A/N: I had a lot of fun with this little series, and I’m so grateful to everyone who read it 💛 Thanks for doing this with me.
──────── Epilogue ────────
Three Years Later
The venue glows blue and silver beneath hanging white lights, with every table dressed in soft navy linens and glittering tea lights flickering inside glass holders. Out on the dance floor, a resident from cardiology is butchering the Cupid Shuffle while half the emergency department cheers them on.
In all reality, it’s exactly the kind of wedding you’d expect from an ER nurse. It’s pure pandemonium, perfect for the guests in attendance.
You sit alone at your table, your fingers curled around the stem of a wine glass while you watch the dance floor move with bodies beneath spinning disco lights. The room itself is enormous: vaulted ceilings draped in silver fabric, massive floral arrangements lining the edges of the room in pale blue hydrangeas and white roses. Every few seconds, another burst of laughter erupts from somewhere out in the crowd, blending with the music.
At the center of it all, the bride twirls across the dance floor in a sparkling white mermaid-fit gown, with one of the ER nurses wrapped around his new wife while their friends and families cheer loud enough to shake the room.
You smile, despite knowing almost nobody here.
A long time ago, weddings used to make you uncomfortable. It’s not because you disliked romance, you loved romance, embarrassingly so. You just never thought that kind of permanence was in the cards for someone like yourself.
That was back when your life felt temporary. Temporary jobs, temporary stability. Even Yolanda, in the beginning, had felt temporary. Especially Yolanda.
The thought causes your eyes to drift towards the far side of the venue. To her.
Across the room near the bar, impossible for you to miss in a crowd despite the fact that she’s blending in so much she might as well be camouflaged. She wears a deep navy button-down, matching with one of the two wedding colors, with silver jewelry catching the light around her neck. One hand is tucked into the pocket of her slacks while she listens to one of the surgical residents talk animatedly beside her.
They stick together, the hospital staff, you’ve learned over the years.
Yolanda’s hair is longer now than when you first met her, with her curls falling below her shoulders, and even from here you can see the moment she notices you looking. She’s like a compass needle snapping north, the way her attention is on you despite the distance. The resident is still talking but she doesn’t seem to hear a word of it, and your stomach flips embarrassingly hard when she smiles at you.
“You know,” a voice says beside you, and you hear the chair next to you scrape the ground as it’s pulled from the table, “she used to leave these things after like twenty minutes.”
You glance up to find Emery, Yolanda’s closest coworker, and over time a friend to you, sliding into the chair beside you with a cocktail balanced in her hand. “Yeah right,” you laugh.
Emery shrugs. “Just long enough to show her face so she could say she was there.”
Your eyes drift back toward Yolanda as one of the ER doctors tries to drag her toward the dance floor while she resists. Her head turns in your direction and you can vaguely make out her mouthing help me at you. You lift both hands in surrender, sitting back in your chair.
Emery notices. “She’s softer around you.”
You don’t respond, but you do make a sound in agreement as you lift your wine to your mouth again.
A burst of cheers erupts near the center of the dance floor as the bride and groom are encouraged into another spin beneath the lights. The bride’s silver-trimmed veil catches against somebody’s boutonniere and nearly rips in the process, and all movement on the dance floor stops momentarily as several people rush to help.
You wince sympathetically. “This wedding has to have cost an actual fortune.”
“ER staff are incapable of moderation,” Emery shrugs, sipping her drink. “It’s either a courthouse ceremony or the biggest party you’ll ever see.”
“Honestly, it seems like an unnecessary amount of stress,” you say, looking around at the absurdly gorgeous ballroom.
“Oh please,” she laughs. “You think Yolanda will be any better? She’s a control freak, she’s going to be an absolute bridezilla.”
Your wine nearly comes out of your nose, you begin to laugh so hard. “Oh my god, you’re right.” You risk a glance at Yolanda, only to find her already looking at you, eyes narrowed in suspicion like she can sense that you’re talking about her.
You smile innocently in her direction.
Emery follows your gaze toward Yolanda, then back out at the dance floor to the bride and groom. “Well,” she says. “Guess that’ll be the two of you soon enough, huh?”
Your eyes drop instinctively to your left hand where it rests on top of the table, the diamond sitting on your ring finger catching the ballroom lights. You smile at it, small and fond. “Guess so.”
A shadow falls across the table before Emery can say anything else, and you don’t even have to look up to know who it is.
Emery catches her immediately and smirks into her drink. “Speak of the devil.”
Yolanda rests one hand against the back of your chair, leaning on it as you tilt your head up toward her.
The navy shirt had been an intentional decision on her part, matching the same shade as your dress. The way she rolled her sleeves up her forearm should probably qualify as some sort of crime on your sanity, she’s lucky you haven’t dragged her off to find a closet somewhere.
“You’ve had three glasses of wine,” she says instead of greeting you.
You blink innocently up at her. “Wow, hello to you too.”
“Come dance with me.”
Your eyes narrow. “That sounded suspiciously like an order.”
“It’s not an order.”
“Sure seemed like one.”
A crease appears between her eyebrows as they furrow, but it’s not in irritation. More like she’s trying not to smile at you and is losing the battle, if the purse of her lips is any indication.
Behind her, near the edge of the dance floor closest to you, you spot Dr. Abbot attempting to line dance while Dr. Langdon tries desperately to convince unwilling bystanders to join him.
“Frank has made it his goal of the evening to see me dance,” Yolanda says flatly. “He’s been shimmying at me for the last ten minutes, he says he won’t stop until I participate.”
As if summoned by name alone, Dr. Langdon points dramatically at Yolanda, calling out her name to get her attention and resuming what you assume is said horrific shoulder-shimmying.
You burst out laughing. “Oh my god, has he been drinking?”
Yolanda’s head drops as she shakes it. “I don’t know, but I’m about to start,” she mutters darkly. “Get up and dance with me before it gets worse.”
You lean back in your chair, crossing your arms over your chest as you say as sweetly as possible, “Don’t tell me what to do.”
Emery has to purse her lips together to stop herself from laughing beside you.
Yolanda just stares at you.
And there’s a split second where you can see it on her face: the memory, the old imbalance, the weight those words would’ve had just a few years ago. Except now there’s warmth beneath it. Teasing, even. As she looks down at you, smirking back up at her, there’s playfulness in your eyes.
She closes her eyes, letting out a dramatically deep sigh. “…please?”
Your smirk fades into a real grin, and you throw back the remainder of your wine in a very unladylike fashion before setting the now-empty glass down on the table in front of you.
“Okay,” you say, wobbling just a little as you stand. “But if Langdon tries to shimmy at me too, we’re leaving.”
“For once,” Yolanda says, offering you her hand, which you take, “we’re in complete agreement.”
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CW: angst, so much sadness, the dark times are here, panic attack described, unhealthy eating habits, extreme financial distress, brief mentions of sex work, debt avoidance, smut (explicit sexual content)(what?), fingering and cunnilingus (y!receiving)
WC: 6k
Part IV
A/N: it’s the middle of the night but I don’t care. Hope y’all like it 💛
──────── Damages ────────
The aftermath of Yolanda Garcia is both immediate and devastating.
“I am terminating our agreement effective immediately.” She doesn’t stick around after the words leave her mouth, the door shutting behind her with a sound that’s far too soft for the destruction it causes.
It doesn’t feel real, this isn’t happening.
You’re still frozen in the hospital bed, your fingers twitching nervously against the blanket. The monitor that signifies your heart rate is still in a steady rhythm, like your heart hasn’t caught up to reality yet. Everything is exactly the same as before.
Except…except that she’s gone.
Your eyes stay fixed on the door that she’s disappeared through like she’ll walk back through it, like this is all some kind of fucked-up joke. You’re just waiting, because that’s what you do. You wait for her to come back and clarify, you’ve clearly missed something here. Yolanda doesn’t just leave things unfinished like that. There’s always some sort of structure or follow-through, always -
But there’s nothing.
Silence stretches in the room for five minutes, which becomes ten, and ten becomes twenty.
That’s when reality sinks in and your chest begins to tighten.
No. No, she - she wouldn’t just leave you like that -
She said she was terminating the agreement.
You might actually throw up.
2.3 Termination Without Cause
Either party may terminate this Agreement at any time, with or without explanation -
Your breath catches in your throat.
No, no, no -
2.4 Immediate Termination for Cause
Party A may immediately terminate the Agreement for any breach of contract -
The blanket bunches in your fist as your fingers flex against the bed.
You broke it, you broke it, you fucked up -
Your heart catches up to the severity of your situation, the beeping behind you picking up speed and betraying you. It’s loud in your ears, echoing, matching the way you can feel your pulse throbbing in your fingertips.
This isn’t happening, this cannot be real.
“She’ll come back,” you whisper to yourself, the words barely able to make it past the lump in your throat. “She - she just needs a minute, that’s all. She’ll come back and fix it.”
Yolanda always fixes things, that’s what she does, she’s a surgeon, for fucks’ sake, this won’t be an exception. That’s what she’s been doing for the entire eight months or your relation - your agreement, solving problems before they can touch either of you, smoothing everything out and making everything manageable.
But even you can’t convince yourself. Your breathing starts to pick up as you begin to hyperventilate.
“She’ll come back,” you say again, louder. “She’s just - she’s just thinking, it’ll be okay.”
Oh god, you don’t know what to do.
Not just the money, even though that’s there, the thought closing in around you, the fact that you’re now alone in a room you can’t afford. But the absence of her, the absence of direction, of certainty. Nobody to tell you what comes next.
Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, stinging as you blink them back.
Think, you need to think.
You tilt your head back to avoid them falling, staring at the ceiling with wide eyes.
Okay, okay.
She said she was terminating the agreement. That means - that means no more support. You’ll be okay, you’ll survive, you survived before her, you can survive after her. No more support, no more transfers, no more -
Your stomach lurches violently.
No more Yolanda.
Your body jolts with a sob that threatens to escape you.
No, no, no -
You push yourself up a little higher on the bed, thinking sitting up might help you calm down, but the change in position pulls at the bruising on your belly and you gasp in pain.
It doesn’t matter, none of it matters to you. You were so close, eight months of doing everything right – you followed the rules, you stayed quiet, you behaved, being exactly what she needed, what she wanted you to -
7.2 Honesty
Party B shall not materially misrepresent -
You lied. Not directly, at least not after that one little lie in the beginning about being taken care of, but you – you didn’t tell her. You didn’t tell her where the money was going, what you were doing with it, how close you were to -
You lied. Of course she terminated it, why wouldn’t she?
You don’t lie, you’re a good girl, what were you thinking?
Your hands fly to your face, pushing the heels into your eyes to stop the stinging as tears begin to fall freely. Panic is filling your lungs like water and you’re drowning. You can’t breathe. Your eyes dart to your phone, still lying face-down on the bed next to you.
Right, you can - maybe you can fix this.
You grab it with shaky hands, almost dropping it with your fumbling in your haste. The screen lights up at full brightness, making you squint as you open your messages. You can explain yourself, you can fix this, but what do you even say?
I’m sorry is too small.
Please don’t do this is pathetic.
I didn’t mean to isn’t true, you did mean to, you just didn’t think -
Hurry, before she decides this is final, before this becomes real.
can we please talk
That’s what you settle on, not hesitating to hit send. But just as it sends, your heart plummets as the nightmare somehow manages to get worse.
Green. The text bubble is green.
Blocked.
You might actually be having a heart attack, this cannot be real.
The door handle twists and you jerk your head up, hope surging in your chest so fast it gives your heart whiplash. But it’s not her, and you crash right back down to rock bottom.
A nurse pokes her head in, looking at your monitor with a frown. “Hey, your heart rate’s climbing a lot,” she says gently as she steps inside. “Are you okay?”
You try to take a deep breath to calm down but your lungs won’t cooperate with you, your breaths coming in short bursts that aren’t enough for you to fill your lungs with air.
“I - I’m fine,” you lie.
You’re not fine, you’ve never been less fine. The one person who makes you sure you’re fine is gone, and she isn’t coming back.
“It’s okay,” she says, turning back toward the door. “I’m gonna grab the doctor, okay? Just stay with me, keep trying to breathe.”
Don’t leave.
You don’t say it out loud, that’s ridiculous, you don’t even know this lady. You just don’t want to be alone.
The nurse slips out the door and you’re alone again.
Your chest hurts.
“Hey,” Dr. Santos says, moving quickly through the doorway and shutting it behind her. Her sleeves are pushed up messily, like she did it in a hurry. Her eyes are on you, then the monitor, then back on you again. “What’s happening, what’s going on?”
You shake your head quickly, unable to respond to her in words. What little air you can manage to get into your lungs isn’t enough, not enough for you to speak, not enough for you to think.
You can’t say it, you can’t tell her.
Your fingers twitch toward your phone where it sits, the screen still lit, that awful and singular green message visible if she looks close enough. And she notices, of course she does, how could she not? Her eyes hover there for a moment before they flick back to your face as she files away your phone without a word.
“Okay,” she says. “that’s fine, you don’t have to tell me. Just stay with me, okay?”
You’re gasping for air at this point, it feels like a very real possibility that you’re having a heart attack. “I can’t -” you start again. “I can’t breathe -”
“You can and you are, it just doesn’t feel like it right now,” she says calmly as she approaches you. She reaches out, her hand finding your arm and holding it loosely. “Look at me. In through your nose, nice and slow.”
You try to follow her instructions, you really really do. But your body won’t listen, your breathing is still uneven and quick and your heart is hammering inside your chest so violently that it makes your hands shake.
“Okay,” Dr. Santos pivots without missing a beat. “That’s okay, we’ll meet you where you are.” Her fingers begin to dig into your arm as she holds it tighter in her grip. “Can you feel this? This right here.”
You nod, the pressure on your arm nearly painful.
“Good, that’s good,” she nods. “You’re here, you’re okay. Nothing is happening to you right now, you’re okay.”
Nothing, except everything.
Your vision blurs again as tears you didn’t even notice building slip over your waterline before you can stop them. “I - I messed up,” you choke out.
There’s a moment where your doctor pauses, her hand still on your arm, grounding you as best she can. A stillness while she takes in your words.
“Okay,” she says. “We can talk about that later, but right now I need you to breathe.”
You shake your head, tilting up toward the ceiling, willing the tears to go away. “I can’t,” you insist. “I don’t know what to do -”
That’s the part that sticks. You see it in her face, the moment that she understands that this isn’t something she can talk you down from. Recognition that this is about more than just your injuries, that whatever it is, it’s not about the hospital, it’s something else.
“Alright,” she says, nodding. “I can give you something to take the edge off, help you calm down a little. Would that be okay?”
You hesitate, your eyes drifting down to the red medical allergy alert bracelet donning your right wrist. Because accepting medication - because earlier - because Yolanda -
Your stomach lurches as she’s shoved to the forefront of your mind.
“She’s not -” words slip out of you like water running through your fingertips. “She’s not here -”
The doctors expression almost flickers, you see it in the way her eyebrows pull together just the tiniest bit. Nearly imperceptible, except that you’ve learned to read microexpressions over the last eight months, to be able to tell what someone is thinking before they even fully form the thought.
“No,” she says calmly, as she makes direct eye contact with you. “She’s not.”
Not Dr. Garcia, not right now.
You swallow hard. “…okay,” you finally whisper, mostly because you don’t have anything else. No Yolanda to fall back on.
“Okay,” she echoes as she rises from your bedside. “I’ll be right back.”
──────── Damages ────────
The aftermath of terminating the agreement is quieter than Yolanda expects.
And that’s her fault, really. Blocking you the second she left your hospital room meant silence. There was no screaming, no pleading, and certainly no dramatic fallout beyond the one she had already walked away from in the emergency department, and you’d clearly been in some sort of shock when she left. You didn’t even say anything, for fucks’ sake.
There was just…silence.
At first, that’s a good thing. It means she handled it correctly, things ended professionally and cleanly, the way that it was supposed to. The way all of these kinds of arrangements ended.
But then there’s the unexpected fallout. Not just of this kind of arrangement ending, the sex isn’t that big of a deal. Yolanda owns a vibrator, after all, and she could go out to a bar and get pussy if she really wanted to.
No, the rhythm disruptions are where she truly begins to feel it.
Like the first time that she wakes up in the middle of the night, reaching towards the other side of the bed - your side of her bed - before remembering that it isn’t actually your side anymore. Or when she stops ordering takeout from the places you liked because the first time she does it, the portions she orders are too large for one person and she realizes she’s subconsciously ordered for you too.
Or there’s the time she buys groceries that she doesn’t end up eating because she’d grown accustomed to keeping things you like stocked in her kitchen. Or when she checks her phone multiple times after rough shifts before remembering that there’s nobody to text anymore.
But the worst is when she comes home expecting light. Because you were almost always there first, before she got home from the hospital. With the candles lit, or even when you’d just turn on the lamp in the living room and bedroom. You almost always had some sort of music playing, usually a shitty soft violin cover of whatever pop song was popular at the time, because god forbid you listen to something that wasn’t Sabrina Carpenter.
Without you, her home is cold. It’s quiet, leaving her to sit in her own feelings, too clean because the bed is still perfectly made, just the way she left it in the morning before going to work, no imprint of your body on top of the sheet where you were waiting for her.
In the first few days, her brain pretends you’re still there. And it’s messed up, really.
She sits up in bed suddenly, hearing your keys drop into the little ceramic bowl by her front door, before she realizes that the door never actually opened in the first place. Or when she gets off shift and goes to get her clothes from the dryer, only to realize they were never in the dryer because she never switched them from the wash.
That’s where the pain really lives, in the tiny but intimate absences.
The sweater turns up a few weeks later.
It’s dark gray, and way too big for you. The sleeves are stretched at the cuffs because you always shove your hands into them when you’re tired, creating one big tube of sleeves so you can hold your own elbows beneath the fabric.
Yolanda finds it wedged between the side of her bed and the nightstand while she’s looking for her phone charger.
She yanks it from it’s hiding place, irritation rising in her chest. You leave your shit everywhere: hair ties on the bathroom counter, lip gloss in the center console of her car. One of your earrings is even still sitting in the dish beside her sink.
It’s evidence of you, and it stirs feelings inside her that she shoves down with an angry hand.
The sweater is soft in her hands, from overuse and from the countless times it was washed with the terrible laundry detergent you used before you started washing your things at her place. She should throw it away.
But instead, she lifts it to her face.
It smells like you underneath the detergent. Your shampoo and your skin, she inhales your scent and for a moment, it feels like things are back to normal. It feels like you’re home.
Yolanda freezes at the thought.
This isn’t your home, this is her home. You were a temporary fixture, something she could rid herself of whenever you lost your usefulness. And she did, the moment you broke the rules.
And then she’s angry. Not at you, but at herself.
She throws the sweater to the floor at the foot of her bed in disgust, scowling at it like it’s offended her.
She doesn’t need you. What she needs is to replace the habit, replace the body. That, she can do.
──────── Damages ────────
The condo is dim, lit only by the hazy glow of a streetlamp that bleeds through the drawn blinds. Shadows stretch across the living room, across the couch where Yolanda is sprawled open, one leg hooked over the back cushion while a stranger kneels between her thighs.
The woman has dark hair and sharp cheekbones, pretty enough to have caught Yolanda’s attention at the bar but forgettable enough that she already can’t remember her name exactly.
Maybe it’s Alice? Yeah, that sounds right.
Alice’s tongue drags slow through slick folds while her fingers push deep inside Yolanda, curling expertly inside wet heat.
It should work, god, it should be working.
Yolanda lets her head fall back against the couch and forces herself to focus solely on the physical sensation instead of the hollow feeling that’s been hovering at the back of her mind for too long now. The woman is good with her mouth, good with her hands, and attentive in the exact way people are when they’re trying to impress someone that they desperately want to call tomorrow.
In the past, that’s been enough for Yolanda. But not tonight.
Every touch becomes you.
The brush of dark hair against her thighs turns into the feeling of your hair falling out of your ponytail as your head lies in her lap. The too-heavy perfume fades into phantom smells of your body wash on your skin, the smell that still lingers on the sweater she hasn’t been able to throw away, the one that’s currently hiding underneath her pillow -
Her stomach twists in repulsion.
They’re the wrong hands, it’s the wrong mouth, the wrong woman -
Alice moans against her pussy, clearly encouraged by the way Yolanda’s hips jerk upward into her mouth, and guilt flashes ugly through the haze of arousal because this woman has no idea that she’s competing with someone who isn’t even here.
Yolanda grips a fistful of dark hair anyway, grounding herself in the moment through sheer force of will. She chases the sensation instead of thought - the slide of this woman’s fingers curling up against her g-spot, the heat of her tongue against her clit, the coil that’s winding itself inside her middle.
It almost works: pleasure builds, Yolanda’s thighs tremble, her breathing turning ragged and uneven.
And then Alice adjusts her angle, her fingers crooking upward against the textured wall inside Yolanda, a devastating blow to finish her off at the exact second her tongue pushes flat against her clit.
That’s your move.
It’s not on purpose, Alice couldn’t possibly know that, but suddenly Yolanda is picturing you with a clarity that’s painful: your eyes flicking up to watch her cum against your mouth, the smug little curve of your mouth when you’d realize she couldn’t help herself, the way you’d whine, drunk on the taste of her.
The fantasy crashes over her so hard it steals the breath from her lungs and her back bows, doubling over the woman’s head, still held in Yolanda’s grip.
“Fuck – yeah, right there -” Her voice breaks, hips jerking, and before she can stop herself: “- fuck!” And then your name tears out of her.
Silence slams into the room.
Alice pulls away immediately, fingers sliding free with a slick sound that makes humiliation burn hot beneath Yolanda’s skin. The loss leaves her twitching and painfully unfinished, arousal still coursing uselessly in her veins.
Alice stares at her for a moment in disbelief before wiping her mouth with the back of her wrist. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”
Yolanda’s stomach drops. “Hey, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean -”
“You just moaned another woman’s name while I was fucking you.” Alice pushes to her feet, grabbing her shirt from the floor. “Seriously?”
Yolanda’s teeth clench together as shame mixes with leftover want. She sits up too fast, almost dizzy from it. “Wait, Alice, it’s not -”
“What?” Alice interrupts her flatly. “My name is fucking Amber. You know what? I’m not doing this.” She snatches her jacket off the back of the couch, shaking her head with open disgust now. “Lose my number.”
And then she’s gone, the apartment door slamming hard enough to rattle the walls behind her.
Yolanda stays frozen on the couch, elbows braced against her knees, trying to steady her breathing. Her body still aches with the interrupted pleasure, still swollen and unsatisfied as she shift uncomfortably in her seat.
She can still feel the ghost of that last touch, but even the memory betrays her now. It isn’t the stranger she feels, it’s you, your mouth, your hands. Your voice, low and filthy against her skin while you whine and groan your way through her pleasure.
She should get up and take a shower. Drink some water to offset the drinks, go to sleep.
Instead, her hand slips between her legs as she leans back against the couch again, chasing the memory she’s been trying to outrun. It’s pathetic, she knows that, but it doesn’t stop her.
Her fingers move faster as the fantasy returns. Your mouth on her thighs, your wide eyes on her face as you both chase her pleasure, the way you used to touch her in the ways you knew she’d want before she even said a word.
The orgasm hits hard and ugly less than a minute later, your name muffled against her wrist while the tears she’s been refusing to cry burn hot behind her eyes.
──────── Damages ────────
The first thing you notice after Yolanda is how loud your old life is.
It’s not actually new, of course. The house has always sounded like this: the groan of old plumbing, the television that murmurs from your parents’ bedroom, and the rattle of the window AC unit that only works if you hit it twice. But after eight months of practically living in Yolanda’s silent and spotless condo, the noise feels unbearable.
You forgot what it was like to hear every issue.
The uneven wheeze in the ceiling vent. Your dad coughing in the kitchen after sixteen-hour workdays, or your mother standing above the kitchen table with a calculator, whispering numbers under her breath like prayers.
You wake up before sunrise most mornings because your father is already leaving for his first job by then. The floorboards creak beneath his boots, and you can hear the front door open and then close from your bedroom. In the distance, you can hear the car cough twice before finally turning over.
You lie awake, staring at water stains on the ceiling and think about how different Yolanda’s bedroom sounded in the mornings. It was quiet, and you woke to soft sheets, and the sound of her central air humming low in the vents.
You used to wake up warm when you were there. Now you wake up cold.
You roll over and check your phone without even thinking about it. There’s nothing there. No texts, no missed calls, not even the transactional messages that used to come every Friday morning.
You drag yourself out of bed for work ten minutes later.
The bruising along your abdomen from the accident has faded to yellow now, but it still hurts when you move too quickly. Your shoulder pops unpleasantly every time you lift something heavy. Dr. Santos had recommended physical therapy during your discharge, after they never managed to get you a room upstairs before discharging you.
You’d laughed out loud when she said it. Physical therapy, what a joke. You could barely afford ibuprofen.
You slide back into your old routine so quickly it’s almost scary.
Work, home, sleep, repeat.
You take every shift your shitty retail job offers, and even that still keeps you just under full-time. Twenty-nine hours one week, thirty-four the next if someone calls out sick.
“Can you stay late tonight?” Your manager doesn’t even look up from the clipboard in his hands as he asks.
“Uh,” you stall weakly, nearly swaying on your feet. “I actually opened this morning.”
“And?”
You swallow hard, forcing yourself to nod. “Yeah, okay.”
Still not enough for benefits, even as the first bill from the hospital appears in your mailbox.
The first one sits unopened on the kitchen table for almost three weeks before you gather the courage to open it, and the number at the bottom of the charges actually makes you sick.
Every day, more envelopes pile around the one from the hospital. Red stamps with FINAL NOTICE or PAST DUE on them.
Nobody opens them anymore, not even your mother.
Your parents pretend not to see them when they eat dinner. You pretend not to notice your mother quietly moving them into stacks every few days based on who the return envelopes are addressed to, like the organization makes the debt less real. In reality, it’s just less chaotic when they’re not all sprawled out.
The money from Yolanda disappears immediately. It was all allocated already, you never wasted a penny because every dollar belonged to someone else the moment it was in your hands. The mortgage, the loan for the roof, the HVAC payments, utilities, gas, groceries, minimum payments stretched across too many accounts.
You’d spent eight months holding the house above water with your bare hands and now the tide is coming rushing back in all at once.
You begin to check your bank account obsessively again.
Five dollars before payday. Then three. Then negative twelve.
You start skipping breakfast - an unhealthy habit you had long before Yolanda, one that she had to force you to unlearn when you started spending the night at her place. You stop turning on the heat when the house gets cold. You even tell your mom you’re not hungry some nights because there isn’t enough left for everyone to eat.
And underneath all of it, beneath the fear and the humiliation, is the ache of missing Yolanda so badly that it makes you feel sick. You miss the way her coffee tasted better than yours even though you bought the same brand afterwards, trying to recreate it. You miss the sound of her voice, saying your name when she was half asleep.
You do your best not to think about the breakup, if you could even call it that. No, you can’t, because it wasn’t a real relationship. The termination is what you should call it.
You feel cheap. Dirty.
The way she threw you away like you were nothing. Your heart twists painfully in your chest when you think about it. As if you were an inconvenience, lying there in that hospital bed. That hurts worse than the financial panic, and you hate yourself for that. Because losing Yolanda shouldn’t matter more to you than losing your safety net. Except that she wasn’t just your safety net by the end.
That’s the problem.
You miss her in ways that are humiliating.
The way she’d hold your thigh possessively anytime the two of you went anywhere, whether she was driving or not. How she’d order your coffee or food without asking what you wanted, because she didn’t need to ask, she knows you.In the same way you know her, understand her, she understands you. You miss the shape of her life wrapping around you. You miss being expected somewhere, wanted somewhere.
The worst part is that you still catch yourself mentally saving things to tell her. Customers at work saying bizarre shit, or memes Charlie sends you, or about how the stray cat behind the dumpster that finally let you pet it after months of trying. Every time you think Yolanda needs to know this, reality hits you a moment later.
Gone. She’s gone. Because you lied to her.
No. You didn’t lie. You survived. But apparently there’s no difference to Yolanda.
Charlie corners you during your lunch break a few weeks after the breakup.
“You look awful,” she says bluntly, though her tone has a teasing edge to it.
You blink up from your paper coffee cup. “Thanks.”
“I’m serious.” Charlie slides into the seat across from you in the dingy mall food court, frowning hard. She’s still wearing her bookstore lanyard from the store across the plaza. “You’ve been weird for weeks.”
“I got hit by a car.”
“You know that’s not what I mean.”
You stare down into your watery coffee, trying your best to hold off the tears that always come with thinking about Yolanda.
Charlie softens as she reaches across the table to touch your hand. “Was it that woman?”
Your stomach ties itself into a knot instantly.
Charlie doesn’t know the details. She never has, that was against the rules. You never told her about the arrangement, only that you’d been seeing someone older. But Charlie had met Yolanda once by accident when she picked you up from work.
That had, apparently, been enough.
“The hot doctor woman,” Charlie continues. “Did you guys break up?”
The term break up feels wrong, even though that’s what you’ve been calling it in your head. Break up implies it was mutual. You and Yolanda never even addressed what was happening outside of the contract while it was happening.
“Yeah,” you say quietly.
Charlie’s mouth twists to one side as she weighs her next words carefully. “Did she hurt you?”
The question catches you off guard because the answer is complicated. Not intentionally. Yolanda ended things like a surgeon making a clean incision: precise and controlled, and you know intimately how much she values control.
“She found out some stuff,” you mumble eventually.
Charlie waits for you to continue.
“She thought I lied to her.”
“Did you?”
You stare at the table. “I don’t know anymore.”
Reaching across the table to you, Charlie squeezes your arm gently. “You don’t have to tell me everything,” she says gently. “But something is really wrong with you, and I need you to know that I can tell.”
Your throat burns as you hold off the tears, and you look away fast before she notices. You’ve spent so long being the stable one in your family that basic concern feels unbearable now.
After that day, Charlie starts checking up on your constantly, like the good best friend she is. She texts you, sends you memes, and more than once she shows up during your shift with extra fries because “they made too many.”
Sometimes you answer her, and sometimes you stare at the messages for ages without replying because even typing feels too exhausting lately. Like maintaining your one friendship is too much, and you’d rather lay in bed and rot.
Depression settles over you so gradually that you don’t recognize it.
Laundry piles up in your room. You stop listening to music on the bus on your way to work. Food starts tasting like cardboard. Your days blur together into one endless loop of work and worry and exhaustion. And underneath it all sits the certainty that nothing good is coming anymore. That the eight months with Yolanda were some sort of weird interruption of your real life, a brief detour where you accidentally got to feel safe and taken care of. And loved.
But now you’re back where you belong.
The thought makes you feel sick every time it surfaces, because you know Yolanda would hate hearing that you think that way about yourself. Which is almost funny, because you still know her opinions instinctively. You wonder if she still thinks about yours.
One night, your father falls asleep at the kitchen table still wearing the uniform from his second job.
You stand there staring at him for a long time.
His hands look older lately. They’re covered with cracked skin and grease trapped beneath his nails that he can never seem to get out anymore.
Your mother drapes a blanket over his shoulders without waking him.
Neither of you say anything, because what even is there to say?
The kitchen table becomes buried in unopened envelopes.
PAST DUE.
URGENT.
FINAL NOTICE.
You recognize the return address from the hospital every time another bill arrives, and you start hiding them underneath the others without opening them. If you don’t know the final number, if you never see the interest pile up, maybe it can’t kill you yet.
The drain under the kitchen sink begins to leak, and your mother puts a pot underneath the drip with a look of both exhaustion and exasperation on her face. You stand there in silence, listening to water tap against metal.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
“I can pick up more hours,” you blurt suddenly.
Your mother looks up at you sharply. “No.”
“I can.”
“You already work too much.”
“It’s not enough.”
Her face crumples for a moment before she smooths her expression back out. “Honey.”
You hate that helpless look, and turn away before she can see your eyes watering.
Later that night, lying awake in bed, you finally break and open your bank app again. The number that stares back at you makes your heart sink.
You start crying before you even recognize that it’s happening, silent tears sliding sideways into your pillow while you press your fist against your mouth to keep quiet.
You miss Yolanda so bad that it hurts. Not the money, not the relief that comes with existing around her, but her. The way she looked at you when she thought you weren’t paying attention, and the rare sound of her laughing unguarded, usually when you said something she wasn’t expecting. You start to wonder if she misses you too, before immediately stopping yourself because it doesn’t matter. Missing Yolanda isn’t going to fix anything.
Pulling your phone back up to your face, you open the browser on your phone and log back into the website where you first met Yolanda.
──────── Damages ────────
“We can’t keep doing this,” your mother mutters as she stares down the pile of unopened envelopes.
Your father sighs heavily from across the table, his shoulders slumped with exhaustion after another double shift. “Open the worst ones first.”
Which ones even are the worst ones? You don’t know anymore. Still, nobody argues.
You stand at the counter, twisting the cap off a bottle of generic painkillers. Your ribs hurt from being on your feet all day, the last remnants of your time with Yolanda.
Your mother reaches for the mortgage statement. The envelope is wrinkled from being shoved around the table for weeks without being opened.
She breaks the seal carefully, and silence stretches as she scans the contents of the letter. But then, she frowns.
Your father’s brow furrows as he looks up at her. “What?”
She doesn’t answer.
You glance over at her, distracted at first, expecting another overdue notice, or another conversation about “figuring it out.”
Instead, your mother just keeps staring at the paper.
“Mom?”
Her eyes eventually start to lift from the paper, confusion etched into the lines of her face, and she looks almost…alarmed. “It says it’s paid.”
Your father tilts his head, confused. “What?”
“The mortgage,” she laughs, the sound disbelieving. “It says the balance is paid.”
You straighten. “Paid this month?”
“No,” her voice sounds strange now. “Paid off, in full.” She reaches back into the envelope, digging around until her fingers pluck additional papers out of it. She unfolds them with shaky hands, and you can vaguely make out the words LOAN PAYOFF and DEED on them.
Your father stands upright from the chair, reaching for the papers. “Let me see that.”
Your mother hands him the statement with trembling fingers while you step closer, heart pounding in your chest.
Your dad scans the pages once, then again. “What the hell?”
You snatch the statement from his hands. The words blur in front of your eyes before they settle at the bottom.
CURRENT BALANCE: $0.00
That’s not possible, there has to be a mistake. A printing error, the wrong account number, something.
Feeling suddenly unsteady, you grab the nearest envelope off the pile and tear it open to find the electric bill. PAID IN FULL.
You rip open another to find the HVAC loan. ZERO BALANCE.
Another.
Roof financing. ACCOUNT CLOSED.
“No,” you say quietly to yourself. “No, no, no -”
Your pulse is pounding in your ears. There’s only one envelope left in the pile. Your hospital bill.
You freeze, staring at it.
“Honey -” your mother says, noticing your unnerving stillness.
But you’re already grabbing it, the envelope tearing badly in your rush. Your eyes skim the page frantically until they catch on the number near the bottom.
Summary: Baran has always kept her personal life separate from work, life is easier that way. Unfortunately for her, PTMC’s annual gala requires an exception and you’re all-too eager to participate.
CW: fluff, established relationship, traditionally fem reader (reader wears makeup and a dress), possessive!Baran, insecure!Baran, kinda pervy!Baran, obsessed wives, coworkers meet the wife, reader is loved by all, smut (explicit sexual content), top!Baran, semi-public sex, fingering (r!receiving), little bit of a praise kink
WC: 4.3k
A/N: celebrating hitting 1k followers last night with this! My first real Baran piece that isn’t just headcanons 💛 Hope you enjoy!
✿ ───────── ✿ ───────── ✿
“You’re going to make us late if you don’t stop.”
The scold lacks heat, and you can’t even stop yourself from laughing when Baran’s lips find the side of your neck again, your hand pausing hallway through sliding the last pin into your hair.
“Maybe I don’t want to go anymore,” she murmurs against your skin as her hands settle on your waist.
“You can’t skip,” you snort. “You’re an attending, it looks bad.”
“I’ll call in sick.”
“You’re a doctor.”
“And yet I suddenly feel very unwell.”
That pulls a warm laugh out of you and Baran swears under her breath in Farsi like the sound of it does something to her. Because this right here is why she’s kept you away from the hospital for so long. It’s not because she’s ashamed of you, never that, but rather because she knows what happens to people when they meet you.
You finally finish with your hair, setting your products down before turning in her arms to face her. “You’re being so weird tonight, what gives?”
Baran sighs through her nose, just a hint of annoyance settling on her face as she looks at you. “I do not want to share you with them tonight, azizam.”
“Your coworkers?”
She nods in confirmation.
“You don’t want them to meet me?”
Her eyes narrow as her grip on your waist tightens possessively. “I do not want my coworkers looking at my wife.”
The way she says my wife sends heat blooming into your face, and though you try to hide it, you fail miserably. Baran notices immediately and her lips curve up into a smirk, obviously pleased with herself as the tips of your ears tinge.
“You’re blushing.”
“Shut up.”
The drive over is quiet in a comfortable way. The city glows outside the windows of the uber, streaks of gold and white sliding across the glass while music plays through the speakers. Your heels rest against the floorboard, one ankle crossed over the other, and Baran’s hand hasn’t left your thigh since the moment the two of you climbed into the backseat together. Not that you’re complaining, of course.
Downtown is alive tonight. Restaurants are crowded and the sidewalks are busy. And somewhere ahead, towering above the traffic, the convention center comes into view.
You can’t believe hospitals even have galas.
“You know,” you say, “when you first told me about this, I thought it was going to be in, like, a hotel ballroom or something.”
“It usually is,” Baran replies casually.
“Wait, really?”
“The hospital is celebrating some anniversary this year.” Her fingers squish the skin of your thigh beneath your dress. “Apparently they decided to go all out because of it.”
“That explains why the invitation looked like a wedding invite.”
The uber eases to a stop beneath the overhang of the convention center, and the driver bids you both a polite goodnight while Baran helps you out onto the curb with a hand at your waist. The night air is cool on your skin, and you’re suddenly jealous of the long sleeves on Baran’s pantsuit keeping her warm.
People crowd the entrance to the building in clusters of black-tie gowns and tailored suits, and you can hear laughter echoing off marble and glass as the hospital staff filter inside. You recognize a few faces from pictures on Baran’s phone or stories over dinner, but most are strangers in a sea of faces.
Baran stays close to you, her hand on the small of your back as the two of you navigate through the lobby together toward a bank of elevators down a small hallway.
“You okay?” she asks quietly as you wait for an available one.
You turn toward her, your face scrunching in confusion. “Why are you asking me that?”
“Because this is a lot of people in one place and I know how you feel about crowds.”
You purse your lips, but in thoughtfulness rather than upset. “I’m okay. It’ll be better once we’re upstairs, I’m sure.”
The elevator arrives with a soft ding, the doors sliding open. Several other attendees step inside with you, conversations between coworkers overlapping. The fifth floor lights up as you reach it and the doors open to spill the gala out before you in gold.
Chandelier light glitters across floral arrangements and linin-draped cocktail tables. Warm jazz music drift through the massive ballroom beneath towering ceilings, and full-length windows overlook the Pittsburgh skyline. It’s elegant and expensive in a way that only a for-profit hospital could be.
You’re busy taking it all in when a voice catches your attention, even though it isn’t aimed directly at you.
“Dr. Al-Hashimi.”
You can feel Baran sigh next to you.
A woman in an ivory suit approaches with a comfortability that most people don’t have when approaching your wife. She’s older and polished, with nails manicured and decorated in a way that tells you this is not an emergency room doctor, but likely some sort of administrator.
“Gloria,” Baran says politely.
