Trinity Santos, who has already lost the most important person to the world to her, who had been one half of a duo, who had her person for 15 years until one day she was gone and there was no where on Earth that she could ever reach her again.
Trinity, at fifteen, deciding that she will never let someone in the way she let Gracie in again. She would never let herself be hurt in the same way.
Trinity knowing that she had missed every single sign there was and dedicating herself to never miss a sign again for anyone who happened to find their way into her two sizes too big small heart. Trinity knowing she’d never let something, someone go unreported again.
Trinity getting close to Baran after she goes back to the VA when Robby returns from his sabbatical. It starts with just a couple of texts and then a coffee meet up to discuss a fellowship that Trinity has been thinking about.
Baran, who manages to be one of the few to make it past the barriers she build brick by brick outside her heart, just by reaching out, by being there. And it turns into a coffee date or two. Then a dinner date where Trinity kisses Baran first.
It becomes Trinity and Baran after a few weeks, a combination that makes her brain try to remind her of the promise she made at fifteen.
(She doesn’t listen. Her heart has always overruled it in the end, anyways, just look at Dennis.)
Except, sometimes later Trinity has started to notice sometimes Baran will stare off into space after a long night. She doesn’t quite know how to bring it up, only that she has to bring it up.
Now that she’s seen it, she can’t unsee.
It’s Baran who finally notices Trinity watching her all the time when they are together. She will be watching the TV and Trinity will be watching her. They go to new year’s fireworks and Trinity doesn’t look up at them once. (Nobody has ever noticed before, why would Trinity be the first?)
Baran finally confronting her with it and Trinity confessing what she’s noticed with her hands twisting in her lap, fear in her throat. Baran, going quiet for too long, long enough that Trinity’s chest starts to squeeze in a familiar way that has her thinking please no.
Baran explains to her about her seizures, about the risks, and how they have been getting worse. She’s been in contact with her neurologist and they want to do more testing.
Trinity stays silent as Baran continues to fill the air that seems to be unable to sustain enough oxygen for her to breath, let alone think.
Baran starts getting tears in her eyes and begs Trinity to say something.
Trinity standing and hugging Baran, while she cries, saying don’t cry, I’ll be here. This doesn’t mean anything for us. It’s alright, when is your appointment?
Now, each night they spend together, Trinity spends with her fingers pressed against Baran’s pulse. Sometimes her wrist, sometimes her neck while she sleeps next to her, unknowing of the twisting deep inside of Trinity’s chest.
And all Trinity can think is this is why she never wanted to be part of a duo again. She doesn’t think she could survive this again.
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autistic baran hcs cont. (this time featuring barantos)
part 1
wanted to talk about baran's autism and barantos since i hate the stigma about autistic people not being able to be in relationships--neurodivergent people are wonderful partners!!
Trinity picks up on it first. Before her relationship with Baran, she was somewhat in tune with her mental health--she knew she was hurting, she knew she had unhealthy coping mechanisms, she just didn't have the time or the motivation to do anything about it. After meeting Baran, Trinity begins to take her mental health more seriously, going to therapy at the older doctor's request. She found out she had adhd, a neurodivergence rather than a mental illness, but found that she was more stable when she could control her dopamine seeking. Medication and therapy meant less sh urges, less endorphin seeking, less rejection sensitivity--she's becoming more stable by the day.
Baran, coming from an older generation, isn't as in touch with her own neurological patterns. Med school does teach about autism, but it is usually based around studies on young, white, autistic men, and Baran didn't recognize herself in the diagnosis. She was odd, sure, but she summed that up to a lack of proper social interaction as a child due to prolonged, frequent trips to the hospitals.
When Trinity started working in Pediatric Emergency medicine, she interacted with neurodivergent children on the regular. They were more prone to accidents (spatial awareness issues), issues with authority and oppositional defiance disorder, and particularly autistic children had trouble articulating when they were hurting or feeling sick.
Trinity had a case one morning working with an autistic teenager and her mom. The girl had sickle cell and was so focused on the comics she was drawing that she hadn't realized she was approaching crisis. Once they had her intubated and stable Trinity started talking to her mother about how to avoid something like this in the future. The mother was apologetic, promises to check up more and make sure her daughter begins some sort of therapy or class to help her understand her body. It turns out that the girl was newly diagnosed with autism, she had tested negative as a younger child but struggled with making friends, maintaining nutrition, and the first time she had a sickle cell crisis she hadn't been able to tell her parents she was in pain. However, the girl was so so talented at art--the mother had proudly shown off some of her daughter's art on her phone and even taped up a few paintings next to the bed so she would wake up to some familiar sights. It took them forever to get her diagnosed--places were just not able to reliably diagnose girls with autism, and it kept them from getting her accommodations for years.
The pieces began to fall into place for Trinity. She remembers how just last night, Baran had almost passed out. She had come straight home from work and went to her study, to continue writing a new patient-support program for those with speech impediments. When Trinity had come home a few hours after, having a meeting with her residency advisor, she walked into Baran's study to see her hunched over her computer, furiously writing. Trinity had asked her about dinner, to which Baran had responded that she wasn't hungry. Trinity KNEW it had been at least 8 hours since the attending had had lunch, if she had even taken it. When she finally got Baran to stand up, the older doctor had basically collapsed in Trinity's arms, her blood sugar was so low. And she claimed she had felt nothing at all. The lack of bodily awareness, the intense focus on her tasks, the way that Baran would sometimes ask Trinity to interpret social situations for her...Baran was probably neurodivergent.
Trinity doesn't bring it up all at once. But she secretly does research on how to best support a partner with autism.
Dont mind me, this is the equivalent of me playing with dolls (all my minor/background/underappreciated faves) and indulging in the idea of Goth/Alt Samira and tattooed Emery.
Based on this
Mowalsh with a crumb of Mellis and a little something for everyone except maybe robbie fans sorry not sorry
Dark Pit Tattoo and Piercings owned by resident piercer Jesse Van Horn. He started out working there when it was owned by a guy who eventually wanted to sell up to go riding off into the sunset. Jesse's beloved grandmother had recently passed leaving an unexpected inheritance that combined with careful saving and several side hustles (before anyone called it a side hustle) he was able buy the dude out. There’s a coffee shop across the street that only serves the strong shit and is home of the best cinnamon buns around. Owner Jon Shen knows the order for all the staff from the tattoo shop and has it ready before Joy's even crossed the road.
