Lipstick & Pearls

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Night shift had started calmly enough, but by the time the clock hit ten, your desk is already buried in forms, patient charges, and a line nearly out the ER doors. You barely had time to sip the lukewarm coffee you’d grabbed before your shift started, and your phone is sitting on your desk behind the registration counter, buzzing insistently, forgotten. 

You’ve left it, your pocket empty as you walk back to a patient bay, paperwork in hand, juggling a clipboard and this particular patient’s medical history file.

The faint trill of your alarm continues ringing behind you, lost in the noise of beeping monitors and conversation.

You glance up from your spot in North-1 and catch Parker leaning against the counter at the nurse’s station, arms crossed and her eyebrows raised in a mixture of amusement and mild impatience. You throw her a quick smile and she tilts her head, her lips twitching up in the smallest smile before returning her attention to the chart she’s reviewing.

Back at registration, your phone’s alarm keeps insisting on your attention, even though you aren’t there. After a few moments, your coworker, who’s become irritated by the constant noise, snaps. “Seriously? Turn that shit off,” he mutters, pressing the side button to disable the sound before walking away. 

Your medication reminder silenced without your knowledge.

You don’t think twice about it because you’re already down the hall in another bay, answering a patient’s questions about an insurance form. A nagging feeling that something is off tugs at the back of your mind, but you ignore it, instead focusing on the words coming from the patient’s mouth.

You’re fine. You always are. 

The ER chaos is familiar, almost comforting even, at least when you’re not a doctor being pulled in a million different directions at once. Your job is important, there’s no mistake there, but it’s not a matter of life-and-death if you screw up. But the constant noise and movement of the emergency department doesn’t bother you now, especially with Parker around.

It’s beyond you how a casual night out turned into this.

The Monday-to-Friday night shift had been planning drinks after a long week, and while the front desk staff didn’t usually attend, they were always invited. You were expecting to see familiar faces when you arrived, but instead, it was just her. Just Parker. You hadn’t ever actually talked to her before; she always seemed…serious. Intimidating, even, in that calm, no-nonsense way that doctors can be. You’d almost turned around and left until she gave you an easy, small smile and nodded for you to join her. 

And then the night unfolded in a way that still makes your stomach flip even now. One-on-one, alone in the dive bar just up the road from the hospital, the ice had melted. She laughed when you told personal stories, her hand brushed yours when she reached for the appetizer menu, and God that teasing smirk when she leaned in close enough to whisper something that was hard to hear over the bar chatter. And when she’d kissed you, it was quick and surprising and left the tingling feel of her lips on yours long after you’d gone home alone.

Since then, it’s been more than just little moments. It’s been late dinners that turn into sunrise conversations, taking turns staying the night at each other’s places because neither of you can stand to say goodnight yet, and mornings spent sharing coffee in mismatched mugs while you scroll through streaming services and you have to pretend not to stare too hard at her. 

But tonight, as you pivot to another bay and Parker’s eyes find yours across the room, your pulse isn’t just running from the floor. You’ve learned her microexpressions, how to tell when she’s actually upset versus her focused face, and you love to watch her in her element so much that you can’t stop yourself from looking for her every time you cross the doors from triage into the department.

The night stretches forward in a blur of paperwork and patient names, and the constant shuffle of movement never really stops. By the time the initial rush settles into something more manageable, you finally make it back to your desk, your chair creaking as you drop into it for the first time in what feels like hours. The glow of your computer screen washes blue light across your face as you begin catching up on entries you’d been forced to postpone.

You rub at your eyes, blinking hard as the numbers blur together for a moment before snapping back into focus. You chalk it up to fatigue. Night shift always carries this heavy, dragging exhaustion that settles in your head and makes your brain go fuzzy. You take a sip from the cup beside your keyboard anyway, grimacing at how cold it’s gone.

The ER doors open and Parker moves through a cluster of patients in triage, her posture straight and voice calm as she discusses something you can’t hear. You watch her for a second longer than you should, the familiarity of her presence making your chest warm, before you drag your attention back to your screen. There’s still too much to do.

The lull doesn’t last long.

Another patient is called back before you can finish their intake and you’re back on your feet again, the clipboard tucked against your side as you weave through the maze of curtained bays and rolling equipment. The fluorescent lights overhead seem abnormally harsh, catching the edges of your vision in a way that makes you squint slightly as you step into the next room.

The patient greets you with the tired politeness that often comes with being in an ER in the middle of the night. They hand you their insurance card while you run through your practiced script, fingers moving automatically across your tablet. Halfway through confirming their address, the room tilts, like you’re on skates and someone has bumped you without warning. You falter, your sentence stuttering as you instinctively shift your weight, your hand finding purchase against the edge of the workstation beside you.

It passes as quickly as it comes.

You finish the intake without another hitch, offering the patient a reassuring smile as you step back into the hallway, rolling your shoulders once to shake off the lingering fuzziness.

You’re fine. Just tired.

The hours crawl forward, marked only by the rhythm of new arrivals and discharged patients. You move between bays, occasionally stopping at your own desk long enough to input information before being pulled away again. Somewhere around two in the morning, you realize you’ve refilled your water bottle twice already, even though you don’t remember finishing the first one. Your mouth feels dry anyway.

You’re halfway down the hall toward South-15 when the dizziness hits again, but worse this time. Your foot catches slightly on the tile beneath you, your balance slipping just enough that your shoulder bumps lightly into the wall. You still, pressing your hand flat against the textured surface as the world sways.

A passing nurse gives you a quick glance. “You good?”

“Yeah,” you answer automatically, pushing off the wall with a quick and embarrassed smile. “Just tripped.”

The explanation is enough for the nurse to let you move on without the conversation lingering.

The next few hours blur together in patches of conversation and data entry, your concentration slipping in and out. At one point, you find yourself staring at a patient’s insurance number, re-reading the same sequence of numbers three times before you realize you haven’t typed any of them. You blink and shake your head, and force your fingers back into motion.

It’s just fatigue. A long shift. Nothing out of the ordinary.

By the time the clock creeps towards four, the department has settled into a comfortable rhythm. Not slow, the ER is never slow, but everything seems less emergent. There hasn’t been a trauma in over an hour, allowing staff to start clearing out the patients in the waiting room.

You step into another bay, offering the patient a polite greeting as you pull his information up on the computer stationed near the foot of the bed. He hands over his wallet, chatting absently while you confirm his details, your fingers moving on autopilot through the familiar forms and fields.

Halfway through entering his policy number, a sudden wave of lightheadedness crashes over you.

Your breath catches.

The edge of the room darkens instantly, your vision peppering with black spots that flicker and multiply no matter how hard you blink. Sound dulls, muffling the patient’s voice into something distant and warped, like you’re hearing him in a tunnel.

Your pulse hammers wildly in your ears, fast and uneven, and you can feel it in your head, in your chest, in your fingertips. Your fingers slip against the keyboard as you try to steady yourself. The floor feels unsteady under your feet again.

You grip the edge of the workstation, knuckles paling, fighting to stay upright as your vision tunnels further, the overhead lights dissolving into blurred halos. 

You know this feeling, the warning signs buzzing in the back of your mind, but it’s hitting you too fast, too hard, stealing the breath from your lungs before you can think past the heightening of your senses.

“Can you -” your voice comes out thin and distant, even to your own ears. You swallow and force the words out through the haze. “Can you hit the red button behind you?”

The bed creaks as he moves to do what you’ve asked, confusion etched into his face.

You never even see him reach for it.

The last thing you register is the sharp trill of the alarm beginning to sound as your knees buckle, the world folding inward as you crumple toward the floor.

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Parker Ellis has always considered herself observant. It’s part of the job, noticing subtle things that patients don’t say, the symptoms that hide beneath lab results and vital signs, the changes in condition that can mean everything if you catch them early enough.

She’s been watching you all night. 

Not intentionally at first. It’s second nature now, her attention is drawn to you in the same unconscious way her hand finds you in the dark when she wakes up in the middle of the night. She watches you move through the department with your usual easy rhythm, weaving between bays with paperwork tucked under your arm, greeting patients with that unusually cheerful demeanor that sometimes puts patients at ease and sometimes surprises them that anyone can be that peppy in the middle of the night. It’s one of the first things she noticed about you: how naturally you slip into kindness, and how little effort it seems to take you to be happy.

She hadn’t expected that from you the night you first sat across from her in that bar.

