i’m an eighteen year old loser femme lesbian from the midwest
men, minors, trump supporters, racists, homophobes, transphobes, ice supporters, any maga mf, dni.
INFP
i’m a huge cat person and have three of my own!
i am the type of person that can’t like things normally so i get attached to things and make them my whole personality.
on the topic of not being able to like this normally, i’m a big collector. i have a pretty good vinyl and cd collection. i love physical media a lot.
a huge concert enjoyer and just a huge music fan. it’s my all time favorite thing
a future disney adult i fear😔 BUT NOT IN LIKE THE REALLY WEIRD OBSESSED CRAZY WAY i just like the movies and am obsessed with old animation. plus the wdw parks are so fun if you let yourself live a little😭
fav tv shows - the pitt, arcane, yellowjackets, glee, the wilds, sweetpea, bridgerton, gilmore girls, sharp objects, boy meets world, stranger things, the brady bunch, friends
fav movies - the virgin suicides, scream, IT 2017, avatar, bottoms, black swan, little women, girl interrupted, to all the boys i’ve loved before, but im a cheerleader, bound, fear street, white oleander, wicked, hairspray 2007, mamma mia, hunger games catching fire, ghostbusters, sleeping beauty, robin hood
fav music artists - sabrina carpenter, role model, olivia rodrigo, billie eilish, del water gap, blood orange, lana del rey, gigi perez, adela, jennie, rosé, conan gray, stevie nicks, clairo, beabadoobee, ariana grande, pink pantherss, frank ocean, tate mcrae, charli xcx, lorde, dominic fike, chaeyoung, ariana grande, niall horan, zayn, louis tomlinson, harry styles, fiona apple, hozier, noah kahan, mitski, jeff buckley, bowie, ethel cain, wisp, adrianne lenker, phoebe bridgers, renee rapp, julia wolf, pj harvey, king princess, chappell roan, laufey, lord huron, lizzy mcalpine, sade, jade lemac, susannah joffe, leith ross, audrey hobert, malcom todd, sza, mazzy star,
fav bands - garbage, WHAM, deftones, the cure, cypress hill, five seconds of summer, cigs after sex, the 1975, florence road, radiohead, the neighborhood, arctic monkeys, the pixies, XTC, INXS, pierce the viel, the wallows, hole, nirvana, fleetwood mac, one direction, the goo goo dolls, shelly, queen, black box recorder, the smiths, sex pistols, foo fighters, tears for fears, bush, sound garden, the smashing pumpkins,
fav kpop groups w/ biases( and wrecker)- TWICE (chaeyoung, w- momo), Illit (wonhee, w- moka and yunah), Blackpink (rosé, w- jennie), aespa (karina, w- giselle), newjeans (hyein), ive (liz, w- wonyoung), le sserafim (chaewon, w- yunjin), cortis (james)
fav broadway musicals - hadestown, next to normal (west end version is superior), spring awakening, wicked, beetlejuice, hamilton, hairspray, sweeney todd,
fav video games - the last of us I AND part II, lis, roblox, fortnite, and i just started marvel rivals
Abby who never over questioned you or judged you, you couldn't help your distorted thinking, normalized itself into your life, consuming your thoughts.
She encouraged you to eat with her, you two eat in a comfortable silence knowing you'd probably feel worse surrounded by people.
Abby who knows you take advantage of the apocalypse situation, make excuses not to eat because 'there's people that need it more.'
The blond first found out about your habits during patrols, in the dorm silent as the sounds of you purging the calories away echoed, when you thought she wasn't there.
Noticing your slimmer figure during patrols as well as nearly passing out,
You had been out of patrol first, after the pep talk with Isaac about the close call. You couldn't care less. You were too deep in the mindset to care.
You leaned against the wall as you made your way back to the dorms, pushing the door open with the little strength you had left.
''What is this,'' She asked calmly, holding up the jar of laxatives and used toothbrushes.
Your voice hoarse as you tried to make something up, tears threatened to fall, the sting of your throat, not uttering a word, the acidic aftertaste on your tongue taking your ability to speak.
Seeing your defeat, Abby sighed putting the jar down, patient as ever.
''You..You wanna talk about it?''
From that day forward, Abby had been tolerant never pushy. She gave you time while still trying to get you used to gym and eating.
It started with small portions, she would always leave notes:
''Eat what you can.''
''Slow and Steady.''
''You got it.''
''Good job on patrol today :)''
And at the end of the day, She worried. Clinging to you at night not wanting to witness the sight of you losing that warmth.
@mychaelsoj
cw ; oral, abby is practically making out with your cunt, vibrator used, big clit!abby, overstimulation, multiple orgasms
synopsis ; abby gets off from pleasuring you.
The buzzing of the toy fills the room as Abby holds the vibrator to her own engorged clit—nerves stimulated by the toy’s relentless buzzing. She moves the vibrator up and down on her clit with a shaky hand as her mouth focuses on you.
She’s been eating you out for hours now. You’re exhausted in the best way, your cunt is soaked with her spit and your arousal. You’re twitching, moaning, drooling.
“Abby, I don’t know if I can take anymore,” you say in a meek, small voice.
Abby smirks into your pussy, “you’re gonna take more,” even as she says that, the pleasure makes her own voice crack, but she’s determined.
You grip the sheets when you feel her tongue dipping inside again, tongue-fucking you. Her nose nudges your clit teasingly as her tongue works. She’s good at this, almost way too good. Your legs are faced with a challenge; try not to close around Abby’s head and restrict her oxygen.
You know she’ll like that, but you don’t want her dying face first in your pussy.
She licks up a bold stripe of your vulva. You gasp, your hips pushing off the bed. She pins you back down and kisses your cunt sloppily before driving her tongue back inside your weeping slit.
“Abby, I really don’t think I can take more,” you protest weakly.
Abby looks up, the lower half of her mouth soaked in your juices, “then, don’t think.”
You pout at that and she goes back to kissing your pussy sloppy-style. She’s obsessed with the way you taste. Her fingers hold you open, her other hand focusing on holding the vibrator on her pussy.
You feel her tongue teasing your g-spot again for what feels like the hundredth time. “I’m gonna cum again,” you mewl, holding her there, your fingers tightening in her hair.
Abby doesn’t let the sting of her scalp deter her. She keeps going and—you cum with a loud moan of her name and at the same time—Abby’s pussy walls flutter as a blissful orgasm crashes over her. Her eyes roll back, she pushes her tongue deeper and lets it stay there as she comes down from her high.
it took me a few days, but i had to let it flow naturally. hopefully it lives up to your expectations @evrythngisblue [it wont let me properly mention you 😭]
Pairing: Trinity Santos x fem!reader
Summary: You and Trinity hadn't spoken for a week since the argument. You've tried to reach out, but she'd been ignoring you, so Emma takes matters into her own hands and Dennis puts his foot in him mouth again.
Tags/Warnings: fem!reader, angst, hurt/comfort, final part, the truth is revealed
Word Count: 3,231
It had been a week since you and Trinity fought. It had also been a week since she’d spoken to you. You both still went to work and worked on cases together when absolutely necessary, but it was excruciating.
Trinity didn’t seek you out. She turned on her heels the second she saw you coming. Somehow she looked perfectly fine. Working with her broke your heart even more.
You’d been the one to leave her apartment. You’d been the one to call her out on her bullshit. You’d been the one to start the argument, you knew that. But you’d also been the one to reach out.
You’d called and texted her the very next day, but she never replied. It made you want to throw up being the first to reach out, but you didn’t want anything to fester. Clearly Trinity didn’t feel the same.
Each morning it became harder to want to get out of bed. You didn’t even care about the argument anymore. It sucked that she lied, but you missed her. That was the one thing you hated about being in a relationship with a woman.
You didn’t just lose your girlfriend, but you also lost your best friend. Trinity had been the first person to talk to you at PTMC. For your first year working there you really only talked to her.
It wasn’t until your second year as a nurse you became comfortable enough to branch out with the other nurses. It helped a lot when Emma started working there. She was quiet and sweet and had no problem dealing with your quirks.
You’d even seen her stick up for you with the other nurses and call you her sister. It was sweet. You’d never had a sister before. And with two years of Emma by your side at work she knew how you were feeling before you even said anything.
While no one paid too much attention to you at work, Emma noticed. She noticed the bags under your eyes and the way you got quiet whenever Trinity appeared.
She knew the two of you were together and she’d never seen you guys not look in love with one another. It was weird for her to watch you two pretend you weren’t everything to one another.
After the eighth day of Trinity tiptoeing around you, Emma had enough. She watched the girl head into a supply closet and followed her with her arms crossed.
Emma closed and locked the door behind her so Trinity couldn’t walk away.
“Jeez Nolan, what is wrong with you?” Emma huffed. Trinity had moved to leave, but Emma blocked the door. She could be stubborn when she wanted to be.
“What the hell is wrong with you Santos. Why are you ignoring her?” Trinity clenched her jaw. She felt like the air had been knocked out of her.
“I’m no-”
“Don’t give me that bullshit. I don’t know what happened, but you need to fix it.” Trinity threw her hands up in the air in defence.
“What, how do you know it was my fault?”
“Because, she may look wrecked on the outside, but I can tell you’re wrecked on the inside. Your hands are shaking from all the damn red bulls you’ve been drinking. And you’re not subtle with your longing stares. Get your shit together and work it out.” Trinity was dumbfounded as Emma left her alone in the closet.
She pushed her palms into her temples and tried to stop her hands from shaking as she left the closet. Trinity hadn’t been paying attention when she crashed directly into you.
You stumbled backwards, but instincts took over to steady her too. Your hands rested lightly on her waist. Your heart raced as she looked at you in what you thought was the first time in a week.
Trinity shuddered as she felt your hands on her. She’d missed being this close to you, but she couldn’t be. Not anymore. Not like this.
You could feel Trinity’s breath ghosting your lips as you trembled. Up close you could see something different in Trinity’s eyes, but you weren’t exactly sure what. You could see a faint blush on her cheeks. It gave you hope.
“Let me go.” You stilled for a moment before pulling your hands away. Trinity didn’t spare you a second glance as she walked away.
You clutched your hands to your chest and tried to calm your breathing. You could feel bile rising in your throat as your knees shook. Just as you were about to fall you heard someone calling your name.
Your head turned and you were met with blue eyes.
“Hey, it’s okay. I got you.” You didn’t want to fall apart, but you couldn’t help it. You didn’t have any more fight left in your body. Dennis awkwardly hugged you as you cried on his shoulder. He rubbed your arm and sat with you quietly. Thankfully no one else walked by.
After a few minutes you wiped your tears and pulled away from him.
“Thank you Dennis.” He gave you a sheepish smile as he looked at you. He scratched the back of his neck nervously.
“I take it you turned Trinity down?” Your eyebrows furrowed as you blinked confusedly.
“What are you talking about?” Dennis’ eyes widened and he realized he said too much. Dennis quickly stood up and walked away. You were completely baffled as you tried to figure out what the hell just happened.
Turned her down? You had absolutely no idea what that meant, but you were going to find out.
…
The rest of the shift went by agonizingly slow, but you tried to push it out of your mind. You worked as efficiently as you could with a raging migraine. With the stress of the week and all the crying you’d been doing your brain was practically pounding out of your skull by the end of shift.
You gathered your things, seeing spots, but you didn’t lose sight of Trinity. She was slippery when she wanted to be, but you knew her tricks.
Somehow you were able to beat her to her car. You stood leaning against the trunk and waited for her. Your stomach was doing flips, which you assumed was anxiety of having to confront Trinity.
You pushed the feeling away as you saw Trinity approaching her car with Dennis. Even from afar you could see Dennis’ eyes widen. He stopped Trinity short and had a quick conversation with her before he practically scurried away.
Trinity was practically dragging her feet as she walked over to you. You weren't sure this was such a good idea anymore.
Trinity was angry. She was angry at Dennis for not being able to keep his mouth shut. Angry at Emma for yelling at her. Angry at the world. But truthfully, she was angry at herself.
Trinity had worked so hard to not mess up the relationship she had with you, but sometimes it didn’t matter how much therapy she’d been through because she always seemed to get in her own way. She struggled breaking patterns and being vulnerable.
You made it easier for her to open up, but that didn’t mean it was easy to begin with for the resident. Trinity collapsed in on herself and she’d hurt you in the process. It was killing her knowing that you weren’t okay, but she didn’t know what to do.
She didn’t deserve you anymore. That was what she was most angry about. She never felt like she deserved you, especially not now.
When she was a few feet away from you your instincts screamed at you to pull her into your arms. You weren’t sure if you or Trinity needed the hug more, but it took everything in you to hold yourself back.
Trinity had felt the pull too. She’d never stopped feeling the pull towards you. Her heart lurched as she watched you press yourself back into her trunk to stop from reaching out to her.
Physical touch had always been the primary love language for both of you and not being able to touch you was driving her crazy. She just wanted to comfort you, but Trinity didn’t want to indulge herself when she knew she’d inevitably have to give you up.
She didn’t deserve you.
The look on Trinity’s face made your stomach churn, again. You watched her eyes flicker to her driver’s seat door. She wanted to leave. You could see it written on her face.
The pounding in your head intensified as tears prickled behind your eyes. There were so many things you had wanted to say to her, but they all died in the back of your throat. Your brain was scattered as your heart raced and you stumbled away from Trinity’s car.
Your knees hit the ground followed by a shooting pain and the emptying of your stomach. You didn’t know what was happening anymore. You felt your hair being lifted off your shoulders and your whole body was shaking.
You hadn’t had a migraine this bad in years. After what felt like forever you were able to breathe normally again.
As quickly as you’d felt Trinity’s hands on you they were gone. You stabbed your nails into your thighs as you sat back on your heels. You wanted to get up and leave, but your body wasn’t ready.
When you heard Trinity’s car door shut, you knew. You knew it was really over. You didn’t have any more tears left to cry.
Trinity was really gone.
Your relationship had never been perfect, but you loved her with every fiber of your being. And you thought she’d felt the same way. Maybe she did at one point, but it was clear now she-
“Here, small sips.” Your eyes widened as a water bottle came into view. You slowly lifted your head and your eyes met Trinity’s. She was still here. When you didn’t move Trinity carefully wiped your face before tilting your head back so you could rinse your mouth.
Her fingers on the back of your neck were so light you melted. Your eyes closed absentmindedly. Trinity turned your head to the side and you were able to spit out the water without much thought. You were boneless in her care.
Trinity pulled away slightly to cap the water bottle and you whimpered.
“Trin.” She leaned down and kissed your forehead after brushing your hair behind your face.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Trinity helped you up from the ground. You were still a bit shaky, but she didn’t let you waver. She had to take care of you. She wanted to take care of you. She sat you in the passenger seat and quickly went into the driver’s seat after making sure your knees were okay.
