded into the kiss, to which you started moving down her body.

you unbuttoned her jeans, pulling them down and revealing soft skin. you tossed her jeans somewhere on the floor, focusing back on the squirming girl below you. you placed kisses on her thighs, kneading the plush skin in your hands. megan whined as you ignored the aching heat between her legs, but you only shushed her as you trailed back up her torso. you lifted the jersey right above her chest, revealing the lacy black bra she was wearing. you reached behind her back to unhook it, and tossed it next to her jeans on the floor. 

you dove your head down, wrapping your lips around her sensitive nipple, massaging her other breast in your hand. megan’s fingers slid into your hair as her soft pants grew heavier, “please, y/n. i can’t wait..” she was breathless as she begged for your mouth on her. you decided to not make her wait any longer. you placed one last kiss on her sternum before pulling away. you took a second to admire her flushed state— her chest rising up and down with her heavy breathing, her lips swollen, the faint marks you left on her pretty tits. you grabbed the hem of your jersey and pulled it up to her mouth.

“you gotta stay quiet for me, okay?” she nodded and bit down on the hem. you were well aware that the walls of your apartment were thin— but in reality, you weren’t that worried about waking your roommate, you just loved the idea of megan moaning around the fabric of your jersey. you smiled at the sight of her before finally making your way down, kissing along her stomach as you went. when you reached her heat, you found her soaked through her panties. you were practically drooling by this point, eager to taste her slick on your tongue.

you pulled her panties off and placed a few more kisses on her inner thighs, sucking the skin into your mouth and leaving a mark— a gift for yourself the next time you were down there. you licked a long strip from her entrance to her clit. megan started squirming, her thighs closing around your head as her fingers tightened in your hair. you knew the girl’s clit was extra sensitive, so you focused on the nub, sucking eagerly while your hands kept her thighs spread apart. you could hear her muffled whining, and it made you smile into her cunt.

you trailed one hand up to rest on her stomach, while the other sunk two fingers into her warmth, stretching her out. megan mewled loudly at the dual sensations, your lips sucking her clit relentlessly and your long fingers pumping slowly in and out of her drenched cunt. you hummed contentedly at her sweet taste, the vibrations against her pussy driving the girl insane. you pulled away and pursed your lips, maintaining eye contact as your spit slowly dripped onto her cunt. you dove back in, flattening your tongue and shaking your head back and forth slightly, further mixing your spit with her slick. it was so overwhelming, megan started seeing stars.

it was messy, sloppy, perfect. her wetness was spreading everywhere, all over your face, her thighs, the sheets underneath her. your hand was drenched, slick gushing out and collecting into your palm as you curled your fingers over and over. the sounds were obscene. megan’s moans echoed in the room despite your efforts to stifle them. not that you were complaining, her noises only pushed your need to make her cum on your tongue. the wet squelching noises that rang out from your actions made your head spin. you knew the girl wasn’t going to last much longer due to her thigh muscles twitching rapidly.

you sped up your movements, wanting so badly to make her cum hard. megan let go of the jersey in her mouth, breathing out “you’re gonna make me cum, baby- oh fuck… that fucking mouth is gonna make me cum,” her words added more feul to the fire as you inserted a third finger into her tight cunt. you felt her walls fluttering around your digits, a sign that she was so close. you removed your mouth from her cunt entirely, choosing to give her soft praises instead.

“you’re doing perfect, my love, so good for me. you’re okay- i got you, you can let go, baby.” your words were the thing that finally tipped her over the edge, and you were quick to wrap your lips around her clit once more as she came. her hand gripped your own that was resting on her stomach, and her other hand gripped your hair, nails digging into your scalp. you moaned into her as wetness gushed out uncontrollably, her velvety heat clamping down tightly around your fingers. you dragged her orgasm out a little longer until she started pushing at your forehead, everything becoming a bit too sensitive. 

you moved away and pulled your fingers out immediately, not wanting to overwhelm her any further. you wiped your hand on your shorts, realizing you would definitely have to change your sheets in the morning. but that didn’t matter right now, because megan was already pulling you up to her level, pressing her lips against yours. she hummed at the taste of herself on your lips. after a while she pulled away, but then did something you didn’t expect.

megan took one good look at you and burst into a fit of giggles that had you utterly confused. she must’ve noticed your expression because she took a second to compose herself before explaining, “you look like a glazed donut,” she started laughing again after she said it, clearly a little loopy from how tired she was. you immediately realized you probably looked crazy as hell, your hair messy, the lower half of your face covered in slick and cum. you rolled your eyes but still smiled at her antics. 

