#but nevertheless

c.w- rivals to lovers (basically), a small melangdon mention, tiniest bit of smut at the end, drinking, that’s all I got for ya! Enjoy….

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Trinity Santos who’s competing even in the bedroom.

You don’t even know how you end up underneath the one and only Trinity Santos. Overzealous in nature but damn good with a scalpel, and the only person keeping you from being the best R1 at PTMC. Well, you do know one too many shots at the bar across the way from the hospital. Once again, in a competition with Santos, just not over a dying patient, this time over drinks. At least 8 shots of tequila, no cashier, back to back. But, you weren’t the one to tap out, glad to say on the eighth and final shot Trinity spit most of the liquor back in the shot glass.

“Take that.” That’s the last thing you remember, then everything went dizzy, you were thrown over someone’s shoulder, hanging on with sheer force. Langdon, the one who drug you to this dingy bar had thrown you onto one of your coworkers he trusted. “Get her home safe!” He yelped before getting drug away by his other half, Mel, who’s was hanging onto his forearm looking at him with no other words to describe it, hunger.

That someone, however, just had to Trinity. Her ego bruised, she thought of leaving you there, letting you wake up in your own filth, humiliated. Just as she felt when she lost that stupid contest. Then, she thought of a random man finding you, and then that just pissed her off.

Begrudgingly, she grips your waist, pulling your body closer onto hers. Her body stutters for a moment, you were hot, in more ways than one. Your body radiated heat, transferring towards the fingers dipping into the exposed skin of your stomach due to your short shirt, the heat morphing into her hand as if she was becoming apart of your body. She shakes her head and all the thoughts away with it. She was just as fucked as you were, cheeks tinged pink, halfway to her apartment she decides to cut through an alley, so ready to get home, then she hears you mumbling.

She looks over, lip upturned and burps the aftertaste of whiskey and tequila makes it way back up, “What the fuck are you whispering about.”

Your head, which was dropped, slings back up and you go forward a bit taking Trin with you, almost knocking both of you on her ass. Good thing she has great balance.

“She’s so hotttttt. Why does she have to be such an asshole.” You whine, not even realizing who you’re talking to. “I mean, we get it, you’re great at everythinggggg but you can’t give me one thing? Just one? Why do I always have to be second best, why can’t I be first just one time. Just once.” At first you were loud, but the confidence started to wain the more you spoke. “God, Santos is such a cunt.” You groan and her eyebrows furrow but she can’t help but smirk.

It’s true, I am a cunt. She thought.

“Too bad I like those too.” That catches Santos off guard, You giggle, sobering up a little, finally looking over to see the person you’ve been trauma dumping on for the past five minutes. “Oh fuck.”

“Oh fuck is right sweetheart.”

Oh fuck.

“Oh, fuck”

She smirks even harder, biting her lip, looking down at your reddened, plump lips, strands of hair sticking to your forehead, perspiration on your forehead giving you a dazed look. Cute. She leans in, bending her head to see your averted eyes, you refused to look at her but clinged to her like a baby koala.

“What was that about me? Being sooooo hot but such a fucking cunt, isn’t that what you said?”

Your head begins to hurt from embarrassment, you clinch your eyes shut and shake your head timidly.

“No?” She laughs, “But I could have sworn…”

You shake your head again, this time more firm. Your fingers grab at her tighter, “Shut up.” You whisper, she cracks a smile now. “What was that?” You push against her, making her slam against the cement wall behind her. “I said, shut up.” You were right in front of her face, still as drunk as ever, new found confidence swarming through you. Both of your breaths rang ragged, fog coming from both of your mouths from the cold air that surrounded you. Then, she kisses you. She fucking kisses you.

And you kiss her right back.

Her hands grabbed at your waist, your neck and then finally cradled your face. She pushed you back, left staring right at you. You don’t know what to do, but grab her by her shirt collar, off the wall and onto your lips again.

Her tongue ravaged you in the moment, teeth clashing from the amount of aggression that was in the kiss. She turned you around and pushed you against the wall. Her lips left yours with a wet ‘pop!’, resting her forehead against yours. “How the tables have turned.” She whispered, her index finger trailing your cheek, down your chin, and lower she goes.

All the way down, until she reaches the top of your jeans, she wastes no time unbuttoning them and stuffing her hand down your pants. “Oh fuck–“ is all you say before a had clasps over your mouth.

the killing moon