Tattoo artist Emery Walsh specialises in neo traditional work. The first tattoos she remembers seeing belonged to her dad and grandfather who were navy vets. She followed in their footsteps but before her first deployment she suffered an event that left her disillusioned and she quit. Art was her solace and after lot of soul searching, she worked her ass off to get to where she is now with the reputation and client base she has. One of the first people Emery tattooed was her dad. Their relationship had suffered when she left the navy and the little bird on his arm felt like a sign things had healed. She has a matching bird on her wrist. Her other arm is a full sleeve that she calls her most prized possession.
Goth/Alt Samira Mohan works in a biomed research lab and is completing a PhD. She's crazy smart, her research is focused on heart conditions. She only came to her current aesthetic in her early 20s as a rejection of all expectations herself and her mother had placed on her and embracing the sense of freedom that came from college. Jesse pierced her septum and she's been a frequent customer since. One of her first tattoos was a tribute to her dad.
Parker Ellis who specialises in black work. She’s done most of Samira’s tattoos. Parker does the coffee run on Friday afternoons. Which is conveniently when that cute blonde-haired girl and her sister have their weekly cinnamon bun at Shen's.
Donnie Donahue is master of script and fine details. He jokes folks don’t trust him because he has hardly any ink of his own. One of the first people he tattooed was Jesse. Everyone helped paint and build the nursery for his baby, so the kid has the most beautifully decorated walls.
Shop apprentice Trinity Santos loves strange, unusual and whimsy designs. Think part plant part animal creatures, frogs with fairy wings, subtle Twilight references because she never grew out that phase (Jesse is a fellow unironic twihard and everyone hates when they get started on the topic.) She has a mysterious older gf nobody's met yet but everyone assumes must be a sugar mommy cause Trinity doesn't have another job and no way is she living off apprentice rates.
Joy Kwon works reception while she’s studying anatomy. Emery likes using her textbooks as inspo. Joy runs the shops socials which she kind of hates doing but gives her a good excuse to be scrolling. Her and trinity have playlists for each day of the week which are all very heavy on MCR. Jesse and Emery call it "kiddy shit."
Emery is the only person in the shop who hasn’t had Samira as a customer but she knows who she is from visiting the shop. They run into each other a lot at Shen’s. Joy can see across the street from her desk and whenever she sees Samira arriving suggests Emery goes and grabs caffeine between clients. Shen keeps Samira talking until Emery arrives. Samira’s favourite spot when she's sitting in is at a high stool at the window overlooking the street. It has nothing to do with occasionally seeing Emery hanging on the shop steps or having a smoke with Jesse. Absolutely not! It’s just the natural light is perfect for reading her latest lesbian vampire fic in.
Most of the first piercings Jesse acquired involved his moms sewing needle and an ice cube. Emery had been working at the shop before he took over as owner, and he was always a little afraid of her. He was relieved when she said she wasn’t planning on going anywhere regardless of who took over. He’s very adamant that the shop is a safe space, has strict no arseholes policy.
Emery's a nerd and always asks Samira's what she’s been working on. She has a running joke that Samira is an evil scientist and asks if today’s the day she’s going to destroy the city. Samira always laughs along and tells her how disappointed she'd be if she knew how boring most days are.
Emery is mesmerised by Samiras eye liner because it’s always so precise and neat so has decided Mira must have steady skilled hands. Samira slays black lipstick and somehow manages never to get it all over her coffee cup.
Emery bites the bullet and asks Samira out when she comes to the shops Valentine’s Flash Day and mentions to Parker she doesn’t have any plans for the night.
Emery doesn’t tattoo Samira until a year after they’ve been dating. Samira falls in love with a large-scale flower that Emery had drawn secretly with Samira in mind. Emery does it after the shop shuts for the night. Before they leave everyone teases and lectures her that fucking in the studio is not sanitary (‘Thanks Santos I had no idea. Please teach more, wise master.) Emery is so hyper vigilante about Samiras aftercare and healing and Samiras like “Babe I’ve done this before, chill.”
Random Titbits
Emery’s face when she discovers Mira’s nipple piercings
Jesse hosts shop movie nights at his. Him or Trinity insist on at least one twilight film every other month. Everyone is Team Alice.
Victoria who gets pierced with Cassie holding her hand.
Jack visits Shen's for a daily espresso. Shen calls him Action Man.
Dana still does the shop's accounts despite saying she's not going to any more and its time Jesse did it himself.
Dennis is only mildly afraid of the place. He has a reoccurring nightmare Trinity tattoos Huckleberry on his forehead while he sleeps.
they're a vampire triad in the city who run a combination bookshop and cafe that serves the supernatural public. they're all hot, gothic, and dramatic.
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or- trinity who, one summer, decides on a whim to get buff without telling anybody. you know, just to see what will happen.
at first, baran doesn’t really notice. trinity isn’t trying to be particularly slick about it, but she isn’t broadcasting it either. she goes, she returns to her apartment, she showers, and then she goes to baran’s to have dinner with her, or watch a movie.
and then something changes.
it’s late on a friday night, and omid is at his dad’s so they have baran’s whole house to themselves. they’re leaning against the counter, eating grocery store ice cream and talking about the week they’ve had, and trinity presses a palm into the counter and leans back. what does baran see? trinity’s tricep ripples outward, and suddenly baran gets a little bit dizzy.
as soon as she’s recognized it in that one little spot, she sees it everywhere. the extra bulk on her shoulders, the way her back is a little bit broader, muscle laid a little bit thicker on her forearms. have you bee working out?
huh? oh, yeah, just a little. why, like what you see?
baran snatches trinity’s ice cream bowl away, deaf to her complaints, and presses trinity’s open hands over her hips instead. yes, i do. pick me up.
why?
what, you can’t do it?