She didn’t say anything as she drove you home. Her fingers twitched on the gear shift, you noticed, but you weren’t sure what to do anymore.
When Trinity pulled up to her apartment you weren’t surprised. If anything you were grateful you didn’t have to go back to your hollow apartment.
When you got into the apartment Trinity immediately busied herself by grabbing you some crackers and making some tea. You waited for her patiently on the couch after brushing your teeth. Within a few minutes she sat next to you with her own cup.
It didn’t go unnoticed that she was sitting directly next to you. You could feel her body heat radiating off of her and you wanted nothing more than to lean into her.
“I’m so fucking sorry.” Trinity’s voice was barely above a whisper. You looked at her with sadness in your eyes. She shifted closer to you after putting her tea down. She didn’t touch you, but you buried your feet under her thigh. She puffed out a breath of air and tilted her head at you.
“I know saying sorry isn’t enough, but I never should’ve talked to you like that. I was overstimulated, but that’s no excuse. I was down right disrespectful and you don’t deserve my bullshit.” You intently listened to her as she talked. You handed her your cup and she automatically placed it down on the table for you.
It was such a simple action, but it reminded you that your Trinity was still in there. She made mistakes and so did you, but if she was able to work with you instead of against you there was still a chance.
You turned your palms out to Trinity and she immediately took them. Even just holding your hands made her feel better.
It made you both feel better.
“And I’m sorry I lied to you. I used Dennis as an excuse because I was trying to plan something, but I went about it in the complete wrong way. I wasn’t trying to be deceitful, but I know it came across that way.” Trinity was crying now. Her heart was racing and her palms were sweating. You could see her spiraling.
“Breathe honey, breathe.” You crawled into Trinity’s lap and used your body as a weighted blanket to chase away some of her panic. You pulled her head into your neck and she immediately relaxed as your scent filled her nose.
You cradled her head and lightly scratched her scalp as her arms wrapped around your torso. She was whispering apologies into your neck. Trinity could feel your heart racing in time with hers.
She held you tightly and you two just sat holding one another.
When Trinity finally felt like she could breathe again she leaned away so she could see your eyes. They were exhausted, but they were yours and they made her heart clench.
“Mahal.” You raised your eyebrows at her. She placed her hand over your heart and swept her eyes over your entire body. You shivered under her gaze. Trinity’s eyes were swimming pools with how large they’d grown. She looked like a kicked puppy.
“You will never be too much for me.” Your shoulders fell as a frown appeared on your face. You looked away from the intensity of her stare, but Trinity placed her hands on your face and pulled your attention back to her.
“I mean it. I know words can only do so much, but I need you to know I regretted the words the second they came out of my mouth. If I had just told you the truth we wouldn’t be in this mess. Will you give me a chance to try and make it right?” You nodded softly.
“I can’t pretend it didn’t scare me when I processed what you said, but I know it was less about me and more about you trying to push me away.” Trinity nodded sheepishly. You bit your lip as you saw the wild look in her eyes. You didn’t think you had to ask, but you needed to know for your own sanity.
“Trin, what were you hiding?” Without warning Trinity lifted up off the couch. She didn’t even waver as you clung to her neck.
“Trinity, put me down!” She laughed wholeheartedly as she carried you to her bedroom.
“I will, but I’m trying to answer your question. Will you let me try?” You rolled your eyes at her and huffed.
“Thank you m’lady.” Trinity nipped at your jaw causing you to squirm in her arms as she sat you both down on the bed. You wiggled your eyes at her and crossed your arms playfully.
“Trinity.” You warned. You weren’t sure why she’d carried you to the bed. But she couldn’t help the grateful smile that spread on her face at hearing the playfulness in your tone.
“Just open the nightstand.” You pursed your lips at her, but did as she said and immediately gasped.
Your hands shook violently as you grabbed the velvet box from the drawer. Trinity cupped under your hands as she brushed her thumbs over your knuckles.
“I know I was twitchy and on edge and checking my phone, but it’s because I was waiting to pick this up.” Trinity slowly opened the box and inside was a gold ring with a pearl directly in the center. It was absolutely gorgeous.
“Oh, Trin…” She smiled at you as she took the ring out of the box.
“This ring was my Lola’s. When she died, she left it to me because of how much I used to admire it as a kid and I was her favorite. She always knew I was gay and told me it would look beautiful on the finger of my wife. I used to laugh because I wasn’t sure that was ever going to be in the cards for me.” You kissed her temple and wanted to say something, but she stopped you.
“I spent a lot of my life feeling like I didn’t deserve to be happy or even be alive for that matter. But you make me question everything in the best way and I can’t imagine my life without you. I know I’m not perfect, but I promise to keep trying to be better for me, for you, and our future family. Would you do me the honor of letting me be your wife?”
“Yes.” Trinity smiled toothily up at you as she picked you up and spun you in her arms.
“Trin, dizzy.” You groaned, still smiling.
“Sorry baby.” She carefully put you down and held the ring in her hands. You wanted her to put the ring on your finger, but you had a surprise of your own.
“Wait.” Trinity startled, but didn’t move away.
“Give me one minute.” You quickly ran out of her room, leaving Trinity baffled. Trinity had no idea what you were doing as she heard you rummaging through one of the drawers in her bathroom.
When you came back into the room with your hands hidden deep in your pockets Trinity looked at you with an inquisitive look.
“You know, we’ve been together for three years and I’ve had this hidden in your bathroom drawer for two of those years.” Trinity raised her eyebrow at you as her mouth fell open when you pulled your hands out of your pocket holding a velvet box of your own.
“No fucking way.” Trinity whispered. You weren’t sure her smile could’ve grown any bigger.
“You never clean out those drawers and you leave your clothes all over the bathroom. You always steal the blankets in the middle of the night even though you’re always a million degrees. And you never remember to wear your glasses or contacts even though you squint at everything. All that being said I must be some kind of insane because I love every single one of those things about you. I promise to continue trying because with you everything is that much better. Will you do me the honor of letting me be yours for the rest of our lives?”
Trinity was crying heavy tears and her nose was dripping. She was still the most beautiful woman in the world and you knew this was the best decision of your life.
“Yes.”
Together you placed your rings on each other’s fingers before crashing your lips into a searing kiss. Trinity was yours and you were hers. Exactly how it was meant to be.
Pairing: Trinity Santos x fem!reader
Summary: You and Trinity are arguing. You know she’s lying, but she won’t budge.
Tags/Warnings: fem!reader, angst, hurt, no comfort
Word Count: 1,032
“Mahal, can you please just drop it. We’ve been over this a million times. I was out with Dennis. What more do you want me to say?” You and Trinity had been arguing for over an hour. You brought it up because it was bothering you, but you were getting nowhere.
You couldn’t let it go because Trinity was hiding something from you. The worst part is you knew she was lying. She wasn’t with Dennis like she said.
You’d had no reason to doubt her, but when he let it slip during shift that he was out on a date around the time she claimed they were together your stomach dropped. You even cross matched the dates just to be sure. She was lying.
You and Trinity didn’t have secrets. You told each other everything. You knew about each other’s traumas, your favorite memories, and everything in between. Even the little details didn’t go unnoticed.
She’d been overly suspicious the other night and you’d brushed it off at the time but, you couldn’t ignore the blaring red flag anymore. In the four days that followed she’d been twitchy and constantly checking her phone.
You didn’t know what to think, but it was getting increasingly harder to stop your brain from imagining the worst.
“The truth Trin. I want you to tell me the truth.” Trinity rolled her eyes at you as she stood up from where she was sitting on the couch. You’d been washing dishes because she made dinner. The chore was more a buffer than anything else.
“Where are you going?” You squeaked out as you dried your hands. You hated conflict as much as her, but you thought she’d at least finish the conversation. Trinity groaned loudly as she headed towards the back of the apartment.
“I’m just going to take a shower.” Trinity huffed in response.
“We haven’t finished our conversation.” Trinity rolled her eyes as she turned back to you.
“There is no conversation. You’re interrogating me for no reason. I’m going to take a shower because this is pissing me off.” You suck your teeth at her as you try to not yell. It was the one thing Trinity hated; being yelled at.
“I’m pissed off too Trin. I can tell you're hiding something. If you don’t want to talk, fine, but don’t pretend like this is all in my head.” Trinity pushed her palms into her hands and pulled at her hair. She knew she was overstimulated and needed space. But you weren’t giving it to her.
“Jesus fuck, how many times do I have try and walk away. Clearly I don’t want to talk to you and you just won’t take the hint. You’re suffocating me, it’s too much.”
You immediately froze in the doorway. It felt like swallowing needles as you tried to push your emotions down. There were tears threatening to fall as you stabbed your nails into your thigh.
All that kept ringing in your head were her words; too much. The words cut deep. You’d always felt that way. Too much for your family who didn’t want a gay kid. Too much for your teachers who’d always have to separate you from the other kids for talking. Too much for those at work when you tried to follow the rules they had no problem breaking.
You’d felt too much for the world until you met Trinity. She’d always been the one to listen and comfort you. She quieted the thoughts in your head when you couldn’t stop spiraling.
The thought of being too much for Trinity had never even crossed your mind before now.
It was the one thing you never worried about.
Your stomach churned as you clenched your jaw and closed your eyes as you took a timid step back. You were disoriented. When you finally focused on Trinity again you could see the pain and regret in her eyes.
“Honey,” she breathed as she subtly reached towards you even though she was nowhere near you.
“I’m going home.” Trinity’s lips parted in a slight gasp. You hadn’t called your rundown apartment home in three weeks. You’d been there once or twice in that time to grab clothes, but even then it wasn’t necessary. You had no problems sharing clothes with Trinity.
You turned on your heels and headed to the front door. Every step felt like you were walking on hot coals. Your body wanted you to stop, but your brain wouldn’t let you stop.
“Baby, please. I’m sorry. I fucked up. Don’t go. Please.” You shut your eyes tightly as the tears finally fell and you whirled around to her.
“Don’t Trinity. Just don’t.” Trinity winced at the use of her full name. You never used her full name.
“You know, Dennis told me he was on a date the other night.” You said practically spitting fire. Trinity’s eyes widened. She swallowed harshly.
“I wanted you to tell me what was wrong yourself. I waited for days until I couldn't take the stabbing pain in my chest anymore.” Your breathing picked up as you pulled your shoes on and grabbed your bag.
You turned back to her one more time and stared at her.
“I thought we could talk to each other about anything, but shame on me for assuming too much.” You walked out the door and wanted nothing more than to slam it. More like rip the door off the hinges, but you didn’t.
Trinity watched you leave and listened to your footsteps until she couldn’t anymore. When she was sure you were gone she screamed fuck into the abyss of her apartment.
She stomped over to her room and sat on the edge of the bed. She smacked her palm onto her forehead and slammed her fist onto the nightstand.
The piece of crap drawer she’d been meaning to fix slid open slightly, but it was enough. Enough to see the velvet box hiding there.
***
Masterlist - Archive of Our Own
this one hurt to write. i am so sorry for my angsty mood today. thank you for all the amazing comments, likes, and reposts. you guys baffle me every day 🫶🏼
4 Times you used Polish + the 1 time Trinity used Tagalog
Trinity Santos x dynamic disability!reader
Summary: In the quiet moments between brutal shifts and bad pain days, you find yourself accidentally falling for the stormy R1 and eventually R2 who keeps showing up at your door. First with Polish pet names, then with pieces of your guarded heart. What starts as casual slowly becomes something deeper, tender, and undeniably real, even when love feels terrifying.
word count: 5K
Warnings: MDNI, 18+, strap-on sex, oral, fingering, dirty talk, and multiple orgasms, heavy chronic pain/disability depiction (bad pain days, migraines, mobility issues, frustration with needing help), medical/hospital trauma and grief processing, emotional hurt/comfort with abandonment fears and past toxic relationship baggage, professional boundary stuff (attending/resident dating), and soft but intense affectionate pet names.
Authors note: I saw one of these about Dennis for something and I really wanted to do this for these two because I've wanted to incorporate this into their relationship
One. moje słoneczko
The first time it slips out, you don’t mean for it to. Which is usually how anything honest happens with you by accident.
Trinity is still an R1 then still technically nothing. Still coming to your office like a stray cat with a medical license and abandonment issues. Still pretending that sleeping in your bed twice a week is casual. Still pretending she doesn’t know where you keep the extra towels.
It happens after a bad shift, not catastrophic, not the worst she’s ever had. Just one of those shifts where everything peels at her until she is raw underneath. She misses a line. Gets snapped at by Garcia. Spends twenty minutes with a patient who reminds her too much of herself. Then loses a chart note because the system crashes. By the time she finds you, she is vibrating. Fully. Angrily. Like if someone touches her wrong she might either bite or cry…possibly both.
You are in your office trying to eat crackers and chart with one hand. She does not knock of course. She just steps in, shuts the door, and says,
“I am going to throw myself into the Allegheny.”
You do not look up.
“That sounds like paperwork.” You tilt your head at the chart note in front of you before marking something down about a small note you’d made earlier.
“I hate this place.”
“You say that lovingly.”
“I don’t.”
“You do.” You let out a deep breath through your nose.
She drops into the chair across from you and immediately folds forward, elbows on knees, hands in her hair.
“I’m bad at this.”
you pause. there it is, under the noise, under the drama, under the little Santos storm system. You set the cracker down.
“You are not bad at this.” You speak firmly.
“I am.”
“You’re not.”
“You didn’t see me today.”
“I saw enough.”
She laughs once.
“Yeah, and?”
you lean back. She should know better than to ask a yes, and question to you, but apparently she hasn’t learned yet.
“And you are tired, embarrassed, overstimulated, probably hungry, definitely dehydrated, and doing that thing where you decide one bad shift means you’ve personally failed the field of medicine.”
She doesn’t answer. Her shoulders are high. Tight. Uou sigh.
“Come here.”
She looks up, wary.
“Why?”
“Because if you keep sitting like that, you’re going to give yourself a tension headache, and then I'll have to listen to you complain about that too.”
She narrows her eyes, but she stands because she always does when you say come here. She stops beside your chair. You reach for her wrist, gentle but firm, and pull her closer. Not into your lap. You tug her down just enough that you can press your forehead against her stomach for one second. just one. then you realize what you’ve done and lift your head immediately. Too late. Trinity is staring at you; eyes wide, breath caught. You clear your throat.
“You need food.”
“That's what that was?”
“Yes.”
“You diagnosed me through your forehead?”
“Advanced practice.”
Her mouth twitches, barely. You take the win anyways.
You squeeze her wrist once and say, without thinking,
“Eat something, moje słoneczko.”
Trinity freezes, you freeze, the office itself may freeze. Her eyes lift to yours.
