about me: ann, burnt out college student, capricorn, 9teen, bi, she/her, semi-retired yearner
currently watching: the Pitt & hacks
currently working on: A pitt neighbor!reader x Santos fic
currently reading: nothing (im ashamed enough for the both of us)
currently listening to: Would That I
currently obsessed with: the pitt, spencer agnew, isa briones, rachel sennott & ayo edebiri, hacks, hannah einbinder, agent dale cooper, detroit become human, akotsk
warning: my content is sfw but I would appreciate if minors dni
hi! just wanted to quickly update that unreliable observations will return soon, I just have finals lined up for a while. Before I update that though I got a baelor fic lined up (purely personally indulgent but I hope yall enjoy it)!
( 18+ ) the dragon and the stag ─ baelor abides by your wishes when you flee from your arranged marriage to be with the man they call the laughing storm. he asks only for one night with you, before he risks his life at the trial of seven, and lyonel doesn't mind sharing. (8.8k)
start over again ─ baelor loses his memory after the trial of seven. you help him remember everything he forgot, and he falls in love with you again everyday. (2.2k)
my man on will power ─ when baelor reveals that he intends to fight with ser duncan in the trial of seven, you give him a compelling reason to stay. (3k)
( 18+ ) the wrong thing ─ on the eve of your arranged marriage to baelor targaryen, your childhood best friend, aaeron, indulges you in one final night of defiance before he loses you for good - and baelor does not take kindly to learning that his nephew has taken his future bride to a brothel. (6k)
( 18+ ) both hands and a gentle mouth ─ baelor takes in a naive handmaiden out of kindness, but soon finds himself developing feelings for her that he knows neither rank nor crown would allow. (4k)
( 18+ ) devil's land ─ when your father loses the war for the iron throne, you're shipped to the red keep and married to the future king to keep the peace. while you waste away in a gilded cage, baelor tries to convince you that you're more than just a hostage. (4k)
MAEKAR TARGARYEN.
꩜ one-shots ;
lark of my heart ─ when you're sent to king's landing to find a husband, you set your sights on maekar targaryen, and he can't quite figure out why. (5k)
love and mercy ─ maekar has made a habit out of refusing to touch his new bride, until he loses everything in the trial of seven, and finds himself craving your gentleness more than anything. (3k)
in the middle ─ maekar and lyonel clash while trying to win your favor at a feast (or: in which the ragebaiter meets the ragebaited) (2.5k)
( 18+ ) dirty mind, dirty mouth ─ when maekar tells you he's leaving for a week on small council business, you do what you always do and wreck his plans (2k)
( 18+ ) dove of mine ─ when lyonel baratheon takes a liking to you after a trip to storm's end, maekar takes matters into his own hands. literally. (3k)
LYONEL BARATHEON.
꩜ one-shots ;
( 18+ ) the dragon and the stag ─ baelor abides by your wishes when you flee from your arranged marriage to be with the man they call the laughing storm. he asks only for one night with you, before he risks his life at the trial of seven, and lyonel doesn't mind sharing. (8.8k)
in the middle ─ maekar and lyonel clash while trying to win your favor at a feast (or: in which the ragebaiter meets the ragebaited) (2.5k)
( 18+ ) lessons in anatomy ─ lyonel doesn't understand why his new wife spends all her time in the library until he catches you studying a book about sex and decides to help teach you a lesson or two (4k)
( 18+ ) i'm your man ─ lyonel catches you reading a book on threesomes and decides to bring your fantasies to life, like any good husband would, by allowing the hedge knight into your bed. (3k)
AEMOND TARGARYEN.
꩜ one-shots ;
( 18+ ) divine madness ─ you were aegon's long before you were aemond's, and the king takes great pleasure in reminding his brother of that – especially when he's drunk. aemond, however, finally decides to remind you and his eldest brother who you belong to now. (8.4k)
( 18+ ) pair of wings gently used ─ following the aftermath of rook's rest, aemond struggles to convince you of his innocence while aegon struggles to stay alive. the three of you come to the striking realization that love is not always soft – sometimes it feels like dragonfire. (12k)
AEGON TARGARYEN
꩜ one-shots ;
( 18+ ) divine madness ─ you were aegon's long before you were aemond's, and the king takes great pleasure in reminding his brother of that – especially when he's drunk. aemond, however, finally decides to remind you and his eldest brother who you belong to now. (8.4k)
( 18+ ) pair of wings gently used ─ following the aftermath of rook's rest, aemond struggles to convince you of his innocence while aegon struggles to stay alive. the three of you come to the striking realization that love is not always soft – sometimes it feels like dragonfire. (12k)
can't believe i put off watching akotsk for so long... truly know nothing about the got world but if it's anything like what i just saw i will gladly sit through 8 seasons... plotting a dunc or lyonel fic...
Is anyone else low-key tired of getting nonstop complaints about fanfics in the x reader tag? I understand having icks, but my brother in CHRIST you're reading self-insert fics on TUMBLR the MOTHERLAND of cringe. A lot of the people who write here are teens, so why can't we make this a safe space for them to practice writing? They sometimes don't even proofread their shit. And when I write on here I don't use beta readers. I don't even edit or redraft. Most fanfic writers don't. We're in it for the LOVE OF THE GAME. If you're expecting high brow literature, you're in the wrong genre. I'm not saying that to put down fanfiction writers. I care about my work. They care about their work. You can find a lot of beautiful stuff, but to approach EVERY fanfic with these high standards in mind is kinda dumb. It may just be me but I'm getting so many users constantly complaining about cringe. RELAX. Remember where you are. It's NOT that serious. Writers are providing content for free and having fun.
summary: Knowing your "small" crush of Emery Walsh, your friends invited her to join you for some drinks. A 'nice gesture' from a colleage about wether it's a one sided crush or not, one bold move after another.
pairing: Emery Walsh x NightShiftER!Reader
tags: no use of y/n (look at me go however I've not wrote much in this POV so lets hope its alright), John Shen is a little shit (adoringly), both are yearning and pining.
word count: 2,297
a/n: Thank you @ellewoodsharvardvideoessay for requesting this in the comments I had a great time doing research (aka. watching continous edits of her) I think im genuinely going through withdrawl without my love on the screen, hilariously this based of something that did actually happen to me with an old friend. I hope you all enjoy, another addition to the x reader pitt collection!
master list ~ prompt list
It was a rare happenstance when the majority of you had any time to go out and enjoy night life like regular people but this was finally one of those days. It had started as just drinks between you, John and Ellis. Then you’d invited Abbot, it was partly a joke at first not thinking he’d want to, but you’d all shared beers after shift enough that he knew he’d enjoy the company he just wish he’d asked the location as well.