Gloria Underwood, you know that name. Some sort of big wig for the hospital, she interviewed Baran before your wife took the attending position, and you’ve heard Baran complain about her at least once a week ever since.
“It’s good to finally see you outside the emergency department,” Gloria says, smiling before her attention turns on you. “And you must be the elusive wife.”
Baran’s hand is on your back again, but she isn’t urging you forward and you can’t tell if it’s to ground you or herself. “My wife,” she repeats, and you can hear the undertone of pride in her voice.
You offer your hand with a smile, introducing yourself while Gloria shakes it warmly.
“It’s lovely to meet you,” she says. “I was beginning to think Baran had made you up.”
“Probably because she never lets me come to work with her,” you laugh.
“Smart woman,” Gloria says with a knowing look at your wife. “The ER would probably stop functioning.”
You don’t have time to ask what that means before Gloria turns her attention back toward Baran and the conversation drifts into hospital territory. You let yourself fade beside them, listening without really listening as your attention begins to wander.
There’s gold ribbon curled around centerpieces and champagne glasses in everyone’s hands. People are laughing too loudly near the bar already even though it’s barely dark outside, and there’s a string quartet setting up in a corner of the ballroom.
Eventually, during your trip to outer space, Baran gives Gloria one of those polite smiles you’ve only ever seen her use at work during her time at the VA.
“Well,” she says smoothly, “before you trap me into discussing staffing ratios for the rest of the evening, I should probably make the rounds.”
Gloria laughs at that. “Go socialize, Doctor. You’ve earned at least one night off.”
Baran nods in farewell before guiding you deeper into the ballroom with a slide of her hand into your own.
“Staffing ratios?” you giggle.
“This job is as much politics as it is medicine, azizam,” Baran sighs, scanning the room. She snags two flutes of champagne off the tray of a passing waitstaff, handing one to you.
You smile into the glass just another voice cuts through the crowd.
“Baran!”
A group standing around one of the cocktail tables waves her over and you can feel the change in her posture immediately. It’s not tense, exactly, but you feel the way she straightens up next to you.
These must be the coworkers.
“This,” she says quietly to you, “is the part I was worried about.”
Still, she leads you over to the table.
The group is an interesting mix, that’s for sure.
One man stands slightly apart from the others, older than the rest with tired but intelligent eyes and an air of authority about him that’s hard to deny. Beside him is another man with easier posture and a warm smile, with a drink balanced loosely in one hand. A younger man than the other two lounges against the edge of the table with the restless energy of someone who’s incapable of standing still, and the redheaded woman standing beside him looks far more composed than he does. And then there’s another woman watching the room over the rim of her glass as she takes a sip, the look in her eye almost seeming like she’s above this entire get-together.
Baran stops at the table, her eyes scanning over each of them as she greets everyone. “Dr. Robinovich,” she says first, inclining her head towards the older man. “Dr. Abbot. And Dr.’s Langdon, McKay, and Garcia.”
You know she isn’t greeting them by name because she needs to, but rather for your sake.
The older man immediately tilts his head toward the ceiling and waves a dismissive hand. “Absolutely not, Baran. If you introduce me like that, I sound old.”
Baran deadpans, “Maybe that was my intention.”
He smiles tightly at that before turning toward you and offering his hand. “Michael Robinovich. You can call me Robby.”
You shake his hand politely, but immediately dislike him. Not because he’s rude, he actually seems very nice. But because this is the man who made your wife cry after her first shift at the hospital.
You remember it vividly, Baran’s tear-streaked makeup and exhausted fury as she returned home to you hours later than she was supposed to be off, insisting she was fine while also admitting that she’d not only had her first seizure in over a year, but two. You’d held her all night, staying up long after she’d fallen asleep, both for her comfort and out of fear of a third focal seizure.
So really, you think your dislike of him is justified.
“Wow,” the one your wife called Langdon says suddenly as he blinks at you. “You weren’t kidding.”
Langdon ignores her completely, looking at you with intrigue. “Hi, Frank Langdon. I was beginning to think she made you up.”
“Frank,” three different people say at once.
“What? I’m being respectful!”
You laugh warmly, and the small group seems to relax around you as conversations break into groups. You smile at McKay when she compliments your dress, ask Abbot about the drink he’s holding, you even laugh at one of Langdon’s dumb jokes despite Baran muttering at you to quit encouraging him. And every time you laugh, every time someone’s attention lingers on you a little too long for her liking, Baran’s hand settles lower against your back. You can’t tell if she’s grounding herself or if she’s trying to stake claim.
Whichever it is, Robby takes notice right away. The smile he hides behind his glass is downright evil.
“So, he says to her as your attention is taken by a story McKay is telling. “This is why you’ve kept her hidden for so long.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Baran says dismissively.
“Sure you don’t.” He gestures between her and you. “After refusing to introduce her to us, you brought your stunning and charming wife to a party, dressed up to the nines and looking like a walking sin. Pretty irresponsible, don’t you think?”
“That’s what I’m saying!” Langdon blurts from Robby’s other side.
“You weren’t invited into this conversation,” Baran says flatly.
You laugh at something Garcia says, attracting your wife’s attention once more as you lean into her side. Her chin rests on your shoulder as she turns toward you, her eyes scanning around the ballroom.
“Where are the baby ducks?”
McKay laughs.
“At the bar,” Abbot says.
“All four of them?” Baran asks.
“Unfortunately,” Garcia says. “Someone spilled the beans to Trinity that they have tequila. We haven’t seen them since.”
Baran closes her eyes like she’s in physical pain. “And you left her unattended?” But before she can continue mourning the fate of her unsupervised residents, a burst of loud laughter sounds out from somewhere nearby.
You turn in time to see four younger people approaching the table carrying drinks, all of them mid-conversation as they reach the group.
The woman in front stops as she reaches the table, squeezing between Garcia and McKay and setting down the second drink in her hand in front of the surgeon before turning her eyes on you.
“What the hell?”
Baran sighs like this is exactly the reaction she expected. “Behave, Dr. Santos.”
“What?” Santos says, looking mildly offended. “Your wife is hot, you didn’t say she was hot.”
Dr. Abbot coughs into his drink to hide a laugh, and the only man in this group of baby ducks (as your wife had so eloquently called them) loses the battle and snorts.
Your cheeks heat as you laugh, and you aren’t sure if it’s from blood rushing or the alcohol. Or both. “Thank you.”
“Trinity,” Santos introduces herself with a hand extended to you over the table, which you take. She then turns to Baran. “I get it now.”
“Stop that,” Baran scolds her.
“Okay, mom.”
Baran turns to Garcia then, her tone accusatory. “Just how many has she had?”
“This would be her third,” Garcia replies with a roll of her eyes.
Questions fly from the group collectively known as ducklings. How did you meet? How long have you been married? Is Dr. Al this intense at home too? And with each question, your wife looks increasingly perturbed.
She knows you don’t do this on purpose, and it’s almost never bothered her before, but…you fit too well. Don’t get her wrong, she loves your charm. It’s one of the things that drew her to you first, your ability to get along with everyone, the way you naturally convince people into loving you. And at the VA, it didn’t bother her. Maybe that’s because her coworkers there were older, older than her even, and they weren’t -
They weren’t a threat.
Does Baran feel threatened by her ER coworkers? She wants to say no, of course not, but as she watches you talk to Trinity, watches you smile at Javadi, laugh at something that Langdon does, or Abbot, or Whitaker -
With every word, your wife looks one compliment away from spontaneously combusting, and you can’t help but laugh. And unfortunately for her, you’ve become the most interesting person in the ballroom. And through it all, you notice something. Every single time someone else has your attention for too long, Baran touches you. Her hand on your waist, or your elbow. Her lips on your bare shoulder. It’s not enough for anyone to comment on, but it is constant enough that you take notice.
Especially when Langdon talks to you. It’s harmless; he’s charming in a sort of cocky way that probably works very well on patients, and he clearly finds you attractive. And at one point you laugh at something he says and Frank grins, a sparkle in his eye at the sound of your laugh.
You can feel Baran tense up next to you and it cuts your laugh short as you turn to her. “Are you okay?”
The concern in your voice makes guilt flicker through her. Because she knows you haven’t done anything wrong, you’re just being yourself. Which is, unfortunately for her, the entire problem.
She lets out a heavy sigh and then presses a quick kiss to your temple. “I’m going to get us another drink,” she murmurs in your ear.
You smile at that, tapping your empty champagne flute. “Okay.”
Baran’s hand leaves your back as she makes her way toward the bar at the far side of the room, loosening the tension in her shoulders only once the crowd thins out around her.
“Another champagne?” the bartender asks, nodding toward the flute still in her hand.
“And a whiskey,” Baran says.
She leans one forearm against the edge of the bar while he works, her eyesight drifting back toward your table.
Bad idea.
McKay is talking to you now while Santos is gesturing animatedly beside her, and somehow the entire group has subtly turned towards you like flowers turning towards sunlight. Even from across the room, Baran can tell you’re glowing, beautiful and open, charming in a way she’s never been immune to herself.
“Rough night?”
She recognizes Jack’s voice without even having to turn to look at him. Nevertheless, she does as he settles against the bar at her side.
“You followed me,” she says.
Jack shrugs as he flags the bartender down with two raised fingers, nodding toward his empty glass in wordless communication.
Neither of them speak for a moment, but as Jack glances back toward the table, following Baran’s line of sight, he smiles a little. “You’ve got a beautiful wife, Baran.” His tone stays easy and casual even as she tenses at his words. “You had to know this was going to happen eventually.”
Her tongue presses against the inside of her cheek. “I did know.”
“She seems nice.”
“She is.”
“And everyone likes her.”
She turns to look at him then, but only halfway, like she can’t really afford to lose sight of you. “And that’s a problem?”
“You’re sure acting like it is.”
Baran turns fully back toward the table just in time to catch you throwing your head back laughing at something Santos says, and her expression tightens.
Jack notices. “You know,” he says, “most people would kill for a marriage where their biggest problem is their wife is too perfect.”
Baran tsks as she glances at him out of her peripheral. “You’re being very annoying right now.”
He shrugs noncommittally. “Hey, I’m just saying, it seems like the obsession goes both ways.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“She keeps looking for you.” Jack nods subtly toward the table, and he’s right.
Even while smiling at everyone else, even as you carry on conversation with her coworkers, your eyes are drawn to the crowd in the direction toward the bar. Looking for her.
By the time Baran and Jack make their way back across the room to the table, crowds have thickened around tables, conversation louder now beneath the swell of music and alcohol.
Your face softens when your eyes land on your wife again. “There you are,” you say, reaching for her as she sets the drinks down in front of the two of you.
Baran’s arm wraps around your waist as she reaches you. “Miss me, eshgham?”
Your own arms settle over her shoulders, fingers tangling together behind her head. “Of course I did.”
The group falls back into casual conversation around you as you sip your drink, half-listening and half paying attention to the knowing looks Dr. Abbot seems to be sending your wife, which she’s pointedly ignoring.
After a while, the ballroom lights dim and the sound of microphone feedback echoes from the speakers overhead, drawing attention towards the stage at the front of the room where a podium now waits beneath a spotlight.
“Oh no,” someone mutters from the opposite side of the table. “Politics.”
“Too late to fake an emergency?” Langdon asks.
“We work in an emergency department,” Robby says. “That excuse won’t hold much weight.”
Gloria steps out onto the stage a second later to polite applause from the crowd. The room settles as she begins speaking, her voice echoing through the ballroom as she talks about the hospital’s anniversary, community outreach, budget expansions, new wings, and a variety of other hospital-speak that sounds like a language you don’t know.
That’s when you feel Baran’s hand close around your wrist.
Around the room, people nod along politely to Gloria’s speech while waitstaff weave between tables collecting empty glasses and plates.
“And finally,” Gloria says after about twenty minutes, “I’d like to take a moment to acknowledge one department in particular.” She gestures vaguely in the direction of the table that houses most of your wife’s department. “The emergency department has seen one of the most significant increases in patient satisfaction scores in the hospital over the last year. The Press Ganey scores alone have risen dramatically, and while every member of the department deserves recognition for their hard work, there’s one whose compassion, leadership, and dedication to patient care has had remarkable impact.”
Robby groans quietly under his breath. Individual callouts are always a nightmare.
“Dr. Baran Al-Hashimi.”
Applause starts up, people turning toward your table, searching for Baran among the cluster of emergency department staff.
Except Baran isn’t there, and neither are you.
✿ ───────── ✿ ───────── ✿
“Shh,” Baran whispers hotly against your ear. “Not a sound, azizam, you don’t want anyone to hear you, do you?”
Her hands are up your dress, which is bunched up against your hips by her impatient hands, her fingers hooking into the waistband of your lace panties. She yanks them down your thighs in one swift motion and you step out of them obediently, the cool air hitting your soaked core and making you shiver. She brings them to her nose for a brief second, inhaling deeply before stuffing the damp lace into the pocket of her pantsuit with a satisfied smirk.
Her fingers immediately return between your legs, sliding through your slick folds with firm pressure that has you whimpering enough for her to press her lips against yours to keep you quiet.
“So wet already,” she murmurs against your lips.
She slips a finger inside you without warning, her middle finger sliding in to the knuckle easily. A whine catches in your throat, muffled by Baran’s mouth. Her free hand roams, squeezing your ass, pulling you harder onto her hand as a second finger pushes inside you, stretching and curling deep while her thumb finds your clit with delicious pressure.
The web, lewd sounds of her fingers pumping into your soaked pussy are the only sounds in the empty coatroom, loud to your heightened senses, and your hips rut to meet her hand.
Baran grinds her thigh between your legs for leverage, her own arousal evident in the way she rocks against you. Her breath comes in hot and shaky pants against your lips, more breathing into each other’s mouths than actually kissing.
Her hand trails up your back to your hair, gripping at the base of your head to try and not mess up the pins in your hair (lest she feel your wrath) as she tilts your head back. You break from her mouth and she immediately begins kissing down your neck, stopping to suck a mark just below your ear. You feel the faint sting of her teeth and the heat of her mouth almost makes your knees buckle.
“B-ah!-Baran, you couldn’t wait?”
“Need to feel you cum on my fingers,” she pants against your neck. “Need to know this pretty cunt is only for me.”
The pace of her fingers turns frantic. Her fingers fuck into you faster, deeper, her thumb abandoning your clit in favor of her palm grinding against you with every stroke. You clutch at her shoulders, nails digging into the fabric as the fire in your belly builds, pressure coiling tightly inside of you. The risk, the possessiveness, the whines you’re doing your best to muffle - it’s all overwhelming.
Baran leans in closer, her forehead pressing against yours as her eyes lock onto your own. “Cum for me,” she demands. “Cum on my fingers, show me who you belong to.”
The orgasm rolls over you like a wave, crashing through your body and Baran has to shove a hand over your mouth in an effort to contain the loud moan you let out. Your walls clench around her thrusting fingers, slick coating her hand as pleasure floods you. You shake against her, whining into her hand while she keeps fucking you through it, drawing out the feeling until you’re boneless and gasping for air against her palm.
Slowly, she withdraws her fingers and brings them to her lips, licking them clean with a low and satisfied moan, her eyes locked on yours the entire time. Then she kisses you deeply, her tongue sliding inside your mouth and over your own, letting you taste yourself on her tongue.
You whimper at the taste, fingers bunched in the top of her pantsuit.
“Good girl,” she whispers against your mouth as she smooths your dress back down with hands that are too tender for what they’ve just done to you.
With one final possessive kiss, she straightens, offering you a hand. You take it, allowing her to pull you off the coatroom wall, leading you back toward the gala like nothing happened, though your slick thighs are evidence of your escapades, as are your panties tucked safely in her pocket.
You barely have a second to breathe as you step back into the ballroom, because one of the younger doctors - Javadi,you think you heard someone call her - is the first to spot you.
“There you are,” she says immediately, both relief and confusion mixing together as she looks between you and Baran. “You missed it, Gloria just called you out during her speech. Like, publicly. In front of everyone.”
Baran’s expression sharpens. “She did what?”
“Yeah,” Javadi says with a roll of her eyes. “It was…very flattering. Awkward timing, though, because you weren’t here.”
There’s a pause then, enough for the group to really take the two of you in.
“No fucking way,” Trinity says with a smirk, arms crossing in front of her chest as she appraises you. The slightly disheveled state of Baran’s hair, the smudge of your lipstick, the trace of redness at your throat. “Oh my god.”
“Trinity,” Garcia warns, but the warning goes ignored.
“We - we were getting drinks,” you stammer, even as your cheeks heat with the lie.
Trinity looks unconvinced, and your head swivels to your wife, desperately looking for backup.
You catch Langdon leaning toward Robby in your peripheral, whispering, “They weren’t getting drinks.”
Baran, on the other hand, looks totally unbothered, a stark contrast to the tense woman she was before the two of you disappeared. In fact, you’d dare to say she looks pleased with herself as her fingers wrap around the untouched whiskey glass and she takes a small sip.
“Anyways,” she says calmly, as if the last ten minutes haven’t fundamentally changed the light her coworkers see her in. “What did I miss?”
summary: She keeps saying it’s nothing serious, but she cooks for you, fucks you like she means it, and gets bothered when you mention other people. So what exactly are you?
note: this is nasty stuff :p and yeah sorry had to add about neuro anatomy…
“I’m leaving today, so… I’d really like to have your number,” you muttered while holding out your phone as she finished checking your charts. Yolanda didn’t say much while you lay in that hospital bed, but she let your flirting slide with a small grin and took the phone to type in her number without hesitation. You waited a full week before sending a quick hello because you didn’t want to seem too eager, but she didn’t reply at all, which made your stomach drop. You’re not a quitter, so you sent another text explaining that you were the patient who asked for her number.
She only replied once she realized who you were, because she thought the ‘hello’ was just a random spam message, but she admitted she liked that you sent a follow-up text. You two started talking more after that, and you stayed in this casual relationship without any labels because the sex is far too good to walk away from. You try to tell yourself it’s still just a casual hookup, but you’ve started acting like it’s something way more serious. You even find yourself reading medical ebooks and deep-diving into them during your free time because you want to impress Yolanda.
This habit only began after Yolanda started ranting about her shifts or cases when you two were winding down from sex. You listen to every word she says, and you end up learning the details so you can actually follow along next time. It’s clear you’re getting wrapped up in her life, even if you keep pretending this is all just nothing to you. Nothing makes you more blind to the situation than when you see her in person, and now is one of those moments. You already managed to push Yolanda back against the headboard, and she actually let you take charge because you gave her those pathetic puppy eyes.
She has the harness on her hips, which clearly shows that what you’re doing isn't part of the night's plan. You sprawl out on your stomach between her legs and slide two fingers deep into her soaking cunt before you wrap your lips around the head of the strap-on because you want to see her reaction. Yolanda grunted after your tongue swirled over the tip as if she could feel it, but really, it’s about the sight that makes it so hot for her to witness, and it doesn’t take long before you pull back just enough to start talking. “I read about this thing called myasthenia gravis today,” you mumbled before leaning back in to lick the length of the toy.
“Mmhm,” Yolanda hummed while her head was leaning back against the wall, and her eyes never left your face. You kept your fingers moving inside her while you explained how the muscles for eye movement and chewing just give out because the neuromuscular junction is failing. You mentioned the lack of sensory deficits and the use of anticholinesterase drugs between each lick you do on the toy. Yolanda doesn’t even care about what you read when she already knows it by heart, but she looks incredibly cocky because you spent your time studying just to impress her.
“Keep going,” she muttered while her cunt twitched around your fingers and her fingers tangled in your hair. “The antibodies attack the receptors,” you whispered after taking the toy deep into your throat, and you felt her walls tighten around your knuckles. You explained how it differs from Lambert-Eaton syndrome and mentioned presynaptic calcium channels as you rubbed your thumb against her clit. Yolanda moaned at the sound of your voice while you explained it, and from what you’re saying, because she loves how much of a nerd you are right now.
“Fuck-” she gasped while her thighs spread wider and ground her hips to get your fingers deeper inside her. Yolanda clutched your hair and tilted your head back so she could look at you. “Did you learn anything else, or was that it?” she asked, and she liked the way you looked while you were busy between her legs. You gave a muffled hum and nodded before you went back to licking the toy's head, but she pulled on your hair again to get your attention. “I want to hear it,” she ordered when she felt your fingers thrust deeper inside her cunt.
You swallowed your spit and started explaining a case about a patient with frontal lobe lesions that caused massive confusion and memory loss. “Since the patient had facial signs on the right side, then the lesion was likely on the left,” you managed to say before you leaned down to swirl your tongue around the base of the strap-on. You kept your hand busy inside her, and you mentioned how the imaging studies pointed toward a malignant glioma, like a glioblastoma. “Th-the brain biopsy showed- mmmf!” you choked after Yolanda suddenly shoved her hips forward and forced the toy into your throat.
You gagged against it while your scalp started to burn from the way she gripped your hair, and your eyes watered. “You’re such a good little student,” she grunted when she started to thrust into your mouth. You tried to continue talking about the hemorrhages in the brain stem, but the words died in your throat whenever she never made you finish what you were trying to say just to hear you gag against the toy. Yolanda looked down at you with a smug expression because she knew exactly how much you were struggling to please her while your mouth worked around it.
“Don’t stop now,” she whispered as she picked up the pace and made you take every inch of it. You looked up at her with teary puppy eyes because she was still holding you down. Yolanda let go of your hair so you could finally take a breath, and you immediately pulled your fingers out of her soaking cunt. “You’re mean,” you muttered after wiping your mouth, but she just laughed because she liked seeing you annoyed. She didn’t even seem mad that she hadn’t reached her orgasm. “I’m sorry, baby,” she whispered with a fake sweet tone before she helped you up onto your knees.
“What do you want to do now?” she asked when she guided your wet fingers into your own mouth to clean them off. You sucked on your own digits, and you pretended to think about it for a second because you were busy straddling her lap. “I want this,” you breathed, and then you lowered your cunt against the silicone toy. You started grinding your folds against the toy while looking right at her. “Hngh-” you moaned after the silicone rubbed against your clit, and you felt her hands grip your waist before she guided you so you would rub your cunt harder against the strap-on.
“You don’t have to learn all of that,” she murmured before she leaned in to suck on your nipple. You placed your hands on her chest and started playing with her own tits too, but you pouted at her words. “Haaah, why not?” you whined while the toy rubbed against your clit just right. “I like that things with us don’t revolve around my work, and I want it to keep being that way,” she grunted after she switched to your other breast. You twirled her nipples between your fingers and moved your hips because the feeling made you needy.
“Mmn, okay,” you breathed since you couldn’t really argue when she made you feel so good. Yolanda tightened her grip on your hips and watched you grind yourself into a mess on top of her. Yolanda slid one hand between your legs to rub your clit, but her other hand kept guiding your hips. She stopped sucking your tits and moved up to kiss your neck instead. “Do you want to ride me, baby?” she whispered with a sweet tone.
You bit your lip and couldn't decide because the rubbing against the toy felt so good, but you wanted her inside you, too. “Hah- mmn, I don’t know,” you breathed and leaned your forehead against her shoulder. She let you grind against the strap on before she started telling you exactly what she wanted. “I want you on your stomach,” she murmured against your skin. Yolanda gripped your waist tighter, and her voice got even softer.
“I want to slide this cock into your cunt and watch your ass shake when I pull your hair,” she said, and then she bit your earlobe. “Hngnn-” you moaned because the way she talks made your head spin. “I’m going to shove your face into the pillow, and I want to see you squeeze this cock with every thrust,” she promised while she rubbed your clit faster. Her words made you feel even wetter, and you felt your cunt pulse against the toy. “Do you want that, baby?” she asked, and she waited for your answer. “Mph, yeah…” You whimpered since you were desperate to have her take you that way.
Yolanda slowed down the movement of her fingers against your clit, and you stopped grinding too, so you could just feel her touch. You kept your forehead resting against her shoulder, and your breathing hitched. “Or we could do missionary instead,” she murmured before she kissed your temple. She knew you loved that position since you liked watching her face when she thrust inside you. “I know you want to see me while I’m deep in your cunt,” she said after she pulled her head back slightly to look at you.
You looked at her with needy eyes, but you waited on her lap for her to make the first move. “You don’t have to say it like that…” you whisper embarrassingly but the thought of seeing her face while she fucks you made you even wetter. Yolanda brought her other hand up to cup your jaw, and her thumb traced over your bottom lip. “We can do both,” she promised before she tilted your chin up. You whimpered and nodded since you were ready for her to finally put that strap to use. “Both?” you breathed out and raised an eyebrow at her.
You wondered if she planned to make you cum over and over because she sounded so confident. Yolanda smirked when she slipped her fingers away from your wet slit and tapped your thigh. “Up you go,” she instructed while she waited for you to move. “I don’t want to move yet,” you pouted, but you were only teasing her. You wanted her to take charge and show you exactly how she was going to fuck you. Yolanda hoisted you up from her lap, and she got up onto her knees too. She used her strength to guide you until you were in the middle of the bed.
“On your stomach,” she ordered, and you rolled over eagerly because you wanted to feel her behind you. Yolanda shoved a pillow under your hips, and she knelt behind your ass. She gripped the base of her toy to line it up with your hole. “Please-” you whimpered while the angle of the pillow propped you up and left your cunt completely exposed for her to take. Yolanda stroked her hand up your spine until her fingers reached your cheek, then repeated the motion. “You’re so beautiful for me, sweetheart,” she grunted because she liked how you reacted to her touch.
You raised your ass and ground back against the strap-on to hint that you need her now. “Mmn, oh god, please,” you whimpered after you tried to get her thrust inside you but failed. Yolanda pinned your shoulder with one hand, but her other hand held the base of the toy so she could rub it against your wet folds. “Just wait, baby,” she murmured when she teased your clit with the tip of the cock. You felt annoyed by the constant rubbing without putting it inside, which made you raise your voice at her. “Stop teasing me and just put it in, Yolanda!” you snapped, but she only caressed your cheek and stared down at you.
“Haaah, need you-” you moaned before she continued to glide the toy over your hole without pushing in. Yolanda thrust the tip of the strap-on into your entrance, and she only pushed an inch deep to tease you. She watched the way your cunt clenched around it, and she enjoyed seeing how desperate you are. “Nnngh, please,” you whined while she kept the rest of the cock out of you. Yolanda slid her hand under your stomach to grope your breast, and she squeezed your nipple hard. “Ask nicely, angel,” she grunted before she tugged your hair with her other hand to see your face.
You felt the tip of the toy stretching your walls, but it wasn't enough to satisfy your need. “Please fuck me, b-baby,” you begged, and the shallow thrusting is making your head spin. Yolanda smirked when she recognized your neediness and desperation after she heard you call her by that name. Yolanda thrust the entire length of the strap-on inside your cunt, and the sudden fullness made you gasp. “Does that feel good, angel?” she whispered, and she wanted to hear you admit it. “Mhhn… yes,” you whimpered after you buried your face in the pillow.
Yolanda moved her hand from your hair to your cheek, and she cupped your face so she could turn your head toward her. “You look so pretty when you’re taking it like this,” she murmured before she caressed your skin with her thumb. She thrusted gently inside you, but her other hand squeezed your breast. “Hngh-” you moaned when her fingers rolled your nipple because the sensation of her strap filling your pussy and the pleasure from her fingers were starting to overwhelm your body. She continues to give you praises and keeps doing the same slow movements, yet she makes sure it’s deep enough to reach your sensitive spot.
“Oh god, hahh, mmf,” you whimpered before you hid your face in her palm while your toes curled against the mattress. Your moans got muffled against her hand while she didn't stop pounding into your cunt. “You’re taking this so well for me, angel,” she muttered, and she gripped your waist to keep you pinned. The tip of the toy touches the spot that made you most sensitive, and her eyes never left your back. “Ahhhnn, p-please,” you gasped when the toy bottomed out inside you. Her hand tightened on your hip while she fucked you at the same pace with a little more force to get more moans out of you.
“Faster-” you gasp, and you bite down on her palm to get her attention. Yolanda grunts, and she pulls back until you almost feel it slip out before she sinks the whole length inside. “You’re going to bite me and then ask for more?” she scoffs before she moves her hand from your mouth to your jaw, and she forces you to look at her. Yolanda pounds against your cunt faster, and the pleasure makes it hard to think. “Nnghh- s-sorry…” You whimper when she rams deep inside you. Her hand tightens against your face, and she watches your eyes roll back.
“You like it when I’m mean. mhm? But you can’t even hold it together,” she mutters, and she grinds her hips forward to bury the strap-on as deep as it can go. She finds your sensitive spot with each thrust, and your legs shake from the sensation. You clutch the sheets, and she forces herself deeper into your cunt while she keeps holding your face so you can keep looking into her eyes. “I-I’m- I-” you moan as your cunt grips the silicone. Yolanda saw your cunt, squeezing the toy, which made her move her hips faster.
“You’re coming for me, aren’t you?” she murmurs while she keeps her hand on your face. She watches the strap-on disappear inside you, and she forces it deep just to see how it pulses around the toy. “That’s it, baby, doing so good,” she encourages as she watches the toy get coated by your cum. You can’t stop the way your cunt clenches around it, and you spill over the toy without any warning. “Mfffh- god-” you gasp while your cunt keeps letting out your juices and legs shaking against the bed. Yolanda doesn't slow down and keeps thrusting the length into you through your orgasm.
“Does that feel good?” she asks while she's down at where she’s buried inside you. She sees your cum slicking the toy and dripping between your legs while she keeps the same pace. “You’re doing so well for me,” she praises, and she thrusts her hips forward to find your sweet spot. Your legs almost give out with the way they tremble, and Yolanda continues to move until she sees you finish with it. Yolanda slides the strap-on out while watching your cum drip. “Look at all that,” she whispers as she dips two fingers into the mess on your thighs.
She brushes the fluid across your folds before pushing deep her fingers inside to thrust your own slick back into your cunt. You let out a shaky breath when she pulls her fingers out, and she licks off with a smirk. “Mm, you never cum,” you pant while you lie there as if you’ve died. Yolanda caresses your back and chuckles at your words. “I don’t mind,” she murmurs before leaning down to kiss your shoulder. You look up at her while your body quivers under her touch. “Watching you like this is enough for me,” she promises while she watches your chest heave from the exhaustion.
Yolanda moves her mouth across your skin to kiss your back while her hands roam. She gropes your breasts and caresses your hips with a hum. “Mmm, you feel so good,” she whispers as she presses her face into your neck. You whimper when she strokes your thighs softly, and she worships every inch of you while prioritizing your comfort. “Hah, it’s unfair that you didn't cum,” you mutter as you turn your head to look at her. Yolanda chuckles and rubs her thumb over your bottom lip. “I’m okay being the one to give it to you,” she says and reaches for your hand.
She brushes your hair out of the way, and she gives you a quick peck. “How about I make us some ramen?” she asks, and she watches you nod. She gives your shoulder a bite before she sits up and steps away from the mattress. “Aren’t you going to take that off?” you ask and glance toward her waist. You push up from your stomach and crawl to the edge of the bed with shaking legs. You reach your arms out to her, and she walks back until she’s standing between your knees. Yolanda stands still while you grab her waist, and you lean your head down toward the toy.
“Mmn,” you hum before you wrap your lips around the toy to suck it clean. Yolanda watches you lick your own cum off the length, and she places her hand on the back of your head. You work your tongue over the tip until it’s clean, and you look up at her. “Let me help,” you mutter and reach for the buckles. You undo the straps and slide it off her body. “This is the best thing I’ve seen since my shift ended,” Yolanda murmurs while looking down. You place the toy on the mattress, and you return your attention to her.
You lower your head again, but this time your tongue finds her wet folds. You lick her cunt while looking up to meet her eyes. “Didn’t you say you’d take me on my back too?” you ask, and you swipe your tongue over her clit. “Mmn, maybe after the ramen,” you add before you lick her again. Yolanda grunts, and she grips your hair to hold you in place. “If you don’t stop that right now, we aren’t even going to make it to the kitchen,” she warns while she grinds her hips closer to your mouth. You flick your tongue against her while her thighs twitch.
“I need you…” You said with a pout while your lips were inches away from her cunt. Yolanda shakes her head before she pushes you onto the mattress and squeezes your cheek before walking away. She grabs a shirt and pulls it on. “Mmm, do I have to come to the kitchen with you?” you ask while watching her. Yolanda chuckles and looks back from the doorway. “Only if you want,” she says, and she turns to leave the bedroom. You hurriedly stand up from the sheets, and you grab your shirt from the floor. You slide the fabric on, but you don't bother looking for your underwear or shorts.
“Hngh, my legs still feel weak,” you whine while you follow her down the hallway. Yolanda walks into the kitchen first and looks proud when she hears your complaint. “That’s how they’re supposed to feel,” she says while she reaches for a pot in the cabinet. You lean against the counter as you watch her move, and you don't care that you're both still half-naked. You still feel sensitive from the toy, but you linger near her while she starts the water. “You’re lucky I’m even making you food,” she teases and pulls you in for a kiss.
“Your future girlfriend’s going to have a hard time walking around here with shaky legs,” you tease while you watch her fill the pot with water. Yolanda shrugs and turns to grab the ramen from the pantry. She ignores the comment, but the way she shuts the cupboard door makes your chest feel tight. You lean against the counter while you realize you’re just a casual thing to her, and the silence feels too loud. “How was your shift anyway?” you ask to change the subject. Yolanda rips the plastic open and puts the noodles into the boiling water.
“It was long, but it wasn't too bad,” she murmurs while she stirs the pot with a spoon. You watch the steam rise, and you keep your distance while she works. “I’m glad you’re home now,” you add, and she looks back at you with a small nod. You pull out a chair at the small table, and you rest your elbow on the wood while you prop your head up. Yolanda takes greens and eggs from the fridge. “How was your day anyway?” she asks while she cracks the eggshells over the sink. You tell her about some errands you ran, but then you decide to see if she cares.
“My friend introduced someone new to me today, and she was actually pretty cute,” you say while observing her. “Yeah?” Yolanda asks while dropping the greens and peeled eggs into the broth. You tilt your head, and you mention how the new girl didn't seem straight at all. Yolanda just hums into the steam, and she doesn't turn around to look at you. She stirs the noodles with a little more force, but she doesn't say anything else about it. “She seemed really interested in what I had to say,” you add while you pick at a loose thread on your shirt. Yolanda shuts the stove off and glances over her shoulder.
Yolanda pours the ramen into bowls, and you stand to help. You carry the food to the table and grab a fork for yourself, along with some chopsticks for her. She gets some water from the fridge before sitting across from you. “What’s this girl’s name anyway?” Yolanda asks as she breaks her chopsticks. You make up a name on the spot because the girl isn't even real, but you want to see if she’ll snap. “She’s a friend of a friend and she kept staring at me the whole time,” you say while you twirl the noodles around you and twirl noodles around your fork.
You mention the girl asked for your number as you watch her face for any sign of annoyance. Yolanda stares at her bowl to take a bite, but her jaw tightens. “I told her I might be free later this week,” you add while you try to hide your smirk. Yolanda puts her sticks down, and she looks you right in the eyes without saying a word. “That’s nice, angel,” Yolanda murmurs while she stares at you for a second too long. She brings the chopsticks to her mouth, and she proceeds to eat like she didn't just see through your lie. You scowl while you realize she’s using that pet name to shut you up.
“Is this your first real meal since this morning?” you ask as you watch her swallow a mouthful of noodles. “Yeah, I haven't had time for anything else,” she grunts and wipes broth from her lip. She keeps her eyes on her bowl while she speaks, but she looks tense. “Is she better looking than me?” she asks and glances up to catch your expression. “Why does it matter if she is?” you challenge and lean back. Yolanda sets her sticks down, and she stares you down with a look that says she’s losing her patience. Yolanda knows you're lying through your teeth, but the exhaustion from her shift makes her feel grumpy and short-tempered.
The sight of you wearing only that shirt makes her grip her chopsticks tighter while her blood starts to boil. “Well, she’s not a doctor, so I’m sure she’s got plenty of free time for you,” she snaps while she thinks to herself that if this woman were actually real, she'd better hope she never ends up being her doctor. Yolanda would ensure the bitch never left the operating table alive if she ever touched you. “Did you do this with Trinity too?” you ask and twirl your fork in your bowl. You watch her face for a reaction while you bring up the resident she used to have a thing with.
She hates that you know about her past, but she hates it more that you're bringing it up now. “I mean, did you cook for her too after after- you know,” you add while you hold her gaze before you smugly tilt your head. Yolanda sets her chopsticks down with a click and stares at you. “Is this what we’re doing now?” she grunts and leans across the table to get closer. “You’re really trying to piss me off on purpose tonight,” she mutters, and she reaches out to grab your wrist. “I’m just asking,” you mutter before you stand from your seat.
You pull your wrist from her hand and cross your arms to look down at her. Yolanda looks up at you, and this drama is exactly why she avoids commitment. “You’re making me want to drag you back to bed right now,” she grunts, and she pushes her chair back to stand up. You let out a scoff because you aren't in the mood to be handled. “Then go find Trinity and see if she’s free,” you snap and turn your back. “Maybe I will,” Yolanda claps back, but immediately regrets the words after seeing your face. You march toward the bedroom to get your clothes so you can leave her house for good.
You reach for your pants on the floor, but Yolanda follows you inside before you can grab them. She stands against the door to block your exit and watches you with a softening expression. “I’m just kidding,” she murmurs while she blocks the way because she doesn’t actually want you to go. You glare at her while your heart thumps in your chest, but she reaches out to keep you from moving past her. “You aren't going anywhere like that,” she says while she looks you up and down. You realize you’re still half-naked since you haven’t even managed to put your pants on yet.
You clutch your clothes to your chest, and you feel the heat spread across your neck while she watches you. Yolanda steps closer and takes the fabric out of your hands. “Mmm, I told you I’m sorry,” she whispers and tosses your pants back onto the floor. You stand there in only your shirt while she wraps her arms around your waist to pull you against her. “There isn’t actually another woman,” you admit, and your eyes look toward her with a huff. Yolanda takes a breath, and she puts her hand against your arm. “I know,” she murmurs as she watches your face for a second.
You feel a shiver in your skin, and you rest your head against her shoulder. “I only said it because it hurt when you ignored my joke about having a girlfriend,” you say as you fidget with the hem of your shirt. Yolanda nods her head, and she pulls you closer to her chest. “I know that too,” she repeats before she touches your hair to calm you down. “And that thing about Trinity-” you start to say, but she cuts you off immediately. “Shh… I know,” she whispers just to say the same thing she said moments ago, and she looks into your eyes with a soft expression.
She reaches out to give your cheek a kiss before she places her lips against your lips in a long apology. Yolanda guides you back toward the mattress, and she lowers you down until you’re lying on the sheets. “I’m sorry,” she says while she climbs on top of you. You spread your legs for her while she hovers over your body, and she grips your hips to hold you beneath her. “You better make this up to me,” you pant, but she’s already yanking your shirt over your head to toss it onto the floor. Yolanda strips her own shirt off before she straddles your thighs, and she sits directly over your cunt.
“I’m making it up to you right now,” she grunts while she grinds her wet folds against your clit. You shudder while she braces her hands on the mattress, and she puts more of her weight down against you to make the friction every time she humps against you. “Hah... feels-” you gasp, but her pussy lips rub against yours, and she rolls her pelvis in a circle. Yolanda bites her lip from the pleasure while her own cunt throbs against yours. “Fuck, you’re so wet,” she moans while she increases the speed of her movements.
