Hello my loves! Just a quick disclaimer about my blog:
This blog contains NSFW content. I honestly don't care if you're over the age of 18 or not reading this stuff. BUT IF YOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF 18 AND SOME CREEP IS TRYING TO CREEP ON YOU LET ME KNOW SO WE CAN DESTROY THAT BADTARD!!! PEDOPHILES, LET THIS BE KNOWN: I WILL MURDER YOU!
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I do repost dark and yandere work. I have to figure out how to make sure those who don't like dark fics won't see it. So, in the meantime, please bear with me and skip those fics. I do not condone the actions in these dark fics. I include them to allow people who do enjoy them in a nice safe environment.
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Lastly, for now, this is a blog for everyone to enjoy their fantasies in a safe environment. I also hope people will be able to explore their sexuality in a controlled, safe environment and find out what they may or may not like.
Summary: Cassie McKay is a jealous woman, especially when it comes to you. It rages like a wild beast in her one day when she catches another resident flirting with you, shutting you out as she struggles with her own reaction.
Tags: Jealous!McKay, Age Gap, Dom!Cassie, Lesbian Sex, Vaginal Penetration [Strap & Fingers], Dirty Talk, Jealousy Kink (if you squint??), Praise Kink, TINY bit of choking
A/N: I've been frothing at the mouth over this ask since I got it, I'm sorry it turned out SO MUCH LONGER than I'd initially planned. Couldn't help myself. (sorry if it's not great, I'm still learning Cassie)
Based on this ask by @augustvandyne.
You knew you were in trouble the moment you locked eyes with your girlfriend across the room of the ED. The way her eyes burned into you had both ice and heat running through your veins, a warning and a promise in those gorgeous blue eyes.
“No, the color really is great.”
You’re snapped back to your conversation with Santos, only cataloging the movement of her hand a moment too late. She catches a few strands of your hair between her fingers before you jerk away, laughing awkwardly. “Thanks, I think so too.”
Cassie is gone when you look back.
Fuck. Fuck. F u c k.
You grimace as you sidestep Santos, missing the mischievous grin on her face as you blanche, your eyes darting around the room, trying to find Cassie again.
“You look like you just shit your pants.” Santos almost quips, a self-satisfied smirk on her face. “Your girlfriend watching?”
“She’s not my girlfriend.” You snap, a little too quickly. Your relationship with Cassie was still under wraps, and you’d thought you’d both been subtle. Although…The fresh hickies sticking out from both of your scrub tops may have given you away earlier in the week.
“Uh huh and-” Her retort is cut off by Dana.
“Major MVA pileup. Look alive, people, this snow is gonna be a killer.”
Finally having a moment to breathe, you lean against the desk Cassie was sat at, wiping your hair from your face. “That was absolutely insane.”
“Mhm.”
You frown, watching the wrinkles at the corner of Cassie’s eyes deepen, her gaze focused on the computer screen in front of her. Her fingers fly over the keys as she finishes her charting, not even bothering to glance up at you.
“Come on, Cass. You can’t tell me the dude with the gear shift stuck in his chest wasn’t the wildest thing you’ve ever seen.” You push, leaning further over the counter. You flash her an adrenaline-fueled grin, still riding the high from saving a patient.
Your grin turns into a grimace as she still doesn’t look up, your heart dropping to your stomach. “What’s wrong?” She still doesn’t look at you, logging out of the system and standing up, grabbing the tablet lying next to the computer.
“Nothing’s wrong.” Her voice is flat, almost cold. Her eyes meet yours briefly, a look in them you can’t quite place. There’s heat, but there’s something more– something you’ve never quite seen before. “I’ve got other patients, and I’m sure you do too. Get back to work.” One more glance from her and she turns, leaving you in the dust as she hurries toward one of the exam rooms.
“What the fuck?” You mutter, frozen to your spot as hurt bubbles up in you. Cassie has never ignored you like this, treated you like you were a nuisance instead of her girlfriend of six months. She’s always been one to check in constantly– a slight brush of her hand against your lower back as you move through the day, a lingering look after a particularly hard case, even a soft brush of her lips when you’re alone in the locker room.
This was different; this was wrong.
You attempt to get through the rest of your shift, constantly looking over your shoulder for the older woman as dread sinks further and further in you.
This couldn’t just be about Santos, could it? It was the only logical explanation for her behavior, however ridiculous it seemed. She couldn’t be mad enough about it to give you this much of a cold shoulder. You’d been spiraling all afternoon and evening, your body buzzing with anxious energy by the time you’re clocking out.
Your phone chimes with a text, pulling it from your scrub pocket as you head toward the locker rooms.
“Come over. You can shower here. We need to talk.”
Anxiety almost makes you choke as you read Cassie’s text, unwanted tears brimming in your eyes. “Okay.” You type back, capturing your lower lip between your teeth before you send another text. “Are we okay?”
“Yeah, baby, we’re okay. I’ll talk to you when you get here.”
Your worry eases immediately, knowing she’d never lie to you– if things weren’t okay, she’d tell you.
The drive to her apartment is short, parking in your usual guest spot as you shoulder your backpack, taking a deep breath to ground yourself. Everything would be fine.
Cassie paced her apartment, her fingers tapping a nervous rhythm against her thigh. She isn’t angry, no, she’s furious– but not at you, never at you– her anger directed at fucking Santos and that stupid little trick she’d pulled today.
Cassie had overheard her gossiping earlier that week with Whitaker, something about asking you out to a bar next weekend. It had started that little flare of white-hot jealousy, able to push it away and move on, reminding herself that you were hers. Touching you was finally the final straw, that small flicker turning into a full blaze.
The soft knock on her front door halts her pacing, and she rushes to the door, not bothering to look through the peephole before flinging it open.
You startle a little before she’s grabbing your wrist, pulling you inside. “Woah-Cass-“
She cuts you off with a desperate kiss, pushing your bag from your shoulder as one hand settles on your hip.
You push on her lightly, breaking your kiss as you blink in confusion at her. There’s a wild look in her eyes, almost like a caged animal, and it worries you, your hands coming up to cup her face. “Cassie, babe, what’s wrong?”
A heavy sigh escapes her under your touch, the soothing motion of your thumb grounding her. “She touched you.”
You let out the breath you’d been holding— so this was about Santos. “Yeah?” You frown a little, not used to this odd behavior from her.
Cassie shakes her head adamantly. “She can touch you the way I can’t.” She makes her point, her hand coming up to flick at your hair. “She plays these stupid little games because she knows she can. She wants to ask you out, you know?” Her voice is a low grumble, like barely contained rage.
Oh. Glee suddenly courses through your veins, the realization that she was jealous lighting you up from the inside. “She does?” You ask innocently, blinking a few times.
Cassie’s eyes harden, her lids lowering as she crowds you back against the door. “Yeah, she does. Such a pity you’re already involved, isn’t it?” Her lips are inches from yours, her eyes scrunched just a little in a searching intensity.
You let out a quiet “oof” when your back hits the door, your eyes widening in surprise and arousal at her slightly rough handling. “Yeah.” You breathe, your hands hovering above her waist before wrapping your fingers around her ribcage. “I-I mean, no. It isn’t a pity.” You correct, watching a smirk curl up the corner of her mouth.
“Which one is it, baby?” Her whole body seems to loosen, pressing closer to you, her thigh finding its way between your legs. “You want me, or her?” Her voice lowers to a teasing rumble, fingers digging into your hips.
“You.” Your voice cracks as you say it, simpering just slightly under her gaze. It seems to please her as she crashes her lips against yours, her body pressing into yours from breasts to hips. You melt under her, giving her exactly what she needs.
When she pulls back, Cassie’s eyes are dark, the blue of her irises merely a ring of black as she walks backward, pulling you with her. “Wanna prove it to me, baby? Be a good girl and show me how much you want me?” Denying her doesn’t even cross your mind as you nod, excitement heating you from the inside out. “Good.” She grins wickedly, the lines around her mouth and eyes deepening as she turns you around, pushing you toward her bedroom.
The bedroom door closes behind you with a soft click, and suddenly the world narrows to just Cassie– her hands, her mouth, her presence consuming every inch of space around you. It almost suffocates you, like a thick fog that slowly suppresses everything but her.
"Strip." It's not a request, the command wrapped in seductive authority. Your hands move immediately to the hem of your scrub top, peeling the fabric away as Cassie settles onto the edge of her bed, watching you with an intensity that makes your skin prickle.
You're hyperaware of every movement– the way her jaw clenches as your sports bra comes off, the way her fingers curl into the comforter when your scrub pants and underwear hit the floor. She's still fully clothed, and somehow that makes it feel even more intimate, more submissive. It sends such a thrill through you that you physically shudder, your lower lip caught between your teeth.
"Come here." Her voice is rough, gravelly in a way that sends heat pooling low in your belly. You obey without hesitation, stepping between her spread thighs as she reaches out, her hands settling on your waist.
"You know what it does to me?" She murmurs, her head falling forward to rest against your stomach. "Seeing her touch you like that. Like she has any right." Her lips press against your skin, soft and deliberate. "Like you're not already claimed."
"I'm yours," you whisper, threading your fingers through her dark hair. "Only yours, Cass."
She pulls back just enough to look up at you, and the vulnerability in her eyes catches you off guard—beneath the possessiveness, the jealousy, there's something raw and needy. "Prove it," she breathes, and then she's pulling you down onto her lap, your thighs bracketing hers as she captures your mouth again.
This kiss is different from the one at the door. It's slower, deeper, almost reverent despite the edge of desperation running through it. Her hands trace the familiar landscape of your back, your ribs, pulling you impossibly closer until there's no space left between you.
"Harrison with Chad tonight?" You ask breathlessly when she breaks away to trail kisses down your neck.
"Mmhm." She nips at your collarbone, soothing the sting with her tongue. "All night, baby. It’s just us."
You arch into her touch as her hands slide lower, cupping your ass and pulling you tighter against her. The friction is exquisite, and you can't help the soft moan that escapes you. Cassie swallows the sound with her mouth, her hands already working to remove her clothes, and you help her, desperate to feel her against you.
She taps your thigh so you can climb off her, a soft whimper of protest leaving you. Cassie rolls her eyes playfully, slipping off the bed to dig through her drawers. “Don’t be a fuckin’ brat. Hands and knees, baby.” She turns around again, the purple strapless strap-on held in her grasp.
Your breath catches in your throat, arousal spiking so intensely it makes your head spin. You've done this before, but the sight of her holding it, the promise of what's coming, never fails to make your pulse quicken.
"You okay?" She asks, her voice dropping into that careful register she uses when she's about to take control like this. It’s a quick check-in, something you’re always grateful for when she wants to use her favorite toy.
"Yeah," you breathe, already moving into position on the bed. Your upper body sinks into the soft comforter, your ass up in the air as you settle onto your knees, your forehead resting on your forearms. The vulnerability of the position sends a thrill through you, your skin already flushed and sensitive.
You hear the soft gasp she lets out as she inserts the toy in herself, the soft sounds of her adjusting it, and then the mattress dips as she kneels behind you. Her hands– those capable, gentle hands that save lives during the day– settle on your hips with a hard grip.
"Look at you," she murmurs, her thumbs tracing slow circles on your skin. "So perfect. So mine. You know that, right? After today, after watching her touch you..." She leans forward, her chest pressing against your back as she speaks directly into your ear. "I need you to remember who you belong to."
"You," you whimper, pushing back slightly against her, feeling the toy slot between your asscheeks. "Only you, Cass. Always you."
"That's right, baby." Her voice is rough with satisfaction, her fingers dipping down between your thighs, finding you already wet. She teases around your folds, spreading your slick as you whimper, lightly biting the flesh of your arm. She avoids your clit, dipping two fingers inside you to slowly stretch you, to prepare you. “God, baby, this pussy is ready for me. Practically sucking my fingers in, huh?”
"Yeah." you gasp as she strokes you, building the tension higher. "Please, Cass, I need-"
"I know, I know." She coos as she withdraws her hand, and you feel the blunt head of the strap-on pressing against your entrance. "Breathe for me, baby. That’s a good girl."
You take a shaky breath, relaxing into the sensation as she pushes inside slowly, giving you time to adjust. The stretch is perfect– that exquisite edge between pleasure and pain that makes your toes curl. She moves with deliberate slowness, letting you feel every inch of her, unable to help the broken moan that tears from your throat.
"That's it," she whispers, her hands gripping your hips as she bottoms out. "Fuck, baby, taking me so well."
She stills as she settles the toy fully inside you, letting you adjust, and you're grateful for it even as you're desperate for her to move. You finally press your hips back into her, glancing over your shoulder with a pleading expression and soft whine.
"Greedy little thing," she murmurs, and then she's moving, pulling back slowly before thrusting forward with more force. The rhythm she sets is deliberate, controlled, each stroke hitting exactly where you need it.
"Oh god, Cass-" you gasp, your hips pushing back to meet her thrusts.
"That's right, baby girl.” She practically growls, grabbing your shoulder as she pulls you back and up against her, her hand wrapping around your throat as her thrusts pick up speed. She doesn’t squeeze your throat, just holds her hand there as a reminder.
You lean into it, tipping your head back as you moan unabashedly. You reach behind you, over your head, to thread your fingers through her hair, grounding yourself as she fucks you harder. Your tits bounce, her free hand reaching to roughly grope at one, pinching and rolling her nipples between her thumb and pointer finger.
Your breath is stolen from your lungs as you choke, pleasure spiking through you as she hurtles you toward your orgasm. “Cass- I’m gonna come.” You whine, feeling her grind against you with every thrust, surely grinding her clit against the textured base of the toy.
“Me too, baby- Little longer.” She pants, putting her full effort into her thrusts as she reaches between your legs to toy with your clit. She can practically feel your walls clenching around the toy– the way your body resists every time she pulls out has the ball settled inside her pressing against her front wall.
Her hand tightens around your throat, the sound of her hips snapping against your ass and short, quick gasps from both of you are the only sounds in the room. Your cry breaks the near-silence, unable to hold your orgasm back any longer as you fly over the edge.
“That’s my girl.” Cassie groans, her fingers slowing against your clit even as she continues to grind into you, chasing her own release. She chokes, burying her face against your neck as her hips stutter, waves of euphoria washing over her when she finally tumbles after you.
Your fingers tighten in her hair, pressing her face closer as her teeth dig into the sensitive spot between your neck and shoulders, tilting your head to the side as you ride your highs together. You know there will likely be a mark there tomorrow, but to hell with it, you wanted everyone to know. Needed it. “Fuck, yes- Cass-” You finally breathe, your bodies collapsing forward on the bed as she grinds against you, still riding through the aftershocks.
She pulls from you after catching her breath, standing on shaky legs as you collapse to the side, watching her pull the toy from herself with a hiss of overstimulation. She grimaces at the mess on it, the tilt of her lips quickly turning salacious as she turns it in her hand. “That’s fuckin’ hot.” She mutters, more to herself, going into the ensuite bathroom, quickly rinsing it off and setting it on the counter to dry, wetting a washcloth with warm water to clean herself up, bringing it out for you.
She settles back on the bed, gently spreading your legs so she can clean you up, wiping away the evidence of your orgasm from your inner thighs. You hum in contentment, stretching your arms over your head as she cares for you.
She seems much more relaxed now, the tension in her body gone and the stress line around her eyes soft. She leans down and kisses your belly when she's done, tossing the rag toward the hamper before crawling up beside you, pulling you into her arms.
“I’m sorry.” You mumble as you curl yourself around her, your thigh coming up to rest over her hip, arm around her waist.
“For what?” She asks, the lines between her brows creasing a little deeper.
You reach up to soothe them away, giving her a soft smile as you’re distracted by the lines on her face. You trace your fingers down her nose to her mouth and chin, leaning up to press your lips to her jaw. “For making you doubt me. For making you think for even a moment that I wanted anyone but you.”
She scoffs, fingers brushing against the back of your hand as she grips your wrist, bringing your palm to her lips to kiss it. “I never doubted you for a moment. I was just jealous because I want to be able to touch you casually. It drives me nuts that I can’t without getting shit about it.”
You blink up at her for a moment, your lips twitching as you try not to laugh. “You know, everyone already knows about us, right? Santos was ribbing me about you being my girlfriend. I’m pretty sure she was trying to make you jealous.”
Cassie groans dramatically, pulling you a little closer as her lips press against your forehead. “Though I can’t say I’m particularly mad about the outcome, tell that little shit that if she touches you again, she’s losing a hand.”
“Yes, ma’am.” You murmur, grinning as you relax into her embrace. You would not be telling her that– especially if it means bringing out this deliciously jealous side of her.
hii lovely! would you be up to writing something cassie mckay x shy!reader. maybe it’s the readers first real relationship and cassie is teaching her the ropes? i absolutely adore your writing🫶🏽
shy reader hcs—c. mckay
cassie mckay x fem!reader
word count: 1.5k
summary: hcs of cassie with a shy reader!
warnings: mentions of anxiety, r is oblivious at first, age gap (cassie is early 40s, r is mid 20s), cassie is adorable and i love her, smut, thigh riding, oral (r receiving), fingering (r receiving), scissoring, cassie mckay’s strap, of course the chain, aftercare, mentions of loss of virginity, dirty talk
a/n: love this idea. thought it’d be easier as headcannons because i didn’t have a good idea for a complete fic.