“don’t laugh at me!” you pinched her side, payback from when she pinched your cheek after the game. she finally let up and ran her hands through your hair instead. you leaned down to kiss her sweaty forehead, noticing she was still shaky and probably uncomfortable just laying in her mess. “how about i clean us up and then run you a bath, hm?” you offered, to which she hummed in approval.

you gave megan one last peck on the lips before going to run her bath. the rush you felt from this girl was stronger than any game-winning play— you were sure of that.

Children who rush past their parents, hair flying wild and arms flung open as they careen down the street, imagination working overtime while they pretend to be planes or spaceships or race car drivers; dreams too impossibly big to be contained in such small bodies and spilling out into the world around them.

Teenagers traipsing back and forth between their house and the moving van when summer starts to slip away, days spent laughing in the back of movie theaters and strolling through thrift stores giving way to jampacked class schedules and college textbooks stuffed with neon sticky notes, bright strips of paper that hold their futures in-between marked pages crumpling as they pack their childhoods into cardboard boxes, checking and rechecking their lists to make sure nothing gets left behind.

Old people leisurely ambling down the pathway, trading recipes passed along from their grandchildren or sharing secrets overhead in the produce section of the grocery store as they were sifting through vegetables; only going quiet when they're interrupted by the rattling of a larger-than-usual stone caught in the wheel of one of their bags.

Gusts of wind sprint through the street, racing each other like hunting dogs going in for the kill as they brush past the sides of your car, breeching through the sanctity of your scrub pants and pushing hundreds of tiny needles into the flesh of your thighs while goosebumps rise along your arms as you lean back against the hood of your car.

A quiet tingling sounds to your left and you watch while the neighbor's cat slowly creeps out from underneath a bench, swiveling its head from left to right before darting across the road and slinking into someone's garden.

Leaves crunch underfoot as you readjust yourself slightly, shades of red and yellow plucked from the branches that nurtured them and left to grow muddy and dull in the road.

Smoke tendrils curl upwards before melting into the dark sky, particles dispersing amongst the stars and suffusing the air around you with the faint smell of tobacco.

Moments continue to pass in near silence, Pittsburgh reduced to the occasional hum of tires spinning against asphalt and periodic inhales after your girlfriend takes a drag from her cigarette.

It's started to relax you on impulse. Muscles beginning to untense the second you see the familiar flash of white pulled from the charge nurse's pocket. Secondhand smoke becoming a soothing balm that works its way beneath your skin, settles in your bones and eases the tension from your limbs with every exhale from the older woman.

You remember after a few weeks of sneaking around, stolen moments spent in storage closets or pressing Dana up against the wall of the ambulance bay during her breaks for a short lived reprieve when you thought no one was looking, Cassie had pulled you into central 6 to ask if you'd started smoking.

She'd yanked the curtain closed behind her in a noble display of privacy, as if the flimsy plastic was going to do anything against an ER that thrives on being in everyone else's business, and spun on her heel to look at you with a furrowed brow and crossed arms.

"Well… have you?"

She'd purposefully left a gap between the edge of the curtain and the wall, small enough to trap you in the conversation but large enough that staff knew whatever was going on could be paused if the room was needed for a patient.

"Uh, no? Why would I- " Confusion slips into your voice as you return Cassie's question with one of your own, only to cut yourself off halfway through your sentence after letting your eyes drift from the R2's face to the parted plastic behind her.

From your current angle only a small section of the hub was visible, but it was enough for you to briefly notice Dana staring at the curtains with such intensity it was a wonder she hadn't burned holes through the material before her attention got stolen away by a puzzled med student thrusting a tablet in her direction when it dawned on you.