You raise your hips to meet every thrust she makes by grinding up against her too, and she grips your shoulders to keep herself steady. “Nn- oh god, harder,” you whine when your folds kiss each other, and the way she watches you fall apart beneath her only makes you wetter. “Don’t stop,” you pant while you hook your legs around her waist to make her closer against yours. You could feel her soaking cunt directly against your clit while she desperately grinds and makes sure your clits bump each other. “G-god, you drive me crazy,” she grunts before she shoves her tongue into your mouth to swallow your moans.
You wrap your arms around her neck, and you suck on her tongue while she glides her folds into you with every thrust. “Mmmph…” Yolanda whimpers into the kiss while she grinds her soaking folds against yours. She humps her pelvis down until your clits rub and glide directly against each other. You feel her slick your clit while you get closer to cumming. “Nnngh, oh god, right there,” you whine as she picks up the pace, and she grips your hair to hold your head steady for the kiss. Yolanda moans deep in her throat, but her pussy lips slide against yours, and she rests into your chest until you can barely breathe.
“Hah... oh god, you’re so good for me,” Yolanda whispers, but she breaks the kiss to rest her forehead against your shoulder. Her pussy rubs against yours as her hot breath hitches against your ear. Your hands grip her back while you feel the sweat between your bodies, and you dig your nails into her skin. “You feel so amazing, Yolanda,” you pant as you tilt your head to give her more room. Yolanda moans in her throat while she whispers praises about how wet you are, and she grinds down even harder. She moves her head from your shoulder to bury her face between your tits.
“H-haah-” she grunts while her mouth finds your nipples and she uses her teeth. Her fingers squeeze your tits while her tongue swipes over you, but she doesn’t slow down her movements between your legs. “That feels good…” You whine while you arch your chest for her, and she sucks even harder. “Nn- oh god, I’m so close,” you gasp while your fingers dig into her hair. Yolanda pulls away from your chest, and she looks up at you with a smirk. “Already?” she chuckles while her wet pussy continues to glide against yours.
You toss your head back on the pillow while your body trembles, and you lose your mind from the feeling. “This is the second one- still sensitive…” You whine while you arch your hips to grind harder against her. Yolanda grunts in approval, and she sucks your nipple back into her mouth while she shoves her hand between your bodies. She rubs your clit with her thumb while she grinds against you at the same time. “Hngh, mmm, then come for me,” she moans while her hand blurs, and she humps right against your clit. You hook your legs tighter around her waist while she uses her fingers and her pussy against you at the same time.
“Mffh fuc-” Yolanda whimpers before she bites your nipple, and she pins you deeper into the mattress. “R-right there- keep doing that,” you whine while you buck your hips up against her hand. Yolanda grinds her cunt harder into yours, but she continues to rub her thumb against your clit with more pressure. “So wet for me,” she grunts as she humps her pelvis against you while your legs tremble. You close your eyes, and getting closer to your orgasm made you wrap your legs tighter around her. “Nnngh- p-please… please- shit-” you whine loudly when you finally cum while your pussy pulses against her palm, and the orgasm only just made everything feel sticky between your bodies.
Yolanda pulls her hand out of your pussy only to shove two fingers inside your mouth before you can even catch your breath. “Hngh,” she moans while she grinds her soaking folds into your clit as she watches you suck on her knuckles. You wrap your tongue around her fingers while you tremble, but Yolanda doesn’t slow down. You only lick her fingers for a few minutes before you decide to stop when it’s clean, and you shove her hand away from your mouth. You reach down to place your own hand over her clit. “L-let me,” you pant before you use your fingers.
Yolanda grunts in surprise and tilts her pelvis to give you better access to her soaking folds. “Mmf, fuck, keep doing that,” she moans as she continues to grind against you. You can feel the way your fingers got soaked from both of your slick while you continue to work over her nub. Yolanda grips your shoulders and slides her weight into you. You wince because you feel still sore from your cumming, but you don’t pull away. “Mhmh-” she whimpers while she rolls her hips in a tight circle over your hand. You watch her face while she bites her lip, and you pin your palm harder against her clit.
“Am I doing it right?” you whisper while you press your fingers harder against her clit, and you look up at her with a desperate need to please her. Yolanda starts shaking while she grinds her cunt down into your hand. You reach up to touch her face while you search her eyes for approval. “God- yes- yes,” she grunts while she stares at you and grinds her pelvis hard into your palm. You stroke her cheek while you keep working against the swollen nub between her folds, and you watch her face like she’s the only thing that matters. Yolanda lets out a low moan before she grips your wrist to keep your hand exactly where she needs it.
“Don’t stop,” she whimpers while her pussy pulses against your fingers and she humps faster. You watch her while she leans all her weight into you, but you don’t stop rubbing her clit. “Need- o-oh- mhmhm-” Yolanda gasps out before she finally finishes against your hand. You feel her cunt twitch against your fingers while she cum over your palm. “Mmh? You like that?” you whisper while your hand presses into the mess. Yolanda curses while she rubs her clit against your fingers, yet her movements seem to slow down now. You arch your hips up to grind back into her while you watch her chest heave.
“Hngh, oh god,” she grunts while she buries her face in the crook of your neck. You squeeze your thighs around her waist while you feel how soaked between your body is. “Nngh, hah, you did so good,” Yolanda murmurs into your skin while her pussy lips slide against your fingers and she grinds slowly into you. “Haaah, hngh,” Yolanda pants while her grinding stops and she pushes your hand away from her clit. She slides off you and rolls onto her side to face you on the mattress. You stare into her eyes while her arm loops over your waist.
“Is that better?” she whispers while her arms tighten around you and she kisses your forehead. You don't say anything, but you lower your head down to her breasts. “Mmn, it’s nice,” you murmur while your lips encircle around her nipple and you start sucking it. Yolanda grunts while her hand rests on your head, and she cradles you against her. You tease the sensitive bud with your tongue until she sighs against your ear, and she shudders under your mouth. “Hah, mmm,” she moans while she holds you tight against her and she keeps you tucked under her chin.
You suck her nipple while her fingers slowly pet your hair, which makes you whimper against her skin. You stop after a minute and press soft kisses across the valley of her chest. “Can I stay over tonight?” you whisper while you look up at her. Yolanda scoffs, and her hand tightens at your waist. “Don't be crazy,” she grunts before she pulls you closer and her legs hook over yours. “It’s past midnight, and you’re really asking me that?” she mutters while she nuzzles her face against the top of your head.
You rest your hand on her ribs, and she feels warm under your palm. “I just didn’t know if you wanted me to leave,” you murmur while you trace patterns on her skin. Yolanda lets out a huff, and she hides her face in your neck. “You’re not going anywhere,” she snaps while she closes her eyes and locks her legs around yours. “This is getting way too intimate for a casual hookup,” you tease while Yolanda keeps nuzzling your neck. She bites your skin hard enough to make you gasp, but she doesn’t say anything. “I bet you’re this sweet to every girl you fuck,” you whisper as you shove her shoulder just a little bit.
Yolanda pulls back to look at you, and she stares with an annoyed face while her hand rests on your waist. “You talk too much,” she grunts before she hovers over your lips. “Do I need to shove my tongue down your throat to shut you up?” she mutters while she grips your hip tighter. You look up at her with wide eyes while you feel your heart beat faster from what she said. “Maybe,” you murmur as she pins your legs down with her own. Yolanda mutters a curse before she leans closer without breaking eye contact. Yolanda presses a quick peck to your lips. “You look a little too whipped right now,” you tease while you poke her chest with your finger.
She shuts your mouth with another kiss, but you keep smiling. “I'm not here forever, you know?” you murmur as you trace the line of her jaw. Yolanda lets out a groan, and she rolls her eyes at your persistence. “You're more stressful than doing a surgery,” she grumbles before she presses another kiss against your mouth. You wrap your arms around her neck while you pull her closer to your face. “I'm just saying, Dr. Garcia,” you whisper and flick your tongue over her bottom lip. “You might miss me when I'm gone,” you add as you watch her expression turn serious for a second.
Yolanda grunts under her breath and hides her face in the crook of your neck. “You could try,” Yolanda whispers against your neck while her lips brush against your skin. “What was that?” you ask and tilt your head to pretend like you didn't hear a word she said. You wait a second before deciding to push her buttons even more. “Or maybe I should just start bringing my things over here like my toothbrush,” you tease while you watch her reaction from the corner of your eye. Yolanda groans and buries her face deeper into your shoulder. “So that’s it?” you laugh and shake your head before speaking. “You only like the sex,” you tease and poke her hip to get her attention.
“I can’t even blame you because I know it’s that good,” you mutter as you watch her reaction while her hand stays on your thigh. Yolanda lets out a long groan, and she buries her face deeper into your shoulder. “Ramen between rounds seems like your thing too,” you add while you trace the line of her ribs with your thumb. “And oh yeah, cuddles are definitely on your list,” you whisper as you keep your tone playful and annoying on purpose. Yolanda pulls away from your neck before she gives you a look that says she’s had enough of your mouth for one night. She sits up slightly, but she keeps her hand on your leg as she stares you down with narrowed eyes.
You pout while looking up from the pillow to wait for her response. Yolanda reaches out to caress your cheek and trace your skin with her thumb. “Being my girlfriend doesn’t sound like a bad idea,” Yolanda admits while she reaches out to caress your cheek. You blink in shock as you stare at her because you didn't think she'd ever say that. “Yeah?” you whisper and tilt your head to rest your face in her palm. Yolanda sighs and shakes her head, as if she’s struggling with the words. “You know I don't usually do the whole relationship thing because it’s a lot to handle,” she grumbles while she keeps her hand against your skin.
You rub your cheek against her thumb while you look up at her with a soft expression. “I know, we said this was casual,” you remind her while you watch her eyes soften, but she rolls her eyes after a few seconds, and she huffs at herself since the casual arrangement was her idea in the first place. “Forget about the casual part,” she mutters while leaning closer. “How about I take you out next week?” she asks and moves your hair out of the way. “I’ll plan everything so you don't have to worry about a thing,” she adds before she presses a kiss to your forehead.
you loved jack…but the ladies of water aerobics at the allegheny ymca apparently loved him the most.
content: old women who ADORE jack abbot, the YMCA, wife!reader, sex/sexual activity comments, jack the bashful king, fluff with a dash (dousing) of comedy, and big thanks to addingtoneats on tt for the headcannon!
[jack abbot x fem!reader. wc: 3.7k ]
Masterlist | Other Jack Fics
Behind the door, the smell of chlorine was pungent.
Yet it wasn’t the sterile antiseptic he was used to, so, Jack breathed it in. It filled his lungs knowing he was free for the next several hours to decompress and while it may have only been a Wednesday, it was still a Wednesday.
And those were his favorite—not that he would ever admit that out loud. Who the fuck liked Wednesdays? Jack. Except maybe it was okay for him to, at least he considered it to be because he was already a little fucked up.
Jack heaved in another smell that lingered underneath all the chlorine. Florals, too many of them, that reeked of stale potpourri and lipstick that expired 8 years ago.
On Wednesdays? He liked the smell.
It meant his fan club was there and well, sometimes, Jack just needed the attention of 6 elderly women over the age of 80.
Attention was a word Jack had gotten used to in the last two decades of his life. There were inevitables when he was out in public and decided to wear shorts, or when he was in scrubs picking up milk from the gas station on his way home. The awkward, less frequent words of “thanks for your service” he’d get from older men and the very frequent, immensely awkward stares he’d get from the women.
Those were things he didn’t ask for.
When women ogled him, it hadn’t been an inevitability all of his life—even if you told him, time and again, that he was attractive and handsome.
He believed you. You and only you for the longest time. Jack had a hard time believing that many other people shared your same opinion. That was until he met the 6 ladies of the Allegheny YMCA’s 8:00 AM Water Aerobics class.
It had all been harmless at first.
Initially, he sought out the practice of swimming at the suggestion of his physical therapist three years after his amputation. The water helped him say afloat without many supports and as his muscles grew stronger and his confidence of being a BKA increased, the number of laps he did after a shift were a testament to his determination.
The repetitiveness of laps helped ease Jack’s mind before he went home too. The consistent back and forth of the strokes leveled him out from a difficult night. It functioned as an additional therapy to one he did four times a month and you let him have his space.
Most days the pool was relatively empty. Modern exercise eliminated most water activities from a daily routine and early morning runs to the gym often excluded getting one’s hair wet. Chlorine and its drying effects came second to the avoidance of swim time. It wasn’t feasible for everyone, but on Wednesday’s there were 6 others who simply didn’t mind.
And he could hear it through the door as he reached for the handle.
Paula Abdul’s voice rang loudly against the brick interior of the pool room. It bounced off the walls, cannonballing into the deep end to keep the women on beat as they did their buoyant repetitions.
With their weights in hand, the fifteen minutes since they began felt like seconds.
“Alright ladies,” their instructor, Susan, called out to them in an echo. “Now we are gonna take those weights and put them high above our heads.”
Susan mimicked the movement to which all the ladies copied to the best of their abilities. However, as people got older, the arthritis that plagued wrists and elbows and shoulders kept them from reaching as high as her. It didn’t kill their motivation, nor did it distract them from the men’s locker room door creaking open just like it did every Wednesday at the same time.
8:15. Susan glanced at the clock across the pool.
Like a well-oiled machine, the women began to drop their arms and their heads turned toward the door.
Mary-Ann was the first to pipe up today.
“Hi Dr. Abbot,” she called out immediately in a sweet tone. Jack’s face blossomed into a smile. With one hello, a plethora of them followed.
“Ladies,” he greeted back just as nicely. “Looking lovely as always.”
“You too, Jack!” Cheryl swooned. “You’re as handsome as always.”
“Are you tryin’ to make me blush, Cheryl?”
“I can make you feel a lot of things!” She laughed, loudly and only egged on the other women.
Jack’s eyes pinned themselves on the pool deck in case of splashes or puddles as he knew the risk of walking out on his prosthesis. In another world, his insurance, or the VA, would kindly provide him an Össur-pro so he could save himself time.
But it also gave him an escape from the redness working its way up his neck. Without a shirt on, he was bare to show off just how much flattery worked on him. He kept an eye on his leg to distract himself.
The women never made a deal out of him taking off his prosthetic. They didn’t stare, they didn’t jeer, and for that, Jack was more welcoming to Wednesdays. As he rounded the corner, he picked up a chair with his free hand and carried it with him to the end of the pool. Sharon whistled at him.
“We’re working on our biceps too, Jack. You should feel mine—they’re like steel!”
Jack scoffed, shaking his head at the floor. “Maybe another day, Sharon. But good for you. That’s a really important thing to work on.”
“Did you have a good shift today?” Mary-Ann asked. She was the only one to really care about his job.
No. He didn’t. But he didn’t want to ruin their mornings with tales of a two victim MVA, a meth overdose, or a GSW to the head.
“Oh,” he shrugged. “Same as it always is.”
“Deflection,” one of the ladies said as he passed. “Must’ve been bad.”
Their heads followed him comically to the lane closest to them. Jack settled his stuff onto the ground and used the chair to help him slip his prosthetic off before doing a couple hops to sit on side of the pool. As he fumbled with his goggles, Lisa waded over to him.
“So, Jack, I was wondering if maybe after our session today you could take a look at—”
“Lisa!” Susan called from the deck. “Stop propositioning Dr. Abbot during the session.”
“I’m not!” She defended. “I’m just asking him to look at my—”
“Yeah,” Cheryl nagged. “That sounds a lot like a proposition to me.”
“Don’t you think if he was the slightest bit interested in you he would have said something by now?” Sharon backed up Cheryl. “Jack’s not interested!”
“Hey,” Jack scolded Sharon jokingly. “I never said that…”
“Didn’t you just ask him to feel your arms?” Lisa accused and Jack slipped fully into the pool.
“That’s different.”
“No, it’s really not.”
“Ladies!” Susan yelled out and Jack gave her a thumbs up as if to say, “it’s alright.”
“You know,” Trudy paddled up beside Lisa. “My daughter is in town for the holiday and she’s single looking to mingle.”
“Is she?” Jack laughed. “I think I have some friends that might be interested. She can have her pick: doctors, nurses, police officers, vets… a few firefighters.”
Trudy shook her head with a smile. It was the same wide, pearly grin he got from all of the women of the class except for Susan who just wanted to teach.
“You’re too humble, sweetheart,” she replied. “I’m talking about you. What do you say? Can I give her your number?”
“I’m flattered, Trudy.”
Jack turned around, reaching for his bag to grab his hand paddles when he paused. Where the hell was his bag? Shit. He must have left in the car.
“She’s a nice girl. She just turned 37—is that too young? I know you just had a birthday.”
“Tru—” Jack started but she kept going. Persistent was Trudy Davis’ middle name.
“But she lives in Reading with her son. He’s 10. Do you have a problem with kids? Oh!” She laughed at herself. “Of course not. You’re a doctor.”
“The ones that are good with kids are called pediatricians, Trudy,” Lisa clarified. Trudy shook her off.
“I wouldn’t mind having a little eye candy for a son-in-law. I’d bet you would make a mother-in-law very happy.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Jack murmured. “I think mine sees me a little differently.”
While Jack thought back on his bag, the ladies paused. Their eyes caught one another in a wide revelation that opened a new door of knowledge about their weekly friend. Lisa put her hand on Trudy’s forearm, aghast at the news that their silver fox doctor was married.
Somewhere in the distance between the water lapping and the music changing over, Francis, the oldest woman of the group at 92, held a hand by her ear and asked:
“What did he say?” She couldn’t wear her hearing aids in the water.
“He’s married,” Sharon informed her.
“Yeah,” Francis smiled. “To me.”
“Jack?” Sharon called out to him. He pulled his goggles onto his head but still looked over at the woman.
“Are you married to Francis here?” She asked.
“No,” he chuckled. “I’m pretty sure I’m not.”
“We didn’t know you were married.” Trudy was slightly offended that no one did.
This was their Jack. The same one who, every class, made sure to say hello and goodbye and let them make their silly jokes about him and took it with a brave face. Jack never wore a ring—or at least none of them had ever noticed. Many of the women themselves were married to partners for decades and thought they had a grasp in knowing when someone else was.
“You never asked.” Was Jack’s simple answer.
“Does she get mad you don’t wear a ring?” Lisa followed up and felt suddenly like she didn’t understand his generation at all.
“I do.” He rose his left hand and the smallest, tiniest, tan line reflected a thick band. “I don’t want to lose it in the pool.”
“Why haven’t you ever said anything?” Mary-Ann spoke up after having been uncharacteristically quiet. She had a glimmer in her eye, mischievous one that sent an invisible string glowing between herself and Jack.
Jack shrugged, his leg bending as he got ready to set off the wall.
“Like I said, you’ve never asked about her.”
Twenty minutes from the YMCA, you scrambled in the kitchen trying to butter toast and rush out the door.
The middle of the week always felt a little chaotic—especially when Jack wasn’t there to help in the morning. You’d gotten used to it, no choice but not to be, but it didn’t help ease the stress of trying to make sure the house was in order before you left.
You stuck the piece of toast between your teeth, shouldered your bag, and rushed to the door when your feet caught a bag at the bottom of the steps and tumbled.
Your hands fumbled for the banister as your feet twisted. The piece of toast you were excited for fell onto the floor, butter side down, and your eyes landed on Jack’s work out bag as the culprit.
“Oh, come on,” you whined to no one. “Just one fuckin’ day, I swear to God.”
You hated Wednesdays. They were the bane of your existence.
There wasn’t a day longer than it. It dragged, unceremoniously, to the two days that always gave you better hope that the weekend would be relaxing and with Jack off the next few days, it would be. You just had to get through Wednesday first.
You bent down to pick up the toast only to notice that Jack’s gear was still in the bag. He hadn’t simply just left the bag, he didn’t take any of his supports with him. His paddles, the buoys, his goddamn kickboard.
But like Wednesdays were bad for you, sometimes his night shifts were too.
Jack forgot. It happens.
Digging out your phone, the last exchange you had with Jack was an hour ago where he replied “K” to a “don’t get hit by a car” from you. It was fruitless trying to call him because he was bound to already be inside and he wouldn’t answer if he was in the pool. But you peered back at the paddles and knew Jack needed those supports. Your peace of mind would depend on him having them, even if he never ended up using them.
You swiped both the bag and toast off the floor and sighed.
“What would he do without me?”
For fifteen laps, the women of water aerobics minded their business and listened to Susan’s instructions.
They still talked, however.
“What do you think she’s like?” Trudy asked.
“A nurse,” Francis said shakily as her exertion was starting to show. “Like one of those old war movies. A soldier and a nurse… how cute!”
“He’s not a hundred, Francis.” Cheryl shook her head. “I don’t think she works in healthcare. Probably in an office, maybe a teacher, or a manager of some kind.”
“Do you think she bosses him around?”
All the ladies looked back as Jack swam past the last 15 meter marking down on the opposite end. They thought on it, imagining what a domestic Jack looked like but the man they knew and created an image for wasn’t domestic. He was just a charmer. A kind hearted night shift doctor who listened to their problems.
“No,” Mary-Ann said. “I think they probably have a really nice relationship.”
“Women can be bossy too,” Cheryl defended.
“Yeah it’s kind of… what’s that thing they say? Kinky.” Francis laughed. Her face lit up in red as a result.
They turned back to Susan who changed out the weights for foam tubes. The sea of colors changed the space as they held them in arches above their heads.
Lisa sighed disappointedly. “Is it bad that I’m kind of sad he’s married?”
“Yes,” Sharon deadpanned. “He’s young enough to be your kid.”
“There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be a cougar, Sharon. I can provide a really nice life and hey! I’m a really good cook too!”
“Keep telling yourself that, honey.”
Susan cleared her throat and demonstrated an exercise with the tube. She counted them down like dancers as they began another set to round out their session.
“He’s just such a nice man,” Lisa continued on.
“Then we should be happy that someone found him,” Mary-Ann concluded. “Not everyone gets to find their special someone and we know he deserves one.”
The women agreed in staggered murmurs.
As they let the music carry their repetitions away, the women’s locker room door opened with a sharp squeak. The music was almost deafening as you entered the room but a lifeguard perched on their towers blew a whistle in your direction.
You looked up, the old women in the pool stopped, and Jack paused halfway down the lane thinking the stoppage was his fault.
“Ma’am,” the lifeguard spoke. “You can’t be in here.”
You chuckled nervously. “I’m just dropping something off—I am not staying.”
The lifeguard pointed to the sign beside the doors you barely moved away from. “You must be wearing swimwear and appropriate footwear while being on the pool deck.”
“Can I just take off my shoes?” You asked. “I’m just dropping off his bag.” You pointed to Jack who clung to the lane divider.
“Go ahead.” The lifeguard returned their attention to the pool and so did you.
But no one was looking at him. They were all looking at you.
Jack treaded water in the middle of the lane with a small smile fighting its way onto his face. With his bag in your hand, he was happy to have a few unexpected minutes with you before you were whisked away for the day. His chest was rising and falling rapidly but he lifted his hand in a single wave, pointing to the chair at the end of the lane.
You slipped off your shoes and followed along the edge of the pool.
“Ladies!” The aerobics instructor called out to them. “Why don’t we take a break, huh? You’ve earned it, great job.”
Like a thousand eyes piercing your body, all the old women in the pool stared at you as if you were a vision. You gave them a polite nod in return and kept going out slight embarrassment for getting called out by the lifeguard.
“Hey,” Jack reached the edge and tugged off his goggles. “I thought I left that in the car.”
“It almost killed me this morning, actually.”
“Well I’m glad you’re still here.” Jack swiped a hand over his hair before shaking it out. The water made the color go darker and it reminded you of what he looked like before he went gray.
“Thanks me too,” you said slyly and put the bag down at the base of the chair. “How was work?”
“Pretty bad,” Jack sighed, folding his arms in front of him and leveraging himself on them.
“I can tell.”
There was a gaze Jack fell into when the days turned sour. A light that never caught his eye, devoid of true amusement you could feel across a room. He looked drained.
“I’m only gonna do a few more and then I’m heading out. Can you text me what you want for dinner? I’ll go to the store after I sleep.”
“Sure,” you nodded and bent down in front of him. “Are you okay?”
Jack’s mouth got smaller, pinching onto one side of his face in thought. “I will be.”
“I can stay until you’re done,” you told him. “I can be late.”
“No, you can’t.”
“Mmm…” You titled your head. “I think I can.”
“Honey.”
“Jack.”
Your audience grew every second you stayed. Holding out your hand to Jack, he accepted it and held your hand over the end of the pool.
“You know, I was goi—”
“Excuse me?”
The interruption made Jack’s shoulders tense. Trudy led the women to the divider that started Jack’s lane and they hovered like animals preparing to be fed.
“Hi,” you replied. “Yes?”
“Are you his wife?”
Your eyes flicked between Jack and the women and your husband’s bashful avoidance peeked your interest immediately.
“I am. Jack didn’t tell me he made friends here.”
You swung his hand gently in yours.
“Have you known him long?” You asked them and a couple of the ladies nodded.
“He’s our Wednesday snack,” the oldest one said. “Jack the Snack.”
“Jack the Snack?” You beamed with hilarity.
“Oh yeah,” she continued. “He’s the only reason we keep coming to this class so early in the morning.”
“That’s pretty good motivation if you ask me.”
“Please don’t encourage them,” Jack said lowly and the women immediately complained. Their words muddled together in one giant, half-hearted complaint that was ignored. You winked, squeezing his hand in yours.
“He is a snack, isn’t he?” You agreed. “He’s tolerable, though, right? Sometimes he’s a real pain in my ass.”
“I knew I would like her,” one of them said to another.
“He’s a wonderful man. You sure got lucky, sweetheart. Jack’s a keeper.”
“Good.” You said definitively.
And then, the comments just went flying.
“Did you know he answers all of our questions about our ailments?”
“He helped me connect my phone to the WiFi here!”
“Sometimes, he helps me out of the pool when my knees give out.”
“Jack referred me to an Ortho for my broken finger once!”
“He’s the one who made management increase the pool temperature for us!”
“He changed my tire in the parking lot when I got a flat!”
Every comment they made, Jack had to look away. It’d been months since he started coming on Wednesdays consistently and he never thought to keep track of all the things he’d done for them. It was never a hassle, it was just another part of his day.
“Ladies,” Jack spoke up. “Can I have a minute with my wife alone please?”
“You get her alone all the time. We barely know anything about her. We don’t even know her name!”
“Well you weren’t asking about her just now.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Lisa brushed him off. “What’s your nam—”
“Lisa,” he said firmly. “If I get just a minute with her, I’ll look at what you wanted to show me.”
“Susan!” Lisa shouted. “We’re ready to continue!”
One by one, the ladies of the aerobics class returned to their spots in front of their instructor and Jack’s shoulders deflated.
“Jack,” you hummed and he knew what was coming next. “Do you have… a fan club?”
“I think so.”
“Did I see Mary-Ann here? From next door?”
“Mhm,” he hummed. “She’s the only tolerable one.”
“You love it.”
“They love it—or me, I guess. I don’t know. Maybe they just like my muscles.”
Your laugh made some of the difficult night harbored inside of him chip away. “Oh my. I might need to come here on Wednesdays.”
“No.” Jack shook his head harshly. “I cannot handle any more comments from them. They’re insane. Do you know how sexual those women are?” He said it like it was some dirty secret. “They say the most absurd things.”
“Like the absurd things we did after I got home from work yesterday?” You lifted a brow. “I bet they’d love that hot gos.”
“I think you’re going to be late for work.”
“Maybe.” Your eyes trailed over his tired face again. “You sure you’re good?”
“Yeah. I’m glad you came.”
“I can’t have you drowning on me, sweetie. How could I live with myself knowing you left kickboard was at home?”
Jack rolled his eyes at your joking tone and dropped your hand. “Okay, goodbye.”
“Jack,” you laughed.
Before he plunged back into the pool completely, he lifted up on his arms and placed a quick, soft kiss on your lips without warning.
The chatter of the women struck up again.
“I’ll see you at home.”
“Could we ask them all to come for dinner?” You whispered and he kissed you again. “I think they’d all really like that. What do you say, Jack the snack?”
“Never.”
Yet when summertime came, those same six women sat in Jack Abbot’s backyard listening to stories of your marriage and knew that the man they had silly, schoolgirl crushes on, was simply perfect.
a/n: i would bet good money that the old ladies in the water aerobics photo never thought they’d be featured on a jack abbot fanfic.
sorry grandmas!
reblogs, comments, and likes are so greatly appreciated!
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okay but who is gonna be the character that is deeply empathetic towards all her patients, but especially the marginalised ones. who is gonna be the character that shows up for them through everything and even wants to send them the help they need after they leave the hospital. who's gonna believe the sickle cell patients? who will teach the students to become unbiased and thorough in a kind and productive manner? who will research racial disparity? and as i'm writing this i am Noticing that they have given a lot of these traits to mckay; the black woman with pcos? ogilvie's fatphobia and addiction bias? while samira has not really done that at all this season even though it was basically her whole character thesis. they truly did plan on writing her off from the start. and didn't tell supriya.
summary: samira likes you and wants to ask you out but she is super nervous.. so she spends all day trying to ask you out but can’t bring herself to do it. (she does)
pairings: samira mohan x fem!reader
a/n: i said i was gonna do a oneshot for samira so here it is! I LOVEEE that girl dearly she’s literally my favorite character and i just want to hug her all the time! MY GIRL IS INNOCENT AND DOES NO WRONG!! also we need more samira fics pls i ran out i practically read all them lol. this is kind of like samiras thoughts mostly? just her thinking of the reader the whole time! anyways hope you guys enjoy samira being a cutie! (she always is) :D
samira decided today was the day. she was going to ask you out. no more overthinking, no more pretending she wasn’t thinking about it every five seconds. today… she would do it.
of course, as soon as she made that decision, she immediately started second-guessing herself. maybe today wasn’t the day. maybe you were too busy, maybe it was weird to ask, maybe… maybe she’d say something stupid and embarrass herself.
she didn’t know when she was gonna ask you but it was gonna be today. she kept trying to focus on helping patients and helping around the hospital. she ran into you like four times saying hi but still not asking you out!!
she paced a little, trying to act casual, pretending to look over charts but sneaking glances at you across the room. every little thing you did made her heart thump faster how you laughed at something someone said, how you tucked your hair behind your ear, the way you always seemed so calm and collected. and here she was, nervous, palms sweaty, trying not to trip over her own feet just walking toward you.
one hour of the day you were working on a patient together along with langdon and mel. you guys were doing the surgery on the patient an you noticed how skilled samira was. she was always better then you in every way.
“hey, clamp that for me,” you said, holding it out. she grabbed it like it was nothing, totally calm, totally focused.
you couldn’t help it. “nice,” you said, giving her a little pat on the shoulder as she straightened up to get ready for the next step.
samira froze for a sec, cheeks pink. “uh… thanks,” she mumbled, kinda fast. she went back to the patient, but you could tell her brain was somewhere else for a second.
you stepped back a bit, letting her take the lead for the next stitch. watched how she handled it, how she moved like she knew exactly what she was doing, eyes never leaving the work. “seriously, good job,” you muttered under your breath, smiling without meaning to.
now for the rest of the day she would be thinking about that. like… way more than she should be. it was just a “nice.” literally one word. people said that all the time. it didn’t mean anything.
right?
samira pressed her lips together, flipping through a chart but not really reading it. her brain kept replaying the moment over and over again.. your voice, the way you said it, the stupid little pat on her shoulder that for some reason felt like way more than it should’ve.
later that day, you were in the break room, half awake, leaning against the counter while the coffee machine made that annoying noise it always did. it was quiet for once, no chaos, no yelling, just a small moment to breathe. you yawned, rubbing your eyes a little, waiting for the cup to fill.
that’s when samira walked in.
she stopped for a second when she saw you, like she didn’t expect you to be there. or maybe she did. honestly, even she didn’t know anymore.
“oh—hey,” she said, a little too quickly, like she’d been caught doing something.
you glanced up, giving her a small smile. “hey.”
there was a pause. not a normal one. one of those weird, kinda awkward pauses where neither of you really moved.
samira shifted her weight, glancing around the room like she suddenly forgot why she even came in. she walked over anyway, grabbing a cup she didn’t really need, just to have something to do with her hands.
“long shift,” she said, nodding a little, like that made sense.
you let out a small laugh. “yeah. you could say that.”
another pause. she could feel her heart starting to race again. this was it. this was literally her chance. you were alone, no interruptions, no excuses. she could just ask. just say it.
she stared at the coffee machine like it held the answers to everything. then at you. then back at the coffee machine.
“so…” she started, then immediately stopped.
you raised an eyebrow slightly, amused. “so?”
“so,” she repeated, nodding like that helped. “um… i was just—i mean, i wanted to—” she let out a small breath, shaking her head. “okay, wait. let me just—”
you couldn’t help the small smile forming on your face. “samira, what?”
she looked at you then, really looked this time, and for a second everything else kinda faded for her again. just like earlier. just you standing there, looking at her like you were waiting. and that somehow made her more nervous.
“do you ever just,” she started, then winced a little, “overthink something so much that it becomes like… ten times harder than it needs to be?”
you blinked, then let out a soft laugh. “all the time.”
she nodded quickly. “okay, good. so it’s not just me.”
you leaned against the counter a little more, watching her now. “what are you overthinking?”
“you,” she said, before she could stop herself. her eyes widened slightly, like she couldn’t believe she actually said that out loud. “i mean—wait, not like—well, yes, like that, but also—”
she let out a small, nervous laugh, running a hand through her hair. “wow, i’m really messing this up.”
you shook your head, smiling softly. “you’re doing fine.”
that helped. a little. she took a breath, forcing herself to just say it already before she talked herself out of it again.
“i just… wanted to know if maybe you’d want to go out with me,” she said, words coming out a little rushed. “like—not like a group thing or anything. just… us. if you want to. you don’t have to, obviously, i just—” she stopped herself, pressing her lips together.
the room felt really quiet again. and for a second, she thought maybe she really had messed it up.
until you smiled. not just a small one. a real one.
“i’d like that,” you said.
samira blinked. “wait—really?”
you laughed softly. “yeah. really.”
and just like that, all the tension in her shoulders dropped. she let out a breath she didn’t even realize she’d been holding, a small, almost disbelieving smile spreading across her face “okay,” she said, nodding a little, still smiling. “okay… yeah, that’s—okay.”
you couldn’t help but laugh again, shaking your head. “you’re cute when you’re nervous, you know that?”
her face immediately flushed. “i’m not nervous.”
you raised an eyebrow.
“…okay, maybe a little,” she admitted, smiling anyway.
and somehow, standing there in that quiet break room, with bad coffee and tired eyes, it felt like the best part of the whole shift.
well guys… idk how i feel about this.. kind of feel like this is buns… cause my writing sucks </3 but its about samira so its okay! SAMIRA MY BABY DESERVES MORE LOVEE!! she’s such a cutie when she’s nervous!! she just loves you so so muchhh!! AND YOU LOVE HER BACK! don’t forget to send request for the pitt guys.. im deadass running out of ideas so pls send some. might have a small santos or javadi fic coming soon because my girls also need love.. anyways i hope you guys liked this cute fic!! hugs & kisses for u <33
Above art of reader by @coconuthoneyandjaguars. It's so beautiful!
My Pearl: The Jump | The Fall | The Plunge
Part 3/3
Word count: 10.6k
Pairing: Young!Tonowari x fem!curvy!metkayina!reader
Description: Meddling Tulkuns, a metkayina rager, and an angry love confession, oh my!
Content warnings/tags: fluff and angst, curvy/plus!sized reader, fake dating, arguing, body description is not detailed, body insecurity, friends to lovers, she fell first, he fell harder, Eykatey!Tonowari.
Author's note: Part 3 took a second to cook, but I think she's cute! A million thank yous to @lejardinfleur!! Without you, this story would not have happened, you supported me literally every step of the way. I love ya, Finn! I am kinda sad to be wrapping up this fic, but also very proud of how it turned out! I would maybe even be open to adding little headcannons or ficlets for it in the future!
Na’vi Words used:
Swoasey - Kava bowl
Txe'lanneyä - my heart
Oel ngati kameie - I see you
Skxawng - Idiot
Syulang - Flower
Tsakarem - tsahik in training
Yawnetu - Beloved one
Playlist:
Undertow - Lisa Hannigan
Opalite - Taylor Swift
The Only Exception - Paramore
You swam through the water, letting the cool current wash over you as you navigated the inner cove where hundreds of Na’vi and Tulkun greeted one another. The Tulkun had been around the reef now for several weeks since their migration cycle had brought them back home. You noticed an abundance of young tulkuns and calves as you swam, making the excitement grow in your chest. Tomorrow, you would get to witness the bonding of the Metkayina babies with the Tulkun calves, a connection that would last a lifetime.
You were looking for your own spirit sister, Nan’ti, among the numerous Tulkun that swam past you, but you did not see her anywhere. You were about to surface when you heard her song, a flowing, happy lilt to her voice that made it obvious who was singing. She was calling for you.
You followed the sound, although it was hard with many songs being sung and conversations being had. You finally found her swimming towards you and you smiled widely at her beautiful face.
“Sister, I see you. Welcome home,” you signed, glad to be with her again.
“I see you, sister. How have you been? It has been so long,” she asked.
“I am well, I am content,” you replied.
Nan’ti let out a short sound, showing her disbelief. “You look as if you are burdened with something.”
You should have known you could never hide anything from her. You rolled your eyes, “Yes, perhaps there is something. I like a man, but it cannot be,” you divulged honestly.
“Ahh, is it still the same one? Tonowari, Brother of Lan’pey?” she asked and you hid your face in your hands.
She took you embarrassment as an answer. “It is!” she called.
You nodded, “My affections are unchanged,” you agree.
“What makes you say it cannot be?” she asked.
You pursed your lips, deciding on which words to say. “He is a handsome man, a strong warrior, he will be Olo’eyktan one day. He is far above me.” You signed, explaining your deepest fears to her.
“His good qualities do not make you less, sister. You are beautiful like the water; soft and free flowing. You are loyal, a good friend, a good daughter. You would make any person a good mate one day, especially Tonowari.” She settled your worries the smallest bit and you smiled at her in thanks.
“He kissed me,” you admitted and she made a sound somewhere close to a shriek.
“Then how can your affection be one sided?” she asked.
“Because he did it to deceive people that we were together, not to actually kiss me because he likes me.”
“That cannot be. There are many differences between Na’vi and Tulkun, but one thing that is the same, is that males do not do things they do not want to do. If he kissed you, he wanted to,” she argued and you shrugged, still not letting her get your hopes up.
“Was it at least a good kiss?” she asked and you were so surprised that you laughed.
“Yes, it was a very good kiss,” you signed, brushing your lips at the reminder.
A tulkun swam past you, making a sound that grabbed your attention immediately. When you realized how close the incoming young bull was to you, you swam closer to your spirit sister to get out of the way.
The bull turned to circle around and you realized a Na’vi was holding onto his fin. It was Tonowari. He clung on as they made a wide, graceful arch around Nan’ti. You rested a hand on Nan’ti for balance and Lan’pey, Tonowari’s spirit brother, stopped beside you both.
Tonowari let go and swam over to you, signing a greeting, “Oel ngati kameie, Y/n. Oel ngati kameie, Nan’ti,” he signed and you both greeted him back.
“I wanted you to meet my spirit brother, Lan’pey,” he signed, moving from in front of you so you could say hello to the young bull.
You smiled at the tulkun, bowing your head in respect. “Oel ngati kameie, Lan’pey. I am glad to meet you.”
“I have heard much about you. Tonowari has had much to say,” Lan’pey said, a mischievous glint in his eye. It was said that as headstrong and bold as Tonwari was, his spirit brother was even worse in those aspects.
“Y/n does as well,” Nan’ti cut in and you whirled around to glare at your sister.
