writing fanfics because therapy is expensive. mostly wlw fics and women with issues. slow burns, yearning & girls who need sleep. currently obsessed with fictional women. part-time biomedical student, full-time fic writer.
A/N: I made this short love one shot based on what I saw in a book these days. I guess I'm in my gothic love era again. I'M A POEM WRITER, hope you enjoy it, there's been a while.
Read this listening "Nothing Matters" - Last dinner Party
...
Trigger warnings: death, post life, burning alive, inquisition.
──────･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────
And I will love you like nothing matters.
Whatever our souls are made of, it does not matter. They are the same: you and I, as one.
The day you depart, I shall follow. To live without your love is the worst of poisons — it is like tearing my flesh with blazing embers, or asking a devout Catholic to spit upon the cross. I would rather slit my wrists and let the blood carry me away than never again feel you breathe.
I pray to God that He takes me first, and that He makes your heart flourish once more, for you were born for life. May the sun feel your warmth and the moon your passion; may the autumn leaves feel your tread, and may my bones, already turned to dust in my post-mortem, celebrate that once I breathed your air, felt your skin against mine, and set your inner fire ablaze, making your lips desire me and making myself your home.
A week later, a stake was driven through Theodore’s heart. The Inquisition had taken him. His body was cremated in a public square; his flesh turned to ash while a crowd of the faithful spat into the fire in righteous denial. The bishop delivered his infamous sermon while you, now a widow, paraded toward the flames in your black veil, radiating the mourning of a lost life that never found forgiveness.
Your gypsy eyes, once vibrant and filled with passion, now dull and hollow, met the crowd for a final gaze: your closing show.
Known for your madness and lack of fear, the public turned to you, sensing damnation in the air. The judging crowd cast their malice around, anticipating the tragedy etched into your eyes.
Before the pyre that consumed what remained of Theodore's cold body, you did not weep, you did not scream; you only laughed.
A whisper upon your lips, almost sarcastic, pragmatic, such as only he would understand. You walked with the dignity of an untouched virgin, and before any guard could react, your feet gracefully stepped into the flames that begged for your attention.
Then, silence.
The black veil was now nothing more than something that barely existed — it was the first to burn. Then your dress, carmine red, like a true gypsy. And before you could no longer speak:
"Theodore, may my soul find yours. And to the crowd: watch my body burn!"
And so, your last breath slipped away. There, under the judgment of men of corrupt faith, your ashes mingled into the air. The crowd fell silent, most of them drifted away, but those who remained realized that the Inquisition had not killed two lovers, born sinners, but had instead liberated two souls that
neither the sun, the Church, nor the burning fire could ever part.
Death did not take them; it merely guided them. Their souls, now eternal, can finally meet in peace. Their peace is their home. Two pagan sinners who let love blind them.
Had this idea few days before at my job, and well, had to give it a try! Sorry if there's something wrong, English is not my first language. HOPE YOU ENJOY IT!😌🤎
......................................
Sinopse: After surviving another brutal shift at the Pitt’s ER, your twenty-fifth birthday ends with cheap beer, late-night confessions, and far too much tension sitting across from Santos. What starts as harmless conversation quickly turns complicated as lingering looks, messy feelings, and unresolved situations blur the line between friendship and something far more dangerous. In a hospital where emotions are already running high, Santos might become the one distraction you can’t afford — but can’t resist either.
It was late — the end of a brutal shift — when everything started to happen.
Today was your birthday. Twenty-five.
You had received a lot of congratulations throughout the day: small shoulder taps, quick hugs in the hallway, tired smiles from coworkers passing by. You tried to stay focused, as always, but deep down your chest felt warmer every time someone remembered.
At some point during the shift, you casually mentioned wanting a drink after work, and Santos overheard you.
The two of you got along well already — shared jokes during charts, sarcastic comments between trauma calls, the kind of chemistry coworkers developed after surviving chaos together. It was only your second week working at the Pitt, yet it already felt like months. Blood, screaming patients, impossible cases, disgusting injuries.