Burning paper and tobacco had started to linger around your form the same way it lingered around the charge nurse and now you had to confront the fact that neither you nor Dana had been as subtle as you thought you were being.

Somewhere in between your morning breakfast order expanding to include another sandwich, pushed gently into Dana's hands at the start of every shift, coffee cup with your last name scrawled across the cardboard in messy sharpie left by her computer at the nurses' station alongside a pile of protein bars to remind you both to eat and Dana's hands tugging at your belt loop whenever she needed your attention that had your head turning towards her even in the middle of other conversations, your coworkers had read between the lines, picked up on what was quite obviously a thing but that either of you refused to name.

There was one time she had called you over from the other side of the ED, brows pinched together and eyes narrowed as she looked down at the patient chart attached to her clipboard. You'd slid up behind her, sporting a soft grin that always accompanied the sound of her voice, pressed close enough to feel the heat radiating from her body even beneath the layers of clothing separating you.

Sweat and your shower gel clung to her skin, made your head go fuzzy enough that your hands instinctively came up to grip her waist as you read what's scribbled on the page in front of you; cacophony of hospital noise fading to a dull hum when her weight sunk further into you. Your fingers had automatically started rubbing circles into her hips, faintly creasing the fabric of her scrubs in your attempt to soothe her when someone coughed behind you. Loudly.

Your ministrations on her hips ceased almost immediately before your hands pulled away to hover just above her hips instead, as if that was somehow less strange than actively groping the charge nurse; commotion of Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center flooding back with full force and reminding you that you were at work.

None of your co-workers were meant to know that you're dating, let alone watch you practically feel up your girlfriend in the middle of the ER.

But then the moment was over and a glare from Dana sent curious eyes hurrying back to their own tasks. On a quiet day there's not enough time to stop and stare, let alone on a day like that when there were patients practically spilling in through the windows.

The PTMC's ecosystem continued to function with only the occasional glance to where the charge nurse was cocooned in your arms while you mumbled into her ear about an error on the patient chart gripped between her hands.

Like predicted, word had spread fast around the ED and two days later a representative from HR was presenting you and Dana with relationship disclosure forms and informing you about a meeting that had been scheduled for later that week to discuss 'appropriate workplace conduct'.

You can feel your muscles sink even further into the cold metal, do nothing as your body turns docile against the acidic earthy smell that floats through the air and remains docile when it suddenly becomes much stronger, ardently burning its way up your nose as a long exhale is directed at your face.

It's gone almost as quickly as it appeared, silvery wisps evaporating to nothing and you lazily roll your head towards the woman beside you.

"Had to make sure you weren't falling asleep on me handsome." Dana's voice lilts teasingly around the words, corners of her lips pulling into an amused smirk that widens even further when you let out a low groan in protest.

Clearly you were wide awake.

You watch with half-lidded eyes as she moves from her place beside you and tucks herself between your spread legs, fabric letting out a quiet rustle when her limbs accidentally brush against yours.

She looked practically holy like this.

Stood between your legs looming over you, streetlamp perfectly positioned at her back for light to flare around her head like a halo. Molten warmth drips over her as smooth as honey, threads itself through her hair and glints off of the hoops in her ears, sticks to the shoulders of her ❪ your ❫ jacket and blurs across the dark leather as she steals another drag from her cigarette.

It takes everything in you not to fall to your knees then and there, a sudden need to drop onto the concrete and worship. To bruise yourself bloody as evidence of offerings made with lips, teeth and tongue. To listen as she guides you through the motions, a saint preaching to her choir.

Dana can feel your eyes on her while she exhales smoke into the air, head turned slightly further to the right than it was a moment ago so it misses your face this time, feels you watch her movements as she brings the cigarette back to her lips.

Your eyes immediately finds hers, skirt over her features until you lock onto the blue ones looking back at you and she can see the glow of the streetlights reflected in your gaze, such reverence in your expression it temporarily steals the oxygen from her lungs and leaves her scrambling.