SFW
firm believer in the fact that cassie will always be the leader in the relationship.
you weren’t her typical type at first
she had to take initiative, and for once there wasn’t someone fighting her for dominance in a relationship. that scared her more than anything
to set the scene, you were a med student and she was your mentor
she fought long and hard for a few months. she really tried everything, she swore she didn’t have feelings, tried to move along to another med student. but she missed you and it clawed at her chest like a flesh-eating virus
she eventually gave in, but it was harder to catch you up. to say you were shy was an understatement
and it didn’t help that you were oblivious as hell. she tried everything for a while. got you coffee, left you notes on your locker, guided you into rooms with her hand on your back. she even brushed her entire body against yours.
sure, you blushed and had shaky hands, but that was just you. something you did even before she tried to make it obvious.
eventually she full on flirted with you, and it finally worked
“are— are you flirting?” you blushed profusely, redness flushing your skin from your ears to your chest.
“have been for a while sweetheart.” and she just looked at you like you were everything to her.
after that, she flirted more often until you finally got the idea. your admission was whispered by the nurses station, everyone watching with a curious eye until cassie finally pulled you to the side.
she asked what you were trying to say, a calm hand on your waist, told you to slow down, speak up. it was stuttered, a mess, but she was more than happy to agree to a date
she didn’t even care that you were a shy mess, mumbled words under your breath because you weren’t confident in what you were trying to say. nor did she care that you’d never been in a relationship until this very moment.
the first time you guys said i love you, you were laying on cassie’s couch. your dinner long forgotten on the coffee table, a random show playing in the background. your conversation was hushed like harrison was asleep in the next room, when really he was across town at his dads
at this point, you were more than comfortable with her, but you still had your moments.
like when you first get out of the shower and forget where you are, arms covering yourself. or when she says something cheesy at work and you forget she’s actually your girlfriend and not someone flirting.
she laid below you, and you hovered over top of her. even after she told you to lay on top of her, you balanced yourself on one arm, afraid to crush her.
“cmon, baby. that’s unnecessary.” she pulled you down on her until you gave in and were as close as you could get. she smiled softly at you, twirled your hair between her fingers.
the eye contact she held was so intense, you felt like you needed to hide your face in your hands, so you did. she forced you to look at her, your face flushed, and she thought it was the prettiest sight ever.
“i love you.” she sighed, not catching herself before she let it slip. the moment she realized it was distinct, you could tell the exact time.
you blink, not sure if she meant it or not. you started to retreat into yourself, like you did at work when you’re nervous. you sat up slightly, and for a second she let you.
“wait, come back.” she pulled you back until your were back where you started, flush against her front. “i meant what i said. i just surprised myself. usually i keep that to myself. i guess.. i guess i can’t keep it inside anymore.”
“i—“ your nerves wracked your whole body, and your face was hot. “i love you.”
she kissed you and you cuddled on the couch, eventually falling asleep.
she can always tell the exact moment you get nervous, and she knows exactly what to do for you by now
she still has to remind you that you’re together and this isn’t the first time you’re seeing her. she makes you uncover yourself, let her see you.
she drags what’s wrong out of you, with much struggle, but she does it anyway. you won’t come right out and say if you’re upset or anxious.
she pulls your face out of her neck, assures you it’s okay to show yourself, that she won’t judge you.
she lets you wear her clothes, after much reassurance that’s it’s okay. she loves how long her old band t-shirts come down on your thighs. and she lets you wear her jackets when it gets cold; because you may be shy, but you’re also stubborn as hell
she shows you how to not be shy around her. assure you this is how relationships work. honesty, transparency.
but that doesn’t stop you from getting nervous around her. you still shy away when she says something sweet. you get butterflies when she leaves a note on the counter for you on days she works and you don’t. and she braids your hair for you when you get overwhelmed with deciding what to do with your hair.
at work, she answers for you when someone makes you feel particularly shy. she leads you into rooms with her hand on your back, to say i’m here. she’s ready to step in in case someone takes your shyness for granted
she’s the best first and last girlfriend ever
NSFW
the first time you guys have sex is a mess. but a good one
cassie underestimated just how shy you were until that moment when she started to undress you.
your skin flushed pink and you covered yourself with the blanket the second your skin was exposed
she pulled the blanket off you, but noticed you still kept your body covered with your hands. she turned the overhead light off, but kept the lamps on.
“i have to see so i know what im doing, baby.” she kissed and kissed and kissed your body until you were a writhing mess underneath her.
she only smirked when you started grinding up onto her leg, underwear still on. she let you do that for awhile, whispered praise in your ear until you came the first time
i’m also a firm believer that cassie talks you through it every single time. whether it’s you she’s touching, or vice versa, i know she does it.
she tells you you’re doing great, tells you it’s okay to make a pretty mess on her fingers or face. you squirm and moan softly at her words, like she said the most inappropriate thing ever. and in a way, she did.
when you’re touching her, she tells you what to do, where to touch, how much pressure to apply. but she never really needs to help you. just wants to hear herself talk.
a long while into the relationship, you learn to take initiative in the bedroom and put that mouth to good use.
the first few times you have sex, she has to pull your lip out from between your mouth.
“i need to hear you. need to know how good it feels.” her head is buried into your neck, whispering the words into your ear as her fingers move in and out of you at quick pace
after that, you never bite your lip again. you moan freely, and it makes her feel good. like she’s doing something right.
she’s a pro with her tongue, knows how to use it for more than just talking. she’s left marks on your thighs from how tight she grips you. it would take a whole army to remove her from between your legs.
when she thinks you’re finally ready, she uses the strap on you, and it’s the most romantic encounter you’ve ever experienced.
she makes it a whole thing. she’s never taken anyone’s virginity before, and it shows, but you know she’s trying nevertheless. lit candles, dimmed light, everything you could imagine.
she talked sweetly, told you to tell her to stop if it got to be too much, but you never did. you just turned into a pile of mush underneath her.
it’s your new favorite way to have her. your back flush against her naked front, her mouth on your ear whispering the most obscene things, the cold feeling of her chain touching the back of your neck with each thrust
you catch her off guard when you talk dirty to her, any remotely filthy sentence out of your mouth is foreign to her. the first time you said something you caught her off guard, and she laughed nervously like you were trying too hard.
she immediately recovered and assured you she liked it, you just caught her off guard because you’re normally more reserved and shy
she’s also a big fan of scissoring, and i know it for a fact.
she loves the idea of you both getting off together. both mumbling obscene thoughts, your slick rubbing together, hitting just the right spots.
“fuck, sweetheart, right there.” her hand grasps your hips from underneath you, rolling your hips just right, her eyes rolling. she leans up to bite at your nipple, sucking the bud in between her teeth
she’s also the queen of aftercare, i stand by it. i don’t think she’d get particularly rough with you, due to you being shy, but if you asked she would.
every time after sex she will make sure you both shower, you both eat, and then she’ll lay with you and play with you hair until the two of you fall asleep
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!
Hello, can I please have a fic with Cassie McKay where her and the reader obviously have a thing for each other but neither will admit it. Everyone else can tell and they are secretly betting on them. One day some random person starts flirting with the reader but she doesn’t notice. Cassie notices what happens and drags the reader into an empty room where she confesses how she feels about her? A jealous Cassie would be amazing!! Also if their coworkers are spying on them to see who wins the bet that would be awesome!
invisible line — c. mckay
cassie mckay x fem!r2!reader
word count: 5.8k
summary: you and cassie mckay have always danced around each other, so much so everyone starts betting on the two of you. but when someone else flirts with what’s hers? that’s where she draws the line.
warnings: mostly fluff, swearing, a lot of inner monologue i’m so sorry, smut, thigh riding, age gap (r is late 20s, cass is 42), tiny bit of angst but not really, flirting, kissing
a/n: if you haven’t seen your request yet, im truly sorry. i’m getting to it, i promise. working down the line.
It all started the first time the two of you met. You were fresh out of medical school, and have never stepped foot in this hospital. You did your previous rotations at another hospital, so you’d never been to PTMC in your life.
You looked unsure of yourself, stepping forward timidly. You clenched a small notepad in your fist, your scrubs ironed and pressed perfectly. You screamed professionalism in every way possible.
But you looked like a lost lamb.
You shyly introduced yourself to the charge nurse, explained you’d met with the director upstairs, that you were supposed to start today.
She didn’t look at you like you were stupid, and you appreciated it. You weren’t young for being a first year med student, no, but you sure as hell looked it.
You always had comments made about how young and mature you looked, and you hated it. So that was why you applied to PTMC. Why you didn’t go back to the other hospital where you did your rotations.
You couldn’t stand the eyeing looks from the lead physicians, or the comments about how you're too young to be there. So you hoped this would be your fresh start.
Dana, you later learned was the nurse's name, immediately introduced you to Robby. But you knew how the ER worked, nobody ever had time for a full conversation.
He reached for your hand, shook it quickly, pointed in someone’s direction, you weren’t sure where. But you were a rule follower, so you headed in that direction, running straight into who you thought was an angel.
She placed a calming hand on your back, steadying you before you went falling flat on your face. She reassured you it was all okay, even as your face contorted into an unreadable expression. Even as you looked as if you were about to cry. Even as you looked scared shitless.
She took you under her wing, that day, and every day after.
You learned her name was Cassie McKay. She had a son named Harrison and an ex-husband named Chad who she hated. Knew she liked women, all men sworn out of her life after her divorce. Knew she had a history with drugs, and didn't like being around alcohol. Knew she lived alone, didn’t have any pets, but would love to have a cat. Knew her favorite color was orange, she loved the show Friends, her favorite holiday was split between Halloween and Christmas.
The list could go on and on. And she probably knew even more about you.
You knew her on a level no other doctor in the emergency department did. You knew more about her, than you did yourself, you were sure.
And loved every detail. Even the small ones. Like the tattoo on her arm, and the mole on her neck.
You never left her side, you were sure people called you a lost puppy dog, trailing after its owner. But you didn’t mind, as long as you got to hang out with Cassie.
And between your hushed conversations outside the exam rooms, your nightly walk around the outside of the hospital, you missed the whispers. Missed the rumors milling around the emergency department.
You missed everything besides the way Cassie’s voice softens for you, the way her eyes sparkle, how she dips her head forward so you can hear her better.
It was no secret to yourself or anyone around you that you had a crush on the woman. For God's sake, you dyed her hair for her, your hands stained a light brown from the dye for weeks even after all your scrubbing.
And you’d probably jump off a cliff with her if she’d asked.
It was also no secret to anyone that she reciprocated your feelings. If you took one look at an interaction between the two of you, there wouldn’t be any second guessing.
But there was always a line.
With you now being in your second year of residency, and her being your superior, there would always be a line. It was unspoken, but plain as day. You tiptoed between it, coming to her house even if you shouldn’t, hands wrapped around her torso, feigning a shiver even if it wasn’t cold.
She wasn’t any better than you, either. Asked you to come with her for dinner, not wanting to go herself. Asking if you need a ride home even though it was miles out of her way.
Somewhere between all of this, people started taking bets. Nobody’s really sure who started it, but someone was sure it was Victoria, on an off-handed joke.
Something about working on a case with the two of you, feeling the vibes, laughing about having money on the two of you being together by the end of the summer.
From there, it spiraled, every single person was in on it by now. And there always seemed to be a watchful eye on the two of you, bets changing here and there.
Even now, as the two of you sit in the break room for lunch during a weirdly slow shift, someone was probably changing their bet. She sat close, too close, body angled in.
It was crossing that invisible line you both self-consciously set, but you didn’t care right now. As long as you were in her vicinity, you didn’t care much. You’d probably ridicule yourself later, scold yourself for being too close.
But as you share a sandwich, which you luckily found in the cafeteria, not too dry or too soggy, you just smile at her. You lean in close when she makes a joke, doubling over in laughter, so close you can feel her breathing.
“You know, you’re pretty funny.” You lean in close, too close to still be behind your invisible line.
“What, you didn’t think I was funny already?” She feigns a hurt expression, a hand going over her chest. “That deeply upsets me.”
Your hand finds her shoulder, pushing on it slightly.
“You know what I meant.” You laugh again.
“Do I?” Her eyebrows lift with a smirk, and she leans in to take a bite of your half of the sandwich. Your eyes widen the slightest bit as she moves her head, biting off the sandwich in your hand. The half that was yours.
But you don’t mind. Not really. You just watch the way she then leans back, spreading her legs, hunched in the chair. The space between you thankfully multiplying.
And it becomes hard to contain yourself. This happened sometimes, unable to keep control of yourself. You wanted her, no doubt about it, but you wouldn’t cross the line.
“That sandwich is really good.” She smiles after she swallows her bite. “That probably means we’re gonna get food poisoning.”
“Probably.” You breathe out, and you’re not even sure you’re coherent. But she seems to understand you, her eyes locked onto your face.
She’s not looking at one particular part of your face, she never does. She’s searching it, like she wants to see what she did to you, even if she shouldn’t.
“We should get back soon.” She sits up slightly, edging to the end of her seat, closer to you. “You should finish your half. You’ll need it for later.”
It’s not meant to be sexual, but it sounds it. And it makes you feel like it’s sexual. You cross your legs as nonchalantly as possible, and take your last few bites.
As you finish eating, you pick up the trash, standing to walk towards the waste bin. Cassie sits back, watches, waits for you to tilt your head towards the door, telling her to come work.
“Are you going to Becca’s birthday party after work tonight?” You look up at her, tilting your head back. She was only a few inches taller than you, but you liked it.
“I’m not sure yet.” She shrugs, her hands in her scrub pant pockets. She leans in only an inch, and it isn’t necessary, you know it isn’t, but you don’t say anything. “Are you?”
“I think so.” You feel lightheaded, and it’s wrong, so wrong. She’s your superior, you shouldn’t feel this way, shouldn’t feed into it. But you do anyway. You bat your eyelashes, stare into her blue eyes. “Please come. For me?”
She laughs, a bright smile on her face. She blushes slightly, and it’s a sight to see, one you rarely see unless she’s really nervous.
“How can I say no when you ask like that?” Her voice rasps, and it feels domestic in a way. Like you’re already dating and you’re having a simple conversation. Like you were asking if you could pick the movie for tonight.
You beam up at her, a newfound excitement and nervousness taking over your chest all at once.
“Good. I didn’t want to go if you wouldn’t be there.” You admit sheepishly, tucking a flyaway hair behind your ear.
“Neither would I.” She stares again, and it’s hard to look away from her. She’s so captivating, so beautiful, it’s hard to draw yourself away.
“We should get back to work.” You clear your throat, finally looking away. You only succeed for a few seconds before looking back.
“Definitely.” But neither of you move, stuck in your trance, right outside the door of the break room. Her shoulder leans against the wall, hands still stuffed in her pockets. Your hands pick at a loose string on your pants, the other rubbing the back of your neck.
You laugh softly, look down at the ground, back up. And you feel like maybe you’re supposed to kiss, like this is the end of your date and she’s waiting for you to get safely inside. But this isn’t a date, and she isn’t dropping you off at home like she’s done a million times.
This is work, and you’re both professionals, and you’ve set an invisible line. One you’ve silently agreed to never cross.
In the distance, somewhere a few feet away, someone calls Cassie’s name, asks for help. She forces her gaze away, a focus landing across her face.
Her voice changes drastically, more rough around the edges now, as she shouts she’s coming.
“I’ll see you later.” Her voice softens for only a second, long enough to get those four words out. And then her voice changes again, she’s back to doctor mode, no more play time. Her shoulder brushes yours as she passes, her finger ghosting over your wrist.
It sends a shiver over you, and your face heats, and you wonder what the hell is wrong with you today. Because normally you can keep control better than this, visibly see the line. But right now it’s blurred, anything but apparent.
A tiredness settles in your bones about two hours until shift change. You hadn’t seen Cassie much in the hours since lunch, but you thought that was probably for the better.
You finally take a seat for the first time since lunch, and it feels good to be off your feet. Your muscles scream and thank you all at once. You probably overdid it today, but it would be okay if you were sore tomorrow. It was part of the job.
Besides, you were thankfully off tomorrow. One of the few days you get off a month.
You type on the computer, minding your own business, not quite listening to anyone’s conversations. They all drone around you, like background music.
“Hey.” Mel comes up beside you, a bright smile on her face. She is overwhelmed with excitement, and then so are you.
You enjoy it when she’s happy or excited about something. There’s something about Mel that makes you feel exactly what she’s feeling.
“Hi, Mel.” You look over at her quickly, finishing up the chart you were typing on.
“Are you coming tonight?” She bounces on her toes, the corner of her lip drawn between her teeth. She leans forward slightly to see you logging out of the computer. “Becca’s really excited and she is very happy you’re coming.”
“Of course I’m coming.” You smile, lean back in the chair. “I wouldn’t miss it. Especially if Becca’s involved.”
“Great. Great.” She nods nervously, and then breaks eye contact and looks around.
“Hey.” You lean out and place a hand on her arm. You know she needs to be grounded, so that’s what you were here for. “It’s gonna go smoothly, okay? I’ll be there to help if anything goes wrong.”
“No, I know.” She nods, standing on her toes for a second before leaning back down. “Just.. I’m a little nervous.”
“I know.” You nod as well, watching over her face.
If there was a second person you knew too much about, it was your best friend Mel. You started a few months before she came, so you were more well acquainted on her first day.
That shift was hell, and you still think about it to this day. When you think you’re having a hard shift, that shift resurfaces to your head, and you realize you’re being dramatic. Nothing could top that.
Regardless, on Mel’s first day, it was a rough one. You found her on the stairs, about halfway through that shift, caught her looking at a lava lamp, but never mentioned it.
You just asked what was going on, offered a helping hand. She smiled up at you, like no one’s ever shown her compassion. Not in the way you were, at least.