It wasn’t until you arrived at the bar with Abbot in tow that you also noticed Emery and Garcia had joined the party. They were currently facing away from you, thankfully, so you immediatly caught John’s eyes and in that moment he learnt truely what the phrase ‘if looks could kill’ means
“Did you invite her?” You mouthed trying to also not let Abbot see your expression. John just raised his eyebrows at you twice teasingly in response. You thought that was bad enough and then Ellis leaned over to see what John was looking at and when she caught your eye she gave you a wink before loudly exclaiming your name causing Emery and Garcia to wip their heads around to look at you.
“Nice of you both to finally join us! We’re getting rounds its too fucking busy to be messing around.” Garcia hollered trying to be heard over the sound of the abnoxious music. You slid in the booth beside John and Abbot slid in besides Garcia, it was usually more convinent for him to have his prostetic stretched straight instead of cramped under a booth table.
The moment you sat down there was a cocktail placed in front of you and the night went like that. You could almost guarantee that is was John who chose the bar, you would also guarantee that by the time you left here there'd be significant ringing in your ear based on the decibel volume of the music alone and that was before you encluded the chorus of chatter you had to be heard over to speak. Still the energy was high and after a few drinks youd ignore the fact your feet slightly stuck whenever you tried to take them off the floor.
You waited until everyone was about 3/4 through their drinks before getting up to head to the bar and begin your round. You didn't even need to ask everyone's orders you were all creatures of habit, your job was stressful and chaotic enough something had to be consistent.
Going in rounds was much easier and also meant no one came along to steal the booth. It also meant that once yours and Aboots rounds were done every time someone got up to get a round it was a small game of musical chairs. That was how you somehow ended up seated next to Emery, you knew it was either John or Ellis’ doing you just couldnt figure out how.
It wasn’t a huge deal, you were only thinking about how far away you were sat. Are you moving too much that it’s weird? It was only now you were considering if you could breathe weird? You’d focused a bit too much on your posture that you hadn’t noticed how quickly you’d got through your drink. However Emery noticed straight away, she’s been not-so-subtly paying attention to you all night but you’d put so much effort into not staring at her too much you hadn’t noticed.
“Can I get past?” Her voice whispered in your ear and you were convinced all the heat ran to your face at once, suddenly you were lucky for the abhrasive neon lights above. For some reason you didn’t think about the proximity you just turned your head towards her voice, you found yourself doing that a lot lately. However this left you both cheek to cheek considering she leant in to whisper in your ear.
You both jump apart at the sudden contact, a cough suddenly erputing from your chest as you mutter something that was crossed between ‘of course’ and ‘yeah sure’ as you shoved John out of the booth without even saying anything to him. You ignored his mutters of irritation and confusion and continued pushing him until he was stood up and you let her out of the booth. It like the cogs starting turning again in John’s head because he tried to dive back into the seat, to enevitably force you to sit together again, but you got there first firmly planting yourself in the corner.
You couldn’t help the way your eyes followed her through the crowd. It wasn’t intentional at first, your eyes just always seemed to find her even across a room. She dissapears out of your eyeline as she rounds the corner towards the bar leaving you pulled back into the conversations happening around the table.
You were midway through a sentence when you noticed the tray of cocktails placed on the table. You looked up making direct eye contact with Emery for a second before she quickly looks away and hands everyone their drinks. She placed yours infront of you, her face getting warm despite not even looking at you. That was when she placed an empty cup and also a cup full of cocktail umbrellas in front of you, the same one you had in your current cocktail as well even though it didn’t come with it last time.
“The fuck?” John’s voice cuts through the shared confusion as everyone was looking between you, the cups and emery.
“I’ve noticed when they’re drinking they like to pick apart the umbrellas, I just asked the bar if they could give me some and put one in the drink.” Emery had to address the response to John, almost referencing you like you weren’t there. She didn’t want to know your reaction to the gesture but you wanted her to so badly look at you.
It was a pretty common habit of yours you were well aware of it, similar to the small habit of picking off a label from a beer bottle but most of the time you deconstructed it onto a napkin so it was easy to throw away. You’d assumed because it was just something small you played with that no one had ever noticed it, no one had even mentioned it before now.
“Oh so you just asked the bar?” The playful tone in Ellis’ voice caused Emery to immediatly stare at her with dissaproval, a hilarious juxtaposition from her previous bashful expression.
“Just something I noticed, no big deal.” Emery tried to keep her tone dismissive from Ellis’ comment without making the gesture seem meaningless. Even Abbot made an unconvinced face at Emery’s comment. She mumbled something about ‘just lettings it go’ and took her seat back in the booth.
Emery felt very validated when she saw you instantly picking one of the umbrellas out starting to deconstruct them one by one. She carried that high for the rest of the night and honestly for the next couple of days.
The first time you’re back on shift together is 3 days later. 72 hours is a lot of time to sit and overthink about a ‘simple gesture’ from a colleague while getting drinks. You think if you mention it to Ellis one more time that she might kill you by 1000 pricks with said cocktail umbrellas.
You knew that Emery gets in about 6 minutes after you each shift. Not that you’d tracked her or anything strange, you’d just noticed her getting out of her car as you sat outside contemplating life before walking in. After that it became just another casual habit, noticing her in every space you share wether that’s a hospital parking lot or a trauma room.
The air was heavy with the heat creating an uncomfortable level of sweat across anyone that dared to be outside. You knew despite the weather that Emery would have the same hot coffee, just the same as John having an iced coffee despite the tempreture.
Emery wasn’t prepared to see you walk out of the elevator onto their floor, usually it was her coming downstairs to see you. She had no clue what you wanted but with the smile on your face she’d give you anything you were about to ask for, but instead you gave her something.
“I brought you coffee.” You squeezed your words out, not even a hello just an announcement of the gesture. Emery let out a small laugh in response, the warmth in her voice feeling hotter than the cup in your hand.
“Bribing me before the shift even starts.” Her voice was laced with teasing but in a way that was very new. Emery had let off many a sarcastic comment while you were around but there was a fondness to this you weren’t used too. Her eyes didn’t leave yours as she took the cup from your hand, you can see her fingers itch towards yours for a second but she pulls it tight to the cup so fast you could think you’ve imagined it. It wasn’t until she took a sip of her cup that her gaze finally broke from yours.
“You got me a cortado?” The teasing note in her voice had been replaced by true excitement.
“It’s your favourite coffee, theres a place near me that sells them.” You shrugged off the obvious gleeful smile from your face trying to copy her cool demenor from the other night.
“You know most people would assume and get me a black coffee.”
“You’re not the only one who can notice things,” This time your the one who's face was heating up. You avoided her eyes the exact same way she did to yours at the bar, electing to try and look around the floor hoping to remain casual.
It wasnt until Emery looked down that she noticed a number scrawled across the holder of the cup and her inner glee at the situation instantly died. Of course someone had given you theyre number you were magnetic in a way she couldnt describe. Patients, nurses, hell even doctors from other departments always seemed to gravitate towards you.