You’d been quiet then, nervous in a way you tried very hard to hide, your fingers tracing condensation around the outside of your glass while you looked for something to say. Parker remembers thinking you were going to bolt at any second, or maybe throw up. She remembers intentionally slowing her tone, softening her posture, coaxing conversation out of you piece by piece.

And then you’d surprised her.

Beneath that shyness was quick humor, dry and witty in a way that didn’t lend itself to your nervous exterior. You’d discovered you both stayed up at ungodly hours on your nights off watching Formula 1 races, you trade commentary about teams and drivers like you’d known each other for years instead of minutes. By the time the bar staff had started stacking chairs, Parker had already become invested in the way your eyes lit up when you talked about something you loved, in the way your laughter slipped out and you covered your mouth to stifle it.

And later, when she’d kissed you outside beneath the parking lot lights, she was happy everyone else had bailed.

Now, months later, she’s learned the quiet details of you. The way you instinctively curl into her side while you sleep, one hand clutching her shirt to anchor yourself to her. The way you mumble half-formed words when she runs her hands over your hair. The way you pretend to still be asleep when she moves to get out of bed, only to then tighten your hold when she moves too far away.

She doesn’t scare easily. She works in emergency medicine, panic isn’t something she does. But the realization of how quickly you’re becoming important to her still catches her off-guard sometimes, surfacing in small moments like watching you from across the department and not knowing how to handle the affection that swells in her chest. 

Shen often makes fun of her for the way she stares at you.

Tonight, though, something is off. 

It had started subtly enough that she almost dismissed it. A slight hesitation in your step leaving registration. A moment where you’d paused mid-conversation with a patient, blinking like you’d lost yourself completely. She had caught it in her peripheral vision while discussing labs with a resident, her attention snagging instinctively on the movement before she forced herself to look away.

You’d kept moving. Smiling. Working.

She told herself it was nothing.

But the pattern continued.

She’s watched you lean a little too heavily against a workstation while entering information, your shoulders tight as though you were steadying yourself before pushing off again. She’s watched you refill your water bottle twice in the span of an hour. Once, she could swear she saw you misjudge a turn near South-10, your shoulder brushing the wall before you corrected yourself with a quick recovery that might’ve fooled anyone who wasn’t paying close attention.

Parker had noticed.

She notices everything about you now.

At one point, earlier in the shift, she’d walked past registration intending to make some excuse to stop by – she’d ask about a patient, maybe, or offer to grab coffee from the vending machine down the hall. The chair behind your desk had been empty when she arrived, the computer screen still glowing with an unfinished intake form.

Your coffee sat beside the keyboard, untouched and long since gone cold, the surface unbroken except for a thin film forming across the top. 

You’ve been running the floor nonstop tonight. She knows how registration gets when the ER backs up, how easily breaks get skipped, meals forgotten, coffee left abandoned in the rush.

Your exhaustion makes sense. It explains the sluggish movements, the occasional stumbles, the way you seem slightly less present when she catches your eye across the department.

So she lets herself believe it.

Even now, as she signs off on discharge paperwork near the nurses’ station, her gaze drifts automatically across the floor, tracking you as you disappear into another patient bay. There’s discomfort settling in her stomach that she can’t quite figure out, restless awareness tugging her attention every time you leave her sight. 

She tells herself she’ll check on you when things slow down. Make sure you’ve eaten, make sure you have more water, maybe steal five minutes alone with you in the stairwell.

The thought makes her smile.

The shrill alarm slicing through the ER shatters it instantly.

Her head snaps towards the sound before her brain has fully processed it, adrenaline surging as the emergency call light flashes from one of the bays down the hall.

The same one you’d just disappeared into a few minutes earlier.

Parker is already moving before she’s thought it through.

Nurses are converging from multiple directions, Lena’s voice is already rising above the noise as she pushes through to get to the front, Mohan is stepping out of a nearby bay and following close behind, Dr. Abbott appearing from the physician station with the calm and purposeful stride that always seems to precede chaos.

Parker is right behind them.

Or, she thinks she is.

By the time she reaches the curtained bay, they’re already inside. 

She catches the curtain with her hand and pulls it aside just enough to see through – and then she stops.

You’re on the floor.

Dr. Abbott is already kneeling beside you, his fingers pressed firmly against the side of your neck while his other hand steadies your shoulder. Lena is barking orders, her voice clipped and efficient as she directs someone to grab a gurney. Mohan drops to one knee beside Abbott, reaching for your wrist to confirm a pulse, her brow furrowing as she watches the second hand tick across her watch.

“What happened?” someone is asking the patient sharply.

“I – I don’t know,” the man stammers, half-standing from his bed, his eyes wide as he gestures helplessly toward you. “She was talking and then she started acting weird – she told me to hit the button and then she just fell!”

Abbott nods once, already moving.

“Pulse is rapid,” Mohan says quietly.

“Get her on the gurney, let’s move.”

Lena shoves the gurney into the bay, locking the wheels with a sharp click. Hands move in coordinated precision, lifting, stabilizing, repositioning you. Parker watches as they gather you carefully, one nurse supporting your head while another secures your legs, Mohan guiding your shoulders as they transfer you onto the mattress in one smooth motion.

You look wrong against the stark white sheets.

Parkers feet feel rooted to the tile.

She knows what she should be doing. She knows every step of this protocol, she’s performed it dozens of time for strangers, has issued the exact same rapid-fire instructions that are currently spilling from Abbott’s mouth. But her brain feels distant from her body, like she’s watching through thick glass as they wheel you out of the bay.

“BH-2,” Lena calls, already steering the gurney down the hall. “Someone go grab her bag from registration.”

The trauma bay doors swing open ahead of them, and Parker follows automatically, her pulse hammering painfully in her throat as her own team floods into the room. The heavy doors seem to slam shut behind her, cutting off the ambient noise of the ER and trapping her inside with the harsh fluorescent brightness.

Abbott is issuing orders immediately.

“Vitals. Cardiac monitor. Start a line.”

Mohan is already reaching for your arm, her fingers searching for a vein while another nurse rips open the velcro of a blood pressure cuff. Someone is coming in behind her, practically slamming your bag onto the table and looking through it to search for something that might help them understand.

Parker lingers through the doorway, her hands clenched uselessly at her side. She can’t make herself step forward. The air feels too thin in her lungs, her focus narrowing to the unnatural stillness of your body on the bed, the pallor of your skin under the lights, the way your chest rises too quickly with shallow breaths.

“Hey,” a voice says from beside her.

Shen appears at her shoulder, slipping into the room, his eyes shifting between you and Parker in an assessing glance.

“Parker,” he says firmly. “Stay back. We’ve got it.”

She barely hears him.

“Does she have any allergies?” he asks, reaching for the chart tablet someone hands him.

The question slices clean through the fog in her head.

“Yeah,” Parker says automatically. “Aprepitant, anaphalaxys.”

The room seems to all still at once, not literally, the movement of the people inside continues, but it seems like everyone’s awareness changes. Heads turn, surprised eyes flick towards Parker.

Shen looks at her, then toward Abbott.

Abbott straightens from the bedside, glancing between Parker and the tablet in Shen’s hand, his expression tightening. “You’re involved?” he asks. It doesn’t sound accusatory, more like it’s just confirmation.

Parker swallows, her throat dry. “Yes.”

Abbot nods, already turning back toward the team. 

“Dr. Ellis, you’re not on this case.”

“I’m fine,” Parker protests quickly. “I can still -”

“No,” Abbott interrupts, leaving no room for argument. “You can’t.”

“I’ve got her ID,” one of the nurses calling out breaks the tension as she rifles through your bag. There’s a soft clatter as something plastic inside it shifts. “Hang on -”

She pulls out a small, color-coded pill organizer, the translucent lids marked with days of the week. “We’ve got meds.” She flips the Thursday lid open. “Today’s still in here, whatever it is, she hasn’t taken it yet.”

Abbott reaches for the container and holds it up to the light. “Looks like Propanolol, and I’m counting four, if she’s on a standard dose that means she hasn’t taken any.”

Propanolol? Why would you be on Propanolol?

“Looks like we’ve also got Fludrocortisone in here!”

“Give me her chart,” Abbott orders, reaching for the tablet that Shen is holding out to him. 

The room hums with movement, your blood pressure cuff inflating, monitor leads snapping into place, while Abbott scrolls quickly through your file, his eyes scanning efficiently. 