"What's the staring for hmm?" Tenderness curls in her chest while she watches you blink slowly, eyelids moving in slow motion, fighting a loosing battle as you try to stay awake long enough to allow her this simple pleasure. "You want some?"

Your hands tuck themselves into her jacket in lieu of a response, moving through the gap in her zipper like a surgeon, steady with precision as they pull her further into you, inside lining warm from the impression of her body against the fabric as it brushes over your skin.

Being this close allows you to see the faint stain her lipstick leaves on the paper and you're suddenly very dizzy, fingers squeezing a fraction too hard at the flesh of her hips. She fits between your palms like they were made to hold her, like they were molded to shape of her body before you'd even met.

You tilt your head slightly further up, muscles in your neck shifting despite the strain of being hunched over patients all day and wait patiently, silently adore her while she takes another pull from her cigarette.

Embers glow pathetically at the cylinder's tip as she takes one final drag before her hand comes up to cup your jaw, tight enough for your brain to short-circuit thinking about the marks that her nails were definitely going to leave behind, holding you steady while she moves her face forward and blows smoke into your mouth.

Tobacco burns across your tongue and presses up behind your teeth until Dana pacifies it with her lips on yours, licking bitterness from inside your cheek and replacing it with the taste of cookies brought in by one of the med students after a sleepless night and break room coffee.

If anything was going to make you believe in soulmates it was this.

"Come on. Let's get you home sleeping beauty."

An exaggerated groan breaks free from your lips when Dana tugs on your hand, prompting you to drag your body from its resting place against the cold metal, briefly reaching down to pick up her bag from its position by your feet before rising to your full height.

Taking a step forward feels like pushing back against every force in the universe.

Exhaustion hit you like a tidal wave at the sight of your front door, flooding through your musculature and slipping into your bloodstream, mingling with the cells and platelets, infecting the plasma, racing through your veins until it can be felt in every outermost inch of your body.

Dana's hand is warm in yours as she pulls you along behind her like the obedient dog you are, fingers laced together and squeezing once in encouragement, a reminder that it won't be much longer until you can collapse into bed on top of her and hibernate like bears for the next three days.

Shoulders press closer with every step forward, overworked minds unable to distinguish where one of you ends and the other begins, jackets rustling every time your limbs knock together, a call and response known only to the two of you on the evenings when you're too tired to do anything but the bare minimum.

Dana gets there first, body stilling at the locked door whilst yours crowds behind her, heart flipping in her chest when your forehead slumps against her shoulder, chastising herself for behaving like a lovesick schoolgirl even after years of being on the receiving end of your soft touches.

Your arm pushes into the space between you, reaching for the keys attached onto your belt loop. A happy jingle sounding through the air and the shock of cold metal on the heat of your palm lets you know you've found them.

Hand extending past your girlfriend's hip, you slot the key into the lock and turn. Metal quickly folds on itself and a quiet click grants you access to a reprieve for the next 3 days.

The smell of home envelopes you instantly. Wraps itself around you as you follow Dana through the front door, almost stumbling into her with how close your body is to hers.

It's warmer in your apartment than it was outside -but only just- building stood still for hours with no one around to turn on the heating or pull blankets from the back of the couch when a chill started creeping into the air.

"Home sweet home." Dana mumbled as you shut the door behind you, slide the key into the lock for a second time and turn.

Lights are flicked on and the heating is cranked up as the pair of you begin to shed your outer layers.

You drop your bag onto the floor with a dull thud and then gently put Dana's bag down next to it, always more careful with her belongings than your own, wait as she slips your jacket from her shoulders and hang that up too.

It had been sunny when you walked into the ER, so sunny that Dana decided to forgo a jacket entirely while you threw yours on the backseat, listening to her teasing while you held the car door open for her and shoving it straight into your locker when you got to work.

But a passing comment from Parker during handover about it being colder than usual had you tucking her into your 'unnecessary' jacket after the day shift had been dismissed, smirk wiped off of your lips when your girlfriend kissed your cheek and then promptly spun on her heel, leaving you to chase after her.