She never had anyone offer to help her without something in return, but that’s exactly what you did.
You offered to help her get settled in her apartment, help get Becca settled. You were always good with people, even better with people like Mel. Knew how they thought, how they reacted before they did so.
And Mel appreciated it. Even more so when you never stopped showing up for her. Never turned her down when she said Becca wanted to see you.
“Everything will go over smoothly. As long as I’m there.” You give her a soft expression. “Everyone loves Becca, I promise.”
Mel bites the inside of her cheek nervously, a worried expression written on her face. You didn’t have to be smart to see it.
You reach out for her hand, grabbing it softly. She appreciates it, her eyes flit to yours, and with an apprehensive nod, she goes back to work.
You watch with your own worry, and sit a little longer. You pull your phone out quickly, just to check notifications and the time. The time tells you there’s about an hour and a half left, and you couldn’t be more grateful. You needed out of your scrubs.
Cassie comes up to you, your face still buried in the phone. Her butt rests against the side of the desk, her arms crossed over her chest as she looks down at you.
“Hey.” You look up from your phone and shove it back in your pocket. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”
“I know.” She draws her word out, the rasp of her voice somehow more apparent now.
It makes you swallow hard, rub your palms on your pants to rid the condensation. Your hands rest on your knees, afraid of where you might put them when she’s standing so close to you.
“What are you wearing tonight?” She jerks her chin forward.
“Um.. what I came in with this morning?” You laugh nervously. Why were you nervous all of the sudden?
This wasn’t a date. Far from it. It was your best friend's sister's birthday party. That was it. Cassie was just coming along because she also knows and adores Becca. And that was that.
The line, y/n, remember the line. No matter how blurred it was, you remind yourself.
“I don’t think what I came in this morning is going to be appropriate.” You can see her cursing herself out internally, a hand on the back of her neck. “I was running late this morning.. and—“
“Hey.” You finally let yourself touch her, let your hands wrap around her wrist to keep her from digging her nails in her neck. A nervous habit she can’t seem to fight.
Her eyes lock on yours, and it feels like you’re having an intimate moment. Her eyes hold worry, maybe insecurity.
“Do you think I’ll have time to run home? I don’t keep extra clothes here.” She taps her foot below her, and your eyes brighten.
“You know what?” You sit up slightly, your thumb brushing over the beauty mark on the side of her wrist. “I have some of your clothes in my bag.”
She lifts her eyebrows at this, expression full of curiosity.
“From the last time you spent the night?” You pose it as a question, like she won’t remember. But she does. Very well.
It wasn’t the first time you spent the night together, by any means. You’ve spent the night together multiple times. But this time was different.
You leant her a pair of clothes to sleep in after a hard shift on both of your parts. You let her shower, braided her hair after. She offered to sleep on the couch, like she always did. Told you it was your apartment. Your place. You needed to sleep in the bed. You denied her request, grabbed your blankets and a pillow and made your way to the door before you heard her voice again.
Heard her ask with a weakness you’ve never heard before. “Will you just.. sleep in here with me? I don’t really want to be alone.”
You couldn’t exactly say no. Not when you knew your back was going to ache from the uneven couch cushions the next day. Not when you wanted to sleep with her in your bed just as badly. And especially not when she asked like that.
You nodded, placed everything back on the bed. Settled in and turned the light off. When you awoke the next morning, Cassie was nuzzled under your arm, out like a light. You slipped out without waking her, made coffee and a small breakfast before she padded out of the room.
You never mentioned it. And you wouldn’t. Not when that was the exact moment the line got so blurry you couldn’t tell where it began and where it ended.
“It’s better than whatever you have, I’m sure.” You smiled softly. “I washed them and everything. I meant to give them back. They’ve just been in my bag for a few days.”
“Thank you.” Her eyes hold a small distance you can’t quite put your finger on, but she doesn’t back away. Doesn’t intentionally hurt you. “I’ll meet you in the locker room later?"
“Wouldn’t miss it.” You take a deep breath and watch as she pushes off the desk, sauntering down the hallway until you can’t see her anymore.
You meet her in the locker room after debrief, give her her clothes, silently dress yourself, never letting your eyes look at her.
“Thank you again.” She sighs when she pulls her jacket over her t-shirt. It’s matched with a pair of jeans and black converse shoes. “You’re a lifesaver.”
The words swell in your chest, and your heart pumps faster. You were sure if someone took your pulse right now, it would be higher than normal.
All you can do is nod, close your locker, grab your bag. Cassie offers to drive you over, as if it was up for debate. You walk side by side to her car, too close, hands brushing together as you walk in sync.
Dana watches the interaction, smiles to herself. To hell with the bet, she thought. It wasn’t even worth it. But she was damn sure she was going to win tonight.
The ride over is mostly silent, one of her older playlists playing in the background. Only a few words are spoken. Cassie asks how the rest of your shift went, you tell her. You mention a couple you interacted with today, telling her you hope to find that one day. And her breath hitches in the back of her throat, unheard.
When you and Cassie reach Mel’s door, she holds it open for you, letting you walk in first. You part ways a few minutes in.
She tells you she wants to converse with Dana, and you want to say hello to the birthday girl.
Her eyes linger on you after you turn away, but she eventually turns and walks in the direction she last saw Dana. She finds her in the kitchen with Robby, and she hops in on the conversation as if she’s been there all night.
“How you doin’ hon?” Dana nods at her as Cassie goes on about driving you over and how she had to figure out what she was wearing. She tells them you saved her, having an extra pair of clothes for her.
Dana keeps nodding as she listens, a small, barely noticeable smirk plastered on her face. She dares a glance at Robby, who only lifts his eyebrows and smiles as well.
“Sounds like you’re lucky y/n is always looking out for you.” Robby gives a kind smile, lifting his cup to his lips.
It’s water, not his first choice, but it is Becca's party after all. He didn’t expect alcohol at an event held by Mel.
“Yeah. She’s..” She turns and her eyes lock on you interacting with Becca. “She’s amazing.”
She doesn’t mean anything by it, but it speaks volumes to Robby and Dana.
“Did you get a gift for Becca?” Dana lifts her eyebrows, wanting to see how this plays out.
Cassie’s face drops. Because, no. She didn’t get one. She didn’t even think about that when she agreed to come with you. At the very least, she could’ve stopped to get a gift card somewhere. But she didn’t even think about that.
“She did.” Mel steps in with a nod, a confused look on her face.
Cassie looks at her with the same confusion because she has no clue what she’s talking about.
“It’s on the table out there.” Mel points. “From you and y/n. It was very nice of you.”
Cassie lets out a small surprised laugh, her eyes finding yours through the doorway, you preoccupied in your own little conversation.
“Excuse me.” She doesn’t look back at the three of them, focused on meeting you halfway.
“I’m telling you, I’m gonna win.” Dana smiles bright, moving her hand out to smack Robby on the shoulder.
“I think you just might.” He smiles over the rim of his cup, nodding his head.
“Dang it.” Mel huffs. “I had money on next week.”
“I wish they would wait until y/n’s birthday in a few weeks. I thought Cassie would go above and beyond for her.” Trinity sucks her teeth, just coming into the kitchen. “Guess I’m out twenty bucks.”
“Guess so.” Victoria laughs, trailing in behind her.
The party starts slowing down an hour or two later. Some of Becca’s friends from the center she spends her days at came, but they’ve mostly left since.
One of Becca’s nurses even came. You remember helping Becca make invitations for people at the center, glitter and stickers all over.
The nurse was gorgeous, you couldn’t deny it. But so was Cassie. And you really wish you were talking to her instead of Maya, you think her name was. She still wore her scrubs from her shift before this, but somehow still managed to look nice.
“So, how do you know Bec?” She smiles softly at you, and it feels nice to not have any sort of line to worry about. But it doesn’t change the fact that you want this to be Cassie.
“I work with Mel. She’s my best friend.” You tell her as if it’s common knowledge, then realize maybe you shouldn’t be so ignorant to someone you don’t know just because you want to talk to someone else. “I helped them get settled in. I come over a lot.”
“Yeah, Becca’s always talking about some girl named y/n. I’m glad to have finally met her.” She gives you a once over, glancing from your face to your shoes. “I’ll have to say.. I’m not disappointed.”
“Yeah?” You smile at her, immersing yourself in the conversation now.
You wonder where Cassie is, but mentally slap yourself for it. You focus back on the conversation.
“Do you enjoy working with Becca? She’s wonderful.” You beam up at her.
“Of course.” Her eyes move between your eyes and lips. She steps forward and places a piece of hair behind your ear. But it doesn’t make your chest tighten like it does with Cassie.
From across the room, Cassie watches with a pang in her chest. She shouldn’t be jealous, she knows it. And she isn’t completely sure if this girl is flirting. But it looks like it.
She clenches her fist around the plastic cup a little too hard. It makes a crinkle noise and she has to release her grip. Her jaw is tight, but she can’t look away from you.
She wonders if she lost her opening, if she had the perfect chance that night at your apartment, and she just missed it.
Maya's hand brushes against you again, this time over your shoulder, and Cassie knows she’s had enough now.
She wonders if she could sneak out without anyone noticing, but immediately ejects that thought from her brain. Hates herself for even thinking that. She came with you, and she’d leave with you. Sure, someone else could give you a ride. Someone who lived closer to you. But that was her title to own, her job.
She forces her gaze away from you, and makes her way to the kitchen. She stops only for a second when she hears Maya laugh, but sighs in relief when she doesn’t hear yours follow it.
“You good, McKay?” Trinity raises her eyebrows. She’s helping Mel set up for the cake, ready to sing happy birthday.
“Fine.” She says it coldly, and nobody tries to ask her again. Just hoping you come out of your conversation soon, to Cassie’s side so she snaps out of this.
“Okay.” Trinity looks back at Mel and the two of them walk out into the living room where everyone begins singing.
Cassie stays in the kitchen alone, pouring herself a little more fruit punch before joining everyone else.
Everyone eats cake and holds different conversations. Now, Cassie lurks in the corner like she doesn’t belong. Doesn’t talk to anyone, but forces a fake smile you see right through.
“You okay?” You mouth from across the room.
She can’t bring herself to give you the cold shoulder, so she puts her thumb up before crossing her arms over her chest.
“You oughta say something before that girl takes her home.” Dana jerks her head towards where Maya is approaching you again.
“I know.” Cassie shakes her head, taking another drink.
“And for goodness sake, have some cake.” Dana shoves a plate in Cassie’s hand, the fork hanging off the side. “Come on, she’s about to open gifts. Gotta see what y/n got from y’all.”
Cassie smiles softly at that, and crowds around everyone else.
Becca happily opens each gift, smiling brightly as she keeps going. She gives a thoughtful thank you to everyone after opening it, standing to give the person a hug.
When she opens your gift, she smiles the brightest. Like it means the world to her, and you have to keep yourself from tearing up when she gives you a tight hug.
Becca even turns and walks a few feet to give Cassie a hug as well, and she leans into it.
She catches your eyes from across the room, and your face softens at the sight.
After gifts, she’s ready to go. But she’s here on your account, so she waits it out for a few minutes. And a few minutes turns into another half hour.
But when she sees Maya taking a pass at you, hand rubbing up and down your back, all she sees is red. She grabs her jacket from the pile on the recliner in the corner and marches over to you.
“Yeah, Dana. You’re winning tonight.” Dennis nods, fully sure of himself.
“No doubt.” Frank lifts his cup to his mouth to inconspicuously watch.
“I’m ready to go.” She tries to keep her voice even, keep the anger out, but she doesn’t succeed. Her eyes lift to look at Maya, a scary look in her eyes, and Maya backs up.
“Okay.” You nod, not asking anything yet. You know she won’t tell you right here in the open.
Another thing you learned about Cassie; she hardly ever spoke about what was bothering her. It took a lot of convincing to get her to say it. And she sure as hell never aired her business out in front of people she didn’t trust.
That was this situation right now.
“Why don’t you go wait for me outside? I’m gonna say goodbye to Mel and Becca.” Your hand softly touches her bicep, and her eyes lock with yours. Her demeanor softens completely, and she gives a timid nod.
You try to be quick, but you end up taking longer than you would like. Once everyone knew you were leaving, it was like they were playing a game of who could keep you there the longest.
Everyone watches you make your way to the door, shouting out one more goodbye.
“I can’t believe this.” Trinity shakes her head, hands in her back pockets.
“Give it a rest, babe.” Yolanda laughs, her hand coming to rest on Trinity’s waist. “Dana won.”
“Ugh.” Trinity rolls her eyes.
“We don’t know for sure if she won.” Samira puts her hands up. “We have to wait until one of them confirms it.”
“I think what we just saw between Cassie and Maya is all the confirmation we need.” Victoria says.
“I think so too.” Dana nods proudly, and puts her hand out for everyone to pay her.
When you finally make it outside, you wonder to yourself if she left by now. But you find her inside of the car, music louder than it was when you arrived.
She doesn’t say anything, just pulls out of the complex and begins driving towards your apartment.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” You speak after a moment, and you aren’t sure she hears you.
She doesn’t answer, but her knuckles are white, holding the wheel with a death grip even when she takes a sharp turn to the right.
You turn the music down and ask her again, but she doesn’t so much as look at you.
“Cass?” You whisper. “Talk to me.”
Your hand goes to her knee, and you feel her stiffen. She’s fuming inside, her jaw still tight.
“It’s fine. Everything’s fine.” She tilts her head toward you for only a second, a tight nod.
“Are you sure?” You frown to yourself.
You knew this was gonna be hard, and you’d be damned if you didn’t get it out of her before she dropped you off.
She pulls into your apartment complex, putting the car in park.
“Are you coming in?” You stare at her, willing her to tell you. When she doesn’t answer, you unbuckle your seatbelt, ready to get out.
She doesn’t say anything, she turns the car off and unbuckles her own seatbelt. She silently follows you inside, lets herself watch you as you sway your hips entering your apartment.
“Cass. Tell me what’s going on.” You eye her as you shut the door behind her, throwing your keys in the bowl by the door. “You were fine all day. What happened?”
“That fucking girl.” She mutters so low you almost don’t hear it.
“What?” You turn back towards her.
“That fucking girl.” She says it louder this time, her voice ragged. She scoffs after she says it, shaking her head.
“Maya?”
“I don’t care what her name is.”
“Cass.. what’s going on?” You lean in forward, and she finally looks at you. Her eyes rake over your face, and it feels different than it did with Maya. You enjoy it, you want this.
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“Is what obvious?” You look confused, and she thinks maybe she’s gotten this whole situation wrong. Your whole relationship wrong.
“That I like you.” She blurts it out so quickly, she surprises herself. “I like you so much. And I shouldn’t. But I do and I can’t stop myself.”
“So you’re upset because..” Your eyebrows are drawn together with confusion.
“Because you're my girl. Because she shouldn’t touch you like that when I’m not even twenty feet away.” She clenches her jaw again just thinking about it. “She was flirting with you. I want to openly flirt with you. I want to touch you like that. It should be me. Not her. You could’ve been rubbing against me at the party.”
She stops to breathe, her chest heaving. She steps closer to you, and your chests touch, her breath fans over your face.
“You didn’t get it wrong.” It’s your turn to surprise yourself with how open you are about it. Her eyebrows raise, mouth gaped open. “I.. fuck. I kept my distance because.. because there’s a line here. You’re my supervisor and I don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea.”
“I really don’t think anyone cares.” She puts a hand on the side of your face, fingers brushing into your hair.
“There’s a line.” You repeat.
“Fuck the line.” She pulls you in with one hand, and you happily let her. Happily let her ravage your mouth.
This was something you’ve wanted for way too long, and you let it happen. Sometimes you need to let yourself have good things. And this was one of those times.
She presses you back against one of the walls. Her hand keeps her grip in your hair, the other coming up to grab the wall beside your head. You gasp in her mouth when she places a leg between yours.
“You’re mine.” She pulls away, looking into your eyes. Your foreheads are touching, and she waits for you to nod before she’s back on your lips.
“All yours.” You whisper between kisses.
Her mouth trails down your jaw, your neck, down to your collar bone. She sucks a mark into your collar, one that will be very noticeable tomorrow. But you don’t care. Now that you have her for good, you weren’t letting go.
You jut your hips forward, the roughness of your jeans hitting the right spot. You moan and jerk forward, arms wrapping around her.
“That’s it, baby.” Her hand on the wall comes down to your hip and she helps guide you, slow at first. But when you get closer, she moves you quicker.
“Fuck, Cassie.” Your hands unwrap from her shoulders and make their way around her neck. Your hand takes a fistful of her hair, pulling her down to your mouth for a kiss.
“I know. Say my name.” Your legs shake around hers with a gasp, and you lean your head into the crook of her neck.
You suck a mark into the base of her neck as she helps you ride out your high.
She lets you catch your breath, whispering sweet nothings in your ear. She scratches at your scalp, places a kiss on your head.
“Let’s take a shower.” Cassie removes her thigh and you whine from the movement. She leans down to pick you up, walking towards the hall.
“Good. I’m tired.” You lean your head against her shoulder.
“Oh, I’m not done with you yet. Now that I have you, I’m not letting you go that easy.” You look at her, and she’s looking down at you with a smirk, dimples carved into her cheeks. “It just so happens we’re both off tomorrow. And I have big plans for us.”
You laugh and lean your head back, ready for whatever she gives you.
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!
pairing: dark step-father!robby robinavitch x f!reader
warnings: 18+ mdni. taboo. dub con -> noncon. reader is over 21. pussy pronouns. fingering. asphyxiation. special guest appearance! no beta. w.c: 518
author's note: well, I finally did it. I finally wrote some dark!Robby.
𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋅ 𝐅𝐢𝐜 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐬
The second your mother backed out of the driveway, your stepfather pinned you against the kitchen countertop.
Your spine curves under the hard marble as the older man presses his larger body into yours. "Thought she'd never leave." Robby grits, hastily shoving one of his sleeves up his forearm and licking two long fingers before shoving them under your skirt and past the elastic of your panties.
A deep groan rumbles from his chest as he finally gets his hands on you. "Been thinkin' of her all day," he confesses, swiping his digits across your slick folds. His fingers worm their way into your warmth, making you hiss from the invasive touch and immense stretch.
A devious smirk tugs at his lips. "Poor thing. She's so fuckin' tight."
His free hand covets the back of your neck, encircling the fragile column, easily allowing him to meet your wary, wide-eyed stare as he slowly begins to fuck you with his fingers.
"S'ok, Sweetheart. Just give in." He presses soft kisses along your hairline, trying his best to soothe the worry from your brow. The graying, dark brown whiskers of his beard bristle the shell of your ear as he leans in, "You know it feels better when you do."
Wet, sticky sounds fill the room despite your effort to rid his hand from between your thighs. The pleasure he pulls from your body makes it hard to breathe, let alone think straight.
The heel of his hand grinds your sensitive clit while he scissors your velvet walls. He curls his competent fingers against that hidden spot, the one that makes you come hard enough to see stars. He teases the spongy spot just enough to make you pitifully writhe in his arms.
"Got a friend comin' over tonight." He begins, standing straight until he can hold your frantic gaze once more. "Remember, Jack?"
A raspy mewl slithers from your lips as your core involuntarily tightens around his fingers. You anxiously paw at his chest, digging your smaller digits into the soft, strong muscle that's hidden beneath his shirt.
Robby chuckles at the way your body responds to his best friend's name. "'Course you do, Sweetheart." He tenderly rubs a thumb along your carotid, feeling the rapid thrum of your heart as your nerves begin to spike. "We're gonna have some fun tonight, like old times."
Your strength pales in comparison to his, but still you push, desperate to free yourself from the older man. Robby's skilled thumb presses down on your carotid, cruelly denying the supply of blood to your brain. "No need to be nervous. We know how to take care of you, don't we?"
Robby's cock throbs as he watches your eyes unfocus and your body slowly go limp in his arms. He softly caresses your cheek just as the front door opens and an uneven tread pads through the house.
"In here, Jack!" Robby yells out.
A sturdy, silver-haired man stands at the precipice of the kitchen with his hands on his hips and a slight frown on his face. "Looks like you started without me."
feel free to scream at me -> 💌
reblogs & comments are extremely appreciated! follow @ozzieslibrary for new fic updates!
Roommate!Robby stroking his cock while listening to you masturbate in the next room. 18+ MDNI
The paper-thin walls do nothing to quiet your whimpers. Each and every sultry moan you elicit makes his cock leak.
Robby knows he shouldn't listen; it's part of the roommate code. But, fuck, he's never heard such angelic moans before.
He swears to himself that he won't leave the bed despite the overwhelming urge to press his ear to the wall. How he wishes he could be the one to pull those raspy whines from your lips and to make you come on his tongue.
Instead, he fists his cock harder. His hips thrust off the mattress and into the tight grip imagining it's your sweet, warm cunt. He smothers a pillow over his face, tamping down the guttural groans that force their way out of his lungs as his muscles flex and he paints his thick, hairy belly with euphoric ropes of white.
I have more on the back burner for roommate!robby x reader but I needed to get this thought out and to share this mind altering image. ("amor fati" edited in by yours truly)
Can we please get a fic with Trinity Santos x fem! Reader where she comes in hurt to the ER and everyone thinks she’s Whitaker’s girlfriend because she points him out but she’s actually Santo’s and everyone is teasing him about her until they see Santos scold him and she goes to reader and kisses her and everyone is like 😦 whoa. And they witness a bit of pervy santos when she things no one is watching. PLEASE 🤭🙏🏼 literally love your writing I’m obsessed
She Loves You
Trinity Santos x Reader
Summary: when you come into the ED people think you’re something you’re not.
Word count: 500+
a/n: so sorry this took so long! I just got sucked into the Dennis Babydaddy worm hole…
You come in not wanting to make a scene.
You come into the Pitt the way people usually do, limping, annoyed, adrenaline already fading and leaving nothing but pain behind. every step shooting up your leg like a reminder that yeah, you definitely ignored it for too long.
The ER is loud, messy, way too familiar.
You’re just passing the nurses’ station when someone says your name.
Not loud, not urgent.
Just…surprised.
“—oh. Hey.”
You look up and see your girlfriend’s roommate. His shoulders tense immediately.
“Shit” he mutters, already moving. “What happened?”
“Hey Den…” you say, forcing a smile. “I fell.”
He looks down at your ankle. “Obviously.”
You wobble and he doesn’t even hesitate, hands on your elbow steadying you, careful and professional, but familiar enough that anyone paying attention would notice.
“Trin know you’re here?” he asks quietly as he guides you toward an open bay.
“No” you say fast. “And I’d like to keep it that way for as long as humanly possible.”
He lets out a short breath that might be a laugh. “Yeah. That’s not happening.”
He helps you onto the bed and crouches in front of you, already reaching for your ankle. Dennis knows you—not personally, not really—but Trinity talks about you enough that he recognized you instantly.
“Pain?” he asks.
“Seven if you touch it.”
He touches it anyway.
You hiss.
“Sorry.” he says automatically. “That swelling’s… impressive.”
“Wow. Thanks.”
Robby slows as he walks past the bay, eyes flicking between you and Dennis. He does a double take.
“…wait.”
Dennis straightens. “What.”
Robby points at you. “You.”
You blink. “Me?”
“You’re—” He trails off, looking between you and Dennis, then squints. “Huh.”
Dennis stiffens.
Robby grins. “Didn’t know you were dating Whitaker.”
“What?” you say at the exact same time Dennis blurts “She’s not—”
Robby plows right over him. “I mean, it tracks. She comes in hurt, you’re already hovering?”
“I’m not hovering” Dennis says, dropping his hands.
Someone behind the curtain snorts. “You absolutely are.”
Heat crawls up your neck. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding.”
Robby tilts his head. “Is there?”
Dennis opens his mouth.
Then closes it.
You look at him, confused now. He knows. You know he knows. And he still says nothing.
Robby’s grin sharpens. “Damn. Keeping it quiet at work? Alright.”
trinity and student doctor reader working with her who’s insecure about how she looks? trinity likes to fluster her but also give her the confidence boost
Confident
Trinity Santos x student doctor!reader
Summary: what starts as harmless teasing stops being funny when your resident realizes there’s more to your flushing than just attraction.
CW: non-described but apparent insecurity, slight student/teacher dynamic, fluff, I don’t think there’s anything else?
WC: 3.5k
Part 1 (you are here!) - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5
A/N: My first request!! Ah!! Thank you! You left it pretty open-ended without a genre, so I hope this is okay! I love Trinity so much 💛 ALSO, for anyone starting this, this is NOT a singular cohesive story, it is a collection of oneshots lightly connected by details.
⟡ ───── ⟡ ───── ⟡
Your second shift is supposed to be worse than your first.
Yesterday, you could hide behind the excuse of orientation, getting lost, not knowing where supplies were kept or your attendings’ names. Yesterday, you shadowed Dr. Whitaker, who had been nice but quick, the kind of doctor who moved fast enough that you barely had time to be anxious because you were too busy keeping up. It had surprised you when he explained he was only an intern; you wondered if you’d feel as prepared when you reached intern year.
Today, you have no such shield. It’s not your first day anymore.
You sit at one of the workstation computers, cursor blinking impatiently at the end of a half-finished note while the emergency department moves around you.
Your fingers hover over the keyboard, unmoving.
Instead, you’re tugging at the hem of your scrub top.
It had looked fine when you left your apartment, you’re sure it had. But now, sitting under the fluorescent lights, the wrinkles in it feel magnified. You smooth the fabric flat over your stomach, then your sides, then down again when it bunches as you shift in your chair.
Nice. You just want to look nice.
You’re halfway through another anxious adjustment when a voice speaks just behind your ear.
“Is that part of your charting process, or…?”
You jump in your seat.
Your elbow bumps against the desk and you hiss, the mouse skitters across the pad, and you twist around too fast and almost collide with the doctor standing just behind you.
Dr. Santos is looking over your shoulder at the half-finished work on your screen. Her posture is confident, arms folded over her chest, her dark eyes flicking from the screen to you, amusement over your jumpiness evident on her face.
“I – sorry,” you stammer, heat crawling up your neck. “I didn’t realize anyone was – I was just…”
One eyebrow lifts, waiting.
“I just want to look good,” you admit quietly. “Professional. Since it’s…you know. My second shift and everything.”
There’s a pause as she looks you over, slowly, from your blue-and-white Hokas up to your face.
Then she says, completely casually, “You don’t have to try so hard. You’re really pretty, so nobody’s going to care about a couple of wrinkles in your scrubs.”
Your brain stops working.
You stare at her, mouth parting as warmth floods into your face, your ears, probably raising your whole body temperature.
Dr. Santos, meanwhile, has already turned away like she doesn’t even realize what she’s done to you. She steps past you, tapping her badge against the reader to log into the station beside yours. The computer wakes with a hum as she types in her credentials, totally unbothered.
You swallow hard, attempting to look like a normal, functioning adult. But out of the corner of your eye, you risk a glance at her.
She’s focused on the screen in front of her.
You release the breath you’re holding, hoping – praying – that she hasn’t noticed your fluster in real time.
Dr. Santos scrolls through a patient chart, her expression neutral.
And then, just barely, the corner of her mouth lifts.
It’s subtle. You almost miss it.
Her gaze slides sideways, not enough to be too obvious, but just enough to catch the reflection of you in the dark edge of her monitor. Your rigid posture, your death grip on the mouse, the way you’re clearly pretending to read something while blinking a little too slowly.
Her smirk deepens for a second.
“This’ll be fun,” she murmurs to herself under her breath, so quiet it’s swallowed by the everyday noise of the department.
You don’t hear her.
After a few minutes, Dr. Santos straightens up. “You’re a student doctor, right?” she asks, glancing down at your badge.
You nod, words apparently beyond you.
“Thought so,” she says. “You’re with me today.”
“I am?” you blink. “I was with Dr. Whitaker yesterday.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not gonna hold your hand like Huckleberry,” she declares, already starting to walk away. “So try to keep up.”
You sit there for a full three seconds before your brain catches up with the fact that you are, apparently, now supposed to be following Dr. Santos.
You nearly knock your chair over scrambling to stand.
“Wait – Dr. Santos,” you call, immediately wincing at how breathless you sound as you hurry after her.
She doesn’t slow, weaving easily through staff and stretchers. You have to half-jog to catch up, clutching your tablet a little too tightly against your chest.
“So,” she says, pushing through a set of double doors, holding one open behind her for you without looking. You rush through it before it swings shut. “You learn a lot from Huckleberry yesterday?”
You assume she means Dr. Whitaker.
“I tried to,” you say a little sheepishly.
She finally slows near the tracking board, scanning it with focus. “You’ll be fine.”
“I just don’t want to slow anyone down,” you admit.
That earns you a sideways look as she assesses you.
“You will.”
Your stomach drops.
Then she adds, “That’s part of being new.”
Oh.
“You ask questions, you double-check everything, you take longer than you should. That’s expected.” She gestures toward the board with her pen. “What’s not expected is pretending you know something you don’t. That’s how patients get hurt.”
You nod quickly. “Right. Of course.”
“Good.” Her gaze shifts back to you fully now, and you feel like you’re being evaluated. “So, if you’re confused, you say so. If you’re nervous, you do what I say anyway. And if you need help, you ask me.”
Her bluntness is intimidating.
“Yes, Dr. Santos.”
She studies you for another second. Then, almost as an afterthought:
“You can call me Dr. Santos in front of patients and staff. Trinity’s fine when it’s just us.”
Your shock has to be written on your face, but she’s already turning back to the board.
“Come on,” she says, pointing up at the screen where a new lab result has popped up. “We’ve got a handful of follow-ups and a fresh admission triage just came in. You can start by just watching, and if you don’t faint at the sight of blood, I might even let you help.”
“I don’t faint,” you say quickly.
You trail after her again, trying to match her pace, hyperaware of everything – her confidence, the way nurses greet her as she passes. She acknowledges each one easily by name.
Halfway down the hall, she slows just enough that you pull even beside her.
“So, your second shift,” she comments, revisiting the earlier conversation.
“Yes.”
“You sleep at all last night?”
You hesitate. “…some.”
She lets out an amused little laugh. “You’ll learn. Emergency medicine runs on caffeine and adrenaline.”
Despite yourself, you laugh.
Her mouth curves faintly, like she counts that as a win.
She stops outside a patient room, hand resting on the chart holder beside the door. When she turns to you again, she’s all business – but her eyes are still warm, still relaxed, and still just slightly amused like you’re her own little private joke.
“Alright, student doctor,” she says. “Observation first. You watch how I talk to the patient, what I ask, and what I look for. Then we’ll talk after and you can tell me what you noticed.”
You nod, heart thumping hard under her gaze.
“And,” she adds, already reaching for the curtain, “try not to overthink your scrubs. I promise they’re doing their job.”
Your face reheats instantly and you’re back at square one.
She doesn’t look back this time when she pulls the curtain open, but you’re almost certain you catch the ghost of another smirk before she steps inside.
⟡ ───── ⟡ ───── ⟡
It was definitely a smirk.
Not the polite, professional smile she gives patients or her colleagues.
And as the shift stretches on, you become increasingly convinced you hadn’t imagined it.
Because Dr. Santos seems to make it her personal mission to see how easily she can trip you up.
It starts subtly.
A hand resting briefly against the small of your back as she guides you out of the way of a gurney barreling down the hallway. Fingers brushing yours when she passes you a chart instead of simply setting it on the counter for you to take. Leaning in just close enough when reviewing patient notes that you can feel her breath on your neck.
They’re all quick. Justifiable. Mostly professional, but easily explained if you were to question her.
By mid-morning, you’re assisting with lab samples, carefully initialing a vial while trying very hard to remember the exact instructions the nurse had given you. Your tongue presses against the inside of your cheek in concentration as you rotate the tube just a little, lining your initials along the label.
“Make sure the edges don’t peel up,” Dr. Santos says from behind you.
You jump a little at her voice, and you swear you hadn’t heard her walk over.
“The lab will reject them if they lift too much,” she continues.
“I’m being careful,” you say quickly, hoping you don’t sound defensive. Or nervous. Or both.
“Are you?”
Before you fully process the question, her hands slide over yours.
They’re warm.
She adjusts your grip on the vial gently, guiding your fingers as she smooths the label down, her chest brushing lightly against your shoulder as she leans in.
“Press along the seam,” she murmurs near your ear. “Like this.”
Your brain is a dial tone.
You nod, even though she probably can’t see it from where she’s standing behind you, and you pray your handwriting hasn’t suddenly devolved into illegible scribble.
“There you go,” she says after a second, her voice threaded with approval. “See? Perfect.”
She doesn’t step away immediately, hovering too close just long enough for your pulse to spike another few beats before she finally withdraws, already reaching for the specimen bag like nothing happened.
You stare at the vial for a solid three seconds before remembering to breathe.
It isn’t an isolated incident.
She praises you when you speak clearly during patient histories, her voice warm with approval. She corrects your positioning during an exam by lightly adjusting your wrist, your elbow, your stance – always with an explanation, some sort of clinical reasoning.
Once, while reviewing imaging results beside her, she leans over you to point something out on the screen, her chin nearly brushing your temple.
“You have good instincts,” she says, her tone thoughtful. “You notice details most students miss.”
You almost miss the actual finding she’s pointing at because you’re too busy trying not to spontaneously combust.
Every time you think you’ve adjusted, built up some tolerance, regained your composure, she changes tactics. A quiet compliment, or a teasing correction, or some sort of physical contact that seems accidental or professional but is very much not.
And every time, without fail, she’s watching your reaction from the corner of her eye.
You catch it once when you’re reorganizing supplies at the nurses’ station: the tilt of her head, the barely-there curl of her mouth when you fumble a package of gauze after she thanks you for “being so helpful today.”
It dawns on you then that she knows exactly what she’s doing.
And worse?
She seems to be enjoying herself.
⟡ ───── ⟡ ───── ⟡
Trinity Santos is having entirely too much fun.
She knows it somewhere in the back of her mind – tucked between patient updates, lab values, and the ever-growing list of charts she still hasn’t finished – but she can’t quite bring herself to care.
The week has been relentless. Overflow rooms are full, two traumas back-to-back before noon, and Dr. Al-Hashimi has already cornered her twice about incomplete documentation, both reminders delivered with a kind of calm professionalism that feels way more threatening than irritation.
Under normal circumstances, Trinity would be running on autopilot by now. Counting down the hours until she can collapse into her car and sit in silence before driving Huckleberry home.
Instead, she keeps finding herself looking around the department, searching for a flash of nervous movement or the unmistakable sight of you trying very hard to look like you know what you’re doing.
It’s cute.
You’re attentive without being overeager, you’re careful with patients, thoughtful with your questions. And, most notably, very easy to fluster.
She hadn’t planned on testing that theory when she’d first spotted you at the workstation that morning, smoothing your scrubs repeatedly like they might undermine your competence.
