lucky ‍ girl

And the topic being brought up was her own doing. Sort of. More of the incident of her focusing too much on a particular case she’d had when you’d requested the recount of her Fourth of July shift. 

You’d probably been searching for information on how her deposition had gone while trying not to stress her out too much, but instead, Mel had supplied you with more information than necessary on the poor usage of Viagra. 

“Mel,” you hum, making her head snap up from the milky chamomile tea you’d made for the pair of you. Her name coming from your mouth always made her heart squeeze in her chest, made her feel like a dog whose ears perked up whenever their owner called. “I love you, but if you keep talking about penises, I am never going to ask about your day again.”

“Right,” she mumbles, feeling the tips of her ears and her cheeks warm. “Sorry.” You shake your head with a small laugh as you settle back into the couch cushions, a moment of silence spreading between the two of you as your eyes flick back and forth on the TV screen. 

It’s not awkward, it’s never awkward between the two of you. Even when sex is brought up. But Mel figures that’s just how close the two of you are: you aren’t put off by her immunity to smooth conversations, even if that opportunity in your presence is few and far between. It’s just comfortable. The way she keeps her eyes on your face as she debates continuing the mess that was her previous work day, when you’re so clearly thinking about something.

Thankfully, you make the decision for her. “I just– Can it be that good?” you ask, voice a little high in the way that people do when they’re curious about something, but don’t want to seem like it.

Mel’s head tilts, brows furrowing as her lips push together. “I thought you didn’t want to keep talking about it.”

“I don’t, it’s just…” Mel doesn’t push. Doesn’t prompt, just waits for you to either finish or back down from the thought. It carries that sense of knowing that was so sacred between the two of you. The thing that she would do anything for. “I don’t know,” you rush out, signaling to her that you’re trying to retract your question. “Sex isn’t worth taking pills for.”

And that little twinge of curiosity that Mel should know better than to indulge in sparks. 

“Why not?”

You give another shake of your head as Mel takes a sip from her mug, trying to ease the sudden drying of her throat as she waits for the answer. Wanting to crack into your head and know the words you’re going to say before you even do. “Because it doesn’t feel that good to potentially compromise your body?” Mel’s eyebrows raise slightly as she copies your earlier action of putting your mug down. “I don’t know.”

For the first time, possibly ever, when you’re involved, Mel feels like she has more experience. It makes something warm inside of her, makes her sit up a little straighter–tea and Sex and the City on the TV forgotten. “Have you…”

“Hm? Oh– Yeah,” you mumble, looking away from her quickly as you begin to twist the soft blanket that always sat on the back of your couch between your fingers. “Just one time with a guy and it was just…” You pause, the muscles in your neck tensing as you presumably try to find the correct wording. “Not good.”

“One bad experience can’t speak for all of them,” Mel points out, brain beginning to work over the new pieces of information you’d provided her. And the questions are asked before she can properly think them through. “What about when you’re by yourself? Do you ever finish then?”

“Um, no–”

“Have you gotten close? What have you tried?”

“I’m not really sure what ‘close’ feels like, but I think it feels good when I like, um… grind on a pillow?”

Mel just hums. “Have you ever used toys?”

“Okay,” you mumble as you simultaneously take a deep breath. The tone of your voice is enough to clue to Mel, plus the fact that you’re probably the person she knows best in the world besides Becca, that you’re getting nervous. “My sex life isn’t interesting,” you ramble quickly, leaning forward to set your designated mug down on the small coffee table. “Samantha’s is, though, so let’s focus on that, hm?”

Mel’s eyes track you as you settle back into the couch, noting how your cheeks look to be a shade darker than usual and how you appear to be refusing to glance in her direction. There’s a beat of silence and, as per usual, that nagging curiosity gets the better of Mel. “I think it’s interesting.”

The dim lighting of your living room makes it difficult to tell, but Mel thinks your flush deepens even more than she thought possible. 

“General anorgasmia is rarely discussed, especially for women,” Mel continues, eyes glued to your face. She’s barely blinking, drinking in every little twitch of your nose or corners of your mouth. “There are a lot of factors that play into it. Stress, discomfort, relationship dissatisfaction, cultural conditioning.” You glance over at her, fingers busy with the edge of the throw blanket. “Lesbian and bisexual women have an orgasm 21% more often than women in a heterosexual relationship–”

“Quit it,” you mumble, finally shifting over enough to lean on her, one of your hands pressing over her mouth as Mel chuckles, her own hands finding your sides. 

And, sure, Mel’s laughing along with you, the awkwardness that comes from whatever build-up, whatever heavy thing was beginning to settle between the two of you before you decided to break it, never quite being on the line of discomfort like Mel would’ve originally assumed. 

At least, not for her. Because now all Mel can think about is how those fingers pressed over her lips have probably been inside of you. 

And how much better hers would feel.

And so she leaves your apartment early the next morning with a new focus of interest.

Maybe because you’re the main topic, the center of all of this, but that sudden surge of motivation is greater than anything she’s felt before. Someone so close to her, rather than something of Mel’s own interest. A chance to help someone she loves, not like that (maybe like that), and to show you that she cares. That she would go above and beyond for you. Expressing her love language, that’s all it is. Nothing more than some research for her to do when she gets home from the PTMC and her brain still hasn’t crashed from adrenaline highs–something to help her ease into bed.

Thinking about everything she knows about you: what makes you comfortable, the things and times you especially get stressed, what touches seem to relax you against her whenever you’re cuddling. Mel makes notes about every single one of them. Then, she relates them to porn. 

Something she used to be nervous about, always checking over her shoulder whenever she would search links, even if she was in the safety of her bedroom. But with you in her mind, it strangely seems less awkward. Maybe it’s because she’s giving herself an excuse. That this isn’t actually for pleasure or for the means of getting herself off in a voyeuristic way, but rather imagining if you would like the things done to the women in those videos. 

Which is arguably more perverse. 

Especially when Mel thinks about sending you the links. Or when she starts picturing you in certain scenarios that are anything but clinical. Or when she’s back at your place that weekend, curled up against you in your bed, and subconsciously trying to ease you into the feeling. Which isn’t hard, considering how touchy the two of you usually are, and given the late hour.