Dana's ID card is the first thing to land on the sideboard, metal clip clattering onto the varnished wood with a small bounce and knocking into one of the picture frames littered across the surface from the force of her throw.

It's a picture of the pair of you crammed into a singular chair at a restaurant, Dennis and Robby, Parker and Samira, Abbot and Shen fill the seats around you, plates of pasta piled higher than the Eiffel Tower. Matching pink bands sat around everyone's wrists, a sign that you were part of the medical conference crowd looking to blow off steam after being packed into the events hall a few streets down.

Every charge nurse and attending that wasn't currently on shift at the PTMC was required to attend and clearly management could sense the storm brewing because the invitations arrived alongside plus ones and room reservations for a nice hotel to try and ease the annoyance of staff having to add this to their already packed schedules.

Robby was one of only two people actually looking at the camera, earthen brown eyes flickering with warmth as he stares down the lens, top buttons of his shirt undone and right arm slung over the shoulders of the boy next to him.

Dennis was facing the table, neck bent as if the weight of Robby's limb is enough to bowl him over, fingers following the wood grain and skin flushed red enough that the chef could easily confuse him for a tomato and try to drag him back to the kitchen.

Samira had her head turned over her shoulder while she speaks to someone just out of frame, candle light glinting off of her collarbones, one hand resting on the table as the other points to something on the other side of the room, painted lips moving like she's in the middle of explaining whatever it was that caught her attention, completely unaware of the woman staring at her side profile like they're the only two people in the room.

Parker was leaning forward, elbows resting on the table, hair pulled back to expose the gold bars scattered throughout her ears, glass of amber liquid clasped between her fingers as she watched Samira speak with the expression of someone who knows that they're well and truly fucked.

Abbot was on his feet, reaching across the table towards the napkin aka 'scoreboard' in front of his opponent, amusement in his eyes and wedding ring noticeably absent, easy grin on his face that showed the whites of his teeth after he beat John in another round of 'rock paper scissors'.

Shen had furrowed brows and pursed lips as he processed his third consecutive loss of the night, hands a blur in front of him as he gesticulated wildly, his shirt collar was crooked and there was a ridiculously large glass with several silly straws on his coaster, but there was enough space to see his foot linked with Abbot's chair leg.

Dana was pressed flush against you, intricate flower-shaped clasp pulling her hair away from her neck to reveal dark bite marks littered along her flesh, any semblance of professionalism held up with concealer and stern 'ah ah ahs' when you got too handsy discarded in the wake of soft hotel sheets and not technically being at work, light catching on her painted nails while she pushed her earring back into place and smirked at the camera.

Your arms were slung protectively around Dana's waist, one hand grasping her hip while the other gestured in front of you, legs spread wide to accommodate hers between them, tie ruffled, head titled upwards, lipstick smeared across your cheek, eyes glued to your girlfriend's side profile with a love-drunk grin splitting your face that could put Cupid to shame.

One chair was noticeably missing from the table, squirreled away by another patron while Dana had been in the bathroom, everyone only realizing what happened after they were already disappearing into the crowd with her chair in tow.

Your girlfriend had taken one look at the table when she got back and rolled her eyes before situating herself in your lap as if she owned it. Fortunately you were able to control yourself enough not to have a heart attack in the middle of dinner.

Her hands reach up and pull at the claw clip holding her hair back, carefully undoing it and running her fingers through the loose strands, before she drops it next to her ID card. There's a spare in her bag, alongside another spare in yours and one that got placed in your locker after a couple weeks of knowing her, but she likes having one by the door so she won't forget it.

Your keys shortly follow, rattling through the air and crashing onto the table with a loud thump that earns you a look from your girlfriend, head cocked to the side and lips pursed in a way that made you think she was reconsidering Abbot's suggestion of keeping you on for a double.

But when you shoot her a dopey smile as she's pulling pens out of her pockets, eyes flicking downward to watch as the plastic cylinders hit the wooden surface and roll a few centimeters sideways before pulling out your own pens and letting them gather alongside hers, she forgives you a thousand times over, would put up with you slamming your keys down everyday if it meant you came home and let your pens roll towards hers on the table.