“Is everything ok?” Your voice cut through her overthinking as she stared at the cup with a vacant expression, “Em?”
Her head then snapped to look at you. This wasnt the first time youd called something other than her title, it wasnt even the first time youd called her by this nickname. It was the first time youd ever said it like that.
“Yeah im great, looks like your popular today though.” She laughed out tapping the number on the cup hoping she was giving off casual instead of jealous. Her resolve wavered slightly when she saw you raise an eyebrow at her but it didn’t show on the outside. She began the crack, like a suspect under interregation, a little as a smirk began to spread across your lips.
“It’s for you, actually,” There was something about the teasing tone as well as a new found bravery laced in your voice that had the hairs stood straight on the back of her neck. For a moment she let her mind wander about where else you’d speak to her like th— “It’s my number.”
“So I’m the popular one today then?” The sheer confidence in her response had you wondering at all if the gesture had phased her, it most certainly had she was currently short circuting and running on auto-pilot. It was just lucky that her auto-pilot was cunt.
“If you play your cards right you could be,” You took a step closer, the distance between you two boarding her on unprofessional, to her lowering your register as you spoke trying to keep your coversation as discreet as you can. You took a small step to the side giving a bit more space back between you both but as soon as you did it both of you craved the closeness back.
Despite both of your hearts beating fast enough to be genuinely worrying to any medical professional it had almost proven to boost your confidence rather than thwart it. Emery made a bold decision, especially considering you were both very much at work, and turned her face towards you meaning you could feel every word of hers on your skin.
“Next gesture is on me then, are you free after shift?”
She wasn’t fully prepared for you to immediatly match her energy and turn your face towards her, mirroring your action from the bar however this time it was intentional. Your noses couldn’t have been more than a small step apart and the minute Emery noticed the balls of her feet flexed upwards instinctually wanting so desperatly to take the small step.
“You’ll have to text me to find out,” And just like that you started to retreat back towards the elevator the tension stretching the further you went like a magicians trick, “See you later, Dr. Walsh.”
Emery stood there for a moment feeling like her feet were rooted to the spot, she couldn’t move until the lift doors closed again. She swung around trying to ignore the look Garcia was giving her but also the way she felt when you called her Dr like that. She definetly didn’t spend the rest of the day plotting on how to make you call her Dr like that again.
summary: you don't mean to pop a blood bag onto jack abbot, but you're surely not complaining. even if he makes it his life mission to fluster you afterwards.
pairing: jack abbot x nervous!surgeon!reader
tags: afab reader, age gap [only mentioned by the nickname "kid"], descriptions of blood, objectification of a man covered in blood, jack abbot is a natural flirt, r is nervous & full of social anxiety
word count: 2.6k
notes: in honor of shawn hatosy quinn audio <3
There was a lot to say about surgeons. Egotistical, narcissistic, unable to take accountability for their actions. You’ve heard it since you declared that you’d like to go into surgery and you especially hear it now every time you tell someone what your chosen career path was. Multiple questions about how you can stand being around those type of people, who get excited by the idea of cutting into someone and use their life-saving services as boasting material at the dinner table.
You do not fit into this demographic. As much as you love your job and what you do, the anxiety of everyday life seems to outweigh everything else. You couldn’t help the way you overthought every single action, unable to take charge unless it was absolutely required of you.
The emergency department is packed when the doors of the elevator peel open. You’ve been in revolving surgeries all morning and afternoon, kept busy by every patient that the emergency doctors had sent up to you, and you’re starting to feel it in every inch of your body. Achy feet, dried sweat lining every spot that your scrubs hugged, a smear of blood along your neck, throbbing in your back and legs and feet. The only part about you that’s clean is your hands, thanks to the incessant scrubbing in and out of the operating room.
Since you are now heading into hour thirteen of your shift, you’ve been assigned to checking on trauma cases in the ER. You scrub at your neck with a wet wipe as you walk briskly towards the hub, tossing it into a medical waste trashcan as you move towards the trauma rooms.
“Hey, doc, can you give this to Abbot? You’re heading straight towards him.” One of the night shift nurses calls to you as she ducks out of a trauma room, cradling something in her hands.
You nod, holding out your palms and watching as she places a bag of blood gingerly in your grasp. Something that only happens in this place of employment, you guess.
Carefully carrying the bag to not pop it, you shoulder open the door to the trauma room. “Heard you needed th -”
Now, you are not a lucky person. You have never gotten more than five dollars off of scratch offs, you’ve always grabbed the shortest straw and rock paper scissors was your least favorite way of deciding things because you always lost. Therefore, you’ve never expected that things would go your way.
And that’s especially true now as you slam directly into the toned chest of Jack Abbot, the bag of blood popping like a balloon inbetween the both of you. One pint sprays equally across you and the night-shift attending, covering both of your scrubs in pure scarlet.
Your lips immediately peel open in shock and surprise, tongue-tied as you attempt to apologize. “Abbot, I’m so -”
“Talk about it later. We’ll get another unit.” The older man waves you off with one swoop of his hand, staring down at the crimson soaking into his black scrubs for only a second before he’s moving to the side to let you into the trauma room. “Save lives first, doctor.”
Due to that unfortunate circumstance, you run the entire trauma with blood sticking to your skin, hardening and becoming similar to a scab for a laceration you never even had. There’s even more than a few droplets on your jaw and cheek, nose wrinkling periodically at the itch it brings.
After the patient is stable, you duck out of the trauma room. Many patients and doctors alike turn to look at you with concerned expressions, putting together the worst conclusions and inferences based on the blood staining your skin and clothes. Not meeting any of their eyes, you duck into the closest bathroom, horrified by the reflection that meets you in the mirror.
Exhaustion and o-negative do not pair well. Your ponytail is barely holding on, loose strands curling around your cheekbones and ears, some pieces plastered to your skin. Scarlet stains your chest, abdomen, arms and thighs, making you look like you had just committed a massacre inside of trauma room one.
You were used to blood, of course. There have been more arterial bleeds or random hemorrages that have gotten out of hand than you prefer to count. But never out of your own lack of luck, or out of the stupidity of running into a trauma without watching exactly where you were going.
It takes you over five minutes to clean the blood off of your skin using sink water and paper towels, ensuring that it doesn’t get too plastered on. Your scrubs are still soaked, pressed against your body like a second skin, but you’ve already been off the floor for too long. You dab some more paper against the fabric in a vain attempt of soaking some of it up before finally stepping back into the fray.
The first thing on your to-do list was to apologize to Jack Abbot for letting him get caught in the crossfire of your misfortune. Then, you could get back to focusing on the actual work.