Parkers brain works overtime. Propanolol and Fludrocortisone together are typically only used to treat one specific condition –

“There it is,” Abbott announces, mostly to himself. “POTS, we’ve likely got a flare up.”

The room seems to relax all at once, but Parker can’t tear her eyes away from you.

Postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome.

You never told her. 

It’s not like you owe her your medical information, Parker isn’t stupid. She isn’t accusing you of anything, not even for a second. But she still can’t stop the disappointment that pangs her chest. 

She knows how you take your coffee, the weight of your sleeping body tucked against hers, she knows the cadence of your breathing when you’re dreaming. 

But she didn’t know this.

“Let’s get her positioned in a reverse trendelenburg and start a saline bolus,” Abbott orders. 

The bed begins to tilt as Lena adjusts the controls, angling your body while Mohan preps the IV line with quick and steady hands. She secures the IV catheter smoothly, saline beginning to drip steadily into the line as the cardiac monitor chirps with rapid, uneven rhythm.

Abbott straightens from the bedside and moves closer to her, resting an insistent hand on her arm. 

“Parker,” he murmurs. “Come on.”

She doesn’t allow herself to be moved, even as he tugs at her elbow.

“If I can’t stay as her doctor,” she says,  “I’ll stay as her girlfriend.”

The room pauses again. Mohan’s hands still for just a second before she continues her work. Lena glances briefly toward Abbott to see if he’ll allow it.

Abbott studies her, the lines around his eyes deepening with conflict he doesn’t bother hiding. His gaze settles on you, then on the steadily improving blood pressure reading crawling upward on the monitor.

“You can’t interfere,” he says finally.

“I won’t.”

“You don’t touch equipment. You don’t answer for her medically. You stay out of the team’s way.”

Parker nods immediately. “Okay.”

Abbott holds her gaze another moment, calculating. “You stay until she regains consciousness. Then you get back to work so we can assess her properly. Understood?”

Relief washes over her. “Understood.”

Abbott gives another short nod and turns back to the bed.

The room resumes it’s rhythm around her. Parker shifts backwards until she’s pressed lightly against the wall near the side of the bed, careful and silent and exactly where Abbott told her to be.

Close enough to see you.

Close enough to hear the deepening of your breathing as your body begins to respond to the fluids coursing into your veins. Minutes stretch as the monitor tone gradually slows, each beep spacing out just a little more than the last. Color creeps back into your lips and cheeks. Mohan checks your pulse again, nodding to Abbott.

“Pressure’s coming up,” Lena says, her eyes trained on the screen.

There’s a flutter beneath your eyelids, a subtle twitch to your fingers against the sheets. She leans forward without realizing it, crossing her arms to prevent the instinct to reach out and touch you.

“Hey,” she says softly, before she can stop herself. “You’re okay.”

Your brow tightens slightly, like the sound of her voice is tugging at you beneath the surface.

“There we go,” Mohan murmurs, pulling at your eyelids to watch your pupils as she shines a penlight briefly across your eyes.

Your fingers flex again, purposely this time, dragging across the bed beneath them. A faint, confused sound escapes you.

Your eyes flutter once. Twice. Then they crack open.

You flinch at the harshness of the lights, disorientation evident in your face as your gaze drifts unfocused across the ceiling before sliding sideways, searching without direction.

“…wha…” The syllable falls apart halfway out of your mouth, your voice hoarse.

“You’re in the ER,” Abbott says gently, stepping into your line of sight. “You had a syncopal episode, but you’re okay.”

Your eyes slide again, more in focus this time, past Abbott and land on Parker.

Recognition flickers in your face, followed by confusion and the ghost of fear as you try to piece together why she’s standing against the wall of a trauma bay, her face almost looking panic-stricken.

“Hey,” she says again, softer this time, but careful not to move closer lest Abbott lay into her. “I’m right here.”

Your brow furrows deeper, your lips parting as if you’re trying to ask a question but can’t quite get it out, your hand twitching weakly against the sheet. 

“...what happened?” Your voice comes out rough, barely more than a rasp.

With a glance back at the Attending, who nods, Parker approaches your bedside and reaches for your hand. “You collapsed,” she says, her thumb brushing an absent circle against the back of your hand. “You were in a patient bay. You must’ve missed your first propranolol dose and had an episode.”

Memory doesn’t come back so much as it flashes – the black spots in your vision, the sound of your own voice telling the patient to hit the red button.

A groan slips out of your mouth, eyes squeezing shut in mortification. “Oh my god,” you mumble. “That is so embarrassing.”

Parker huffs out a laugh, shaking her head. “You passed out at work,” she says. “I promise you, nobody here is judging you for it.”

“You don’t get it,” you mutter, dragging your free hand over your face. “Administration fainting in the ER is like…the most humiliating professional hazard ever.”

“You fainted because you have a medical condition,” she corrects softly. “That’s not the same thing.”

You peek at her through your fingers, studying her expression, the lingering worry still in her eyes. Guilt twists in your chest.

“I didn’t tell you,” you say quietly.

It’s not a question.

Parkers gaze softens but her grip on your hand tightens just a little. 

“You didn’t get the chance,” she says. A lie to save your guilt.

Silence settles between you for a moment. The monitors continue their steady rhythm, the IV pump clicking beside you. You become vaguely aware of the rest of the staff trying their best not to intrude on what feels like a very private moment.

“I scared you.”

She exhales slowly. “Yeah,” she admits.

Her thumb brushes over your knuckles again. 

“But I’m here,” she continues. “You’re okay. And for what it’s worth, I’m glad it happened while I was around.”

You swallow, your throat tight for reasons that have nothing to do with dehydration.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

Parker’s expression shifts into surprise, then relaxes into a small smile. “You don’t have to apologize for something your body just does,” she says quietly. Then, after a small pause, her voice lowers even more.

“I love you.”

The words are gentle.

Your eyes widen and you inhale sharply. Parker’s gaze flickers, a hint of uncertainty slipping in. But she doesn’t take it back.

“I think I have for a little while,” she admits. “I just didn’t know when to say it.”

Emotion swells in your chest, shoving away the lingering haze in your head, past the embarrassment and exhaustion.

You squeeze her hand weakly, a watery laugh escaping you. “So you pick the moment where I’m hooked up to fluids and humiliated in a trauma bay bed?”

One corner of her mouth lifts. “You’re very memorable like this.”

You shake your head, tears threatening at the corners of your eyes despite yourself.

“I love you too,” you say.

The relief that washes across Parker’s face is immediate and raw, so tender it makes your chest ache. She leans forward, pressing a careful kiss against your forehead, lingering just a second longer than necessary.

“Good,” she murmurs against your skin. “Because you’re not allowed to scare me like that again.”

You chuckle again faintly. “No promises. My autonomic nervous system is kind of dramatic.”

Parker pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, smile still resting on her lips. “Then I guess I’ll have to stay close enough to catch you next time.”

➶❥➶❥➶

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☆ okay so i truly believe parker would be down horrendous for her gf. like constant lovey dovey eyes and smile whenever shes looking at you. shen high key bullies her for it.

☆ always holding hands. she always wants to have a hand on you in someway which is perfect cos you also want to be touching her 24/7. loves when you play with her rings. hand on your thigh when driving. arm around your waist at the bar. oh and shes always asking for kisses. always.

☆ cuddler!!! the second she gets back from a shift? shes basically falling on top of you and always falls asleep with her head on your chest. spooning only happens occasionally because she doesnt like that she cant see your face. but when it does happen youll normally watch tiktok’s on your/her phone (whoevers lil spoon) and press soft kisses against eachothers cheek and neck.

☆ and too continue from that. shes a sleepyhead. before she ever worked night shifts she had to drag herself out of bed in the mornings. and now throw you into the occasion? soft warm cuddly you? yeah youre having to spend a fair amount of time having to get drag her out of your bed.

☆ will speak for you when out in public if youre shy or anxious.

☆ she buys you flowers a lot. sees certain colours and arrangements that remind her of you so she has to buy it. showing you a picture of it wont do. duh. your apartment is full with so many pretty bouquets and it never gets lets sweet. she could give you a million and youd still nearly cry each time.

☆ takes a vested interest in all of your hobbies- and you for hers too. youre always doing some activity together whether its sporty or arty or relaxing or nerdy you are always down to try something new together or learn about the others interests.