“He overexaggerates,” Tonowari insisted, sending his own warning look to his tulkun.
“I do not, it is not in the Tulkun way to be dramatic,” Lan’pey argued.
“No, but it is your way to be dramatic,” Tonowari teased him.
“I take offence, brother,” Lan’pey grumbled.
“You will recover,” Tonowari turned to you, “Swim with us,” he invited.
You shared a look with Nan’ti, silently asking what she would like to do. When she cocked her head as if to say, “Why not?”, you turned back to Tonowari. You nodded and he smiled.
You grabbed Nan’ti’s fin, hanging on as the four of you cut through the water. You felt free, like you were flying, as the tulkun twisted and dove again and again. You and Tonowari laughed when you resurfaced from time to time.
When it was time for the ceremony, the tulkun took you nearly to the shore, wailing farewells and promises to see you tomorrow.
Once you had made it to the beach, you heaved in a deep breath at the exertion it had taken, laughing at the half drowned look Tonowari had going on. His curls clung to his back and his face, the twists and coils now defined from the sea water. He smiled wide and open mouthed at you. He was beautiful and it pierced you suddenly like an arrow.
As he walked in front of you, he reached back behind him to grab your hand, tugging you forward. From your vantage point, you could see the gnarly scar the akula had left him with all those months ago. The warbled skin was raised and purple still, yet to fade into a deep turquoise. You longed to run a finger over it, but his voice tore your attention away from his skin.
“Hurry, we will miss the ceremony. Olo’eykatan will skin me for being late again,” he urged over his shoulder and smiled back at you, despite the truth in his words. He knew that he could talk his way out of most of the trouble he found himself in. You accepted his awaiting hand so he could pull you towards the inner village.
“If you were so afraid of Olo’eyktan, then you should not have tried to flip in the air so many times!” you laughed.
-
Later that night, after the bondings and prayers, the real party began. Nakata carried Rayal on his back as Poeya carried the jug of alcohol in her hands. She had already drunk a few gulps, her body languid and relaxed because of it.
The swallow she had forced on you had not affected you other than the odd, lingering taste in your mouth. Unfortunately, that meant that your hands still had a slight tremble from the anxiety of you and Tonowari’s first party as a “couple”. His arm was lazily thrown around you now for appearances, a carved wooden bowl of kava was already in his other hand.
Calf communion had commenced early this morning and celebrations would continue well into the following day, meaning that everyone was in a jovial mood. The young Metkayina would take any opportunity to celebrate, which corresponded to all the young adults and even some older teens slinking off to the cove after dark.
It was as much of a tradition as the actual ceremonies throughout the day.
Tonowari had started drinking early. As soon as the sun had started setting, Nakata and Tonowari had been nursing cups. Their actions had become looser, more free. When it was time to make your way down to the cove, they had started singing horribly and off-key. Nakata had insisted Rayal jump on his back. The two were in love, and one day they would realize it. Nakata had yet to give her his courting gift yet, the Skxawng was too much of a fkio to do it, despite Tonowari’s near constant urging.
After sludging through sand and weaving through mangrove roots and palms, you arrived at the party just as someone hit the first few beats of a drum. The already forming group cheered down the beach when the music picked up and Tonowari cheered with them.
“Aayyyy!” he exclaimed, unwrapping his arm from around you and the loss of contact was slightly disappointing.
Instead, he tucked the suddenly empty swoasey under his arm and grabbed your hands in each of his, walking backwards as he tugged you towards the others. You laughed as he moved his shoulders to the beat, making your own shoulders dance by extension. His callouses grated at your skin, but you did not mind.
Nakata tore past you, Rayal squealing on his back as she was jostled around by his antics. Others on the beach looked up at the noise, but the two did not seem to care.
“I cannot deal with all of these lovesick fools!” Poeya huffed from behind you and you turned to look at her, tearing your hands away from Tonowari who immediately frowned at losing your touch.
“Awww, you poor baby,” you cooed teasingly, waiting for her to catch up with you.
“What about this poor baby? You have just abandoned him,” Tonowari deadpanned, hands moving to his hips.
You raised your eyebrows at his dramatics as you took Poeya under your arm. “I can only coddle one baby at a time,” you pointed out.
“Well, I have courting privileges,” he pointed out as the two of you walked past him and he trailed behind.
“Girl code trumps courting privileges,” Poeya argued, taking a swig of the alcohol as you arrived on the fringes of the party.
“This is not what I signed up for,” he grumbled.
“I am sorry, Zukzuk’tsyìp,” you giggled as he frowned. But his pout did not last long as his attention was nearly immediately diverted. He spotted more of his hunter friends by a fire and waved at them, muttering that he would be right back before he branched off.
Poeya rolled her eyes before she slid out from under you when she drew closer to Rayal and Nakata by the woven mats covered with food and drink. She set down her clay jar half full of alcohol just to pour a cupful of a different one.
“I want one too,” Nakata insisted, holding his hand out.
Poeya passed out drinks to your cousin and her sister, but before she could hand one to you, Tonowari was jogging back from a group of hunters, two cups in his hand and his swoasey from earlier long forgotten in the sand somewhere.
“Try this,” he demanded, lifting the wooden cup to your lips as you hurried to reach up to grab it and steady his hand. You hesitated, but took a drink of what he offered.
Fruity alcohol burned down your throat as he watched you swallow, his eyes glittering in the low light. The drink was fine as far as alcohol went, but you were so surprised by its appearance in front of your lips, that you barely registered its taste until a movement after it had traveled down your throat, too distracted with Tonowari suddenly looming over you.
“Good, right?” he asked as you pushed the cup from your face and blinked at the robust, but tart flavor.
The taste of it appeared in your mouth. “Gah!” you sputtered, shaking your head as if to shake it away.
“Not good?” he asked, brow lifting in question.
“Strong,” you answered.
Since the drink had been hastily forced to your lips, you had not been able to catch all of it. Drops made their way down your chin as you hurried to clean up the mess with your hands.
“Sorry,” Tonowari murmured, watching a stray trail distractedly as it dipped under your jaw.
“I got it,” he rectified, as one of his hands came to your back to pull you to him and the other went to the back of your neck, holding you in place. He pulled impossibly closer as his head lowered, mouth coming to the angle of your jaw. You stood dazed and motionless in his arms as his hot tongue darted out to swipe a line up your skin.
When he had gathered up the stray drops of drink, he pressed a quick kiss to the corner of your lips, immobilizing you further.
He pulled back, his goofy smile was on full display, his pupils were dilated wide. “Yeah, it tastes good,” he answered his own question. He retreated slightly, hands ghosting a trail down your back to rest loosely around your waist.
Your mouth gaped open. “What was that?” you finally managed to whisper. You looked around inconspicuously, but did not see any onlookers that he would want to impress.
His eyes widened mockingly at you. “Me cleaning up my mess, come on,” he urged, pulling you towards a group of people by a fire pit, laughing and watching the dancers kick up sand as they spun. Rayal and Nakata were sitting among the group, as well as Ronal and her group of healers.
You stiffened at the sight of the unfriendly woman already staring daggers at you. She would be unhappy with Tonowari courting you, it was well known of her sights being set on him since childhood. She only grew more of a crush on him when he was named Eyktanay. You had no idea of what esteem he held her in, he rarely talked about her, but you had seen the two talking and laughing together before.
Tonowari sat down next to Nakata and guided you with him by pulling on your waist. He never removed his hands from you, but instead used them to drag you down with him. You landed in his lap, and winced in embarrassment, immediately scrambling away from instinct.
“No way,” Tonowari laughed, pulling you back flat to his chest and wrapping his arms around your middle to anchor you still. You were powerless in his arms, as he pinned up to him. You sank into his warmth, his chest solid behind your back.
“Gross, that is my cousin, bro,” Nakata groaned.
You rolled your eyes, “Shut up,” you blushed.
“If I do not comment on your weird thing with Rayal, then you do not get to make comments either,” Tonowari grumbled, and Nakata paled.
“Oh? Am I your “weird thing”?” you asked teasingly, your hands smoothing across his arms around your waist.
“Yeah, all mine,” he chuckled near your ear.
“I am still here!” Nakata exclaimed. “Rayal and I do not have a weird thing! And stop getting handsy with, basically, my little sister!” He reached over to box Tonowari’s ear, making him grunt in surprise.
Tonowari tore an arm away from your side to lean towards his best friend, with you still in his lap, and slapped Nakata in the side of the head. Nakata swiveled, preparing to retaliate.
You sat up straight, “Stop fighting, boys,” you warned, glaring at them both to back off.
“Y/n! Tonowari!” a chipper voice entered your ears, and both of you turned to see Ronal floating across the sand towards you with a drink in each of her hands. Nakata leaned back as he saw her approaching, evidently not wanting to be involved in the new conversation.
“Ronal,” Tonowari nodded politely, as you stiffened in his arms. Noticing the change in you, his hand traveled in a short soothing line across your stomach before backtracking the way it came.
It was not that you did not like Ronal, but the girl had the ambition of an Akula on the hunt and was not afraid to step on tails to get her way. She had made comments about you looking different when you were younger, but now that you were both adults, you rarely interacted.
“Why do you not have a drink in your hand?” she laughed, handing him the extra cup and he took it. Tonowari had already finished his liquor from earlier, the abandoned, devoid cup sitting upright in the sand a little further away.
“Thank you,” he said, as she looked down at you, an analyzing glare on her face as if she knew something you did not.
“You are welcome, ‘Wari,” she chirped, “Y/n, did you want one too? I can go get one for you?” she offered and your jaw tightened at what was obviously fake niceties. Her nickname for Tonowari making your hackles rise. She had no right to call him that and you found yourself not liking it one bit.
You suddenly got the feeling she was after something you possessed, like a child who was mad at their favorite toy being taken. You knew many girls liked Tonowari and they did not understand why he was with you, but none had been so bold as to challenge you for him, even in smaller ways.
You smiled up at her, rubbing your thumb against Tonowari’s arm and she shifted on her feet as if refraining from speaking. “No, do not go through the trouble,” you declined, and Tonowari held his cup in front of you.
“Have this one, Txe'lanneyä,” he insisted and you nodded faintly.
“Thank you,” you took it, half because you really did want something to drink and half because you knew Tonowari did not need any more. The gesture made Ronal’s grin falter, and you internally cheered in triumph. The displeased look on her face made you glad you had accepted his offer.
She quickly schooled her features back to joy. “Oh! I almost forgot!” she exclaimed, eyes lighting up. “‘Wari, the others need help with the last barrel of spirits. Would you get it for us?” she asked sweetly, smiling down.
He sighed, but nodded, showing the side of him that could be the dutiful leader. “Yeah.”
“Amazing!” Ronal nearly squealed and the sound made your annoyance spike.
Tonowari gently tapped your thigh to indicate that you needed to move. You grabbed his awaiting hand as he helped you move off of his lap and onto the sand below.
Nakata was fighting back a grin as Ronal waved Tonowari away from the fire and back towards the village. You noticed that she did not grab anyone else. The barrel must have been fairly small sized if one person could carry it alone.
“He is already a little unsteady on his feet,” Nakata chuckled, nodding to how Tonowari seemed to shuffle more than walk.
“He will be fine,” you assured yourself as much as him.
“Oh, I know. I am impressed that the big skxawng has drunk enough already to feel it,” he laughed as Rayal kicked up sand coming to sit between you where Tonowari had just been.
“What are you two talking about?” she asked, crossing her legs in front of her as she glanced between you.
“Her intended,” Nakata grinned, enjoying the way you rolled your eyes at him, visibly annoyed.
“What about him?” Rayal prodded, nosy as ever.
“How he is already feeling his drink this early in the night,” you replied and she barked out a laugh.
“He cannot be that drunk, he holds his liquor well,” she pointed out.
“He started early today,” Nakata rebutted.
Rayal watched the two finally disappear through the tree line and turned back to you, “Where is he off to with Ronal anyway?” she asked. She looked growingly more worried and it made anxiety flutter in your own stomach.
“To get another barrel of spirits,” you shrugged.
Rayal blinked at you blankly, “And you did not go with them?” she squeaked, a crease deepening between her brow.
“No… they are going to get the barrel and then come right back. We are courting, yes, but that does not mean he is mine to watch over like a child. I am not his mother,” you reminded her and she dramatically huffed and rolled her eyes.
“Wiya, it is my own fault. I have not taught you everything you should know,” she groaned. “You do not let your man traipse off with another woman that likes him! Ronal is still enamoured with Tonowari, she is interested in him. Her friend, Mai’ku, told me so herself. Surely that is reason enough that they should not be alone.” n
You opened your mouth, but no sound came out. Did she think Ronal was going to suddenly seduce Tonowari away from you? Did she perceive your relationship to be that fragile? You hoped Tonowari was not so easily swayed, even if your relationship was a front. If he was to do so much as flirt with Ronal, that would make you out to be a fool, the very thing you were hoping to avoid with this farce.
“Many women like him, but I trust him,” you finally managed to say even as your mouth went dry.
“I pray to Eywa you are right,” she sighed and Nakata frowned.
“You are worrying her. Tonowari would not be so fickle. He only has eyes for you, cousin. Do not be afraid,” Nakata assured you, but it brought you no comfort.
When Tonowari did eventually come back with a barrel over his shoulder a short while later, you sighed the smallest sigh of relief.
Ronal let out a laugh at something he said before she split off, waving behind her and shouting a thanks as she joined her group of friends closer to the water.
As soon as his back was to her, his face dropped, eyes blinking furiously like he was fighting to focus.
You got to your feet, feeling worry clawing at your gut from his expression. You walked over to him as he set down the alcohol on the sand and spoke to the two young men who were pouring drinks.
“Thanks, Tonowari,” one of the guys said and Tonowari nodded, raising a hand to gesture his response.
He backed away, almost bumping into you but you put your hands on his back and he stopped just in time.
“Woah! Hey,” you greeted, as he turned to see who was in his path.
“Hello Sevin’eve!” He smiled goofily, before his features faltered again and he shook his head slightly. He slid his hand into yours and led you towards the fire where many young adults sat telling stories, as well as food and drink was being passed around.
“What is wrong?” you asked, brow pinching in the middle.
He looked confused, forehead creasing as he shrugged, “Nothing! Nothing. Do I look as if something is wrong?” he seemed to force a chuckle, and you found yourself not believing him.
“You look as if you are hiding something. Did something happen with Ronal? You can tell me, I would rather know now, than be made the fool-”
“Woah…” He laughed, putting a hand up to stop you. “Nothing happened, Everything is fine.”
“Then why do you look concerned?”
“Fine, I will tell you,” he sighed, looking down at his feet. You leaned in an inch, anxiety gnawing at you, but then he said, “I am trying very hard to stay upright right now, and I am beginning to fail,” he whispered. You leaned away, exasperation clear on your face.
“Do not scare me like that, Skxawng!” you huffed. He barked a boisterous laugh as you took him by the arm. “Come on, let us find somewhere to plant you.”
You led him to the fire, finding your friends listening to tales spun by Tonowari’s friend, Yoru. You helped Tonowari sit carefully rather than fall down, and he plopped onto a large mat with none of his usual grace.
You sat beside him on what was left of the mat as Tonowari swiveled around, wriggling his body so that he was lying on his stomach and wedged himself under your crisscrossed leg.
“Do not fall asleep,” you muttered quietly to him as Yoru told a particularly interesting joke and the people around you laughed. “I will not be able to drag you back to your marui on my own.”
“I will not,” he promised.
Your attention was drawn away from him when you noticed Ronal’s assessing gaze from over the fire, she watched you carefully, eyes flicking between you and Tonowari. You slid your gaze away, but, for appearance’s sake, rested a hand over Tonowari’s back, covering half of his mottled scar with your fingers.
He looked up at you behind him and checked that everything was alright. When he just saw you, he smiled at the touch. You smiled back before turning back to absentmindedly listen to Yoru’s tale.
A moment later, you noticed Nakata hold out his hand for Rayal to take and she slid her fingers into his, the two getting up to join the dancers and the music. He spun her across the sand, the fire flickering animatedly behind them. You watched them twist to the music with a fond smile, glad to see them happy together.
"That feels good, keep doing that," Tonowari muttered from the ground and your gaze was drawn back to him.
“Doing what?” you asked.
“With your hand,” he explained, and you realized you had been swiping a finger back and forth over the raised scar on his back, although it had not been a conscious decision.
“Oh…” You blushed turquoise as you realized you had been touching him unknowingly. His back felt smooth and firm under your palm, other than the skin around the scar which was raised and uneven. You felt the bumps and ridges as you traced up and down and then up again.
In no time, deeper breaths were drawn from him and you realized he had fallen asleep, his arm resting on the crook of his elbow and his mouth hung a little open. The skxawng had fallen asleep, just as you had told him not to do.
He looked so peaceful, you could not find it in yourself to wake him up just yet.
You continued the mindless movement as you watched the others dancing and laughing. You smiled as you observed them having fun, but you would not trade your current position for theirs. You looked down at Tonowari, resting your head on your hand and realized that you much preferred being right where you were.
-
At breakfast the next morning you shoveled food onto your plate in a half-awake stupor. You were still rubbing sleep from your eyes and yawning when you looked up and noticed a young teen staring at you with a narrowed gaze. You blinked as she snickered and looked away quickly.
You turned around to go find your seat, telling yourself it was odd, but it did not necessarily mean anything. Teens were weird. It could have been something as small as your hair looking off today. It probably did look a little more wild than usual, you had not felt up to spending extra time on it today to tame it into something appealing.
But when you felt the gaze of many more of your peers on you, you knew something had happened. Before you could reason out who to ask for clarification, your father approached you, looking grim faced. “Ma’ite, are you well?” he asked quietly.
You both stood awkwardly among the seated villagers. “Yes, Sempu… has something happened?” you asked.
He pressed his lips into a line and he guided you to the side of the room, out of the direct hearing range of the others. “You know I do not like to listen to gossip, but people whisper. They say that you and Tonowari are not really courting,” your father said and all blood drained out of your face.
“Who told you that?” you said, barely above a whisper.
“Everyone is talking about it. Your mother heard it from her friends. It is said that Ronal is telling the village of your deception, as she heard it from Tonowari’s very mouth,” he explained.
You stared at him numbly, trying and failing to process what was just said. He waited for your response and when you were unable to give one, he urged you to speak, “Is it true? Tell me.”
When you managed to look up at him, your eyes were full of terror. Your skin felt clammy and the room suddenly became too small. The look on your face was all the confirmation he needed.
“Daughter…” he whispered, shaking his head in disappointment and your heart sank further.
You handed him your plate, “I need some air,” you croaked, turning from him and making your way through the crowd. It felt like that first night all those weeks ago when people were whispering that you and Tonowari were courting, but now they were calling you liars.
You maneuvered past the horde of eyes that watched your every move and nearly made it to the door when a massive body blocked your exit. You looked up and saw Tonowari attempting to enter the room in front of you and your jaw tightened in shame. He looked down at your teary face before glancing around at the crowd as if searching for a reason for you to be upset.
His eyes returned to yours when he found nothing immediately concerning with the crowd. “Txe'lanneyä,” he started and the first tear slipped out of your eye. “What is wrong?” His fists clenched at his sides as he glowered at whatever was making you sad.
“I… I cannot-” you stuttered, fighting to not let your hands shake as panic consumed you. Instead of trying to explain, you wiped your cheek and shook your head, swerving around him to get out of the covered dining area with hurried steps.
“Y/N!” Tonowari called your name, but you did not look back.
You made it outside and immediately breathed in the cooler air, feeling your lungs were able to expand now that you were out of the crowd’s range of vision. You continued to walk to the water. Feeling the sand under your toes and listening to the soft rush of a breaking wave grounded you. You halted once the sea enveloped your feet and stared out to where the blue sky met the turquoise sea.
But your relief was short lived as lumbering steps behind you made the tension rise in your shoulders all over again. You whirled on Tonowari, and seeing his concerned face made you uncontrollably angry. All of the pent up fear and emotions from the past weeks welled up in you like a flooding river.
Rage bubbled in your gut when he looked so clueless. How could he not be aware of what he had done just the night before? It had to have been him, your own father had said so. Tonowari had been talking to her and looked guilty when he had come back, you should have pressed harder for answers. Maybe you could have gotten ahead of this if he had just told you upfront.
“What did you tell her? What did you do?” you demanded once he was close enough.
He reared his head back, stopping down the beach from you, still a ways away, but close enough for you to see each micro expression on his face and hear each word from his mouth.
“Of what do you speak?” he asked evenly, not giving in to panic just yet like you had. “Who?”
“Ronal!” you exclaimed, pressing your fingers to your temple and trying to regulate your breathing. “She has told everyone the truth. They are now saying that this is a lie!” you cried.
He let out a breath, taking one step forward as he gazed at you through his lashes. “I did not mean-”
“So you did! You told her?” you cut him off.
He stood taller, his eyes darting around your face. “She asked about how we got together… and I told her that I asked you to court me. I said something like “thank Eywa she said yes”. She asked me what would have happened if you said no,” he paused and your tail twitched nervously behind you.
“Txe'lanneyä… I had gotten into the drink. I said things I should not,” he interjected and your eyes narrowed.
“Just tell me,” you begged and he forced his eyes shut for a second, gathering his thoughts.
His gaze slid back to you. “I said that if you had said no, that we both would have been screwed. She started asking all these questions, she knew so much already, I just… I don’t remember exactly what was said, but she gathered that something was wrong. She asked me outright if we were truly together,” he said.
Your face fell, hands shaking and you brought them to your chest and held them against your sternum. “What did you tell her?”
His breath hitched, “I hesitated… just for a moment, but it was enough.”
You took another step back, “I did not tell you because I did not confirm her accusation, I did not know if it was in my head. I thought for sure it would blow over and leave her mind once the night was over,” he swore.
A morning breeze tousled your hair and locks of it blew over your face. “I cannot believe you would do this,” you whispered in disbelief, shaking your head as if denying it would reverse all the damage that had been done.
His forehead wrinkled, “I did not mean to! She asked so many questions and my mind was not keeping up. I am sorry!” he exclaimed, but you just clenched your fist in anger, turning from him and facing the ocean.
“This was your idea,” you accused quietly, brow pinching in the middle. “This is all your fault. What have you done?" you cried, tears dripping down your cheeks. He stalked a few steps nearer and you could see him out of the corner of your eye as he came to your side.
He looked so conflicted that it almost made you pity him. “You can blame me, that is fair, but I do not regret what we have done, even if they do know,” he said firmly and you scoffed waterily.
“I do,” you bit out and his face went slack. “This hurts,” you muttered, furiously wiping away a tear that escaped down your neck.
He winced before his expression hardened into a defensive expression. “Blame me, that is fine, but you also agreed to this. The fault is not mine alone," he pleaded, taking one last step closer and you finally turned to face him again.
Your brow lowered. "What choice did I have? I was too worried about what they would think of us, and how the Olo’eyktan would doubt you. But I was foolish, I did not consider the after and now it is too late. The two of us will never be the same. We can never go back to how we were.”
He reared his head back, fist clenching at his side as he paused to search your face. He shook his head as if he had found his resolve. “And you want to? I was also changed from this. I see things differently now. I see you differently. I do not want to go back.”
You sniffled, looking up to him imploringly. “What can you possibly mean? They will laugh at us, we will be shamed.”
He sighed, smiling sardonically as he stepped closer and gently took your face between his hands. “I mean, that I cannot bear to see you sad like this. Your tears shred my heart in two. Your smile alights my soul. I look for you in every room or crowd. Everything reminds me of your face. I do not want to be separated from you, especially in this manner.”
You gaped up at him, face frozen in shock as his eyes softened. “I mean that I love you,” he said.
Your heart momentarily stopped beating in your chest, before it kicked up and restarted all over again. “You.. love me?” you asked, feeling as if you did not hear him correctly.
He nodded, “That is right. I love you. I have for some time now,” he confessed and you gaped up at him, not sure what to say.
“You cannot…” you murmured, gripping his wrists and attempting to tug them away from your face, but his hands did not budge.
“Why not?” he demanded, staring into your eyes intently.
“You are Eykatay, I am just… me. We could never truly be together,” you stammered and he shook his head.
“That is not an answer. Why do you doubt your own value? You are worth more to me than the stars. What good is being Olo’eyktan if you are not at my side? I would give it all up if-”
“Stop!” you hissed, “Listen to yourself, you cannot give up everything you have worked for, not for me. You deserve a woman who… is strong.”
“You are strong.”
You shook your head, “A woman who can lead,” you argued.
“You would be a fearsome leader, you could do anything,” he insisted.
Your ears pinned back in frustration. “A woman who is a warrior or a healer, not one who trips over her own nets.”
His frown deepened, “What does it matter? You are of clear mind, of strong heart. I need you beside me, that is what I have learned this past month.”
You opened your mouth to speak, but he continued on. “Do you not love me? I have interpreted your gaze incorrectly, is that the problem?” he said quietly, finally loosening his grip on your jaw and his hands slid down your neck, landing hesitantly on your shoulders.
“Of course I love you,” you scoffed, “but you cannot love me. You are mistaken,” you insisted.
“Why is that so unbelievable? Why can you love me, but I cannot love you?” he demanded and removed his hands from you entirely to rest on his hips. He glared down as he waited impatiently for you to explain yourself.
“Because! Because I am not like those other girls that like you. I am not delicate, I am not small. You called me a syulang at first, and it made my skin crawl because you reminded me of what I am not. I am nothing like a flower or those girls.” you hissed and his face hardened.
“Fine, you want to know why I decided on syulang?” he asked as you crossed your arms over your stomach.
He did not wait for your answer. “Yes, it was partly because you are as beautiful as a flower in bloom, but also because they are persistent. They grow in the oddest places, the sandiest soil, the hottest weather that should wither them, yet they keep going. You keep going too. The world has not been kind to you, but you have always been kind to it. That is a rare beauty, to be able to resist even the harshest conditions,” he said, and you felt another tear make its way down your face.
“And I do not want a delicate girl, ready to blow over at the first sign of a breeze. I want a strong woman who knows who she is, who will weather every storm with me. I want you,” he demanded. He stepped impossibly closer, bringing his hands back to your face and wiping away your tears with his thumbs.
“I am sorry,” you croaked, head bending forwards as you averted your eyes in shame. You rested your head on his chest, feeling the warmth emanating from him.
“For what, Txe'lanneyä?” he said softly.
“For being difficult,” you said, “I do love you, I do, and I have for so long that it is hard to imagine you loving me back.”
You glanced up after saying the words, which allowed you to catch him smiling and you felt suddenly hopeful. “I am the difficult one. I should never have played games with matters of the heart. I messed everything up, let me fix it. Let me love you,” he begged, tipping your chin back up until your eyes met his.
“Okay,” you relented, the tension slowly leaving your body as he embraced you, tucking your head under his chin as he pulled your body back into his. In his arms you felt safe, hidden away from the world that you had not yet worked up the courage to face again.
“What do we tell them?” you asked, voice muffled against his skin.
“We tell them the truth. That we are courting, that I do love you, and growing more enamored by the day. Ronal is a gossip, that is known. Perhaps she got this rumor wrong.”
“You are suggesting we lie again?” you gasped.
“One last time,” he promised.
You bit your lip, mulling it over. “Okay, our last one,” you agreed with a nod.
He smiled, leaning his forehead against yours and you could not help but smile back. You reveled in the knowledge that this time, it was real. You let yourself feel it down to your toes, a tingling, warmth that spread over your body now that you knew your feelings were returned.
“Tonowari!” a booming voice echoed down the beach and your bubble popped. You both turned to see the Olo’eyktan and Tsahìk marching across the sand towards you.
Tonowari pulled mostly away, leaving his hand on your arm, but needing the rest of his body to bow and his other hand to gesture the traditional Na’vi way of greeting.
“Oel ngati kameie, Olo’eyktan,” Tonowari said, “Oel ngati kameie, Tsahìk.” You watched with wide eyes as the two leaders stopped in front of you both.
“Oel ngati kameie,” you muttered, hurrying to follow Tonowari’s movements.
“We hear whispers,” the Tsahìk gritted out, looking between you both. The fact that they did not return the greeting showed how upset they were with you both. Your stomach dropped at the realization. You looked to Tonowari to see how he was reacting, but only found a cool mask of calm over his face.
“I understand there have been rumors spread about us,” Tonowari agreed and you harshly sucked in a deep breath of air. The Olo’eyktan’s eyes slid to you at the sound and you quickly bit your lip to prevent yourself from doing it again.
“And is it true?” the Tsahìk demanded.
Tonowari started, “It-” he managed to say before the Olo’eyktan held up a hand to silence his second-in-command.
“No, she will tell us,” the clan leader commanded, his iron gaze locked on you. All eyes swiveled to look at you and Tonowari squeezed your arm reassuringly.
You blinked rapidly in an attempt to focus. You felt the compulsion to lie as agreed, but it felt wrong. After all these weeks, you just wanted a clear conscience. “Yes,” you breathed.
The Tsahìk's eyes widened and she started muttering under her breath. Tonowari’s mouth pressed into a line as he undoubtedly was wondering what you were doing.
“Yes, it was. It started that way, so we could both save our reputations, but… it grew into something more,” you confessed.
“So, are you together or not?” The Olo’eyktan asked, brow furrowing low on his forehead.
“We are together. We love one another, it is plain to us now,” Tonowari answered for you and the Olo’eyktan glared critically at him.
“You are reckless, son of Arvak. Do not rush into something, as you tend to do,” the Tsahìk warned.
Tonowari’s posture straightened and he looked levelly at the two. “Of this I am certain, and have been for many weeks. I love her, I am courting her, and if she will have me, I intend to take her as my mate one day. I know that this was an untraditional way of going about it, and I understand if you wish to select another Eykatay, but I stand by the choices I have made, and I choose her.”
The Tsahìk and Olo’eyktan exchanged a look with one another as you gaped at Tonowari, your fingers wrapping around the crook of his arm. His gaze swiveled to you, nodding once in encouragement.
“You have shown maturity in this decision, Tonowari,” the Olo’eyktan finally said and you let out a miniscule breath of relief. “She is a good choice and I see your bond is already strong.”
“Thank you, Olo’eyktan,” you said, lowering your head in respect.
“Do you return his feelings?” he asked.
You shyly looked up at Tonowari, unable to stop the smile from blooming on your face. “Yes, I love him very much.”
The Olo’eykatan nodded in approval and the Tsahik spoke up, “Then we will begin your training tomorrow. I was not sure that you were serious about one another, but now I see. You will make a fine Tsakarem.”
A small laugh escaped your lips. You were overjoyed at the prospect of what she was offering. “Yes ma’am,” you agreed quickly, “I am in your debt,” you told her.
“Thank you,” Tonowari said and the Olo’eyktan held out an extended arm. Tonowari let go of you to clasp their arms together, hands at elbows, as you exchanged a smile with the Tsahik.
The two men separated and Tonowari’s hand found its way around to your shoulder. He had done it before, but now the display of casual affection felt so different. “What should I tell the others?” Tonowari asked for advice and his mentor considered the idea, turning to his wife whose eyes widened in question.
“You will go back in there and address the rumors. Do not over explain, tell them that you are courting and there is nothing else to it. Your history is your own. Being a leader means finding the fine line of what is private and what the people are owed. Matters of the heart are often not for others,” he decided.
You could not help but feel nervous at having to face the music and speaking to the people, but at least you would not have to tell them of your trickery. Your body pulsed with nervous energy, but Tonowari’s warm voice steadied you.
“It will be as you said. Thank you.” Tonowari said and you nodded in agreement.
“As Eykatey and Tsakarem, you will be expected to have places of honor at calf communion today. Make sure he has told you what to expect,” the Tsahik advised you, smiling knowingly as your eyes widened.
“Yes ma’am,” you agreed and she pointed her chin back to where you came.
“May Eywa smile upon you. Go, we will be there in a moment,” she said.
Your walk back to the other villagers felt all too short. “Are you ready?” Tonowari asked and you numbly nodded.
“Can you do the talking?” you asked quietly, hating large crowds and watching eyes. Surely you would stumble over words and make a fool of you both.
His gaze softened, “I was the one to mess it up, I will fix it,” he promised and you pursed your lips to keep from grinning at the solemn look on his face.
“You are very good at that,” you shrugged and he paused.
“At fixing things?” he asked and you did grin this time.
“At messing them up first so that you have to fix them,” you explained as he shot you an astonished look before he grinned too. “But you are rather good at the fixing part.”
He shook his head in mock exasperation, “I will handle it, Txe'lanneyä.”
When you both entered, the people hushed, looking at you both as you walked in, hand in hand. A swarm of wasps buzzed in your belly, but Tonowari tugged you forward with a mask of indifference and at a steady pace.
“Na’vi,” he called after coming to a stop on a raised dais the Tsahik used for prayers occasionally. The people went completely quiet then, all looking up at him in shock. You had not stepped up onto the platform with him, instead offering your comforting support from the ground level as you kept your joined hands entertwined.
Your eyes found Ronal and she glared unabashedly. You did not bother acknowledging her. You had already won and she knew that based on the look currently on her face, there was no point in revenge. You having him was enough to boil her blood.
“There have been whispers and we have come to address them,” Tonowari boomed, his voice cutting across the room, demanding respect and a listening ear.
“It has been said that I am not truly courting this woman,” he continued.
You found your parents in the crowd. Their clenched jaws and narrow eyes made you feel momentarily guilty for what had been done. Yet as Tonowari said, “but that is false,” they both immediately looked relieved and equal parts confused.
“We are very much in love, and have been for some time.” Tonowari explained, looking around the room. “If you have a concern, I suggest you come talk to me directly instead of whispering behind my intended’s back,” he warned and stepped down from the raised area.
The people erupted in whispers as you grinned softly at him, feeling relieved. You were glad he had kept it concise and short, not saying more than was needed.
“Come, let me help you prepare for today,” he said, letting go of your hand to grip your waist and gently steer you back out of the space.
“But… I-” you stammered, feeling as if you should do something more than leave immediately.
“Well well,” Nakata’s smooth voice broke through the murmuring and he stepped in front of you with his arms crossed.
You skidded to a halt, Tonowari bumping into your back. He did not need to scramble to steady himself as you had, seeing as he had managed to keep his balance. He instead pulled you flush to his chest, allowing you to lean your weight on him in the cramped space.
“Brother,” Tonowari greeted Nakata and your face heated under your cousin’s scrutinizing gaze.
“Real or not real?” your cousin asked lowly, leaning in to limit the possibility of people overhearing.
You smiled, looking up to Tonowari over your shoulder as he beamed back. “Real,” you both said in unison.
Nakata’s face broke into a triumphant smile, “I knew it! Did I not tell you?” he asked smugly and you shook your head at his antics.
“You told us,” you admitted with a small groan.
“You are a meddler, Nakata,” Tonowari warned with a low laugh, slowly steering you around your kin and towards the door. “I have to get your cousin ready for her first calf communion as Tsakarem,” he explained as you parted ways.
“You are Tsakarem?” Nakata asked in disbelief as you made Tonowari stop again.
“No, I am not Tsakarem yet. I begin my training tomorrow,” you explained and Nataka reached up to box your ear good naturedly.
“Way to go, cousin!” he cheered and you smiled at his excitement after waving his hand away. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Tonowari beaming down at you proudly.
“Thank you,” you said earnestly.
“We really have to go,” Tonowari explained, moving you back into motion.
“Fine, Yawnetu. We will go,” you huffed a laugh as you waved to Nakata and he waved back.
“I like that endearment much more than Zukzuk’tsyìp,” he noted as you ignored the eyes on you and exited.
“Oh? But I liked Zukzuk’tsyìp, perhaps I will keep it,” you teased and he huffed in your ear, before moving around to stand beside you now that there was more space.
“Call me what you wish, I am yours, but do not wonder why I feel emasculated,” he said and you laughed.
“We cannot have that, I will not tease you then,” you smiled as you made your way into your family's marui.
“Tell me about calf communion, what am I to do?” you asked, placing your hands on your hips.
He shrugged, “Stand there and look beautiful, as you already do. We have no significant parts to play today. We will stand behind the Olo’eyktan and Tsahik, looking solemn and serious,” he said, schooling his features into an overexaggerated deadpan stare.
“That cannot be, that look would scare all of the babies away,” you giggled, poking him in the side as his expression broke and he watched you with admiration.
“Yes, but it is my preferred expression during ceremonies, so I do not laugh at an inappropriate time and gain a glare. You, however, may coo and fawn over the babies, since I know you will want to anyway,” he explained.
“Good. You are right, I will be too happy to try to look sour,” you chirped, “I will be at your side, for real, and I get to watch adorable babies and calves commune together for the first time. I could not look stately or somber if I tried.”
He smiled, leaning against the support pole near the door and crossing his arms over his chest as he watched you.
“What should I wear?” you asked, going to the basket where you kept your loincloths and tops, sifting through them and pulling out a yellow one and a pink one.
“Whatever you like, you will look beautiful no matter what. You could wear what you have on now,” he suggested and you scoffed.
“Do not be ridiculous. This is too simple,” you fussed, looking down at the plain brown and green woven net-like top you were wearing. “No, it is between these two. What do you think?” you asked, holding them both up for him to see.
“Wear the pink one, it will go well with pearls,” he said, nodding to the top in your right hand and your brow wrinkled in confusion.
“I do not have pearls, just the one you gave me,” you explained.
“Then it is good that I brought you something,” he said with a knowing smile. He pulled out something from a pouch along his waist and your eyes widened at the sight.
“Tonowari, you do not have to give me anything,” you said, as he held it up to you. It was a beautiful woven necklace that was dotted with pearls.
“Do you like it?” he asked anyway.
“Of course I do. It is beautiful. Did you make this?” you asked, running your hands along the pearls dangling from the plant fiber loops at the bottom and making them gently tinkle as they knocked into one another.
“I thought I should get you a courting gift, a real one. I have been diving for the pearls for nearly a fortnight and I had the weavers show me how to put this together for you. I only finished yesterday, Eywa must have known I would need it for today,” he draped the necklace against your skin at your collarbone and you held it there as he walked around to your back to fasten it.
“You really have liked me for a little while now,” you realized in a giddy daze, your hand brushing along the intricate details of the necklace.
“You have ensnared me, I do not know who I am anymore if I am not yours,” he said over your shoulder, hands leaving your neck and drifting down your arms as you leaned against him. “Pearls, for my pearl,” he hummed.
“Tonowari…” you sighed, “You cannot tell me such things, I have barely processed this morning's events. You cannot speak poetry to me or my heart will burst.”
“You will have to endure it now, I will have much to say,” he chuckled, and you smiled at the warm sound.
“Then I will learn how to,” you nodded. “But for now, I do need to change,” you reminded him.
“Ah, then I suppose you will want me to leave you,” he said as you straightened up, turning around in his arms to face him.
“That would be preferred, I will see you shortly at the communion,” you reminded him.
“It is still a ways away,” he murmured.
“Who knew you to be so clingy?” you teased. “Here. A parting gift.”
You raised up on your tiptoes, pressing your lips to his and wrapping your arms around his neck. You could feel his lips turning up into a smile against yours as he entwined his own arms around your waist and picked you up, your feet raising off of the floor.
You laughed against his mouth at his show of strength, hitting the flat of your wrist into his shoulder to indicate for him to put you down. He did not listen and instead held you suspended as he explored the feel of your mouth on his.
When he finally put you down, you felt weak in the knees and were grateful that he had a hand on your side to steady you.
“I should leave more often,” he said under his breath. He swept your hair behind your shoulders with his free hand to better see the necklace.
“Then go,” you laughed, just barely pushing his chest towards the opening.
“Fine,” he groaned, but leaned forward to peck your lips one last time before breaking away and walking to the door.