In your time as a surgeon that very often pulled twenty-four hour shifts, you’ve come across Jack Abbot many-a-time. Each time, you’re stunned by his ability to keep a cool head and his extensive knowledge. Attractive, steady-headed and greying was just your type, making it hard to do your job thoroughly when he was on shift. Everything you ever knew seemed to fly out the window when he was in your vicinity.
“Hey, Lena, have you seen Abbot?” You try not to sound as nervous as you are as you place your elbows on the nurse’s desk, giving the charge nurse a wobbly smile. There’s probably still a droplet or two of crimson painting some part of your skin, but you choose to believe that that’s the normal around here.
She doesn’t even bat an eye, glancing over the rim of her glasses towards the South rooms. “I saw him disappearing into South 16 earlier. Not sure if he’s with a patient, but you can check.” Her head tilts in the direction as if you don’t know your way around before she finally focuses her attention back to the charts in her hands.
You mumble a brisk “thank you” before heading that way, tugging at the bottom of your scrub top as you duck around the nurses and trauma doctors lining the halls. Your hand hovers over the doorknob before you inhale sharply, pushing open the door before you can think too much about what to say or how to stand.
There’s not a patient in the room. Jack stands with his back to the door, one hand clasped around the collar of his shirt. His scrub top is almost halfway off, tugging up the t-shirt beneath and exposing a sliver of his back. When he turns, you catch a glance of stomach, an unnatural noise boiling out of your throat.
“Fuck!” You can’t help but to squeak out the curse, pivoting on your heel to stare out the glass door instead of ogling the small bit of skin. “I’m sorry!”
There’s silence for a brief moment before Jack speaks. “I’m decent, doctor.” He says the title with a tinge of sarcasm, his smirk hovering in the air between the both of you like a ghost.
You turn around slowly, half-worried that he’d be completely shirtless when you saw him again. Instead, he’s ditched his scrub top, leaving him in just the white t-shirt he had worn beneath.
There’s splotches lining the curve of his t-shirt’s neckline, decorating the dip where his windpipe lays beneath his neck and the exposed fabric where the v-neck of his scrubs had dipped down. The worst of the spray ended up on his arms from where he had braced himself from your own body running into him, looking like he had done an open surgery without gloves. Blood paints the ridges of each muscle, splattered from the splash of the bag popping.
No one should ever look so good after an accident they couldn’t control. The sanguine droplets stand out against pale skin, blending in with the freckles that pepper his arms. It’s a lovely contrast to the salt and pepper curls that sit just above that handsome face. Looking a bit closer, you can see that some did end up on his face, dotted along his jaw and just beneath his bottom lip.
Your cheeks are burning as you shift in your spot, reaching up to run your fingers through your hair. “I just wanted to come and say sorry for… making a mess.” Beneath his focused gaze, you squirm, eyes flickering everywhere but back at him. He’s set up a tray with a handful of small wet wipes, napkins and a water bottle, his scrub top abandoned on the patient bed.
Jack stares at you quietly, hand reaching sightlessly to grab a wipe. “Has anyone ever told you that you apologize too much?” He rumbles, tone in a complete deadpan.
Your lips part in surprise, eyes widening a smidge. You shake your head slowly. “I don’t know what you mean.”
The corner of his lips pull up into a smirk, glancing over you as he scrubs at his skin, the white square in his fingers darkening in crimson as he does. “You’re sorry for popping a blood bag. You’re sorry for walking in on me and seeing even a glimpse of skin. You’re sorry for the mess again.” He explains, one eyebrow raising. “Are you ever not sorry?”
“I don’t know what you mean.” You repeat, lost for words. You’re staring at him like a deer in headlights, eyes a bit too wide and lips parted just enough to let you exhale out of your mouth. “I got you all dirty, I have to apologize.”
Clearly, Jack is having way too much fun making you squirm. “Who says?” He glances down at the arm he’s meticulously cleaning, as relaxed as anyone can be.
Every feature on your face crumples in defeat, unsure of where to go from here. If he wouldn’t let you apologize, you’d sit and worry all day that you’d ruin the professional relationship between the two of you. While you and Abbot weren’t necessarily best friends forever, it was still nice to be the receiver of his dry-humored jokes every once in a while, or have someone to offer you breakroom coffee whenever your floor ran out.
He looks up at you when he realizes you won’t be amusing him anymore with awkward and clueless ramblings, forehead wrinkling. “Relax, kid. I’m just pulling your leg.” The words are followed with a laugh, head shaking like he can’t believe someone can be so easy to fluster.
Jack places down the soiled wipe before replacing it with a napkin. After dousing it in a bit of water from the bottle, he scrubs a bit harder to remove the flecks of blood that have caked into the hair dusting his arms. “We’re okay,” he reassures when he realizes you’re still staring at him worriedly. “I’m a doctor. I don’t mind getting dirty.”
The way he watches you after the words fall off his lips makes your cheeks heat up again. You barely even breathe, trapped inside of his focus, feet cemented into the ground. When he blinks at you, expecting a response, you clear your throat. “Oh.” Not a full response, you’re aware, but everything else is getting clogged before it can come out coherently.
“No need to continue worrying your little head.” He’s not looking at you anymore, balling up his soiled wipes and paper towels to toss them into medical waste. One hand raises to gesture you closer over his shoulder. “C’mere.”
Your lips part in an attempt to ask why, only for the word to die on your tongue when he turns to give you a look. Swallowing loud enough that you’re sure you can hear it, you take a few steps closer.
Jack scoffs, turning to face you again. He takes a couple steps closer until one of his legs is slotted between yours. One hand raises to slide along the side of your face, thumb pressing into the soft spot beneath your jaw to lift your face upwards. The touch isn’t gentle, or hesitant, immediately angling your face the way he wanted it.
The gasp that tumbles out of you is pathetic. The corner of his lips twitches up in mirth at the reaction, giving another shake of his head. His other hand raises towards your face, although you can’t see where by the way your wide eyes are looking everywhere but how close his face is to yours.
Something cool brushes against your jaw, bringing you out of your stupor as it travels to your chin. It takes you a moment to register what’s pressed to your skin, nose naturally wrinkling at the smell of alcohol.
“You had a little something,” he explains. His gaze is laser-focused as he continues holding your jaw with one hand and wiping at your face with the other, tilting your face up and to the side whenever he moves to a different spot.
You swallow again, throat working beneath his fingers. “I could’ve gotten it myself.”
“Forgive me for helping you out.” There’s not an ounce of apology in his voice. He just continues pressing the small alcohol pad to your face, although it seems to be quite excessive for the small few droplets you had seen before.
For once, a silence falls over the both of you. Jack is too focused on wiping off whatever he’s slowly seen while you’re too busy trying not to breathe directly on him, just in case the coffee from earlier still lingers on your breath in a bad way.