Mel’s hand slides over yours, fingers tracing over the rounds of your knuckles, sending bits of sparks through your nerves with each pass. Each movement of her memorizes the feel of your skin. It makes something curl down your spine that equally renders you speechless and simultaneously has your tongue ready to ask for more. Mel doesn’t seem to be in a rush, though, her eyes on her own fingers as her thumb brushes over the veins atop your hand. Now and then, you can feel her eyes flick to your face. The urge to bury your face in your pillows is only drowned out by the fact that you fear scaring her away if you move too quickly. 

Not that she would be scared away, you don’t think. 

She started it, after all.

Her lips part with each tiny breath she takes, and you count the flutters of her lashes as she guides your hand to flip over, trailing her fingers up, up, up your arm, only pausing briefly to feel that soft spot of your inner elbow where heat is beginning to collect in bits of perspiration. Mel’s face nudges closer to yours. Tilting up away from your neck so her nose presses against your cheek, and you can feel the puffs of air leaving her. That, and the gentle brush of her lips against your jaw–close to your chin. 

A noise escapes you before you can process it building. 

It makes Mel’s breathing, what you’d been focusing on to try and remain calm, hitch, her body pressing harder against yours so you can feel every bit of softness she has to offer. Her other arm remains awkwardly between her side and the mattress, but that hand–the one with her fingers slowly hooking into the strap of your tank top just to nudge it off your shoulder, already has you trembling.

“Can I ask you a question?” she mumbles, and the vibrations of her voice, softer than usual and almost husky, has you closing your eyes and sucking in a deep breath. When you nod your chin just once, her lips bump against your face again, this time your chin. “Will you let me try?”

And you know what she’s referencing. Even if that conversation, those three minutes of that passing Wednesday night, hadn’t been looping in your mind for the past week, hadn't occurred, you would still be able to read her. Mel–your sweet Mel that would lay the world at your feet if you asked, even without a ‘Please’. 

It still comes as a small shock to you, though, that she wants to have you like that. And it doesn’t help with the way she has you practically melting back into your mattress with the way her thumb strokes over where the strap of your tank top had been before passing over your collarbone. Down your sternum, just dipping under the collar of the fabric. She can probably feel how erratically your heart is thumping against your ribcage. 

Your voice sounds weak to your own ears when you finally manage to speak again. “Are you sure?” It’s barely a breath, her face tucked against yours, and you can feel her glasses digging into your skin. You don’t move, though. Not until she shifts up enough to prop herself up on her elbow, nose bumping against yours. “Cause, um, I don’t want you to feel bad if it doesn’t happen–”

Not: “We’re best friends,” or “I don’t want to ruin anything,” or anything logical.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” Mel interrupts gently, the softness of her words ghosting over your mouth. You swallow thickly, finally peeking your eyes back open to find her already staring at you. Pupils large enough to make that honey color of her irises almost seem gone in the dim light. 

Her hand continues. Down between your breasts and over your stomach before it wraps around your thigh to drag and hook your leg over her hip, opening you up and pressing that growing heat between your thighs against her sweatpants. 

“We can just feel each other?” she continues, but it comes out more of a question as another sound that is almost whine-like catches in your throat. And you don’t trust yourself to speak in fear of something louder escaping, so you give her a tiny nod. 

You feel the corners of her mouth twitch up before you surge up to close that small distance and press your lips against hers.

Your hands move from her shoulders to her hair, curling at the roots as her own fingers cinch in your pajama bottoms, tugging you as close as possible to her. Making you grind against her with small rocks of your hips as your tongue pushes into her mouth. She barely lets your tongue swipe against hers before she’s pulling back enough to mumble into your lips. 

“Do you want to keep your clothes on?” she whispers, squeezing your ass every few seconds to encourage the gentle motions of your hips. Each press of your clit against the slowly dampening fabric of your panties has sparks of pleasure rendering your brain more and more useless. “I want you to be comfortable–”

“I’m comfortable,” you rush out, hands pulling weakly at her hair to try and kiss her again. Mel lets you give her another small peck. “Can… Keep them mostly on– Don’t care–” You moan shakily, feeling her eyes on your face as her grip loosens on you, letting you hump her thigh at a pace and pressure that makes your clit throb. “This feels good.”

“Yeah?” she mumbles back in that same breathless tone. Her lips are a little wet from your spit, her cheeks pinkened in the warm light. “I haven’t–” Mel pauses, listening to the tiny noises you’re making as you grind against her thigh, keening gently from the stimulation on your clit against something warm and solid. “I’ve been thinking about ways to try and help you,” she finishes as you give her another kiss.

You don’t seem to fully process her words, though, more of your concentration being on sucking at her bottom lip and pulling at her hair as Mel watches the process that you’ve probably repeated on yourself a countless number of times. Trying to work yourself to an orgasm. Mel figures how quickly you’ve dissolved against her is a result of chasing that feeling–the lack of attention and not truly knowing what your body needs, leaving you needy.

“I figured with the–” Mel’s eyes flutter as you cut her off with a long moan, her words hushed and probably falling on deaf ears. Instilling her voice in your mind as she lets you loosen yourself up for her would help later, though. That’s what she hoped, at least–that you would associate her, something already comforting to you, with pleasure. That it would be the thing to help you get over the edge. 

Her hand on your hip squeezes softly as you keep working yourself. 

“Pillow humping,” she finally continues in that hushed tone. “You like more target stimulation. And relaxation is necessary for a good orgasm.” The words spill from her quickly, like she needs something to do other than just watch you grind against her; otherwise, Mel would move into things much more quickly than you needed right now. “So you’re out of fight or flight mode and your brain can fully process sensory pleasure– We want to reduce your stress and make sure you’re comfortable–”

A frustrated whine leaves you, abruptly bringing Mel’s rambling to an end. She takes a deep breath, hands wandering up to your sides and shifting your weight so you’re back on your back. When she sees the glistening evidence of tears gathering at your waterline, her heart squeezes in her chest, her hands rubbing over your thighs in what she hopes is a soothing motion. 

“Okay,” she whispers, settling between your legs and resting her weight over your chest to kiss your cheeks. Your throat. Over both of your nipples and then just below your belly button. “Is everything okay? Need a break?”