trinity groans, wraps an arm under baran’s ass and lifts until she’s in the air, face hovering above trinity’s instead of right in front of it.
from there, it’s a race to get her tongue down trinity’s throat. she’s just gotten her nails done, but she doesn’t mind the risk of ruining the set if it means she can scrape her nails over trinity’s arms as her free hand (trinity is holding her in one arm???) wraps around baran’s waist, encouraging her to rock into the abs that have now materialized on her body, through her shirt.
it’s not like she didn’t find trinity unbelievably attractive before, but having something hard to drag her clit against over and over isn’t something she’s ever going to complain about, especially not with how trinity is forcing an arch into her back. baran should feel a little unstable, this high up in someone’s arms. she doesn’t.
trinity sets her down on the counter, smoothing her hands over the tops of baran’s thighs and occasionally over her clothed mound, inviting her to rock her hips up. there are no wasted opportunities, though. baran tugs a confused trinity’s arm up, up, and into her mouth, and digs her canines in while trinity presses two fingers inside elsewhere.
she stays biting until she comes.
(the next day, trinity’s gym bro asks her about the ring of teeth marks on her bicep.)
I have...hit a writer's block wall. so I did a little thing. plus, i need to learn to write more fluff.
shout-out to @dietcoke-and-daisies for their amazing emery hcs and encouraging me to toss a couple <3
The first thing Samira notes as she steps instead and nudges her shoes off is how good the house smells.
Emery had been more or less forced into taking vacation, (something something, costing the hospital money, something something, she hadn't paid attention to Gloria ranting, she was too busy trying to not give into the urge to strangle her after telling Miller she had no choice but to use her vacation days.) and she'd needed to find ways to kill the time. One way, she discovered, was baking.
"It has taken me two days, but I think I have discovered a new way to feed my croissant addiction." Emery announces as Samira enters the kitchen. Their orange tabby, Otter, weaves around Samira's leg, meowing in displeasure at not being noticed.
Samira grins a teasing grin. "Oh good, I thought we were going to have to take stocks from the local bakery." She gives Emery a kiss before leaning down to scoop the cat into her arms. "And what is the matter, good sir?"
The meowing instantly stops, exchanged for purrs and soft headbutts. Samira grins, snuggling into him. Like a chain reaction, Emery smiles at Samira's smile.
"He actually had his turn with the brain cell today." Emery snorts.
"You did?! And Mommy missed it?!" Samira peppers the cat's head with kisses. "This needs to stop happening when I work."
"Don't give him too much credit. It was gone as fast as it came." Emery leans over to kiss Samira again. "How was work?"
"Long. Very long. I am very much looking forward to having the next 36 hours off with you." A meow of protest. "Both of you." Samira chuckles.
"Here, give me the boy, go get cleaned up. By the time you're done, warm and fluffy croissants will be ready for us to enjoy, along with dinner and some much needed quality time."
---
Emery's setting up the coffee table with the takeout she'd ordered when Samira descends the stairs, hair still damp at the ends. There's a semi-forgotten documentary playing on the TV, Emery not paying full attention but still getting pulled in and distracted at some parts. Otter lounges on the back of the couch, watching her intently.
"Why am I not surprised you've spent your off day watching your sharks and making croissants?" Samira hums, pulling Emery into a hug from behind.
"I am a simple woman. I love my cat, my wife, sharks, and croissants." Emery shrugs. "I couldn't have all four today, so I settled for three." There's a meow of protest at 'settled' and a soft thud as Otter trips from the back of the couch, landing on the floor. The next meow is an indignant one. Emery and Samira break out into laughter.
McVadi doing a "really good job" keeping their relationship a secret (Princess and Perlah pretty much know...) but then mid-trauma without thinking Victoria gently tugs on Cassie's chain to urgently redirect her out of Garcia or Walsh's way-
and everyone in the room almost forgets a man is bleeding out for a heavy second. Everyone except Cassie, who's used to being on a bit of a (mostly metaphorical, definitely playful) leash when the two of them are at home.
She literally just nods her thanks, Victoria drops her necklace, and they continue suctioning (Vic) and holding pressure (Cass) with every available eye burning into the back of their heads.
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thinking about samira watching dcom’s growing up. maybe being around the ages of 10-14 when high school musical, camp rock, and the cheetah girls first came out. she was probably a little too old for disney by the time lemonade mouth and teen beach movie came out, but cheesy disney movies were a source of comfort for her.
fast forward to today, and samira is showing emery the classics. obviously emery knows what high school musical is, but she’s never seen the wizards of waverly place movie. emery cannot stand the acting in radio rebel, but she learns that samira knows all the words to the soundtrack of let it shine (and looks adorable trying to quietly sing along).
emery ends up falling in love with samira’s love for dcom’s, she even splurges on buying hannah montana deadstock from ebay. (samira uses her hannah montana themed stationary all the time now, no she does not care how childish it seems anymore)
- 💫
hey anon! thanks for the ask! this is kinda short but i hope you enjoy. :)
“I’m Radio Rebel.” Emery mimicked for the fortieth time since they’d finished the movie.
“I never should have shown you that movie.” Samira groaned from the end of the couch. “You hated it.”
Emery snorted from the other end. “I didn’t hate it. I just thought the acting was shitty and insufferable.”
Samira frowned. “So you hated it.”
“…Maybe.”
Samira sniffed. “God forbid I want to show my wife dcoms, a massive part of my childhood. Whatever.”
Emery froze. She suddenly looked much more sincere. “No. I’m really glad you’re showing them to me. I like a lot of them.”
“Just not this one.”
Emery nodded. “Yeah.” She paused. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m kind of obsessed with you. I want to know everything about you and why you’re you and everything.”
She scooted over and tucked a piece of Samira’s hair behind her ear. “Besides,” she glanced at Samira’s swelling belly. “Now I know what to show her.”
Samira giggled. Her wife being soft was her favorite thing, and her being pregnant had opened a whole new layer of it.
“I can’t wait to name her Debby Ryan.”
Emery flopped back on the couch with a groan. “No.”