“What did you just call me?”
“Nothing.”
“That was not nothing.”
“It was Polish.”
“I figured.”
“Then why ask?”
“Because you said it in the voice.”
you stare at her and she stares back.
“What voice?” You ask, confused.
“the soft one.”
You immediately release her wrist and turn back to your laptop.
“Go eat something.”
“What does it mean?”
“Nothing important.” You try to say it without bite to it. You knew the grave you’d just accidentally dug yourself.
“Liar.”
“Resident.”
“Attending.”
You glare. she smiles. Which is annoying, persistent. You exhale through your nose. You know she won’t stop until you tell her.
“moje słoneczko. My little sunshine.” You can hear the softness in your voice she mentioned. You normally didn’t sound the same when speaking Polish or German. You knew your tone was surprisingly softer for languages people saw as being brash. The words land strangely. Too tender for the room. Too tender for the fluorescent light. Too tender for something that is supposed to mean nothing.
Trinity goes very quiet. You hate that. You hate it so much you almost say something cruel to fix it. Almost. Instead you open your drawer, pull out a granola bar, one of her favorites, and throw it at her chest. She catches it badly.
“Eat.”
“Okay.” Her fingers curl around the wrapper.
She doesn’t tease you again, not then, but she carries it with her. You can tell because the rest of the day, every time you say “Santos,” her head turns like maybe she’s hoping for something else. You do not give it to her, not for weeks, but the damage is done. One little sunbeam through the door. You pretend not to notice the light.
Two. kochanie
The second time is worse because you mean it. You’re at home; your apartment. It’s late and Trinity is in your kitchen wearing your sweatpants and the shirt she claims is hers now because she has “squatter’s rights,” which is not how property law works, but she refuses to hear your argument.
This is still casual…technically. Except she has a toothbrush in your bathroom and canned coffee in your fridge and a favorite blanket on your couch and you have started buying the spicy ramen she likes even though it bothers your stomach just looking at it. Casual has become an increasingly stupid word.
You are making tea because your pain is bad but not catastrophic. Your hip aches, your spine is irritated, your wrists are loose in that annoying way that means the kettle feels heavier than it is. The slight tremor in your hands because it’s been a long day. Trinity notices from across the room; she always notices.
“Let me.” She offers softly.
“No.”
“Baby.”
“No.” You try not to snap. You’ve been working hard to not do that to her when she offers help, but you just know you can do this.
“You’re doing the wrist thing.”
“I have several wrist things.”
“The bad one.”
You put the kettle down harder than necessary. She stops. You feel it before you look at her. The way the room shifts. The way she pulls back without moving. Careful now. You close your eyes. Great. Wonderful. You have become a landmine in your own kitchen.
“Trinity.”
“I’m not trying to take over.” She says softly. So softly like you’ve hurt her, you probably have.
“I know.” You sigh, gripping the edge of the counter. This is exactly what you didn’t want.
“I just wanted to help.”
“I know.”
“Then why did you say it like that?”
You open your eyes. She’s standing by the counter, arms folded, hurt trying very hard to masquerade as irritation. You rub a hand over your face.
“I’m tired.”
“I know.”
“and in pain.”
“I know that too.”
“and bad at being helped.”
she softens just a little.
“yeah.”
you huff.
“You did not need to agree that fast.”
“You like honesty.”
“I like selective honesty.”
She smiles, it's small, but it’s there.
You pick up the mug and your fingers ache. You should let her help, you want to. That’s the worst part. You want to hand her the stupid kettle and let her pour the stupid tea and let the world not end because someone did something kind. You look at her. She is waiting. She’s not pushing, not sighing, not making you feel like your body is an inconvenience standing between her and a better night. Just waiting. You swallow.
A flash of your ex where Trinity stands. Her arms crossed, but the face is different. Trinity is hurt because she wants to help you and you’re actively lying to her about how okay your body is. Your ex wife’s face had a scroll, an eyeroll, a huff, a ‘really? You can’t pour your own tea?’ There’s a clear difference. You can see it and finally,
“Fine.”
Her eyes lift.
“Fine?”
“You can pour the tea, kochanie.”
She moves before the meaning catches up, then stops. Mug in one hand. Kettle in the other. She slowly turns toward you.
“There it is again.”
You choose to wrap your arms around her waist once you’ve manuvered her back towards the counter to actually pour the tea. “There what is?”
“Polish.”
“Many people speak Polish.”
“You don’t call many people Polish pet names while letting them pour your tea.”
Your face warms. You bury your face into her neck, she smells like faint antiseptic under her shampoo and conditioner.
“That means darling,” you whisper against her, because apparently you are choosing violence against yourself.
Trinity’s entire expression changes. gone is the teasing and the little grin. She looks down at the tea like it might save her.
“Oh.”
You almost take it back. You almost make a joke. You almost say don’t get used to it. Instead you watch her pour hot water into your mug with both hands steady. Careful. Like she has been entrusted with something more important than tea. She gently taps your hand, holding it up for you, and you take it. Your fingers brush hers. Neither of you moves away immediately. Too long. Too real. Then trinity says, very softly,
“I like when you use Polish petnames for me...”
Your chest tightens. There it is. The door again. Open a crack, you could slam it shut, you should. Instead you move back from her, take a sip of tea and mutter,
“Don't be weird.”
Trinity smiles. not smug. Happy. Which is worse.
“Too late.”
Three. skarbie
The third time happens at work. Which is unfortunate because you have rules about work. Many rules.
Do not kiss residents in hallways.
Do not let Trinity sit in your lap in your office when the door is unlocked.
Do not call her baby where people can hear.
Do not soften visibly every time she comes to you looking like the ED chewed her up and sent her back with discharge instructions.
You fail at most of these eventually. not all at once. but enough.
This time, she comes to you after Robby tells her she needs to talk to one of the grief counselors. Not as punishment or because she did something wrong, because the case was bad. Because she was in the room. Because she stood there while a family broke open around death and then tried to go back to charting like her hands weren’t shaking.
She comes to you because that is what she does now. She brings you everything. Her anger, fear, bad jokes, stupid questions, the parts she pretends don’t hurt. She barges into your office halfway through a sentence.
“Okay, robby is doing his concerned dad thing and now he says I need to talk to grief counseling or therapy or whatever and I don’t want to sit in front of some stranger and perform being appropriately devastated, so can I just talk to you and have you sign whatever he needs because you’re psych and you know me an-”
“Trinity.”
She stops. The room goes wrong immediately. You see it happen. The way her face shutters before you have even finished deciding how to say the next part. You hate this part. You hate boundaries when they look like rejection, but you love her and that means not turning yourself into a loophole just because it is easier.
“I can’t be your therapist for this.”
The words hit exactly the wrong place. You see Garcia's ghost cross her face. That old slam of rejection. Not wanted that way. Not safe to need.
“Right,” she says.
“Santos.”
“No, yeah. Makes sense.”
She takes a step back.
“I shouldn’t have assumed.”
“No.” You move around the desk before she can flee. “Not like that.”
she doesn’t look at you. Her hands are clenched at her sides. You soften your voice.
“I will always listen to you.”
her mouth twists.
“You just said…”
“I said I can't be your therapist for this. Legally. On paper.” You stop in front of her, giving her space but not letting the distance become a weapon. “We are dating now. You and me. Which means I cannot be the person who signs off to robby that you went.”
Her eyes flick up. Wet, angry, embarrassed.
“You can talk to me any time you need,” you say. “Any time.”
she swallows.
“You mean that?”
“Yes. Of course I mean that.”
“Even if it’s ugly?”
“Especially then.”
“Then why does it feel like no?”
“Because no is still no,” you say honestly. “Even when it’s gentle.”
that makes her blink. you reach for her hand. Slowly. she lets you take it. her fingers are cold.
“This boundary is not me pushing you away,” you say. “It’s me making sure I can keep holding you without turning us into a conflict of interest.”
a tiny, broken laugh slips out of her.
“That is the least romantic sentence anyone has ever said.”
“I’m a psychiatrist, romance is difficult around compliance language.”
“Clearly.”
You lift her hand and press a kiss to her knuckles. Quick, private, a violation of at least one of your rules. You do it anyway.
“Go talk to Mara,” you say softly. “She's good.”
Trinity looks down at your hand around hers.
“and after?”
“my place.”
Her face trembles.
“Just you?”
Your thumb brushes over her knuckles.
“Just me, skarbie.”
She goes still. There it is again. This time she does not ask immediately. She just looks at you. Like maybe she is afraid the meaning will be too much.
“Treasure.”
Her face crumples for half a second before she gets it under control.
“That's rude.”
“Affectionate.”
“Feels rude.”
“Because you don’t know how to be treasured.”
She looks away fast. Too late. You saw it land. You do not chase her with it. Not at work. Not where the ED can swallow the moment whole. You squeeze her hand once.
“Mara first. Talk to her and come to me with the paper she signs.”
She nods. “Okay.”
At the door, she pauses.
“Can you say it again later?”
our chest aches.
“Yes. I’ll use all of the ones you love most.”
She nods again then leaves and later, when she shows up at your apartment with red eyes and a signed paper folded badly in her pocket, you pull her into your arms and say it into her hair.
“Skarbie.”
She finally lets herself cry.
Four. moja gwiazdko
The fourth time happens on a good day. Which means it feels dangerous. Good days always do because good days make you want things. They make your body feel less like a negotiation. They make your apartment feel less like a recovery room and more like a home. They make Trinity Santos wearing your shirt in your kitchen feel less like an accident and more like a future with terrible impulse control. You wake up before her. No migraine. Hips quiet. Spine manageable. Wrists mostly staying where wrists belong. A miracle, a suspicious miracle.
Trinity is asleep beside you, face half buried in your pillow, one arm thrown across the empty space you had apparently slipped out of. Your shirt is twisted around her waist. One sock on, one sock missing. You’ll find it later under the dresser, where all her socks apparently migrate to breed. You sit at the edge of the bed and look around. Her hoodie on the chair. Her coffee in the fridge. Her badge on your nightstand. A hair tie around your wrist that you do not remember putting there.
Her life has leaked into yours. Slowly. Stubbornly. Like water finding cracks in stone. You should be terrified…you are terrified, but your body feels good and she is in your bed and the apartment is quiet and warm. So for once, fear has to wait its turn.
You crawl back over her, the mattress shifts and Trinity stirs.
“Mmm?”
“Wake up.”
One eye opens, then the other, she sees your face. Really sees it. Her sleepy confusion vanishes.
“Oh.”
You tilt your head.
“Oh?”
“You’re doing the face.”
“What face?”
“the one where I'm either in trouble or about to have a very good morning.”
you smile.
“both can be true.”
She wakes up fully after that.
The mattress dips as you settle over her, knees bracketing her hips. Trinity’s eyes are clearer now, dark and sharp even through the last haze of sleep. She stretches under you like a cat that knows it’s about to be fed, the hem of your stolen shirt riding higher up her thighs. One of her socks is still stubbornly on; the other foot is bare and warm where it brushes your calf.
“You’re really doing this before coffee?” she murmurs, voice gravel-rough. But her hands are already sliding up the backs of your thighs, palms possessive, thumbs pressing into the soft crease where leg meets ass.
“Coffee can wait,” you say, and lean down to kiss her.
It starts slowly because everything feels possible today. Your mouth moves against hers, unhurried, tasting the faint salt of sleep and the familiar mint of the toothpaste she stole last night. Trinity makes that low sound in her throat, the one that always unravels you, and suddenly the kiss isn’t slow anymore. She sits up halfway, one arm locked around your waist to hold you in her lap, the other fisting the front of your tank top like she might tear it off if you breathe wrong.
“Fuck, look at you,” she breathes against your lips. “All soft and dangerous on a good day. I hate how much I love it.”
You smile into the next kiss, nipping her bottom lip. “Then do something about it, Santos.”
She does.
Trinity flips you with the kind of easy strength that still makes your stomach flip. Resident hours and trauma calls have carved her into something lean and relentless. Your back hits the sheets, and she’s already shoving your tank up, mouth hot on your stomach, teeth grazing the sensitive skin just under your ribs. She lingers there, kissing and sucking marks like she’s claiming territory, one hand sliding between your legs to cup you through your underwear.
“You’re wet already,” she mutters, almost reverent. “Jesus. Good days really do turn you into a little slut for me, huh?”
The word lands perfectly, filthy and fond at the same time, and you arch into her touch with a shaky laugh that turns into a moan when she presses two fingers against your clit, rubbing slow circles through the fabric.
“Trinity...”
“Yeah, I know.” She hooks her fingers in your underwear and drags them down your legs, tossing them somewhere toward the growing pile of her own clothes. Then she’s between your thighs, shoulders spreading you open, mouth replacing her hand.
She eats you out like she’s starving and you’re the first real meal she’s had in days. No teasing, no slow build just her tongue licking broad and wet up your center, circling your clit, then dipping inside you with a groan that vibrates straight through your bones. One of her hands grips your hip hard enough to bruise; the other slides up your body to pinch and roll a nipple through your tank top.
You fist the sheets, hips rolling against her face. Every sound she makes—wet, hungry, appreciative—pushes you higher. When she sucks your clit between her lips and hums, your back bows off the bed.
“Fuck...Trin...baby...gonna...”
She doesn’t stop. Just doubles down, two fingers sliding into you without warning, curling hard against that spot that makes your vision spark white. You come with her name broken on your lips, thighs clamping around her head as the orgasm crashes through you, sharp and bright and overwhelming in the best way.
She works you through it, gentling her mouth but keeping her fingers moving until the aftershocks fade. Only then does she crawl up your body, kissing a wet trail over your stomach, between your breasts, until she reaches your mouth. You taste yourself on her tongue and moan into the kiss.
“Your turn,” you whisper, already reaching for the waistband of her borrowed shirt.
Trinity catches your wrist, presses it into the pillow above your head. Her eyes are blown dark, lips shiny.
“Not yet.” She grinds down against your thigh, letting you feel how soaked she is. “I want to fuck you properly first. While you’re still all soft and open from coming on my tongue.”
You shiver at the promise in her voice.
She reaches over to the nightstand, your nightstand, where her badge still sits like it belongs there, and pulls out the strap she left here two weeks ago. The sight of it in her hands makes heat pool low in your belly again. Trinity’s movements are efficient, practiced; she steps into the harness, tightening it around her hips while she watches you watch her. The thick, dark silicone cock juts out, obscene against the soft skin of her stomach.
“C’mere, baby.”
She pulls you up into her lap again, this time with your back to her chest. You settle over her thighs, her arms wrapping around you from behind. One hand cups your breast, rolling the nipple; the other guides the head of the strap to your entrance, rubbing it through your slick folds.
“Tell me,” she murmurs against your ear, teeth grazing the shell.