The pout on your mouth has her kissing where your tank top has ridden up again, hands still moving over your body like it’s going to ease your worries. “No,” you whine quietly. “M’just– I knew this was gonna happen–”

“We haven’t done anything yet,” Mel reassures you gently, not letting you get the words fully out. Not wanting them to manifest heavily in your brain and have you already settled on a decision before Mel even got to really touch you in the ways she’d been thinking about all week. Even before that conversation. “Nothing’s wrong,” she whispers. “You’re okay.” The nod you give her is just a little jerk of your chin. 

Mel’s hands on your thighs drag up to settle over your lower belly, and she gives you a tiny smile when your fingers fumble to grab onto hers. 

“I don’t need a break,” you finally answer in a mumble, mouth still set in that tiny frown with your bottom lip pushed out just enough to have Mel wanting to lean back up and kiss you all over again. “I’m just frustrated.”

With your hands still intertwined with hers, Mel dips her thumbs just below the waistband of your pajamas, rubbing the strip of skin that sits under the elastic. “I know,” she whispers. “Can you tell me how close you are?”

You nod, one hand briefly leaving hers to wipe at the space under your eyes. 

“Um– I think I’m like, right there,” you admit, voice sheepish mostly from the hushed tone that makes it difficult for Mel to completely decipher your words. She doesn’t make you repeat yourself, though, knowing that you need to be understood in a vulnerable moment like this. “Can never really get past this point feels like,” you continue in a louder babble, taking on almost a whine that has Mel shushing you softly. 

Her hand that you’d released tucks into your pajama bottoms, easing them down to sit just below your panties. 

Her lips press together when she sees how the fabric is clinging to you–outlining your lips and your swollen clit, the cotton wet with your juices. Before she can stop herself, she’s leaning in to press a small kiss to the place you need her the most, making you whimper quietly and squeeze her hand a bit tighter. 

“Take a deep breath,” Mel says between brushes of her lips against your inner thighs, only continuing speaking once she hears the long sigh and sees the slight fall of your ribs. “Is it okay if I, um, use my mouth?” Even if she already kind of did, but that’s not the point. 

Still, Mel waits for that word of confirmation, and as soon as the small squeak of “Yes” resounds in the warming space of your bedroom, she’s leaning back in. 

“Good,” she mumbles as she lets her mouth trail over your clit again, a barely there touch that has your thighs tensing around her head. “You’re doing a good job, just relax.” Her free hand goes to the spot on your mound just above the bundle of nerves, pulling up to expose where you’re aching further against your panties. “Let your mind go somewhere else, it’ll help,” Mel offers before dragging her tongue over where the nub of your clit is peeking out. 

The sound that leaves you is unlike anything she’s heard from you that night.

So Mel starts with just that–long drags of her tongue to let the warmth and wetness soak through your already ruined underwear, flicking your clit up with gentle stimulation that has you squirming. She lets you squirm, though, the idea of you using her mouth to get off being at the forefront of her mind. Anything that will make this the most enjoyable for you. Your taste makes it difficult for her not to rock her own hips against your mattress, opting to press her thighs together as she lets her tongue venture a little lower with each pass. Tasting more of you. Holding herself back from pulling your panties to the side because this seems to be working you up just fine, and direct stimulation could be a bit much, especially for someone sensitive enough to struggle reaching a climax, and–

“Mel,” you whine, your hand gripping at hers and the other her hair, having returned to the strands quickly after she started with her mouth. “Mel– That feels good– Really good, feels different–”

Mel doesn’t say anything, doubling down over your cunt that she can feel throbbing against her mouth. You yelp when her lips seal around your clit over your panties, pain sparking from where you’re pulling at her hair, keeping her against you in a way you like. A way that she likes too–where your taste and the squeeze of your thighs as you rock against her makes her brain go quiet from its rambling so all she can think about is you.

The whining never stops from you. Little sounds that you would describe as pathetic if you were in your usual state of being in your head. Except, you’re not. Not with the sudden warmth and attention that Mel provides. Not with how your bed feels like it’s enveloping you and her into this bubble of time where it’s just her taking care of you. Making your muscles feel like they’re melting as your mouth falls open and your chest heaves. It does feel different. The way she follows each grind of your hips with gentle sucks that has you gushing into your panties, not letting you escape the sensation. Forcing you to lie there and take it as that tingly sensation that would stop growing in your stomach once you got to a certain point, once your patience ran out, finally began to twist into something tighter. 

You’re trembling. Probably crying a little. But you don’t care, not when Mel finally tugs your underwear to the side and swipes her tongue over your throbbing bud, and you feel yourself finally let go. 

A half-formed gasp of her name leaves your mouth again as your back arches, pushing against her as the euphoria spreads through your body in a crescendo that you’ve been curious about your entire life. Your brain blanks apart from the pleasure that warms your spine and inner thighs and stomach, hands clinging for any part of Mel you can reach just to ground yourself as little black dots dance behind your eyelids. She’s murmuring something against your cunt, but you can’t really tell what it is. Not until the waves of pleasure slowly begin to subside, leaving you worn and panting beneath her comforting ministrations. 

Little tremors still wrack through you, but your mind finally returns with a few deep breaths. 

Then, Mel and more of her gentle kisses. Back up your body to your mouth, tiny pecks that seem lighthearted and almost relieved as your eyes flutter. “Was that okay?” she whispers, hands moving to cup either side of your face as her eyes run over your probably flushed cheeks.

“Better than okay,” you sigh, a kind of lucidity settling in your muscles. “I can understand why people take meds for this now.”