And somehow, you loved every second of it.
“Hey, wait for me. I’m grabbing that late-shift beer too,” Santos said while finishing her charts.
“Alright, fine.” You glanced at her with a smile.
By the time you reached the exit, she was already there, still wearing her scrubs, looking too exhausted to bother changing. Honestly, none of you cared anymore. It had been a hell of a day in the ER.
Earlier, you had changed in the bathroom: crop top, jeans, same sneakers. Nothing extravagant, but you added lipstick and a touch of blush — enough to feel human again after twelve hours under fluorescent lights.
“Planning on breaking hearts tonight or what?” Santos asked as you approached.
Her eyes traveled slowly from head to toe before she smirked.
“You look amazing.”
“Thanks, but I don’t know about that. I’m exhausted. I’m only getting this beer because it’s my birthday.” You laughed softly. “Besides, you’re the one still in scrubs and somehow looking better than me.”
“In my dreams.” She rolled her eyes. “Come on, let’s go. I need this beer with every fiber of my being.”
You picked a newer bar downtown — small, cozy, dimly lit. Good music echoed through the room while conversations blended into background noise. The place smelled faintly of beer, wood polish, and cigarettes from outside.
Vintage furniture, warm lights, crowded enough to feel alive without being overwhelming.
You let Santos choose the table, and naturally she picked the corner booth: more privacy, more freedom to gossip and laugh too loudly without people staring.
After ordering drinks at the bar, both of you practically collapsed into your seats with relieved sighs.
“So…” Santos took a sip of beer. “Twenty-five, huh?”
“Yes. Officially too old for DiCaprio, but apparently still acceptable for Kristen Stewart.” You grinned.
Santos tilted her head slightly, giving you an amused look.
“Well, well. Didn’t know you were into women. I honestly thought you were, like… ninety percent straight.”
“Oh, absolutely not.” You laughed. “Liking men is already unfortunate enough. I have to compensate somehow.”
That made her laugh harder.
“And my last relationship was actually with a girl,” you continued. “Seven months since the breakup.”
You took another long sip before leaning forward slightly.
“Can I ask you something?”
Santos nodded.
“What’s going on between you and Garcia? I’ve noticed the looks. Very intense looks.”
You rested your chin against your hand while watching her carefully.
“It’s… complicated.”
“Luckily for you, my schedule is incredibly free right now.”
She snorted quietly before sighing.
“Fine. We kind of hook up sometimes, but these last few days have been weird. She barely talks to me anymore, avoids me half the time, and I know we’re not exclusive or anything…” Santos shrugged. “Still, a little basic kindness would be nice.”
“Shit. I’m sorry.”
Your smile faded immediately.
“It’s okay,” she said quickly. “You couldn’t have known. And even if you did, it wouldn’t be your fault.”
A few beers later, the conversation became easier.
Lighter.
You traded embarrassing college stories, talked about terrible dates, annoying professors, strange patients from past rotations. At some point, Santos was laughing so hard she nearly cried.
“It’s genuinely hard to picture you doing something like that,” she said between laughs.
“Well, believe it.” You winked. “But honestly? I wish I had your confidence. Your freedom to just do whatever — or whoever — you want.”
You finished the last sip of your drink.
“The last time I got laid was months ago, and trust me, it wasn’t even worth it.”
By now, both of you were undeniably drunk.
Pink cheeks. Dry lips. Heat gathering beneath your skin despite the cold beer.
And the staring.
God, the staring.
You caught Santos looking at you one too many times before she abruptly grabbed her phone, pretending to read something.
An excuse to look anywhere else.
“I saw that.”
“Saw what?” she asked innocently, failing miserably.
“Oh, bullshit.” You laughed softly. “We both know what I saw. Don’t lie to me, Santos.”
Something shifted in your tone.
Your eyes darkened slightly as you unconsciously licked your lips, trying to get rid of the dryness.