“Want it,” you breathe. “Need you inside me. Please...fuck please Daddy.”
She smirks as she pushes in slow, inch by inch, until you’re fully seated, stuffed full, and trembling. The stretch is perfect, bordering on too much in the most delicious way. Trinity’s breath is ragged against your neck.
“Fuck, you feel so good. Always take me so well.”
She starts to move, shallow rolls of her hips at first, letting you adjust, then deeper, harder thrusts that make the harness slap softly against your ass. Her hand slides down to rub your clit in tight circles while the other arm bands across your chest, holding you tight against her.
You brace one hand on her thigh, the other reaching back to grip her hair as she fucks you. Every thrust drags against that perfect spot inside; every circle of her fingers winds the coil tighter.
“Daddy...fuck...Daddy...harder...please!”
She growls and gives it to you, hips snapping up, teeth sinking into your shoulder. The angle lets you grind back against her, taking every inch, the wet sounds of your bodies filling the quiet apartment.
“Come on,” she pants. “Let me feel you. Come on my cock like the good girl you are.”
The words tip you over. You shatter with a cry, clenching around the strap so hard she groans like she can feel it. Trinity fucks you through it, drawing it out until you’re shaking and oversensitive, then gentles her thrusts to lazy rocks that keep you full while you come down.
She eases out carefully, kissing the back of your neck, your jaw, the corner of your mouth. The strap gets tossed aside; then she’s turning you in her arms, laying you down so she can settle between your legs again, this time just her body against yours, skin on skin.
Your hand finds her center, soaked and swollen. She’s trembling with need.
“My turn,”
Much later, when the bed is a wreck and your body has started politely informing you that miracles have time limits, trinity lies half on top of you, careful of the bad hip, tracing lazy shapes along your side.
Your hand moves through her hair. Slow, absent, domestic in a way that would have made earlier-you fake a phone call. Trinity lifts her head.
“Pain?”
“Some.”
“Heating pad?”
“In a minute.”
“Later?”
“In a minute.”
“Meds?”
You open one eye.
“Doctor Santos.”
She smiles.
“Yes?”
“You are ruining the afterglow with clinical competency.”
“Sorry. Habit.”
“Horrifying.”
She kisses your sternum through your shirt. Soft. you stare at the ceiling. then say,
“You need your own drawer.”
Trinity freezes.
“What?”
“The bottom drawer is currently in chaos. Your chaos. I am formalizing it.”
She pushes herself up, eyes wide.
“You're giving me a drawer?”
“I’m solving a storage issue.”
“You're giving me a drawer.”
“Your socks are unionizing under my dresser.”
“You're giving me a drawer.”
You sigh.
“Yes, Trinity. I'm giving you a drawer.”
Her face changes. The joy is so open it almost hurts to look at. Like you have handed her something much bigger than wood and empty space. You look away, too late. She sees. She always sees.
“Baby.”
“Don’t.”
“You like me living here.”
“I like not tripping over your shoes.”
“That's not a no.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.”
She gets quiet then. Not teasing or joking. Just looking at you with that awful softness. You touch her cheek before you can stop yourself.
“Moja gwiazdko,” you murmur.
Her breath catches.
“That one’s new.” She smiles softly up at you.
“My little star.”
she blinks. Once. Twice. Then her eyes shine.
You immediately regret everything and also nothing.
“You can’t just say that,” she whispers.
“Apparently I can.”
“I’m going to be so normal about it.”
“You are already failing.”
She laughs, then crawls up to kiss you. Gentle. Sweet. Dangerously close to worshipful. You let her. Because it is a good day. Because she has a drawer now. Because maybe some forms of staying do not have to look like a trap. Maybe some look like socks under a dresser and coffee in the fridge and a woman glowing because you called her your star.
Plus one. mahal ko
The first time Trinity uses Tagalog for you, it is not planned. You can tell because planned Trinity is terrible. Planned Trinity talks too much and overexplains and looks like she might vibrate through drywall. This is quieter later in your relationship. After the disclosure. After the drawer. After enough nights together that the bed feels wrong when she is not in it. After you have learned that love can still scare you and be real at the same time.
You are having a bad pain day. Not the cute kind. not the manageable kind where you make jokes and stubborn your way through. This is the ugly kind. The kind where your body feels like an enemy with excellent aim. You’re in bed with the heating pad against your lower back, migraine cap over your eyes, nausea meds taken in a double dose. Trinity sits beside you, one hand on your hip, not rubbing yet. just pressure.
You have already snapped at her twice. Once because she asked if you needed water. Once because she adjusted the blanket wrong. Both times she went quiet. Both times you apologized. Badly. Tiredly, but you did.
Now the room is dim. The tv is off. Your apartment is silent except for the air purifier and your uneven breathing. Trinity's thumb moves once against your hip.
“Do you want me to stay quiet?”
you swallow.
“Yes. Please.”
“Okay.”
She stays quiet. Not distant or cold. Just quiet. You hate that she knows the difference now. Somewhere between pain and sleep, you turn your face toward her.
“You can leave if you want.”
Trinity's hand stills. There it is, that old fear, old script. the ex-wife ghost at the foot of the bed, sighing with someone else’s lungs. Trinity leans closer. You can feel her before you see her.
“No.”
Your mouth twists.
“You don’t have to sit here and watch me be pathetic.”
Her voice is gentle, but firm.
“You’re not pathetic.”
“I’m not fun.”
“I’m not here because you’re fun.”
“Terrible reason to stay.”
“I'm here because I love you.”
You close your eyes under the migraine cap. The words still hit. Every time. Trinity brushes your hair back from the edge of the cap. Then, softly,
“Mahal ko.”
You still. The room seems to hush around it. You lift one hand and nudge the migraine cap up enough to see her.
“What?”
She freezes. Not afraid, just suddenly shy. Which is rare enough to be alarming.
“Nothing.”
“Trinity.”
She looks down then back at you.
“It means my love.”
Your throat tightens. Stupidly. Immediately. You stare at her. She fidgets with the edge of the blanket.
“I don’t know. You have polish. I wanted…” she trails off, embarrassed. “I wanted something too.”
The ache in your body does not disappear. Of course it doesn’t.
Love is not morphine. If it was you’d never be in pain again with Trinity around, but something in your chest softens around the pain. you reach for her hand. Your fingers are weak. She takes them carefully.
“Say it again…please”
Her face changes. Soft, open, yours. She leans down and presses a kiss to your knuckles the way you once did to hers.
“Mahal ko.”
Your eyes burn. Rude. She smiles, tiny and nervous.
“Is that okay?”
You swallow.
“Yes.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes.”
Your voice is rough.
“Very okay.”
She settles beside you again, careful around every bad spot.
Her hand returns to your hip. Steady pressure. Warm, present, not sighing, not distant, not staying like a punishment. Staying like love. After a long moment, you whisper,
“Kochanie.”
She smiles against your shoulder.
“Mahal ko.”
“Show-off.”
“You started it.”
You huff. It almost becomes a laugh. Not quite, but enough. She kisses your shoulder and stays quiet again. Because you asked, because she listened, because somewhere along the way, the two of you built a language out of all the things that were too tender to say plainly.
Polish.
Tagalog.
Hands on hips. Pillows placed carefully. Drawers given. Water bottles refilled. Coming home. Staying and in the dark, with pain still humming through your body and trinity beside you calling you her love, you finally let yourself believe that some words do not come with exits hidden inside them. Some words are just doors. Open…warm…waiting.
Summary: CW: Self harm, past self harm, scars. Sex mention. Trinity and you had something in common long before you met. Some nights you worship each other, scars and all.
Author's Note: Take care of yourselves, folks. Its what our favourite wee Pitt lesbian would want.
Nights like this have become a sort of ritual between yourself and Trinity. Neither remember when or how it began but both know you need it.
It starts with showering together. The space is too small for two, the water pressure is intermittent. Despite that, the press of your bodies together is warm. The water dribbles long enough for you to wash Trinity's hair and massage her scalp. She's started stashing away the extra bubbly, softly scented soap for nights like this, lest Whitaker uses it all again. Hands run the length and breadth of each other, soothing, soft. Easy to be gentle with each other when its hard to be gentle to yourselves. Sometimes Trinity sings under her breath. Tonight, you joined in with her, even though you can't carry a tune. It made her laugh. Not her usual chuckle, something more carefree that you'd love to bottle and dose yourself with throughout the day.
After the shower, you dry each other off. Taking time over one another's hair, taking turns to comb out the tangles. Every movement is slow in a way life seldom allows. Trinty has lit tea light candles on her dresser. It makes everything feel more sacred. It’s not like a date nor is it foreplay even if these nights sometimes end in sex. It’s something deeper, more needed than that. Its filling the voids you've lived with too long. Flooding care into where there was drought.
You lay Trinity down. Her body is relaxed where its usually taught, she lets you move her, an act of trust you're honoured by. To be together, near silent and completely undressed, is both vulnerable and safe. You lean down to kiss her softly. She traces the curve of your lips with her tongue, a route well memorised by the muscle. Her hands reach to bring you down to lay next to her. Face to face. Equal. Together.
Hands touch faces, rediscovering where cheekbones slope and skin crinkles round the eyes. Trinity looks at you like she's reading. Not for study but for pleasure. She loves nights like this where a body isn't something to examine but to behold. You watch the colours that dance in her eyes, the usual fierce burn of her stare rendered to flickering candlelight. There're more kisses. On lips, on cheeks, on necks. Hands wander without aim. There’s freedom in having no plan except whatever feels like love.
Trinity walks her fingers over your collar bone. You map the shape of her hip. There's plenty of admiring planes of smooth skin, with a touch then a kiss, then more touches. But what makes nights like this, is the way you approach the places where skin turns to scar tissue. The parts that aren't so smooth and uninterrupted. There's no need to hide them. No explanations necessary. You know, she knows. A point of commonality before you'd even met.
Your thumb follows the ghostly lines littering Trinity's thighs. With the knuckles of one hand, you soothingly stroke her cheek. You mirror the action over and over with the hand on Trinity's thighs, brushing lightly over her scars. Trinity grabs your wrist to kiss the faded marks, bumping her nose against darkened spots then showering them with further kisses. When next your lips meet it’s a kiss of relief and congratulations that neither of you have added to those collections. Sometimes that isn't the case. Slip ups happen. Discovering the shock of a bright, rough ridge doesn't derail your ritual, only makes it more devotional. Kisses are deeper, each of you trying to reach further into love's depth to shower the other with. Nights like this aren't a solution but they're something to hold on to when the old urge arises. Every touch of your hands on Trinity and her hands on your body says remember tonight and that you aren't alone. Think of how I held you and remember you can call. Do you remember how my hands were kind to you? Can you be kind to yourself right now? Everything that feels too much, fades away on these nights. It makes it easier to trust, when the urge strikes, that it won't last forever.
Tears roll off Trinity's face. She always cries so silently, she conditioned herself to bring no attention to it years ago. You notice though. She appreciates that you don't tell her to stop but wipe the wetness away. When the damn breaks and you cry your own tears, be they relief or sorrow, she holds you to her chest. She doesn't care about the salty trails you leave on her skin. When she kisses your face, she thinks of drinking your tears. Holding your burdens within her so she might help you the way you help her by carrying what she can't. Between the two of you there is enough love and care to keep steady.
The silence is broken with "I love you." Tonight, Trinity says it first when her hands have stilled at your hips and she's watching you attentively. You move as close to her as you can and whisper it into her naked skin. The world is shrunk to Trinity's bed. Whatever noise occurs beyond the window is drowned by deep, steady breaths and more "I love you'." All problems belong to tomorrow. Trinity will build her walls back up and you’ll pull your armour on to get through the day, until you can fall back into one another. Carried in each of you, a little piece of this night, something to quietly burn away and ward off the worst feelings. When Trinity yawns and peels the bedcovers back you crawl beneath. Bundled close together, you both sleep easier. Trinity doesn't twitch and thrash, your dreams are kinder. For now, with the ritual complete, whatever emptiness that haunts the pair of you is satiated.
this is unlike anything i have ever written before and i have no idea where it came from. i had an idea and an hour and forty five minutes later this was complete. please look at the tags before reading because it is very emotionally heavy. nothing graphic, but still stay safe
Pairing: Trinity Santos x fem!reader
Summary: It has been almost three days of spiraling and you’re completely lost in your head with what feels like no way out. Trinity Santos shows up, uninvited, with food because she cares and is worried when you don’t answer her texts.
Tags/Warnings: mentions of depression, insomnia, ANGST, anxiety, panic attack, reader needs a hug, trinity takes care of her girl
Word Count: 2,093
You can’t help but spiral. It has been days since you’ve seen anyone. You locked yourself in your room and couldn’t bring yourself to get up. Granted this was the first consecutive two days you’d had off in who knows how long, but it didn’t matter.
Your body needed rest and nourishment, but you couldn’t give it that. Everything felt frozen around you. You’d been living in your head, not been able to sleep, and living off of snacks you always stashed in your room.
You heard your roommates moving around the house you all shared, but no one approached you. You were not friends and it showed.
They didn’t ask you to join when they had movie nights, you were not a consideration for takeout orders, and they moved around you like you were fragile.
You felt fragile. Like at any minute you could break. Just one wrong move and you would break. At work you were a machine and nothing could get in your way. But when you were home, if you could even call it home, there was nowhere to hide.
You sunk into the softness of your bed and not in a good way. It wasn’t comforting. Even though it was soft and warm because you couldn’t move it felt like a trap. You felt trapped and there was no one to reach out to.
You’d done that on purpose too.
It was easier to pretend you had a life outside of work and lie to your coworkers about plans. You pretended your roommates were your friends. You pretended it mattered where you had to be after shift. And most of all you pretended you were okay.
But it was long stretches of days off where nothing seemed to fit in the right place. Everything was muffled and out of focus. You dug yourself deeper into the bed and tightened the blankets around your body. It wasn’t enough pressure.
Nothing felt enough.
You had no idea what time it was. You had year round blackout curtains. Your phone was lying next to you on the mattress completely out of power. You didn’t know where your charger was, but it barely registered itself as a thought. You were staring at the ceiling when a knock on your door broke you out of your thought loop.
You swore you imagined it, but when a second one came a little more forcefully you knew someone was standing outside your door. You wrapped yourself in your blanket as you swung your feet off the bed. The floor was cold and hard under your feet, but you hadn’t registered when you decided to walk to the door.
Your hand twisted on the handle slowly as you opened the door for a sliver of light to peak through. Your eyes widened when you saw the sarcastic brunette you’d come to adore outside your door.
Your lips parted softly as you took in her appearance. She was still wearing scrubs, but her hair was down and resting just above her shoulders. Her eyebrows were slightly raised and her eyes- her eyes were everything. They were a perfect shade of green and you could swear they saw your entire soul. The more you looked the more you could see concern written on her features.