(Emery buys her Hannah Montana stationary for her birthday and even confesses that she loved Lemonade Mouth. Samira decides that she’ll get to her level of love eventually.)
summary: during a night shift on her 30th birthday, samira decides to shoot her shot and ask emery out.
wc: 5.7k
(title from 'tiny things' by tiny habits) (playlist linked here)
In general, Samira hated her birthday. Not for the usual I hate aging bullshit, but because it had become a reminder of how lonely she was, of how pathetic and boring she’d become after high school.
So here she was, working a night shift instead of partying like a normal person. She’d officially been 30 for three hours now, and had celebrated with an acute case of constipation that had ended up needing surgery. Dr Walsh had come down, barely gracing Samira with a cursory look before sweeping back upstairs with the patient, refusing to linger in typical surgeon fashion.
Which was fine, obviously. Samira could be a big girl and ignore her likely unrequited crush on the surgeon, a woman so incredibly out of her league who also happened to be nearly a decade older than her.
She definitely wasn’t pacing outside of an OR on her break – coincidentally around the time the surgery was supposed to end – to catch Dr Walsh for an update. And if she was, it definitely wasn't because she wanted the surgeon to acknowledge her, like some puppy that needed constant attention.
She counts her steps as she paces, beats of four then pivoting and restarting. One, two, three, four. Pivot. One, two, three –
“Dr Mohan.” Walsh’s voice interrupts her rhythm, stern in the way that sends a delicious chill up her spine. When Samira turns, Walsh's piercing brown eyes are fixed on her expectantly, one dark eyebrow raised in silent question.
“I was just wondering how it went?” Samira says, more question than statement, and she knows Walsh hears it too with how her mouth twitches just slightly.
Walsh hums unconvincingly, continuing past Samira and giving her no choice but to follow. They're halfway down the hall before she speaks again. “You could have paged me, or waited until I came back down.” The silent why sits heavy and unsaid, lingering between them.
Walsh’s face does something new when Samira doesn't respond, corners of her mouth tipping up into what may be the closest she’s come to smiling. “If you wanted to see me you could’ve just said so, Dr Mohan.”
Her words carry a teasing edge, but there’s something slightly vulnerable behind them, something honest.
“Well, I -” Samira says weakly, catching the amusement on Walsh’s face and fighting to find her words again. “I wanted to know.”
Walsh simply hums again, and something in Samira snaps at the feigned nonchalance. So what if she actually had wanted to see Walsh? It was her birthday, damn it. She was 30 and had barely lived. God forbid she go after something she wanted for once, despite the roundabout way she was doing it.
It felt like they’d been dancing around whatever this invisible thing between them was forever, exchanging smiles when they crossed paths and doing nothing more. It was frustrating to have something so within your grasp but not be able to grab onto it out of fear of rejection.
“What?” she snaps before she can think. She stops walking, and against her better judgment, reaches out to grab the sleeve of Walsh’s UPenn quarter zip, forcing her to stop. Samira’s skin itches at feeling so exposed, like she’s been sliced straight down the middle of her ribs.
Walsh stills under her grip, pivoting slowly to focus on Samira, head cocked as she waits.
Samira falters, confidence slowly leaking out of her in a hiss of air as she meets Walsh's gaze and loses any thoughts that had previously resided in her brain. She drops the sleeve she’d loosely curled her fingers around, taking a step back even as Walsh's eyes search her own, looking at her with an expression that’s both unreadable and painfully open.
“Sorry,” Samira mumbles, dropping her head and walking towards the elevator, barely making it a few feet before Walsh's voice stops her.
“Mohan, wait.”
When Samira turns, there’s something like guilt on Walsh’s face as she closes the space between them. A hand lifts as if to touch Samira, hovering midair for a few seconds before dropping back to her side.
“I’m sorry,” Walsh says quietly. “I know…” she trails off, shaking her head slightly as if to dislodge something. “I’m sorry.”
Samira nods sharply, wrapping her arms around herself. “Yeah.”
Walsh echoes the movement, taking a step back. “Right, uh, you should get back downstairs.”
Samira turns back towards the elevators, the image of Walsh's face still burned into her eyelids. There had been guilt and something that looked oddly enough like wanting, if you could even call it that.
She’s standing at the hub with Parker and Shen at 6 am, counting down the minutes until the end of shift. They’d somehow heard — from where and who, she has no idea — that it was her birthday, and were now grilling her about her plans for the day. Unfortunately, she was off for the next two days, so she couldn’t even make up excuses about being too tired after a shift.
“C’mon, you only turn 30 once,” Parker says, leaning a hip against the desk where Samira's charting. She looks over at Shen, gesturing pointedly in Samira’s direction. “Right?”
“Yeah,” Shen says quickly, spinning on the stool next to Samira. “Yeah, go get drunk or whatever.”
Samira shoots them both an unimpressed look, fighting a smile despite herself. “When have you guys ever known me to go out?”
“True,” Parker concedes, tilting her head as she thinks. “Well, go… I don’t know, do something fun. Celebrate yourself.”
Shen snorts a laugh, pausing his spinning for a moment to catch his breath. “Celebrate your impending old age, maybe.”
“Mm, no,” Parker says, clicking her tongue. “Remind me who’s pushing 40, again?” She reaches over to high-five Samira, both of them wearing matching smirks.
Shen frowns at them, face brightening a second later. “Emery!” he calls, waving at someone over Samira’s shoulder.
Samira’s heart stops for a second. Of course Walsh would have to show up now, after their awkward run-in earlier. Of course Shen, of all people, would call her over as if the mere sight of her didn't send most people running.
She can feel Walsh’s presence behind her like a gust of cold air, something like panic shooting through as footsteps approach.
“That’s Dr Walsh to you,” Walsh snaps, her voice a tired rasp that sends an unfamiliar rush through Samira.
“Oh, fine, Dr Walsh,” Shen says, rolling his eyes teasingly. “Hey, did you know it’s Samira's birthday?”
Samira feels heat spread through her face at the attention, and she glares over at Shen. “You don’t have to -”
“Happy birthday,” Walsh says evenly, something marginally warm in her tone. But that was just Samira's mind playing tricks, right? Walsh was never warm, only ever sharp-edged and cutting. Even during whatever circles they’d been running around each other, she’d only ever received professional politeness from Walsh, with the exception of their interaction a few hours ago.