Some would say he’s too close. His thigh presses against both of yours from where he stands with one foot between them, your knees brushing every time he shifts his weight. His pointer finger presses just beneath the hinge of your jaw, pinky heavy against the dip between neck and collarbone. Your pulse thrums against his fingertips, carotid pulsing when he adjusts your face’s angle and grips you a bit tighter.
His hand lowers first, looking down at you with a devastatingly handsome smile. “Atta girl,” he says. “All clean.”
Jack moves to step back, other hand pressing against your hip to push you back. Unfortunately, your feet move at the same time, your shoe catching on his. In an attempt to not fall backwards, your hand shoots out, fingers curling into his shirt as you wobble.
“Hey, hey.” His voice is soft, fingers curling around your hip to pull you up against him. His chest is solid beneath both your hand and against your body, rising with every steady breath. “I’m gonna start to think all these stumbles are on purpose, kid.”
Heat floods your cheeks faster than you can stop it, palm flattening as you immediately pull back. “Not on purpose. Just a klutz.” The words tumble out quickly. You slide your phone out of your scrubs pocket, glancing at your lock screen, which is bare of any notifications. “Oh, look. Needed in the OR.”
Your fingers fumble with the device, missing your pocket only a couple times as you step backwards. He just watches you with one eyebrow raised, a knowing smile dancing on his lips.
“Sorry for… making a mess, again. I mean,” your face furrows when you remember the beginning of this conversation, “nothing. Okay. Bye.”
The only thing you hear as you turn and duck out of the patient room, darting for the elevator like your heels were on fire, is his laugh echoing behind you.
summary: ever since you’ve been assigned to the night shift, you and trinity have been living on completely opposite schedules, living completely different lives. and it has started to take a toll on her.
wordcount: 2.5k
cw: angst, inaccurate medical descriptions and terms
now playing: blade bird by oklou
Trinity isn’t sure she’s ever felt so tired. Her elbows rest on either side of the keyboard at the nurses’ station, where she’s been catching up on charting for the past thirty minutes. Strangely enough, she’s been left alone by the rest of the medical staff in the ER during that entire time.
That almost never happens. Normally she manages to write two sentences before someone rudely calls her name. It feels good to be needed, but recently, for Santos, there has been no worse feeling.
Except for longing.
The relentless, gnawing feeling that something, someone, is missing. In the ER, in her arms, in her immediate vicinity. Trinity has never been much of a yearner. Or, she is, but she likes to pretend that she’s not.
She prides herself on being independent, unbothered, capable of handling things on her own. But lately she finds herself staring off into space, unfocused, and nobody pulls her back to reality.
It’s a painful reminder that you’re not around to ground her.
Not that you’re far away. Technically you’re just working a different shift. Your clothes are still in her closet, hell, you’re still in her bed, but Trinity hasn’t seen much of you since you were transferred to nights.
There had been a vacant spot ever since Dr. Jones left for North Carolina, and the night crew was already understaffed. The department had found itself struggling after losing yet another physician.
Dr. Abbot had asked you personally before speaking to admin, which you did appreciate. At least it hadn’t been sudden and unexpected. You had voluntarily agreed to the change. Still, he had managed to convince you after laying the praise on thick.
“I—well, we—really would like for you to be the one to join the team. Ellis and I think you’d be an excellent addition. It’s a change of pace, but I think it’s worth it.”
He had told you that during a shift change back in August. You had told him you’d think about it. By thinking, you really meant talking to your girlfriend about it. Trinity’s refusal had come quickly, much like you had anticipated.
“You really want to switch to nights.” She had that look on her face, the one that meant she strongly disagreed but refused to start an argument about it.
“I don’t want to, Trin. They need someone. Bad.” You had rested your head in your palm, sitting at the small kitchen counter in your apartment.
“And? Why does it have to be you?” she asked, crossing her arms and leaning against the sink.
“Abbot asked me,” you shrugged, exhausted.
“Oh, Abbot asked you,” she replied, raising her brows sarcastically. You sighed quietly.
“So you don’t want me to switch to nights?”
There had been a pause before she answered.
“…Do whatever you want.” She had pushed herself off the sink, avoiding your pointed look.
“Trin.”
“What.”
“Don’t shut me out.”
That made her look at you. Really look at you. And suddenly you understood why she had taken it so personally.
Because to her, it was personal.
You were abandoning her. At least, that’s how she perceived it.
“I would like to try it. Only if you want me to,” you had said gently. “I’ll switch back if we can’t do it.”
Her eyes softened. After a moment, she nodded silently, agreeing to the condition. The tension in the room eased just enough for both of you to breathe again.
“i love you” you had said gently, breaking the silence with a quiet promise
“i love you” she’d replied, never adding the too, because she didn’t love you too, her love was whole, enough in itself.
That had been two months ago.
Two months since you had shared a car ride to work. Two months since the private lunch breaks on the empty floor upstairs. Two months since she had slept beside you for more than a night at a time.
And it was safe to say that nowadays, hell would probably be more enjoyable than work for Trinity.
Seeing you for only a few minutes during shift change had become a special kind of torture. Santos spent most of her days waiting for patient handoff, hoping she might steal a kiss or two in the breakroom if she was lucky.
Those moments were rushed between charts and alarms, but she had to convince herself that they were enough.
Today, though… today was different.
Your shifts overlapped for the first time in two months.
You were scheduled to come in a few hours earlier than usual to help with the increased number of traumas expected on Halloween. Trinity, exhausted as she is, is internally buzzing with excitement. She hates how much she’s looking forward to it.
She checks the clock for the seventh time that hour and sighs when she realizes only fifteen minutes have passed since the last time, which makes Dana look over.
“Watcha sighing about, missy?” the charge nurse asks.
Trinity straightens slightly.
“Just… tired.”
Dana smirks and nods towards the ambulance bay.
“If you’re bored, EMS just called in a GSW to the abdomen. Five minutes out.”
Trinity nods distractedly.
“Yeah, I’ll get on that.”
Her fingers hover over the keyboard. Four hours to go.
It’s 3:54 when you scan your badge at the door, clocking in for your incoming 12-hour shift. A sigh leaves your lips at the sight of the reception area and waiting room.
Packed, you think to yourself, eyes sweeping over the crowd before greeting Lupe with a nod and pushing open the doors to the ER.
The chaos isn’t unfamiliar to you as you take in the state of the department. The worst is probably yet to come, though.
With a quick glance at the board, you take notice of the urgent cases; chest pain in South 15, a possible stroke in Central 12. You tilt your head slightly, eyes scanning over the names.
“Finally coming back to day shift?”
You hear Dana’s voice before you see her, lowering your eyes from the board to look at her. She gives you an affectionate smile, extending her arm to give you a quick side hug.
“Hi, Dana.” You laugh softly, reciprocating the embrace.
“I miss working with you, kid.” She gives your shoulder a slight squeeze. “Although I think someone misses you more than me.”