☆ i love imagining her being made to do like tiktok relationship trends. “would you rather kiss me for $1 million or the prettiest girl in the world for $10 million?” she says the first option with a proud smile and no less than a second later does it click and she’s apologising to you.

☆ now lets get a lil freaky 😝😝

☆ this woman is a PLEASURE DOM

☆ i truly in my heart of hearts cannot see her being mean or rough. shes all about giving and receiving praise. no degradation unless you specifically ask for it because?? why would she wanna say those things to you?? ur the love of her life??

☆ and thats not to say she cant get rough. she can when needed. but her baseline is gentle and caring

☆ loooves when you ride her strap. holds you so close and is constantly kissing you. loves scissoring even more because you guys are even closer!!! some of her favourite experiences have been when she comes home from work, you run a bubble bath for you both and then eat her out soooo slow and soft and sleepy. very intimate, very vunerable.

☆ and she will spend hours between your legs. its the remedy for everything. shes bored? eating you out. shes stressed and needs to clear her head? go down on you. you both really missed eachother while at work? you know what im gonna say.

"You waiting on some news?" Jack frowns as he looks up from a patient's chart as he leans against the central hub of the nurse's stations. Shen passes by, his obnoxious slurping stealing her attention before she gazes back up at the older man.

Parker shakes her head. "Nah, it's just… I thought I felt it vibrate. Thought I missed a text." She drops the phone back in her pocket.

Jack pauses and he has that look where he seems to see right through her, sees the half-lie for what it is: a sad, hopeful wish for a different outcome. Fortunately, her attending leaves it be but it has Parker itching to check her phone just once—

Bzzt.

Maybe she should've been a bit more cautious at how eager she looks as she digs out her phone but the rush of dopamine is irreplaceable when the one person she's been waiting on occupies her screen in a multitude of playful texts.

—

"So. Night shift. This is weird."

Trinity shifts her weight from her left foot to her right foot as she stares up at the board, Mel by her side with her usual shifty yet calm energy. Dubbed as one of Robby's 'pitt-lings', day shift had been her usual schedule until another awkward not-fight with Garcia had her searching for some reprieve to the so-called dark side of PTMC.

"It's not that weird," Mel hums casually as she steps closer. She's been experimenting with night shifts now that Becca seems to crave more independence. Hand-offs had been completed an hour ago and although chairs never seem to catch a break, there's an odd sense of calm that blankets the ED anyways. "Just like day shift but the sun isn't up."

"Thanks, Mel." Sarcasm is easy to reach but it always falls flat whenever it comes to the other resident. Trinity sighs and picks up a patient but it's still so unnervingly calm. However, she isn't bored enough to tempt fate and say the 'Q' word out loud so she sidles up to the charting computers where Crus seems to have taken shelter in between his sips of red bull.

"Here to gossip, Santos?" Crus chuckles knowingly, his gaze fixed upon the screen. Trinity huffs out a laugh as she lets her gaze wander before they land on a curious scene of Parker near Peds, brows furrowed and lips pursed as she glares down at her phone.

"What's up with her?"

Crus follows her eyes over to his fellow senior resident and bites back a grin. "Honestly? I have no idea. Shen says it's an ex-girlfriend. My guess is it's a situationship."

Amusement flickers to life within Trinity as she gives Parker another cursory look. Tense shoulders, desperation evident in that gaze, and yet the slight fidgeting that never seems to settle.

"Situationship. Has to be."

Mel frowns. "I don't see it."

—

Jet lag doesn't touch you anymore when you land in Pittsburgh from Europe, maybe a touch sleep-deprived and dehydrated but nothing a decent nap and a bottle of Gatorade can't fix. However, you call for an Uber to take you straight to PTMC rather than the closest hotel from the airport.

You travel light anyways, a backpack slung over your shoulder as you circle the side of the hospital towards the ambulance bay instead. A security guard stops you, a frown on his lips. "Ma'am, you can't come this way."

A charming smile stretches across your lips. "I know, I'm here to see Doctor Parker Ellis? Unless she doesn't work night shift anymore?"

"I—" Before the security guard could answer, a doctor approaches with an iced coffee in hand.

"You're looking for Dr. Ellis?" Although the doctor—Dr. Shen, according to his badge—maintains professionalism, you wonder if you're imagining the mischievous glint in his eye.

You nod and readjust your bag on your shoulder. The doctor waves away the guard with a friendly grin before he beckons you over. The pitt encloses around you in its own specific energy of the night shift but you fall into step with Dr. Shen without a stumble. You're good at that, adapting and slipping between the spaces to fit in— makes it easy to slip out when you need an escape.

"Are you coming back from a previous appointment?" Shen asks but he knows better, a smile fighting around his straw. He's seen you before, not in person but on the homescreen of his colleague's phone when she'd been too exhausted about hiding her private life. Your hair might've been shorter in the photo but the beatific smile is the same.

"No, I'm just a—" But before you can solve the mystery of who you are to Parker, she appears around the corner and your nickname falls from her lips like a bad habit.

"Bug? What're you doing here?"

Your smile widens and something kickstarts in her chest. It fights against the slight resentment that builds every time you go radio silent ever few days; how could you look at her like that when she never seems to be enough to stay?

"I just landed, I wanted to surprise you," you say simply as you cross the space to gently cradle Parker's jaw. She goes down easily, bending the distance so you could press a feather-light kiss to the corner of her lips while her hand finds your waist. "Are you almost off?"

The mention of work sobers her up and she looks up just in time to see Lena, Shen, and Jack watching in quiet amusement. "Uh— almost. One more hour. Wanna wait for me in the break room?"

You nod and gently squeeze the forearm of the hand that's still holding your hip. "Take your time, El."

—

When the door shuts behind you in the break room, Crus doesn't hesitate to step into Parker's orbit with his red bull long forgotten.

"El?"

"Don't start, Henderson," Parker bites but the little smile on her lips shine likes a million-watt sign that even Trinity's curiosity is piqued. "She's just—"

"— your situationship," he finishes. "I remember her, you know. I was with you. Was she the same one that came by to drop off coffee a few weeks ago?"

The emergency department must've hit a lull because Lena wanders closer along with Trinity in tow, charts momentarily set aside for some good piece of gossip. Princess and Perlah's been rubbing off on her.

"Wait, spill." Trinity all but demands and even with the sidelong glance Parker gives her, the new resident doesn't budge. Looks like someone's already made herself comfortable with the night shift, Parker thinks to herself.

"We met a few months ago—"

"— several months ago," Crus amends with a shit-eating grin.

Parker takes a deep breath. "Several months ago at that shitty dive bar near here. It was karaoke night and the little thing had too much to drink. I was close enough to the stage to catch her before she took a tumble. Guess she saw my badge or somethin' because she asked if I could… check her out."

"Oh my god, that was kinda smooth," Santos grins, the exhaustion ebbing away; who needs energy drinks when hospital gossip works just as well to keep anyone up?

"Long story short, we started seeing each other, but…"

An awkward silence follows when Parker's little audience realizes there isn't anything else to say—or rather, nothing else she's willing to divulge to them.

"It's a situationship," Trinity realizes aloud and now her grin matches Crus, giddy at the new bit of information that subtly chips away at the cool front that Parker always seems to exude. "You have a situationship with that— sorry, what'd you call her? Bug?—and you're not handling it well."

Parker glare sharpens but it lacks any heat with the slight frustrated purse of her lips. "I'm handling it."

—

Parker Ellis is not handling it. Not even close.

Not when you're looking so peaceful, curled up on the lumpy couch of the break room, lips slightly parted for each quiet huff of breath. It's the end of her shift and yet fatigue takes a seat on the backburner of her mind so she could kneel by your side, run a gentle finger along your cheek to slowly rouse you awake.

"Hey, sweetheart," she murmurs and when your lashes flutter open, something inside her cracks at the way you beam so brightly at her despite the late hour. "Sorry for taking so long. Ready to head home?"

You gently take her wrist to kiss her palm before nodding and it takes everything in Parker to keep her mind from creating every domestic fantasy she's had of you. "Mhm, I'm ready." You slowly sit up and whine quietly in objection when Parker takes your bag along with hers, a sleepy frown on your lips when she slings both bags onto one shoulder so you could hug her free arm to your chest.

"Want breakfast?" she offers as the sunrise to peek through the clouds, ignoring the way day shift is watching the two of you exit to the employee parking lot.

You nod, still half-awake. "Waffles. Extra syrup, stat."

A bemused laugh escapes her as she kisses the top of your head. "Yes, doctor."