Walsh’s fingertips graze over Samira's shoulder, so fleeting and light it makes her doubt it was ever there. The contact – despite however brief it may have been – sends a jolt through Samira, catching her off guard considering the cause of it was Walsh.
Walsh, who had been apologetic earlier in the hallway when Samira had been upset at her, who was usually so brusque and snappy that people ducked out of her way, who never made physical contact but had done so now.
“Thank you,” Samira manages to get out, still feeling the phantom touch of Walsh's gentle fingers across her shoulder.
Walsh clears her throat. “Someone needed a consult?”
“Yeah, I did,” Parker says. “North 5.” She pushes off of where she’d been leaning against the desk, heading down the hallway. Samira watches Walsh disappear through the doors behind her, fighting a smile at how perfect her bun is even after almost an entire shift.
“You’re not subtle, y’know.”
She snaps her head sideways to look at Shen, sipping on his melted iced coffee like he’d just commented on the weather and hadn't just shaken Samira's world with his observation. “What?”
“You and Walsh," he clarifies, taking another long sip that makes Samira shudder at the mere sight of the sugary watered-down liquid. “Just ask her out, man. Quit eyeing each other like that.”
“I - that’s not - you-” Samira splutters, flushing slightly and unable to meet Shen’s eyes. “It’s not like that.”
Shen simply hums, unconvinced. “Right. But hey, just shoot your shot or whatever. I think you’ll be surprised.” With that mysterious piece of advice delivered, he rises from the stool, strolling off to check on another patient and leaving Samira sitting there, head spinning.
Maybe turning 30 was her sign to really and truly go after the things she’d always wanted, chase the things that seemed unattainable. Maybe Shen was right and Walsh would say yes, if her slightly abnormal behaviour today had been any indication.
She spins herself around on the stool, idly glancing around for Walsh and spotting her heading towards the elevator. Jumping to stand, she speedwalks over just as Walsh is about to press the button, standing next to her with barely any space between their shoulders.
“Hey.”
Walsh turns her head just the slightest, eyebrows rinsing in thinly veiled surprise. “Mohan. What's up?”
Samira inhales sharply, hands curling into fists at her sides. “I was -” she hesitates for a moment before turning to fully meet Walsh's curious gaze. “Wouldyouwannagetdinnersometime?” she says quickly, the worlds coming out squished together in her haste to just get them out.
Walsh blinks back at her, brow furrowed as she tries to make sense of the verbal vomit that Samira’s just released. “Sure,” she says finally, lips curling up slightly. “As friends, or…” the silent question hangs in the air between them, tossing the ball back in Samira's court.
“No,” Samira mumbles, nails digging into her palms. “No, not as friends.” She watches as Walsh's eyes light up with what appears to be joy, her smile turning softer and more gentle. “If that’s okay?” she adds hastily, already having visual confirmation but needing to hear it said out loud.
“Yeah,” Walsh breathes, the words barely audible but her unusually wide grin communicating enough to make Samira's fists loosen. “Completely okay.”
She holds a hand out in invitation and wraps her fingers around the curve of Samira's wrist when it lands in her grasp, tugging a pen out of her pocket and leaning over to scribble something along Samira's forearm in neat, blocky letters.
With a final swoop of the pen, she straightens, thumb sweeping over Samira's pulse point once before letting go. “Text me,” she says quietly, tucking the pen away and meeting Samira's eyes with steady sincerity. “We’ll coordinate schedules.”
Samira nods, watching Walsh lean forward to press the button again. Her heart pounds in her ears, the adrenaline from finally doing something that had seemed so scary coursing through her body. She feels oddly exhilarant, ready to run to the roof and scream the news from the rooftop.
When the elevator doors slide closed and Walsh disappears from view, she glances down at her arm. Her eyes trace over a phone number simply signed Emery, followed by a loopy heart. It makes her smile unabashedly at the concept of big bad surgeon Emery Walsh signing off with something so sweet. A shiver runs down her spine at the mental image of Emery’s steady fingers delicately curving letters onto her skin, at the lingering feel of cool fingers wrapped around her wrist to hold her still.
***
Samira practically floats home after the end of shift, collapsing into bed with her scrubs still on and rolling over onto her stomach like she’s twelve again. She pulls her phone out and carefully types the phone number in, fingers hovering over the keyboard anxiously.
Hey, it’s Samira Mohan, she types before deleting it. Of course Emery would know who it was, they’d had that conversation not even two hours ago. Fuck, this was exactly why she didn’t do this; there were so many unspoken rules to dating and relationships that it was easier to just avoid them altogether.
But she wanted this, had been the one to ask Emery out. She knows, rationally, that the ball is in her court and she can choose to not text, can just find Emery next shift and let her down gently. But that wasn’t what she wanted – she wanted to go out to dinner with Emery, wanted to hear her really and truly laugh in a way she never did at work. So she would be brave, even if it made her feel incredibly anxious and terrified.
Samira (7:45 AM)
hey emery, it’s samira :)
i’m off the next two days, do either of those work for you?
She forces herself to sit up and box-breathe in an attempt to slow her pounding heart, fingers clutching her phone in a death grip. A response comes through barely three minutes later, and she rushes to read it, nearly dropping her phone in the process.
Emery (7:48 AM)
Hi Samira
I’m supposed to work the next three nights, but would lunch work instead?
I’d like to see you sometime soon
The last text makes Samira's entire body light up with hope. It was straightforward and honest, exactly what she’d expect from Emery. And yet, it had her grinning at her phone like she wasn’t a fully grown adult who’d done the whole dating thing before, failure aside.
But maybe that was a good sign, that Emery filled her with glowing warmth and made her smile like that. She'd certainly never felt that way with anyone else; not that anyone else was Emery, but still.
Samira (7:52 AM)
lunch sounds good! tomorrow?
and i’d really like to see you too :)
Emery (8:00 AM)
For sure, does 1pm work?
And did you have a place in mind already?
Samira (11:13 AM)
shit i’m so sorry
fell asleep
i can find something later tonight?