You swallowed harshly at that realization and noticed she was carrying a bag of food in her hand. As you opened the door for her to come in, your jet black cat padded into your room with a meow as he brushed against your leg. You’d forgotten about him.
She didn’t say anything as she entered your room for the first time. She just looked around and noticed it was both entirely you and completely unexpected. She thought there’d be mess and chaos. Nothing dirty, but she expected clothes everywhere and things littered across your desk, but she found none of that.
Your room was completely clean and organized. Everything on your desk had a specific place, your dirty clothes were sitting in the laundry basket in the corner, and even your closet was color coded. Everything looked untouched except for your bed. There was a mountain of blankets, pillows, and weighted stuffed animals. The center was empty, presumably from where you’d been laying down before she knocked on the door.
She placed the bag of takeout on the desk and started grabbing everything out of the bag. There was surprisingly a ton of Chinese food. Your stomach grumbled loudly as the smells wafted into the room. Egg rolls, orange chicken, sesame chicken, crab rangoons, fried dumplings, pork fried rice, and vegetable lo mein. There were even two cans of soda; Dr. Pepper and Voltage Mountain Dew.
She made herself a plate with everything on it before dragging your desk chair, which more resembled a gaming chair, to the edge of your bed. She grabbed an egg roll and sat in the chair before looking at you and patting the bed lightly.
Your body moved without thought as you sat on the bed. She handed you the egg roll as she curled her legs into a criss cross position on the chair and began eating. You looked at her incredulously as you nibbled on the egg roll. It was the first thing you’d actually tasted in the past two days and it was amazing.
Before you knew it the egg roll was gone and Trinity was offering her plate up to you to pick off of. You carefully took a crab rangoon and ate it. You didn’t even register the crumbs falling until one moved.
You realized then you’d been dropping them on top of your cat’s head. He didn’t seem to mind, he wasn’t particularly hungry. You knew it was the one thing your roommates did; feed your cat.
“Sorry Shadow.” Your voice sounded foreign to you. You hadn’t spoken out loud in two days. It sounded like nails on a chalk board. He nuzzled into your thigh and began purring as he closed his eyes and napped. He’d always been an unbothered cat.
You looked up at the brunette then and suddenly everything was in high definition again. Your eyes were no longer glazed over and you felt like you were sitting on top of the bed, not losing yourself in it.
“There she is.” It was nothing more than a whisper, but it felt loud in your ears. It completely disrupted your entire being in the best way possible.
“Trin.” She smiled at you as she watched your expressions. You were slowly poking out of your shell for the first time since she arrived. She breathed a sigh of relief as she tracked your eyes looking over her shoulder at the food.
“What would you like sinta?” Trinity slowly rose from her seat and prepared to make you a plate. You bit your lip and shrugged. You weren’t sure what you wanted exactly, but none of it sounded bad.
She nodded and added a small portion of everything onto a plate before handing it to you with a fork. She wasn’t sure if you had the coordination for chopsticks. She was correct.
“How’d you know where I lived?” You questioned in between bites. The more you ate the more you felt like yourself. It was less the food and more the consistency of swallowing, Shadow’s purring, and Trinity.
Trinity Santos. The woman who saw right through you, but never actively questioned your persona. You’d worked with her for just over a year. You’d never hung out with her outside the hospital, but inside she always found you. In the flickering moments where you were stuck in your head she reached for you. With a joke, a hospital complaint, or just a smile. Something about her pulled you up from under water.
She saw you and didn’t demand anything in return.
Everyone thought she was mean and pushed people away, but you watched her pull you in. She liked that you were a sound board, but she never took too much. She didn’t want to overwhelm you or herself.
No one in the hospital noticed you. No one except for Trinity.
“I’ve dropped you off before, remember?” Your lips parted for a second before you nodded. You had completely forgotten Trinity had given you a ride after a shift. It had only been one time in the first month of meeting.
You were surprised that she remembered, but then again not at all. Trinity seemed to remember everything about you. And embarrassingly you had remembered everything about her.
You’d filed everything away in your brain in a cabinet labeled T. Santos. Every cabinet was organized alphabetically then by chronological memory. It was easier that way. Your brain had always stored information that way. But no one else’s label was in color or cabinet quite as large as hers.
No one else felt as important as her. You choked on that thought as you tried to bury it.
Trinity was just a friend. It was like her and Dennis. They just fit and you could see the sibling relationship between them. You and Trinity, well at work you just fit. It was simple, easy, and yet entirely detrimental.
You’d been in love with her since the moment you met.
Anyone with eyes would be blind not to see just how beautiful she was. You saw the beauty and the sarcasm and were immediately hooked. Which is why you never let anything go past the hospital. If she’d seen you outside of the hospital the illusion would be broken, you were sure.
She liked you as a friend. You were certain.
And Trinity Santos definitely did not need a trainwreck like you as more than a friend. That’s what you always told yourself. You functioned inside the hospital, but outside that was no man’s land. It was easy to hide in the hospital because it was always busy.
At home you were busy, but never in the physical world.
“Trinity, why are you here?” You blurted out. You just couldn’t help how small your voice sounded when the question escaped. It didn’t make any sense. None of it made any sense. She shouldn’t be here. You weren’t sure why you’d let her in. Before you knew it your breathing was picking up and your hands were shaking.
The world spun just slightly as you tried to bury yourself back into your bed. Your heels kicked into the mattress as you pushed away. Your hands fisting into the blankets. Shadow was gone, your plate was gone, you were gone. Trinity was gone. Everything was gone.
You were stuck.
She shouldn’t be here. This was your room. This was your life, but this wasn’t you. Nothing felt like you. You only felt like you in that hospital. In that hospital nothing could touch you, but here everything felt like too much.
Too much.
Your jaw tensed and you felt your throat closing. Your body tingled and you tried to feel something. Anything. Your body wasn’t yours anymore. You felt like you were watching yourself from afar. Just as you felt yourself ready to start thrashing around, a weight settled on top of you.
You blinked, frozen in fear. It was warm and solid. Steady.
Trinity.
“You’re not alone. I’m here. You’re safe.” Trinity spoke softly to you. She didn’t let up even as you wrapped your arms tightly around her. Her head settled into the crook of your neck and she continued to whisper sweet nothings to you.
Slowly, but surely, your body relaxed into her and tears flowed freely. This is what you needed; a release. You were finally thawing out and you were tired. Exhausted. Beyond exhausted. Emotionally, physically, mentally. In every way possible you felt fatigue. The difference now, you felt safe.
Trinity Santos had become your safety. And now she was literally your weighted blanket and you knew you could no longer hide from the truth.
“Trinity, I need help.” It came out like a prayer.
Trinity raised her head to look you in the eyes. In them you saw worry, compassion, and something akin to pride. Above all else you saw unfiltered love. It was raw and yet completely unmistakeable.
There was no denying anymore that Trinity loved you back. Your heart swelled.
“I know, baby. Sleep first.” She kissed your forehead with grounding force before laying back down. For the first time in 72 hours you were able to fall asleep and Trinity Santos anchored you the entire time.
Tags: established relationship, fluff, fem!reader, reader is drunk, emery is a softie, tiny bit of grumpy x sunshine, reader wears emery’s jacket, no use of yn
Summary: Emery especially likes you when you’re drunk. (You especially like her when she’s soft.)
Word count: 1.1k
Emery toys with the car keys in her pocket as she strolls into the bar, her eyes sharp, instinctively scanning the space in search of you. It's dimly lit and thick with people, louder than she can stomach these days. You like to tease her for it, how she's gotten older, more weary, but she's well past the days of hangover-less morning-afters and music that pounds its way through her skull.
You're decidedly not. Which is why she very carefully makes her way through drunken parties, sidestepping trays and drinks, until she finds you.
You don't notice her at first, the bright glare of your phone screen washing over your face, your knee bouncing with a restless rhythm as you scroll through something. Emery glances at her own phone. It's been a little over fifteen minutes since you'd called her, telling her to come over. She knows you get anxious about it, so she'd stayed in her clothes instead of changing into something for bed, picked up her keys the minute her phone rang.
Fifteen minutes in this traffic is a miracle, and yet Emery's stomach is still heavy at the look on your face. She's too far away for her voice to carry, but you finally set your phone down, hands wringing together as you scan the bar.
Your eyes find hers almost immediately. You perk up, your face brightening as you wave an excited hand. "Em! Hey, over here!"
Her smile drops when she gets close enough to see a damp blotch down the front of your shirt, the fabric clinging to your skin. "What'd you spill, hon?" She frowns, shrugging out of her jacket. You give a shrug of your own as she wraps it around your shoulders.
"Wasn't me, some dude wasn't looking." Your lips press together into a small—much to your dismay—pout. You get your arms through the sleeves and adjust the cuffs around your wrists, eyes a little glazed as you look up at her. "Spilled half his bottle on me."
Emery fits the zipper and tugs it up your chest. "Fucker. Where is he, I'll gut him." She murmurs, relieved when your lips pull into a smile.
"You would?"
"Sure I would. You cold?"
"Just sticky."
She keeps an arm around you as you slip out of your stool. You exchange goodbyes with your friends and gather your things, promising them another hangout, soon, soon, teetering a little into Emery's side. She holds out a hand in an idle wave and nudges you around, starts guiding you through the crowd. You're not entirely wasted, but she still keeps her arm firm around you, planting you to her side.
Your fingers hook into the waistband of her sweatpants. Emery hides a smile, steering you away from a waiter with a full tray. She could never say it, but she loves the way you cling—especially when you get like this, all soft and uninhibited. Perfectly hers.
Out on the street, she hears your voice clearer, a little thickened with a slur.
"Will you shower with me?"
She adjusts her grip on you, complying when you loop your arm through hers and hug it to your chest. "Can't exactly trust your hand-eye coordination, now, can I?"
Your smile peeks out from behind her arm. It seeps into your voice, ringing like a bell. "You can just admit you want to, Emsie."
Emery pauses, her brows knitting. "Who the hell is that?"
You laugh, eyes bright, and she kisses you. Emery hates it when people kiss on the street, in the middle of a sidewalk, but you make her do it without thinking. She can't help it, never can. She's long ago stopped trying.
You taste like the drinks you've had—sweeter, messier than you usually are. Emery feels the slow rush of your pulse under her thumbs.
"Thanks for comin' to pick me up." You say happily. She hums, wipes a bit of loose makeup under your eye.
"Did you have fun?"
"Mhmm." You take her hand and wrap her arm around your side again, tangling your fingers with hers instead of letting go. "Missed me?"
Emery's lips twitch. "I don't know if I've ever told you, but you're a little self absorbed."
"That," you laugh, poking her side, "is Em code for yes. I missed you too, baby."
She hates how her stomach flips, how she melts when you say it, so saccharine. Emery shakes her head as she pulls out her keys from your—her—pocket and unlocks the car.
"I don't think that's healthy for either of us."
You blow a raspberry. "Who cares about healthy?"
She stopped caring about a lot of things since she'd met you.
Your cheeks are visibly hot as Emery opens the car door for you, her hand on the small of your back to nudge you in. You frown down at the high step and reach for her arm, clutching her bicep as you get on. It doesn't usually give you much trouble, but your balance is a little off, and your shoes are less than practical.
"Got you," Emery murmurs, looping her arm around your waist, sweeping the other one under your legs and lifting you the half inch distance into the high seat of her jeep. She leans back and reaches for the seatbelt before you can, pulling it snug across your body and buckling you in.
Your smile is lopsided when she looks back up at you. "I could've done it, Emery." You say softly, tangling your fingers in her hair.
"I know." She cups her hand over yours, leans in to kiss you. You wrap both your arms around her neck like it's a hug, making her laugh, tilt her head back to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth. "But I missed my girl."
She feels the heat radiating from you. Truth is, she can't always get herself to say stuff like this, sickeningly gentle, but sometimes it slips out and she lets it. It's all the better for watching you melt, the smile splitting your cheeks even as you bite your lip, try to hold it.
Emery thumbs it out, feels the heat along your jaw as she steals one more kiss. It breaks with your laughter, low, airy giggles she'd never hear in the light of day.
Summary — emery is one to get shaken up often until she sees a patient who looks like you.
Warnings— I didn’t edit this, blood, mentions of death hospital settings surgeries and greys anatomy type shit
Word count 3.k
Requested — YES
The first time Dr.Walsh saw the patient’s face, her stomach dropped so violently she almost missed the diagnosis entirely.
“Thirty-two-year-old female,” the paramedic rattled off while they rushed beside the stretcher. “MVC. Driver-side impact. Hypotensive en route, possible splenic rupture—”
Emery barely heard him because the woman on the gurney looked exactly like you. Not remotely similar. She had the same soft mouth. Same nose. Same eyelashes resting against pale cheeks. Even the same little crease between the brows you got when you were annoyed at her.
For one impossible, horrifying second, Emery thought someone had dragged you into her ER and that made her heart stop.
“Dr.Walsh?” Nurse Ramirez says sharply, snapping Emery out of her trance blinking hard and shaking her head as the trauma bay comes back into focus.
‘It’s not you’ she thought and repeated it in her mind like a mantra but even though that wasn’t you it was still close enough to make her chest hurt.
“Pressure’s tanking” someone called out getting away at the patient’s clothes to get them out of the way.
Emery stepped forward taking over “we need to do a FAST ultrasound to see if there’s any internal bleeding.”
“What happens if there’s any internal bleeding?” One of the surgical residents asks.” As they wheel the ultrasound machine over to the side of the patient’s bed?”
Emery turned on the machine and squirted gel onto Jane Doe's stomach and used the wand “well if there’s internal bleeding then we need to prep for surgery and the OR for surgery” she explains checking the computer looking for any signs of bleeding.
The second the image appeared on the screen, Emery’s expression changed. Dark fluid bloomed across the ultrasound like spilled ink.
“There,” she said quietly, jaw tightening. “Positive FAST. She’s bleeding into her abdomen.”
The resident beside her went pale. “How bad?”
“Bad enough that if we stand here talking about it, she dies.” Emery handed the probe off sharply. “Page trauma surgery. Prep OR two now. Massive transfusion protocol.”
Nurses rushed around the room, someone hanging blood while another pushed meds. The cardiac monitor screamed with every drop in the woman’s pressure, the frantic beeping drilling straight into Emery’s skull.
“Looks like we’re scrubbing in.” Emery says taking her gloves off, tossing them into the trash can and following the patient to the OR and all she could see was you, not the Jane Doe.
You laughing in her kitchen while stealing fries off her plate. You half asleep in one of her sweatshirts. You rolling your eyes whenever she came home after a thirty-hour shift and insisted she was “fine.”