You turned and watched him stalk outside before he paused and back tracked to the entryway, “Hey, Sevin’eve?” he said, as you crossed your arms over your chest.
“Yes, Yawnetu?” you responded.
“I love you,” he smiled goofily in a way that made you think just getting to say the words filled him with excitement.
“I love you too,” you laughed, shooing him away and he nodded and ducked back out of the marui.
-
You decided that Calf Communion was even better up close. You had stood by Tonowari as the Metkayina babies met their spirit brothers and sisters for the first time. You and Tonowari had perched on Lan’pey as the Olo’eyktan and Tsahik stood on a rock nearby. Babies and calves swam around each other, letting Eywa guide them to the one they would be connected with for over a century, if they were lucky.
You had only let joyful tears slip down your cheeks once. Tonowari had caught you wiping it away and he watched with care and affection. He otherwise stuck to his solemn and almost grumpy expression, looking every bit the fearsome hunter who had killed akulas and nalutsas and led hunting parties regularly. You were proud of yourself for containing your emotions for the ceremony that you usually cried all the way through.
When it was complete and the people all dove into the ocean to swim alongside their spirit siblings, you and Tonowari had jumped into the water hand in hand. Lan’pey made a sound of greeting to your spirit sister, Nan’ti, as she appeared out of the depths.
“Hello, sister,” you told her with a smile, happy to see her.
“Happy Calf Communion, sister,” Nan’ti said in return. “Much has changed since we last spoke yesterday. I can see it on your face,” she continued.
You smiled, but covered it with your hand bashfully, “I am very happy,” you assured her and she did the Tulkun equivalent to laughing.
As if rehearsed or in synchronicity, you and Tonowari each grabbed a hold of your Tulkun’s fin and let them pull you further out to sea, away from all of the others. When the bottom of the ocean dropped to near darkness and Lan’pey let out a wail, both tulkuns slowed until all that moved you was the current.
You let go of the fin so that you could sign, “What are you doing?” to Nan’ti, but she just let out a mischievous sound. With one last chirp, the tulkuns arched back in the water and turned away from you. You looked at Tonowari who looked like he was in on the scheme.
“What happened?” you signed as Tonowari swam closer, stopping when he was within arm's length.
“I asked them to take us further out,” he signed back and you narrowed your eyes.
“Why?” you asked.
“So that I could kiss you away from the people’s eyes. We have performed for them enough,” he told you, his hands coming to your sides and resting there as he gauged your reaction.
Anticipation bubbled in your chest at the news. “Then what are you waiting for?” you signed back.
He smiled, unabashedly and wide, as you kicked your feet to propel yourself closer. You wrapped your arms around his neck and felt the water moving around your bodies, the two of you sinking together now that you were both too distracted to stay perfectly suspended.
He pressed his lips to yours. The warmth of his body combated the chill in the water and you found yourself drawing ever closer until there was no distance. The silence of the watery underworld seemed to hold the moment into a suspension of time. It felt as if you were the only ones on Pandora.
His arms locked around your middle as his body slowly sank beneath the deep and took you with him. You could name many of the happiest moments in your life and this one would take the top of the list. His hair tickled your shoulders and you suddenly wondered what it would feel like to run your hands through it.
You reached one hand to scratch through his scalp, your fingers just barely brushing the base of his kuru. An involuntary shiver ran down his spine and he nipped at your bottom lip in retaliation. You smiled through the kiss, feeling your weight press into him now that you both were nearly horizontal. You gently dragged your hand through his curls, the smooth tresses miraculously having very few knots or snags.
You pulled away after another few moments, wanting to see his face. You were glad you had when you opened your own eyes to find his eyes still closed. His face was relaxed and the total opposite of the serious look he wore at the communion today. His eyes blinked open to meet your adoring gaze.
You pulled your hand out of his hair, and pressed your fingers to his lips, running a line across them now that they were more swollen than before. He smiled against your touch and you felt giddy that you could make him do that so effortlessly now.
He lifted his head to press it softly to your forehead. You could see every pore, line, and crease on his face, an amalgamation of things that made him so beautiful. You were thankful that Eywa made each of her creatures differently. Just like the pearl strung to the songchord, his imperfections made you love him more.
He removed one of his own hands from around your hip and instead pressed it to his heart, patting the skin there twice before he pointed to you. The message was clear despite words.
My heart is yours.
You smiled back, your own heart skipping a beat at his meaning. You patted your own chest before pressing the same hand into his.
Our hearts beat as one.
-
That's a wrap on My Pearl! Thank you for going on this journey with me!
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My Pearl taglist: @diaryofasecretmermaid @itskekeelise @strawbaerriesvt @celestialsonglines @xoxojules86 @kiatjuddae @escapefromrealitylol @sh3wolfgam3r @user153639937 @imverytiredtbh
Synopsis, Spider wasn’t the first human born on Pandora, but he was the first to grow up on it. You had Neytiri’s heart long before Jake came along, and you’d have both of theirs long after. The problem is, humans weren’t meant for Pandora. Even so, Eywa saw you, and it seems like she accepted you. Maybe that's why, even after being without you for so long, they saw you again.
WC: 10.5k (oh wow)
inspired by @jsooly taken in by the sullys series!
A/N: I wrote this quite literally at 5 am, and it's drastically different from my usual writing style, but I like it! Very bittersweet! and written with the assumption that whoever is reading this knows about Sylwanin and her lore.
You were born to a soldier on Pandora, a Seargant who seemed unbothered by her pregnancy during her term. The RDA wasn’t progressive, not at all, but they weren’t so cruel (at least to their own race) that they’d force a pregnant woman into work. Your mother simply made the decision to keep working, no matter how unsafe it was.
After she gave birth to you, she seemed… inattentive at best. She took maternity leave for the required period of time and got back into the action once she was cleared, leaving you essentially alone. It wasn’t long after her redeployment that she was killed in action along with the rest of her squad. An unfortunate accident in the dangerous wilds of Pandora
So, motherless and unclaimed by a father, you were orphaned. Too young for Cryo, they let you stay. Your mother's room became yours and yours alone.
Of course, the RDA base was no place for a child. Ill-equipped and non-accommodative. The higher-ups reasoned that you’d best be left to the scientists and doctors. They’d know how to take care of a kid best, right?
Of course, no one really paid much attention to you. Giving the minimum attention necessary to keep you alive, lest they carry the guilt of neglecting an infant to death.
Grace wasn’t sure what to think of you when you were put in her care. She was a scientist, not a babysitter. Her focus was on the Na’vi, their way of life, and the organisms living on Pandora. She didn’t have time to look after a kid.
You were shucked off onto some lower-level scientists and assistants. She didn’t hear much from you other than your crying, which was always met with swift confinement to your room with your current caretaker.
Eventually, though, you became autonomous. You were quick, slippery, and curious. The ones in charge of you didn’t pay much attention, which led to you sneaking around. Once, finding your way into Grace's lab.
She found you at her desk, standing on her chair in only an ill-fitting t-shirt and diapers, leaning over and staring at the projection of various pictures she had up.
Grace wasn’t cruel; she may not have wanted to be responsible for you, but she held the same fondness for kids that most did.
Carefully, she picked you up, sitting you in her lap, and asked you what you were doing.
“Pic!” Is all you blurted out, head turned around, and staring at her with your wide and curious eyes. Grace chuckled, nodding as she hummed and affirmed your babbles.
You spent the rest of that day in her hold, watching as she scrolled through the pictures and videos she had in the database, explaining, in the most child-friendly way, the ones you were interested in.
Being just over a year old, you weren’t still in her lap. Wriggling around, grabbing at her and objects, even standing up in her lap and jumping up and down, which she swiftly stopped. Despite all this, Grace was patient with you. Perhaps it was your curiosity for Pandora that softened her, the fact that you were interested in something she’d devoted her life to researching.
A new brain to fill, maybe.
So, you made frequent trips to the lab after that. Slipped past your caretakers and crawling into Grace or Max’s laps, whoever was available, and babbling on and on. You weren’t the center of attention or a priority, but you became somewhat of a soft spot for Grace and her fellow scientists. Not as much of a burden, anymore.
It wasn’t long before you started picking up on the Na’vi phrases being used, especially once you discovered the parts of the lab dedicated more towards the avatars and culture of the Na’vi. Grace, ever the enabler of your interest in Pandora, started speaking to you in almost strictly Na’vi.
Being so young, you picked up on it incredibly quickly, nearly at the same speed as English, which you’d only really started learning a month or two prior.
It was cute to them, having a little human baby babbling in Na’vi and focusing so intently on the fauna and flora you saw in catalogs. Some even joked that your bedtime book should be the one Grace wrote.
They called you the LabRat around the base. A term of endearment, of course. Many knew about you, the loose kid on base who scurried around and spent almost as much time in the lab as the scientists. You were cute. But really, that’s all you were to them, a cute kid.
But to Grace? Somewhere along the way, she grew more fond of you than she’d expected. She ate with you at breakfast, watching you messily eat out of the corner of her eye as she held conversations with the other scientists. You stuck to her side, only ever really leaving it when you wanted to be with Max or go to sleep. Even then, she often had to carry you to your room multiple times throughout the day when you fell asleep in her lap.
You spent a lot of time with Max, too. Whenever Grace was in her Avatar, which was often, you found yourself with him. He was always a little softer with you, having been more fond and sympathetic with you earlier on.
He treated you more like a kid than most others. He didn’t really try to feed your curiosity with Pandora, instead focusing on the fact that you were a deprived orphan child. He was the most suited to take care of you, probably.
At some point, you found your way into the Avatar lab, watching through the windows. No one really saw it coming, but you escaped. With your little mask that was slightly too big for your face, you ran out the door, gunning right for Grace’s Avatar.
They didn’t really think you’d recognize her, but you did, and you wanted to see her. Of course, you were a little intimidated by her drastic change in appearance and height, but at this point, you knew about the Na’vi and Avatars, so you didn’t have much of a problem.
Grace, in her Avatar form, was perhaps even more loving towards you. Maybe it was the youth of the body, or the fact that she had her own internal favoritism for it, but she seemed happier. Something you picked up on quickly.
You loved being outside. No longer were you content being cooped up in the lab, you wanted to see the forest! Of course, they weren’t exactly ok with the idea, but your crying eventually convinced them.
Grace decided to take you to the school. She’d made excellent progress with the Omaticaya through the school, maybe it would be good to start introducing some direct human contact… through you. And she figured it could be good for your development, meeting beings that weren’t just inattentive scientists and soldiers.
With your mask on and sporting your cutest clothes, Grace took you to the school. The Na’vi kids were unsure about you at first, with their adverse feelings about Skypeople, but eventually they opened up.
You were small, so incredibly small. Even the young children had no problems holding and cradling you. You were cute in your own, human, way.
They were intrigued by the fact that your Na’vi was as good as your English. Granted, neither were particularly good, seeing as you were a toddler, but it's the fact that they were at the same level that they admired.
Sylwanin was especially interested in you, often taking you in her arms, cooing and coddling you.
“Sa’nok, she’s so small!” She’d exclaim to Grace, who’d laugh in response.
“Well, she’s human. You’re probably at least 2 feet taller than my human body, and I’m an adult.” She leaned over Sylwanin, smiling down at the scene. “She’s just a youngin’, not even 2 years old.”
From then on, you were a regular addition to Grace’s school and a personal favorite of Sylwanin and Neytiri. The two sisters absolutely adored you. Cooing over you and your babbles, sitting you in between them or on one of their laps during the lessons.
Often, they’d sit in the back with you, giggling at your tiny body and antics, brushing your hair, or watching as you fiddled with whatever toy or objects you could get your hands on.
Between your time in the lab and out at the school, you were the first human to be culturally raised Na’vi. It was fascinating to Grace.
Tsu’tey was cautious of you at first, unsure of how to handle how small and frail you were. But out of everything, you were also incredibly persistent and curious. Somehow, you found yourself worming your way into Tsu’tey’s arms, waddling up to him and demanding he pick you up through body language.
Sylwanin found this utterly adorable, how you’d stand there and “Hmf!” until he reached down and picked you up. He didn’t really know how to hold you, hands tucked under your armpits, torso and legs dangling in the air, but you crawled your way around him, finding yourself sitting on his shoulders. Well, shoulder, to be exact. You could comfortably sit on one, granted it was with one of his hands on your legs to keep your balance while you grabbed onto his braids.
“Tey-Tey” “Wanin” and “Tiri” you called them, not really able to pronounce their full names. They, of course, didn’t care, cooing at the babble of nicknames you gave them.
In turn, they started to call you “Syulì'ang”, a butterfly-like insect that was known for its characteristic claws that latched it onto whatever it landed on. A fitting nickname, they all thought.
Their sweet Syulì'ang. Tsu’tey was more or less simply amused by you once he was comfortable. He wasn't as doting as Sylwanin or Neytiri or some of the others; he liked you, but it was more or less than he was entertained by you.
Of course, that changed the more you stuck around. By the time you’d learned to walk well enough to walk to the school yourself, with Grace accompanying you, of course, he was always waiting by the doorway. He’d give a simple nod to Grace when the pair of you came into view, and he tried to remain stoic as you ran forward, your small body knocking into his tall legs and calling out his name, but Grace, and just about anyone else who really knew him, could see through it.
You spent your developmental years at the school, growing up so quickly that the Na’vi kids didn’t know what to do. When they first met you, you could barely walk, and all you could really do was babble and string together words, but years passed, and you began holding conversations and moving around fairly fluidly.
Of course, you were still small and babyish, still just a toddler, but toddlers grew and changed fast.
You were like their baby sister. Tsmuke, they called you. To them, you were really no different from another Na’vi kid. You spoke fluently, you were young and saw the world in a manner that seemed to reflect their own cultural point of view, perhaps from your exposure to it.
Grace couldn’t really place when she started to love you. Maybe it was when you first called her “Sa’nok”, copying the kids at the schoolhouse. Maybe it was when that transformed into “Sa’nu”, or when it became “mama” when back in the lab. Maybe it was that day you first caught her attention, having snuck into the lab and into her heart.
She never corrected you when you called her those things, even when she got odd stares from the others around when you did. They just didn’t get it. They were too wrapped up in their own world. And yeah, so was she, but at some point, you became a part of her world.
She didn’t really think of herself as your parent, but she didn’t mind if you thought of her as one. She wasn’t really the nicest; she was definitely more of a ‘tough love’ kind of parental figure, but that wasn’t really all that bad.
Pandora wasn’t suited for you. You weren’t supposed to be there, and it wasn’t a good place for you by any means. You weren’t given proper attention or affection, and when you were, it wasn't consistent. Grace and Max, and the Na’vi kids weren’t role model family figures, but they tried, and they loved you, no matter how… odd it was.
At some point, you’d met Mo’at and Eytukan. Likely, they’d heard of you from their daughters and Tsu’tey. It was hard to tell what they thought of you, after all, they had their own reservations about the humans, only allowing the school to function due to Sylwanin's request.
But they liked you enough. You were a kid, a toddler, innocent in what was being done to their planet. You didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of any prejudice they held towards the humans. You spoke the language and learned beside their children. You seemed to love the forest as if it were your own home.
Formally, you met Mo’at when you fell down and scraped yourself while running out of the school, being chased by Sylwanin. You cried, of course, but Sylwanin, as calm as ever, simply scooped you up and told Grace she was taking you to her mother to get fixed up, running off before she could object.
You watched the Tsahik in awe as she worked on you, rubbing a salve on your wounds, her jewelry and beadings clinking together as she did so. You watch her in silence, Sylwanin giggling at your entranced demeanor. At the end, climbing back into Sylwanin’s arms, you turned and told Mo’at she was magnificent. A big word for your age.
Mo’at had to admit, you were a charming little kid.
Neytiri was especially charmed by you, often taking you from anyone else's arms to hold you in hers. It became a running joke that she’d adopt and steal you away if she could. She never denied it.
You could always be found fiddling with her hair or necklaces, pulling at them or putting them in your mouth. Neytiri, despite not liking your actions, was patient with you, simply giggling as she pulled it from your grasp and pointed your attention elsewhere.
Some people on base started to voice complaints about you being out too much. Being gifted jewelry and pieces by Sylwanin and Neytiri, and one piece from Tsu’tey, you began dressing in them every day.
Of course, the complaints went nowhere, being no more than off-hand comments made by people who had no role or responsibility in your upbringing. As loved as you were, you were still overlooked more often than not, just an orphan kid who wandered in and out of the base. Outside of Grace, Max, and a few other scientists, no one really cared.
You had your routine. Getting up, spending time with Max before running out with Grace to the school. The school was your favorite place, you often told Neytiri and Tsu’tey in giddy whispers. You felt free and loved. It was your place.
When Sylwanin stopped showing up, you were sad. You missed her. Really, she was your favorite.
You didn’t understand why you stopped going to the school, why Grace started arguing with a bunch of the soldiers more often, and why you were no longer allowed outside of the base. You cried a lot, saying you wanted your Tsmuke’s and Tsmukan. You wanted to go to the school, you wanted to see Neytiri and Sylwanin and Tsu’tey and the others.
You cried when a scientist, tired of your whining, told you they probably didn’t want to see you.
Grace had a hard time comforting you. She didn’t know what to say, struggling with her own grief and guilt in the whole situation. All she could do was hold you and tell you that things were going to be okay.
It was a while before you stopped crying so much. You still whined about wanting to go outside, but you learned to stop when asked. You spent your nights fiddling with the gifts from Neytiri and Sylwanin, the jewelry they crafted for you, the toy Mo’at gifted you once, and the Ikran Tsu’tey carved for you out of wood. They were your most treasured pieces.
You worked on your own gifts for them, on and off, through the two years you spent without them.
You were six by the time Jake came around. You became attached to him very quickly.
He’d just made it to base and was getting filled in by Norm. His introduction to Grace wasn’t going well, bordered by her hostility towards him being there in place of his brother. Before he could say anything else, you bounded into the room.
“Sa'nu! sa'nu! 'ur 'upe oe run!” Mama! Mama! Look what I found! You yelled, stopping at her feet and shoving an insect you were cradling in your palm into her face.
She glanced at the bug and tilted her head, raising a brow at you. “ Y/n, nga kame nga're ke tung wrrpa, ‘itetsyip.” You know you’re not allowed outside, little one.
You pouted, stomping your foot. “Oe ke wrrkä! tsal pamähem ne oe.” I didn't go out! It came to me. You insisted. Grace merely rolled her eyes with a grin as she ruffled your hair.
Jake looked at Norm, confused, who translated a lazy “she’s showing her a bug.” for him.
As if you just noticed their presence, you awkwardly glanced at the two, shyly shuffling behind Grace. Jake glanced between you and Grace before leaning in.
“What’s that you got there?” He asked, smiling as he watched your facial expression change. Before he knew it, you were launched into a whole explanation about the bug. It's name, both scientific and Na’vi, and all the fun little characteristics you noticed and pointed out to him.
It was easy to tell who you’re favorite was going to be among the newest science recruits. You became quick friends with the ex-Marine, demanding his attention whenever he wasn’t busy.
You were an interesting little thing. Energetic as all could be, running around like you owned the place, switching between languages so casually as if they were one. Jake paid more attention to you in a week than most of the people on base had in your entire life.
He’d come by your room, peaking in as you played with your toys or read a book you definitely didn’t actually understand. As soon as you noticed his presence, you’d abandon whatever it was you were doing to run to him, hoisting yourself up into his lap.
“What's up, little bug?” He’d say, smiling down at you as you went on and on about whatever it is you wanted to talk about. Most of it went right over his head, but he listened nonetheless. He got the memo pretty early on that you were essentially left to your own devices, only helped with the bare minimum by people who didn’t want to be responsible for you
So, he started being more attentive towards you. Call it fatherly instincts, he calls it common empathy. You didn’t have any plans or expectations for him, you weren’t disappointed in his presence in place of his brothers, you simply looked up at him with those wide and love-filled eyes. That was all he needed to become hooked. His little bug, he liked to call you.
To Norm, Jake had adapted a fatherly role scarily quickly. Of course, Norm thought you were cute, but he wasn’t really sure what to do with you. It puzzled him how well Jake was with you, for only knowing you for a few days. How you crawled into his lab during one of the briefings, obviously tired but wanting to be involved.
The briefing was casual, so Jake wrapped his arms around you and cradled you, rocking you in his arms as he hummed a lullaby he’d grown up with on Earth.
It was the first time someone had sung you a lullaby, at least since you were a crying infant everyone was desperate to soothe. You fell asleep in his arms immediately. Grace only gave a passing glance and a chuckle, stating he was now on bedtime duty.
And that he was. You were a stubborn kid when it came to bedtime, fighting your own sleep and exhaustion because you wanted to be where the attention was. You didn’t want to miss out on any of Grace or Max’s briefings or discoveries, no matter how dull they were, or the fact that they didn’t really happen after hours. Nevertheless, you were difficult to put to sleep.
He was quickly called the Y/n Whisperer after he calmed you down from a tantrum and had you knocked out in bed within 10 minutes of you being told to go to sleep, an affair that often took at least half an hour and some strong bargaining.
Jake was still reeling from it all. For him, he was still dealing with the fact that his brother was dead and he’d taken his place on a scientific mission on Pandora, whisked away from his dystopic life on Earth and given a brand new chance. It was dizzying, and now he had a kid attached to his leg.
Call it what it was: whiplash. He doesn’t really understand why you liked him so much, why he was able to connect with you so well. Maybe it was because he was the first person to spare you a second glance in your entire life, a second glance you didn’t have to work and beg for.
If given the chance, Jake was sure you two would be absolutely inseparable.
It was during dinner that things shifted. You were there for Jake's recounting of the events that transpired after he got chansed off by a Thanator. Through it all, all you heard was that he’d met Neytiri.
Neytiri. Your Neytiri.
You missed her. You missed her so bad, and Jake got to see her. It had been two years, and you thought for sure there was no way you’d be able to see her again. But Jake saw her! He even went to the village, so he likely saw Tsu’tey, Mo’at, and Sylwanin!
Seeing them was possible. That was the conclusion you came to.
Tsu’tey was the one to find you the next day. You had snuck out, exopack secured on for the first time in nearly two years, and you set off. Your memory was hazy, and you hardly remembered your way through the forest.
Scratch that, you didn’t remember it at all. You got lost almost immediately, your excitement to see your friends slowly replaced with uncertainty and fear. You wandered through the woods, climbing across logs and rivers, becoming more and more sure that you weren’t going the right way…
Of course, you didn’t know what to do. No one could really blame you for how you started crying out, yelling for Neytiri, Tsu’tey, Sylwanin, Grace, whoever you thought could find you.
It wasn’t until you heard the growl that you regretted your decision to be so loud. Nantang. They surrounded you, stalking and getting ready to pounce. All you could do was scream.
Tsu’tey found you, following the distant yelling for familiar names and then the high-pitched screams. He shot the Nantang, scaring off the others as he rode in on his pa’li. He was ready to shoot you, the human who had trespassed onto their land, but he paused. Arrow resting between his fingers, and breath hitched.
It was you.
He was quick, dismounting his direhorse and scooping you up in his arms, doing his best to soothe you with soft words as you cried and writhed in his hold. Blood was everywhere. He was horrified.
He acted on pure impulse. Jake. Jake probably knew you. He was also human, and he was an avatar- so he probably knew Grace- he had to get you to Jake.
So he rode on his direhorse as fast as he could, holding you tightly in his arms as you bled and bled and cried. Oh, how you cried, clinging to him and whimpering, he felt so helpless. Exactly like how he’d felt that day Sylwanin died in his arms at the school house. He couldn’t have that happen again. Not with you. Not with the small girl he’d grown so fond of.
It was a blur, finding Jake and Neytiri, the morphing look of terror on their faces as they took in the sight of the girl in his arms and his disjointed explanation. It was a blur, and he was on his knees, Neytiri holding onto him as they both shook, taking in the situation as Jake ran off into the woods with you in his arms, pushing himself as fast as he could go.
Jake was scared. You were such a sweet girl, and in the days he’d known you, he was hooked. You were small, petulant, stubborn, smart; you were a good kid. You were funny and fun to be around, and he liked you. He saw why Grace had such a soft spot for you, who wouldn’t?
But now you’re in his arms, bleeding, and Grace is gonna be horrified.
He got you to the base, bursting through the doors, demanding a doctor, yelling you needed help because you were hurt and bleeding. You were small, hurt, bleeding, and it felt like you were at death's door.
You were swept out of his arms, and all you could do was whimper, reaching back out to the strong arms you felt safe in. They hooked you up to machines, tended to your wounds. They assured Jake and a just-arriving-frazzled Grace that you were gonna be fine.
But the base wasn’t a hospital. Yeah, it was a military base, and those often come with medical centers, but it wasn’t good, especially not for a child. With how advanced they were, they weren’t well equipped.
You suffered for days, writhing and screaming in pain, tears only stopping once you ran out of them.
Despite Grace and Max’s pleas and Jake's insistence towards Quaritch, you were essentially… ignored.
You were loved. But you were still just a bastard orphaned child; the RDA simply didn’t want to deal with you, especially with your seemingly growing allegiance to the Na’vi.
Of course, they did what they could to help you, but it was minimal.
You were going to die, Grace and Jake were sure of it.
So, desperate, he went to Mo’at. He pleaded for her to help you. She didn’t need much convincing.
The night before Grace planned to move the operation to the Hallelujah Mountains, they snuck you out, careful to remove all your hook-ups to the machines.
They took you to the village, breaking so many rules, desperate to help you.
You were frail, withering away in his hold. The best he could do was whisper comforts as he carried you.
Mo’at worked quickly, shooing them out of her tent as she worked on you. Salves, mixes, incense. She worked for hours. You were just a little kid; you had so much before you. She pleaded to the Great Mother to help you, even if you were a human she could barely reach.
You were getting better, but it wasn’t enough. Something was wrong, very wrong, and she didn’t know what it was or how to help.
She pulled away, examining you with a hitched breath. Just as she went to move to grab another tool, something caught her attention.
An Atokirina.
It floated in the air, pulsing until it wilted down to meet your skin.
Mo’at’s eyes widened.
“We must take her to the Tree of Souls.” She declared as she stepped out of her tent, the group that had gathered in front of it standing and moving in confusion.
They wanted to question it. Jake wanted to ask what was wrong, how you were doing, and if you’d live. All the words were on the tip of his tongue, but Grace grabbed his hand. She kept her gaze forward, at the tent, but she’d communicated enough.
Tsu’tey was the one to take you into his arms, lips pursed, and eyes gazing down at you in worry. For a moment, Jake wanted to be the one to hold you, but you curled into Tsu’teys arms so comfortably- so familiar, a moment of comfort and assurance when you were in so much pain.
Neytiri followed close behind, hand resting on your forehead as they walked, her eyes focused on your face scrunched in agony, your pinched brows and wavering lips. How she wanted to soothe you, to hold you, and kiss away the creases of pain in your face.
You’d grown so much since they’d last seen you. You were still so small, but so much more grown. They had missed you so much, their grief compelled by the loss of two sisters. They nearly begged Mo’at and Eytukan to call off the ban on humans on their land, if only to see you.
And now, you were back in their arms, but by the force of necessity and desperation. Out of the fear of death.
The clan, having roused at the commotion, made their way to the Tree of Souls with the group. They didn’t question their Tsahik’s care of the human child, many of them having heard the accounts of you and your kindred nature from the many children who’d attended the school.
Arriving at the Tree, Neytiri and Tsu’tey kept Grace and Jake at a distance, allowing Mo’at to prepare as the clan gathered around. They pulled Jake and Grace down to the ground with them, connecting their Kuru to the roots sticking up. They started to hum, moving as a group.
With everything in them, they begged Eywa to help you.
You were human, yes, but they loved you. You were their sister. You were Grace's daughter, by love if not biology. You were a sweet kid, and they wanted- needed you to stay.
“Allow this child to heal, Great Mother, allow her to heal and walk among us. To live, to feel your embrace.” Mo’at’s words echoed, her chants and pleas thrumming through the crowd.
Placed at the base of the spirit tree, you lay there, wrapped in luminescent tendrils. They wrapped around your small body, seemingly consuming you as they grew. The light of the tendrils pulsed with your every breath, echoing across the tree like a ripple in water.
You… you felt free. The tendrils were warm, encasing you in what felt like a mother's embrace. Your vision was blurred, but you saw. You saw so much, all you could do was smile. You saw Sylwanin, every time you’d seen her, every word, every movement. She wrapped around you. You saw the sea, you saw the forest and the land. It was breathtaking.
Mo’at faltered, her chants falling off the tip of her tongue as she glanced down at you. At this, the ones who’d brought you here opened their eyes.
They didn’t know what to do.
You were there, alive. More alive than you’d ever been, but they could feel that you were slipping away.
Neytiri crawled towards you, Grace scrambling up and finding herself at your side. She took your hand in hers as Neytiri caressed your hair.
They knew it was a desperate attempt, taking you here, unlikely to work, but it hurt. They weren’t ready to let go. The humans weren’t going to help you. What else were they to do?
Tears slid down Grace’s face as she watched you, your eyes glazed over as a smile crept onto your lips.
“Y/n- Syulì'ang please-” Neytiri whispered, her voice cracking. She leaned down, placing a kiss on your forehead. “Stay” she begged
“Syulì'ang,” Tsu’tey choked out, pleading, biting back his words, and tears with them. “Be strong, stay with us.”
You heard their words. You wanted to reach up, to comfort them. Grace was right in front of you, and all you wanted was to reach up and wipe the tears off her face.
Grace cried. Silent, of course. Tears slipping down her cheeks like arrows of fire burning their way through the air. They hurt like it. She wondered if they’d scar, if there would be a trail of scarred flesh down her cheeks when she was done.
You were her child, at least, the closest she had to one. You were the best thing she’d had in a long time. And now, you were slipping away. Like the school, like Sylwanin, like Neytiri and Tsu’tey and the children who’d called her Sa’nok. You called her Sa’nu.
The grief was endless. A fountain pouring from Neytiri as she wept, hands shaking as she tried to fight the urge to take you into her arms. She’d seen you grow up, your words develop from babbles to sentences, your mind expand. She wore the bracelet you’d made for her. It was ill-fitting and poorly crafted, but she weaved it into her armband, careful to preserve its shape and structure. She meant to always have you with her, even if she couldn't physically.
You were more than a child she saw as a sister; you could have been her child. A ridiculous notion, but she felt so strongly about you. She wanted to take you in, hold you close, and carry you as she did her chores and duties. She wanted to hunt and bring it home for you to eat till you were full. Perhaps, to her, you were an odd mixture of a sister and child, but that just meant she loved you all the more.
Her sweet Syulì'ang. She’d named you after the insect, a beautiful creature that fluttered around and gripped onto surfaces when it meant to. She wished and wished and wished that you'd stay, that you’d grip onto the ground and stay there with her. She did not like humans, but you? You, she loved.
So it hurt, watching as your eyes closed, feeling your pulse slow, have you die right in front of her, right in her reach.
Your eyes, heavy, rose up to the sky. “Sa’nu, Tsmuke, Tsmukan, Jake-” Your words were quiet, strained, and heavy. But you spoke anyway, a warmth passing through your body. “Eywa, she’s” It was hard to speak. “She’s like the waves-” your breath released from your lips, cutting off your words.
The tendrils around you pulsed before they dulled, the light dimming across the Tree of Souls.
Jake could only hold Neytiri as she cried, his own tears falling as he felt his entire demeanor freeze.
They left you by the tree, something Grace opposed. But Mo’at had insisted it was Eywa’s wish. Jake and Grace weren’t happy, nor were Tsu’tey and Neytiri; they wanted to give you a proper burial, but they complied with their Tsahik’s declaration.
It was mere days later that Neytiri visited again, only to be met with an empty landscape. You were nowhere in sight, only an abundance of tendrils in your place, pulsing with light as Eywa breathed below them.
Ronal, for weeks, dreamed of a face. A human one. She’d never seen the girl before, unfamiliar with the face and voice she kept meeting in her dreams. It bothered her, being met so forcefully with a demon's face, but behind it, she felt the Great Mother's words.
She couldn’t make sense of it; it drove her wild how she prayed and prayed, and all she was met with were new visions of the girl. With a newborn baby, she felt stretched thin. She confided in Tonowari about her dreams. He did what he could to comfort her, putting in effort to relieve her of as much stress as he could.
Ronal prayed, seeking answers and clarity. What did the Great Mother want?
One night, she dreamed of the spirit tree, along with the girl. She dreamt of whispers, of a new face, of a young Metkayina child she held in her arms.
She woke up in a cold sweat, right as dawn rose in the sky.
She made her way through the village, mounting her tsurak, and traveled to the cove of the ancestors. She felt a weight in her chest as she arrived. She dove under, swimming through the featherlike branches as she made her way to the center of the tree.
She reached forward, placing her palms on the branches wrapped tightly in on itself. Slowly, she unwrapped it, pulling it away from the other ‘leaves’ wrapped around. Once she got to the center, she pulled back.
An infant lay in the middle, wrapped in the leaves. Slowly, she pulled it out, taking it into her arms, she swam up. Breaching the surface, she looked down, watching as the baby breathed in the air.
The first breath.
Ronal gazed down at the baby, brows pinched together as she took her in. Confusion was the least she could describe it as.
A moment passed. Ronal mounted her tsurak, and she returned home.
Whispers surrounded her as she walked through the village, eyes following her and landing on the unknown infant in her embrace. In the mere minutes she’d had the baby, she felt an overwhelming sense of maternal instinct towards it. She reasoned she felt that way about most babies, but this was stronger.
She approached her Marui, Tonowari, meeting her at the entrance. He gazed down at her, then the baby, confusion panting his face. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out, stuck in the flurry of words he was trying to put together.
“The Great Mother brought her to me,” Ronal spoke, calm and melodic. “To us.” Tonowari gazed up at her.
Words exchanged between them in complete silence.
He nodded, stepping aside, allowing Ronal to enter the Marui.
The two took to their daughter quickly, entranced by the baby given to them by Eywa. They were lost, confused by her appearance, but they didn’t question it. They simply placed her in the cradle with their other baby, Ao’nung, watching as they turned and curled to hold each other.
“You dreamt of her.” Tonowari’s voice broke the silence.
Ronal, attention on the baby's unwavering, nodded. “Last night, yes.”
He looked to his wife, tentative as he examined her facial expression. “And the others?” He questioned.
There was a moment of silence, Ronal’s hand coming to rest on the edge of the cradle.
“I do not care. She is my daughter. She is ours now.”
Tonowari stared at his wife before nodding, reaching down to cup his daughter's face in his hand. “And what is our daughter's name?” He spoke, already transfixed by the infant lying in the cradle he crafted by hand.
Ronal tilted her head, watching the girl. After a moment, she gazed to Tonowar, their eyes meeting as a soft smile graced her lips.
“Syuli”
After your death, Jake’s loyalty to the RDA wavered. Grace had accepted her fate as a trapped scientist long ago, but Jake refused. He bonded with Neytiri and Tsu’tey quicker, earning the faith of the clan before he finished his Iknimaya.
He saw it in black and white. The humans left you alone and to die, the Na’vi loved you as their own and wept at your death. His decision was clear-cut.
Still, his fast actions weren’t enough to prevent the events that led to Neytiri’s belief of his betrayal. Or the destruction of the home tree. Or the death of those he fought by.
By the end of the war, your death was followed by many others. Black stains on Jake’s heart. He mourned you, grieved for you. The devastation of the war was hard enough, but you? You weren’t even a casualty; you were a victim of the most unfortunate of circumstances. He replayed it in his head over and over again, each time wondering what he could have done to save you, to prevent your death.
It drove him to the worst of his depths. A side of himself he hadn’t even seen when his brother died.
The only thing keeping him afloat was Neytiri and the child that lay in her womb.
“She is with Grace now, my Jake, with the Great Mother.” Neytiri would say, burying her grief. Twice, she's lost you now. When Sylwanin died and her parents shut down their connections with the humans, she wept for not only her sister but for you. Would she never see you again? At least back then, she found comfort in the fact that you were safe and in Grace’s care.
Perhaps you still were, in her arms, just as you are in the Great Mothers. But you’re not in hers. That’s what hurt. How you’d never grow up, forever stuck as the small child she knew and loved.
Time passed, and she had Neteyam. Her sweet baby boy. She felt the cracks in her heart start to be stitched back together, only further healed when they took in Kiri.
She saw it in Jake, too, how he took to his fatherly role immediately, perhaps better prepared after his time with you. Slowly but surely, they came to be okay again.
Still, you burned in their hearts. As she wove her songcord, she pulled one of the beads from the bracelet you made her, as carefully as she could, and wove it in.
A‘eveng, Y/n, ohe oamum
Wamintxu fi oe, a syawn
a’atanur oe mameyam
meyam ohe ngenga, tsalsungay pehrr lom
A child, Y/n, i knew
showed to me, a blessing
a light I held in my arms
I hold you, even when gone
It was hard to speak about you to the kids. They didn’t want to introduce the idea of someone dying at such a young age. They also still grieved you, struggling to accept your death. It wasn’t fair. You should be with them, growing up alongside their children. You would have been such a good big sister.
This hit Jake especially hard, knowing how you’d been excited to have another kid on base; Spider. You raved to him about how you were going to bring him to the lab all the time, what toys you’d give him, and how you wanted to teach him Na’vi and have him as a little brother. At least, the closest you could have to one.
So it was hard watching Spider do all that, grow up and learn Na’vi, come into his family and be seen by his kids as a fellow sibling, knowing it was everything you wanted.
But years passed, and their family grew, and it grew strong. Their children knew of you in passing, in hushed breaths like how they spoke of Sylwanin and the others they’d loved that left them through such harsh tragedies.
Neytiri and Jake didn’t want the children to wonder what it would have been like to have you in the family. It was already too painful for them to wonder themselves.
Their children grew, their personalities developed, and they came into their own. It was hard not to see you in each of them. Tuk’s curiosity, Lo’ak’s mischief, the softness in Kiri’s eyes, and how Neteyam was so thoughtful with his words. For all its hurt, it also gave them comfort. They’d continue to see you, even when you weren’t with them.
Their grief became something mellow, something they could plant love and strength into.
But then the RDA came back. Like an old scar tearing apart, refusing to heal. Their lives turned upside down, and their healing came to a harsh halt, slowly stepping backwards against the blood and gunfire they stood in.
That eclipse, when the kids were in the hands of the recoms, Jake felt barbed wire wrapping around his throat.
He heard their whines, their yelps of pain, and he almost lost them. He refused to risk it. Not again.
“He had our children. Had them under his knife.” He was scared, begging Neytiri to leave, to find a better place for them. He hadn’t been able to find one for you. He wouldn’t let that happen again. “Look, I got nothing… I've got no plan. But I can protect this family. That I can do.”
Neytiri heard the unsaid, seeing what he saw when he spoke.
“But I do know one thing, wherever we go, this family is our fortress.” It was unintentional, his hands placed delicately on her shoulders, one slipping down, grazing the armband she’d woven with your bracelet in it.
They had to protect their children.
The Travel to the Metkayina was difficult, tiring, laborious, and met with storms that raged against them. But they pushed through. They’ve pushed through worse; they’d do this for their family.
They landed on the beach, drawing the attention of the clan, who gathered around them in confusion and awe. They were nervous, holding themselves close together as they were gawked at and picked on by oncoming clan members.
Jake felt a sense of relief when Tonowari, an honorable man and the clan's Olo’eyktan, arrived at the scene, greeting them warmly and with a smile. He felt confident, with Tonowari on their side, he believed he could get past the wall Ronal would inevitably put up.
As the crowd parted, he prepared himself, but he felt all the breath be taken out of his lungs.