The nurse glances over your shoulder, smiling. You follow her eyes, which are locked on Trinity, pulling on a pair of gloves as the trauma doors swing open. You smile at the sight of her.
She hasn’t noticed you yet, being entirely too focused on doing her job. She walks up to the nurse’s station without ever noticing you.
“Look who’s back.”
A low voice interrupts from the other side of the room. You follow the sound, finding Dr. Robby as the owner. He’s walking toward the nurse’s station with a tablet tucked under his arm, watching you with mild amusement.
“Thought the night shift kidnapped you for good.”
You smile politely, shrugging one shoulder. “Just visiting.”
Across the station, Trinity looks up. You take in her appearance. Her dark hair is still pulled half up, but a few baby hairs have escaped around her temples. She doesn’t look messy, just worn around the edges.
Even then, she’s still the most gorgeous girl you’ve ever seen.
Her eyes land on you and stop.
For a moment, the noise of the ER fades. Something shifts in her expression; almost like relief. Jacket still slung over your arm, you look put together, and Trinity notices. Her gaze flicks over you quickly, like she’s trying not to stare too long.
There’s a pull in your chest when you look at her. You missed seeing her like this, moving through the department, completely in her element.
You’re about to say something when the sound cuts through the department. A stretcher rattling and voices raised just enough to mean something urgent is happening. The interruption comes quicker than you expect as the paramedics push through at full speed.
“Trauma coming through!” Your head turns automatically.
“Female, mid-twenties,” the medic continues quickly. “Hit by a sedan. GCS thirteen on scene, possible head injury, brief loss of consciousness.”
The moment disappears instantly. Robby is already turning toward the trauma bay.
“Dr. Santos, Mel, Princess, you’re with me.”
The whole team runs toward the trauma rooms in a rush of footsteps and rattling stretcher wheels. You step out of the way automatically.
You’re not needed in that room right now, not with an attending and two residents already there. So you take the moment you have and head down the hall toward the locker room to drop your jacket before the shift really starts.
You pull open your locker and hang your jacket inside when the door behind you swings open again.
“Look who finally left the dark side.”
You glance over your shoulder. Dr. Whitaker smiles at you, greeting you with a nod of his head.
“Hey Dennis.” you smile back
“I don’t see you much around anymore. Night shift treating you well?” He enters the code on the small padlock of his own locker.
“It’s a lifestyle.” You say it with a small sigh, taking your stethoscope from your locker and placing it carefully in your scrub pocket.
“Oof.” He offers you an empathetic smile, pressing his lips together in a line.
You laugh softly, closing your locker. “You just getting off?”
“Not yet. Just grabbing a snack.” He shows off his granola bar, then pauses, studying you for a moment.
“Did you see Santos?”
“Briefly.” You close your locker with your shoulder and turn to face him. Dennis makes a small thoughtful sound. Your eyebrow lifts.
“What?”
He hesitates like he’s debating whether to say something, then sighs. “She’s been… a little on edge lately.”
You lean back against the locker. “On edge how?”
“I’m serious,” he continues. “Past two months especially.”
Your stomach tightens slightly. “Since the night shift switch?” you ask softly.
Dennis nods. “She hates it.”
You look down for a moment. “I mean… the schedule sucks.”
“Not just the schedule. She barely sees you anymore.” His voice is gentle, but the words still land strangely in your chest. It doesn’t sound like he’s blaming you, yet something in his tone makes it feel like maybe he isn’t not blaming you either.
You frown slightly. It had been clear since the beginning of your night shifts that this wasn’t going to be easy on either of you. Still, hearing it from someone else makes it feel different, like something private between the two of you has been quietly spilling into the rest of the department.
Dennis shrugs.
“Anyway, she’ll survive. She can just be quite dramatic.”
You smile faintly, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “That sounds accurate.”
He opens the door. “Oh, and good luck tonight.”
“Why?”
Dennis gestures vaguely toward the hallway. “She’s been in a mood all day.”
Then he disappears down the corridor. You linger for a second before heading back toward the department. The words sit strangely with you as you walk. Why wouldn’t she tell you this herself?
Usually Trinity confides in you about everything; little frustrations, long shifts, annoying consults, personal problems. The idea that Dennis heard about this before you feels wrong somehow, like you’re suddenly standing outside something you’re supposed to be part of.
As you round the corner near the medication room, voices drift down the hallway.
“Doctor Santos.” Robby’s voice echoes quietly.
You slow without meaning to.
“You’re moving too fast in there,” he says bluntly.
“I’m fine,” Trinity replies.
“You’re not fine. You’re rushing.”
There’s a pause.
“You missed a question from respiratory and Perlah had to repeat herself twice.”
“I heard her.”
“Then act like it.”
Another pause.
“Get your head back in the game, Doctor.”
The words land sharp. You hear Trinity exhale.
“I’m trying.”
“Well try harder,” Robby says. “Because this isn’t the kind of shift where you get to be distracted.”
Silence hangs there for a moment.
Then he adds, slightly quieter but still firm.
“Whatever’s going on, deal with it later.”
Your stomach tightens slightly.
You hear Trinity say something under her breath.
“What?” Robby asks.
“Nothing.”
“Santos.”
Another pause.
“It’s just the schedule thing,” she admits quietly.
Robby exhales.
“You two still doing opposite shifts?”
“Yes.”
“Well,” he says,
“That sucks, but it’s no one’s problem but yours. Don’t let this affect patient care.” His shoes squeak on the tiles as he walks away.
You move again quickly before anyone can notice you standing there listening. Your chest feels strangely tight. You knew the schedule was hard on both of you, but having her admit it to someone else twice before even acknowledging the issue with you leaves a quiet ache behind your ribs.
By the time Trinity returns to the nurses’ station a few minutes later, you’re already sitting at a desk, jutting down some patient care information on a chart.
She stops beside you.
“You good?” Her voice is casual, but her eyes search your face like she’s trying to read something there.
“Yeah.”
“You just got here and you’re already charting?”
You shrug. “Occupational hazard.”
She studies you for a moment. “You’re quiet today.”
“Just busy.”
Before she can respond, someone calls her name again. “Dr. Santos!”
She exhales sharply. “Of course,” she mutters under her breath.
Then she glances at you again. “Come with me.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Where?”
“The stairwell.”
You follow her down the hall and through the heavy door. The noise of the ER disappears immediately. Trinity leans back against the wall and runs a hand over the back of her head. The motion loosens her hair slightly, and a few more baby hairs fall loose around her temples.
She exhales slowly. For the first time all evening, she looks less like a resident and more like the girl you go home to.
“You look nice,” she says.
The comment sounds almost annoyed.
You fold your arms.
“Thanks.”
She watches you for a moment.
“You’re acting weird.”
“Am I?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe I just overheard something interesting.”