––  Going along with her being more inclined to pursue recreation, I can see her wanting to play instruments. Obviously guitar is the easiest one to have around her apartment so I think that’s what she would go for, with it being on the smaller side & not being overly loud & just more convenient. & as for the actually learning part of music such as notes, keys, & scales, I think she would pick up on quickly, EXCEPT she never really has the time to practice so she’s not very good T-T Cassie wanting to learn a song & play it for you but she gets shy & spends more time hiding away while trying to get the motions in her fingers so she doesn’t embarrass herself when you ask to see what she learned T-T Cassie is very good with her words & communicating what she feels for you, but she’s not super into grand gestures of love/affection. Very much a more chill girlfriend, so learning how to play your favorite song for you or even teaching you how to play it, even if she’s not a pro, is probably the largest she’ll go in terms of actions, because if she wants to show you how much she loves you, she’ll just tell you! & Obviously, she’s already good with her fingers, but this just puts it over the top for you… Watching her be so concentrated while her knuckles bend & she gets these callouses on her fingertips that feel amazinggg when she’s curling them somewhere else other than the strings <3

––  Doesn’t strike me as the type to cook. Obviously, she can & she will if she has to, with Harrison & all, but Cassie isn’t well-versed in many dishes or recipes because she never had the interest in learning nor the time. I think there’s a very basic rotation of meals she has, which Harrison will complain about from time to time, but Cassie sticks to what she’s good at. That being said, when her girlfriend starts staying over for dinner & cooks for her, it will absolutely win Cassie over in every way possible. She’s not a picky eater; that was never the problem, so she will eat absolutely anything that you put in front of her. It’s a sweet thing the two of you adapt to: you laying out potential meals for the week & getting her input on what she wants to try & then her coming home & absolutely melting at the sight of you in the kitchen cooking <3 Cassie is very domestic at the center of her being, so seeing you so comfortable in her space is everything she could ask for & more! Her job is so hectic & draining that coming home to what feels like an actual home is very healing for her, especially if she’s had a difficult day. All Cassie wants is to get home from her shifts & be doted on by a pretty girl <3 She loves taking care of you, honestly, but in those moments when she’s exhausted from the day & not even an after-work shower is enough to rejuvenate her, Cassie needs to sit at the kitchen counter & feel loved from you making food for her & her son. I think that she would love having a light-hearted girlfriend that’s big on optimism–one that tells her about her day instead of pressing on difficult topics Cassie doesn’t like to take home. & if you do ask about Cassie’s day, you try to get her to focus on all of the positive things she did. Truly such a bright light for Cassie when her girlfriend makes their home all warm & cozy & sees all of the good in the world & reminds her that there is joy to be found!

––  Loves loves lovessss seeing her girlfriend wearing her clothes! Going back to the kind of granola vibe I believe she has outside of the PTMC, I think Cassie is a very sustainable type of person, so she has a lot of older clothing. Oversized & stretched out, ratty t-shirts with old bands & stuff that she thinks is adorable to see on you. The concept of you smelling like her & wearing something that belongs to her makes her feel all sorts of cuteness aggression. That, & a touch of possessiveness because, yes, that is her girlfriend & other people should know that because you’re wearing her clothes. You usually never wear her clothes out & about because you have differing styles, so that’s another thing that’s extra special for making your guys’ apartment feel like home. Like you can unwind & relax into each other by wearing whatever & not being overly concerned about it. Cassie’s favorite is you just wearing her old shirts & a pair of panties to bed. You always look so soft & she LOVES your legs, but mostly because you’re comfortable enough around her to wear something that’s not yours/give part of yourself over to her. Cassie is big on trust & comfort! Wear nothing underneath & she’ll love it even more.

––  Cassie, who teaches her girlfriend how to do handy things like fix a tire or a leaky sink, because she gets nervous over the fact that: “what if I’m not around someday & you need to fix something yourself?” Which you hate when she says that, always mumbling “Not funny, Cass” even if she’s laughing. Even if you complain about not wanting to, Cassie will have you change out of your pretty, dainty tops into something you don’t care if gets a little dirty & teach you, walking you through it & keeping an eye on your hands as you follow her instructions. There’s always the present need for her to take care of you, which includes making sure you can take care of yourself. Plus, she likes seeing you look to her with big eyes, waiting for her to guide you to the next step. There’s something intimate about learning to do things together or helping someone with something that Cassie just can’t get enough of because if there’s one thing she loves, it’s to feel desired & needed. Strangely, lots of your bonding with her is done whenever she’s teaching you how to do some kind of handiwork, just because she gets a bit nostalgic & tells you all of these stories about her parents & what it was like for her growing up :,) It’s very sweet, listening to her talk & laugh & be so carefree while you’re there having no idea what you’re doing while trying to focus on your task, but it’s hard because your girlfriend is right there being so cute while also telling you what to do :( Many good laughs come from moments like those.

––  Cassie had a tough time figuring out what she wanted to do with her life, & made some poor decisions along the way (some she’s grateful for now, but many she can identify as being young & stupid), so she’s now a very cautious person. She’s stabilized her life, & likes where she’s at, believes she’s in the right place to continue growing into that person she’s determined she wants to be, so if she believes something is right for her, she will absolutely go for it. It’s difficult for her to change her mind. That being said, that same stubbornness is multiplied tenfold for relationships. Being a mom, Cassie obviously has to be careful of who she dates & is always considering Harrison, so in a rare situation where she clicks with a woman who has her shit together & things feel like they’re meant to be, she will lock down that woman quickly. I don’t think she’s one necessarily to believe in fate or things being meant to be, but Cassie will know if she’s found her person, I think. She’s not the kind of woman to want to have a challenging relationship (except maybe for some play in the bedroom). She wants things to feel like breathing: effortless & comforting. So if Cassie believes you’re the one, expect an invitation to move in with her after a month. Maybe marriage before your first anniversary. Even if she is cautious in her love life, I think it would only be while she’s actively looking for a girlfriend. Once she’s found The One™ then it’s like a flood gate opens.