Santos swallowed hard.
She was clearly having an internal debate.
And you knew exactly what kind.
A dangerous one.
A hot one.
“Or what?” she challenged quietly.
“You’re walking down a very dangerous path right now, girl.” Your fingers played absentmindedly with the thin necklace around your neck, deliberately drawing her attention lower. “I may be younger, but I’m not stupid.”
Her gaze flickered down for half a second before meeting yours again.
“So either tell me what’s going on…” You leaned back lazily. “Or I’m getting up, taking my stuff, and going home alone.”
“Fine. Jesus.” Santos looked down at the table for a moment before speaking again. “I may or may not have wondered how much easier my life would be if things with Garcia weren’t so messy.”
You stayed quiet, letting her continue.
“Because if they weren’t…” She exhaled slowly. “I probably would’ve kissed you already.”
A slow smile spread across your face.
“Honestly? I was expecting something like that.”
Santos laughed nervously, rubbing the back of her neck.
“The real question,” you continued, leaning slightly closer, “is whether you actually care about the moral implications…”
Your voice softened into a teasing murmur.
“...or if you’re just scared you’d like it too much.”
Teasing people had always been one of your favorite hobbies.
────────────୨ৎ────────────
author’s notes ♡
hope you guys are okay after this one 😭
if you liked part 1 and want a part 2, please let me know!!
i genuinely had so much fun writing santos like this <3
Had this idea few days before at my job, and well, had to give it a try! Sorry if there's something wrong, English is not my first language. HOPE YOU ENJOY IT!😌🤎
......................................
Sinopse: After surviving another brutal shift at the Pitt’s ER, your twenty-fifth birthday ends with cheap beer, late-night confessions, and far too much tension sitting across from Santos. What starts as harmless conversation quickly turns complicated as lingering looks, messy feelings, and unresolved situations blur the line between friendship and something far more dangerous. In a hospital where emotions are already running high, Santos might become the one distraction you can’t afford — but can’t resist either.
It was late — the end of a brutal shift — when everything started to happen.
Today was your birthday. Twenty-five.
You had received a lot of congratulations throughout the day: small shoulder taps, quick hugs in the hallway, tired smiles from coworkers passing by. You tried to stay focused, as always, but deep down your chest felt warmer every time someone remembered.
At some point during the shift, you casually mentioned wanting a drink after work, and Santos overheard you.
The two of you got along well already — shared jokes during charts, sarcastic comments between trauma calls, the kind of chemistry coworkers developed after surviving chaos together. It was only your second week working at the Pitt, yet it already felt like months. Blood, screaming patients, impossible cases, disgusting injuries.
And somehow, you loved every second of it.
“Hey, wait for me. I’m grabbing that late-shift beer too,” Santos said while finishing her charts.
“Alright, fine.” You glanced at her with a smile.
By the time you reached the exit, she was already there, still wearing her scrubs, looking too exhausted to bother changing. Honestly, none of you cared anymore. It had been a hell of a day in the ER.
Earlier, you had changed in the bathroom: crop top, jeans, same sneakers. Nothing extravagant, but you added lipstick and a touch of blush — enough to feel human again after twelve hours under fluorescent lights.
“Planning on breaking hearts tonight or what?” Santos asked as you approached.
Her eyes traveled slowly from head to toe before she smirked.
“You look amazing.”
“Thanks, but I don’t know about that. I’m exhausted. I’m only getting this beer because it’s my birthday.” You laughed softly. “Besides, you’re the one still in scrubs and somehow looking better than me.”
“In my dreams.” She rolled her eyes. “Come on, let’s go. I need this beer with every fiber of my being.”
You picked a newer bar downtown — small, cozy, dimly lit. Good music echoed through the room while conversations blended into background noise. The place smelled faintly of beer, wood polish, and cigarettes from outside.
Vintage furniture, warm lights, crowded enough to feel alive without being overwhelming.