It made her sick.
“Pressure’s seventy over forty,” Ramirez called.
“Starting another unit.”
“Move,” Emery ordered, already pushing the stretcher toward the elevator herself. “Come on, stay with me.”
The patient didn’t respond. Her face stayed limp and pale beneath the fluorescent lights and Emery hated how much it looked like you were unconscious.
By the time they burst into the OR, Emery’s hands were already regloved. One of the attendings looked over. “Walsh, you’ve been on shift for twelve hours already. I can take this.”
“I’m fine.”
It came out too fast and too dismissive because she wasn’t fine. The attending paused but didn’t argue when Emery stepped up to the table. Because this was what she did. She saved people. She cut them open and fixed what the world had broken.
Except two hours later, the monitor flatlined.
The sound hollowed the room out.
“No pulse.”
“Start compressions.”
Blood coated Emery’s gloves to the wrists as she searched desperately through the cavity, trying to clamp the bleeding vessel she couldn’t seem to control.
“Come on,” she muttered under her breath. “Come on…”
Another round of epi.
Another rhythm check.
Nothing.
The trauma surgeon across from her looked at the clock first.
Emery already knew.
She could feel it.
“Time of death, 3:17 AM.”
Silence.
The words hit her like a physical blow. For a second, nobody moved. Then the room shifted into practiced aftermath machines shutting off, instruments counted, nurses speaking softly but Emery just stared at the woman’s face.
The surgical mask suddenly felt too tight against Emery’s face. Everyone else moved first. The scrub nurse began quietly covering the body. Someone shut off the monitor, finally silencing the flatline that still echoed inside Emery’s skull. The residents drifted toward cleanup, subdued in the way doctors became after losing someone young.
Emery didn’t move because all she could see was you.
This woman had your face.
And now she was dead.
“Walsh.”
The trauma attending’s voice came carefully this time.
Emery blinked once.
“You okay?”
No she wasn’t okay. She wasn’t even close to being okay , but she nodded automatically anyway because that was what doctors did. They compartmentalized. Buried it. Moved onto the next patient.
“I’m fine,” she said again, quieter this time.
The attending looked unconvinced but didn’t push. “Go take ten.”
Emery stripped off her gloves with more force than necessary. Blood smeared across the stainless steel edge of the table before she tossed them away.
Her hands were shaking but none of the other attending’s said anything. She stepped out of the OR and the hallway lights hit her like a freight train.
A nurse rushed past with labs. Someone laughed down the corridor. A monitor alarmed from another room. Life continued around her like someone hadn’t just died under her hands but that was the thing with hospital’s everything must go on.
Emery made her way to the locker room she needed to hear your voice
Emery made her way to the locker room because she needed to hear your voice.
Needed it in the same way people needed oxygen.
The second the door shut behind her, the silence crashed over her all at once. The adrenaline that had kept her moving through surgery drained from her body so fast it made her dizzy.
Her hands were still shaking.
She stared at them for a second like they belonged to someone else.
Those same hands had cracked open a chest thirty minutes ago. Had tried to save a woman who looked so much like you it made her feel haunted.
And they’d failed.
Emery braced both palms against the metal lockers and lowered her head.
Breathe.
Just breathe.
Her phone was already in her hand before she consciously decided to grab it. She opened your contact immediately.
A photo of you smiled back at her.
You were sitting on the kitchen counter in one of her hoodies, grinning at whoever had taken the picture probably her. There was flour on your cheek from the disastrous attempt the two of you had made at baking cookies after one of her overnight shifts.
Emery felt her throat tighten painfully.
“Come on,” she whispered to herself.
She hit the call button The phone rang four times before it went straight to voicemail and her stomach dropped.
“Hey, you’ve reached Y/N. I’m probably asleep or ignoring my phone again—”
Emery hung up before the message finished. You probably were asleep. That was all. It was almost four in the morning. Normal people slept at four in the morning.
But the unease in her chest only got worse.
She texted you immediately.
baby call me when you wake up
A second later:
please
Emery stared at the screen.
Nothing.
The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed faintly. Somewhere down the hallway a trauma pager went off again followed by hurried footsteps.
Usually those sounds grounded her.
Tonight they just made her feel sick.
The image of that woman’s face kept flashing behind her eyes.
Dead on the table.
Looking like you.
Her phone remained silent.
“Jesus Christ,” she muttered, dragging a hand down her face.
You were fine.
You had to be fine.
Maybe your phone died. Maybe you fell asleep on the couch again with one of your comfort movies playing too loud.
A knock sounded against the locker room door bringing her back to the present.
“Walsh?”
Ramirez poked her head inside carefully.
Emery straightened automatically, shoving every emotion back down where it belonged.
“What?”
“There’s coffee in the lounge.”
“I’m not hungry.”
Ramirez studied her for a moment. “Nobody said anything about food.”
Emery exhaled sharply through her nose.
“I’m fine.”
“You’ve said that four times in the last hour.”
“Because I am.”
It wasn’t convincing Not with the dark circles under her eyes or the blood still smeared faintly near the cuff of her scrub top.
Ramirez leaned against the doorway. “That patient got to you.”
“No,” Emery answered too quickly.
The nurse raised an eyebrow.
Emery looked away first.
“She looked like someone,” she admitted quietly.
Ramirez’s expression softened immediately. “Y/N?” Pop
Emery didn’t answer she didn't need to because Ramirez has been on the job long enough to know the signs.
“Oh.”
The silence stretched between them. Neither of them knew what to say. The only saving grace was Emery’s phone buzzing violently in her hand. Both of them looked down instantly. Relief hit so fast Emery almost felt weak.
“See?” Ramirez said gently. “Probably just—”
But the second Emery looked at the screen, every ounce of relief vanished.
Unknown Number.
Her stomach twisted.
She answered immediately. “Hello?”
Static crackled through the speaker followed by chaos in the background.
“Is this Dr. Emery Walsh?”
Every muscle in her body locked.
“Yes.”
“This is Pittsburgh EMS. We have your number listed as emergency contact for Y/N Y/L/N.”
The world stopped. Ramirez’s face changed instantly at whatever she saw in Emery’s expression.
“What happened?” Emery demanded.
Her voice no longer sounded like hers.
“Motor vehicle collision occurred approximately ten minutes ago,” the paramedic said quickly. “She was found unconscious at the scene and—”
“No.”
The word tore itself out of her.
No.
Not you.
Not after tonight.
“We’re en route to County General now—”
“I’m already here,” Emery snapped.
The paramedic paused briefly. “She’s critical, Doctor.”
Emery’s knees nearly buckled
Around her, the hospital suddenly felt too suffocating. The exact same words from earlier echoed through her skull.
Driver-side impact.
Hypotensive.
Possible internal bleeding.
Like something cruel had decided to repeat itself.
“ETA two minutes,” the paramedic continued. “Possible abdominal hemorrhage and chest trauma. BP is unstable.”
Emery was already moving before the call ended.
Locker room door slamming open.
Ramirez immediately followed behind her. “Emery—”
“That’s my girlfriend.”
The words cracked apart on the way out.
It stopped Ramirez cold for half a second because Dr. Emery Walsh never sounded afraid. The Emery she knew was cocky and confident but this Emery looked terrified.
They burst into the ER just as the ambulance bay doors flew open.
“Move!”
The stretcher came barreling through the doors surrounded by paramedics and there you were.Blood in your hair. Skin pale beneath the trauma room lights and Motionless.
Emery physically stumbled when she saw you. For one horrible second she couldn’t breathe. Because suddenly the dead woman from earlier was gone and this was real.
This was not some Jane Doe who looks like you.
“Y/N,” she whispered.
Nobody heard her over the noise.
“BP dropping!”
“She was cardiac arrested once in transport!”
“Possible splenic rupture!”
The words hit Emery like punches to the ribs Like the universe had decided to torture her personally.
“Dr. Walsh?” one of the residents asked nervously.
Emery snapped back to life instantly.
“Trauma one. NOW.”
The team moved.
You didn’t.
Your head rolled weakly with the movement of the stretcher and Emery reached for you automatically, blood immediately smearing across her hands.
You were cold.
“Baby,” she breathed shakily, brushing damp hair away from your face. “Hey, look at me.”
Nothing.
The monitor screamed again.
“Pressure’s crashing!”
Fear unlike anything Emery had ever experienced ripped through her chest.
Not this. Please not this. she thought
“Get blood ready,” she barked. “Call OR two. Move!”
Someone hesitated.
Hospital policy.
No treating family.
No operating on people you loved.
Emery looked at them with tears already gathering in her eyes and something in her expression made the entire room go silent.
“She is dying,” Emery said.
Not Dr. Walsh.
Not the brilliant trauma surgeon everybody feared and respected.
Just Emery.
Just a woman watching the love of her life bleed out in front of her.
“Somebody help me save her.”
Your fingers twitched weakly against the sheets. It was tiny and barely noticeable but Emery caught it immediately.
“There you are,” she whispered desperately, gripping your hand. “Stay with me, sweetheart. Stay with me.”
Your eyelashes fluttered faintly and a broken sound left your throat.
Thank God.
Emery bent forward until her forehead rested shakily against yours for half a second despite the chaos exploding around her.
“I’ve got you,” she whispered, voice breaking completely. “I’ve got you, baby. I swear to God, I’ve got you.”
“Walsh, you know that you can’t operate on a loved one right?” Dr.Espinoza the head of surgery (bare with me I can’t remember who is head of surgery in the Pitt) says softly.
Emery sniffles and nods her head “I know I know” she admits looking back at the doctor.
“She’ll be in good hands so why don’t you clock out and we’ll let you know when she’s out of surgery.” Dr.Espinoza says as you begin to get wheeled up into the OR.
Emery’s entire body moved on instinct.
“No.”
It came out harsher than she intended, cracking apart under the weight of panic clawing up her throat. She followed the stretcher automatically as they pushed you toward the elevators.
“I’m going with her.”
“Emery—” Dr. Espinoza started carefully.
“I said I’m going with her.”
The doors to the elevator opened with a sharp ding and the surgical team rolled you inside. Emery walked in beside the stretcher before anyone could stop her. Ramirez squeezed in behind her at the last second, probably because she knew Emery was one bad sentence away from completely unraveling.
The elevator doors shut. Silence.Or at least silence compared to the chaos downstairs. Your hand looked so small wrapped in oxygen tubing and dried blood. Emery reached for it anyway. Your skin was freezing.
“Baby,” she whispered shakily, thumb brushing weakly over your knuckles. “Hey. Stay with me.”
Your eyelids fluttered faintly again.
Not fully conscious.
Not really there.
But enough that Emery saw the tiny movement and nearly broke apart from relief.
“There she is,” Ramirez murmured quietly from the corner.
Emery swallowed hard.
Your lips parted around a strained little breath and Emery leaned closer immediately, desperate enough to hear anything.
“…Em…”
The sound barely existed.
But it destroyed her.
“Oh God.”
Her eyes burned instantly.
“I’m right here,” she said quickly, voice trembling now. “I’m right here, sweetheart. Don’t try to talk, okay? Just breathe for me.”
Your face pinched faintly like you were trying to focus on her voice through the pain.
Then the monitor shrieked.
“Pressure’s dropping again,” one of the nurses warned.
Emery’s head snapped up immediately. “How much?”
“Sixty systolic.”
“Shit.”
The elevator couldn’t move fast enough.
Every second felt stolen.
Emery looked back down at you and suddenly all she could see was every ordinary moment she might lose.
You stealing her hoodies.
You dancing barefoot in the kitchen at two in the morning.
You asleep against her chest after she came home from impossible shifts.
The way you always mumbled, “you’re late,” even when you were half unconscious.
All of it threatened to disappear in one terrible night.
The elevator doors finally opened onto the surgical floor.
“Move!”
The team rushed forward again.
OR staff shoved open double doors while another nurse rattled off your vitals to anesthesia. Emery stayed glued to your side until the bright lights of the operating room hit her square in the face.
And then she stopped because this was it. The line. The one line she couldn’t cross.
Dr. Espinoza turned toward her gently. “Emery.”
Her chest heaved once.
You looked so pale on that table.
Too still.
Too much like the woman from earlier.
Except this time Emery loved you.
This time it was your blood covering her hands.
“She needs surgery now,” the attending surgeon said firmly while scrubbing in. “We’re losing time.”
Emery nodded automatically but her feet wouldn’t move.
You made another weak sound somewhere beneath the oxygen mask.
Her composure shattered completely.
She crossed the room in two steps and grabbed your hand again before they could wheel you fully beneath the surgical lights.
“Hey,” she whispered frantically. “Hey, look at me.”
Your eyes opened barely a sliver.
Confused.
Glassy with pain.
But they found hers.
And Emery almost collapsed from the sheer relief of it.
“There you are,” she breathed.
A tear slipped down before she could stop it.
You looked terrified.
That hurt worse than anything.
“Em…” you slurred weakly.
“I know, baby. I know.”
Your fingers twitched against hers, trying to hold on. Emery bent down fast, pressing a trembling kiss against your forehead despite the blood and the noise and the people moving around you.
“I love you,” she whispered fiercely. “You hear me? I love you so much.”
Your lashes fluttered again.
Then your eyes started slipping shut.
“No, no, no— stay awake for me.”
“Emery.” Dr. Espinoza’s voice was firmer now.
She looked up.
The entire OR had gone quiet around them.
Because every person in that room could see it.
The terror in Emery’s face.
The way her hand shook holding yours.
The way she looked less like a surgeon and more like someone standing on the edge of losing everything.
“You need to let us work,” Dr. Espinoza said softly.
Emery’s breathing turned uneven.
For the first time in years, she felt completely helpless. Ramirez stepped closer carefully. “I’ll stay with her,” she promised quietly.
Emery looked back at you one last time. Your heartbeat stuttered across the monitor. Her thumb brushed across your cheek gently, wiping away a streak of blood near your temple.
“Please,” she whispered so quietly nobody else could hear it. “Please don’t leave me.”
Then she finally let go.
And the second they pulled your stretcher away from her, Emery felt like someone had ripped her heart directly out of her chest.
One hour passed.
Then two.
Emery stayed exactly where she was outside the OR.
Someone brought her coffee at some point. It went cold untouched beside her chair.
Residents and nurses drifted quietly around the surgical floor, speaking in hushed voices whenever they looked her way. Nobody had ever seen Emery Walsh like this before.
Not cold.
Not composed.
Not untouchable.
Just terrified.
Every time the OR doors moved, her head snapped up instantly.
Every single time.
At one point Ramirez tried to convince her to change out of her bloodstained scrubs.
Emery looked down at them blankly like she hadn’t even noticed.
Your blood.
Still on her hands.
Still on her clothes.
She couldn’t bring herself to take them off.