—

In the beginning, it hadn't been this hard. You were gorgeous but it'd been your smile that stole her breath, that much had been enough to suck her into your orbit even after you landed right into her arms. But in the beginning, it'd been something just physical.

"Maybe it can be… a few times thing," you had tried to explain over a glass of water. Parker had shepherded you to the bar to get you hydrated again, the flush on your cheeks slowly dissipating as you sobered up under her gentle guidance. Her hand was warm against your thigh, knees knocking into one another as she had all but dragged your stool closer until your thighs had parted to make room for hers.

"A few times thing?" Parker repeated with an amused chuckle.

You didn't back down, just elaborated with a smile that she couldn't quite parse through. A Mona Lisa type of smile, Jack would comment wryly. "Mhm. A few times thing, not a one time thing. It works out, doesn't it? You're an ER doctor, very hot of you by the way, and I… I travel a lot. I'm never in one city too long but if the stars align and you're free while I happen to be here, then we can totally fuck."

She choked on her Dr. Pepper at the blatant invitation but she focused on something else entirely, her smile widened. "What do you mean, while you happen to be here?"

"I mean, I don't really choose where I go sometimes." You had taken another dutiful sip of water and you were rewarded with another pass of her hand along your thigh. "I spin a globe and wherever my finger lands, that's my next destination…"

There was a story there, Parker knew it, but she decided back then to not pry just yet, lest you lose interest if she demanded a potential sob story in a bar. She must've played her cards right because she had you under her within a couple hours, moaning her name like a prayer.

A couple months in, she'd begun to make room in her closet for you, on the random week or weekend Pittsburgh had been your destination of the month. Maybe that should've been the first red flag that Parker's starting to crave more than this unorthodox relationship but she's already six feet deep when one day, she rolled over and nearly smothered herself into her pillow to catch the faint traces of your perfume.

One month ago, she's accepted her fate and can only pray that your little globe would lead you back to her.

—

It feels like home whenever you pass the threshold of Parker's apartment, but instead of the terrifying gallop of your heart that follows the idea of settling down (tachycardic, Parker would say—only because she knows how squirmy and turned on you get whenever she talks 'medical'), your heart rate settles. Like the fight or flight instinct inside you just turns off around Parker. And maybe that alone should be enough to terrify you anyways but it just has you seeking her out.

"You wanna shower first, lovebug?"

The full nickname never fails to bring forth a smile as you nod, watching Parker set your things down by the couch to free her arms so she can sling them low around your waist. "Yeah, I smell like plane."

She leans down to kiss along your temple, cheek, and jaw. "Smells good to me." With an indulgent grope of your ass, she hustles you over to her bathroom as your laughter echoes behind you. It's domestic and heartachingly perfect, living in this limbo of unnamed connection that's making you want more than just a stolen weekend. So maybe you stopped spinning the globe exactly five weeks ago, the countries and places you visit acting as placeholders to kill time before Parker Ellis pulls you back in; there's only so much distance you can go across the earth before you're right back where you started.

You shower quickly and efficiently, stealing her body wash to sate the homesickness that's been festering the moment you had left a few weeks ago and is only now abating back in Parker's presence. With nothing but a towel on, you step out to see her on the couch, TV on and a cup of coffee in hand.

"Are you working tonight?" you ask, a droplet of water sliding down the nape of your neck as you approach until your knee bumps against hers. An appreciative gaze runs down your body and you burn with delight.

She shakes her head. "No, I'm off for the next couple of days. So you didn't have to seduce me in that tiny little towel to convince me to stay," she teases, a hand sliding up the back of your thigh to skim the skin beneath your towel.

Your eyes roll but your smile is bright, playfully swatting her hand away as you head over to her bedroom. "Nuh-uh. You smell like hospital, Ellie, go shower then maybe I can share the bed with you." You drop the towel just right before you shut the door and she's left there reeling, mouth slightly agape.

"Cruel woman," she calls out but she hauls ass to the bathroom anyway.

—

"… god, yes—! right there…! fuck, fuck, fuck—" you squeal, hands fisted around the sheets beneath you as your thighs clamp like a vice around Parker's head. She's already wrung out three orgasms from you, once from her fingers alone, the next two with her strap (lavender, your favorite), and now she seems dead set on killing you with a fourth.

Her mouth is precise, her tongue deadly accurate as she tongue-fucks you with a brutalistic rhythm— it'd almost be considered clinical if it isn't for the way she's moaning around your sopping cunt while she grinds against the mattress. "Cum for me, sweetheart," she croons as her lips glide up to suck around your nub, her fingers taking the place of her tongue as she watches you arch off the bed and finish right on her face.

Your tense muscles slowly loosen as your hips sink back down into the bed, whining quietly when you feel Parker's hands massage your calves to alleviate any cramping for when you hurtled into your final orgasm. "I hate you," you say, eliciting an amused laugh from your lover as she places feather-light kisses up your body before settling in beside you.

"No, you don't."

You shake your head, lifting it so you can rest it right onto her chest while her arm fits itself around your frame. "No, I don't," you confirm with a quiet sigh, pleased and content.

—

It's rare for your visits to coincide on Parker's off days. It makes the short time she has with you feel longer in comparison to the days where you could see her between shifts, spending it mainly in bed or in the same four walls of her apartment.

("I can always call off for you, sweetheart, it's fine—"

"No—! Then it wouldn't be serendipitous, Parker. Imagine a weekend where the globe takes me back to you and fate decides to not keep you at the Pitt for me. Wouldn't that just be the perfect sign?"

Parker didn't quite agree but she couldn't ever say no, not when you get hung up on signs and hidden meanings and fate— it sounds like you've been circling the idea of the two of you being soulmates and she likes the sound of it too much to ever negate your own thought processes.)

So when you ask to see the city rather than be spoiled to death with more orgasms (another glaring sign that this has always been more than physical), it takes her a second to nod and agree as she takes this chance to show you that the two of you could be more than fuckbuddies.

"Where are we going?" Despite your third time asking, Parker merely hushes you with a playful kiss to your forehead before helping you into the passenger seat of her Jeep.

"You'll see, sweetheart."

It takes all your energy to keep from asking her to pull over as she drives, looking unbelievably attractive with the way she's got one hand on the wheel and the other curled around your inner thigh. With the short skirt you've got on, each pass of her warm palm seems to land closer and closer to where you usually need her the most.

"Parker…" you huff. She chuckles and at a stoplight, her hands move back down to your knee before stealing a kiss from you across the console. "You're such a tease." She neither confirms or denies it, just sends you a wink before turning her attention back to the road.

The drive takes you to the Conservatory and Botanical Gardens, eliciting an eager gasp from you. After the hassle of parking and admission (which Parker pays for without a chance of arguing), her fingers tangle with yours as the both of you stroll along the pathways.

Conversation flows easy and with the sun as your witness, you realize that spending time with Parker outside of the bedroom doesn't necessarily leave you like a fish out of water, struggling to pass the silence that isn't a moan or a desperate cry of her name.

"So where did your globe take you this time?"

After the botanical gardens, Parker had taken you to her favorite pizza place, buying a pie for the both of you to share. Not wanting to head back to her place yet, she's parked at an empty lot with the two of you sitting on the hood of her Jeep with the pizza box between you both.

You glance back down from where you've been staring up at the starless sky, mid-bite. "Rome," you hum, reaching for a napkin to wipe your mouth before Parker beats you to it. Her touch lingers. "Didn't really stay too long, might've gotten homesick."

Parker couldn't hide the surprise on her face even if she tried. "Homesick?" The unspoken question is there: what's home to you?

"Mhm. Homesick." The pizza box is shut and put away as you lay down, resting across the hood with your head nestled on the meat of her thigh. She waits patiently, her fingertips tracing your features gently. "My aunt traveled a lot and when she passed, she made me promise to see the rest of the world for her."

"You've seen a lot of the world already," Parker muses quietly.

"I did. She said that once I've seen my fill of the world to come back home. Maybe that's what's happening now."

The meaning of your statement settles deep in Parker's bones, her heart fluttering in a way that felt like hope. She can't deny that the gaps between your visits have been lessening far more frequently, feeding the impractical dreams of asking you—wanderlust personified—to stop flying. To stay here with her.

"You know what I want from this," she says quietly. "I think I've made it obvious."