An almost silence settles back into the air, only the sounds of your pockets being emptied echoing through the hall. Your wallet is added to the ever-growing pile forming on the console, alongside Dana's glasses and a protein bar that had been sitting in your pocket for the better part of your shift.

Maneuvering around you to the opposite side of the hallway, Dana listens to you pulling more things from your scrubs: gum, loose change for the vending machine, a tiny superhero figurine given to you by a peds patient as she tugs off her shoes before kissing you on the cheek and making her way towards the bathroom.

Abandoning your phone on the counter feels like a herculean task, torn between not wanting to miss something important and not wanting to be disturbed for the next 72 hours.

But no one can deny the relief that floods through your body as you tug off your own shoes and pad toward the bathroom after your girlfriend.

Dana walks into the kitchen, footsteps as soft and light as a jungle cat, feet protected from the hardwood floors by her fuzzy socks.

Cassie and Victoria had come over for movie night a number of weeks ago, and three-drinks-deep Victoria found the contrast between yours and your girlfriend's footsteps to be the funniest thing in the world. Even Cassie had cracked a smile, though you're pretty sure that had more to do with her girlfriend's unbridled joy than it did with the way you walk around your own house.

Rounding the counter to where you're standing in front of the fridge, she takes in your knitted eyebrows and folded arms as you stare at the shelves, appearing to be caught in a battle of wills with the dancing cartoon mascot grinning back at you from a half-empty jar of jelly.

Her arms circle your abdomen, hair that's still wet from the shower brushing your neck as she situates herself behind you.

She lets her hands slide beneath the material of your hoodie, scraping her nails up and down your happy trail once, twice, three times before slipping lower to toy with the waistband of your boxers, fingers mindlessly running across the fabric, occasionally dipping beneath the elastic to scratch at the skin of your hips, a self-soothing habit she picked up years ago.

"I got your glasses for you." Your hand gestures vaguely in the direction of the kitchen island and sure enough, there they are, folded neatly waiting for her.

She lets out a soft hum of recognition and pulls herself away from your back so she can reach over and grab them.

Something feels slightly different when she slips them onto her face, eyes flitting back and forth trying to figure it out until she notices.

You cleaned them for her.

Dana curls herself around you once more, presses a kiss to your covered shoulder in thanks as her fingers slip back down to the waistband of your boxers.

Both of you can see the abysmal state of your fridge, hear it softly thrumming as it proudly displays its contents; one shelf home a single protein bar and another housing a bowl of leftovers from two nights ago that neither of you had time to finish.

Goosebumps rise along your skin as Dana's breath fans over your neck, each small bump a reminder of how easily she can pull a reaction out of you by simply existing.

A defeated sigh passes through your lips and you let your head smack lightly against the side of the fridge door. "We seriously need to go grocery shopping."

You allow yourself to stew in resignation for another moment before pulling yourself together and closing the fridge door, clearly you weren't going to find anything to cook in there.

Dana thinks about it, thinks about you pushing the shopping cart, list in hand, looking for the specific kind of pasta that always gets served when you have people over for dinner, while she walks alongside you, hand tucked in your back pocket, leaning her head on your shoulder, waiting for you to realize you're in the wrong aisle and she almost suggests you go. Wrap up warm in your jackets and head out into the cold street armed only with your hunger to make decisions of what to get.

But then she thinks of the tiredness that clings to her body, staved off slightly by the water beating down on her shoulders, pulling her closer to the sweet release of sleep every minute."Could go tomorrow, don't have any plans in the morning."

"Sure sweetheart. That sounds great." Spinning around to face her makes you yearn to slow down time, bring it to a complete stop and turn it physical, tuck this moment into your wallet alongside twenty dollar bills and a crumpled post-it note with Emma's lunch order scrawled on it. 

She's wearing one of your hoodies, sleeves slightly too long and bottom hem brushing over the waistband of boxers clearly stolen from your side of the dresser, ends of her hair still damp with leave in conditioner as she stares back at you through her glasses. Even the socks she's wearing are yours.