At 6:12 AM, the doors finally opened again.
Everyone in the hallway seemed to freeze simultaneously.
Dr. Espinoza stepped out first, removing his surgical cap slowly.
Emery was on her feet before he even spoke.
The expression on his face nearly stopped her heart.
No no no—
“She’s alive.”
The breath Emery let out sounded almost painful.
Espinoza held up a hand quickly before she collapsed from relief completely.
“She’s critical,” he continued carefully. “Massive blood loss. We repaired the splenic rupture and controlled the liver bleed, but the next twenty-four hours are going to matter.”
Summary: Trinity finds out she has more in common with you than she thought after seeing how you're affected by a particularly devastating case
Warnings/contains: pediatric resident doctor! reader, this is set between s1 and s2 (there also might be some mild canon divergence timeline-wise), canon typical mentions of medical procedures and examinations, frank medical talk about injuries resulting from being SAed, heavily implied CSA (both from a patient and Trinity), reader has an emotional breakdown due to their case (whether or not it's because they've experienced something similar to their patient is left purposely unclear), they/them pronouns used to refer to the reader in a gender neutral manner, protective Trinity makes an appearance here, some angst plus hurt/comfort
Beginning notes: PLEASE HEED THE TRIGGER WARNINGS FOR THIS FIC!! it deals with incredibly heavy topics that not everyone with be comfortable with reading, so keep that in mind. I wrote this as something to help myself vent, hence the subject matter
Everyone who worked in The Pitt was sensitive to something. No matter how thick your skin was, no matter who you were, there was always one case that came around once in a while that caused you to break.
Yours came that day, in the later hours of your shift. Due to your specialty being in pediatrics, you often took on a lot of cases involving children, especially younger ones.
You were looking over a patient chart when you saw Cassie approaching you from the corner of your eye. "Hey, can I have your help with something?" She asked in a voice that was even softer than her usual one. You discovered why when you saw the small hand holding onto hers for dear life, belonging to a little girl that couldn't be any older than eight.
"Of course." Handing off the patient chart to one of the nurses, you took slow and measured movements to kneel down on the floor a few feet away from where the girl was currently hiding behind Cassie. "Hi, sweetheart. What seems to be the problem, hm?"
The girl's eyes flickered upwards to Dr. McKay, as if she were checking to see if you were a safe person to talk about this to. The doctor nodded, prompting the little girl to speak. "I- I have an owie."
"You have an owie?" Keeping your voice low, you asked the question just for clarification, the girl fidgeting where she stood in front of you, seeming nervous.
"Y- Yeah. Big owie," she mumbled, chewing aggressively on the inside of her mouth as she purposely avoided making eye contact.
Something was definitely wrong here. You shot a perplexed look at Cassie before continuing. "Can you show me where your owie is? You don't have to say it if you don't want to, just point it out to me, okay?"
A barely audible whimper of terror escaped the girl, and she pressed her face into Cassie's arm, her hand's grip on her tightening. With her other hand, she shakily moved to point to the area where it hurt--the front of her pants, the implication of where exactly the pain was quite clear.
You forced yourself to take a deep breath, swallowing thickly as you put two and two together. "Okay, honey. We're gonna take care of your owie, okay? Don't you worry." Standing purposefully, you addressed Cassie in that candid tone of yours that always came out when it came to your patient's wellbeing. "Take her to the triage area where she can be properly assessed. I'll find someone to set up a room for her in the pediatric unit, then I'll be right there."
Cassie gave you a look of understanding (at both your commands and your clearly frazzled nerves) before carefully guiding the little girl away. Trinity, who'd been standing off somewhere nearby and saw the whole thing, tentatively made her way over. "Do you need any help?"
"Uh, yes. Go find Dana and tell her we have a patient who's a possible CSA victim. It's best if the SANE nurse is here to help take care of it." You didn't look at her directly when you spoke; in fact, you hadn't done it with Cassie, either, since realizing the patient's reason for visiting.
Trinity didn't take it personally, know simply nodding and giving a light "you're the boss" before heading off to figure out where the charge nurse went. Taking a deep breath, you did your best to brace yourself for what was to come before following after where Cassie had gone to the triage area with the little girl.
"She was brought in by her babysitter, who she told it was a bad stomachache. Her hymen is broken, and there's no way for it to have been consensual given her young age. Not to mention she has vaginal bruising and tearing, both recent and healed, which is consistent with a repeated sexual assault," Cassie told Kiara, the department's resident social worker, as you stood nearby. Dana and Perlah were getting the little girl settled into a room in the pediatric unit, allowing time for the information on her case to be transferred over to the appropriate sources. "She's also scared out of her life, which means she won't tell us what happened."
"Well, I can look into it, but you know there's only so much I can do if the victim chooses not to admit to the assault," Kiara replied with a pinched brow. Her and Dr. McKay continued to talk quietly over their options while you began to gradually shift away from them, unable to stop your gaze from wandering in the direction where the pediatric unit was.
Trinity could see the haunted look in your eyes, even where she sat at one of the ER computers more than several feet away. In all her time working at PTMC, she'd never seen you so shaken up like this. Not even when a kid was brought in with a bloody and mangled foot.
You always remained calm, cool, and collected, your composure never wavering, even in the most grisly of cases. Hell, you were more composed when treating a child dealing with cancer, and that was really saying something. But now…
It gave her involuntary flashbacks to her own trauma from her youth, to the way she'd been taken advantage of. And in that moment, she knew she recognized your tormented gaze, because it was the same one she often saw looking back at herself in the mirror.
She did her best to keep her focus on the computer screen in front of her, knowing it was none of her business, but it grew increasingly more difficult to ignore the clear signs of anguish in your form, especially when you began to steadily pace back and forth in an attempt to ease your mind. "Hey," Trinity suddenly and awkwardly began despite herself. "Do you… wanna turn the case over to someone else? I don't think McKay would have any problem handling it alone."
The question was responded to with a solemn head shake. "No, thank you. I can take care of it." Your eyes found themselves drawn to the direction of the pediatric unit once again as you stopped pacing for the time being, Kiara and Cassie still speaking in hushed voices near the background.
It was quiet for a moment before you spoke up again. "I think I'll go sit with her so she won't have to be alone when Dana and Perlah leave," you announced to no one in particular, finally heading to the pediatrics room the little girl was staying in, drawn in like it was a honing beacon as your previously labored steps became a brisk stride upon your exit.
The intern doctor attempted to resume her work after watching you leave, but found herself unable to. Trinity hated to think of it as "kindred spirit" nonsense, but it was obvious that she wasn't the only one there who felt so deeply connected to the young victims of sexual abuse who came into the hospital.
The rooms in the pediatric unit were all brightly colored, walls painted to match different themes. The one that the girl was staying in had a jungle theme, large trees with big canopies hanging over jaguars and monkeys and multicolored frogs.
You sat in there with her for God knows how long, not pressuring her to talk, just being there. She told you about school, how she loved science and hated math, how her favorite animal was a monkey (like the one on the wall). She was definitely more relaxed than before, and when she started to give several yawns in the middle of her sentences you figured it was about time for her to have a nap.
The girl appeared anxious when you went to leave, though she seemed soothed by the promise of nurses coming in the check on her every now and then to ensure she was doing well. You were halfway out the door when her voice broke the silence, timid and meek.
"Doctor? Can I… can I tell you something?"
You paused at her words, sensing the severity of whatever she had to say. "Of course you can," you murmured in a reassuring tone as you turned back towards her, shutting the door quietly and moving to crouch down beside her hospital bed. You'd worked with kids long enough to know it helped them feel safer if you were at their level instead of towering over them. "What is it that you need to tell me?"
She hesitated, her previously droopy eyes now big and scared as she glanced down to where you held a hand out to her, palm facing upwards. After a moment or so, she slipped her smaller hand into yours, clutching on tightly. Her pulse was racing with fear, her tiny nails digging into your skin.
And then she began to speak, and she told you all about what'd happen. And quietly, sympathetically, you stayed there and listened.
You waited until she'd fallen asleep to leave, making sure there'd be a nurse to go check in on her every hour or so. You were struggling to keep yourself together even worse than before as you searched for Kiara, knowing it was now your job to disclose the information of the assault to her so it could be further looked into. How you managed to tell her about it without crying, you had no idea.
After that, you knew there was no way for you to continue on with work as normal. Not with how you seemed to be in a trancelike state as you walked, unfocused on everything and everyone around you. The tears were pooling in the corners of your eyes and escaping down your cheeks before you could even realize what was going on.
There was a voice, possibly coming from nearby though it sounded so far away, calling out your name. You think it was Robby, though you couldn't be sure.
"J- Just a minute, please-" you somehow choked out with a stammering breath as you stumbled along, your tears blurring your vision even worse than before. "J- Just- please, just give me a m- minute, and- and then I'll be right there-"
"Hey! They said give them a minute," the sharp voice of Trinity rang out as she was by your side in an instant, a protective arm wrapping firmly around your trembling form as you stood there gasping for breath. "Back-up, now. Everybody give them some space."
Her tone was filled with venom, but her touch couldn't have been more careful as she led you out of the main part of the ER and off to a quieter spot by the stairs. You felt so overwhelmed by everything that was going on, and that was the moment where it all came pouring out all at once.
"I- I can't- she's- she's just so little, she's just so small-" you blubbered almost incoherently, the tearful rambling probably not making much sense. "So- so small, she's just a- a baby- and- and somebody- somebody hurt her-"
Trinity held you and listened regardless, one of her hands giving your shoulder an stiff yet sincere pat as she allowed you to vent to her. At some point your face ended up buried in her scrubs, your sobbing muffled as you got it all out of your system.
If somebody had told her at the beginning of her shift that this would end up happening, she never would've believed them. "Feel better?" She asked once your crying had settled down to mere sniffles.
You nodded your head while pulling away; she instantly found herself missing your warmth once it was gone. "Y- Yeah, I think so. Thank you for being here, Trinity," you said with a sniffle while wiping the tears from your eyes. "I really appreciate it."
She felt her heart flutter slightly when you called her by her first name, the damn traitorous thing. "Yeah, no problem. Um… if you ever want to, like, talk, or… anything like that, y'know…" She was trying her best to lend out a hand, but being a good shoulder to cry on definitely wasn't her strong suit.
But you seemed to catch on to what she was trying to say regardless, simply giving a small little smile, tears still clinging to your lashes in a way that caught in the light and made you look even more alluring than usual. "Y'know, you're not nearly as much as a troublemaker as everyone claims you to be," you mused playfully, talking to her as if you were old friends.
For some reason, this made her knees go weak as her heart fluttered for a second time. "Well-" she just shrugged, not quite sure how to respond.
You reached a hand out and gave her shoulder an almost affectionate squeeze of gratitude before turning and heading back into the main portion of the ER again, heart feeling lighter than it did before. Trinity just watched you go with a quiet look of longing, cursing the small part of her that was desperate for a genuine connection as it had to be the reason behind her sudden infatuation with you upon seeing you fall apart.
She wasn't always the best at handling her hurt, pushing it down and letting it fester beneath her skin like a sore. Clearly, you weren't either, except you were on the complete opposite spectrum of human emotion, letting it overflow like a geyser whenever the urge hit you and you couldn't hold it in any longer.
A small voice spoke up in the back of her head with the notion that maybe, just maybe, the two of you could help one another heal. And an even louder voice chanted in yours the exact same.
End notes: yayy angst with a happy ending yayyy
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“nobody should be put in ai generators” true but we know why women r more often than anyone else why r we acting like men r getting a fraction of the revenge porn or sexual harassment thrown at them with ai that women are……like ppl r literally having to remove vids and pics of their baby daughters offline bc of how bad the usage of ai to make porn out of girls is…how do we address a issue if we cant even identify the issue yall r annoying as fuck 😭
Summary: You blow up at Trinity, which affects you for the next week until she corners you, sending you into a meltdown
word count: 3.2K
Warnings: emotional dysregulation, panic attack, meltdown, yelling, argument, fear of abandonment, references to emotionally neglectful parents and unhealthy childhood communication, self-hitting/pain stimming, intense emotional vulnerability, crying, and themes related to BPD.
Authors note: This was a request which can be found here!
“You good, tightrope?”
You didn’t even look up from the chart in your hands.
“What did you just call me?”
Trinity slowed beside the desk, confusion flickering over her face. “Tightrope?”
Your laugh came out sharp. Mean.
“Jesus Christ.”
Now that got her attention.
“What’s your problem?”
The question should’ve been simple.
Instead it felt like someone striking a match over gasoline.
“My problem?” You finally looked at her, eyes already burning. “Maybe I’m tired of being psychoanalyzed every five fucking seconds.”
Trinity frowned immediately. “That’s not what I was doing.”
“No? Because you always do this.” You gestured vaguely toward her. “Little comments. Looking at me like I’m some wounded stray dog.”
“That is not fair.”
“Then stop acting like you know me.”
The tension at the nurses station shifted instantly. Conversations quieting. People pretending not to stare while absolutely staring.
Trinity crossed her arms.
“You know what? Fine. Don’t take the nickname.”
“Oh, wow. Thanks.”
“But don’t sit here acting like I’m attacking you because I asked if you were okay.”
“You weren’t asking if I was okay,” you snapped. “You were pointing out that I’m barely holding it together.”
Her jaw tightened.
“You are barely holding it together.”
The words hit like a slap.
You went still.
Trinity realized it a half second too late.
“Look, that came out wrong—”
“No,” you said quietly. Dangerously quietly. “You meant it exactly how it sounded.”
“For fuck’s sake!”
“No, seriously, Trinity, why do you even care?” Your voice rose despite yourself. “You hover around me all shift acting concerned like I’m some project-”
“Because you disappear into yourself for hours and then act like everybody else is the problem!”
You stared at her.
The station had gone dead silent now.
“You think I don’t notice?” Trinity continued, frustration boiling over now too. “You shut down every time somebody gets close to you, then you bite their fucking head off when they check in!”
“Maybe because people should mind their own business!”
“Maybe because you make everything feel like walking through a minefield!”
That one landed. Hard. You felt it physically. Like something cracking down the center of your chest.
“Wow,” you breathed.
Trinity’s expression flickered immediately with regret, but she was too worked up now too.
“No, you know what? I’m serious,” she said. “One second you’re joking around and the next you’re glaring at people like you hate them. Nobody knows what version of you they’re getting.”
The humiliation was instant and blistering. Because she wasn’t entirely wrong. And somehow that made it hurt worse.
“Go fuck yourself, Santos.”
“Oh, screw you.”
“Enough!”
Robby’s voice cracked across the ER so loudly both of you jumped. He was moving toward the two of you fast, eyes blazing in a way you almost never saw.
“What the hell is going on?”
Neither of you answered.