Ronal stalked closer, her imposing demeanor, but that wasn’t what shocked him. Behind her, following at her heels, was a young girl. Teal skin with swirling stripes.
She resembled you.
He couldn’t place it; the girl was Metkayina, in every way. But something about her face, the way her expression was set in it, how she carried herself. The air around her, the look in her eyes. All of it set off bells in his chest, ringing and clanging against the grief that settled there. The grief for you.
She stood behind Ronal, tilting her head exactly the way you did when you were curious about something.
Neytiri had seen it hundreds of times, holding you in her lap at the schoolhouse. She let out a breath. Jake glanced at her, millions of words passing between them.
She saw it too.
Jake took a moment to collect himself, pulling back from the shock he’d experienced but couldn’t explain. He went on with his prepared speech. He was seeking Uturu; sanctuary, safety for his family.
His veins were buzzing. He didn’t want to be turned away, to force his children to retreat in defeat, praying they’d find another clan willing to listen and take them in. He felt helpless.
Ronal, skeptical, circled the family. She pulled at their tails, remarking how inefficient they’d be in the water, in their way of life.
She approached Kiri, taking her hands in hers. A scowl crossed her face. Four fingers. Kiri held her breath, self-conscious of her extra finger, a tell-tale sign of their human descent. Demon descent.
Ronal gazed down, tilting her head.
She looked up to her daughter, the one who’d arrived with her. She watched her for a moment, the dreams she saw all those years ago flooding her mind. Something she’d never speak aloud.
She dropped Kiri’s hands, walking past the children and Jake Sully. “You are ill fit to live here.”
“We can adapt. We can learn.” He pleaded, desperate to convince them to let his family stay. Desperate to appease the leaders of the clan.
“I’m done with war.” He spoke to Tonowari, quiet and between them. “I just want to keep my family safe.”
Ronal watched him, not convinced by his words. Behind her, her daughter stepped forward, placing her hand on her mother's shoulder.
“Sa’nu.” The words escaped her lips, and Jake breathed in. He saw you, sitting in Grace’s lap in the lab, running up to her excitedly, lying at the spirit tree, dying.
Ronal looked at her daughter, words exchanged between their gazes, she turned to her mate, being met with the same sentiment. A moment passed, and she nodded.
“Jake Sully and his family will stay with us.” Tonowari announced, explaining to the clan their duty to teach them their ways of life.
Jake sighed in relief, bringing forth a ‘thank you’ from his family.
“Our children, Syuli, Ao’nung, and Tsireya, will show your children what to do.”
Ao’nung stepped forth, displeased by his father's decision, but silenced.
“Come, we will show you our village!” Tsireya stepped forward, hand in hand with her sister.
You looked to the family that had arrived at your village. You took in their faces.
They felt familiar to you. You couldn’t place it.
Tsireya tugged you along through the village, humming as you made your way across the woven walkways. Neytiri and Jake, though focused on taking in their new home, couldn’t help but watch you. The bounce in your step all too familiar.
It was eerie, and they didn’t understand their attribution of you to the little girl they’d known all those years ago.
You became a constant in their life, always around their kids, peeking into their Marui to offer fruits you’d picked with your mother. You were a sweetheart, thoughtful, and kind to their children.
Your mother stayed skeptical of her allowance of the foreigners into their clan, fueled by your growing night problems.
It had been years since she last caught you sleepwalking. It was a problem when you were a child, roaming around the village in the midst of the night. Many concerned clan members came to her with stories of how you found yourself at the edge of the walkways, staring up into the open sky with a withered look on your face.
You sleep-talked, she discovered after staying up to follow you one night. You spoke garbled sentences, strung together words that didn’t make sense. You spoke in a mix of Na’vi and English.
How you even knew the language? She couldn’t understand.
She prayed nightly, seeking for guidance on how to help her sweet baby girl. Again, she was only met with visions of that human child.
It all came to a head one night when Tsireya woke her up, lip jutting out as she whispered that you’d fallen during your walks. Ronal soothed her daughter, telling her to go back to sleep before leaving to find you.
You were on your knees, hands clasped together as you spoke in broken prayers, eyes glazed over. You were somewhere she didn’t know.
She was tired of it, worried to death, and lost. So, she did the only thing she could think of. She pulled you into the water carefully, holding you as she rode to the Cove of the Ancestors. You came out of your trance, slowly but surely, but still drowsy and out of it.
She was able to coax you to enough consciousness to get you to dive under, connecting with the spirit tree.
She doesn’t know what you saw when you did. All she knows is that you hadn’t sleep-walked, or talked since. She knew you were special. A child she would never truly understand, but she loved and cherished you with everything she had.
She saw the way the animals around you seemed to move in sync with you, how the luminescence at night pulsed with your breath. She didn’t ask for answers. She loved you and she trusted the Great Mother.
But here you were again, standing at the entrance of their Marui, eyes glazed over, staring off into the stars. Ever since they’d let the Sullys stay, you’d been walking and talking in your sleep again.
It wasn’t as intense, thankfully, but it was enough to rouse her or her children from sleep every so often.
They worried for you. They took turns staying up, watching you, easing you back to sleep, careful not to startle you from your trance. During the day, they acted as if nothing was different. They knew you were different, but they loved you nonetheless. You were their daughter, their sister.
Ao’nung picked on you, teasing you and going out of his way to bother you. It was his way of showing his love, he joked. He had his moments. Picking you up in his arms and carrying you across the village to your mother for treatment when you hurt yourself on a spear, ignoring your complaints that it was your hand that was injured, not your legs, you could still walk! He ignored you, carefully setting you down in their Marui, lurking by the door until you were bandaged up and ready to leave.
Tsireya was easier. You got along with your younger sister without any problems, aside from the occasional spat that never went anywhere. You two were two peas in a pod. Inseparable. Hands clasped together, arms wrapped around each other. You were always together. It’s how you thrived.
Ronal and Tonowari, they never gave a second thought to the fact that you weren’t theirs, because you were. From the moment they’d set you down in that cradle, you’d become theirs. Their love for you was strong and unwavering. They called your name out with affection, they weaved you jewelry and clothes with love, they never let you doubt you were loved. They held you as you slept, as you dreamt.
And you dreamt. You dreamt every night. Of faces, of voices, of people you didn’t know, but knew.
By the time you woke up, your dreams were in blurry fragments, unable to be pieced together or made sense of.
Your family didn’t voice their worries to you. They saw how you flourished when interacting with their new clan members.
You were patient with them, guiding them through your way of life like it was the easiest thing to do. You blended in with them, conversing with the children so easily, it was as if you’d been doing it your entire life.
You and your siblings, Rotxo, and the Sully kids became somewhat of a friend group. Always together, at least in fragments. You felt as if your family had expanded.
The Sully kids adored you, especially Kiri. It was something about the way the two of you seemed to understand nature that connected you. And perhaps, your mysterious origins.
You confided in Kiri, and Kiri alone, about your peculiar birth. The whole clan knew, they’d witnessed it firsthand, but the story hadn’t made its way to the Sullys. Perhaps it was because it was accepted, no one thought twice about it, you were Ronal and Tonowari's daughter. No one thought to mention that, by biological means, you weren’t.
You told her how you didn’t know your biological parents. No one did. Abandoned at the Spirit tree, you were taken in by Ronal and Tonowari, raised alongside Tsireya, and essentially as Ao’nung’s twin.
She told you about her mother, a scientist who was beloved by their clan, who died during the first war against the humans. She was born from her Avatar.
Grace.
You spoke her name before Kiri told you.
An odd look passed her face. It wasn't until it dripped from your chin that you realised a tear had slipped down your cheek.
“I-i’m sorry, I'm just-” You strung together words, embarrassed and confused by your unconscious outburst. “It’s hard to speak about my birth.” You blamed it on that. Kiri accepted your words, wrapping her arms around you in an embrace that felt warmer than anything else you’d experienced.
You grew a lot closer to the Sully kids. It was their parents who were odd to be around.
Jake and Neytiri didn’t know what to think of you. You were Ronal and Tonowari’s daughter, Na’vi, born and raised in the reef. Yet when they looked at you, heard your voice, all they could see was that little girl they’d loved.
They were going crazy. That was the only explanation. Driven mad by the destruction of their home and subsequent forced abandonment of it.
They wanted to talk to you. They ached to. But it ached just as much to do so. It wasn’t fair to you, their projections of grief onto you.
You were kind, you spoke for them when they first arrived, and you went out of your way to welcome them. You taught their children and defended them, taking them in as if they were your blood.
But every time they saw you, they were swarmed by a whirlpool of grief and relief.
“She speaks like her.” Neytiri would whisper one night, when all the children were off in the village attending a celebration, Jake lying next to her.
“Yeah.” He’d say, eyes locked on Neytiri’s face, watching as she wandered through her mind. Watching as a tear slipped down her cheek.
For weeks, they watched you, watching every movement and quirk you exhibited. How you spoke, how you moved through the walkways, your sense of humor. The way you scrunched your nose in a certain way when faced with food you didn’t like. It all pointed back.
Back to her.
That girl.
She haunted them.
A ghost following them around. One they thought they’d put to rest over a decade ago.
They had moved on. They grieved her, yes, but they had learned to live without her. Just as they did with every person they lost.
But she was back.
They thought it was in their heads at first, but the more they saw, the more they became sure.
Her body had disappeared, Neytiri recounted to him, a whisper under her breath as they watched you talk to Neteyam and Tsireya from afar. They’d left her at the tree like Mo’at demanded, abiding by Eywa's wishes. Her body was gone far too quickly to have been natural decomposition, and no creature would dare feast on a body wrapped in Eywa’s arms like she was.
They didn’t question it, too wrapped up in their grief to try and breach the topic. They simply accepted it. Eywa wanted her. She was with Grace, they believed.
But she wasn’t.
She was in the reef, living amongst the people, living.
They saw you, and they saw her. One in the same.
They’d grieved you, and now you stood right in front of them, out of their reach.
It tore them apart. They must have been going insane because you were not that girl they knew, you were not the girl they loved and doted on. But you were.
You couldn’t be.
But they watched and they watched and they saw. They saw her.
“It’s not her.” Jake’s voice was steel. Laced with a hardened grief.
“I know what I saw, you know what you see.” Neytiri defended, unsure of how to explain it.
He shook his head, pacing back and forth in the Marui, sliding a hand down his face.
“She’s a Metkayina! She’s Ronal and Tonowai’s daughter! That's it.” He spoke so certainly, as if he were trying to convince himself.
The two breathed heavily, working through their mind and hearts to get their words. Logic wasn’t making sense, but they tried to cling to it, both of them in different ways.
“Ronal didn’t give birth to her, nor did Tonowair father her.” Neytiris' words were heavy, like steel and stone. “A gift from Eywa, Ronal calls her.”
Their eyes met.
At this point, they were haunted less by you and more by the fact that you were back. It wasn’t easy mourning someone, learning to accept their death after having grown to love them so fiercely, to learn how to live without them. All of that, only for them to appear again.
All those walls they’d built, all the strength they’d planted in their grief, it was crumbling, the base of it all blowing away like sand in the wind.
It almost hurt more than the grief itself.
They simmered in it for weeks, speaking through glances and hushed whispers.
It was quiet that day. Jake was making his rounds through the village when he heard it. The humming. Not just the humming but the tune.
Slowly, he rounded the corner, peaking around the Marui, eyes landing on you sitting on the edge of the walkway, legs dangling from an opening. You sat there, beading an arm piece as you hummed.
You hummed the lullaby Jake had used to sing that girl to sleep. The lullaby from Earth.
He felt his chest crack open. He wanted to say something, to reach out and speak to you-
“Sempu!” You called out, spotting Tonowari walk up from another direction. Wordlessly, you held up your work for him, a smile spreading across your face as he approached and knelt down.
“Ah, this is great work, my little ‘itetsyip.” He leaned in, hand reaching up to pull it closer to examine it. He grinned, nodding towards you. “You are an exceptional crafter.”
Jake watched the scene, brows furrowing, a weight resting in his chest.
You rolled your eyes. “Oh, bah! You and Mother praise me far too much.”
Tonowair simply chuckled, his hand moving to cradle your cheek as you grinned at him.
“No, we simply see how great you are.”
Jake started to notice more after that. He watched not just you, but your life. How you wandered freely through the village, greeting your clan members eagerly, your cheerfulness returned. You were surrounded by kids your age, all watching you with a mix of adoration and respect. You bonded with your siblings, giggling over inside jokes and banter.
Your parents were doting. They didn’t spoil you; they made sure you were responsible and self-aware, but they loved you, and they showed it. The more he watched, the more Neytiri did too; perhaps she’d been watching the full scene the whole time.
You weren’t alone.
You smiled so widely, and you never had to beg, you never had to work for attention or affection. You were accepted wholeheartedly.
You had everything you wanted here, Neytiri and Jake realized. You had everything they wanted to give you, and you didn’t have any barriers. You weren’t human or parentless. You moved about freely. You weren’t raised to expect to come second, third, or fourth place.
Neytiri and Jake had wanted to give you that life. But they couldn’t. They never could.
The Great Mother didn’t fulfill their desires to be the one to love you; she gave you what you needed. She gave you the opportunity to live.
It was bittersweet. You had the life you wanted. You were loved.
Just not by them.
And that was ok.
They’d lived their lives, they’d found happiness, a family, and they were good.
You’d found what you needed, even if it wasn’t with them.
A/n: So we did that thing where we took the same plot and just saw how different our stories would turn out, and I’m actually so pleasantly surprised. GO CHECK OUT HER VERSION!
(Def not my best work but its been marinating in my drafts for too long)
synopsis: You’ve never been shy. not with your friends, not in training, not in anything that matters. But around Neteyam, something goes terribly, horribly wrong.
Either age him up or age yourself down. idc which.
~✧~✿~✧~✿~✧~✿~✧~✿~✧~✿~✧~✿~✧~✿~
“You’re not seriously still asleep, are you?”
The voice, low and teasing, cut through the warm, syrupy haze of near-dreams. It was Lo’ak. You knew that tone. Trouble, barely disguised as concern.
Your eyes fluttered open, the world a blur of dappled gold and green. The Morning light filtered through the leaves of your shelter, painting shifting patterns across the sand. The air smelled faintly of salt and damp earth. Your body felt heavy, blissfully so, suspended in the rare stolen quiet of an early hour.
“I’m… awake,” you murmured, but the word tasted too small in your mouth, like a lie you were telling your own bones.
Lo’ak snorted. You could hear the grin in it. “Sure. Totally awake. Your eyes are open, but your spirit’s still swimming with the ancestors.” There was a rustle of movement as he crouched by the entrance of your marui, his silhouette blocking some of the gentle light. “Listen, come with me. Beach. Walk. Now. Before the sun gets angry about it.”
You push yourself up on your elbows, the woven mat beneath you crinkling. A long, slow stretch traveled up your spine, because mornings were for stretching. Every muscle protested the movement, singing a almost pleasant chorus of stiffness. You opened your mouth to offer a weak protest, to bargain for five more minutes of this perfect, heavy peace.
Except then he added, casually, almost smugly, “Neteyam’s going to be there.”
And suddenly you were not sleepy.
Not for one second.
Your body moved on a command your brain hadn’t finished processing. One second you were horizontal, the next you were upright, feet hitting the cool sand. Your heart, previously a slow, lazy drum, kicked into a frantic rhythm against your ribs.
“Okay-okay-okay,” you muttered, a string of incoherent agreement as you stumbled toward the entrance, nearly tripping over your own feet. You ducked past Lo’ak, who had to lean back to avoid a collision, and emerged into the full glow of the morning.
“Whoa—” Lo’ak laughed, falling into step. “Didn’t know you loved mornings that much.”
“I don’t hate mornings,” you said, your voice still thick with sleep but now also laced with a defensive panic. “I just… appreciate them at a slower pace.”
“Uh-huh.” Lo’ak’s pace was an easy lope, his bare feet silent on the path. “So when I wake you up, you’re all sleepy and slow… but when Neteyam’s name comes up—"
“Shut up,” you muttered, refusing to look at him, focusing instead on the path ahead where it opened onto the dazzling white crescent of the beach.
Lo’ak’s chuckle was loud and knowing, a sound that carried on the salt-tinged breeze. “Eywa has given me eyes, you know. I see how it is.”
“There is no ‘it,’” you insisted, picking up your pace again. The sight of the ocean, vast and impossibly blue, usually calmed you. Now it just seemed to mirror the tumultuous, churning feeling in your chest. “He’s your brother. You’re supposed to be… I don’t know, protective or something. Not a nuisance.”
“Protective?” Lo’ak scoffed. “From you? You’re about as dangerous as a baby palulukan. Besides, it’s funny. You get all… twitchy.”
“I do not get twitchy.”
“You’re twitching right now.”
You forced your shoulders down, willed your hands to relax. Twitchy. Of all the words. You were not supposed to be a twitchy, flustered mess because a certain warrior was going to be on a beach.
But Neteyam… Neteyam was different.
It wasn’t just that he was objectively stunning. It was the stillness in him. Where Lo’ak was a contained storm of jokes and impulsivity, Neteyam was a deep, calm pool. He moved with a quiet certainty, his awareness of everything around him seeming effortless. He was responsible, respected, kind in a way that never felt condescending. He’d been patient when teaching you how to properly hold a fishing spear, his large hands gently correcting your grip without a trace of mockery.
The beach was wide and mostly empty at this hour. A few Metkayina were already out in the shallows on their ilus, their joyful calls echoing over the water. The tide was out, leaving a vast, wet canvas of sand reflecting the sky.
And there, standing where the gentle waves just barely kissed the shore, was Neteyam. He was facing the water, his back to you, tail swaying gently in a relaxed rhythm. The early sun caught the beads in his braids and the subtle bioluminescent freckles across his shoulders. He looked like something carved from light and sea.
Your breath hitched. The drum in your chest upgraded to a full tribal war beat.
Lo’ak elbowed you, none too gently. “See? Told you. Go on. He doesn’t bite.” He then raised his voice, shouting, “Brother! Look what I found! Had to drag it from its nest, but it’s alive!”
Neteyam turned. It was a simple movement, fluid and unhurried. His eyes found Lo’ak first, a flicker of amused exasperation in them and then they shifted to you.
And he smiled.
It wasn’t a big smile. Just a slight, soft tilt of his full mouth, a crinkling at the corners of his eyes. But it was directed at you, and it felt like the sun had focused all its rays into a single, warm spot right in the center of your chest.
“You’re awake early,” he said. His voice was deeper than Lo’ak’s, smoother. It wrapped around the words, making the simple observation sound like a shared secret.
Your brain, the traitorous organ, immediately attempted to formulate a response. It pulled together three potential sentences: ‘Lo’ak is a menace,’ ‘I wanted to see the tide pools,’ and ‘Your hair looks nice in this light.’ It then tried to fuse them into one.
What came out was a choked, strangled noise, followed by: “Yes. Uh… early.”
Genius. Absolutely brilliant. You wanted to melt into the sand and be washed away by the next wave.
Neteyam’s head tilted slightly, his gaze studying you. Not with Lo’ak’s teasing scrutiny, but with a gentle, patient curiosity. Like he could see the words tangling themselves into knots inside your skull and felt a little sorry for them. “You okay?” he asked, taking a few steps closer. The distance between you shrunk, and you became hyper-aware of everything: the way the breeze clinked the beads in his hair, the faint, clean scent of salt and something like ozone that always seemed to cling to him, the sheer, towering presence of him.
You nodded. Too quickly. Too forcefully. “Fine! Great. The beach is… beachy.”
Lo’ak, who had plopped down in the dry sand and was already digging for sand-bubbler crabs, let out a loud, dramatic snort. “She’s like this every time you show up, Neteyam. It’s hilarious. Turns into a startled viperwolf pup.”
The heat in your face became a conflagration. “I am not!” you protested, but it was weak, drowned out by Lo’ak’s cackling.
Neteyam’s smile didn’t vanish, but it softened further, his eyes holding yours. There was no mockery in them. “Do not let him bother you. His humor is simple. Like a child’s.” He glanced at his brother. “And loud.”
“I am a delight!” Lo’ak called back, not looking up from his crab hunt.
Neteyam turned his attention back to the ocean, giving you a merciful respite from his direct gaze. You sucked in a shaky breath, trying to will your body back under control. He’s just a person. A very tall, very beautiful, very competent person. Just a person.
“The tide is far out,” Neteyam observed, gesturing with his chin toward the expansive wet sand. “Good for walking. The sand is firm. We could go to the eastern point. Sometimes akula pups play in the channel there when the water is calm like this.”
“Walking. Yes. Walking is good,” you said, latching onto the suggestion like a lifeline. An activity. A direction. Something to do besides stand here and internally combust.
“You coming, skxwang?” Neteyam asked Lo’ak.
Lo’ak waved a dismissive hand, a tiny, iridescent crab clutched carefully in his other. “Nah. You two go on your boring, quiet walk. I’m building an army here.” He held up the crab, which wiggled its claws. “See? General Pinchy. We have plans.”
Shaking his head, Neteyam began walking along the water’s edge, his stride long and easy. He didn’t look back, assuming you would follow. And you did, falling into step beside him, though it took two of your steps to match one of his. The silence that settled between you was different from the panicked silence of moments before.
For a few minutes, it was peaceful. You focused on the horizon, on the cool water washing over your ankles every few steps, on the simple act of breathing. The initial shock of his presence began to ebb, leaving behind the usual, low-grade hum of awareness.
“Lo’ak means well,” Neteyam said finally, his voice quiet against the backdrop of the sea. “He teases because he sees you as… part of the family. In his way.”
The idea was so startling, so profoundly touching, that it momentarily overrode your nervousness. “He does?”
Neteyam nodded. “He does not tease the others like that. Only you. It is his way of saying he is comfortable.” He glanced at you. “It can be… annoying.”
A real laugh bubbled out of you, surprising yourself with its genuineness. “A little bit, yeah.”
“I will tell him to stop, if you wish.”
“No!” you said, too quickly again. You cleared your throat. “I mean, it’s okay. It’s… fine. I’m getting used to it.”
The eastern point was coming into view, a rocky outcrop draped with vines and moss. The water here was deeper, channeling between the point and a distant reef. And just as Neteyam had predicted, you saw sleek, dark shapes darting playfully in the turquoise water—akula pups, their juvenile fins cutting the surface as they chased each other.
You both stopped at the edge of the rocks, watching the display. It was a moment of pure, uncomplicated wonder. You laughed as one of the pups did an awkward, rolling leap, splashing its siblings.
“They are clumsy now,” Neteyam murmured, a fondness in his voice. “In a few moons, they will be swift. Silent. The most dangerous hunters in these waters. But now… they are just children at play.”
You watched them, and you watched him watching them. The line of his profile against the bright sky, the relaxed set of his shoulders, the way the sun warmed the blue of his skin. The panic was gone, replaced by a deep, swelling feeling you didn’t dare name.
“Thank you,” you said softly.
He turned his head. “For what?”
“For this. For the walk. “
The moment stretched, filled with the sounds of the water and the pups. You were acutely aware of how close he was. The space between your arm and his felt charged, like the air before a storm.
“Neteyam!” a voice called, shattering the bubble.
You both turned to see Lo’ak jogging toward you, sand flying from his heels. He wasn’t alone. Tsireya was with him, her expression characteristically serene.
“Father is looking for you,” Lo’ak said, skidding to a stop. “Says the hunters are back early from the northern reef. They have news. Wants the family at the Marui.”
Neteyam’s posture shifted instantly. The relaxed warrior was gone, replaced by the dutiful son and heir. The calm in his eyes sharpened into focus. “What news?”
Lo’ak shrugged, but his usual levity was tempered. “Didn’t say. But he looked serious.”
Neteyam nodded, a single, decisive dip of his chin. He looked at you, and the warmth was still there, but it was now layered with apology. “I must go.”
“Of course,” you said, your voice thankfully steady. “It was a good walk.”
“See you soon?” he asks, his tone unreadable.
“…yeah?....yeah.”
Lo’ak’s voice cuts through the moment before it can settle into anything softer. “You know Tsireya and I are right here, yeah?” he says, glancing between you with a grin that’s far too knowing. “Or should we just—leave you two to finish staring at each other like—”
“Lo’ak.” Neteyam’s tone is sharp, a quiet warning that does absolutely nothing to stop him.
“—because I swear, it’s getting painful to watch—”
He doesn’t get any further. Neteyam catches him by the arm in one swift motion, already turning him away, his grip firm as he starts dragging him back toward the others, cutting off whatever else he was about to say.
Lo’ak protests, of course, but it fades quickly as he’s pulled along, his voice disappearing into the distance.
Tsireya only shakes her head, a small, patient sigh escaping her like this is a scene she’s witnessed far too many times before.
The laughter slips out before you can stop it, soft at first, then brighter, spilling over as the tension finally breaks, light and a little breathless in a way that feels unfamiliar and easy all at once.
Neteyam glances back once as he’s pulled away, just for a second and when your eyes meet—he’s smiling.
~✧~✿~✧~✿~✧~✿~✧~✿~✧~✿~✧~✿~✧~✿~✧~✿~✧~
With lo’ak around "soon" comes quicker than you’d expect.
The first mistake was agreeing to this.
The second mistake was thinking you’d be fine.
You’d ridden before. Not perfectly but enough that you didn’t immediately embarrass yourself the moment you climbed onto the ilu’s sleek, waiting form. Lo’ak had announced the plan with his usual theatrical flair yesterday evening, as you all sat around a communal fire, sharing roasted fish. “We should totally go ilu riding tomorrow,” he’d declared, grinning at Tsireya. “I asked Tsireya, and she said yes.” He then turned his smirk directly on you. “You should join us.”
The words lingered in the air, like an invitation you couldn’t quite refuse. You knew what he was doing. trying to draw you into his mischievous plans, testing your boundaries, seeing how far you’d go. And yet, despite your better judgment, you’d agreed. Because maybe, just maybe, you wanted to prove something. to yourself, to him, or maybe to someone else entirely.
And now, that feeling was a living thing, coiling tight in your gut. The ilu shifted beneath you, its skin cool and smooth against your legs, body fluid and restless in the water. It was a creature of pure motion, and it demanded balance, focus, control. You gripped the simple handholds (lol idk what they are called) a little tighter than necessary, trying to settle into its rhythm, trying to remember everything you definitely knew how to do.
“Relax,” Lo’ak called from his own ilu a few yards away, his tone entirely unhelpful. He was already in perfect sync with his mount, looking as natural as if he’d been born on it. “You look like you’re about to fall off before we even start.”
“I’m not,” you snapped back, even as your posture stiffened further. You consciously forced your shoulders down, trying to mimic the relaxed, flowing posture of Tsireya, who was checking the bindings on her ilu with gentle, practiced hands.
“You are,” Lo’ak insisted, chuckling.
You inhaled slowly, trying to ignore him, trying to center yourself the way you’d been taught. The rhythm of the water helped, the gentle rise and fall of the ilu’s breathing, the soft current nudging the dock. For a moment you thought you’d found it. A sense of connection. You nudged the ilu forward with a slight press of your heel.
It responded smoothly, gliding away from the dock with a graceful push.
See? Fine. Completely fine. You’re doing—
And then you felt it. That shift in the air. That awareness prickling at the back of your neck. You didn’t even need to look. But you did anyway.
And there he was. Neteyam, standing at the edge if the shore, watching. He wasn’t even doing anything. Just standing there, observing the preparations with his characteristic calm intensity. He was dressed for the water, his usual adornments simpler. He looked… prepared. Capable. Centered.
That was all it took.
Your focus, that fragile thread of concentration you’d managed to spin, fractured instantly. Your grip on the handholds faltered. Your balance—already questionable—completely abandoned you as your brain decided now was the perfect time to notice everything about him all at once: the way the light caught the tanhi sprinkled across his shoulders, the confident set of his stance, the quiet expectation in his gaze.
Oh.
That was a mistake. A terrible, catastrophic mistake.
The ilu shifted beneath you again, a sharper, more impatient motion this time, and you reacted a second too late. Your body tilted, compensating for the movement but overcorrecting wildly.
There was a brief, horrifying moment of clarity where you understood exactly what was about to happen and then you were gone. You fell. Not gracefully. Not impressively. Not in any way that could later be salvaged into dignity.
You hit the water in a sprawling, undignified splash, limbs completely uncoordinated. The impact knocked the breath from your lungs for a split second before you resurfaced, gasping, saltwater stinging your eyes.
Silence hung over the water.
Then, Lo’ak burst out laughing. “Oh, that was terrible,” he managed between breaths, grinning. “That might be the worst dismount I’ve ever seen and I’ve seen Tuk try.”
“I merely slipped!” you shot back, pushing wet hair out of your face, heat already creeping up your neck.
“You looked at him,” Lo’ak corrected, jerking his chin toward Neteyam.
Neteyam had stepped closer to the reef. His expression was… concerned, maybe. Slightly confused. Definitely aware of you now, floundering in the shallows. “Are you alright?” he called, his voice cutting through Lo’ak’s laughter.
“I’m fine!” you said quickly, too quickly. You were not fine. Not even a little.
Lo’ak was still laughing, now joined by a softer, melodic chuckle from Tsireya. “I swear,” Lo’ak added, shaking his head, “she forgets how to function when-.”
“I swear your dead when I get my hands on you!” you snapped, which only made him laugh harder.
Your ilu circled back lazily, nudging your shoulder with its snout as if mildly confused by the situation, completely unbothered by the chaos it had caused.
You sighed before climbing back onto it, and this time, when you nudged it forward, you didn’t look at Neteyam. You looked at the horizon. You felt the push of muscle, the glide through water. And then you kept going.
By the time you circled back, Lo’ak had already bounded up beside you.
“Not bad!” he called, clapping you on the shoulder. “For a second try that didn’t end with you swallowing half the bay, I mean.”
Shoving his arm away, a reluctant smile tugged at your mouth. “Thanks for the overwhelming support.”
A breath escaped you as you pushed wet hair from your face, their laughter still carrying on. “yeah yeah, Laugh it up,” you muttered, sitting more firmly on your ilu this time.
You don’t look back at the shore again. You especially don’t look at him.
~✧~✿~✧~✿~✧~✿~✧~✿~✧~✿~✧~✿~✧~✿~✧~✿~✧~
By the time the afternoon settles in, the sharp edge of it has faded.
The light shifts, turning the woven fibers in your lap from bright strands into something warmer. The rhythm of the circle is comfortable, a steady hum of activity punctuated by Lo’ak’s voice.
He’s moved on from the fish story, thankfully, and is now debating the best way to climb a particular rock formation with Kiri.
“You’re forgetting the overhang,” Kiri says, her fingers moving deftly through her own work.
“I’m not forgetting it. I’m saying you can swing around it.”
“That’s a good way to get your braids caught.”
“Only if you’re slow.”
You half-listen, your focus divided between the pattern you’re trying to replicate and the quiet presence to your left. Neteyam hasn’t said much since he fixed your thread, but his attention feels like a physical thing. a gentle, steady warmth you’re hyper-aware of.
You pick up a shell bead, a tiny, iridescent blue one, and thread it. It’s fiddly work. Your fingers, usually capable felt clumsy and oversized.
“You’re holding your breath,” Neteyam murmurs, so low only you can hear it.
You let out a sharp exhale you didn’t realize you were holding. “I’m concentrating.”
“I can tell.” There’s the faintest hint of amusement in his tone. “Your shoulders are up by your ears.”
You consciously force them down, rolling them back. A moment of silence stretches, filled with the sounds of the others. Then he speaks again, still in that private, low register.
“The pattern is in the repetition. Don’t fight each thread. Let them lie where they want to go, then guide them.”
You glance at his hands. His weaving is perfect, even, the beads spaced with a precision that looks effortless. You look back at your own, which is… less perfect.
“They don’t seem to want to go where I want them to,” you mutter.
“That’s because you’re telling them. You should ask.”
You blink, looking up at him. His golden eyes meet yours, calm and serious, though the corner of his mouth tilts up just a fraction. He’s not teasing. He’s stating a fact, as fundamental as the tide.
Ask the thread.
You look back down, trying to shift your mindset. You loosen your grip, letting the fibers slide more freely. You adjust the tension, not by pulling, but by easing. The next knot forms more cleanly.
“Huh.”
You feel more than see his nod of approval. It’s a small thing. A tiny, insignificant moment in a quiet afternoon. But it settles in your chest, warm and solid.
Of course, it doesn’t go unnoticed.
“Are you two having a secret meeting over there?” Lo’ak calls out, his work forgotten in his lap.
“We are weaving, brother,” Neteyam replies, his voice returning to its normal, patient volume. “You should try it. It requires focus. It might be good for you.”
Tsireya hides a smile behind her hand.
“I am focused,” Lo’ak retorts. “I’m focused on why you’re only giving weaving lessons to one person.”
The heat is back, crawling up your neck. “He’s not giving me lessons.”
“It sounded like a lesson. A very quiet, personal lesson.”
“Lo’ak,” Neteyam says, a single note of warning in his voice.
“What? I’m just pointing out the obvious! … At this rate, you’re going to be her personal shadow.”
Kiri snorts. “Jealous?”
“Of being a shadow? No. Of getting all the special attention? Maybe.”
“You could have special attention if you ever sat still long enough for someone to give it to you,” Tsireya offers kindly, though her eyes are sparkling.
Lo’ak puts a hand over his heart, feigning injury. “Betrayed. By my own ilu partner.”
You just sigh, the sound slipping out soft and long-suffering as laughter ripples around the circle.
~✧~✿~✧~✿~✧~✿~✧~✿~✧~✿~✧~✿~✧~✿~✧~✿~✧~
he days pass easily, slipping into a rhythm you don’t quite notice forming.
There are always things to do—mending a torn fishing net, gathering herbs at the forest’s edge, learning new weaving patterns under Tsireya’s patient guidance. Neteyam is often nearby, sometimes helping, sometimes observing, always present.
It’s during one fateful afternoon, when the heat is high and the group decides to cool off in the shallows, that things shift again.
You’re sitting on a rock at the water’s edge, watching as kiri and Tuk play a game of chasing each other through the gentle waves, splashing near the shore giggling. Neteyam is in the water too, but he’s not playing. He’s swimming.
And you don’t notice it all at once. It happens slowly, the way your attention drifts when you’re not guarding it properly, too unprepared for your own traitorous instincts.
One moment, you’re half-engaged in whatever nonsense Lo’ak is going on about, offering absent-minded hums and the occasional nod, and the next… your gaze slips. wanders and lands somewhere it absolutely should not. And stays there.
Neteyam moves through the water like it was made with him in mind, like it recognizes him as something familiar and yields accordingly. There’s no resistance in the way he swims. no wasted motion, no struggle. just smooth strokes that cut cleanly through the surface.
You should look away. You don’t.
Your eyes trace the movement of his shoulders as they rise and fall with each stroke, the subtle shift of muscle beneath skin that gleams under the sunlight. There’s something almost disorienting about it. like you’re watching something rehearsed and yet entirely natural at the same time.
You swallow, suddenly aware of the dryness in your throat. It’s ridiculous. You’ve seen him swim before. Of course you have. This isn’t new. And yet your thoughts begin to unravel anyway.
His shoulders look broader like this. Or maybe it’s just the way the water frames him, the way it gathers and slips around his form, outlining instead of obscuring. Either way, the effect is… noticeable. Distractingly so.
You shift slightly where you’re sitting, as if that might ground you, as if it might pull your attention back to where it belongs. It doesn’t.
He dives under. The motion is seamless, barely a ripple left behind, and for a brief moment he disappears entirely beneath the surface.
And you find yourself staring at the empty stretch of water like it’s lacking something now. Like something important has been taken out of the frame. the thought comes uninvited, slipping in before you can stop it.
I’m jealous of the ocean.
It’s so absurd you almost laugh, except the feeling lingers in a way that makes it hard to dismiss. The water touches him without hesitation, without consequence, gliding over every line and curve like it belongs there, like it has a right to exist that close.
You press your lips together, trying to shake the thought loose.
Get a grip.
He resurfaces. And whatever fragile sense of composure you were attempting to rebuild dissolves immediately. Water slicks back his hair, darker now, clinging slightly before falling away in uneven strands. Droplets gather along the curve of his jaw, his throat, trailing downward in slow, deliberate paths that are far too easy to follow if you let your gaze linger even a second too long.
You make the mistake of following one. Just one.
It traces a line from just beneath his ear, down along the side of his neck, catching briefly at the dip of his collarbone before continuing—
You look away so abruptly it almost hurts.
No. Absolutely not.
That is not where your attention is going today.
You fix your gaze somewhere saferbut it doesn’t last. Because even in your periphery, he’s there. Still moving, still existing in a way that feels entirely too… vivid.
His skin looks different in the water. Brighter, maybe. Not in color, exactly, but in clarity. like the blue deepens, catches light in a way that makes it seem almost luminous.
It’s unfair. Unfair that someone can look like that without trying. Unfair that something as simple as existing can feel so deliberately distracting.
You exhale slowly, forcing yourself to look away again, this time more firmly.
You will not stare. You refuse to be that obvious.
“Are you even listening?” The voice cuts cleanly through your thoughts, and you jolt slightly, pulled back into yourself so abruptly it leaves you disoriented for a second.
Tsireya is watching you. So is Lo’ak.
Your stomach drops. “Yeah,” you say quickly, far too quickly to sound convincing. “I am.”
Lo’ak’s gaze flicks past you, following the exact direction yours had been pointed only moments ago. And then he grins. a slow, knowing grin.
Oh, no.
“Oh,” he drawls, the realization settling in with far too much satisfaction. “That’s what we’re doing?”
Heat creeps up your neck instantly. “I don’ know what you’re talking about,” you reply, aiming for indifference and missing it entirely.
“Mmhm,” Tsireya hums, not even attempting to hide her amusement.
“You were staring,” Lo’ak adds, far too delighted with himself.
“I was not—”
“You were,” he cuts in. “I’ve seen Aonung check himself out with less appreciation, and that skxwang is obsessed with his face.”
“I will actually drown you.”
“Promise you won’t cry when I do?”
You open your mouth to retaliate but the words stall before they can form.
Because Neteyam is walking out of the water now.
Your thoughts spiral instantly... something about how the water clings to him, how unfair it is that anyone can just look like that, how—
Something warm hits your lip.
You blink, confused, heart hammering. Your hand flies to your face, half in shock, half instinct. When you pull it away, your fingers are red.
Oh.
Oh, no.
“No—no, no, no—” you whisper under your breath, clamping a hand over your nose like that will somehow undo what is very clearly happening.
Of all the ways to embarrass yourself today This? Really?
You turn sharply away, back to the water, to literally anything else, heart racing now for an entirely new reason.
Behind you, there’s a pause.
“…are you bleeding?” loak questions, incredulous.
You don’t turn around. “I’m fine,” you say quickly, voice far too tight to be convincing.
You press your hand more firmly against your nose. “It’s fine. I’m fine. Nobody look at me.”
There’s a snort behind you. “It is literally still bleeding,” Lo’ak says.
“Stop talking.”
There’s the sound of the water shifting, and then suddenly Neteyam is beside you.
“You’re not fine,” he says, and now he’s right there, and this is somehow worse than everything that came before. “What happened?”
You press your palm tighter against your nose, mortified beyond recovery. “Nothing.”
“I’m not—” you start, then stop, because it is very obviously blood.
“…it’s just the water,” you add weakly, hoping the words themselves could make it so.
Lo’ak snorts again. “Yeah, the water’s famously red.”
You snap, “It just happens sometimes, okay?”
“Sometimes?” There’s a flicker of confusion in Neteyam’s voice that makes your stomach twist.