You have never been more sure that you were meant to love someone than you were right now. "Do any of the clothes you're wearing belong to you?"

A teasing grin starts to appear on her face as she takes a step forward, "It's not my fault your boxers are so comfortable," her arms tighten around your torso, “if you don't want to share you can just say so," she's so close you could individually count her eyelashes, "but that would be pretty hypocritical if you ask me, hmm?"

It takes you a moment for your brain to catch up. Too lost in the smell of laundry detergent and dryer sheets that clings to the material of her sweatshirt to realize what she's hinting at. Until something solid lightly rubs over your ankle and you turn your focus onto your feet.

Feet that are currently wearing Dana's socks.

You relent with your hands in the air, palms facing outwards and fingers spread so she knows you're serious. Pay your dues with a kiss pressed to her lips, her nose, her forehead before moving towards her neck and leaving little kisses along the line of a jaw until she laughs.

It slices through the near silence of the kitchen and sparks across your skin, sends butterflies fluttering through your stomach. Although you can't remember butterflies ever being this loud.

"C'mon loverboy," Dana softly tugs on the collar of your hoodie, pulling you away from her neck the same way someone guides a dog away from their favorite chew toy, "gotta get some food in you before you turn into a full blown grizzly bear."

She's gracious enough to let you get away with a final kiss to her lips as parting gift, nudging you towards the hallway to retrieve your discarded phone after you get too eager and try for another, waiting until your back is turned to let out a soft chuckle that only gets louder when your stomach growls for the second time in two minutes.

Takeout it is.

Everything is bathed in soft blue light, shadows flicker across the walls before disappearing back into the darkness seconds later while some poor soul gets brutally murdered on the screen in front of you.

It's so late that the only things currently airing were a low-budget 90's horror movie or the same cheesy sitcom marathon that they run every weekend, and even after a day of being pulled from trauma to trauma, watching someone get an axe to the foot was somehow still the better option.

A series of soft raps echo in the hallway and Dana's head whips in the direction of the sound, heart briefly stuttering in her chest with every knock against the wood until she blinks, remembers the sound of your voice as you ordered dinner.

It seems the combination of bone-deep exhaustion and 30 minutes of watching people get stalked through the woods by a masked killer has left her slightly more jumpy than usual.

Leather rustles at her side and Dana notices you getting up to answer the door, stroking your hand over her thigh in a comforting gesture as it follows the rest of your body into a standing position. Briefly pausing to lean over and place a kiss on her nose before continuing your journey towards the entryway.

You return a few moments later, takeout in one hand and Dana's glasses in the other.

The promise of hot food can be smelt in the air, spices mingling together and becoming more prominent the further into the living room you get.

A small wave of your hand gestures for Dana to stay seated when she moves to help you unpack everything. Handing over her glasses providing a momentary distraction as you pause to watch her slip them onto her head.

She rolls her eyes fondly, "I'm starting to think you might have a staring problem kid," hands reaching for the single container you managed to take out the bag before your attention was pulled elsewhere.

"I don't know what you're talking about." But your eyes had clung to the loose strands escaping the hold of her glasses too long for your claim to hold any weight and you finish unpacking the rest of the food in silence.

Time ticks by slowly, minutes melting into each other until the title card for the next movie is flashing on the screen.

A second pair of chopsticks breeches the carton of noodles in your hands, gently batting your own chopsticks to the side and starting to twirl, gathering noodles before retreating back from where they came.

You turn to your left and stare at the woman beside you, dressed in your clothes and curled into your side, head resting on your shoulder, glasses pushed up to keep her hair back, soft glow of the television catching on the lenses and making it seem like there were stars laced in between strands of blonde, absentmindedly letting her chopsticks float over her takeout container as she focuses on the screen in front of her.

Warmth spills from your chest, urging you forward until your lips are pressed against the top of Dana's head, stay there for a while so you can inhale the scent of vanilla clinging to her hair, temporarily untainted by the hand sanitizer and smoke that will already be clinging to her an hour into her shift and press a final kiss to her hairline before pulling away.

Yeah, if anything was going to make you believe in soulmates it was this.