––  Cassie is quite level-headed & good at compartmentalization, so she often doesn’t look for comfort from her partner, but for other things like feeling needed & desired! I know I’ve mentioned this in many of these hc’s, but it’s one of the core features of a relationship with her. Part of it is because she’s desensitized from her work at the Pitt, so when she’s with her girlfriend she would rather be all loved on instead of having the stress of repeating her entire day & realizing how she had no reaction to some of the things that happened, & part of it is because she’s just to that point in her life where she’s mature with handling situations. She loves getting compliments after being dogged all day by patients & Robby, she loves you recognizing how smart she is & how useful she is to have around. To make Cassie happy, ask her to do things for you! Let her coddle you & maybe do some coddling yourself! She likes to be the little spoon but also loves it when you lie on her chest! It's a very 50/50 relationship if you’re dating Cassie. Everything is fair & equal, & it reminds her that she’s not just a doctor. But she’s someone’s love that comes from an unconditional & unrequired place <3  

––  Again, the relationship Cassie’s girlfriend has with Harrison quite literally makes or breaks the relationship. Her son will always be her priority, even if her partner is right up next to him, so it’s obviously crucial that you get along. She would inform you of the fact that she’s a mom early on into getting to know each other because she wouldn’t want to waste her time or get emotionally invested in someone who doesn’t want all of her, & then once you do start dating, I think she would have you meet Harrison right before she asks you to be her girlfriend. Maybe you guys would spend the day together just so she can get a read on energy, but honestly, not even an entire day is needed. Just a few hours before her intuition is kicking in. Then, seeing you with her son is her favorite thing in the world. The two people she loves most giggling together & being happy is everything that she needs most in the world, & she will do everything to get it/keep it that way. & also, not necessary, but I think she would love having a partner involved with children! Like a teacher or something, maybe, because being a mom is such a huge part of her identity & she would love someone who understands how to take care of & handle children. & I think she would definitely want more kids after seeing how well you take care of her son. Cassie loves kids & she loves doting on you, so she constantly thinks about you being pregnant. Not that she would ever outwardly bring it up until you expressed interest, but whenever you carry Harrison around, it is the only thought on her mind.

––  She is quite intuitive, good luck with trying to hide anything from her! Not that she wouldn’t give you privacy if you need it, but she never falls for surprises or you trying to trick her because she can just tell something is off somehow lol

She wasn’t aggressive; she was ready. She’d been waiting for that first day when she could have free rein over patients and push herself to her limit. Trinity knew she was smart. Knew she was capable. Approval felt nice, sure, but she’d convinced herself early into her schooling that she didn’t need it. Gold stars and praise weren’t things she should be focusing on when she was holding a heart in her palm or someone’s will to continue living heavy in her mind. That mindset had carried her through med school. Through all of her rotations. The confidence and assertiveness had made her stand out as someone her superiors could trust to think clearly in intense moments, and had earned her compliments over her peers for the fact that she didn’t hesitate. 

The sentiment had boosted her confidence. It had cemented her thinking that it was most important to encourage help toward those, even if they didn’t necessarily want it. It was for their own good. Besides, Trinity knew how quickly things could change. How they could go from good straight down to hell.

So after that first day of her residency, even with one of her new coworkers in the guest room of her apartment, she couldn’t understand why those same traits that had earned her acclaim in the past now made her stand out in the complete opposite way. She didn’t understand why these residents prioritized connection for every case they worked. Many didn’t need that connection. They just needed the firm word of a doctor and immediate treatment, and then they would be better.

Samira Mohan and Melissa King and even fucking Dennis Whitaker apparently wanted to be best friends with their patients before running through potential treatment plans or giving second thoughts to what might be wrong. And they apparently thought she was some kind of evil human for the fact that she didn’t want to do the same. 

It had to be the reason that they didn’t like her.

That much was clear from the way they adjusted to you so effortlessly.

The contrast in the way you handled your patients was what made Trinity develop a distaste for you, so it only made sense. You smiled too much; it made Trinity feel like she was experiencing heartburn and, honestly, she extended her sympathy to the muscles of your face. You were stupidly fair. You wanted to hear every single thing out before making any decisions. No ‘Ah Ha’ moments or rushing to get things done, even if the situation was life-threatening. You considered every aspect and angle before proceeding out of respect, or so you said. A trait of yours that was handed to everyone without them even having to earn it. You trusted too easily. Thought the best of people. Wanted to make them feel seen and heard, even if it meant that they didn’t get the urgent care they needed. 

Blind trust made people likeable when it came from those with a position of power, Trinity had concluded. It had to be the reason the residents favored you over her. Favored, yes, even if Trinity was led to believe that these places were supposed to carry that justness you so often preached about. She understood why you preached it: it put you in your superiors’ good graces. And you were slow due to all of these things, which was definitely why Samira liked you so much.

However, the entire concept of you irritated Trinity because she knew you were smart. You didn’t need anyone’s help. Just like her. 

“Hey, Girl Scout, you out of North 12 yet?” 

Your head snaps so quickly at the nickname that Trinity bites back a sneering laugh, one corner of her mouth lifting as her bottom lip sticks out slightly. You slow, she doesn’t. Instead, the dark-haired woman holds your gaze as she turns her chin back over her shoulder, hands clenched at her sides as she watches your expression change. Your nose scrunches just barely, sprouting the urge in her to reach out and tap at your skin till it goes away, as your lips push into a small pout as well. Not upset. Hiding just the smallest bit of vexation, though. The thought of her getting under your skin enough to disrupt that ease you always had with interactions makes something in Trinity’s chest swell with pride.

“Central 5 is open,” you inform her without missing a beat, those few seconds where your face had morphed from composure to almost slipping only lasting one step past each other.

“Nope, just put a patient in there,” Trinity hums. She likes to think that she’s always one step ahead of you–able to predict your next moves just so she can try and show everyone that even though they may like you more, she’s still better in terms of actual work. “And I’m going to pick up another. Yours has been in there for… what? 12 hours?”

“Since–” You huff, turning fully now as Trinity raises her brows and parts her lips in what you can only describe as a leer that in turn makes all trains of thought halt in your brain. “Since 11 this morning!”

Trinity’s hands lift beside her head in mock-surrender as she returns her upper half forward again, cutting you off. “Just saying,” she calls back. “Shift’s over in two hours and I’m trying to break my PR.” The sentiment has you halfway to stomping your foot like a child throwing a tantrum and the idea to take up as many rooms as possible just to deter her growing, but you don’t. You take a deep breath. You straighten your shoulders. Because whatever Trinity Santos said was not going to affect you in the way she so clearly wanted. The way she’d managed with everyone else in this ER.

“What does that have to do with me?–”

“Figure it out, Scout!” She finally stops, pausing in her steps to pivot around, lifting her forearm just enough to point at you. “Maybe being the favorite down here will finally start paying off and have beds opening for you upstairs sooner.”