You hesitate. You could lie. You should lie.
Instead—
“It’s your fault,” you mutter, almost under your breath.
Silence.
“…my fault?”
You risk a glance at him which was a big mistake because now he’s looking at you and your brain immediately threatens to short-circuit again.
“You’re—” you start, but the words die in your throat. How do you even say this out loud?
“You’re just… standing there,” you try again, helplessly, the words falling over themselves. “Looking like that.”
he pauses and then he smiles. actually smiles. it makes your chest tighten and your knees go slightly weak.
“Oh,” he says softly, as if a puzzle has just clicked into place. “So that’s why.”
You feel your entire soul leave your body. “I’m going to walk into the ocean,” you mumble.
He huffs quietly before offering you a soft piece of woven cloth from his waist, still just a little amused. “Here,” he says “Careful.”
You take it without meeting his eyes, muttering something that could be a thank-you or a threat. You aren’t really sure which, and maybe that uncertainty is the only thing keeping you upright, because the rest of your dignity has evaporated.
“This is not funny,” you add, pressing it to your nose as if proximity could somehow mask the absurdity of the situation, though of course it doesn’t.
“It’s a little funny,” he says.
You glare. Or at least, you try. It loses nearly all of its intended effect because you’re still half-turned away, shielding your face, hiding in the movement itself.
When you finally look at him, his gaze is still there, waiting, patient. Not confused or teasing. Just looking.
And this time, it feels different. Sharper, somehow. Certain. Like he’s seen past the surface of everything you’ve been hiding and has grasped something just out of reach before, some secret part of you that you didn’t realize was so obvious.
“You do that every time,” he says quietly, the weight of it twisting your stomach in a way you aren’t ready for.
“I do not,” you blurt, too quickly.
“You do,” he insists, calm, measured, unyielding. “Every time I come near you.”
“That’s not—” you start, faltering immediately because the words sound absurd even in your own head. “That’s not what’s happening.”
“It isn’t?”
“No,” you whisper.
He pauses at that before continuing; “Did I upset you?”
The concern in his voice lances straight through you. Because it feels real, like it matters to him in a way that pierces everything else.
You look at him properly, finally, letting go of the instinct to hide, letting go of the reflex to deflect or shield yourself. “No,” you say, too quickly, too eagerly. “No, you didn’t do anything.”
“Then why—”
“It’s just—”
You stop. Because putting it into words makes it tangible. Saying it aloud makes it real in a way that feels dangerous and thrilling all at once, like standing on the edge of something you might fall off of.
He waits, of course he waits. Patient, steady, watching you unravel in ways he already knows how to read. “That’s not an answer,” he says quietly.
You exhale, the air trembling from your lungs, heat rising in a rush that has nothing to do with embarrassment this time. Everything is the impossibility of explaining yourself without sounding utterly ridiculous.
“It’s you, okay?”
“…me?”
“Yes. You.”
“What about me?”
You look at him, then away, then back again, as if the act of looking could somehow make the words easier to say, or easier to take back. “I like you, you skxwang.”
The world tilts sideways. Everything goes still. Your heartbeat pounds loud enough to drown out water, wind, even your own scattered thoughts.
Then he laughs. Soft. Warm. Not startled. Not mocking. Just quietly amused, and your chest aches. “I know,” he says.
You snap your head up. “You—what?”
“I know.”
“How… how do you know? I just—”
“You’ve been choking on fruit, falling off ilu, bleeding because of me,” he says, calm, eyes just slightly amused. “I had a suspicion.”
You make a strangled noise somewhere between frustration and disbelief. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
You open your mouth to argue. You think better of it. You stop. Because he’s smiling at you again. looking at you in a way that makes you forget how to breathe.
“I like you too,” he adds, and it’s like the final pieces of a puzzle in your chest click into place, letting the air back in where it had been trapped.
“…oh,” you manage.
He laughs, small, unhurried, shaking his head gently as if to clear away the tension lingering in the air.
For a long moment, neither of you moves. Then, almost imperceptibly, he reaches out, fingers brushing lightly against your wrist, grounding, steady, familiar.
You don’t pull away.
~✧~✿~✧~✿~✧~✿~✧~✿~✧~✿~✧~✿~✧~✿~✧~✿~✧~
A collective sigh rises from somewhere behind you, loud enough to make you jump.
You whip around. Lo’ak is practically slumped over, as if he’s just survived some ordeal far worse than anything you can imagine. “Oh, thank Eywa,” he groans, shaking his head. “I thought you two were going to keep doing that weird thing forever.”
“What weird thing?” you snap, heat creeping into your cheeks despite yourself.
“The staring. The choking. The falling off things,” he rattles off, counting on his fingers. “It was painful.”
Kiri nudges him with an elbow. “You’re just upset you weren’t the center of attention.”
“I always am the center of attention,” he protests, though his voice is half-laugh, half-grumble.
“Not today” she says sweetly, and you catch the warmth in her eyes as she glances at you and Neteyam.
Lo’ak shakes his head, finally smiling, and you can’t help but laugh along. “About time,” he mutters, like he’s resigned himself to relief.
You laugh with them, shake your head and try to pretend this is normal but when your eyes find his again, everything stumbles just a little.
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summary: you assume jack likes you until the pitt starts betting on how long it'll take him and samira to get together; jack assumes you like him until you get called into work while on a date with your coworker. turns out, all it takes is a bad bet and an even worse date for you and jack to realize how in love the two of you are. (7k)
characters: jack abbot / fem!loser!reader, trinity santos, samira mohan, nick barker, mcvadi crumbs
contents: friends to lovers, idiots in love, implied age gap, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, jealousy, humor, so much flirting, cw for medical procedures, medical inaccuracies, and probably several hr violations
( NAVIGATION ) | ( MASTERLIST ) | ( AO3 )
You make it halfway through your shift with a lighter wallet and a heavier heart than when you started it.
You can hear Princess shuffling through her stack of cash from the other side of the workstation, flaunting her winnings from a well-placed bet. You try and fail not to let it distract you as you scribble at the clipboard before you, with your heavy head propped on your clenched fist.
Charting was hard enough back when the computers were still running, back when it was easy — let alone when you have to make every single note by hand, and flit physically through a hundred different files just to cross-reference all the information.
“Is this what it was like back when you were a resident?” you’d asked Jack, when he dropped off an order slip by the filing cabinet, beside the bulky fax machine you were standing in front of and trying to tame.
He slid in beside you with a wide hand on your lower back, smelling like a dizzying mixture of sweat and musky cologne. He adjusted your labs in the tray without another word, turning it around and flipping it right-side up for you.
“Yeah, actually,” he’d nodded, dialing the proper number on the machine with his pointer finger, including the area code that you had forgotten to add. The corner of his lip flickered upward in a faint half-smirk as he joked with squinted eyes, “Back in the 1900s— when charting was done by candlelight.”
You felt your own mouth curling into a quiet smile despite yourself. “So this must feel really nostalgic for you then, huh?”
“Extremely,” he deadpanned.
“Well…” you sighed. “Got any tips for me then, old man?”
Jack exhaled a heavy breath and turned to face you while the heavy machine beeped and buzzed beside you. He tucked his hands into the front pockets of his camo pants and shrugged his broad shoulders. “Well, look at it this way— Today is gonna suck, but… That means every shift from now can’t possibly get worse than this one, right?”
“Yeah,” you scoffed. “That, or we just… keep descending into another circle of hell every day.”
Jack smiled wider at your cynicism, patting you softly on the shoulder before sauntering off the way he came. “That’s the spirit, kid.”
You still feel his hand on you even now, wide and warm over your thick black scrubs, while you trudge through the rest of your charting. You hate the effect he has on you; you hate how often he plagues your every thought. It takes a great amount of muscle memory, you find, not to accidentally jot his name down as your hand moves the pen on autopilot.
You don’t think it’d feel quite as pathetic if you thought that there might be an inkling he felt the same way about you. But now, all you are is an R4 with a stupid schoolgirl crush on her boss, and half a mental breakdown away from scribbling little hearts in her notes with his initials scrawled inside.
“You plan on getting in on this?” Santos asks in place of a greeting as she slides her swivel chair next to yours. She wears a faint smirk on her lips and a mischievous glint in her light eyes that gives you great pause.
Ink smudges on the inside of your wrist as you halt your scribbling to flash her a dubious look. “…On what?”
“Ahmad got bored after Princess won the last bet,” she tells you, reaching behind her to tighten the half-ponytail at the crown of her head. “Said the grid was too good to take down so soon, so… He started a new one.”
You scoff a dry laugh and turn away again.
“Yeah? What is it this time— Which one of us is gonna be the first to have a breakdown and quit? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure I’d win that one…”
“Close…” Trinity croons, leaning in like she’s about to tell you some sort of secret. Her eyes flit somewhere over your shoulder, in the vague direction of where Mohan stands with Jack across the room, before she confesses. “It’s about Abbot and Samira. I have it on good authority that they were getting pret-ty close in Central 4 together…”
“C-Close?” you echo on bated breath.
Your head whips over your shoulder to the other side of the workstation, where Jack and Samira exchange information about one of her patients. You hadn’t given their closeness a second thought before now. It’s like you blinked, and now the sight of them together makes you feel sick.
You hope Santos doesn’t see the hurt weighing down your features when you turn back to her. “What— What do you mean close?”
“I mean, Dr. Abbot was half naked while Samira was tending to his shoulder,” Trinity explains with a scoff and turns back to her own clipboard. “Honestly, I wouldn’t have thought anything about it until I heard her say, ‘It’s our little secret—’”
She mocks in a high-pitched voice, which sounds nothing like Samira’s, before laughing to herself.
“—Like, c’mon. You guys could at least try to be subtle about it.”
You know she expects you to start laughing with her, but you struggle to find the energy to do so now.
“Yeah…” you sigh instead, hardly audible as you struggle to speak through the sudden tightening in your chest. “Right…”
“You should go place a bet,” she tells you, half-distracted by the files before her. “You could win back the money you lost and then some.”
“With what?” you joke with a sad scoff. “The three dollars I have left to my name?”
She flashes you a deadpanned look. “If that’s all you have to lose, I think I’d take those odds.”
You figure Trinity’s right. You have nothing more to lose, in truth — not after the shit day you’ve already had, and the money you’ve already lost, and the teenage heart inside of you that’s already broken.
You finish up your charting, return the clipboard to the patient rack, and retrieve your wallet from the locker room. Because, as you see it, you’ll either leave this shift about a hundred dollars richer or with nothing at all; either totally vindicated or with a bank account just as empty as you feel on the inside.
You find Ahmad in the security room, and he flashes you a toothy grin as you slink through the doorway like a shy little storm cloud. He motions with the notepad he holds in a sun-kissed hand. “I knew you’d wanna get on the books, kid— What’d it take to convince you this time?”
“I don’t know,” you shrug with a mournful sigh. “I just… realized that I have nothing else to lose, I guess…”
Dr. Barker laughs from beside you.
“Well, that’s always the best reason to make a bet, in my experience,” he jokes with a pearly white smile, pushing the sleeves of his navy button-down up to his elbows to reveal the expanse of his tanned, scruffy forearms.
Nick Barker stands quite a few inches taller than you — which you hadn’t expected before now, since he’d spent most of his time in the E.R. sitting behind the portable radiology machine. He has to look down at you from the bridge of his broad nose from this angle, with eyes so dark they’re almost black.
He’s almost effortlessly handsome. Like, Disney prince sort of handsome. The kind of handsome that makes it impossible to look into his eyes without blushing like a schoolgirl.
“I’m normally a lot more responsible than this, but… I figured all things considered…” you trail off with a sheepish shrug.
“Yeah, you’re talkin’ to the girl who hasn’t taken a day off since I started here— Two years ago,” Ahmad scoffs. “I think you deserve to let loose every once in a while, Doc, all things considered.”
He taps you gently on the head with his notepad. You roll your eyes and reach into the pocket of your scrubs, cheeks burning under the weight of the sudden attention you’re getting.
“Just put me down for $10—” you say, but cut yourself off when Ahmad hisses through his teeth. “…What is it?”
“Minimum this time twenty,” he grimaces.
Your shoulders deflate with a sigh. “Seriously?”
“We had to up the ante this time, kid— Rules of the game.”
“Then I guess put me down for twenty…” you huff and pluck your wallet from your scrub pockets. “For… unrequited…”
“Unrequited by who?” Ahmad presses with his brows raised to his hairline.
“I don’t know. Samira, I guess,” you shrug, half-timid, ‘cause it’s not like you totally believe it either. You’re just trying to take a page out of Trinity’s book, really, and manifest something good for yourself for a change — pretending that Abbot isn’t into her in the hopes that it’ll make it somehow real.
“What?” Ahmad laughs like it’s funny. “You’re telling me you don’t believe in love?”
You flash him a solemn look in return. “I’ll start believing in something again when the systems come back up,” you answer in a monotone.
“Touche…” he nods slowly while Dr. Barker exhales a quiet laugh through his nose.
A familiar voice comes suddenly from the entrance:
“I think that is the single sanest answer I’ve heard all day,” Jack Abbot himself hums in a gritty deadpan.
You nearly break your neck with how fast your head whips over your shoulder, finding the man leaning against the doorway with his toned arms crossed over his chest and a smug smirk dancing on his lips.
Your skin prickles with a red-hot heat while your pounding heart drops to your stomach. If he wasn’t into you before, he certainly won’t be now — not with you making bets on his love life like a crazy person with nothing better to do. (Though, in many ways, that is exactly what you are.)
“Dr. Abbot…” Ahmad croons, trying to play casual despite knowing his secretive betting ring’s finally been found out. “That’s funny— We were just talking about you.”
“Robby may or may not have told me,” Jack confesses as he saunters slowly into the security room, boots heavy on the white linoleum. “Wanted me to tell him if there was something going on with Mohan and me, so he could recoup the money he lost in the last bet.”
“…Well, is there?” Nick wonders lowly.
“C’mon, Barker. Where’s the fun in that?” Jack scoffs a dry laugh, then goes strangely solemn again in a flicker. “Even though, as an attending, I think I have to say that I am very against this— I feel like this has H.R. violation written all over it.”
“Well, what Gloria doesn’t know, won’t hurt us, right?” Ahmad quips.
“I’ve been livin’ by those exact words for years, brother.”
Your hands are clammy and trembling for a reason you can’t name as you pull two crumpled bills from your wallet — a dingy, pastel Polly Pocket billfold you’ve had since you were twelve — as if you needed another reason to look any less cool in front of Jack. The pale pink interior is left glaringly empty, save for a few folded receipts and miscellaneous fortune-cookie slips.
“Wow…” you huff as you pass Ahmad the twenty. “That is all the cash I have to my name. I’m officially more broke than I was in med school— I didn’t even know that was possible.”
“I can take you out to dinner with my winnings, if you want,” Nick offers suddenly.
Your head snaps in his direction, and his eyes widen, as though surprised by his own forwardness. He swallows hard, pronounced adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, scruffy with a five o’clock shadow.
“You know, if you— if you wanna… let loose or whatever.”
Your lip flickers upward in a shy smile when Dr. Barker sighs and shakes his head to himself. A few rogue strands of dark hair fall from their gelled quaff and hang over his forehead until he pushes them back in place again.
“Sorry, that, uh…” He chuckles awkwardly at himself. “That came out weird.”
“I might be stuck in charting jail for the rest of the night, actually,” you say with an apologetic grimace, wringing your clammy fingers into knots. “Can I get back to you on that?”
“Yeah!” he blurts, a little quicker than he means to. He clears his throat and, in an octave lower, repeats himself. “Yeah. Totally. No worries.”
You dismiss yourself with a quiet smile and lack the courage to look Jack in the eye when you pass him on the way to the door. He watches you leave and waits for you to glance back at him with his heart in his throat. You never do.
Still, though, he can’t help but feel a little proud of himself; after watching you turn down the handsome radiologist every woman on this floor has been fawning over all day. He turns back around and hisses through his teeth, trying not to look as smug as he feels.
“Damn,” Jack deadpans. “That was cold, man…”
Nick’s dark eyes widen and flit wildly between the two men on either side of him. “Wait— Really?”
“Ice cold…” Ahmad affirms with a slow nod. “Girl said she’s broke, and you think she’s gonna say ‘no thanks’ to some free food? In this economy? Yeah… She’s not into you, man.”
Jack claps the solemn boy hard on the shoulder. “You win some, you lose some, kid… Don’t take it too hard.”
You forget all about the stupid bet and Nick’s offer some hours later, when Robby sticks you with Ogilvie and tells you to walk the MS4 through your canthotomy patient.
You talk aloud as you slice your scalpel through the young girl’s eye, where the socket is raging red and bulging from the pressure behind it. The boy doesn’t say a word the whole time, just holds the plastic cup where the bright crimson blood drains from the eye, and doesn’t move a muscle until it stops.
“I think that’s the closest I’ve come to puking since I started med school,” the boy confesses when it’s done, standing just over your shoulder while you fill out the patient’s med slip. “I didn’t even get that close during cadaver lab, when all of us started craving meat from the formaldehyde— I’m pretty sure five people dropped out that day alone…”
His voice trails off when Samira catches your eye, rushing by the desk with her wild curls falling from her claw clip. She wears the hard shift all over as she makes a beeline directly for Jack, planting herself ahead of the older man; so close she has to tilt her chin to meet his gaze.
Your hand freezes around the pen as you keep your eyes on the two of them, staring harder than you probably realize as you struggle to make out their conversation. Their words are drowned out by Ogilvie’s rambling, and the surrounding beep and chatter of the crowded E.R.
Mohan talks wildly with her hands and says something about “a letter,” while Jack nods along sympathetically and says something along the lines of “give me your number.”
Your chest flares with a white-hot feeling when you watch the man pass Samira his phone to plug her number into. It’s like the world has fallen out from under you and swallowed you whole, like you’re drowning in the fire of your own envy.
You’re barely seven hours on the job, and you’ve already lost all your cash — you’ll be doomed to the three-day-old leftovers in the fridge, if the newfound heartache hasn’t already snatched your appetite for the evening. That means you’ll be running on fumes tomorrow morning — still broke, still hungry, still heartbroken.
Then you remember Dr. Barker — Disney prince Dr. Barker — and his offer of dinner from earlier in the security room.
You make the terribly impulsive decision to take fate into your own hands and forget to properly dismiss yourself before dropping the finished order slip off across the room. Ogilivie is quick to follow close behind, lacking any real sense of personal space. He nearly trips over himself to keep from running into you when you freeze suddenly in place.
“You don’t have to follow me anymore,” you tell him.
“Oh… Well, then… What am I supposed to do?” the blonde boy shrugs.
“I don’t know. Do whatever you want…” you trail off and glance around the bustling work station. You spot Trinity standing at the chart rack and motion over to her. “Go help Dr. Santos with her next patient.”
The dark-haired girl turns at the sound of her name.
“Oh, please don’t—” She cuts herself off with a sigh when Ogilvie makes his way towards her anyway. “Fuck. Fine…”
You continue your trek to the other side of the crowded work station, where the portable radiology machine takes up the majority of the room. You can smell the man’s expensive, musky cologne before he ever comes into view.
“Hey, Nick…” you greet, then wince at how weird it sounds a second later. “I mean, Dr. Barker— Sorry—”
He glances up from his work at the sound of your voice. “Nick is fine,” he assures with a kind grin and a pair of chocolate-colored eyes.
You try to smile back, but your nervousness makes it look more like a grimace. “It’s not, like, totally too late for me to take you up on that offer for dinner, is it?”
“No!” he blurts with a shake of his head. “Of course not!”
“Great…” you say with a relieved sigh.
“Yeah, I’ll— I’ll text you the details later.”
“Oh. Well, you don’t…” You scrunch the bridge of your nose in a sheepish look. “You don’t have my number…”
His mouth falls softly agape with the realization. “Oh. Right. Duh.”
You smile wider despite yourself, ‘cause he’s almost as awkward as you are, which you didn’t think was possible before now — especially not for someone as pretty as he is.
You turn away and grab the nearest pen, clicking it on with your thumb before reaching for his arm. You scribble your number over the dark blue veins on his wrist with a newfound confidence — one that you never had before now, one spurred on by the man’s obvious shyness.
You feel Nick’s eyes on you when you look away, flitting wildly across your profile.
“This isn’t… This isn’t just because of the bet, is it?” he wonders with a waver in his voice.
Your brows furrow in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“You know, the whole thing you said about… losing all your money or whatever,” Dr. Barker explains with a sheepish laugh. “You’re not just going out with me for a free meal, are you?”
“Well, isn’t that kinda the point of going on dates? The free food?” you joke with a dry laugh, which fades instantly at the confused look Nick gives you in response. Your face floods with horror a second later. “I’m kidding! I’m totally kidding— Of course not.”
“Okay,…” Dr. Barker says with an awkward chuckle. “Good.”
“Good,” you echo with a sigh and rise to full height again.
“I’ll, uh— I’ll text you.”
“I’ll be waiting,” you chirp with a polite nod and a giddy grin, which ebbs the second you turn away from him. You shake your head as you slink back through the bustling emergency department, squeezing your eyes shut and murmuring under your breath in disgust, “I’ll be waiting—?”
You nearly trip over yourself when you ram suddenly into a firm body. Two calloused hands grasp gently at your elbows as you stumble backwards. You almost lose your breath when you find Jack Abbot towering over you.
“Shit… you huff. “Sorry, I— I wasn’t paying attention.”
“Where’ve you been hiding?” Jack squints. “I’ve been looking for you.”
Your shy smile fades into a disbelieving squint almost instantly; at the bitter reminder of Jack and Samira — of the seemingly intimate conversation they’d shared just minutes ago, and of the bet you know you’re bound to lose now.
“No, you weren’t,” you deadpan.
“I was,” he insists. “I feel like I always am, some way or another.”
Your chest warms at his words. You choke on the funny feeling when you force yourself to swallow it down. “I was just— walking one of the interns through a lateral canthotomy,” you stammer as you step back out of his hold.
“Gnarly,” Jack hums with a slow nod.
“Did you, uh… Did you need me for something?”
“Yeah, I have a patient over in Trauma 2— Sliced through his left hand with a circular saw,” Jack explains, staring down at you from the bridge of his nose as he crosses his strong arms over his chest. “But the crazy part is, he used his right hand to take the nail gun and—”
“Oh, my god,” you blurt before you mean to. “He tried to put his hand back on with the nail gun, didn’t he?”
“Close…” he hums with a knowing glint in his eyes. “He used the gun to fire two nails into his temple— Said he thought it would distract him from the pain in his hand. And the weird thing is, he’s walking and talking just fine.”
“Holy shit…” you mumble, wide-eyed. “Why do you always get the cool cases?”
“You can have it,” he assures you, with something soft swimming in his eyes. “That’s why I wanted to find you— so you could do it with me.”
Something about it feels way more intimate than being asked out for dinner.
You finish the rest of your shift as normal — feeling like a shell of your former self after hours of running on fumes; both excruciatingly tired and buzzing with white-hot adrenaline all at once.
The only real difference between today and every other day before this one is that, for the first time in a long, long time, you actually have plans outside of work — almost like a real human person with a social life would.
You return home after the long day, only for an hour or so, to shower and change out of your scrubs. You wash away the scent of blood, sweat, and antiseptic from your skin, and only cut your knee once when you shave your legs for the first time in weeks. You pull out a nice top, a short skirt, and a real bra from the depths of your closet. You go as far as to break out the expensive perfume that you’ve had for years, ‘cause you only use it on extra special occasions, which tend to be few and far between for you.
You feel like an entirely different person when you meet Dr. Barker at the address he’d sent you a few hours ago — a nice bar, just a few blocks down from your apartment building, that you’d been meaning to visit for years but found every excuse in the book to stay home instead. You find the man sitting alone in a far booth in the dimly lit room, sipping slowly at the beer he nurses in his hand, and feel a little like a fraud when you slide into the vinyl seat across from him.
Nick has only known you for the better part of a work shift, to be fair, not counting the handful of times you’d smiled politely in passing when you clocked out for the day. You know he’s got some version of you in his head already, like all men do — someone much cooler than you really are, someone much better at separating their work life from their personal life than you are.
You prove him wrong in record time, sharing a plate of loaded nachos between you and forgetting to eat any of it as you get too easily lost in your ramblings. You tell him of the long shift, and of the man you met with two nails in his skull, and fail to remember that not everyone can talk of blood and gore over a meal as easily as you can.
“—Honestly, I’m still surprised it didn’t hemorrhage! The X-Ray showed one of the nails was, like, half an inch away from nicking an artery,” you ramble with a giddy grin. “I pulled them out with some local anesthetic, and he was totally fine— Well, except for the hand, obviously. ‘Cause he did lose a few fingers, but… Dr. Abbot took care of that, so…”
“Did he?” Nick hums, hiding his smile behind the pint he brings to his mouth.
He thinks this must be the fifth or so time you’ve brought up the man’s name tonight alone — not that you seem to notice. He doesn’t know whether that’s supposed to make him feel better or worse.
“Yeah— I always tell him he would’ve been an amazing surgeon if he didn’t have the hand-eye coordination of, like… A half-blind sloth,” you say, then swallow hard at the playful look Nick gives you in response. “‘Cause, you know, sloths are really clumsy, and they… Sometimes mistake their own limbs for branches, so… They fall a lot…”
You trail off and reach for the glass of water at your side, becoming very suddenly self-aware of your inability to stop rambling.
“You talk about him a lot,” Nick observes with a kind smile, licking the sheen of alcohol from his lips.
“…Who?” you wonder with furrowed brows.
“Dr. Abbot.”
Your features flood with terror. “Do I?”
His broad nose scrunches with a breathy laugh. “A little bit, yeah.”
“Oh, god…” you groan and hide your face behind your hand. Nick’s laugh gets lost in the rock music playing overhead. “That’s so annoying. I’m sorry—”
Your phone glows to life as it buzzes against the wooden table it sits on. You reach over to flip it face down before you can read the message on the screen.
“I didn’t… I didn’t even notice… I’m so sorry.”
It vibrates again, twice more in quick succession.
Your stomach twists with the anticipation of what it might say.
“It’s whatever,” Dr. Barker shrugs, pushing the sleeves of his button-up to his elbows. “I get it. He’s your boss and everything, so…”
Your phone buzzes on the table once more, for longer this time, now with a phone call.
You tense, but make no move to answer it, for fear of making this more awkward than you already have — though your pretending not to hear it doesn’t make it any better.
The corner of Nick’s lip twitches into a sympathetic smile, ‘cause he can tell that you’re trying to be polite, even though you’re fidgeting at the thought of answering it. Because your friends usually only ever text you, so if someone’s calling, it’s bound to be important.
“You can get that if you need to—”
“Thank you,” you sigh before he’s properly gotten the words out, scrambling for your phone with anxious hands. “I’m so sorry. It’ll be quick, I swear. I’m sure it’s just… Fuck.”
The call ends before you can answer it.
Nick’s eyes widen at your reaction. “Everything okay?”
“It’s Parker…” you answer with your eyes trained on the blue-white screen. Your chest deflates with a heavy sigh beneath your skin-tight top. “And I know it’s serious because she despises double-texting and she just sent me four back to back, so…”
Your eyes are wet and preemptively apologetic when they dart to the man across the table, who meets the disaster of you with a tender grin.
“You gotta go back in, huh?” he squints.
“I do…” you sigh. “I’m so sorry—”
“Just make it up to me next time,” Nick shrugs, watching with kind eyes as you scramble for your phone and purse. “When I win that bet, I mean. I’ll take you out somewhere nice— We can do this for real. If you want.”
You slide out of the cracking vinyl booth with a grimace — equal parts unnerved at the idea of doing this a second time and half-surprised that Nick would even want to, after you did nothing but anxiously ramble before bailing on him out of nowhere.
“Yeah…” you waver anyway as you stand to full height again. “Yeah. Sure. Maybe.”
“Thank you again— I’d kiss you right now if I could,” Dr. Ellis tells you when you pass her in the ambulance bay, where she hurries out of the E.D. on long limbs. She calls over her shoulder, moments before she’s out of earshot. “You look hot, by the way!”
The passing reminder of what you’re showing up to work in hits you like a punch to the stomach.
The double doors of the PTMC part for you, and the air-conditioned emergency room wraps its cold fingers around every inch of your exposed skin — your shaven legs, arms, and collarbones; all of which are normally concealed by your dark scrubs and undershirts.
You can’t help but feel a bit like you’re doing the walk of shame as you race past the work station with your head bowed, barely noticing that the systems are up and running again as you go. You’re too busy trying to make yourself as small as possible on your way to the scrub dispenser down the hall.
Jack smells you before he sees you.
He gets a sudden whiff of something sweet and creamy, like whipped vanilla and fresh raspberries, something candied enough to eat. Then he looks over his shoulder, from where he’s stood at the front desk, and finds you rushing past him in a hurry. His neck nearly cracks with the strength of the double take he gives at the back of you — short skirt swishing around your thighs, tight shirt showing a sliver of your lower back. He feels a little like he’s in middle school again, going wild at the mere sight of a girl’s bare shoulder.
By the time his brain starts working again to greet you, you’ve already turned the corner.
“Whoa, gotta hot date tonight?” he hears Shen ask as you walk by.
“Just left one, more like,” you scoff.
“Damn. Poor guy,” the man quips, then laughs when you flip him off.
“…What the hell?” Jack mutters under his breath, with his eyes still trained on the empty hall you’d just disappeared down.
“What? You didn’t hear?” McKay wonders aloud, from where she’s hunched over the monitor across from him, still closing down for the day now that the ED isn’t in analog hell anymore. She peers up at him with tired blue eyes, half-hidden beneath her wild fringe. “Don’t tell Princess, but apparently, she went out with that Dr. Barker guy from radiology.”
“Oh, really?” Jack hums, nodding slowly to feign interest. He hopes the hurt flaring in his chest doesn’t show all over his face as he turns back to his computer. “Sounds fun…”
Javadi eyes him from behind McKay’s shoulder. Her dark, observant stare traces the edges of his face as she twirls the string of her lavender jacket with her pointer finger.
“Well, don’t look so upset about it, Dr. Abbot,” she jokes with a quiet laugh, half-dazed from the long day. “I have a lot riding on this bet about you and Mohan, you know—?”
Cassie flashes the younger girl a wordless look.
Victoria’s eyes go wide when they flit back to Jack’s.
“—Which I wasn’t supposed to mention in front of you…” she blurts and fakes an awkward laugh. “There is no bet, actually. I don’t know what you’re talking about…”
Jack doesn’t ease the tension by telling her that he already knows; that he has known all day. He just flashes her a half-smile and a pair of squinted eyes as he steps back from the monitor.
“Real smooth, kid…” he jokes before he walks away.
He leaves the work station and turns the corner to find you cradling a pair of black scrubs to your chest and making a beeline for the restroom nearest to the break room. He rushes on long legs to catch up with you, limping slightly from his prosthetic. You freeze at the sound of your name from his lips, echoing from down the long hall. Your skirt swishes around your thighs as you spin in place to face him.
“Hey…” Jack greets, only slightly out of breath when he towers finally over you.
Your brows lower in confusion at the sight of his flustered state, but you smile nonetheless. “Hey…?”
“How was the, uh… The date?”
“Date?” you scoff. “What date?”
“The one you had with Dr. Barker.”
His biceps strain against his scrubs when he crosses his arms over his chest, peering down at you from the bridge of his nose. Your cheeks flare instantly. You can’t help but feel like you’ve been caught, like he’s just found out you’ve been cheating on him or something — even though the two of you aren’t even together, even though it’s abundantly clear that he wants someone else.
“Well, it wasn’t— it wasn’t really a— a date,” you stammer and turn away. “It was just… dinner.”
“Right,” Jack scoffs and follows behind you the short distance to the bathroom. “Because the two of you weren’t flirting in the security room or anything.”
You huff an emotionless laugh and roll your eyes at him, even though you know he cannot see you. “Yeah, because you and Samira weren’t flirting in Central 4 this morning or anything…” you echo in a gritty monotone.
Jack catches the bathroom door before it can shut behind you. You glance over your shoulder when you hear it hit his palm. You find the man looming in the doorway with something mischievous glittering in his narrowed eyes.
“I’m trying to get changed,” you deadpan, despite the distant fluttering in your chest.
Jack passes through the threshold and lets the door shut behind him, leaving the two of you alone in the empty bathroom, where the white-blue fluorescent lights buzz overhead.
“Am I hearing things, or do you sound a little jealous?” the older man quips, glittering eyes trained on the back of you as you duck into the singular stall across the room.
It clicks shut behind you.
“Aren’t you the one who came chasing after me, Dr. Abbot?”
“Aren’t you the one who ran off from your date just to come back in?”
“What does that have to do with anything?” you laugh.
“C’mon,” Jack scoffs. “You know what.”
Your short skirt pools around your feet with a quiet thud. You step out of it and toe off your right shoe, sliding on the adjoining pant leg before slipping the sneaker back on again. You do the same for the left side, and Jack has to shake the visual of your half-naked body from his head.
“I thought we had… You know, I thought we had a thing going on…”
“A thing?” you repeat, half-muffled, as you slide your shirt over your head. You hang it over the stall before reaching for your scrub top. “I wouldn’t exactly consider flirty comments and lingering eye contact a thing.”
Jack catches a glimpse of your bare spine through the sliver in the door frame. He swallows hard and forces himself to look down at his feet.
“You say that like I don’t wish I could do more,” he tells you. “I’m an attending— I can’t just go around making moves on my residents. It’s not a good look.”
The stall door squeaks open again. You come into view, now dressed in your scrubs, and wearing a hardened scowl on your dolled-up face. “Well, that didn’t stop you from getting Samira’s number, did it?” you argue. “Or letting her patch you up this morning?”
“I gave her my number because she asked for a recommendation letter, and I told her I’d give her one,” Jack confesses, watching you with a glittering gaze as you storm past him with your clothes cradled to your chest. He makes room for you by the sink and fights back a grin while you scrub angrily at your hands. “And I was patching myself up, actually, until she walked in looking for her patient.”
“Well, how convenient…” you grumble.
Jack smiles wider. “You are jealous,” he croons.
“I am, actually,” you deadpan, with your eyes trained on the soap you suds between your fingers. Even still, you can see the man in your peripheral vision, standing in the mirror just behind you. You can feel the warmth radiating from his skin, and smell the cologne lingering on his clothes.
“So that’s why you went out with the Barker guy, huh?” Jack lilts. “You just wanted to make me jealous…”
“No, actually,” you tell him. “I went out with Nick because I figured I should probably stop chasing after a guy that obviously doesn’t want me.”
You turn off the faucet with your fist and reach for the paper towel dispenser at your side.
Jack follows your every move.
“Yeah?” he hums lowly. “And who said I didn’t want you?”
You turn around to glare at him despite the newfound heat swimming in the pit of your stomach.
“Well, I think you’ve made it pretty clear, Dr. Abbot,” you deadpan. “I don’t think the entire floor would be betting on you and Samira otherwise.”
Jack takes a daring step closer, until you have to tilt your chin to keep his gaze when he towers suddenly over you. With his hands crossed over his chest, he bows his head and tells you, “Well, I don’t want Mohan. And I don’t care about that stupid bet. Is that clear enough for you?”
Your chest warms with a familiar feeling. Your features crumple under the weight of it as you murmur sheepishly, “Okay. I’m not even trying to be funny right now, but if you’re trying to tell me that you do like me, you’re going to have to say that outright, or else my brain won’t—”
You feel his hands on you, wide and warm around the outsides of your elbows. You feel your feet stumbling on the tile, and your chest colliding with his, and then his mouth pressing against yours. You feel his chapped lips, his coarse scruff, and his exhaled breath from his nose as it fans warm over your skin.
You freeze against him, too stunned that he’s kissing you at all to remember to kiss him back.
Jack pulls away from you a dizzying second or more later. He peers down at you with a heavy gaze and smiles when he realizes you haven’t yet taken your eyes off him.
“I like you…” he tells you slowly, as though to make sure you’re really hearing him. “Are we clear now?”
You swallow hard and nod your head, licking at your kissed lips in a feeble attempt to taste him again.
“Crystal,” you quip drily.
You rise to the tips of your toes and wrench your free hand in his scrub top, with every intention of kissing him again — for real this time. You flinch in a fleeting panic when the bathroom door squeaks open a second later.
Samira slips inside, too distracted by the phone in her hand to see what she’s walking in on. You and Jack freeze against one another accordingly, as if being so still will somehow make you invisible.
The door closes behind her and muffles the never-ending chaos outside. Only when it clicks shut again does Samira look up from her phone, dark eyes wide as they flit wildly between the two of you.
“Holy shit…” she mumbles under her breath, almost as if she hadn’t meant to say it out loud at all.
You push the man away from you on instinct.
“We weren’t doing anything!” you blurt, hardly convincing in the matter.
Jack’s soft eyes cut over to you. “Real smooth,” he mumbles.
Samira’s look of shock ebbs into a giddy smile.
“I knew it!” she exclaims, voice ringing through the tiled restroom. “Ahmad looked at me like I was crazy when I put forty dollars on the two of you, but I knew I was right!”
Your brows furrow in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“The bet,” she shrugs with a smile. “I put mine on the two of you. Which means I just got a couple hundred dollars richer, at least.”
The realization hits you like a punch to the stomach.
“Which means I just lost all of my money…”
“Well, I’m pretty sure I can spare some of my winnings. I mean, it’s only right, right?” Samira says with a pretty laugh. “You guys can go out for drinks or something special. My treat.”
It becomes suddenly very difficult to imagine yourself from five minutes ago — back when you were overcome with jealousy just by the sight of her alone — knowing now that she had been rooting for you this whole time. Jack seems to know this, too, based on the smug smile he gives you.
“This real nice of you, Mohan,” he says. “But if I’m taking my girl out for drinks on a first date, I’m gonna be the one payin’ for ‘em— No offense.”
“None taken,” she shakes her head. “Means more money for me.”
You’re still catching your breath in the meanwhile, ‘cause the newfound title has all but punched the breath from your lungs. My girl, he’d said, and god, you wanted nothing more than to be his girl.
“We should, uh—” You clear your throat when the words get stuck there. “We should probably get out of here before the others think something weird is going on…”
“It’s their fault for betting on my love life,” Jack scoffs as he follows you out of the bathroom, where the chaos of the E.R. finds you almost instantly. “Sorry you lost, by the way. The bet, I mean…”
He catches himself nearly reaching out for your hand. He balls his own into a fist instead to fight the urge. You can see the longing to glittering in his eyes, anyway, when you turn to flash him a sheepish look in response.
“Well, I didn’t lose completely,” you lilt with a lazy shrug.
“No?” Jack hums.
“No…” you grin. “I think I won where it mattered.”
Ummmm would you be interested in writing a Mel king x Reader where they hook up after a night out but Mel distances herself afterwards? Angsty to resolved lovers 👀👀
overwhelmed — m. king
mel king x fem!r2!reader
word count: 3.5k
summary: after a night together, mel becomes distant the next day at work. you have no clue why, you thought everything went perfect, but mel had other thoughts.
warnings: no explicit mentions of sex but its implied, kissing, miscommunication trope, hurt feelings, happy ending
a/n: wrote this quick as an apology for my absence. I should be more active from now on. another chapter for the cassie series should be up around thursday-friday so keep an eye out! I could totally start a tag list if anyone is interested..
You couldn’t be more happy entering the emergency department this morning.
You knew there were high probabilities someone would probably pissing you off in the first hour of you being here. And that your mood would be crushed by Robby or Samira or anyone.
But right now you didn’t care.
You were energized this morning. You woke up and didn’t feel like counting the hours until you got to sleep again. You grabbed coffee on your way to work.