Her brow furrows. “Like what?”
You hold her gaze. “Like you telling Robby the schedule thing is bothering you.”
The silence that follows is immediate. Trinity freezes.
“You-”
“Accidentally,” you say.
Her shoulders drop slightly. She rubs the back of her neck, clearly frustrated. “Great.”
“You didn’t want me to know?” You ask, raising your eyebrows.
“It’s not that.”
“Then what?”
She exhales again. “I just didn’t want it to sound like I was asking you to change things,” she says quietly.
Your voice softens. “You should've told me baby.”
Her eyes lift to yours. “And what if you said no?”
You shrug slightly. “Trin, I told you I’d switch back if we couldn’t deal.”
Trinity studies you for a long moment. The tension in her expression finally cracks.
“I hate this schedule,” she admits.
Your heart stutters a little.
“I hate coming home when you’re leaving,” she continues quietly. “I hate that we barely see each other unless one of us is half asleep.” Her eyes drop to her sneakers, like she can’t quite bear to admit defeat while looking at you. Then she looks back up.
summary: Your life is a mess of missed emails, mounting pressure, and a silence that feels heavier every day. The voices emerging from the apartment next to yours become the only steady thing in your orbit. You start becoming invested in their journeys because their humanity feels like something you’ve forgotten how to access. When one of them steps into your life for real, the scraps of noises you'd clung onto begin to rearrange themselves into something dangerously familiar.
warnings: fem!reader, not proofread, allusions to dialogue in a non-canonical order, neighbor!reader, reader is voyeuristic if you squint, grossly oversimplified view of grad programs, allusions to addiction
notes: more santos who cheered!! also made a couple of edits to the other parts of the series cause I edited them in my docs but forgot to change them over here lol hence the spam of reblogs, divider by @uzmacchiato
Your nerves thanked you for nursing a single drink all night. The apartment, however, was unforgivingly bright from your inability to close the blinds before collapsing the night prior. Your limbs attempted to run through your typical routine on muscle memory alone, abruptly interrupted by sporadic knocks 2 minutes into brushing your teeth raw. Expecting Maya to hold good on whatever plans she held you to yesterday, you haphazardly rinsed before mentally preparing to maneuver yourself out of whatever corner she would try to back you into next.
Except it wasn’t Maya.
Trinity stood before you, donning a set of pale blue scrubs. Her hair was pushed back, possibly still damp from a shower. Her mouth was already downturned as if she was practicing an apology.
Her eyes flitted down, mouth opened and closed again catching sight of the toothbrush you wielded. “Um– hey, morning. Sorry to bother you so early,” she looked back up at you, “Whitaker said he left his charger with you?”
You stared at her for a beat too long before, “What? I don’t-”
She brushed it off, shaking her head. “Sorry, he said he handed it to someone at his party and I just assumed it was you.”
“I do remember Victoria asking, though.” Trinity sighed.
“Yeah, checks out. I’ll ask her.” You felt her peel her eyes off you and steer them to the embarrassingly disorganized kitchen table behind you. “Studying already?” Her eyes lingered on the stacks of articles textbooks piled on it.
“About to,” you state before correcting yourself. “Or about to try.”
She huffed. “Maya stopped by earlier, by the way. With muffins. Apparently she tried your place first but you were lucky enough to sleep through her mania. So she just dropped three off at our place.”
You raised your eyebrows incredulously. “She brought… muffins?”
“Oh yeah.” She retreated into her apartment before she called out to you. “You can have mine too if you want!”
“Sorry, I’m still–” you rubbed your forehead. “At 6 am?”
Trinity returned with 2 perfectly browned muffins. One littered with blueberries and the other with chocolate chips. “With options too.”
“I’ll just take the one,” you sheepishly grabbed the chocolate infused pastry, keeping your gaze locked on the ground during the exchange.
Trinity held the other one out again despite your refusal. “Please, I can’t do a sweet treat this early,” you were about to interject before she beat you to it. “I’d save it for later but I don’t want it getting stale.”
“Thanks,” was what you settled for. “You should still eat something,” you said before you could stop yourself. “You’re– Are you about to clock in?”
Trinity’s eyes feel sharper now, and she shifts her weight before folding her arms. “Yeah, in a bit.”
“You should, well, eat. Real food.”
She let out a breath that may have been a laugh. “Wow. First Maya ambushes me with her freshly baked goods at dawn, and now you’re giving me nutritional advice. I’m honored.”
You rolled your eyes, throat drying out in uneasiness. “I’m just saying. From what I heard yesterday, your shifts sound brutal. Figured you needed fuel or whatever.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll follow the path of muffins y’all leave for me. Very Red Riding Hood of you,” she deadpans.
“Think you got the wrong fairytale, bud.” Your mouth twitched as you watched her frown.
“That’s unfortunately my best guess on 4 hours of sleep.”
You clicked your tongue, before withdrawing into your own kitchen to set the muffins down “Remind me not to land in the ED today.” You heard her dry chuckle from inside the apartment.
She was leaning against the doorframe when you returned with a handful of granola bars. “They’re savory. Enjoy.”
“Beats the hunk of sugar, I’ll take ‘em.” She nodded before grabbing her end of the exchange.
“Honestly, I’m just offended she hasn’t done this for me before.”
“It’s more for Whitaker than anything,” Trinity shrugged. “He was like victorian levels of sickly before she started feeding him.” She held up the bars before slowly backing away “Thanks, again.”
The door clicked shut behind you and you felt the hallway outside go still. Back at the sink you rinsed out the residual mint foam on the bristles of your toothbrush, movements slowing as soft shuffle echoed down the hall. It was brief, but enough to make you pause before you finally wiped our hands and tried to pick up the morning where you’d left it.
Your laptop stared at you in anticipation as you refrained from typing gibberish.
You blinked.
The words arranged themselves into something recognizable, something you knew you understood in theory, but they didn’t stick. They slid past each other too quickly, like your brain refused to slow them down long enough to make anything out of them. You’d highlighted sentences, continued, then returned to the scene of the crime and questioned your decision.
Your brain was clearly refusing to cooperate, Still, there was something comforting about the process. The pages of your ebook weren’t moving anywhere and neither would you.
Campus felt a little damper than usual, and considering your track record that was truly saying something. Ever since you’d learned the term petrichor in middle school, you’d taken the additional minutes to admire the aftermath of the rain and throw the word around to anyone who’d give you the time of day. Today, that was your unwilling Urban Sociology class.
“So! If you got my email, you’d know professor Adrienne won’t be coming in for the next couple classes,” that earned you several groans. “Alright not too much on me now, I hold the fate of like a third of your grades in my hands.” That would earn you their attention for enough time.