You almost throw the tablet in your hands that contains your most recent labs (the ones for North 12) at her head. 

Instead, because you are an adult and you are always determined to be the bigger person when Trinity Santos is involved, and even if she wasn’t, you have better control than that–you turn with more force than necessary and (maybe) stomp off to wherever you’d initially been headed. You honestly couldn’t remember. And you would never admit that your tennis shoes hit the tile quicker than your normal pace, violently enough to make little squeaking sounds with each step.

Originally, you hadn’t had a problem with Trinity Santos.

Sure, she was brash from time to time and gave you strange looks that were followed by eye rolls more often than not. And some of the nicknames she came up with were almost as mean as the jokes she made. But she had a good work ethic, and she had to at least somewhat care about people to make it this far in her career. Even if she wasn’t the best at interacting with them. Being one of the hottest women you’ve ever met had to help as well.

But no one’s perfect. So you gave her grace whenever she mumbled something under her breath when you would raise your hand to answer a question, or when she would let out a scoff of a laugh when you would double-check any kind of calculations with Robby, or when you would search Dana out for her opinion on each of your cases before making any diagnoses. You’d ignored it, told yourself that it was better to be safe than sorry, rather than letting someone pressure you into making rash decisions that could affect the rest of an individual’s life. 

Until she started making comments about favoritism. 

“Is that the reason you take so long with cases? Cause you were the teacher's pet in med school, so they didn’t care to put you under pressure?” / “Use your own brain instead of someone else’s” / “Have you even done a case on your own?” 

It was like she’d found the exact button to press to set you off, and now, it was never-ending.

The switch was more confusing than the fact that she had become playfully cruel with you in the first place, because you were just as good as her. You answered more questions than her, got more of them right compared to her. Your solutions worked on the first try with no need for re-evaluation or the concern of the patient crashing coming to the surface. You would be neck-in-neck with her in terms of intelligence if it weren’t for your willingness to actually receive input from your coworkers.

It was enough to have you searching her out for once, finding the dark-haired woman sitting at the central nurse’s station with Whitaker. The computer in front of her clearly had some kind of documentation pulled up, but you quickly conclude that it’s more for show than anything else, considering the way her hands are gesturing as her mouth moves. Yet another factor that is immediately jotted into your mental list of how you’re ahead of her. 

“Up,” you say as you approach Whitaker from behind, smacking a hand on his shoulder and pushing at him enough to have him peeling up from the stool. You don’t look at Trinity yet, even if you can feel the weight of her eyes on you, her words from earlier still heavy in your mind as Whitaker’s gaze flicks between the two of you.

Then, with the press of his lips together into a thin line, he’s off.

When you finally settle your eyes on Trinity’s face, that stupid smirk is back on her lips. 

Her arms fold over her chest, ends of her hair swaying slightly as she tilts her head to the side. “Are you gonna sit or just interrupt my conversation for no particular reason?” That part of you that she’s been picking at for weeks, the petty one, wants to keep standing. Maybe even walk away and completely disregard this confrontation–a skill usually reserved for the woman sitting in front of you. But that other part of you, the one that had the desire to continue one-upping her by being the bigger person, has you taking Whitaker’s place, one elbow moving to rest on the edge of the counter. “There we go.”

Her words, the way she says them, makes the base of your neck heat, and you subconsciously shift your head to try and hide your skin from her light eyes. 

“Can you stop telling people I’m only here because our attendings like me?”

The smirk on her face turns into a full-blown smile, teeth and all. Trinity’s arms unfold and she spins on the stool to face the computer she was working at. “Why?” she scoffs, voice thick with something that you would’ve mistaken as teasing if it weren’t for the topic of conversation. “It’s the truth.”

You look away briefly, trying to keep your composure as you suck in a small breath. “Look,” you mumble back to her. “I don’t know what I did to you, but we have more important things to worry about than people liking me more than you.”

“Sorry– What is this?” Trinity interrupts, cocking her head back to you as her eyebrows furrow, lips pushing into something between a frown and a pout. You can tell her feelings aren’t hurt, that she has stronger walls up than you do, but this–you addressing her, is new. 

You clear your throat, straightening up. “This is me asking you how we can get over this so we can be efficient at working together.”

She laughs. 

If it weren’t for the fact that she was finding humor in your attempts to create a bridge, you would’ve maybe acknowledged the squeeze of your heart at the sound. Instead, it has you shifting uncomfortably, that confidence you’d been carrying a few moments ago dissipating slightly. 

“Efficient at working together?” she repeats, laughter quieting as you shush her. “Who the hell talks like that?–”

“I’m being serious,” you try again, watching as Trinity rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, I know you are,” she half-scoffs, half-chuckles as her fingers finally move over the keyboard, maybe getting one or two sentences down before she stops. You watch as her jaw tenses, then her lips, as her tongue presses against the front of her teeth. “You know, we’re never going to be buddy-buddy.”

“That’s fine,” you say quickly, hands moving to fold in your lap, eyes lingering on her mouth as her chair squeaks when she faces you again. “But we work together,” you repeat. “Nothing should be personal.”

“Right,” Trinity says slowly. Her right hand clenches into a small fist, the side of it bumping against the countertop a few times as she apparently thinks things over. “This is about work.” When the corners of her mouth twitch up again, it has something in your stomach twisting. “Let’s get over this by seeing who’s better at it then.”

For some strange reason, your heart stutters in your chest.

“Better at what?” You hate how breathless you sound. How your eyes keep getting stuck on the curve of her mouth and you’re pretty sure she’s repressing a laugh. 

She sits up straighter, copying your position as her voice raises slightly in pitch to mock your tone. “Work.” The look you fix her with is what you can only hope is deadpan, because you feel a kind of warmth that doesn’t stem from irritation. “Show me that you’re capable of working without another resident breathing down your neck,” Trinity continues, voice returning to normal as she slouches again. “We’ll keep tabs on who has more patients this month, and if you get more, I’ll drop it. If I get more…” She trails off with a shake of her head and the downturn of her mouth. “I want you to admit that you’re doing well here because of favoritism, and then I’ll drop it.”