You were actually excited to be here today.
Sure, it had everything to do with getting laid last night, but who cares?
All that was important was that you were in a good mood. And you were going to enjoy it while it lasted. Because it takes more energy to be mad or upset than it does to be happy.
That was a true fact.
So maybe this happiness would stick with you for just once. Maybe you would tell someone to fuck off when they try to talk down on you for being beneath them. Or maybe you’d keep your mouth shut, too on top of the world to let someone ruin this.
You worked hard to get into this mood, and you wouldn’t let it go away because Robby told you you should’ve been quicker on your feet.
You pass Dana, and she smiles at you. She takes her glasses off, gets a better look at you, and just smirks.
You move along, though, don’t let her ask what’s got you in such a good mood.
You meet Trinity in the locker room, and she makes a face similar to Dana’s moments ago.
She pulls her shirt over her head, and then opens her mouth.
“You did it, didn’t you?” She doesn’t look at you, just smiles to herself.
“What if we did?” You smile to yourself, look down.
“And you didn’t tell me?” Trinity’s mouth is hung wide open, flabbergasted. She looks genuinely disappointed you didn’t tell her, but overjoyed at the same time.
“Close your mouth.” You roll your eyes, slam your locker door shut, take a few steps forward.
“Do not walk away from me!” Trinity laughs, moving quickly to catch up with you. She grabs your arm, forces you to stop.
“Trin, we aren’t having this conversation at work.” You look around you, and find no one. But it still doesn’t sit right with you.
You like Mel. Really like her. And you want this to be something good. Something you don’t mess up for once.
And this? This was a recipe for disaster. Especially in your shared place of work.
It would take five seconds to get back to Mel, and you didn’t need that. Not after you finally made a dent of progress between the two of you.
You danced around her for months.
You were an intern when Mel transferred here, and you were infatuated with her from the moment she started.
She was adorable. Always talking to herself, her glasses falling down her face, her awkward smiles.
Even the things she didn’t like about herself, you liked them. And maybe that’s what made Mel realize it could be something more. Something more than her relationships with Trinity or Dennis.
You didn’t make fun of her for overreacting over Becca. Or for the lava lamp app on her phone. Or even over any nerdy thing she enjoyed.
And finally, last night, she invited you over for dinner. And you talked and talked and talked.
Then it happened.
She finally kissed you.
After months of walking around each other, never saying what you want to say, she kissed you.
You let her lead, this was her territory, you didn’t want to scare her off. So you let her set the pace. Do what she wants to do.
And it worked out well for the most part.
You left early in the morning, way before she woke up, and you left to get ready. You haven’t seen her yet, but you just got here so you weren’t too upset about it.
“So?” She lifts her eyebrows.
“So. I just told you!” You throw your arms up in the air. You lower your voice, “I’m not talking about this here.”
“Ugh.” Trinity says, annoyed. “You’re no fun. I always tell you about Garcia.”
“I don’t ask you to.” You cross your arms over your chest, stare at her blankly.
“Well..” She doesn’t know what to say, so she just rolls her eyes again. “Come on!”
“Later.” You promise. “Now, let’s go save some lives. Because we’re not doing what we’re being paid to do, by standing in the locker room.”
“Fine.” Trinity sighs, and follows behind you.
You turn to look at her as you’re exiting the locker room, bumping straight into someone.
Your arms find her shoulders, face too close to hers to be considered friendly, and the blush on your cheeks even less.
“Mel!” Your face brightens, “Hi.”
“Hello.” Mel gives a tight lipped smile, glancing awkwardly between the two of you. She glances at your hands on your shoulders, and you remove them without any protest.
“How— how are you?” You swallow thickly, nervous all of the sudden. Even after last night.
“I’m okay.” She nods once. She clears her throat, bites the inside of her mouth, eyes darting around.
Trinity stands to the side just as awkward, dying to be freed from this conversation, hands held behind her back.
“That’s good.” You say with a little too much enthusiasm.
“I’m just..” She points behind the two of you to her locker. “Gonna change.”
“Oh, of course.” You move out of the way, slamming your back into the wall way too hard.
But Mel doesn’t say anything, just moves along to her locker, unlocks it quietly. She doesn’t look at you again, doesn’t question why you’re standing there watching her. She just does her own thing.
Out of the corner of your eye, you see Trinity move past you, out into the open ER. You follow silently, but your chest squeezes, telling you something is wrong.
When you catch up with her, Trinity looks at you, and sucks a sharp breath in through her teeth.
“That was a tough watch.” Trinity watches you with amusement, leans against the desk with her arms crossed. “You sure you didn’t imagine anything last night?”
You glare at her, and she raises her arms in defense.
“I’m just asking for the sanity of my good friend.”
You shake your head, annoyed but also hurt, because you definitely didn’t imagine last night. It absolutely happened.
“No.. I..” You shake your head, like you’re trying to shake yourself from a bad dream. And that’s almost what this is. “Maybe she’s just not in a good mood this morning.”
“It’s Mel.” Trinity leans her head towards you, voice quiet. “She’s always in a good mood.”
“Not always.” You reply too quickly. “Sometimes she gets.. anxious. We all do. We all wake up on the wrong side of the bed.”
“You’d think she’d wake up on the right side.” Trinity lifts her eyebrows. “Since you fucked last night.”
You hit her arm, and she fauxs hurt, rubbing her arm up and down.
“Keep your voice down.” You say through clenched teeth. “I don’t want Mel to hear. It’d be a real shame if someone started questioning you, huh?”
She stands straighter, face gone serious, "You wouldn’t.”
“Fuck around and find out.” A small smile lands on your face.
“Enough you two.” Dana peaks around the corner. “Don’t make me stick Robby on you two. I’ll do it.”
“Yes, Dana.” Trinity puts her hands up, walks in the opposite direction, entering a patient's room.
But you stay back a few minutes, just stand and reflect. You thought last night went well. After you guys were done, you talked. For a really long time.
About everything. Work, family, what it was like growing up. It was good. Normal. She spoke softly to you, touched you more than she ever has. Smiled even softer.
She kissed you good night, let her hand rest in yours as her breath evened out.
But now.. now she barely looked you in the eye. It looked like it pained her to say good morning to you. Like she couldn’t get away fast enough.
And that did something to you, something hurtful.
You needed her to know that. If you could get her to look at you, to stay in your vicinity for more than five seconds, that is.
“y/n.” Dana peeks around again, raises her eyebrows.
“Just hold on.” You put your hand out.
“I’m serious, kid.” She leaves then, leaves you alone to your thoughts, to your self sabotage.
Mel comes out of the locker room then, looks at you for a few seconds, and then moves along with her rounds.
And your heart sinks in your chest.
It’s not like when you hear something you don’t want to, or when you make a mistake you can’t fix. It isn’t a quick drop. It’s slow. Inevitable. Like you can’t stop it from happening.
And somehow, that makes it worse.
“You look like you’ve been kicked.” Cassie enters the break room, headed for the stale coffee. She lifts the pot to her nose, sniffs it, and makes a gagging sound as she dumps it down the drain. “What’s going on kid?”
“Nothing.” You shake your head with a soft scoff.
“Nice try.” She peaks behind her as she starts a new pot.
“Just.. relationship stuff.” You look down at your hands, held together on the table, picking at your fingernails.
“How so?” She lifts her eyebrows, urging you to explain further.
“I was kind of.. talking to someone.” You shrug, try to ignore the knowing look on her face as you continue. “And things progressed last night.”
“Okay..” She lowers herself onto the chair across from you, hands on her thighs. “So what’s the issue?”
“Well now she won’t talk to me.” You lean forward, eyes still on your hands, too embarrassed to admit it’s all you could think about today. “Every time I try to talk to her, she either ignores me or walks away quickly.”
“We’re talking about Mel, right?” Cassie leaned her head down into her hand.
Your face flushes as you admit, “Yeah.”
“Okay. So.. Mel’s always in her own little world.” Cassie tries to defend, tries to lessen your nerves. She’s always good at that. Talking people down. Explaining their actions.
“But it’s happened more than once. Multiple times now.” You finally look up at her.
Her eyes are soft, comforting to you.
“Sometimes she gets overwhelmed. And when people get overwhelmed, they do what feels most comforting to them.” Cassie nods as she speaks.
“Okay.” You laugh and sit back.
“Meaning.. being avoidant.” She presses her lips into a straight line. “Maybe she doesn’t know where you stand. Maybe she thinks she overstepped.”
“But she hasn’t.” You exclaim. “At all.”
“Make sure she knows that.” She pats her palm on the table and stands, pouring herself a cup of coffee. She stops beside the table again before she leaves. “Try to talk to her. See how she feels. One conversation can go a long way.”
You watch her go, then your eyes are back on your fingernails, raw and bloody. You lift the finger to your mouth, suck the blood from it.
You think about what Cassie said, about what you should do. If you could even get Mel alone for more than a minute.
When you think you might be ready to finally get up, track her down, someone walks into the room. You lift your eyes to find Mel this time.
“Oh, sorry. Uh.. just came for a protein bar.” She points to the cabinet. “So I’m gonna.. do that.”
You watch her silently, her casual but awkward stance. You watch her unwrap it and take a bite, back towards you. She begins to walk towards the door.
“Wait, Mel?” You stand from the table, one hand still resting on the surface.
“Yes?” She spins quickly. “I was just about to go check on our patient, if that’s what you’re curious about.”
“No, no.” You frown. “I.. uh..”
You take a few steps forward, so you’re closer to her.
“We should talk.” Your lips twist to the side, another nervous habit on your long list.
“Oh. About what?” She tilts her head, rocks on her toes, then to her heels.
You stare at her for a few seconds before you speak again, “Last night.”
She swallows, looks down at her feet, back up to you. “I don’t want to— I don’t want to do that here.”
“Like in the break room?” Your eyebrows pull together. “We can go outside. Where no one will overhear.”
“No. I don’t want to do it at work.” She shakes her head, an almost painful expression on her face.
“Why not?” You shake your head in disbelief.
“Because.. I don’t know.” Her hand finds the back of her neck, fingertips digging in deep, an obvious sign of her anxiety.
“Okay.” You soften. “Well.. can we talk about this later?”
“Yeah. Yeah. For sure.” She looks out the door.
“Mel, wait. Can you give me something? Anything? You’ve been avoiding me all day.” You laugh, but nothing's funny.
“No I haven’t.” She smiles, but it doesn’t look real.
“Yes, you have.” You nod, sure of yourself.
“No.” She says more firmly. “We talked this morning in the locker room—“
“Barely.” You cross your arms over your chest.
“—and we were talking just an hour ago about our patient.” She points towards the door.
“That doesn’t count.” You argue. “Did I do something wrong? Did I upset you last night?”
“I said I didn’t want to talk about this here.” She averts her gaze away from you, and she can’t make eye contact. Her eyes move from the ground, to the wall, to the ceiling.
“Just talk to me. Please. Tell me we didn’t mess this up.” Your eyes are full of hurt, swimming in tears. “Mel?”
She inhales shakily. “I think Langdon's calling for me. I have to go. I’ll find you later.”
And then she’s gone, running from you like you’ve burned her.
You barely catch Mel before she leaves. You can tell she doesn’t want to have a conversation about this. But you were both adults. And there was definitely something that needed to be said.
“Mel!” You burst out of the ED, goodbyes rushed, barely grabbed all of your belongings as you chased Mel through the department.
It was funny, to anyone who would be watching, to anyone who didn’t know the context.
Trinity watches with bated breath, peeking up from a test result held in front of her, both nervous and excited for the outcome.
“Mel!” You say louder, following her further down the parking lot.
Her steps falter, only for a moment, but she keeps walking. Bag held tighter over her shoulder, hearing selective.
“Melissa King.” You throw your hands up, stop walking, sigh in defeat.
And then finally, she stops. Stops walking, stops breathing, stops thinking.
Maybe that was good. Maybe she shouldn’t think for a few minutes. Let everything flow out. Allow herself not to worry about what you’re thinking. Just listen.
She turns slightly to the side, so you can see half of her face, lit by the moonlight.
“Can we please talk?” You’ve been through the wringer today, and the last thing you want to have is this conversation. But you needed it.
Needed to hear her say she regretted it, that she hated you, anything.
“Okay.” Her voice is hushed, and you barely hear it from a distance.
You take a few steps towards her, so you’re closer, so you can feel the warmth radiating from her skin, hear her breathing.
“What’s going on?” You ask defeated.
“What do you mean?” She shakes her head with an awkward laugh, flashing her teeth.
“You know what I mean.” Everything in your body is yelling at you to be angrier, to show her how this feels.
But you don’t. Because you can’t. Because it’s wrong.
This is Mel.
The dirty blonde who couldn’t hurt a fly. Who’s face closes off when you raise your voice even slightly. Who shuts down when you walk away mid conversation, even if it’s for good cause.
Mel King, the girl of your dreams.
She shifts on her feet, looks to the ground, overwhelmed.
“Mel?” Your eyebrows pull together softly, tilt your head down, trying to get her attention. “Talk to me. Don’t shut me out.”
“I’m— I'm not.” She opens her mouth to speak again, but shuts it just as quick. Her throat constricts, a breath caught in her throat.
“You are.” You move to touch the side of her arm, and she jerks back. “Can I touch you?”
She nods timidly.
You let your hand reach the soft skin of her elbow, rest it there.
“Okay. That’s one step.” You breathe out a sigh of relief. “Now, can you look at me?”
Her lips tilt down, eyebrows pulled together so tight you think they might stay that way. But when she lifts her head, you don’t think you’d mind.
She looked absolutely adorable, even all worried.
A breath leaves your chest, the tightness subsiding finally.
“Good.” You still speak low, voice soft as silk.
“I’m sorry.” Her lips tilt to the side, a small smile forming, but it’s still not quite real. Like a mask, trying to hide her fears and every thought that ran through her head today.
“You don’t need to be sorry.” Your other hand comes up to her arm, and you pull her in for a hug.
She melts into you, lets you run your hand up and down her back. Her chin rests on your shoulder, fitting like a puzzle piece. Like you and her were made to mold together.
To never let go, hold together for the rest of your lives. And then the tightness in your chest is back, no plans of leaving any time soon.
“Mel.” You whisper, one hand in the mess of her hair where her braid begins.
“Yeah?”
“Please talk to me.” You breathe out. “I can’t do this.”
She pulls back quickly, hands on your shoulders, face in shock.
“Do what?”
“Avoid each other. Pretend this didn’t happen.” Your eyes are saddened, a crease formed between your eyebrows. “Pretend we didn’t happen.”
“Well..” She trails off, not sure what to say to that.
“Just say something real. Please.” You beg.
“I—“
“You ignored me all day.” You nod. “And please don’t deny it. Because you know you did.”
“Please don’t hate me.” She doesn’t leave your eyes now, and it gives you hope.
“I don’t hate you Mel. I could never hate you.” You tilt your head, one hand resting on the back of her neck. “You know that.”
She takes a deep breath, “I was overwhelmed.”
“Okay. Talk to me about it.” Your thumb brushes the underside of her jaw, a comforting touch to keep her grounded. So she doesn’t overthink, her mind wandering to the point where her breathing becomes uneven.
“I was scared.” She looks behind you, nervously, and you nod as she speaks. “You left this morning and I didn’t hear from you. I thought maybe.. maybe you were having second thoughts.”
You watch her push her glasses up the bridge of her nose, come back to meet your eyes, her blue orbs looking into yours.
“I promise I wasn’t.” You move your head closer, just enough to feel her breathing. “I had a good time last night. I think maybe.. I’d like to do it again. More often.”
“Really?” Her face breaks into an adorable smile, and you’re right where you want to be. With who you want to be with.
“Of course.” You nod, a piece of hair falling into your face. She reaches out to touch it.
“Would it be okay if I kissed you?” Her eyes hold nerves, as if everything you did last night never happened, like she’s kissing you for the first time ever.
“Yes.” You breathe out and let her lips attach to yours.
It’s soft and gentle, and that’s all you need. Your hand is still on the back of her neck, but you don’t put pressure, you don’t make her stay. You give her an out.
Because that’s what she needs.
“Thank you.” Mel pulls away, eyelashes fluttering as she looks up at you.
“You don’t need to thank me, Mel.” You chuckle.
Your hand falls from her neck to reach her hand, intertwining your hands together.
“How about you go pick up Becca?” You start walking, pulling her along with you, and her other hand snakes around your arm. “And then I’ll pick up dinner.”
“That sounds nice.” Mel leans into you, the nerves from earlier long subsided.
“And then we can watch Elf.” You look at her from the side and see her laugh.
“I can’t believe you remember that.” She smiles up at you.
“I remember everything about you.” You kiss the top of her head, and part ways as you get to your cars. “Pizza?”
“That’s perfect.” She rocks on her feet anxiously, gives you a smile.
“I’ll meet you at your place, okay?” You open your car door and slide inside, waving as you drive off.
You loved everything about Mel. And sure, you didn’t quite know everything about her yet, but you couldn’t wait to find out more.
All you knew was this was going to be a long ride, and you were already buckled in.
thank you for reading! as always, likes and reposts are appreciated. i’m always open to hearing your thoughts, so feel free to comment, send an ask, or dm me!
summary : in which reader is a police officer, and after a certain case she ends up in her girlfriends hospital.
pairing : dr. baran al hashimi x fem!reader
warnings/inflo : pure fluff | injuries | mentions of blood (brief) | police officer x doctor | very gay | wlw | no use of y/n | she / her pronouns | mentions of injuries | mentions of baseball bats lol | think that’s it lmk if i missed anything !
a/n : hi everyone! this is my first pitt one shot and i’m honestly so in love with this bc i love the show so much. and tbh after harry was on snl doing a skit like that it inspired me to fully write on some of the characters. so of course i had to start wit my favorite person this season.
"Babe. I'm fine," you huff as you make your way through the door on your crutches.
Let's just say today’s case as a local police officer in Pittsburgh was... eventful.
It was taken care of, which is the best news to come out of it all.
Your partners successfully managed to turn in the suspect who was roaming the streets and apparently attacking people with a baseball bat.
It’s pittsburgh.
Thanks to you and your speed, you managed to run after the suspect and tackle him down.
It even surprised you since you weren't the tallest or strongest on the team.
Though knowing you and your temper, your partner ran after and helped you cuff the guy.
Yet, in the process of tackling him, you injured your ankle. Severely.
Safe to say, your girlfriend Dr. Baran Al-Hashimi didn’t take it too lightly when you showed up at Pitt today.
Sitting in the lobby, you were rolled in on a stretcher with your bruised ankle on display and blood on your leg from your other injury.
She had been called over to the doors and that’s when she saw you.
The first thought going through Dr. Al-Hashimi's head was, “What did she do now?"
The other was “Who did this to her and where can I find them?”
But she controlled her emotions and tried to pretend this was a regular case and regular patient.
After putting all her other patients into other doctors’ care, she wheeled you upstairs to the X-ray room and gave you all the best care you could ask for.
Sure, her fellow doctors, nurses, and surgeons had questions.
But she didn’t let anyone speak a word of you.
For her own personal sake.
Yet in the end, as she sat by your bedside for nearly an hour everyone already had their suspicions.
Especially when Dr. Abbot peeked his head in and overheard you saying how hot she looked in her scrubs.
“Ugh. Look at you, baby. You look gorgeous today. I'm glad I get to experience the Baran patient point of view. Better than I imagined.”
Safe to say he went and told the whole floor about it.
Which of course began the topic flowing through the hospital for the day.
You couldn’t help it because she did look incredibly sexy.
Especially knowing she was your own personal Doctor at home.
That was yesterday. You stayed overnight at the hospital since you had a pretty gnarly gash that needed stitches.
Baran, of course, stitched you up herself since she didn't want anyone else near you.
Now you two are back home, and she's so close to carrying you everywhere instead of watching you try to wobble around with the crutches.
"Would you just sit down for two seconds? Let me help you. Please," she says with a hint of frustration in her tone.
You two have been together for a year now, and she knows you can be stubborn ... and very independent.
"I'm-" you try to say before you look at her and see the one look that dares you to talk back.
Never mind.
"Okay," you huff and sit on the couch while she watches you like a hawk.
"I'm going to get you something to change into. Then I'll help you to the bathtub and change the bandages," she says firmly as she walks into the bedroom, not allowing you to argue back before heading inside.
You rolled your eyes at yourself as you waited impatiently on the sofa.
A few minutes later, she returned and gently pulled you up, making sure your ankle wasn’t hitting anything. "Come on, let’s get you in the bath.”
“And no. I’m not leaving you alone.”
"Baran, I can bathe alone, you know," you tried to argue, but her hold on you grew stronger, making it clear she’s not going anywhere.
“Sit on the toilet seat. I’ll help you with your clothes." You already knew she wasn’t going to leave. And you love her even more for it.
She helped you sit on the toilet seat, and started to help you remove clothing.
“You know, when I decided to date a police officer, I didn’t think you’d be walking into my own hospital showcasing that I do, in fact, have a girlfriend to all my coworkers.” She smiled to herself despite the situation.
"Well, it was the nearest hospital, plus everyone knows you’re super gay already," you muttered as you lifted your arms to remove your top and bra.
“They do not," she defended with a fake offended smile as she helped carefully remove your baggy sweats.
“Baran Al-Hashimi, you radiate lesbianism.” That made her laugh in response, along with an eye roll.
“Guess no one thought a gay officer and a gay doctor would fall in love, huh?” she teased as she lowered you into the bathtub filled with bubbles and bath salts.
It smelled of vanilla and coconut. Your favorite scents.
“Don’t think we did it by the book or the rules, so no. I never thought I would fall for an insanely beautiful doctor," you said lovingly as you relaxed in the tub.
The bubbles covered your skin like a blanket, your ankle raised in the curve of the tub to keep it dry.
“I’m honored that not only do I get to wake up next to someone like you, but I get to love you. And I will forever. Even if you end up in my hospital a couple times," she whispered, blushing as both of you shared your feelings like two unbearable fools in love.
After your bath, your body started to feel heavier. Exhaustion hit you like a brick, and your eyes began to flutter.
“We should get you into bed, my love, hmm? Come on," she said softly, tapping your shoulder and grabbing a towel.
Once you managed to get out of the tub on one foot, she helped walk you toward the bedroom.
She sat you down and helped you put on underwear and a large T-shirt.
Soon after, she changed your bandages, checking the stitches herself to make sure they were still intact.
“Hm. Thank you," you mumbled, looking at her with pure admiration.
“Don’t have to thank me. Let’s lay you down," she said with a smile, gently laying you back onto your pillow and pulling the sheet over you.
“I’m going to get ready for bed. I’ll join you in ten minutes, okay?” she asked as she went to grab her sleepwear from the dresser.
"Mhm," you hummed, already feeling your eyes close as sleep took over your tired body.
If there was anything you needed right now, it was sleep and your favorite girl beside you.
Summary: You’re an ER attending, and Ogilvie is dead-set on asking you out. What he doesn’t know is that you’re married and your husband was right there in the room when he started bragging about his plans to make a move.
“Okay... great work, everyone. Whitaker, finish up the sutures. Show Ogilvie and Joy how it’s done and let them take a crack at it. Jesse, page me if their vitals shift” you said, peeling off your gloves before glancing at the nurse.
“You got it, Doc” Jesse replied with a grin, giving you a quick thumbs-up and a wink that went unnoticed by the others.
You offered him a small smile and stepped out of the trauma room, unaware of Ogilvie’s eyes following you.
“Do you guys think she’s single?” Ogilvie asked. Every head in the room snapped toward him, but the med student didn't look away from you as you stood at the nurses' station talking to Dana.
“I... think that’s a pretty inappropriate question, considering she’s an attending... which means she’s *way* above your pay grade” Whitaker said cautiously. He shot a look at Jesse, silently asking if he should spill what he knew or keep his mouth shut.
Jesse subtly signaled him to stay quiet. Honestly, he wanted to see exactly where this conversation was going.
“Let me translate that in case your tiny brain didn't catch it: she’s your boss” Joy added, giving him a look of pure judgment.
“I’m going to ask her out” Ogilvie declared.
“You’re going to ask her out?” Joy repeated, incredulous. “Are you actually an idiot? Do you really think SHE is going to look twice at a med student like you?”
“She doesn't seem to be seeing anyone” he replied with a shrug, looking down as he continued suturing the wound.
“Just because she isn't flaunting it doesn't mean she’s single” Whitaker said, stealing a glance at Jesse, who was currently biting back a laugh while charting the patient's vitals. “Besides, Joy’s right… she’s basically your boss.”
“The only thing you’re going to achieve is humiliating yourself” Joy muttered, rolling her eyes.
“Jesse, you must know if Dr. Y/N is seeing someone, right?” Ogilvie asked, looking at the nurse as if expecting him to just hand over your personal business.
“Call me if you need anything” Jesse said, ignoring the question entirely before walking out of the room, shaking his head and chuckling to himself.
The rest of the shift went on as usual, except for the fact that Ogilvie seemed to be shadowing you everywhere, jumping on every case you handled.
Whitaker and Joy eventually gave up on trying to talk him out of his delusional plan. Joy was just waiting for the slow, glorious train wreck of his rejection, while Whitaker didn't even bother telling him that you were, in fact, taken by someone who worked right there in the hospital.
By the time the shift ended, you handed off your patient updates to Shen and Ellis. You headed out and leaned against the wall by the ER entrance, checking your phone while you waited.
“Dr. Y/N!” Ogilvie called out, jogging out of the hospital to catch up with you. “I’m glad you’re still here.”
“Do you need something, Ogilvie?” you asked, looking up from your screen.
“Yeah, I... well... the thing is... you’re such an incredible doctor, I really admire you, and I was wondering if…” He was cut off by a third voice.
“Ready to go?” Jesse asked, walking up with his bag over his shoulder and his jacket in hand.
“Yes, please... I’m starving and my feet are killing me” you complained, tucking your phone away. He took your bag from you, slinging it over his other shoulder, before draping his jacket over your shoulders.
“We can grab a pizza on the way, and I’ll give you a massage when we get home if you want” he said with a smile, zipping the jacket up for you before stealing a quick kiss.
“Y-you two...?” Ogilvie stammered, his jaw dropping as he took in the scene. “You’re together?”
“Happily married for four years now” Jesse said with a proud little smirk, looping an arm around your shoulders. “Why? Is there a problem?”
“What was it you needed, Ogilvie?” you asked, tucking your hands into the pockets of your husband’s jacket, completely oblivious to the drama.
“Oh... n-no, it was nothing. Excuse me” the student scrambled to say, face turning a deep shade of red as he practically ran away.
“What’s up with him?” you asked, confused, watching him bolt.
“He wanted to ask you on a date” Jesse said, grinning.
“A what?!” you exclaimed, horrified, spinning around to look at your husband. “And how do you know that?!”
“Come on, I’ll tell you all about it on the way” he said, kissing your forehead and interlacing his fingers with yours as you started the walk home.
♡ note: hi <3 first pitt fic!! this is a little silly but i love silliness!
♡ pairing: jack abbot x gn reader
♡ word count: 1.2k
♡ tags: reader has a (vague) head injury
The moment the papery thin curtain is drawn to give you some semblance of privacy, the polite smile that’s started to strain around the edges vanishes from your face. You dig your hand into your front jeans pocket, whip out your phone, and dial your best friend immediately.
It’s late in the evening, and the phone rings and rings and rings, and your impatience grows.
Come on, pick up!
“H-hello?” they answer groggily.
“I’m in the hospital.”
“What the hell? What happened? Are you okay—”
“I’m fine,” you cut them off. “I tripped and fell on the sidewalk and may or may not have hit my head, but that’s not what’s important.”
“You’re in the hospital for a fucking head injury, and that’s not what’s important?”
You wince at the simmering anger in their tone. Your grimace deepens when the cut on your head flares up with pain. You bring up your hand to rub at your temple before you think better of it.
“I’m fine! I’m fine, I promise. I didn’t mean to worry you,” you soothe, “I’m in good hands, trust me, really good hands.”
You hear some shuffling on the other end, and in your mind, you can visualize your best friend straightening up and sitting up in bed, resigning themselves to the fact that they’re having this conversation with you.
“What the hell does that mean?”
You quickly survey the room you’re in. Your view of PTMC’s ER is mostly obscured by the drawn curtain, but you can see nurses and doctors run around the space as they tend to their patients. Nobody seems to be paying any attention to you.
You draw your phone closer to your face, lowering your voice.
“My doctor is so fucking hot.”
“I’m going to kill you,” they deadpan.
“He’s so sexy. Has super pretty eyes, you know I love pretty eyes, and shorter wavy gray hair. Or would it be curly? No, I think it’s wavy. Anyways, he has nice biceps, his scrubs are doing him wonders truly, and his voice is all sexy and deep and he was really really nice to me when I was freaking the fuck out about how I was bleeding from my head, so basically, I’m a goner at this point. Oh, and he has a nice ass too. Hate to see them go, but love to watch them leave. Or whatever it is they say,” you word-vomit, wildly gesturing as if it will help convince your best friend to see where you’re coming from. As if they could see you.
They loudly sigh on the other end.
“Let me get this straight,” they slowly say, “you called me, woke me up in the dead of night, gave me a heart attack by telling me you’re in the hospital for hitting your head, which is apparently unimportant, just to tell me that you think your doctor is hot?”
“Well, yes.”
“Fuck you.”
“Love you too,” you sweetly say. Your wandering gaze lands on the curtain to your room. The open curtain to your room. You almost jump out of your skin when your brain registers that your doctor is standing there.
“Shit, I gotta go, the doctor’s here. I’ll call you back later. Sorry for waking you up, but not really,” you hastily say, hanging up on your best friend before they can get another word in. You turn to your doctor and paste on, what you hope is, a polite smile.
“Dr. Abbot, I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize you were there.”
He easily returns your smile as he walks further into the room, drawing the curtain shut behind him.
“No worries. Didn’t want to interrupt your phone call,” Dr. Abbot says, gesturing to your phone that you have a death grip on. You immediately loosen your hold on it and nervously laugh.
“Oh, it would have been fine if you did! It wasn’t anything important.”
You fiddle with the edge of the exam table paper beneath you. Fuck, you really hoped that he didn’t hear anything you said. Not only would that be mortifying for you, but so uncomfortable and inappropriate. Oh god, would he hand you over to a different doctor because of the comments you made about him? Or report you or something? You try and keep a lid on your spiraling thoughts. Your smile is starting to feel less like a smile and more like a grimace.
Dr. Abbot snaps on some latex gloves, jolting you from your thoughts. Absentmindedly, you think about how his hands are big. No, no, no. You can’t go there. You need to get your brain out of the gutter before it gets you into some trouble.
“Let’s get you patched up, shall we?”
You weakly nod, unable to muster any words at the moment.
Your nerves begin to dissipate as Dr. Abbot gets to work closing the cut on your head. He doesn’t give any indication that he overheard your conversation, getting straight down to business. Thank goodness. He steps into your space, hovering over you and gently moving your head into the best position for him. The close proximity makes you a little jumpy, pulse fluttering in a way that makes you grateful you aren’t hooked up to any sort of machinery. Step-by-step, Dr. Abbot narrates what he’s doing, which makes you feel a little more at ease. His voice is low and soothing, and if the circumstances were different, you think you could fall asleep to it.
By the time he wraps up, you truly are almost ready to knock out. It’s late enough that you would typically be in bed by now.
“All done. Keep the cut dry for 24 to 48 hours. After, wash around the cut with clean water twice a day, but be gentle, so you don’t risk reopening it. Any questions?” Dr. Abbot tells you as he steps out of your space, which you mourn the loss of, and tosses out the gloves he was wearing into the bin located in the corner of the room.
You slowly blink, trying to get your brain working again after nearly being lulled to sleep.
“No questions! Thank you so much, Dr. Abbot,” you say, straightening up.
“You’re welcome. Take care of yourself. Wouldn’t want to see you in here again,” Dr. Abbot says, genuine but lightly teasing, which makes your face heat up. Landing yourself a trip to the ER by tripping over the sidewalk and cracking your head open like an egg definitely has not been your finest moment.
“Will do,” you awkwardly respond, clearing your throat. You begin to gather your belongings that you came into the ER with, but you pause when you realize that Dr. Abbot hasn’t quite left yet. You tilt your head at him, expectant.
He lingers at the threshold of the room, fingers curled around the edges of the thin curtain. He looks over his shoulder at you, the corner of his lips quirks up into something that borders between a smile and a smirk. It’s devastating how handsome you find him.
“I also consider my hair wavy not curly,” he simply says before disappearing from sight.
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jesse x reader. based on the 11th episode of s2. may contain sensitive content/spoilers. grammar errors. not proofread. please let me know if there's changes should be made.
you stood frozen by the nurses' station while robby and dana rushed towards wherever the shouting came from. you always hated when there's loud screams, especially when it is filled with unkind rage.
your heartrate is now elevated. something is wrong and you can feel it, even without seeing it. you felt like you wanted to run away from it but instead, you took a few steps back towards the wall, grounding yourself.
breathe in, breathe out
you try to focus on your breathing and calm yourself down, it wasn't the time to lose control.
that was when you saw it, saw him.
jesse. your secret boyfriend for almost 6 months. none of the other nurses or staffs know about your relationship. you managed to keep it hidden. even if there are suspicions, it was forgotten quite quickly.
now, jesse was on the floor. he was dragged by the agent who had a mask over his mouth. jesse's hand was cuffed behind his back as he struggled.
robby was talking to him. voice low but with authority, telling him to not do anything. not to say anything, to protect him. jesse was shaking his head in disbelief. he didn't say anything after all. he was just protecting his patient.
they were heading towards you, you almost didn't see jesse's face as robby's back was blocking your view.
but jesse's eyes found yours.
he titled his head as he knew where you were. his eyes widen and you stepped closer to them, matching their pace.
"jesse?? stop what are you doing to hi-"
"step back, ma'am." the agent snapped.
you didn't listen, you tried to grab jesse by his arm. that was probably a mistake.
"i said step back-!",
the shove came fast, the agent shouted as he pushed you away. it caught you off guard until you lost your balance and fell on your wrist. you screamed in pain. dana went by your side and puts a hand near your head as it almost hit the wall.
angry and furious voices erupted by the people watching the scene. you saw by the corner of your eyes, javadi was recording everything.
"what the fuck-", jesse loosen his grip off the agent and tried to crouched down to you.
"hey, im sorry ba-", his voiced hiccuped as his knees thud on the floor. you seethe through your teeth, with anger and pain. it is overwhelming. he tried to hold you. he couldn't.
when you heard his voice, you look up. your vision blurred with tears. you tried to control it but the sight of his face broke you.
before jesse, everything felt heavy, exhausting and lifeless. he bought in the light into your life and it changed everything.
you loved him.
he helped you whenever you needed it most. he was the one who listened to your problems at 3 a.m., always lend a shoulder to cry on and stayed. he didn't just care for you, he chose you. and he will, in every lifetime.
you really do love him, so much.
and he'd never hear this from you.
"jesse.." you could only repeat his name, barely a whisper.
he was dragged by the same agent and as he was pulled away, you heard it. it was subtle, but it was there.
"im sorry, i love you."
they are walking towards the exit now, leaving you alone with your thoughts echoing in your head.
he said i love you
for the first time.
probably for the last.
you got pulled up by dana and robby who ran to you to help you get up.
"are you okay? let's get you checked up."
you didn't bother to answer, you just follow their instructions.
you sat down by the bed while dana carefully wrap your wrist in a bandage. she was glad that it was just a sprain, no major procedures needed.
dana started, "you and jesse.."
you smiled despite everything, "yeah, 6 months."
she smirked, she wanted to say more but considering what happened, it was probably better to say it later.
"you two are perfect for each other"
you hugged her as a thank you. your relationship is finally approved, in a way. jesse would be so thrilled.
that thought hurts you.
your wrist is beautifully covered with a bandage by dana. you are really grateful for her. as you were stepping out of the room, you feel your stomach twist. it must be the shock from just now.
a sharp, uncomfortable pain waved in, not from your wrist but your stomach. you ran towards the bathroom, straight into the toilet bowl and you vomited. a lot.
you retched loudly, cold sweats was breaking out on the side of your face. you realised you actually didnt eat for breakfast before this shift. you didnt have the appetite.
then you realised, your period is 4 days late.
fuck.
thank you for reading. again, please let me know if changes are to be made wether its the plot or spelling errors.
robby hating on dennis is soooo funny to me. like fully at your wedding walking you down the aisle, he stops to whisper in dennis’s ear some bullshit like “if you hurt her i will kill you in front of all these people” mind you, you have been together for 5 years. and OH when dennis brings the grandbabies over to grandpa robby’s house he’s even worse. picks up your toddler and immediately starts giving her sugar while staring dead into dennis’s face (because you’re on a trip with you friends and no he is going to have to deal with a sugar high toddler) just insufferable!!!!
🐭
Dad Robby, who is praying in the front row, wants you to say "I don't" when the time comes.
Dad Robby, who immediately said no when Dennis asked for his blessing, as a joke, of course. (not at all) Your happiness is what he cares about most, but he definitely makes a whiny sound with his eyebrows furrowed and tells Dennis he'll "think about it."
Dad Robby, who has Jack squeeze his hand to keep him quiet when you kiss to seal the deal at your wedding, literally bites his fist over it and groans in pain when you kiss him for more than a second.
This is the same dad who, in private, cries. Not because he hates Dennis and can't believe you're vowed to that man for the rest of your life, but because he secretly loves Dennis with all his heart, and he's so happy for you guys, literally head over heels that his little bug found THE one. He cries even harder when he has flashbacks in his mind of little you, and now, when Dennis looks at you with such love and adoration, it looks like you personally painted the sky for him.
Jack catches him in the bathroom and comforts him, saying, "Maybe he'll kick the bucket soon," but Robby sobs harder, between little chuckles, because who will take care of his baby in the next 50 years if he, Jack, Dana, and Dennis are gone?
Dad Robby, who has a personal talk with Dennis, which you have no idea about! too busy partying with your and Dennis' friends on the dance floor. Robby pulls him to the side, pouring his heart out about how good of a guy he is and how he trusts Dennis with you and how he loves him and never hated him. He just was so guarded about his daughter; he didn't know what to do.
"I would've acted the same if it was any regular old Joe—but it was you, Dennis," he says with a hand on Dennis's shoulder.
And I'm glad it was you—for her. I'm glad you found each other."
Dad Robby, who most definitely was blackout drunk that night with Jack.
Dad Robby tried to forget he poured his heart out to Dennis 5 years later, but it never left his mind.
He's mildly embarrassed—even more when it's just him and Dennis hanging out with your kid.
Oh, his grandbabies are the apple of his eye!! He loves his 3-year-old grandson and his fresh 7-month-old granddaughter.
Oh, he can't even control himself around them; he's a COMPLETELY DIFFERENT PERSON!! Oh, he's so gentle and sweet. I firmly believe that he hasn't even raised his voice once at them, but you and Dennis try and keep date night a routine so he sees his grandbabies often.
They spend the whole weekend with "Papa," and without fail every time, Sunday night, he's loading his grandson up with sugar—Pop Rocks, ice cream, lollipops, you name it (he pays for dentist visits). He always makes sure to feed your baby her bottle right before Dennis gets there; he says it's so she can get sleepy in the car and have a good rest for the night, but every time—without fail—she's shitting up her back in her diaper on the way back, forcing Dennis to pull over and clean her up in his "dad car," a Chevy Tahoe.
Later that night, when Dennis brings it up, you just laugh and kiss his lips gently, ASSURING him that your father isn't doing it on purpose, but the migraine festering in his head from your toddler screaming the whole car ride isn't agreeing.