But then you’d flushed.
And now she’s committed.
It’s harmless, she tells herself. Mentorship. Mostly. Maybe a little hazing, but all in good fun.
You’ve just returned from assisting with a discharge when she intercepts you near the nurses’ station.
“Go eat,” she says, nodding toward the hallway leading to the break room.
“I’m okay, I can stay -”
“That wasn’t a suggestion.”
You tense a little like you’re preparing to argue, but then slowly relax. “…yes, Dr. Santos.”
She thinks about it for a moment. “Thirty minutes,” she adds. “Hydrate, sit down. I’ll survive without you.”
You nod, offering a quick and grateful smile before hurrying off.
Trinity watches you go for a second longer than necessary before exhaling and rubbing a hand over the back of her neck.
Then she checks the tracking board, wincing at the number of incomplete notes attached to her name, and resigns to finding somewhere quiet to chip away at them before Al-Hashimi appears again like a well-dressed omen of accountability.
There’s usually an on-call room empty this time of day.
She makes her way to the row of them, selecting one and opening the door carefully, easing it inward just enough to slip through. The overhead light is off, leaving only the reflective glow off the mirror along the far wall.
She steps inside, reaching for the door to close it silently behind her, when something stops her.
You’re already in there, standing in front of the mirror.
You haven’t noticed her. Your back is angled through the door, shoulders slightly hunched, one hand absentmindedly tugging at the side of your scrub top the same way you had this morning. You turn sideways, studying your reflection with a critical intensity that feels uncomfortably familiar.
Trinity stills.
You smooth your scrubs again, slower this time, pressing your palm flat over your stomach before letting it fall. Your expression tightens, the kind of small, private frustration most people only wear when they think they’re alone.
You shift your weight, examining your profile, lips pressing together like you’re listing flaws in your head that only you can see.
Trinity’s chest twists.
She recognizes that look.
She remembers bright locker room lights that make every perceived imperfection feel worse. She remembers tugging at clothes that never seemed to sit right on her, second-guessing her posture, her shape, the way she took up space. Remembers how exhausting it had been to carry that voice around in her head while trying to learn how to save lives at the same time.
You exhale slowly, a sigh.
And just like that, her teasing stops being funny.
Trinity closes the door the rest of the way, the click soft but audible.
You jump anyway.
Your head snaps toward her reflection in the mirror, eyes widening as your brain catches up to the fact that you’re very much not alone.
“Dr. Santos, I – I didn’t realize anyone was -”
“It’s okay,” she interrupts.
You immediately straighten, your hands dropping to your sides like you’ve been caught doing something you shouldn’t have. The defensiveness in your posture is exactly what Trinity expected after finding you the way she did.
She moves to lean casually against the table by the mirror, keeping her voice intentionally neutral.
“Taking a break like I told you?”
“Yes,” you say quickly. “I mean – I was just about to -”
“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”
The words settle you. You glance back toward the mirror, then away again just as quickly.
Trinity watches the motion, watches the way your fingers fidget against the hem of your shirt like you’re resisting smoothing it down again.
“You handled that discharge well earlier,” she says matter-of-factly. “You explained the follow up instructions clearly. The patient actually listened.”
You blink slowly, caught off guard by the shift in subject.
“Thank you,” you mumble.
“And you caught that medication interaction before I did,” she adds, her eyes on the mirror rather than directly on you. “That was good work.”
Your shoulders ease just a little.
Trinity lets that linger before she adds, “Also, for the record…those scrubs are fine.”
You huff out a small, embarrassed laugh.
She glances sideways then, meeting your eyes in the reflection for just a moment. Just long enough for you to register the change in her demeanor, stripped of its earlier teasing edge.
Then she straightens, pushing off the table.
“Finish your break,” she says, her voice settling into its usual cadence. “Then come find me. There’s a case I want you to see.”
You nod, this time with a genuine smile, albeit faint.
Trinity turns to the door, pausing only briefly as she reaches for the handle.
Behind her, you’re still facing the mirror, but now your hands stay at your sides.
She leaves before you can catch her watching.
⟡ ───── ⟡ ───── ⟡
By the time the shift starts winding down to a close, your feet ache, your brain feels like it’s running three seconds behind your body, and your tablet is filled with notes you’re pretty certain will need revision later.
But you’re not smoothing your scrubs anymore.
You don’t even notice at first.
You’re seated at the same workstation from this morning, finishing the last of your documentation, your fingers moving slower now but steadier. The department noise has softened into end-of-shift chatter, supplies being restocked, monitors beeping quietly in patient bays.
You reread your note once, twice, then sign it with a small breath of relief.
“Look at that.”
You glance up.
Dr. Santos leans against the counter beside your chair, arms loosely crossed, her expression unreadable in a way that makes it hard to tell whether you’re about to be corrected or congratulated.
“You survived,” she says.
“I think so,” you reply, unable to stop the small smile that pulls at your mouth.
She glances at your screen, reading your note with quick efficiency. You try very hard not to watch her watch your work.
“This is solid,” she says after a moment.
“Really?”
“Really.” She taps once against the desk beside your computer. “You’re still slow. Your differential could be tighter. And you over-explained your discharge instructions.”
Your smile falters slightly.
Then she adds, “Which means you care about being thorough. That’s harder to teach than speed.”
Your cheeks heat again.
“Thank you, Dr. Santos.”
She studies you for a second, looking over your posture, your hands resting loosely in your lap instead of twisting anxiously together.
Approval passes across her face.
“You did good work today,” she says.
You duck your head, trying and failing to hide the way the compliment affects you.
It’s endearing.
Around you, staff begin filtering out, trading goodnights and tired laughter as charts are signed, pagers turned off, and handovers completed.
You hesitate, then gather your things, sliding your tablet into your bag.
“Thank you for letting me work with you,” you say, aiming for professional and hoping it doesn’t come out as shy as it feels. “I learned a lot.”
Trinity makes a noise akin to a hum, thoughtful as she pushes off the counter.
“Good,” she says. “Because I already told scheduling I’d take you for your next shift, too.”
Your head snaps to her. “You did?”
She shrugs one shoulder like it’s nothing.
“You ask good questions,” she says, reaching for her coffee cup. “And you don’t faint at the sight of blood, which puts you ahead of at least two other students I’ve had this month.”
You laugh, and she watches the sound leave you with that same satisfaction lingering behind her eyes.
“Go home,” she says, nodding toward the exit hallway. “Eat. Get some sleep.”
“Yes, Dr. Santos.”
You step around her, but pause when she catches your elbow with her hand. You turn back to find her looking you over, her gaze assessing you in a way that you’ve come to find familiar throughout your shift with her.
“You look more confident when you stop overthinking,” she says, her tone light enough to be casual but firm enough that you know she means it. “You should do that more often.”
Your face warms for what feels like the millionth time today, but the embarrassment doesn’t spike the way it used to.
“I’ll…work on it.”
She nods, satisfied.
You make it halfway down the hallway before you glance back over your shoulder.
She’s already turned toward another computer, pulling up a chart, fully absorbed again like nothing happened.
But as you push your way through the exit doors, exhaustion tugging at your limbs, you realize that second shifts aren’t supposed to feel easier than the first ones.
You find yourself hoping that the next one is with Dr. Santos, too.
⟡ ───── ⟡ ───── ⟡
Part 1 (you are here!) - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5
Summary: How was Trinity supposed to know that the cute vet student that saved her cat's life was her boss's daughter??
Masterlist | Bad Idea Right Masterlist
Pairing: Robinavitch!reader x Trinity
Warnings: smut (nsfwish pics - none of which are meant to actuall look like the reader, just for inspo (and pintrest is just full of skinny white girls send help i can never diversify my spicy photos), sloppy lesbian sex), coming out (happy ending)
Notes: Once again Dr. Robby is white, but this author is not therefore by default the fmc is biracial though it's never explicitly stated, all my works are meant to be POC!readers (though everyone should be able to read and enjoy them) also i didn't know how to end this one so i just kinda did it yk
Turns out, dating your bosses daughter in secret is kind of sexy. Whittaker knew she asked out the cute vet student at the emergency clinic they went to - he'd even talked to you over FaceTime once when he'd answered Trinity's phone and brought it to her, but she didn't tell him who you were.
Which is exactly how they got into this situation.
Your dad had gotten up late and somehow forgotten his badge in his rush to get into work on time. You'd woken up to your phone violently vibrating off your bedside table as he desperately tried to get a hold of you. You got ready quickly, throwing on a hoodie quickly tying your hair so it was out of the way before you hopped in the car - badge in hand.
"Thank you honey," Your dad says when he sees you standing by the nurses station next to Dana, "I haven't been able to do anything without this."
"No problem, daddy," you respond, giving handing it over, "I would have stopped and grabbed you a coffee on the way over if I'd had the time to."
"He doesn't need it," Dana smirks, "I shaw him chugging his coffee earlier, that's his second cup."
"Dad! You said you were gonna cut back."
Your dad gives Dana a look, "Snitch. And I never said that. I said that I probably should cut back, not that I would cut back."
"Dr. Robby can I get your advice on my rule out appy? Oh hi," Whittaker says when he sees you. You try to still the panic bubbling up in your throat, "How have you been?"
"How do you know my daughter?"
"Your daughter?" Whittaker questions at the same time you say
"Oh he brought his cat to the clinic a while ago. Oh! Actually remember when I learned how to intubate? That was his cat in the video."
"Trintity's cat," Whittaker corrects, "You took a video intubating her cat?"
"My first intubation, didn't want to tell you that at the time for obvious reasons. How is he by the way?"
"Good as new!"
During the entirty of this conversation Robby and Dana have been looking between you, examining every detail of this interaction.
"Whittaker?" He finally interupts
"Yes?"
"The patient?"
"Oh right," Dennis hands him the iPad and your dad turns to you to give you a quick kiss on the head before returning to his regularly scheduled ER activities.
"How long have you been dating that one?" Dana questions one they're out of earshot.
"Not him," you make a face, debating your options, "his roomate."
"Roomate?" the realization hits her, "Explains why she's been more pleasant recently."
"Don't tell my dad? I'll get around to it I swear, I just need some time."
She mimes zipping her lips.
You text Trinity as soon as you get into the car
Trinity enjoys the sneaking around. Especially when you invite her over while she's doing night shifts. By the time she's off your dad is already at the hospital so she walks over showers in your shower and passes out in your bed. When she wakes up you're usually already home from work and you get to spend time with her before she has to go and relieve day shift.
When she wakes up she sees you at your dresser, hair damp as you pull on an oversized t shirt over your pajama shorts.
"No, I liked that view," Trinity croaks, voice still heavy with sleep, "Don't cover it up."
You roll your eyes, "You just woke up and you're already thinking about my tits."
"Baby, I'm always thinking about your tits."
She sits up in the bed and you take it as your invitation to crawl into her lap. You run your fingers through her hair lightly, pressing your lips against hers.
"How was work?" she asks, swiping a stray curl from your face.
You shrug, "Two seperate feral moms were brought in with their kittens nearly collapsing from dehydration - one of them was in a carboard box wrapped in duct tape. Not all of them made it."
"Aw, I'm sorry, baby," she pulls you in close, "Anything I can do for you?"
You shake your head, "This is good. Like holding you."
The slow languid make out session turns into you grinding your hips into hers. When you get the angle right. You pant as Trintiy gets her fingers in between you two, inserting two as you continue to grind down on her.
"That's it, sweet girl, take your time."
You do. You keep going with the slow roll of your hips, bucking into her hand as she fucks you on her fingers. You let out little whimpers, leaning into the kisses on your neck.
"N-no marks," but you don't pull away, "already washed my face. Don't wanna put concealer on again when you leave."
"I'l try," she hums against your skin, "you're too delicious."
When you look in the mirror later you tell her that she better start buying your concealer if she was going to keep this up.
"He said what?" You giggle over your glass of wine as Dennis tells his story.
"Ever since he thought we were dating he's been so nice to be. He said he was proud of me today. It makes me feel dirty in a way - like I'm living a lie."
Trinity slugs him in the arm, "Because you are, dummy. Don't forget that she's my girlfriend."
"Don't be jealous, Trin-trin," you laugh, definetly on the giggly side of sober, "He's helping. Clearly he's fine with me dating one of his residents so he'll be fine when we tell him it's you."
She steals a sip from your glass as she plants her self on the couch next to you, "Might feel differently when he finds out its me and that I've turned you into a lesbian with my magic vagina."
"I don't need to know anything about your vagina," Dennis scrunches up his nose.
"Trin, it's the 21st century, he's not gonna think that. And Dennis stop being a misogynist."
"You don't know that," she rolls her eyes.
"How am I being a misogynist?"
"I do know that," you give her a peck on the cheek before you turn back to Dennis, "you're a white man from Nebraska being weird about a vagina."
"I'm not being weird about a vagina, I'm being weird about a friend's vagina," he gesticulates to prove his point, clearly feeling the buzz now, "There's a difference."
"You're a doctor, you should be normal about all vaignas," you say.
"It's okay, baby, he can be a little weird about vagina's he's never seen one before," she teases and Dennis blushes.
"Shut up, Trinity," he murmurs.
Your eyes wide, "Wait I thought that was a joke it's true, you're a virgin?"
You've never seen anyone look more embarrassed, "You know it's totally normal. Gen z has less sex than other generations."
"I know the statistics. If you'll excuse me I'm going to go kill myself."
He stands up and you yank his arm back , "okay, okay, we'll stop I promise."
He sits back down in his spot.
"But if you change your mind I've got some friends that would find that endearing."
Given that your father has worked in the ER you're whole life, you knew that it was hard to get a hold of him while he was on shift. One time you'd fallen at practice and broken your arm, your mom had called your dad the whole car ride trying to reach him but no answer. When you did finally get there and security let in Dr. Robinavitch's daughter right away and your mother had yelled at him about calling her back when she called him more than 5 times in a 10 minute span.
All that to say, you didn't expect Trinity to text you back right away when she was working.
That did mean that sometimes you sent her messages, not expecting her to answer them until she was done.
Trintiy, cooly, slams her phone down on the table when Dr. Robby walks into the break room. The flush on her face gives her away. He gives her what she can only imagine is the "disappointed dad" look that she's heard you describe.
"Dr. Santos, there's no problem with you being on your phone when you're on your break but remember you are at work, okay."
She nods her head, waiting for him to grab his coffee and leave before she picks her phone back up.
Trinity can feel the ache in her back as she walks towards your house. She's exhausted, a drunk driver plowed through a diner. Luckily, given that it was 3 am at the time, the diner was mostly empty but PTMC had gotten all 4 criticals, pushing her into overtime as they tried to work on everyone.
She punches in the code you gave her, hearing Red Wine Supernova come to a stop when she puts her airpods back into the case.
"Honey?" It's not your voice. She can feel her heartbeat in her ears.
"Can you go check the mail, please? My new credit card is supposed to be in soon."
She looks down at her phone and realizes she fucked up the dates. Working nights me with her sense of time. Dr. Robby starts again tomorrow, real tomorrow not after her shift is over - she was in so much trouble. She needs to leave. She needs to turn around and run away very very far from her bosses house, but her feet are planted to the floor. Maybe if she stands very still he won't see her, like a T-rex.
"You're home already? I thought you were going to -" Robby turns the corner.
"You're not my daughter," so much for the T-rex theory.
Trinity opens her mouth. She tries to say something - say anythign but all that comes out is a small, "no."
"What are you doing in my house?"
It's weird seeing Dr. Robby at home outside of scrubs. Messy hair, pajama pants and an old PTMC shirt holding Kitty, who squirms out of his arms to rub up on Trinity's legs, confirming to Robby that Trinity has been here enough that his standoffish cat has warmed up to her.
"Santos?"
"I-I," For once she can't think of a singular thing to say.
"Hi baby!" you squeal, bending down to scratch Kitty's ears, "How was your day, my girl?"
When you turn the corner, Kitty in hand, stopping in your tracks when you see your dad in the kitchen with your girlfriend he's not supposed to know about. Trinity's knee is bouncing feverently as your dad stirs stuff in a pot on the stove.
"Wh-what's going on?" The anxiety and anticipation makes your breathes quicken.
"Dr. Santos - sorry, Trinity, was just telling me about how you've been dating for almost two whole months."
"I'm so sorry," she says, "I fucked up the dates. I thought he started days today."
"Trin, could you give me and my dad a minute? I'll meet you downstairs"
Trinity nods, scooping up her backpack and running down the steps.
You take a deep breathe, trying to calm your heartrate as you sit on the barstool next to him, "I-so what has she told you."
"Well I asked her what she was doing in my house and she said that you've been dating for almost two months and that you gave her the house code?"
"Guest code," you clarify, "I gave her her own code."
"Fine, but I just want to say I know you're an adult but I don't appreciate your friends staying in our house when neither of us aren't home. Why didn't you tell me?"
"I mean I didn't really know myself until I met her. She just kinda asked me out and I said yes cause like dating men wasn't really looking that great for me cause you know half the men my age are nazis now. And then things were going really well but I just wanted to make sure that I - like - was sure about it before I came out to you and-"
"Wait, wait, you think this about you being gay? I was talking about you dating my resident."
"Well I didn't know she was your resident when she asked me out, I met her at my work," you cock your head to the side, "you're not mad about me being gay?"
"Mad? Honey, no, I would never," and then suddenly he's wrapping you up in his arms the same way he would when you would have nightmares as a kid, "Is that what you were worried about?"
You shrug, "It's not like I thought you would kick me out or anything. I don't know I just got nervous."