For a moment, you’re at a loss for words. Honestly, though, you weren’t sure what you were expecting. It was difficult to get a read on Trinity, things always depending on what kind of mood she was in or what kind of day she’d been having. In your mind, you had figured it wasn’t going to be a quick, easy apology and reconciliation, considering the way she seemed to track you throughout the Pitt. 

It could be worse, though.

And maybe you wanted to prove to her that you were better than her. That you were more capable and more likeable. Which is the only reason you say: “Fine.” 

Your hands press against the edge of the counter as you push yourself to stand. “We’ll start tomorrow.” 

The flash of surprise on her face is satisfying to you–the way her eyebrows lift briefly and her eyes widen while they turn to the side. They’re back on you after a moment, but you hold the contact as you begin to veer off past her to finish the rest of your shift. And so are her fingers, hooking onto your badge to tug you back. The brush of her fingers even over your scrubs makes a heat spread through your lower half, your shoes stumbling over the tile as you move hastily to smack her hand away. 

Trinity lets you, even if the action is accompanied by a derisive chuckle.

And so, her college years were spent trying to decipher the tone of her personality that people responded best to. Sometimes she was too bright. Too happy for someone who had just failed an exam or spoke too much for an acquaintance who had just worked a 10-hour shift and just wanted to go home. Other times, she was too withdrawn. Not getting a word in during chitchats and only offering nods as responses. It had taken a while, but by the time she got to med school, Mel had thought she’d perfected how to get people to like her. Had spun her own self-reliance to support her through networking and getting close with the other students. She had felt somewhat comfortable in her skin. Enough to where it didn’t feel like she was lying anymore when she had to keep the volume of her voice in check when she got excited or restrained herself from reaching for someone when she was talking at them. 

Until she came to the stunning realization that she was horrible at asking for help. 

Even when she needed it, it would take multiple repetitions of what to say and a few minutes of pacing in her own mind before chalking up enough courage to ask for what she wanted. Becca’s sudden dependence on her during that point in her life didn’t help, either. Mel always had to know precisely what to do. She hated being seen as incapable, and outright expressing the fact that she was missing pieces of information gave that impression. It didn’t matter to whom. Mel would go through every possible option before caving to that humiliating feeling in her stomach that made her brain blare: WRONG WRONG WRONG, and caused her improved esteem to spiral slightly.

It clung to her even when she began her residency.

It was also why she probably fell in love with you after one week. That you never made her ask for things. That you simply just knew. A strange aspect for Mel to consider, that you understood her that well, since she’d been one for the facts ever since she was little and learned how to read. Sure, it wasn’t the only reason Mel became so enamoured (another poor habit that arose with anything or anyone that made her feel seen), but it was the first step. 

You were Mel’s nurse. The only one that made oxygen easier to get in and out whenever she was attempting new procedures or was under immense stress from patients’ loved ones. She needed you because you were the first person she knew who didn’t make her feel ashamed to not have that cutthroat certainty so many demanded from her.

Mel was unmistakably vulnerable around you. 

And that was originally going to be enough for her. Simply being able to exist with you in her life while being able to be her most authentic self. Enough to see you every day and to speak about what seemed to be the stupidest things that actually meant everything to Mel. As long as everything stayed the same between the two of you, Mel would be happy. Even if she wished, in moments after shifts where you would be curled up together on the couch in her apartment, that she could kiss you senseless. 

Everyone at the PTMC knew about it–the affection that Mel held for you. Trinity was the first to get fed up with it, though.

Always in the same scenarios of the three of you sitting around a counter together or working a case: always you walking away first and watching hearts replace Mel’s eyes as you left. Always watching you. 

“You like her?” Trinity had asked one day, her chin jerking in your direction as you’d headed off to find Dana for something. Mel hadn’t responded for a moment, her head still craned to watch you go as her elbows rested on the counter, fingers tangled together. “Mel.”

The blonde did a small double-take before snapping her head back over to her junior, eyes wide. Trinity had copied the expression with a tiny shake of her head. 

“You like her.” A statement this time. It made Mel’s thick brows furrow as her mouth opened like she was going to deny it. Trinity knew she wouldn’t, though. Because Mel hated lying. Still, if Trinity maybe knew her on the same level you did, she would guess that that was the face Mel made when she was thinking about creating a fib. 

“Well, I– Yes, I do like her. It’s hard not to because she’s a very good friend–”

Trinity had cut her off with a long groan and a roll of her eyes. It had been late into their shift, and exhaustion was catching up to her, weighing on her mind and making it difficult to remember the little things for her patients. “You guys are not just friends,” Trinity had pointed out. Mel had done that same weird mouth thing again as her olive colored eyes fell to where her hands were clasped. A sign she was uncomfortable, as Trinity had learned over the past few months. And while Mel could be a bit much for her at times, Trinity did enjoy having her around. “She likes you too,” she’d offered, softening her tone as she kept her eyes on Mel’s face. 

Had watched as the other woman’s eyelashes fluttered before she looked back up, the corners of her mouth lifting. “Really?” And that tone of voice was so stupidly hopeful that it had made Trinity cringe just enough to actually fight another eye roll. “Did she tell you?”

And because, unlike Mel, Trinity is not above lying, and actually has eyes, she’d responded: “Yeah.” As soon as the word had left her mouth, Trinity thought that Mel was going to start hyperventilating out of excitement with the way her cheeks had gotten all red and her smile looked too wide to be natural and her hands twisted together. “Ask her out so I don’t have to watch what actual pining looks like.”

So Mel did.

And everything had been perfect after that.

Mostly.

The only issue, after having gotten past the hurdle of being emotionally intimate, was the physical intimacy. Mel wasn’t a virgin; she’d kissed her fair share of people, and even if she didn’t get those sexual urges that often, she still knew what to do to feel good. Even if the concept sometimes made her feel a bit uneasy, she was still human, and ovulation did happen to come around once a month. But during those years she’d attempted to fix her confidence, Mel had neglected the actions to back it up. 

What she should’ve done in hindsight is talk to you. Express all of her worries and communicate that all she wants is to go slow and for you to tell her what you want. What you want her to give you, because Mel would give you anything as long as you loved her. Except that lump kept catching in her throat–that fear that she would screw up something so sacred between two individuals and that you would view her differently after. 