Your laugh is delicate when your eyes finally meet hers, reaching up to cradle her jaw as your thumb skims along her cheek. "I think I need you to be more obvious, Parker. Every time I visit, I keep waiting for you to stop me from packing."'

"Can't ask you to stay for me when you've got the rest of the world to see, lovebug," she frowns. As much as she's been dreaming of this, she can't be the reason you clipped your wings.

"Parker, I stopped spinning the globe."

Your confession makes her pause. "What?"

Slowly, you sit up and she moves in tandem, bringing you close to straddle her lap as her arms wind around your waist. Your hands lock loosely behind the nape of her neck. "I stopped spinning the globe. I just… went wherever to pass the time, just to keep moving, but I couldn't stop myself from just going back home to you anyways."

Her eyes search yours and she must've found the confirmation she needs because when she kisses you, all the walls you both have half-heartedly drawn up crashes down. It isn't the first kiss you've shared, hell—not even the hundredth, and yet the way she kisses you without any hesitation elicits a newfound desperation to sit even closer.

But she slides slightly against the hood of the car and she laughs gently against your seeking mouth to reach behind and stabilize the both of you with a palm against the windshield. "Hold on, sweetheart—" she mutters as she carefully gets off the hood with you still in her arms, your legs wound tight around her waist. With her feet now planted on solid ground, she hikes you back onto the hood before leaning in to kiss you without a second to waste.

"Can't believe we're having our first kiss in the parking lot of a pizza parlor," you mutter against her mouth and she nips your lower lip in reply.

"Baby, this isn't our first kiss," she mumbles back, refusing to part from your lips for even a second.

You shake your head. "It is— as girlfriends."

The confidence that reverberates from those four little words draws out a pleased, dreamy sigh from her as she nudges the tip of her nose against yours. "So we're girlfriends now?" Parker teases anyway, just to see the way your nose scrunches up.

"We better be. You kissing anyone else, Doctor Ellis?"

"Wouldn't dream of it, lovebug."

—

EPILOGUE.

The sliding doors of the ambulance bay open for you and this time, Ahmed tips his head to you in greeting.

"Morning, Bug."

Ever since your first arrival, the nickname Parker gave you was immediately adopted by the rest of her colleagues. Despite her griping and whining, you never really did mind so she would drape herself around your back, huffing and whining into your neck much to everyone's utter surprise.

"Good morning, Ahmed," you chirp as you flounce into the ED just as handoffs have been finished up. Lena finds you first and you casually set a banana bread muffin onto the nurse's station before handing Shen a fresh cup of iced coffee from the artisanal cafe a few blocks down. Your gifts brighten up the end of what seemed to be a brutal night shift.

Dr. Robby chuckles and even his cool exterior as chief of the PTMC crackles beneath your insistent warmth when you make it to one of the charting computers where he's perched himself at. "Good morning, Bug."

"Hi, Dr. Robby. Muffin?" You offer the tray you arrived with, rewarding the older man with a beatific smile that he even falters at. "Is Parker done?"

Jack cuts in with a swiftness, stealing a muffin with a large bite. "She'll be right out, darlin'. Make sure she gets some proper rest, she got stuck with the few Dr. Googles."

You wince and nod in understanding. "Got it. Thanks for taking care of my girl, doctors." The two older men chuckle in fond unison, their gaze following the way Parker materializes from one of the rooms in South (after finishing a handoff with Trinity) and immediately perks up when you cross the distance to greet your girlfriend with a chaste but sweet kiss.

Parker Ellis had always been one of the cool-headed residents, quick to adapt to any situation in an emergency department and could be relied on to stay steady. Calm, collected, and undeniably charming only to fall apart and unravel into a blubbering, giddy mess when you deign to spare her a gentle smile.

Jack chuckles as he watches the way Parker slings an arm around your waist, dragging you into her side to press an obnoxiously aggressive kiss to your temple and cheek that has you squealing in delight while the both of you finally exit the hospital.

Before Jack could turn away to finish up his charts, he sees Ahmed clear the white board in the security breakroom to scrawl on a new betting pool category.

NEW POOL: Parker + Bug. Wedding date?

If one were to ask at the PTMC's emergency department, at least 90% of the people there (counting only the recurring patients, and the doctors) would be able to say they knew who Dr. Trinity Santos was. Should the following inquiry be then about her personality, the consequent answers and the faces accompanying them would be less than promising. She was a damn good doctor with a difficult personality, and she did not try to hide it. Let the people think what they want, she would say to her fairly recent best friend. What do I care how I look doing my job?

Perhaps for this reason, when you arrived at the ER, all smiles and a sparkle in your eyes that would surely disappear after your first week, everyone thought the same: Trinity Santos would hate your guts. As if trying to put this theory to practice, both Dana and Robby had decided to put the two of you in as many cases together, as if they were teachers choosing an entertaining sitting plan.

You had been more than happy at the prospect, always eager to make friends wherever you went. Work should be a place where you actually want to go, if not for the job itself, at least for the people there, was your motto. Blissful ignorance kept you from seeing or noticing the silent bets passed around by basically everyone in the ED.

Working with Santos proved to be way less eventful than everyone thought it would be. The two of you somehow complemented each other pretty well, not too many words necessary between you to be understood. In fact, sometimes it seemed as if Trinity had no interest whatsoever in talking with you more than the usual pleasantries you gave to an acquaintance or colleague you saw every day.

Which is why it surprised both Dennis and Victoria when Trinity approached you out of her own volition 12 hours in of a grueling shift that surely you would feel on your feet for the next twelve. The central hub was calm, relative as everything was in an ER. Everyone was either doing their charting or taking a rest while the night shift arrived so handoffs could be done, and you were no exception, munching on a protein bar while talking animatedly about a particular case to your coworkers.

"Hey, Bubbles," a voice rang behind you and you turned around, throwing a smile at Trinity. That was a new nickname.

"I gather you're Buttercup then?" You said with a soft smile, missing by a hair both Dennis's and Victoria's wide open mouths.

"Duh." Trinity swayed on the balls of her feet, hands in her pocket. A smirk crossed her face. "Huckleberry can be our Mojo Jojo."

"Hey–" Dennis's complaint was swiftly cut by Victoria jabbing her elbow on his side. Trinity just rolled her eyes.

"There's no way you know what The Powerpuff Girls are."

"I'm not that much of an idiot!" Dennis's complaint was once again punctuated by an elbow on his side. He was going to get a bruise at this point.

"So your parents let you watch a show with a drag queen crab demon and not one with a sponge cooking?" Trinity rolled her eyes. "Don't answer that. I don't care." She turned back to you. "Anyways, can I talk to you for a moment?"

Your eyes widened and you found yourself nodding before you were aware of it at all. "Uh, yeah sure. Right now?"

"Sure. I'm all up to date with my charting." She frowned and pointed at the amused gazes of her two friends. "I am." Her eyes looked down at you. "So?"

"Yeah, of course! Let me grab my things." Your bag was ready to go by your side and you swung the strap over your head and rested it on your shoulder.

The ambulance bay would have to do, Trinity thought. It was getting too warm for her liking in the ER. All courtesy of your presence, of course.

Finding a nook where a somewhat private conversation could be held, Trinity found herself leaning on the wall, the solidness of it helping to ground her body and mind, which felt like they were going to float away like the smoke of a cigarette (not that she smoked).

"You alright?" Her thoughts found an anchor in your voice and she lowered her eyes to find your concerned face. She felt a strange mix of relief at that expression being directed at her, and guilt for the exact same reason.

"Yeah," she choked out. "Yeah, I'm fine."

The unimpressed glance you sent in her direction was so endearing that Trinity felt as if her heart was going to explode. She wondered what that would look like. Biting her lip, she shook her head and looked down to her sneakers.

"Actually no, I lied." She swallowed thickly. "I'm ass at this feelings stuff. Ask Fuckleberry, he'll tell you. He's been on my ass all this time about how I should just suck it up and talk to you, but then I look at you and you're so pretty that I immediately get cold feet."

"Pause," you raised your hand and she looked up in panic. "You think I'm pretty?"

She snorted. "Bordering on adorable, to be honest."

After her confession that left a lot to desire, any reaction would have been fair game in Trinity's perspective. Anything except for the bright smile that filled your face with that same light she always found herself attracted to like a moth to a flame.

"Really?" Your tone was one of awe. How could you not see what she saw?

Trinity nodded, not trusting her voice. She hoped you would understand. And you did, if you walking the few steps that separated you was any sign of it. Your hands found hers and she found out she didn't want to part with that feeling ever again.