Emery (1:34 PM)
Hey you’re all good, fell asleep myself
Don’t stress about finding something, we can totally figure it out together tomorrow
Also
Would it be okay if I picked you up?
Samira (1:59 PM)
sure yeah if you don't mind, i’ll pull together a few options anyways
and you don’t have to!! seriously, it’s fine
Emery (3:11 PM)
No pressure, of course
But I promise I want to
Samira (3:15 PM)
okay then
thanks!
ATTACHMENT: GOOGLE MAPS
Emery (3:44 PM)
No need to thank me
I’ll see you tomorrow, get some rest Samira
Samira (5:01 PM)
have a good shift, emery!
i’m excited to see you
Emery (5:02 PM)
Me too, pretty girl
Samira tosses her phone on the couch next to her, fighting the urge to squeal and giggle. Emery Walsh, for all her feigned hardness, was actually a softie underneath. Pretty girl, she’d called Samira. Two words that were so simple but held so much weight, carefully dropped by someone who rarely cracked and showed emotion. Except when it came to Samira, apparently.
For the first time in nearly a decade, she had a date with someone who made her feel what seemed to be every possible emotion, who was responsible and steady and cared enough to want to pick her up beforehand.
And she was excited, beyond giddy with anticipation but also sick with anxiety. What if Emery only liked the version of her she saw at work? What if it turned out that Samira really was either too much or not enough? What if it was awkward and it turned out there wasn’t actually anything between them?
Yes, she had a good feeling about this, but you couldn’t always trust your gut. That was the one thing she’d learned over the years, that people could disappoint you at any given time so there was no point in trusting them. But she wanted this to work, wanted to trust that Emery wouldn’t hurt her. And she had no reason not to, because if Emery Walsh was one thing, it was dependable. Consistent.
***
The next day, Samira’s pacing back and forth in the living room when a knock finally sounds at the door. It’s 12:45 pm, and as expected, Emery is here exactly when she said she’d be.
She glances over at the TV, using it as a makeshift mirror to smooth her hair – a messy bun to keep her hair off her neck in the early summer heat – back one last time, double checking her outfit before moving towards the door. She's dressed in a black tank tucked into a tiered white maxi skirt, a decorative gold belt loosely wrapped around her waist.
Emery stands on the other side, lips pressed together nervously but curving into a gentle smile when the door opens to reveal Samira. She holds a bouquet of flowers in one hand, the other tucked into the pocket of jeans that she’s paired with a white and black pinstriped shirt, sleeves rolled up to her elbows. It’s been left halfway unbuttoned, just the lacy hem of her black bra left visible, and Samira lets her eyes linger for a minute, only snapping back up when Emery clears her throat with a smirk.
“Hey, you.”
“Hi,” Samira manages, unable to once again pull her eyes away from the expanse of skin left exposed, trailing her gaze along the column of Emery's neck and over her collarbones.
Emery just stands there and watches, taking in the way Samira's staring at her with barely concealed hunger. It’s comforting to know that what she feels isn’t one-sided, that Samira wants her just as much as she wants Samira.
She allows herself the brief pleasure of looking back, greedily taking in the curve of Samira's bare shoulders, the pendant that dangles between her breasts on a dainty chain. She’s never been jealous of inanimate objects before, but now she finds herself wanting to be Samira’s clothes, to have the privilege of clinging to her smooth skin without a single barrier.
“Here,” she says finally, even though if it was up to her they’d have a lot longer to keep looking. She holds the bouquet out – daisies, because something told her roses were the wrong choice when it came to Samira. She deserved something beautiful and delicate, just like her.
Samira’s face lights up with pure, unfiltered joy and surprise, mouth stretching into a wide grin. “Oh,” she breathes. “Emery, you didn’t have to.”
Emery simply shrugs in response, biting her lip to contain the happiness that threatens to spill out of her. She knew hospitals were miserable and made people appear as such, but fuck, standing here now in front of a much happier and brighter version of Samira, she absolutely believes it.
“No big deal. I wanted to.”
Samira laughs softly at that, stepping closer and pressing her lips to Emery's cheek, a quick brush that’s there and gone within seconds. When she pulls back, she looks almost pleased, but her hands, fidgeting with the fabric of her skirt, betray her. “There’s a lot of things you want to do, huh?”
“For the right person, yeah.”
Samira just hums, unable to hide the wide grin stretching across her face. “Oh, shoot, come in,” she says, stepping back to let Emery in and heading for the kitchen. “Give me a second to put these in water.”
Emery trails behind her into the living room, pausing in the doorway to glance around. She expects it to be comfy and well-lived, but instead it’s sparse and bare. There’s nothing but the couch, a coffee table, and a TV sitting on a low cabinet. It feels dark and exhausting despite the sunlight coming through the large windows, and Emery finds herself desperately needing to get out.
She’d known Samira had a terrible work life balance, considering the way she was always pulling doubles, but she’d underestimated just how bad it was. Her apartment looked like she’d just moved in, instead of somewhere she’d likely lived for the entirety of residency. It was a stark contrast to her own, which she’d purposely furnished to look more welcoming and lived-in than it really was.
She walks over to the kitchen instead, where Samira’s filling a large glass vase with water at the sink.
“You look really nice, by the way.”
Samira freezes, water sloshing over the rim of the vase and onto her hands until she snaps back to life and turns the tap off. She dumps half the water out and places the flowers inside, racking her brain for the right response. It's like she’s gone offline, unable to come up with intelligible words at just the smallest compliment.
It’s been so long since someone’s said something like that to her – despite the simplicity of it – that it catches her completely off guard, frozen in place as the words bounce around inside her brain. She's so used to doubting the sincerity behind people’s words that she no longer knows how to differentiate genuine from fake; her brain doesn’t know what to do with Emery's words despite the fact that they’re meant with nothing but kindness and real awe.
With just a couple casual words, Emery has reduced her to a blank mess, something that deeply frustrates and confuses her. She's always prided herself on keeping her cool even when flustered, but this is an entirely different thing.
“Thank you,” she manages eventually, setting the vase on the counter and turning to face Emery. “You look nice, too.”