You can't hold back the tear that rolls down your face.
He kisses the top of your head and gives you one more tight squeeze before he wraps his arms from around you, "Not that it matters too much but when you were a kid you had a perfectly good Ken doll that was beheaded in the back of your closet whenever you would have your Barbies marry each other. I was more surprised when you brought Ethan home if I'm being completely honest."
You laugh, sniffling as you wipe away your tears, "So you're okay with it?"
"The gay thing? Absolutely. The dating my resident thing?" he scratches the back his neck, "I'm not thrilled, but there are certainly worse people for you end up with and I promise I will give her an honest chance, even if she is my most headache-inducing employee."
"That's all I can ask for."
You sit in comfortable silence for a moment before your dad turns to you again, "So you weren't ever actually dating Whittaker were you?"
You can't stop the huff of laughter, "No, daddy, that was all in your head I promise. I mean I think he played into it a bit to help our cover but that's it."
A look of relief washes over his face, "Good. He's a good kid and I don't really think his self esteem can take the hit of being cheated on. Now go call your girlfriend, I made enough pasta for all of us."
BEING MICHAEL ROBINAVITCH'S DAUGHTER ! LOVE EDITION: how he would react to his daughter dating a certain partner?
dynamics → father/daughter duo!!! michael robinavitch as a dad & fem!reader daughter.
content warning → 2,1k. spreading michael robinavitch girldad agenda (again)!!! multiple romantic interests, multiple scenarios, different love tropes, comedic duo father and daughter, the crew all over. some drama, some funny, some heartwarming things going on... also, i only wrote the potencial four solid love interests that my head could think of, enjoy <3
a/n → i actually made a masterlist of being the daugther of michael robinavitch (so go check it out, cuz i am gonna add more things very soon, tysm for the support for this silly idea that i had <3) i wanted to add jack abbot, but in my head, at least at the imagine of being michael robinavitch daughter, he is like an uncle who has she swore that was in love with his dad hahaha (actually i added that as a new point on the first headcanons: here)
MASTERLIST !
BEING THE DAUGHTER OF MICHAEL ROBINAVITCH MEANS. . . he'll always have an opinion or reaction about who you date, whether you like it or not, unlike how your father treats Jake Malloy (your honorary brother), who has had the most intrusive version of him. Which he gives to you. So everyone is clear, your father has always judged who he dates. Below are a series of Michael Robinavitch's reactions upon learning about his beloved daughter's partner:
IF YOU DATE TRINITY SANTOS. . .
When you confessed that you were seeing someone, your father looked at you strangely, because you usually never say things so seriously since no one is usually serious in your heart. But he took a small breath and asked, “Who is it?” You pressed your lips together as if you were preparing him for a bomb. And you murmured, trying to smile to soften the answer, “Trinity… Santos?” Michael Robinavitch raised his eyebrows, not believing what came out of your mouth, and went through two states of astonishment. One small and one large. The first was, how had he not noticed until that moment? And the second, the larger one, was that he swore you were arch-enemies. A pure hatred and competitiveness between you that he didn't fully understand until that moment.
“I thought you guys hated each other,” he simply replied, still somewhat confused.
“No…?” you said uncertainly. “I mean, not anymore,” you corrected yourself immediately when you saw him raise an eyebrow. “We’re over that phase,” you admitted with an embarrassed grimace, realizing you hadn’t handled it well. “We fake it now… You know, the rivalry. You’re the first to know about this, well, second, Dennis knows.” You corrected yourself immediately. “Wait, no, third, Uncle Jack found us once.” You corrected yourself again. Robby raised his eyebrows in surprise, and you made another apologetic face: “Don’t get mad.”
You received a message on your phone, and speaking of the devil… You stared at your screen, a million questions swirling: Are you okay? Is he angry? Is it because Abbot found out first? You laughed as you read the text. It took your father a moment to process all the information you’d given him in such a short time, but when he saw your smile, he knew. “Are you happy with her?” he asked, because that was all that mattered.
You looked up at him with a warm smile: “Yeah, Dad, I am.” Your father placed his hand on your shoulder, wanting to show that he was there. You both smiled at each other, still leaning against the car outside the hospital.
“Awww, you guys are so cute when you don’t want to kill each other, do you know that?!” Trinity interrupted you from a few feet away, most likely looking for you. You looked at her, eyebrows raised at her sudden appearance, but amused by the situation. “What? You guys are in a public space,” she explained. “Did I say something wrong?” she asked, approaching you.
You let out a small laugh. “No, you didn’t.” You looked at your father as you do when seeking his approval, and he nodded. Santos looked at you with a suppressed tenderness that she wasn’t going to show on her face, but she smiled.
“So… Sir, do you want to go for a beer someday?” she suggested to her now “father-in-law.”
“Not happening, Santos,” your father immediately denied, and you stifled a laugh.
“Okay!” She raised her eyebrows, not taking the rejection personally. “We’ll work on it,” Trinity gave Robby an awkward smile.
IF YOU DATE SAMIRA MOHAN. . .
When you wanted to tell your father you were starting to see someone, you were so eager to say it was Samira Mohan, but the truth was, at that point, you hadn't even kissed or confessed your feelings in any way. In fact, the friend zone seemed to follow you everywhere you went, along with a look of frustration and sadness that your father couldn't understand. It was the first time in a long time that he'd seen you like this. That day, he sat down with you for dinner. You weren't even eating your food, just lost in thought.
"Okay, tell me. What is it?" He put his fork down on his plate and stared at you. You looked up from your plate at him.
"Nothing." You shrugged, looking away. Your father gave you a disbelieving look, clearly not believing what was going on. You rolled your eyes and sighed, "Fine, there is something...or someone."
"Is it a guy?" You immediately made a face, shaking your head. “Is it a girl?” he asked again, and your answer gave him everything he needed to know.
“Who is it?” he asked. You looked at him doubtfully and whispered, as if it were a secret, “Samira…”
“Mohan? She’s good and can see it.” He nodded, approving of your choice, and recalled the moments he’d seen between you two. “There’s a vibe.”
“A vibe? Woah, that really helps,” you said sarcastically, excitedly. “Is it more like I’m really, really in the friend zone and I just yearn?” Your father chuckled and looked at you affectionately, pausing.
“Can I give you some advice?” You raised your eyebrows, surprised and unexpectedly intrigued.
“Advice from a man who doesn’t have relationships that last more than two months?” You tilted your head slightly accusingly, but not seriously.
“At least I don’t get friend-zoned.” You opened your mouth, surprised by the insult, but laughed nonetheless at the unexpectedness. “You should go and tell her how you feel,” he advised.
“Is that it? Just go and tell her?” you asked with a genuine smile, and he simply nodded. “Like, going to work tomorrow, find a moment and tell her?” you asked again.
“Yeah, go for it, tiger,” your father replied, encouraging you not to hesitate. You simply smiled at him and this time continued eating with renewed energy.
IF YOU DATE FRANK LANGDON. . .
When your father found out that you and Frank Langdon had been involved, even you didn't know he were going to tell him. Because the last few times you saw Frank, you and he were no longer anything, so when he apologized and said that rehabilitation came with extreme honesty, you never considered that he might reveal that you two had ever been together. But he returned after his 10 months of rehab, and the words "be honest above all" began to make sense in your head.
You were walking down the hallway at The Pitt to ask for help from the nurses, but you frowned when you saw everyone in an awkward silence. You stopped in your tracks, swallowing hard, your father and Frank standing in the middle, the center of attention. All the blood drained into your feet, and you wished the earth would swallow you up. If it weren't for you appearing, your father would have completely ignored Langdon to ethically continue his work, but as soon as he saw you, he gave you a death glare, so instead of continuing on your way, you slowly began to back away.
“Don’t you dare, young lady,” he warned you. You grimaced, stopped in your tracks, and walked sheepishly toward him, avoiding everyone’s gaze.
“Dad, you said you were never going to call me that in public,” you complained with a grimace.
“So you two were a thing?” your father asked. Fuck, he knew now. You stared at Frank, eyes wide, shaking your head. He tilted his head at you with a grimace and whispered apologetically, “It just slipped out.” You looked at your father as if you hadn’t heard that and forced an awkward smile.
“Whaaaat?” A fake high-pitched tone of voice, feigning surprise, came from yours. “No,” you tried to deny. Your father looked at you for a few seconds, closed his eyes as if his patience had run out, but took a deep breath and looked at you again.
“You’re a terrible liar,” he told you, and that’s how you surrendered. “It was just one time,” you tried to explain. But Frank whispered, “More than one,” and you gave him a judgmental look, throwing up your hands in frustration. “You’re not helping.”
To avoid awkward silences, you acted immediately. “Okay, I’m going to solve this quickly.” You raised a hand as if asking permission to speak and started saving your skin. “You’re mad because I didn’t tell you, but did you really want me to give you another reason to hate him?” You planted that thought in his head as if it were a proposal, giving him a little pout. “And you, worst timing ever.” You opened your hand, pointing at Frank’s entire body. You sighed, a little stressed, with the same expression your father had had a few seconds ago: “Just to be clear, right now you two are not allowed to use me as a lure to avoid your real conflict. Solve it, don’t drag me into it, got it?” You gave them a smile, giving them both a thumbs-up, trying to ease the tension. “Plus, Dad, I’ve been shutting the door on his face the last two months,” you admitted to your father.
“Really?” your father asked, impressed, and you nodded. “That’s my little girl.” He raised his hand to give you a high five, then a fist bump, which you returned, a little confused by his pleased reaction.
“Now, I’m going to keep working, and you two should too.” You clapped your hands. “Let’s wrap this up, everyone.” You called out to all the onlookers who hadn’t yet started working and the people watching. Dana leaned back with a smile. “Show is over, ciao, adiós, we’re done.” Mel King stifled a small laugh; she'd finally understood a joke in time, and you gave her a smile, appreciating that she'd enjoyed your language joke.
Everyone started moving again, and you didn't look at either your father or Langdon. Perlah and Princess looked to you, your comfort nurses, so you positioned yourself between them, your hands in their arms, and said, "Perlan, Princess." You announced, "I'm going to need a whiskey after this." They both glanced at each other for a split second, then looked at you and nodded with a small "mm-hm."
IF YOU DATE DENNIS WHITAKER. . .
When you introduced your boyfriend to your father, he just wanted to laugh. He glanced at Dennis Whitacker standing next to you and chuckled, a short, small laugh. You were both nervous; you'd been mentally preparing your boyfriend for the worst because you knew your father could react in any number of unconventional ways. But he laughed, as if it were some kind of joke you were playing on him. I mean, he knew about Whitacker because you'd mentioned him as "subtly" as you could, but he still didn't believe it. You looked at him with a frown and surprised eyes. As soon as he realized you were serious, he composed himself and blurted out, almost dumbfounded, but still with his calmly raspy voice, "Wait, are you serious?"
"Yeah, pretty much, Sir," Whitacker offered a half-hearted attempt at a smile. Robby realized this was real and blinked a few times. You'd never introduced him to anyone so... Whitaker! The list of bad boys, hippies, rock stars, and conceited guys was immense, and seeing someone so… nice? It definitely struck him as incredibly odd. After blinking for a few seconds and analyzing the two of them, he simply smiled genuinely.
“What? What are you doing?” you asked slowly, a little scared by his bright, genuine smile. But your father didn't say anything; he was already picturing a wedding between the two of you in his head, because after so many years, you had finally found someone who approved. You slowly turned your head to Dennis, sharing an alarmed look with him, and then looked at your father with him. “I think we broke him,” you murmured.
“I’m going to let you two talk,” Whitaker reflexively kissed you on the cheek for support and left to let you both process things.
Robby opened his mouth slightly surprised and watched him leave, nodding thoughtfully: “Kiss on the cheek, he is bold.” He raised his eyebrows, judging the move.
“Dad…” This time, you were the only one who called his attention. There was a pause between you, staring at each other, and then suddenly, unexpectedly, you both smiled.
“I can’t believe you both pull each other off,” he whispered teasingly with a smile.
“Dad!” you complained, embarrassed, hitting his arm and letting out an offended laugh.
“What? You’re asking me for advice because of him, right?” You started shaking your head repeatedly, while at the same time, he nodded repeatedly.
“I’m not going to do this right now, Dad. You’re delusional and too excited, that’s scary, stop that,” you started pointing at him, but he didn’t stop acting all cheerful. “At least try to be sad about it,” Robby immediately tried to frown.
Summary: Just some pussy eating headcannons for our pitt girlies - both giving and receiving
Warnings: oral (f receiving, face sitting), dirty talk
Pairings: Dana evans x Reader, Samira Mohan x Reader, Trinity Santos x Reader, Cassie McKay x Reader, Mel King x Reader
Dana Evans
Dana works hard both at work and at home. She doesn't like to play around most of the time, and prefers you get straight to the point. If you try to tease her she'll your hair or a swift smack to the cheek to get you back on track. She knows what she likes and doesn't deviate from it.
On her off days though? She sets the pace and you enjoy it without her complaint. Soft, sweet sex that keeps you on edge all morning? Hard and fast to see how many combined orgasms you two can have? She decides, and you just get the honour of being in her presence.
Samira Mohan
Samira is a pillow princess. She's obviously a workaholic who does not know what work life balance is so she needs a little help remembering that there is a reason to exist outside the hospital.
Enter her cunnilingus addict girlfriend.
Samira just stretches against the pillows and writhes as you eat her out. Her nails scratch against your scalp when you pause to tell her how good she's being. Samira thrives on praise and instruction. She very rarely takes the lead, instead preferring to let you whisper unspeakable things in her ears
Such a sweet girl for me, Mira.
Does everyone at work know how easy you are?
Gonna ride my face sweetheart? Let me drown in your pussy
(she acts like she hates the vulgarity, but the way she clenches around your fingers or your tongue say otherwise)
Parker Ellis
Hey siri, play "The Giver" by Chappel Roan.
Parker is a service top through and through. She's going to make sure that you're well and taken care of before she even thinks about herself. She's a tease though, will absolutely take an hour to just to undress you, nipping the spots that make you moan. She'll lay you out on the bed, settle between your legs, and then she'll devour you.
She'll kiss you through your panties, drive you crazy as the fabric scratches against your body - so good, but not enough. She'll keep you on the edge until she decides you're ready. And then when she does, she'll make you cum. And then she'll do it again. And again. And again. Until tears are streaming down your face and your thighs clamp around her head.
What's the matter, princess? Thought you wanted me to make you cum.
Trinity Santos
Trinity seems like a go with the flow kind of girl. One night she'll make you sit on her face until tears roll down your face, the next she's a whithering mess of whimpers and tears under your hands. She likes when she overstimulates you, and you can only say her name on repeat. She likes when you take control, dig your fingers into her skin a little too harshly, and leave love bites on her thighs. Trinity is not picky.
Cassie McKay
You don't really get to see McKay when she has Harrison. After Chad introduce his new trophy girlfriend way too soon, she knew that she needed to be the parent that prioritized stability. So that means if you do get invited when he's home, it's always late, rushed with one hand over your mouth before you're out the door. Which Cassie doesn't love doing - she doesn't want you to feel used, she's been in that position before.
She doesn't really like quickies for that reason. She likes to make sure that you know how much she appreciates you. And she thrives on hearing you moan. She wants to make sure she's pleasing you. Nothing is better confirmation than hearing you call out her name
Mel King
Like every other aspect of her life, Mel approaches sex with a certain practicality. If it's late enough that it will make her late for work, then no spontaneous morning sex, she doesn't like leaving or receiving hickies - mostly because she doesn't need other people acting weird about them, and she likes to keep an even tally of orgasms.
Enter her new, maybe slightly nymphomanic leaning girlfriend.
As soon as she meets you all her rules become a little bit less rigid - especially that last one. She tries in the begining, keeps track of how many times you make her cum on your fingers, or your mouth, or your thigh, or your strap on. But you roll your eyes when she says its your turn.
Mel you work so hard so just sit back and let me eat you out.
Mel is very responsive, it doesn't take you long to figure out what makes her tick. She likes when you suck on her clit and tease her with your fingers, she likes riding your face squeezing your head with her thighs, she likes when you tell her how pretty she looks when you're eating her out on the kitchen counter.
Summary: After a petty fight, Trinity is determined to fix her mistake. Ignored apologies turn into whispered pleas and a desperate need to make things right, until she’s on her knees, proving just how badly she wants your forgiveness.
CW: smut, cunnilingus (r!receiving), fingering (r!receiving), strap sex (r!receiving), strap referred to as a cock a couple of times, begging, squirting, multiple orgasms, porn-with-minimal-plot, sex as an apology, light angst in the beginning, Trinity’s kind of a brat.
WC: 5k
A/N: this was supposed to be porn-without-plot but then I wrote 2600 words of build-up. Oops.
⟡ ───────── ⟡ ───────── ⟡
North-3 is the first one you check on. It’s an elderly pneumonia-admit. A boarder, waiting on a room upstairs to free up. You check his IV site, adjust the flow rate, and smooth his blanket when you notice him start to shiver.
“Too cold?” you ask.
He nods.
“I’ve got you, sir.”
North-5 is next, it’s a child with a sprained wrist and tear tracks drying on flushed cheeks. You hand her a sticker from your pocket and let her choose the color of the wrap. Purple wins out.
When you step back out of the patient bay, Dana hands you a chart without looking up from her own clipboard.
“You’ve also got 8, 12, and 14 now,” she says. “And drink some water, I haven’t seen you take a sip all shift.”
You accept the chart with a roll of your eyes, though it’s comedically unserious. “Yes, mom.”