"Can I kiss you?" She blurted out and immediately blushed.

"Of course."

The kiss would go into Trinity's metaphorical vault of most cherished stuff in her mind. It was not groundbreaking and she had definitely had had more heated ones in the past. However, it had your signature softness, and that made it more important than anything else. Unhurried, matching her pace so that she wouldn't be left behind. She could cry, actually.

When you pulled away, a soft flush covered her cheeks, which made her all the more endearing. "Wow," was the only thing she could squeak out.

"Good?" You looked earnest.

"Fuck yeah," she laughed. Before you could completely pull away, she gathered her newfound courage.

"Do you want to grab dinner?" She had been about to invite you over to her flat but she felt that was going too fast when you had just had your first kiss.

"Sure! You got any ideas?"

As the two of you walked over to your car, you didn't notice Dennis and Victoria observing the whole scene from behind an ambulance. The younger girl was almost buzzing, most likely in anticipation of all the money she was going to get come next shift.

You're too engrossed on the screen to notice Trinity coming to lean by one of the computers in the station, obsessing with charting ever since Doctor Al-Hashimi took over as an attending.

She looks at you amusedly when you don't seem to even notice her presence. Fishing the receipt of the breakfast she had earlier out of her pocket, she rolls it into a ball in her hand before throwing it directly at you.

You barely flinch when it hits you, too used to her antics by now and unbothered by them — if not a bit endeared.

"Hey, dork." Santos calls, grin full of teasing when you scowl at her.

"Doctor Santos." You acknowledge with fake professionalism, fingers pressing to your lips in attempt to hide your inevitable small smile.

"What are we up to?" She askes with what she tries to come off as boredom, but that you know is just an excuse to talk to you.

"I am working, dunno about you." You retort playfully, glancing up at her without moving your head. "Kid broke his arm a few weeks ago and i have to take the cast off."

"Cool." Trinity hums, though you're not sure she's even listening to you properly. It might have to do with the intentional use of one of her favourite shirts of yours under your scrubs.

"You?" You question.

"What?" She seems to snap of her daze, neck turning slightly red with being caught.

"What are you up to?" You indulge in her conversation, chin coming to rest on your palm.

"Actually," She comes lean on your table table, "Check this out, some idiot comes in with a bad looking neck strain because as it turns he was trying to look at someone's phone in the train"

"Really?" You chuckle with raised eyebrows.

"Yep. Way more interesting than yours, i win." Her foot kicks your chair slightly and you push her arm with just as much force.

"It's a competition?"

"Absolutely." Trinity says triumphally, chin jutting out just a bit in a way you find too adorable.

You sit in silence for a minute, surprised to notice your girlfriend lingering by your table. You notice the way she nervously plays with her hands, exactly like would when she has something to say. So you wait for her to muster the courage to say whatever she needs to.

"Hey so i was thinking..." She pulls your attention from your ipad back to her, giving her a curious but reassuring look. "Maybe you could like come over after our shift is over? You know, have dinner and watch a stupid movie or whatever."

Her words bring relief to you, heart warm with the knowledge that she was so nervous to simply ask you over.

"Of course." You answer warmly, fingers hitching to take hold of her anxious hands.

"Okay. Cool." The doctor nods, gulping to play it off as she stands straight again. "You can also sleepover. If you want." Her eyes don't meet yours as she adds.

"Sounds really good." Your fingers tap the table as you throw her a sweet smile. "But only if i get to make dinner. Your food is awful."

Santos scoffs, trapping her bottom lip between her teeth as she pretends to be offended. "Sure, chef."

You shoo her away with the receipt she threw at you a moment ago, watching as she finally decides to get up and catch up on her charting.

But she's only two steps away when her figure rushes to turn back to you, only glancing around for one second before grabbing your face with one hand and clumsily kissing your lips.

Your fingers come to grab at the front of her scrubs, thorn between pull away and preventing her from doing so. But before you make up your mind your girlfriend pulls away, walking towards her table like nothing happened.

"Are you crazy?!" You whisper-yell, hands left in the air with shock.

Trinity laughs, shrugging as her fingers start tapping away on the keyboard. She seems pleased with her work, lips a darker shade of pink from the hasty kiss.

"Hey kid, what the hell are you doing?" Dana interrupts the moment, eyeing the both of you but not acknowledging anything. "Got a patient waiting for you, don't ya?"

"On it, sorry." You raise your hands in surrender as you slide of your chair.

Santos looks like she's going to quip something as you're walking by her chair, but interrupts herself with a subtle wince. Worry insights itself immediately on your stomach, stopping on your tracks. "You okay?"

She clears her throat, "Yeah, period's just kicking my ass." Her voice comes out in a grumble, as if to hide the vulnerability she feels for opening up to you — even if for something so small.

You soften at her, resting a hand on the back of her chair. "I'll make you some tea when i'm done with this." And then you're off to your task.

Trinity can't help but appreciate your words, throwing you a thankful look. You don't fuss over it, don't make a big deal out of it. She couldn't feel more understood.

Suddenly she doesn't feel like she minds Whitaker telling her she looks at you like an idiot in love. Because it might just be the only thing she's sure of.

Later she finds a sealed cup on top of her paperwork, a tiny smiley face drawn on it. She feels like an absolute loser for the fact that it brings out a smile of her own.

The day goes by as fast as it can in the hospital, and you find that at the end of it you're more excited than tired. The realization that it's your first time sleeping over at Trinity's house makes you giddy as you're pulling your things from your locker.

She finds you waiting outside after she comes out a bit later than you, dark hair down and falling over her shoulders smoothly. Her bag slung over her shoulder, dark navy jacket that you insist makes her even more cuddly and face glowing under the streetlights.

You don't miss the way her expression lightens up when she spots you leaning against a wall with your eyes already on her, as if your own light is the source of hers.

The walk to the car is comfortably silent, slightly mandatory to decompress from the loud ER. As she drives, you make sure to pull her free hand to your lap, aware that she enjoys it even without the courage of initiating it.

When you arrive at her apartment, you make sure to send her off to a warm shower, insisting it's exactly where you want her and promising to have some pasta ready as soon as she's out of it. Trinity relents easily, eager to get out of her work clothes and take away the smell of hospital, cramps making her move slower.

She's back before you know it, large sweats thrown on her legs and a large t-shirt that's wet on the shoulders because of her freshly washed hair. After pouring two cups of wine, you both find yourselves eating your bowls of pasta in front of the tv —watching a sitcom that you insisted would make her mood better.

Which is exactly why you find yourself leaning against her couch cushions with a full stomach, half of Trinity's body thrown across your lap.

It's not necessarily unusual to receive this type of affection from her, at least not now. You'd never believe it months ago if someone told you there was this whole other side of her.

Now you relish in the comfort of it, fingers running through her hair that you brush and dried earlier and scratching her scalp with your nails softly.

"He absolutely cheated on her and she shouldn't get back to him." She grumbles from your lap, weirdly interested in the drama going on in the tv. "Besides, who the hell dates an idiot named Ross?"

"Sure, love." You agree with a chuckle, hand stopping its movement on her head to come and rest on the back of the couch.

She doesn't seem to mind it at first, lips pulled into a concentrated pout as she looks at the screen. But after a moment her head leans closer into your lap, hitting your stomach in request that you amusedly ignore.

"Baby." She calls for you without looking up, voice sweet dripping with honey.

You have no choice but to comply pulling your hand back onto her hair and twisting some strands with your thumb. As if not satisfied, Trinity grabs your other hand with hers. Guiding it to her stomach, you understand the assignment and gently massage it with pressure right above the waistline of her sweatpants.

Your girlfriend hums in appreciation, hand still atop of yours and tracing shapes with her fingers.

Without strength to hold back, you lean to press a peck on the corner of her lips. Her face turn as you do, capturing your lips in hers for a kiss that leaves you wanting more. And she knows it just with a look to your face.

She's sitting up in a flash, peering at you with need. "Can i?" And she's already leaning in, lips smashing into yours eagerly.

Her hands cup your face to pull it as close as possible, connected lips turning you into one only. You grab at both sides of her waist, fingers bunching the fabric of her shirt into your hand as you continue to relish in the taste of wine that lingers in her mouth.

Frustrated at not being as close she wants to, Trinity moves to your lap with you now trapped between her legs that press on the couch beside your hips. A noise leaves your throat, giving her the opportunity to deepen the kiss as one of her hands tangles on the hair at the back of your head and tilts it up.