“Now.”
“She started-”
“No, she-”
“I do not care,” Robby barked, cutting both of you off. “You are both doctors standing in the middle of my emergency department acting like children.”
The shame hit immediately. Hot. Suffocating. It reminded you of your dad’s stare. He looked between the two of you, furious.
“You,” he pointed at Trinity first. “Trauma two. Now.”
Trinity opened her mouth.
“Now, Dr.Santos.”
Her jaw clenched hard enough to tick before she turned sharply and walked away.
Then his attention landed on you.
“And you are coming with me.”
Your stomach dropped. You followed him silently into an empty consult room, pulse roaring in your ears. The second the door shut, Robby exhaled harshly and rubbed a hand over his face.
“What is happening with you lately?”
The question cracked something open in your chest. But you crossed your arms anyway.
“I’m fine.”
“That’s bullshit. The whole department knows it.”
You flinched.
Robby’s expression softened slightly, though his voice stayed firm.
“I know stress when I see it. I know overload. But whatever just happened out there?” He shook his head. “That cannot happen again.”
Your throat burned.
“She thinks I’m crazy.”
“I don’t think that’s what Dr. Santos thinks.”
“You didn’t hear her.”
“I heard enough.”
You looked away immediately, blinking too fast. Robby watched you carefully for a long moment before speaking again.
“You both hit below the belt.” His voice gentled slightly. “But I don’t think either of you actually wanted to hurt the other.”
That was the worst part. Because he was right and somewhere out in the ER Trinity was probably just as angry and embarrassed and as wounded as you were.
Which made the ache in your chest feel unbearable.
⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆
Avoiding Trinity became almost embarrassingly easy once you started trying. You rerouted yourself through different hallways. Timed your charting around hers. Volunteered for tasks on opposite ends of the ER if you heard she was already somewhere. If she walked into the break room, you suddenly remembered you needed to be literally anywhere else. It was pathetic, you knew it was pathetic. But confrontation sat in your chest like a live grenade.
Growing up, arguments hadn’t ended. They’d just…stopped being discussed. Your parents screamed, you cried, everyone pretended nothing happened the next morning. No apologies. No repair. No soft conversations after sharp words.
Just silence stretched over wounds until they were scarred and crooked. So your brain learned one thing very well; distance equals safety. If you disappeared long enough, maybe Trinity would stop being angry. Maybe she’d forget or maybe the shame crawling under your skin would quiet down.
Instead it only got worse.
Because every time you caught a glimpse of her across the department your stomach twisted painfully and Trinity noticed. She noticed when you switched assignments with Victoria without explanation. Noticed when you cut conversations short the second she approached. Noticed how your shoulders visibly stiffened anytime her voice got too close.
At first she looked irritated. Then confused. Then hurt. That last one nearly killed you. By the fourth shift of this, everyone else could feel it too. Cassie glanced between the two of you constantly like she was waiting for another explosion. Mel looked deeply uncomfortable every time you and Trinity ended up in the same room.
Still, you avoided her. Because what were you supposed to do? Walk up and say sorry? The idea made your chest seize. Sorry meant vulnerability. Sorry meant admitting fault. Sorry meant giving someone the chance to reject you after you handed them your softest parts. Your brain would genuinely rather chew glass. So you kept running. Until Trinity cornered you anyway.
⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆
It happened in the supply closet near the ambulance bay.
You’d slipped in there looking for saline flushes and nearly dropped the box in your hands when the door shut behind you. Your heart immediately jumped into your throat.
“Seriously?” Trinity said.
You stared very hard at the shelves instead of her face. “Need something?”
“Yeah.” Her voice was sharp, frustrated. “An explanation would be nice.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Bullshit.”
You flinched slightly. That only seemed to frustrate her more.
“For days,” she said, “you won’t look at me. You leave rooms when I walk in. You act like I fucking hit you or something.”
You swallowed hard. “I’m just busy.”
“No, you’re avoiding me.”
Silence. Because denying it now would’ve been ridiculous. Trinity stared at you for a long moment before her voice dropped slightly.
“Did I hurt you that badly?”
The question cracked straight through your ribs. Immediately your defenses shot up.
“No.”
“Then what is this?”
You opened your mouth. Nothing came out. Because the real answer was humiliating.
I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to exist after conflict. I don’t know how to trust people to stay after anger. Instead you looked down at the box in your hands and muttered,
“Can we just not do this right now?”
Trinity let out a disbelieving laugh.
“That’s the problem,” she said. “You never wanna do this.”
Your throat tightened painfully. She stepped closer.
“You blow up,” she said quietly, “and then you disappear like if you wait long enough everything’ll reset itself.”
Your eyes burned immediately. Because yes, that was exactly what you did.
“I grew up differently than you, okay?” you snapped suddenly, defensive because you felt too exposed. “Not everybody had healthy fucking communication.”
The second the words left your mouth you wanted them back. Trinity’s face softened instantly and somehow that felt worse.
“Oh.”
That quiet little oh nearly shattered you.
“Forget I said that.” Your voice cracked immediately as you backed into the shelves. “Don’t think about it. I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”
You weren’t fine. You slid down the metal shelving hard enough to rattle supplies, hands flying to your ears as panic flooded your system all at once.
Too exposed.
Too vulnerable.
Too seen.
Heat crawled up your neck while your thoughts spiraled violently.
Stupid stupid stupid—
Why would you say that out loud?
Why would you let someone know that?
Now she knew.
Now she knew something was wrong with you.
Your breathing turned uneven.
“Nope,” you muttered shakily. “Nope, forget it. Forget I said anything.”
You were spiraling into a full on meltdown at work over this.
Trinity’s expression shifted immediately from frustration to concern.
“Hey…”
“I’m fine,” you said too fast.
Your left hand dropped from your ear to your chest, fingers striking hard against your sternum in uneven thumps. Not enough to injure. Just enough pressure to cut through the static screaming under your skin.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Your body rocked forward slightly with each breath. You needed to get it out. You skin felt like it was crawling. You wanted to scream and yell and move your whole body because your body felt wrong. Like someone taking sandpaper to it.
Trinity crouched instinctively before stopping herself halfway, clearly trying not to overwhelm you further.
“Okay,” she said carefully. “Okay. I’m not gonna push.”
You shook your head hard anyway.
“You shouldn’t know that,” you whispered.
Trinity frowned. “Know what?”
“That my parents,” Your voice broke sharply. “that they fucked me up.”
The words echoed ugly in the tiny room.
You immediately hit your chest harder.
Like punishment.
“Hey.” Trinity’s voice sharpened slightly. “Don’t do that.”
Your eyes darted to hers instantly, panicked.
“I’m not hurting myself.”
“I know.” Her tone softened again immediately. “I know you’re not.”
Your breathing still wouldn’t slow. God, this was humiliating. You were a grown adult sitting on a supply closet floor trying not to crawl out of your own skin because someone reacted kindly to you.
Tears burned hot behind your eyes.
“I shouldn’t have said anything,” you whispered again and again. Trying to regulate.
Trinity stayed where she was, giving you space.
“You know what I heard?” she asked quietly.
You shook your head against your knees.
“I heard somebody who didn’t get taught how to feel safe after conflict.”
Fresh tears slipped free immediately. Because when she said it like that it sounded…sad.
You hit your chest again, smaller this time.
Trinity noticed your rhythm changing.
“Can I ask you something?”
You shrugged weakly.
“When you avoid people after arguments…” she said carefully, “are you trying to punish them or protect yourself?”
The answer came instantly.
“Protect.”
Barely audible.
Trinity nodded slowly like that confirmed something for her.
“Okay.”
You hated how gentle she sounded right now. It made your chest ache worse.
“I always think people are gonna leave,” you admitted suddenly, words spilling out before you could stop them. “Or hate me. Or decide I’m too much.” Your breathing shook again. “So if I disappear first then maybe it hurts less.”
Trinity’s face crumpled a little at that and that made panic flare again.
“No, don’t look at me like that,” you said quickly, voice rising. “I’m not asking for pity.”
“I know you’re not.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
Your fingers twitched hard against your chest again.
Your scrub top felt like too much with your shirt underneath so you pulled it off over your head. Throwing it on the ground and switched from your left hand to your right. Now tapping over your heart. It felt better now that your scrub top wasn’t on. Though your skin felt a little crawly still.
Trinity watched for a second before slowly sitting on the floor across from you instead of standing over you.
“You wanna know something?” she asked softly.
You didn’t answer, but she continued anyway.
“When you yelled at me out there?” She glanced down briefly. “Yeah, it hurt my feelings.”
Shame flooded you instantly.
“But this?” Her eyes met yours again. “This hurts way worse. I didn’t want you to end up like this over a misunderstanding.”
“This is just who I am…some of it is from my parents…but I’m…I’m autistic and I’ve got other things going on too…,” you whispered.
Trinity leaned back against the opposite shelf with a quiet sigh.
“Good thing I don’t mind that one bit.”
A shaky laugh escaped you accidentally. It was tiny and Broken, but it was real.
Trinity smiled just a little when she heard it.
“There she is,” she murmured gently. “Thought I lost you for a second.”
Trinity let you continue to stim.
She just stayed there on the floor across from you while your breathing slowly untangled itself from panic.
At some point there was movement outside the supply closet door.
“Have either of you seen Santos or Y/L/N?”
Trinity didn’t even look away from you.
“Nope.” Someone else called back.
“Well if you see either of them Robby is looking for them.”
There was enough finality in her look as the footsteps retreated.
They could wait.
You were still curled against the shelves, one hand twitching against your sternum occasionally, though the hits had softened into absent little taps now instead of desperate impacts.
Trinity watched your breathing for another second before speaking again.
“Hey.”
You glanced up tiredly.
“Five things you can see right now. Go.”
You blinked at her.
“What?”
“Humor me.”
Still confused, you looked around the cramped closet.
“The saline boxes.” Your voice sounded rough. “Your shoes. My jacket. The stupid flickering light.” You swallowed. “And…the pink highlighter on the floor.”
“Good.” Trinity nodded once. “Four things you can touch.”
You looked down.
“The floor.” Your fingers brushed against it. “My scrub pants. My jacket.” A shaky breath. “And…this box.”
“Good job.” Her voice stayed calm and steady. “Three things you can hear.”
“The nurses station outside.”
“Mhmm.”
“A monitor alarm.”
“And?”
You focused harder.
“…your breathing.”
Something softened in Trinity’s face at that.
“Doing great,” she murmured. “Two things you can smell.”
You inhaled slowly for the first time in what felt like forever.
“Antiseptic.”
Trinity smiled faintly. “Yeah.”
“And sanitizer.”
“Good.”
Your body felt strange now.
Heavy and warm. Like the panic had burned through itself and left exhaustion behind. Trinity tilted her head slightly.
“And one thing you can taste.”
You frowned a little.
“I can’t taste anything right now.”
“I have something.”
Your brow furrowed immediately. “What?”
She leaned forward before you could overthink it. The kiss was soft. Gentle enough that you could’ve pulled away if you wanted to. You didn’t. God you really didn't. Your breath caught instead. Trinity tasted like mint gum and berry energy drinks and something distinctly her underneath both. Warm and safe. The kiss only lasted a few seconds before she pulled back slowly. Just enough space for you to stare at her in stunned silence.
“…Oh.”
It was all you could manage.
A faint blush crept over Trinity’s cheeks then, though she tried to hide it behind a tiny shrug.
“There,” she said quietly. “Now you can taste something.”
Your brain completely stopped functioning. The panic that had consumed you minutes ago was suddenly replaced by something equally overwhelming in an entirely different direction.
Your heartbeat started climbing all over again, but not sharp like before. Different. Dizzy and fluttering and terrifying in its own way.
“Why would you do that?” you whispered.
For the first time since cornering you in the closet, Trinity looked nervous.
“You really wanna ask that after the way I’ve been looking at you for months?”
Your stomach flipped violently.
Months?
Months?
You opened your mouth.
Nothing came out.
Trinity huffed a quiet laugh through her nose and rubbed the back of her neck.
“Wow,” she muttered. “Okay. Maybe I overestimated your ability to read flirting.”
“I thought you just…worried about me.”
“I do worry about you.”
The softness in her voice made your chest ache.
“But that’s not all it is.”
You stared at her, overwhelmed all over again.
“You picked now to tell me this?” you asked weakly.
Trinity snorted softly.
“To be fair, kissing you wasn’t exactly planned.” A small pause. “You looked like you were about to crawl out of your own skin and my brain short-circuited.”
Despite everything, a startled laugh escaped you.
Tiny.
Real.
Trinity smiled immediately when she heard it.
And God.
That might’ve been even more dangerous than the kiss.
“I don’t expect it this time,” Trinity said softly as she pushed herself to her feet, “but in the future we’re gonna work on the I’m sorry’s, okay?”
The words should’ve made shame flare again.
Instead they settled somewhere warm in your chest. Like she genuinely believed you could learn. Trinity held her hand out toward you. For a second you only stared at it. Nobody had ever really taught you what came after conflict. There was never a hand waiting for you afterward. Never softness after raised voices. Usually there was just distance. Coldness. Pretending nothing happened. Slowly, you reached up and took her hand. Trinity’s grip tightened immediately, steady and warm as she pulled you carefully to your feet.
The second you were standing she tugged you gently forward into her arms. You froze. Not because you didn’t want it. Because you did. Your forehead bumped lightly against her shoulder as her arms wrapped around you securely, grounding you in a way your spiraling brain desperately needed.
“No disappearing next time,” she murmured against your hair.
Your throat tightened.
“I’ll try.”
“That’s all I’m asking.”
You felt her shift slightly before one of her hands took yours and moved to tug lightly on the sleeve of her scrub top.
“If you ever need grounding,” she said quietly, “just grab my scrubs.”
Another little tug at her sleeve.
“Here.”
Then she guided your hand lower toward the hem of her top.
“Or here.”
Your fingers curled instinctively into the fabric.
Soft cotton.
Warm from her body.
Real.
Your breathing steadied even further. Trinity glanced down at your hand still clutching her shirt and smiled just a little.
“See?” she murmured. “I’m still here.”
Something fragile inside you ached at that. You nodded against her shoulder because your voice suddenly didn’t work right. After a second you managed quietly,
“Thank you, Trinity.”
The hug tightened briefly.
And for the first timein your entire life after a fight, the aftermath didn’t feel like abandonment.
She tells him everything is fine and essentially to fuck off, yet doesn't take her eyes off him for a second as he's walking away. She wanted him to stay so bad, and he did, in the moment she was slipping and needed someone most. The moment he sticks around, she allows herself a second of vulnerability in such a stressful shift. He affirms and comforts her, something she hasn't been able to get a lot of today. Their dynamic is genuinely so everything to me I can't :'(((