Emery dips her head to hide the flush spreading over her cheeks, cursing her Irish genetics. She was always so controlled and composed, but here she was, blushing like she was decades younger just because a pretty girl had said she looked nice. Clearing her throat, she jerks her head at the front door. “Ready to go?”
Samira nods, drying her hands off on a towel and following Emery. She slides her shoes on and lets Emery hold the door open for her, fighting the urge to protest against it. It’s sort of nice, letting someone do things for once, though it feels like she’s been rendered incapable.
After years of struggling alone and pretending she’s fine even when everything’s falling apart, the idea of having someone to hold her together sounds nice. She's always yearned for it, but she knows in reality that she'd have an incredibly hard time accepting it, to not actively push it away because losing her independence feels like losing every bit of control she’s ever fought for.
Emery’s hand lands on Samira's back as they approach the car, and she freezes for a second before melting into it. It remains there, steady and reassuring, as she climbs into the lifted car, ready to catch her if she falls.
Samira watches as Emery slides into the driver’s seat next to her, turning the engine on and then glancing over. “So, where are we going?”
“Oh!” Samira exclaims, twisting to pull her phone out of the pocket on her skirt. “Here, I’ll text you the address.”
Emery just smiles gently, fingers tapping on the wheel absently. “Hey, I was wondering something.”
“Shoot,” Samira mumbles, scrolling through something on her phone. She glances up when Emery doesn’t say anything, brow furrowing. “Yeah?”
“What made you decide to ask me out?”
“Oh,” Samira says. “Oh, Um. I guess…” she laughs under her breath, ducking her head to look down at her lap, “I guess I figured it was time?” It comes out more question than answer, and Emery raises an eyebrow curiously. “I mean, I haven’t really done much during residency. Figured it was time to actually do things.”
Emery’s mouth curls into a teasing smirk at the implication of the last sentence, and Samira gasps in realization, shaking her head furiously. “Not like that! I do want to, but I - y’know, not like -” she groans, burying her face in her hands. “Fuck.”
“You’re fine,” Emery says soothingly, a touch of laughter still lingering in her voice. She reaches out and places her hand between Samira's shoulderblades, warm and heavy. “I know what you meant.”
Samira straightens, but Emery's hand stays where it is for a moment longer before lifting off and returning to her lap.
“Right,” Samira says brightly, still looking faintly mortified. “I’ve sent you the address.”
Emery nods, pulling it up on the car’s display screen. She starts the GPS and pulls out of the parking spot, draping an arm over the back of the passenger seat in the way that’s always made Samira's knees go weak but has only ever happened to her once before.
“Can I ask about your plans for next year?” Emery asks. “Or are we not talking about work?”
Samira just laughs softly. “No, it’s fine. Uh, no plans, really. I’m taking a year to… find myself, is the easiest way to put it.”
“That sounds nice.”
“You don’t have to lie to me,” Samira says, looking ahead so she doesn’t have to see the look on Emery's face. She‘s usually met with pity or confusion when she tells people, as if she’s ruining the future she’s worked so hard for by not looking for a fellowship or attending position next year. “I know it’s insane and kinda stupid.”
“No,” Emery says as she stops at a red light, turning to look over at Samira. “Hey, no, look at me.” She waits until Samira's eyes meet hers to speak again. “I wouldn’t lie to you. And I really do think it’s cool. Not a lot of people are self-aware enough to do that.”
She breaks eye contact to look back at the road when the light turns green, but a hand reaches over and finds Samira's, squeezing once before returning to the wheel. It’s quick and grounding and the only response that hasn't set Samira on edge so far, especially considering that with the amount of forced smiles she’s received so far it’s surprising she hasn’t punched a wall yet.
She lets herself relax back into the seat, shoulders dropping and spine curving from its previous ramrod straightness. There’s something about Emery’s presence that feels like a soothing balm, just the sight of her being enough to force Samira's breath out in an exhale and make her entire body loosen. It’s new and terrifying and unlike anything she's ever felt with anything else, but in a good way. In a safe and warm way that feels like she’s being cradled in the palms of Emery’s hands.
They pull into the parking lot of the restaurant a few minutes of idle conversation about work and the latest hospital gossip, something Emery is highly amused to hear Samira recount. We don’t get much of it up in surgery, she defends herself even as Samira muffles a giggle. Too busy cutting people open.
Emery’s sliding out of her seat and rounding the car before Samira's even gotten her seatbelt unlocked, door tugged open and hand outstretched in waiting. It’s practically second nature to her, being the oldest child and a natural helper, but she finds with Samira it’s less instinctual and more active wanting. Because yes, she’s desperate — to the point where it’s nearly pathetic, really — to feel Samira's hand in hers, to feel their fingers loosely tangle together between them.
As they cross the parking lot, Samira sneaks a glance over at Emery, all loose brown curls and lazy grin curling at the corners of her mouth. It’s such a stark contrast to the Dr Walsh she’s used to, much softer and more laid back.
“I like you like this.” The words slip out before she can even begin to filter them, sneaking through the gates of her Emery-drunk brain and into the air. She doesn't even realize it until Emery shoots her a startled look, eyebrow raised in questioning.
“Oh,” Samira says, chewing at her bottom lip nervously. “Too much?”
Emery looks at her for what feels like forever, pinning Samira under her scrutinizing gaze even as they continue to walk. “No,” she says finally, smiling in an almost fondly pleased way, a much softer version of her earlier smile. “No, not too much.”
“I just -” Samira says, feeling the need to justify herself even though she’s gotten the reassurance she was subconsciously looking for. “I just meant you’re… I don't know, softer like this. More human and less scary.”
The words rush out in a panicked vomit, unable to stay inside even as Emery stops on the sidewalk in front of her.
“I know. I get what you meant.”
Emery hesitates for a moment, jaw working as she thinks. “I’m different at work,” she says eventually. “Can't really be soft, can I? But I'm glad I can be with you.”
She drops her gaze to the sidewalk and flushes, as if the vulnerability is too much for her to bear. And it is; she’s not used to being so open with people, but she wants to with Samira. Something about those big brown eyes makes her want to divulge every secret and every ounce of her soul and place her heart in Samira's waiting and careful hands.