You let Santos choose the table, and naturally she picked the corner booth: more privacy, more freedom to gossip and laugh too loudly without people staring.
After ordering drinks at the bar, both of you practically collapsed into your seats with relieved sighs.
“So…” Santos took a sip of beer. “Twenty-five, huh?”
“Yes. Officially too old for DiCaprio, but apparently still acceptable for Kristen Stewart.” You grinned.
Santos tilted her head slightly, giving you an amused look.
“Well, well. Didn’t know you were into women. I honestly thought you were, like… ninety percent straight.”
“Oh, absolutely not.” You laughed. “Liking men is already unfortunate enough. I have to compensate somehow.”
That made her laugh harder.
“And my last relationship was actually with a girl,” you continued. “Seven months since the breakup.”
You took another long sip before leaning forward slightly.
“Can I ask you something?”
Santos nodded.
“What’s going on between you and Garcia? I’ve noticed the looks. Very intense looks.”
You rested your chin against your hand while watching her carefully.
“It’s… complicated.”
“Luckily for you, my schedule is incredibly free right now.”
She snorted quietly before sighing.
“Fine. We kind of hook up sometimes, but these last few days have been weird. She barely talks to me anymore, avoids me half the time, and I know we’re not exclusive or anything…” Santos shrugged. “Still, a little basic kindness would be nice.”
“Shit. I’m sorry.”
Your smile faded immediately.
“It’s okay,” she said quickly. “You couldn’t have known. And even if you did, it wouldn’t be your fault.”
A few beers later, the conversation became easier.
Lighter.
You traded embarrassing college stories, talked about terrible dates, annoying professors, strange patients from past rotations. At some point, Santos was laughing so hard she nearly cried.
“It’s genuinely hard to picture you doing something like that,” she said between laughs.
“Well, believe it.” You winked. “But honestly? I wish I had your confidence. Your freedom to just do whatever — or whoever — you want.”
You finished the last sip of your drink.
“The last time I got laid was months ago, and trust me, it wasn’t even worth it.”
By now, both of you were undeniably drunk.
Pink cheeks. Dry lips. Heat gathering beneath your skin despite the cold beer.
And the staring.
God, the staring.
You caught Santos looking at you one too many times before she abruptly grabbed her phone, pretending to read something.
An excuse to look anywhere else.
“I saw that.”
“Saw what?” she asked innocently, failing miserably.
“Oh, bullshit.” You laughed softly. “We both know what I saw. Don’t lie to me, Santos.”
Something shifted in your tone.
Your eyes darkened slightly as you unconsciously licked your lips, trying to get rid of the dryness.
Santos swallowed hard.
She was clearly having an internal debate.
And you knew exactly what kind.
A dangerous one.
A hot one.
“Or what?” she challenged quietly.
“You’re walking down a very dangerous path right now, girl.” Your fingers played absentmindedly with the thin necklace around your neck, deliberately drawing her attention lower. “I may be younger, but I’m not stupid.”
Her gaze flickered down for half a second before meeting yours again.
“So either tell me what’s going on…” You leaned back lazily. “Or I’m getting up, taking my stuff, and going home alone.”
“Fine. Jesus.” Santos looked down at the table for a moment before speaking again. “I may or may not have wondered how much easier my life would be if things with Garcia weren’t so messy.”
You stayed quiet, letting her continue.
“Because if they weren’t…” She exhaled slowly. “I probably would’ve kissed you already.”
A slow smile spread across your face.
“Honestly? I was expecting something like that.”
Santos laughed nervously, rubbing the back of her neck.
“The real question,” you continued, leaning slightly closer, “is whether you actually care about the moral implications…”
Your voice softened into a teasing murmur.
“...or if you’re just scared you’d like it too much.”
Teasing people had always been one of your favorite hobbies.
────────────୨ৎ────────────
author’s notes ♡
hope you guys are okay after this one 😭
if you liked part 1 and want a part 2, please let me know!!
i genuinely had so much fun writing santos like this <3