Dana makes a noise that’s half-scoff, half-laugh.
Across the nurses’ station, Dr. McKay crouches beside a stretcher, speaking softly to a patient whose hands won’t stop shaking. She has this way about her, with calm radiating from her in a way that seems to steady everyone within reach.
Behind you, a crash cart rattles past.
“Labs for you,” Joy calls, sliding a printout onto the counter before disappearing towards triage where she’s supposed to be stationed for a majority of the day.
“Ogilvie!” Dana barks. “If you lean on that desk any harder it’s gonna file a complaint!”
The med student startles upright with a mock-salute.
You hide a smile and keep moving.
North-12’s monitor chirps sharply as you enter. You silence the alarm and reposition the pulse-ox, jotting down updated vitals in the patient’s chart.
When you step back into the corridor, Dr. Whitaker nearly collides with you, his arms full of supply packs.
“Whoa, sorry,” he says breathlessly. “Have you seen Santos?”
“Saw her at a workstation earlier, charting,” you answer automatically.
He grimaces in sympathy. “She’s been buried in charts all day.”
You bump his shoulder gently as you pass, careful not to knock any of the supplies out of his arms. “It’s emergency medicine, Dennis, we all are.”
He grins at you, already moving again.
At one point, at the furthest workstation from yours, Dr. Langdon flips through a chart with theatrical irritation.
“Why is triage sending me abdominal pain that’s clearly gallbladder?” he mutters. “They need to be admitted to surgery, not here.”
You don’t look up from the vitals you’re logging. “Maybe they just like you and want you to have the easy cases.”
He scoffs, but the corner of his mouth twitches up in a smile he tries to hide.
The rhythm of the department carries you forward - you reassess, chart, medicate, reassure, and repeat - the choreography familiar enough to be instinctive by now.
You and Trinity share three patients today.
That’s not unusual. Nothing about the way you work together is unusual.
You anticipate her orders before she voices them, she trusts your assessments without question. A glance across the room is enough to coordinate the next step. You’re a well-oiled machine.
Nobody comments on it anymore. Everyone knows you’re together. You keep it out of the workplace as much as you can, but it slips through the cracks sometimes.
It’s obvious in the extra coffee she brings to you at the nurse’s station, the way you slide protein bars into her pocket between traumas because otherwise she isn’t going to eat her whole shift, the absent brushes of hands when passing charts.
In front of patients, she’s Dr. Santos.
Everywhere else, she’s Trinity.
The distinction is effortless because of how long you’ve been together.
You finish updating Room 8’s intake and step back into the hallway, scanning for your next task.
Across the department, Trinity stands above a workstation, her shoulders tight, eyes fixed on the glowing screen and screaming of exhaustion. A half-finished cup of coffee sits abandoned beside her keyboard.
“Dr. Santos?” someone calls from a trauma bay.
A phone rings.
Dr. Whitaker sets a stack of charts beside her elbow. “These need signatures when you -”
“I know,” she says, not looking up from her screen.
Another monitor chirps.
You glance at the vitals on your clipboard, then toward her again. Room 8’s blood pressure is down, systolic lower than you’d like. She needs to know.
You make your way into the narrow opening beside her workstation.
“Hey,” you say quietly. “Room 8’s pressure is trending down, do you want fluids started now or -”
Her hands stop moving on the keyboard and she shoves herself back from the desk with enough force that her coffee cup threatens to tip over.
“Can you just leave me the fuck alone?” she snaps, her voice tight with strain. “I need five seconds without someone bothering me.”
The words crack through the department louder than the surrounding noise, causing multiple people to pause what they’re doing and stare.
No one answers.
Movement starts up again after a moment, keys keep clacking, stretchers rattling past, someone calling for respiratory.
Trinity is already turning back to the screen in front of her, attention swallowed again by one of her many, many unfinished charts. She doesn’t look at you. She doesn’t see the way you freeze.
“Oh,” you say softly. “Okay.”
You step back, pivoting smoothly to avoid Dennis as he rushes past you for the millionth time that day. Your shoes carry you down the corridor with the same steady pace as before, if not a hair faster.
Only when you reach a supply cart as far away from everybody else as possible does your vision begin to blur.
You blink hard, focusing on the printed vitals until the tears clear from your eyes and the numbers sharpen under your eyes.
Room 8 still needs fluids.
You look for Dana instead.
You find her at the nurse’s station, checking inventory of a supply cart against a clipboard that’s balanced on her forearm. She glances up as you approach, her eyes catching yours over her glasses before returning to her list.
“Room 8 needs fluids,” you say. “Pressure’s drifting.”
She nods immediately, logging it on her to-do list. “I’ll get it started.”
As she takes the chart from you, she looks at you again and her expression softens as she turns her full attention to you.
“You okay?” she asks.
You busy your hands straightening empty saline bags that don’t really need straightening.
“Fine,” you say. “Just busy.”
Dana watches you for a bit longer than most people would, studying you.
“It’s been like that all day, you know,” she says casually. “She’s drowning in charting and everyone wants a piece of her.”
You swallow, adjusting the edge of a label until it aligns perfectly.
“She didn’t mean you specifically,” Dana continues.
“I know.”
And you do. You know. But that doesn’t stop the hurt that’s settled in your heart.
Dana shifts her weight, nudging a tray closed with her hip.
“Try to give her a little grace today,” she murmurs. “She’s having a hard one.”
You nod because Dana is rarely wrong.
You’ve watched Trinity work herself to exhaustion before, many times. You know the stiffness in her shoulders, the way she forgets to eat, or drink, or sit up straight, the refusal to step away even when she’s running on fumes.
“I know,” you repeat.
Dana studies you for another second before reaching out and patting your arm. Then she turns back to her inventory.
“Go save the world,” she says.
You almost smile.
The department pulls you back into motion before you can linger in your hurt feelings.
North-5 needs discharge instructions, Room 3 needs a blanket warmed. Joy flags you for a redraw, and Ogilvie nearly drops a specimen cup and you catch it before it hits the floor.
The rhythm continues, and you continue with it.
Across the department, Trinity remains at the computer, fielding questions, signing orders, answering patients. Once, she laughs faintly at something Dr. King says, the sound brief and frayed at the edges in a way that suggests she just wants to be left alone.
You don’t go to her.
When North-12’s family asks for an update, you route the request through Langdon instead. When respiratory needs confirmation, you send the message through the system. When a clarification is needed, you consult McKay.
Each decision is reasonable, efficient, and totally appropriate.
And each one creates a little more distance as your feelings are hurt more and more.
⟡ ───────── ⟡ ───────── ⟡
Trinity watches you from across the department. She knows it was out of line, yelling at you like that, letting her frustration leak out onto the one person she’d never want to hurt. She didn’t mean for her anger to land on you.
It wasn’t even you she was mad at. It was Dr. Al-Hashimi, for threatening to make her repeat her R2 year if she didn’t catch up on her charts by the end of her shift. Every page, every note, every alert feels like it might decide her fate. She was drowning, and you, unknowingly, had walked right into the water with her.
She swallows the guilt that’s thick in her throat. She’ll make it up to you later.
Somehow.
By late morning, Trinity sneaks off to the coffee machine again, desperate for more energy. Her hands shake as she pours the drink, her own too bitter, but she adds sugar and cream to yours the way she knows you like. Carefully, she sets it on your station in front of you.
She watches, half-expecting a grateful smile like normal.
You don’t look up, or say anything. The coffee sits, untouched, exactly where she’d left it, until a janitor clears the counter several hours later.
Later, while slipping into the bathroom to wash her hands, she texts you about dinner.
Dinner at that restaurant up the street tonight? My treat. Huckleberry’s working a double tonight.
She watches as the Delivered notification changes to Read. Then…nothing. No typing bubble, no reaction. You’ve seen it. You’ve ignored it.
Her stomach twists.
By the afternoon, she has no choice but to approach you about a patient. You’re going over charts, clipboard in hand, and she slides up beside you.
“Hey, you said earlier that Room 8’s vitals -” she begins.
You cut her off, your tone clipped and flat.
“Already took care of it, Dr. Santos,” you say without looking at her, your fingers tapping notes into the screen in front of you.
Time freezes for her.
That’s when she realizes: you’re mad.
You’re not tired, you’re not distracted, you’re mad. At her. You never get mad at her, you’re like the sweetest, most mild-tempered person she’s ever met, it’s why your relationship works so well, you balance her out.
She backs away from your station, watching you with a strange look on her face. This is unfamiliar territory for Trinity.
You don’t even look up.
The rest of the shift passes in a blur of charts, vitals, and emergencies. You move from patient to patient, alert and competent, but there’s a permanent-looking frown on your face that wasn’t there this morning.
Trinity notices, of course, she always notices you, and it eats at her every time she catches you intentionally avoiding her gaze, the way you’re keeping your distance from her.
She tries again and again, bringing you back the special pen she always “borrows” from you because it’s better than the shitty department ballpoint ones, even going so far as to try and consult with you about a lab update in person. But every effort is met with the same wall of polite and professional detachment.
Dana gives her one of those looks over your shoulder, knowing in a motherly way, but Trinity can’t bring herself to explain. She can’t admit how badly she screwed up. All she knows is the slow, sinking realization that your feelings are hurt and it’s all her fault.
Finally, the shift ends. Patients are signed out, supplies restocked. You grab your bag and head out towards the hospital parking lot. Trinity follows, hunched under the weight of her own backpack.
You reach your car first, keys already in hand, doors unlocked. You slide inside, already settled behind the wheel, waiting to take her home.
Trinity catches up, pausing once she’s in the passenger seat. Her brow furrows and she sighs heavily.
“Hey…” she begins.
You don’t look at her. You don’t speak, your hands remain on the wheel, fingers flexing around the rim as the car warms up.
She scoffs, incredulous. “You’re really not going to talk to me?”
You remain silent as you pull out of the lot.
“Look,” she says, her voice rattling and a little less confident now. “I – look, I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to talk to you like that, I’ve just been frustrated and it’s been a really busy day for me.”
It’s an excuse.
It was a really busy day for everyone.
Still nothing from you, your eyes focused on the road, your mouth set in a straight line.
You look pissed.
You make it home in record time, eager to be out of the car.
You unlock the apartment door and step inside, shrugging off your coat and hanging it next to the door. Trinity follows behind, her expression unreadable. She lingers at the threshold for a moment as if she’s expecting you to speak, but the silence stretches between you.
In the kitchen, you start dinner. Chopping, stirring, plating. The apartment smells like garlic and the roasted vegetables you’d gotten from a grocery delivery the other day, and at one point you’re pretty sure you hear Trinity’s stomach growl, but it doesn’t ease the tension in the air.
When plates are ready, you set hers down in front of her, serving her the way you always do. Silverware aligned, napkins folded in front of you both. You take your own plate and slide into the chair across from her at the table and begin eating.
She picks up her fork and looks at you expectantly, waiting a moment before setting it down again.
Nothing.
The clock ticks loudly somewhere in the apartment, the only sound other than the scraping of your silverware against the plate.
Trinity opens her mouth to speak, and even takes a breath to start, then stops, blinking at you.
You don’t even look up at her. You take another bite, chew, and swallow, then repeat.
Her chest aches and her apologies feel inadequate. She knew she hurt your feelings, but she didn’t realize it was this big of a deal. The silence between you two is a presence, heavy and judging, and she hates it.
After dinner, you dump your plate in the sink and head for the couch. You sink into it, phone in hand, scrolling absently through messages, or social media, or literally anything that will keep you distracted. Your body slouches low, heavy with exhaustion, both the physical and mental kind.
Trinity clears her own plate quietly before coming to join you. She pauses at the edge of the couch before carefully sitting beside you, one leg bent up underneath her, her whole body turned to face you.
You don’t look up at her, but even though your eyes are on your phone, your thumb has stopped scrolling. You might not look like it, but she does have your attention.
She shifts closer to you, hands in her lap.
“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, leaning into press a kiss to the side of your face, just beside your ear. Her lips linger, a whisper of warmth, an apology she can’t quite articulate.
Then she sees it.
You glance at her out of the corner of your eye.
Still, you say nothing.
You didn’t pull away when she kissed you, so she reaches for your waist, wrapping her arms around your middle and pulling herself closer as she kisses the side of your face again - closer to your jaw this time.
“So sorry,” she mutters, kissing down to the top of your neck beneath your ear.
Even without the physical response she usually draws from you, she focuses on the spot under your ear and just a little further back – the one that she knows always causes a shiver to run up your spine.
“I miss you,” Trinity mumbles against your skin. “I’ve missed you all day, I’m so sorry.” She kisses your neck between words. “Let me fix this, yeah?”
Your phone still sits in your hands but it no longer holds your attention. It hangs loosely from your fingertips, threatening to fall as your eyes close, too focused on the feeling of your girlfriend’s lips against your neck to really care.
Her body leans fully against yours, her hands on your waist gently urging you sideways onto the couch. You let her guide you, your mouth still stubbornly shut, but it’s a win to Trinity all the same. She takes the phone from your hand and sets it on the coffee table before climbing over you, hovering as her knees bracket your thighs. Then she sits back on her heels and ties her hair up and out of the way.
Once she’s satisfied that it won’t get in the way, she bends down to kiss you - but you jerk away far enough that she can’t reach your mouth.
You’re still upset.
You’ve never truly been upset with her before, the two of you almost never fight.
“Guess I’ll have to earn that, huh?” she huffs, a small, breathy laugh leaving her.
You stare up at her with raised eyebrows, challenging her to try.
Trinity shuffles down your legs until she can part them, which she does with ease, receiving no resistance from you. She makes quick work of the tie of your scrub pants before pulling them down and tossing them somewhere onto the floor behind her.
She settles between your legs, placing soft kisses over your bare thighs.
“I fucked up,” she says quietly. “I know better than to talk to you like that.”
Her lips reach the edge of your panties. She runs her tongue along the elastic, and your hips tilt involuntarily toward her mouth. She hides her smirk, knowing that even when you’re stubborn, she still has you. She licks up your slit with a broad, flat tongue over the fabric, and your head falls back against the couch.
You are not a quiet lover. Trinity loves how loud you can get; you’re her favorite sound, especially when your roommate isn’t home. So when the only sounds escaping you are sighs and gasps and even those are stifled, she knows that you’re intentionally holding back because you still haven’t forgiven her.
Impatient, she sits back on her knees once again and hooks her thumbs into your underwear, sliding them down, a satisfied little smirk on her face as a string of wetness clings to them as they peel away. She watches as your thighs twitch, resisting the urge to close.
“Looks like you’re enjoying the apology,” she whispers, her nose wrinkling just a little as she smiles. “Fuck, baby, you’re ready.”
She trails her fingers up your slit, collecting the slick that’s gathered, the pressure of them increasing just a little when she reaches your clit.
When she looks up, you’re watching through half-lidded eyes, your lips parted and breath shallow. She settles in, arms sliding beneath your thighs to hold you open to her.
She spares one more glance up at you. Your eyes lock and she pauses, waiting.
For permission.
That’s how you know this is an apology. Aside from the beginning of your relationship when you didn’t know each other that well, Trinity rarely ever asks for permission. She knows you like the back of her hand, she knows what you’ll say, what you’ll want. She knows she doesn’t have to ask permission, but she is.
Your hand, which had been laying limply at your side, reaches for her. Fingers wrapped around her ponytail tightly, you pull her face to your cunt.
Permission.
Her tongue darts out, sliding against your clit. She groans into you, her own eyes rolling back at your taste, her grip tightening around your thighs like she’s afraid you’ll run from it.
“Ah!” the involuntary whimper echoes through the living room and you clasp your hand over your mouth.
Too late.
The sound spurs Trinity on and she untangles one arm from underneath you, reaching up to blindly smack your hand away from your face. When she’s satisfied that you’re not going to try and muffle your sounds again, she uses that same hand to shove up your scrub top and the long-sleeve you wore under it, followed by your bra, exposing your breasts.
Your stubbornness waivers as she rolls a nipple between her fingers. Cries begin to fall freely from your lips as she refuses to let up on your clit. Her mouth seals around it and her cheeks hollow, pulling a particularly broken moan from you.
Your grip tightens in her hair, trying to pull her closer as your hips rock against her face, demanding more.
Her other hand slips free, sliding under her chin so her fingers can prod at your entrance. You wiggle, trying to grind down onto them. You can feel the smirk on her face as she slips two into you easily, immediately curling against that spot inside you that she knows by heart.
The one that causes you to throw your head back, a guttural moan torn from your throat as you’re shoved over the edge of your orgasm so suddenly it makes your head spin. Trinity’s fingers don’t let up, fucking you through it until you’re shoving her away.
She’s off you in a second, practically jumping to her feet and disappearing into the kitchen. She returns shortly with a water bottle, tossing it onto the couch beside you.
“Drink that,” she says, still a little breathless. “I’m not done apologizing yet.” With that, she disappears into the bedroom.
You’ve barely taken a couple of sips of the water before she returns, her own scrubs discarded, clad in only her sports bra and the familiar harness around her hips. Hanging from the ring is your favorite of all the toys you own: the dark blue one with the curve that hits you just right when you’re on your back or riding her.
Trinity knows it.
“Get your ass in there,” she demands, jerking her head toward the bedroom behind her.
You scramble to stand, flustered as you pass by her just in time to earn a stern smack on your ass.
“On your back,” she says once you reach the bed.
She reaches for you and for a moment you think she’ll pull you closer, but instead she’s pushing you gently onto your back, hand on your sternum guiding you down until you lay exactly where she wants you.