Only one other thing had worked before, which is why Trinity is the person Mel asks for assistance. 

“You’re gonna have to figure out what strap is gonna work best for y’Mel,” Trinity mumbles as her hands trace from gripping over your sides to settle over your hips. It’s only to pull you back further on the dildo, your toes curling the comforter from the stretch that’s still intense even after Mel worked you to two orgasms. One with Trinity’s hand on her wrist and her fingers pinching at your clit, and the other with Mel curling them with that same pace she’d been shown. The drag of faux veins as the silicone slowly buries itself into your pussy makes you whine loudly, fingernails digging into Mel’s hips like you’re trying to prevent yourself from being forced to take more. You’re whining too. Loudly.

Mel shushes you gently like an owner with a fussy pet as her hand strokes over your hair, your face pressed against her stomach. Her eyes remain on the way your skin gives against Trinity’s grasp, the other woman’s lips pressing together as she tugs you back until there’s the soft clap of skin meeting. And another squeal from you as you ease more weight from your upper half into Mel’s lap.

It had been too long since you’d been fucked. Mel would never take anything further than grinding sessions, you humping her thigh more often than not, which you didn’t mind–but you’d missed the feeling of being full. Of being stuffed with a heavy weight that forced your mind to only focus on reaching a release, and for you to be so turned on that you swelled around whatever was inside of you. Preferably, you would’ve rather had Mel between your legs, but you knew her. Knew that she was a visual learner more than anything else and that this would make her feel better in the long run. Plus, with your face pressed against her, all you could smell was her. Your eyes were forced shut, mouth open and panting into the fabric of her t-shirt, pretending that it was her bullying her strap into your cunt.

“I mean, I’ve been doing some research,” you distantly hear Mel say as the soothing pets over your head continue. Your grip on her loosens as you feel yourself begin to adjust, heavy breaths turning into a full-blown moan as your back arches, finally pushing back against Trinity instead of having her pull you. “But I’m not quite sure what her favorite type of intercourse would be yet.” And you can hear the eyebrow furrow in her tone even as you try to shift your hips back to fuck yourself. “She really loves intimacy, and I don’t want to be too rough with her–”

Mel’s cut off by a muffled yelp from you as Trinity’s hand meets your ass, the sound of the slap making Mel blink. Her first instinct is to push Trinity away from you. To gather you up in her arms and comfort you. But then, you’re nuzzling your hips back again, like you’re desperate for more of that kind of handling.

“‘Kay, well, she’s obviously impatient,” Trinity huffs as she returns to that firm grip on your hips, pulling out just so the tip is still inside of you, the drag making you shudder. You’re already sensitive, both from your previous highs and after not being fucked in so long, so the drag over your walls makes your thighs shudder. “So figure it out after I make her cum.”

Mel tenses against you as Trinity sinks back into your cunt, another sound escaping your throat as even the smallest movements ricochet pleasure throughout your body.

“If you get too in your head since, y’know, that’s kind of your specialty,” she continues as her hips roll in another slow thrust, making a wet noise resound from where you’re coupled with her and your walls to clench around the strap even harder. “You can wait for her to get worked up and start backing up on you.” Trinity sounds breathy, movements of her cock becoming a bit more shallow–deeper. Nuzzling against one spot inside of you that has you drooling against Mel’s shirt. 

You’re the only one that’s naked, the other two still having clothing on their upper half, with Mel in sweatpants and Trinity in her boxers. The subtle reminder of fabric against your face warming has another rush of pleasure coursing through your veins, making your clit throb as you arch your back to try and press it against Trinity whenever she does those grinds of the strap into you. 

“Mhm, like that,” Trinity mumbles, one hand leaving your hips to trail down your spine before giving your ass another tap. Lighter than the first one, but still enough to have you gushing around her. Shakily, you let go of Mel, opting to press your palms into the mattress on either side of her thighs to lift your upper half, trying to look back at Trinity.

“More–”

Her hand comes down again, making your head drop with a long moan as Trinity fucks into you hard enough to have you falling against Mel again.

“This isn’t about you,” Trinity huffs as she moves to tangle those same fingers in your hair, tugging you up for Mel’s wide eyes to come into view. The sight of your girlfriend, so stunned with flushed cheeks and slow breaths coming from her parted lips, makes you whine. “Mel’s spoiled you too much.”

“It’s not–” 

The movements of the strap inside of you, coupled with Mel being in your vision while trying to object to Trinity’s words, has your brain going numb. That, and the fact that they’re talking about you like you’re not even there. 

“But it is,” Trinity chuckles, releasing your hair as Mel’s eyes flick from your face to the other woman. “None of my business, obviously, but if you ever wanna try to fix that, her G-spot is right up by her cervix.” 

That makes Mel’s mouth snap shut, a huff leaving her nose as a pout forms on her lips. The reaction pulls another laugh from Trinity as her pace finally evens out, probably finally working towards pushing you over the edge. “I don’t blame you,” she continues, batting Mel’s hands away from your head so she can curl her fingers around the base of your throat. You yelp as your upper half is pulled back to Trinity’s chest, tits bouncing slightly as the angle makes her thrusts feel deep enough to have you gushing. “Think it would be easy to spoil you. Yeah? Mm, yeah, you’re pretty.”

Hands are all over you. On your nipples, over your trachea, on your cheeks– You’re being hauled away from Trinity as Mel frowns at the other woman, settling you back into her lap. “You’re not kissing her.”

Right there– You’re right there. Not that either of them seems to care anymore, caught in whatever kind of staring battle they have going on as the noises leaving you get higher and higher–

“Relax, Melgisterial, let me teach you for once,” Trinity mumbles as that frown remains glued on Mel’s face. “One kiss isn’t gonna make her fall in love with me.” But the way she says it makes it feel like there’s something underlying. Something like: she will if I keep fucking her like this. Weakly, you paw at Mel’s stomach before reaching for her shoulder as words that you think aren’t even really words babble from your lips. 

Her fingers return to your face, squishing your cheeks together with one hand as she leans down to kiss you, tongue forcing its way into your mouth quickly. Much harsher than she’s ever been with you before, and it has you cumming. Body tensing as stars bloom behind your eyelids.