You moved through the lecture with practiced ease, switching between slides just as you’d rehearsed in between articles you’d just barely absorbed for your own research. You filled in gaps Adrienne usually skimmed over, making sure to highlight portions relevant to their testing material, to make your job easier more than anything. You knew the syllabus well, and you knew how to make it land given your prior experience with it.
Toward the end of the class, a student– Michaela? Alex? – near the front raised her hand. She’d been paying attention intermittently, not that you could blame her, glancing out at the greyed skies and the post shower haze lingering just outside the window.
“Yes?”
“Is it always so cold here?” she asked, rubbing her hands together. “I thought Spring was supposed to, like, be warmer?”
You responded without a second thought. “Oh, it gets worse in March, trust me. This is barely scratching the surface.”
“Is this like a climate change thing or a Pittsburgh thing?” The student next to her followed up.
You paused momentarily. “Both, I think. You’ll get used to it.”
“So it’s just going to smell like wet pavement for a while, huh?” You realized your mistake at this point was allowing the first question to slip through since it would be virtually useless to attempt to conclude this lecture how you’d planned it.
“...Petrichor, but sure.” You couldn’t help yourself. “Anyway, that actually kind of connects to what we’re looking into next week.” A few students straightened their spines at that. “We’re moving into environmental inequality. How infrastructure, housing density, and funding determine who experiences conditions like this as inconvenience versus consequence.”
You twirled the marker in your hand, hoping that the questions would end there. The temporary silence, however, urged you to proceed.
“That’s all I have for you today. Please don’t wait till Sunday to start the readings. I can’t respond to all your emails at 11:59, so if I get anything beyond 6 pm I will be ignoring it till my office hours Monday." Chairs zoom backwards, bags zip and shoes clack against the partially carpeted hall floors everyone clambered to make their way to the back of the room. All but one pair.
“Here,” Kat held out the attendance sheet.
“Thanks,” you accepted, before you stared at her in anticipation only to be met with a blank stare. “Really? Nothing else?”
“Nah, figured you’d get enough bullshit over the weekend,” you chuckled. "Also petrichor... I know what you were doing in 2015," she raised her eyebrows presumptuously, and honestly you couldn't contest her conclusion. “Anyway, thanks,” she concluded before following the rest of her classmates. She was your most hyperactive responsibility so her exit ultimately allowed you to turn off your computer for the rest of the evening.
You turned around to erase your handiwork for the day from the boards as you heard the door click shut a second time behind you. Maya.
She was leaning against the wall just by the exit, one hand wrapped around a coffee cup, the other holding a crumpled paper bag.
“You owe me,” she said, the second you stepped out. “For making me wait outside your apartment, and for making me stand outside your lecture.”
“You chose to do both of those things.” You shot back.
“Wrong,” she said, pushing off the wall. “I was forced by circumstance.”
You huffed quietly, stepping past her. “And leaving them with my neighbor?”
“Obviously. She seemed more responsible.” Maya fell into step beside you, then added, almost as an afterthought, “Also, it gets worse in March?”
You slowed slightly. “You were eavesdropping?”
“I was waiting,” she said. “Huge difference.”
You adjusted the strap of your tote. “It’s not exactly niche information, I spent a couple minutes on Reddit and came to find that’s all you guys bitch about.”
“You were pretty confident about it, too.” She raised an eyebrow accusatorially. "We can't be that predictable."
You huffed lightly. “It’s called pattern recognition.”
She bumped your shoulder before pinching the corner of your bag, dragging it with her. “Hmm. Yeah, well, it does get worse.”
You quickly fell into step with her. “I adapt quickly.”
She hummed again. “Ok little Ms. Cali, I come bearing peace offerings.”
You eyed the bag suspiciously. As grateful as you were for the treat so early in the morning, you weren’t sure your heart rate could handle any more sugar thanks to the compounding effect of your countless lattes from today alone.
“I already got those.”
“That was phase one,” she scoffed. “This is phase two.”
You took the bag despite yourself, peeking inside.
“...You really brought more muffins?”
Maya looked offended. “I contain multitudes. It’s quiche, I’m not a monster.”
You shook your head incredulously, but you didn’t hand it back.
“Come on,” she said, already turning toward the steps. “You’re hanging out with me.”
You followed, but refused the offer. “Sorry, can’t.”
“No, no,” she slowed down. “I did not have to re-live undergrad just for you to abandon me.” “I swear, I’m so sorry I just have errands to run.”
“What errands?” she feigned nonchalance, but you could see the vein start to protrude from her forehead.
You busied yourself with finding your phone in your bag. “Just, like, groceries.”
Maya watched for a little too long. She’s good at that, fondness to the point of eeriness.
“Are you sure everything’s ok?” she said finally. “I could come with you?”
Your throat tightened. “Yeah. No. You’re sweet, I just– it’s going to be really boring.”
Maya didn't push. She never did. That’s what made it worse, the space she left for you to fill and never do.
“Okay,” she said. “Just text me when you get home.”
You nodded, already turning away. “Thanks for the quiche!”
baran had such a long day, work felt never-ending, but she willed herself through it only with the thought of having you in her arms soon.
she finally feels at ease once she slips under the covers next to you, pulling you closer by the waist and tucking your head under her chest. she lets out a content sigh. a few moments pass, but she can still feel you squirming and shifting around.
can’t sleep, baby? … ‘s okay. i know what you need. she says, voice low and raspy from being half asleep herself. she slowly pulls up the hem of her tank top till her pretty tits are spilling out. your eyes widen and she can see how eager you are, your mouth slightly parting and your breath coming out in cute little puffs.
her eyes stay fixed on the way your pretty pink tongue comes out to wet your lips. can i, mama? you ask sweetly. her hand comes to the back of your head, gently pushing you closer to her chest as she coos at you softly in response, of course, sweetheart. go ahead. gonna put you right to sleep, and make me feel so so good too. you wanna make me feel good, right?
with a small mmhm.. , your head dips and you latch onto one of her nipples. you feel it harden in your mouth as your tongue traces tight circles around it, flicking up and down. your hand gently squeezes at the soft flesh of her other tit. it sends a dull throb right between her legs, and she already feels her needy pussy soaking through her panties. she lets out low moans and soft pants, murmuring words of praise. juust like that, honey. god, you’re making mama feel so good, sweet girl. . . gonna reward you for this in the morning.
her hand stays in your hair and massages your scalp. this, coupled with the feeling of having her tits in your mouth, is more than enough to have you melting in her arms. your movements slow as you feel sleep approaching. her face relaxes when feels you sucking lazily, close to drowsing off. a fond smile makes its way to her face when she sees the peaceful expression on your face, your movements finally halting as you give into sleep. she uses her thumb to wipe off the drool at the corner of your mouth, popping it into her own mouth to taste you. she pulls her top back down, still keeping you held close to her chest. she presses a gentle kiss on your forehead. goodnight, sweetheart. sweet dreams. ‹𝟹