Climbing over you, Trinity bends your knees, sliding her own under your thighs to angle you up toward her cock. You’re still soaked from your orgasm, a fact she doesn’t let you forget as her thumb massages over your clit while the tip of the strap nudges at your entrance.
You huff as she stays there, dragging it up and down your slit but not pushing inside you yet.
“C’mon, quit teasing me.”
Trinity pauses. It’s the first thing you’ve actually said to her. Her eyes flit up to your face, noting the impatient look you now sport. The corners of her mouth lift.
“Yes ma’am,” she mock salutes as she slowly pushes into you.
The stretch is intense, the strap bigger than her fingers but also managing to nudge that same spot over and over as she begins to thrust in and out of you at an annoyingly slow pace. It’s good, it feels good, but it’s not enough, not to get you off.
You wiggle, trying to meet her thrusts, but her hands pin your hips in place.
“Take what I give you,” she mutters, her eyes trained on the blue silicone sliding in and out of you.
You glare at her, propping yourself up on your elbows. “I thought this was supposed to be my apology?”
Again, her gaze lifts and she catches your eyes, amused.
“It’s actually my apology to you, babe,” she says, her thrusts slowing further.
You know what she wants from you, what would get her to do what you want. But she’s being a brat, and you know rewarding this behavior will have you paying for it later. But the need, the desire burning inside you is overriding the thought. You don’t care, you just want her to move.
“Please, Trin,” you plead, your head tipping to one shoulder.
Her hips stutter and her lips part even as her throat goes dry.
You don’t stop there. “Please, please fuck me, Trin,” you start to babble, tears of frustration pricking at your waterline. “I need it, please -”
That does it.
Trinity’s fingers dig into your thighs hard enough to bruise as she hoists them up to her shoulders. She lifts on her knees so she’s towering over you as she begins to drill into you at a punishing speed.
The switch up has you crying out so loud you’ll receive an angry note on your apartment door the next morning, alternating between unintelligible sounds and Trinity’s name on repeat.
“T-Trin, too much, s’too much…”
She chuckles above you, the sound airy and breathless from exertion. “It’s not too much, baby. This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”
You try so hard to not focus on Trinity’s words, making a conscious effort to stop yourself from cumming so fast, but her thumb resumes its circles over your clit and you’re lost to it.
So close.
“Go on, baby,” Trinity goads, leaning further over you, the new angle of her body doing nothing to slow the movement of her hips. “Accept my apology, c’mon, cum on my strap.”
Those words do you in, the white hot fire consuming you from the inside out as your walls spasm around the silicone, your entire body seizing up from the pleasure. But Trinity doesn’t stop her thrusts even as your body goes limp under her, and you whine as overstimulation begins to creep in.
“Trin – Trin, stop, I already came,” you protest weakly.
She doesn’t stop her bruising pace or the swiping of her thumb at your clit, even as sweat causes her hair to stick to her forehead.
“You’ve got another one in there,” she pants. “I know you do.”
She’s not wrong. Almost immediately the pressure is building inside of you, but you know the difference between an orgasm and what she’s trying to do to you.
“I – I can’t, Trin, you have to -” You’re cut off with a loud moan as the hand that hasn’t busied itself with your clit begins to press down on your lower abdomen, right where her cock lands inside you every time her hips meet yours.
Your wails jump an octave as she wrings your third orgasm out of you, bullying your cervix with every thrust. Your whole body convulses as she drags you over the peak, her pace never faltering, almost animalistic in nature.
Your cunt gushes around the strap, soaking not only yourself, but Trinity’s lower abdomen and thighs as well.
“Holy fuck, babe,” Trinity groans, her mouth agape at the sight, at the absolute filth of a mess you’ve created all over both of you. Her hips falter and slow until you’ve stopped shaking, before she slowly withdraws from inside you.
You throw an arm over your eyes.
You’re going to have to wash the sheets.
And shower.
The bedroom is quiet except for your uneven breathing and the creak of the mattress as Trinity stands to unhook the harness and set it aside.
You don’t move, your forearm still draped over your eyes, your body boneless against the sheets.
A warm hand slides over your stomach.
“Hey,” Trinity murmurs from somewhere above you. “C’mon, let’s get cleaned up.”
You groan but don’t resist when she slips an arm beneath your shoulders and pulls you to the side of the bed. Your cheek presses against her shoulder as you stand, smelling like sweat and the coconut deodorant she always wears.
She guides you to the bathroom, nudging the door shut with her hip before letting go of you to turn the water on. She tests it with her wrist until steam begins to curl into the air, and then she nudges you in, following after you.
Warm water cascades over both of you, rinsing sweat and salt and the evidence of everything that just happened down the drain. Your muscles loosen under the heat.
Her palm glides down your spine in long, soothing passes.
“I never should’ve snapped at you.”
It’s said so quietly you almost don’t hear it over the sound of the shower.
“No matter how frustrated I was, taking it out on you wasn’t right.”
Water beads along your skin as her arms slide around your waist, holding you from behind.
“It wasn’t about you,” she continues softly. “Al-Hashimi’s been on my ass this week, threatening to make me repeat my R2 year, and I’ve been drowning in charting and trying to prove that I deserve to be here…but that doesn’t excuse it.”
Her grip on you tightens a little. “I’m really, really sorry.”
You tilt your head back just enough that it rests against her.
“Still mad at me?”
You’re quiet just long enough to make her shift nervously behind you.
Then you sigh, sinking back into her chest. “…I’m considering forgiving you.”
A little laugh bursts out of her as she presses her face into your wet shoulder. Her lips brush the back of your neck softly.
Your arms bend, reaching backward to hold her body against yours and you turn your head to kiss her.
All I’m saying is that Trinity would be a tough guy until she’s bottomed out inside you and lasting a maximum of 8 seconds before cumming. And her cheeks would be flushed red in such embarrassment as her cock spilled her seed, trying to cower away, despite it already being inside you.
“I- I swear that…that never happens!”
“Oh, poor baby. Do I just feel that good, huh?” Cupping her cheek as she mindlessly nodded, her mouth parted slightly as she slowly began moving her hips again, wincing as she’d try to ensure you’d get your fill, but you simply chuckled, making her whine pitifully.
Trinity santos imagine where the reader avoids her because she thinks that Santos does not like her or something… angst with fluff at the end?
Hi! I love when people request Trinity she is my favorite character next to Samira!
Happy Pitt Thursday!
It wasn’t obvious to Trinity at first, the first day you had met, you had already been working at the pitt for a year and half and were a nurse. You weren’t skittish, not with most people anyways but sarcasm caught you off guard most times and you tried to take everyone seriously to avoid embarrassment. Trinity you had learned used sarcasm as a deflection or at least that’s what she told Mel and Mel had told you, but she said it in such a tone that you couldn’t always tell, you avoided her, and you weren’t sneaky about it other, you practically booked it everytime Trinity came around, after the third or fourth time Trinity had taken notice.
She had taken the liberty of calling you ‘mouse’ just because of how quiet you are around her you hated it, you felt like it was more of an insult than anything.
Today was a bad day for Trinity, she was pretty much fed up, she was behind on charting, Al-Hashimi threating to re do her R2 year, Whitaker catching something she didn’t and Garcia canceling plans, and with you sti dodging her, the prettiest nurse there she was about 30 seconds away from a crash out.
She had cornered you in an exam room that you were preparing a bed for a patient.
“Okay mouse, I am having a really rough day and I cannot handle anything else right now. We have known each other for 10 months why are you still avoiding me?” Trinity’s voice is serious, and different tone, anger and almost sad like she was going to burst into tears at any moment, you had never seen in that way with anyone.
“Well I- uh…I just thought you didn’t like me” you say in defense.
“Didn’t like you? Who the fuck told you that?” Her tone changed again back to anger.
“Well just the way you act I guess.” You shift your weight all on to your left side, too focused on looking at your foot then back up at her.
“You gave me a shitty nickname.”
“Mouse isn’t shitty…it’s cute, you know because you’re quiet and…cute.”
Cute? You felt like you stopped breathing for a moment.
“Oh, uh thanks…”
“I don’t hate you, sarcasm is just my defense mechanism I guess or whatever, I want us-…” She lets out a deep breath like she was struggling to come up with the right words.
“I want us to be friends.” Maybe more
Trinity’s face is still serious but tired, bags under her eyes are heavy, like she had given up already today.
“I would like that.” You’re smiling now, the kind smile you give patients when you’re helping them that Trinity always notices when she’s in the room, or the once you give to Dana when she tells you you’re doing a good job.
“Ok.” Trinity bounces on the heels of her feet. “Good talk” before she books it out of the room this time, Garcia never made her feel this way.
forced quiet sex with with trinity bc dennis is home i need
You can hear the sound of Dennis shuffling around in the kitchen while Trinity's got her mouth on your pussy, eating away like she's starved.
"God," Trinity mumbles into your clit. "What the fuck is he doing in there?"
She wraps her lips around your clit again, and you have to clamp your hand around your mouth to muffle your loud moans. Trinity enjoys seeing you struggle and enjoys hearing all your muffled sounds. She knows she's a good eater, and she loves watching you try to be quiet when all you wanna do is scream out her name.
But Fuckleberry is home, so you've gotta be quiet. But it's almost more exciting when you have to be quiet, when Trinity has to shut you up with her fingers or lips because you just can't force yourself to keep quiet anymore.
You let out a choked groan when Trinity pushes two fingers inside of you, back arching, thighs flexing around her head. Your lips feel so sore after biting them for so long. You don't know how much longer you can keep up with being quiet. Besides, it's not like Dennis doesn't know what you two are up to in here. He's probably got his headphones in anyway.
A sharp gasp comes out of your throat when Trinity's fingers curl inside of you. Your cheeks heat up with embarrassment when the sounds of Dennis' footsteps draw closer to the bedroom. Sitting up, you look down at Trinity and plead with your eyes, knowing that if she decides to fuck with you, you won't be able to muffle your moan.
Dennis' footsteps are quick as he walks past the bedroom, and you hear Trinity snort against your thigh while she bites down on it.
+
just thinking about those quiet sighs and moans into each other's ears or lips...trinity grinning down at you while she speeds up her movements to tease you, reminding you to be quiet even though her fingers are making you ascend up to heaven. when she pulls out the strap, it's genuinely over for you. you could only muffle your moans so much while she was eating you out. there's no way you can stop yourself from being a pathetic, loud mess while her strap is buried deep inside.
those rhythmic "uh-uh-uh"s spilling from your lips while she pounds into you, lips bleeding from how hard you're biting them to keep even more sounds from coming out. she'll tug your bottom lip from under your teeth so she can shove her fingers in your mouth instead. or she'll just shove her tongue in there.
trinity shushing you while she's fingering you slowly, kissing your neck, nibbling on your sweet spot that she knows gets you riled up. she's moaning softly into your skin, too. you're scratching your nails down her back and groping her chest, and occasionally, she'll be the one to let out a louder than expected moan.
trinity sneaking you into her place while dennis is in his bedroom...it's a few hours after a shift and she desperately needs to be taken care of. you two make out and wrestle on the bed for a bit before you settle between her thighs, and she's already struggling to swallow her moans when you place a few kisses on her pussy.
the concept of trinity smothering her face in her pillow to hide her moans while you eat her out...the concept of her drooling all over the pillow while you fuck her from behind, the bed hitting the wall repeatedly, giving you away more than the quiet sounds of skin slapping against skin.
dennis can't look you in the eyes when you walk out into the kitchen later..
summary: finding trinity after working the trauma with langdon
tags: s2 ep10 spoilers!, yolanda and frank you are on thin ice, hurt/comfort, self harm mentioned, baran cares about her doctors, fluff, trinity my angel
a/n: love you all!!! xoxo -c
“Dana! Have you seen Trinity?” You ask gently, making the older woman turn to you.
“Stairwell.” You nod gently.
“Thank you!” Your feet quickly carry you as you pull the door open, hearing the tail end of Garcia’s voice.
“He made a mistake and owned up to it. Put on your big girl panties and deal with it.” Your eyes widen as you watch Garicia walk away, Trinity’s shaking breath in her wake. You rush forward, crushing your arms around Trinity from behind. A sob echoes out through the space as she realizes it’s you.
“Oh, Trin…” You gently pull her into the open family room, sit her down, and shut the door. She reaches out for you desperately, lips trembling, and you sit down beside her, and she makes space on your chest and sobs wrack through her body. “Trinity…”
“Why does everyone expect me t–t–t–to be ok?” She sobs, knuckles going white at her grip on your scrubs. You gently take down her ponytail to scratch her scalp.
“You don’t have to be ok…” You soothe gently.
“He just– he just came back like it was nothing! He committed a fucking felony, and I’m t–the problem!” She sobs again, making you frown.
“And he should be the one to fix it. You’re allowed to be hurt… you’re allowed to fuking hate him…”
“He yelled at me in front of everyone… and I’m just supposed to tolerate him?”
“No. You–” Your words are cut off by the door clicking open. Trinity takes in a sharp gasp, and her entire body stills against yours as her eyes clamp shut.
“I don’t think HR would love hearing about cuddling on the clock.” Baran tases lightly, frowning at the sight of Trinity. Her eyes slowly open, looking at her new attendant. “Can I talk to you about what happened in there?”
“Can I stay like this?” She chokes out, wiping her nose with her sleeve. Baran gives her an empathetic smile and nods. She moves to sit on the floor in front of the couch, eye level with Trinity. “How– how much did you hear about what happened with Langdon?”
“I was told he was caught stealing drugs, did his time in rehab, and is now attending the physicians' health program.” Your eyes widen.
“Nothing else?” Her eyes snap to yours as she shakes her head, and you scoff, fingers combing through Trinity’s hair.
“I was the one who… figured it out and told Robby,” Trinity admits with a weak sniffle, making Baran’s eyes widen.
“On her first day, nonetheless.” You explain gently.
“Is there more to that?” Baran asks, making Trinity nod, squeezing your shirt softly, and shutting her eyes.
“Langdon and Trinity were butting heads all morning, and he slowly started getting worse as he started realizing she was figuring him out… then we had this seizure patient. Langdon wasn’t in the room when Trinity figured out that the patient was hypernatremic, and we needed to give the patient saline. Saved the paintent life, and Landson came back in and yelled at her. Berated her and undermined her intelligence.” You hear a weak sob leave Trinity’s mouth, and you pull her even closer.
Baran sits there for a long moment before reaching to grab Trinity’s empty hand and squeezing it gently. “I’m so sorry, Dr. Santos. I wouldn’t have made you work that case with him, or even… addressed it all like that, if I'd known. I’ll try to keep you two on different cases as best I can. The night shift is coming in early, so we should be able to keep you two apart.” Trinity nods.
“Thank you.” She sniffles, making the older woman nod.
“You two have fifteen minutes, but then I need you back on the floor, got it?” You both nod as she stands and steps out of the room. Trinity lets out a large, shaky breath, curling closer to your chest.
“I want to go home…” She whines gently, making you kiss the top of her head.
“I would kill for pizza.” You snort, making her tilt her head to look up at you.
“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”
“We’ll grab some wine on the way home and order pizza. A reward for getting through this shift.” She nods, leaning up to press a loving kiss against your lips. “And for the record, don’t listen to Garcia. You can feel exactly how you want to. There’s no– fucking time limit on your healing. But I’ll be here for all of it.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.” You lift your pinky, letting her intertwine hers, and gently kiss her thumbnail.
⭑.ᐟ
Trainity sat against your chest as you both sipped glasses of wine and ate pizza together. She was still jumpy and shaken up, but after a long, shared shower, she was finally loosening up. “Can you stay the night? Maybe for the… the next week– maybe– if you don’t wa–” You smile, cutting her off with a kiss.
“I’d love to. But we need to stop by my place so I can grab some stuff.” She nods, picking at her nails. You reach for them and intertwine your fingers. “What are you thinking about?” She pauses for a long moment, taking a few shallow breaths.
“Cutting.” She breathes out, the word almost inaudible. You nod slowly, setting your plate on the bedside table and nodding, kissing her temple.
“I’m going to stay for a while. Promise. I don’t care if Dennis complains about my music.” A small smile breaks across Trinity’s face.
“Thank you… for everything.” She whispers, finally moving to look at you. You nod, pressing a long, tender kiss against her lips. You reach your hand down, slipping your fingers beneath the fabric of her shorts, tracking the raised skin along her thighs. She gasps and shudders against your mouth but keeps kissing you.
The tender way you handled her made something short-circuit. No one had ever cared like this. Not until she’d met you three months ago. Fresh off breaking things off with Garcia, her mind a mess. You’d stepped in like her own personal ray of sunshine, only meant to find her skin. She’d tried to push you away with a dub nickname that endeared you horribly, being snappy on her off days, but none of it deterred you. She couldn’t resist your warmth and welcome forever. She kisses you harder, and you pay no mind to her tears as you pull away and smile. “I love you.” You admit gently, making her eyes widen and the grip on your hand tighten.
“Really?” She chokes out, making you nod earnestly. She throws her arms around your shoulders. “I–I–I love you, too…” You kiss her cheek.
“How about a movie, hm?” She nods, hugging you tighter.
“Anything… just… stay… love me… please.”
“Loving you is the easiest thing in the world.” You mutter gently, making her stomach explode with butterflies.
this fic is a result of me realizing that i am trinity santos and trinity santos is me! she can do no wrong, her opinions and reactions to langdon are completely valid and be nice to her!!! some people have never had really shitty coworkers and it shows!!! love you all and thanks for reading!!! xoxo-c
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