Her body practically falls onto yours, tongue exploring your mouth like a thousand times before — every time more avid than the one before.

One of your hands slips inside her shirt where it rides up on her lower back, slowly tracing up her spine and exploring every inch of skin you can find as the other grips her waist to pull it flush to yours. You can't help but moan when she complies quickly with a grind of her hips.

"Fuck." You breath out, lips shiny with her as you move your ministrations to her jaw.

Your girlfriend is quick to tilt her head to give your access to her neck, your mouth pressing wet and messy kisses along her throat and all the way to the spot under her ear. You nip gently on the side of her neck, kissing the marks right after leaving them.

"God, i love you." The words leave her mouth before she's able to think them through, immediately freezing you on the spot.

Your mouth is slightly ajar as you lift it from her skin, eyes wide as you observe her every expression. "What?" It comes out quiet, your voice feeling rusty.

Her throat bobs as she swallows nothing, and you can already feel the wall she's about to build. But you fight it, steading her in your lap when she makes move to leave.

"Did you mean it?" You question with adoration, searching her eyes when she refuses to look at you. "Trin." The call is gentle enough for her to come back to you

"Course." She mumbles like it's obvious, which it is. But it's nice to know it anyway.

"I love you." You reciprocate feeling giddy.

"Yeah, don't let it get to your head." She rolls her eyes with a smirk, mouth close to yours as she speaks.

You're too emersed in your own bubble to notice the door opening and closing.

Dennis steps inside the apartment with soft steps, aware of how late it is and how he doesn't want to annoy his grumpy roommate by waking her up at this hour after a day of work.

What he doesn't expect is to walk in to the living room to the sight of her making out with you on their shared couch, sitting right on your lap and unaware of his presense.

"Oh my god!" He exclaims in panic, heat rushing up his body and turning his cheek into a deep shade of red.

You both scramble away from each other, startled by the sudden presence in the living room. Trinity throws him an annoyed look, as if having forgotten he also lives here.

"Are you just gonna stand there, dumbass?" She asks with a roll of her eyes.

"I- No! I'm so sorry." He scrambles to cover his eyes as if he's seen something obscene and rushes to his bedroom, awkwardly greeting you when you throw him a warm smile as if to tell him it's okay.

Santos groans in frustration once the door of his room is closed, "Stupid Fuckleberry." Her hands rub at her face.

"I think he's sweet." You reason, chuckling as you take in what just happened.

"Cockblocker is what he is." She retorts, slumping beside you on the couch.

You raise your eyebrows with a grin, "Poor baby."

"Shut up." She shuts down your teasing.

"You love me." You affirm with a softer tone than intended, pressing one last kiss to her cheek. And the worst part is she can't deny it now.

Later that night you fall asleep on her bed that is a bit too small for the both of you, mouth pressed to her shoulder and arm thrown across her stomach.

Trinity chuckles, “Perfect. Now we’re gonna ramp it up. Are you ready?” She’s staring at you through the mirror, gaze heavy and intense. You’d look away if her stare didn’t make your cunt pulse.

You bite your lip, “I’m ready.”

Trinity kisses your neck. Her fingers leave your clit, and you whine. She clicks her tongue, “None of that.” She slaps your clit and you gasp. “You’re supposed to be learning, remember?”

You squirm, “I’m sorry.” Part of you wants to mouth back, just to feel her hand on you again. “I’m ready. I promise.”

Trinity licks her lips, “Of course you are. My sweet little intern, always so eager.”

She presses two fingers to your slit. “Remember down here?” Trinity pushes them in agonizingly slowly, and your mind goes blank. You nod, and Trinity tuts, “Words, baby.”

“I do.”

“Good girl,” Trinity begins to move her fingers, curling them up against your g-spot, just how she demonstrated earlier. “Such a fast learner. I’ll make sure to put it in your evaluation.”

Trinity’s free hand slides up to your breast. You already had your lesson about that, so she doesn’t comment as her fingers pinch your pebbled nipple.

“Now let’s put it all together. I’m going to finger you down here, and at the same time I’m going to-“ Trinity’s thumb lands on your clit, massaging it in time with the fingers in your pussy. “-Rub your pretty clit.”

You gasp, trying to squeeze your thighs shut, but Trinity’s legs hooked around yours stops you. “Keep those legs spread, I want you seeing what I’m doing.” You force your eyes from the reflection of her stern face back to her hand on you. “Tell me what you’re feeling.”

“Uh…” Words are becoming hard. It’s been a long time since someone has touched you, let alone someone who knows what they’re doing. “I feel nice.”

“Nice?”

“Yeah… nice.”

Trinity’s fingers slow, massaging your g-spot in practiced motions. Pressure is very quickly building in your gut. “That’s it?”

“No, I…” You gulp. “I think I’m gonna come…”

“Good,” Trinity says, “That’s good. I’d be a bad teacher if you didn’t, baby. Tell me what you need? That’s another lesson— check in with your partner.”

“More on… on my clit.” You tack on, “Please.”

“Manners, I like it.” That’s the last thing you process, because Trinity ramps up the intensity, coaxing your orgasm out of you by the deft pad of her finger.

You barely manage to stutter out, “I’m- I’m gonna—“ And then, you’re coming, riding Trinity’s fingers like there’s no tomorrow. You sing her praises, moaning and gasping as the world around you disappears. All that matters is Trinity’s solid presence behind you and her hands on you.

When your orgasm wanes, Trinity pulls her fingers gently out of you. She gives your clit one last pat, and you jump, moaning softly. Trinity shushes you, kissing just below your ear, and asks, “How was that?”

“Informative,” you slur.

She laughs, adjusting your boneless body so you’re facing her. Trinity kisses you softly on the lips. “Rest up,” Trinity says. “Tomorrow’s lesson is oral. There’ll be a hands-on exam afterwards.”

“Hands-on or mouth-on?”

Tonight is one of those nights, you're sprawled out on the couch with Trinity, resting against her side while a movie plays. Though, while he's taken a hit or two, you haven't touched the unopened cider that sits on the coffee table. Instead, you're eyeing the pen in her hand.

Eventually, you decide to just go for it.

"Baby," you say, hand trailing up her bare thigh, toying with the hem of her boxers. "Could I try some?"

She frowns, pausing with her pen halfway to her mouth. She points it at you, "My vape?"

You nod, biting your lip, "Yeah."

"Why?"

"Uh," you shrug, "I'm just curious, I guess."

Trinity makes a face, clearly thinking it through. She eventually shrugs, handing the vape over, “Knock yourself out.” As you lift it to your lips, she quickly clarifies, “But, like, only a few hits for now. I don’t want you greening out.”

Thirty minutes later, it's safe to say that you are high. You hit the pen only a few times, but you’re feeling fucking great. You’ve melted into the couch, laying almost entirely on top of your girlfriend.

The movie is still on, but you’re only half paying attention. There’s a much more present issue making itself known between your legs. With every stroke of Trinity’s hand up and down your back, you can swear you feel more wetness flood your panties.

Eventually, it becomes too much. You squeeze your legs together, biting your lip to stop yourself from whimpering. Unfortunately, you’re not as subtle as you think. Trinity sits up, despite her own high, she’s clearly worried. You smile as you stare at her face.

"Are you okay? Hungry?" She asks, "I can go grab you something to eat. Or water– shit, yeah, you're probably thirsty."

Your smile somehow stretches wider. "No," you hum.

She tilts her head, "You sure? I don't mind getting you something."

Truthfully, you could eat and you could go for some water, but the thought of Trinity leaving you even for a moment sounds awful.

"Baby," you confess, "I'm horny. Like really horny."

Trinity laughs, but before you can get embarrassed she pulls you closer until you’re face-to-face. “Really? Getting high gets my girl all needy?” She teases.

Heat rushes to your face, you find yourself nodding as her words go straight to your pussy. “Yeah,” you whine. “I think so.”

Trinity chuckles. You lean forward to kiss her, but your girlfriend stops you with a hand on your chest.

“Before we do this,” she starts, voice soft but serious. “No sex tonight.”

You pout, “But—“

“Nope,” Trinity clicks her tongue. “No sex. This is your first time getting high, you need to ride it out and get used to it before I’ll even consider it.” Before you can get too disappointed, she adds, “But making out is fair game, babe.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Fuck yeah.”