“Oh,” Samira says, ever so articulately. “Oh.” She doesn’t know what to do with all this openness from Emery Walsh, someone who’s infamously closed-off except for apparently now, and it scares her. But she can tell Emery's even more scared, so she reaches out and gently cups Emery's cheek with her free hand. “Me too,” she says softly, making sure their gazes meet. “Me too, Emery.”
She lets her fingertips graze Emery's cheek for a final second before dropping her hand. “Ready to head in?”
Emery nods, looking slightly less anxious now. She squeezes their linked hands once, a silent thank you. “Yeah. You hungry?”
“Starving.” Samira tugs Emery along as she starts walking again, opening the door to the restaurant and holding it open. Emery blinks at her for a second, surprised, then finally steps inside, hovering and waiting for Samira to follow.
They’re seated with menus and water within minutes, smiling shyly at each other across the table. It’s like they’ve run out of words now that they’re forced to do nothing but look at each other. But then Emery's boot brushes Samira's ankle, making them both startle, and they both giggle.
“Shit, sorry,” Emery says quickly, and Samira just waves her off.
“You’re fine. Do you know what you’re getting?”
“Maybe the salmon,” Emery says, trailing a finger down her menu. “You?”
Samira shrugs. “Their fettuccine is supposed to be good. Do you wanna split a side?”
“That sounds nice, anything catch your eye?”
“The potatoes, maybe? Or we could do a salad, up to you.”
Emery shakes her head. “The potatoes are fine. Now, tell me how your research is going; it’s related to racial inequalities, yes?”
Samira can only blink at Emery for a second, feeling knocked off balance. She can’t remember ever mentioning her research to Emery – they barely interacted as it was, and certainly never discussed personal interests. “It’s - yeah. Yes. How did you know?”
Emery glances down at the table, hands fidgeting with the edge of her menu. “I - you were talking to Collins about it once and I overheard and I didn’t mean to, I swear, but it sounded really interesting so I… may have looked you up?”
Emery looks almost embarrassed when she looks back up at Samira, expression hesitant. “Sorry, I know that’s -”
“No,” Samira interrupts, squinting at Emery in shock and amazement. “No, you - you care?”
“Yeah, ‘course I do.” Emery looks puzzled now, as if she can’t understand why she’s even answering the question.
“Oh,” Samira just says. It seems to be the word of the day. “Most people get bored pretty quick, you don’t -”
“I know. I want to.”
Samira looks at Emery for one long second, brow furrowed like she was still questioning the statement, before slowly beginning to talk about the cases she’d been reading. Her eyes stay locked on Emery the entire time, as if watching for even the slightest indication that Emery was getting bored or didn’t care after all.
But Emery listens attentively the whole time, only dropping her eyes from Samira to pick up her fork when their plates are slid onto the table.
“Anyways,” Samira says quietly ten minutes later, glancing down at her entirely untouched meal and then across at Emery’s half-finished one. “That’s it.”
When she looks back up, Emery’s smiling at her, faint and barely there but such a stark contrast to her expression at work. There’s something like pride in her eyes, mixed with what Samira can only assume to be fondness.
“That sounds very cool,” she says, reaching across the table and wrapping her fingers around Samira's wrist, squeezing once but not pulling away. She can feel the constant pulse under Samira's skin, steady and unchanging like Samira herself.
“Seriously. I’m excited to read it.”
“Thanks,” Samira says quietly, flipping her hand over to wrap her fingers around Emery's. “That… that means a lot.”
Emery just nods in response. “Yeah. Hey, I wanna take you somewhere after this.”
Samira frowns, thrown off by the suddenness. “What -”
“Eat,” Emery urges, face bright with excitement. She looks so much like a puppy that’s just heard the word walk that Samira can do nothing but obey and dutifully fork up a bite of pasta.
Fifteen minutes later, both their plates are empty and Emery’s taken care of the ball, despite Samira’s protests that she should pay since she’d asked Emery out. But Emery had just shot her an unamused look and reached for it the second it arrived, ignoring Samira's attempts to take it from her.
Emery’s hand finds Samira’s between them as they walk out, as automatic as if drawn by an invisible magnet. It feels right, is all she can think when it slides into hers. More right than anything she’s ever felt before.
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cassie mckay who achieved body neutrality not long after she started med school. she learned how to accept every part of herself — even if she didn’t love every part yet. when she started dating you, however, she was creeping up to her mid 40’s and felt insecure and unattractive.
cassie mckay who was blown away by how loving you are. you make sure to verbally tell cassie how beautiful she is everyday. your compliments are always genuine, and they make her blush (we ♡ shy cassie over here). you love her head to toe, stretch marks, loose skin, wrinkles, and all!
cassie mckay who is absolutely obsessed with the way you’re obsessed with her soft belly. you love to affectionately squeeze her tummy, see it peeking out of a shirt, nap on it, kiss it, feel it beneath your warm palms, and most of all, to ride it.
cassie mckay who loves to see you on top of her, grinding your clit against her plush stomach. she grips your hips tightly, helping you move when she can tell you’re close. the soft skin jiggles with your movements, the sight of cassie under you like this making your head dizzy.
cassie mckay who likes to tease you from time to time. she’ll make you kiss and suck on her belly before she lets you taste or ride her. if you want to eat her out, cassie will make you “warm-up” and “practice” on her stomach, leaving hickeys on her plump skin. if you want to ride her tummy, she’ll make you do the same, your tongue mapping out every inch and trailing up and down her wispy happy trail. cassie finds it so hot to watch you get off with your slick pussy on her stomach, your spit already spread all over the round surface.
cassie mckay who grows to love her soft, pudgy belly because you do. the fact that you don’t just think it’s beautiful, but you also find it hot drives her crazy. she loves to feel desired by you, and you rarely have an off switch. sometimes after sex, you’ll collapse on top of her and rest your head on her stomach as she plays with your hair, eventually falling asleep. if cassie was on top, she’ll lay her body on top of yours, her adorable tummy flush against yours <33
