#x ftm reader

(wlw) She had a crush on you since she met you but wasn't sure if you were into girls at first. She saw you at Pride the next year, which gave her enough confidence to shoot her shot.

Early on in the relationship, hesitant, she opens up about being on the autism spectrum. She explained that she had been diagnosed later in life due to the lack of mental health care growing up.

Her parents assumed she expressed herself the way she did because she spent so much time in the hospital and not around other kids.

^ She also told you about her seizures and explained the conversation she had with Robby. She was unsure about telling you about her medical conditions as she doesn't want to be seen as incapable. You reassured her that you still care about her and want to be together.

(wlw) You both go to Pride almost every year to give out fliers about LGBT health and support groups within PTMC.

(ftm) (pre-relationship) After a few dates together, you came out as trans to her. You really liked her and didnt wanna lead her on thinking you were cis. She wasnt shocked because of the trans tape and feminine products she saw in your cabinet, it just made more sense. She was already in love with you; what was in your pants didn't bother her one bit.

Can be obsessive and jealous but has mellowed out a lot the longer you were together. On the rare occasion, she is jealous, it is pulled off so nonchalantly you don't realize till the other person stops talking or walks away.

(FTM) Baran will worship your body to the point where your body dysphoria melts away. Over the years, she's become so attuned to your body language that she can tell when you need more love and gentleness.

She loves her independence and being the attending at the Pitt but doesn't mind when you take the lead on things at home. Cooking, cleaning, vacations, intimate moments; anything to allow her to breathe and make home her safe space.

^This is actually a reason why she fell in love with you. She needed someone she could crumble into and let go. After being together for so long, she couldn't imagine NOT being cared for.

Baran was unsure about you meeting her son, since he was still young and didn't want to create instability. It wasn't until he saw her lock screen of you two that he asked who you were. Eventually, you two met and hit it off immediately, which made her hopeful for your future as a couple.

Loves taking baths with you after a rough week. A warm bubble bath and her favorite wine while she lies back onto you. You even made a playlist for her while you both relax.

Secretly enjoys being called Dr. doe eyes, but only by you

Can be a helicopter mom with her son, and at times you have to remind her that he's growing up and needs to experience things on his own.

Teaches you Farsi, and you kind of butcher it the first year until you learn to mimic the accent

There's two members of her crew chatting quietly at the lower level of the bus, seen just before one of them walks up the stairs before sliding into your own bunk. You’re up in Billie's, headphones hanging from a hook beside the frame with your phone in-hand, scrolling through Tumblr as you wait for her.

She enters the room with a yawn, the soft glow from your phone illuminating your face in the dim light. She takes you in for a moment, her gaze falling over the loose fabric draping over your body in lazy ripples, eyes lingering for a second too long on your lips.

Billie mentally chides herself as she climbs into bed beside you, crawling under the blankets and immediately scooting closer. She buries her face in your chest, arms coming up to wrap around you as she lets out a soft sigh, her body molding against yours perfectly—like she was meant to fit you.

Your hand reaches out to pull the curtain to the bunk before wrapping your arms around her torso, a soft hum vibrating against the top of her head.

"Mmmh, hey..." You cooed, fingers running through the dark waves of her hair, "You smell good." A soft chuckle fell from your lips, realizing how corny that sounded. Your leg hooked behind hers, pulling her in closer as the both of you got more comfortable.

Billie lets her body melt into your hold, feeling the warmth of your skin through the thin material of her shirt and the soft touch of your fingers in her hair. She inhales deep, the scent of your cologne filling her nostrils, and she nuzzles her face against your chest— content to just lie here with you forever.

Your leg hooks around hers, your legs tangling together underneath the blanket, and she can't help but let out a soft hum of contentment.

"So do you," she mumbles, her voice slightly muffled against your shirt. She's comfortable in your embrace, her body pressed tightly against yours—fingers still running through her hair. And as much as she's enjoying just lying here with you like this… a part of her wants more. Billie can feel the steady thump of your heart against her cheek, your fingers sending tingles down her spine-and a small, wicked thought enters her mind.

You traced thoughtless patterns into her back, the fabric of her shirt wrinkling under the gentle brush of your fingers. You let out a soft sigh, just enjoying the fact that you could do this so mindlessly and comfortably.

She shifts slightly, pressing closer, her lips grazing the dip of your collarbone as she exhales, warm breath ghosting over your skin, her fingers curling slightly into your shirt—subtle, but she knows you’ll notice. And then—as if to really test the waters—she lets her teeth drag lightly over your skin-just for a second-before pulling back.

A shaky breath fell from your lips as they parted, hand stilling before dragging up the back of her neck and flexing into her hair, pulling gently but enough to make her eyes meet yours, causing Billie’s breath to catch. Your gaze was dangerous, yet teasing, "You're being risky..." you whispered, voice hoarse as your free hand dragged down the dip in her waist.

You pulled your hands away from her before shifting your weight to loom above her, lips parted with almost heavy pants.

"You wanna do this?" You asked in a whisper, "Right here?" Your knee spread her thighs beneath you, pressing upwards between them— she can't help but gasp, the soft, shaky noise breaking free from her throat as your eyes bore into hers, her heart racing inside her chest.

God, you look delicious like this, hovering so close to her, all hard edges and focused gaze, dominating her with that knee between her thighs, holding her at your mercy.

She nods, her words coming out desperate and breathy, "Yes—please."

You press your lips into hers, hand moving up to cup her throat just gently, Your tongue swiping over her bottom lip—a silent ask, and her lips part willingly—before slipping into her mouth and pressing against hers.

You press your knee harder into her, hand moving to brace yourself as you gently rocked it into her.

She lets her legs spread wider, her hands coming up to grip your shoulders—the feeling of your body pressing against her so good, your knee driving against her and sending heat through her. Billie can feel your lips curving into a smile as you kiss her—probably too cocky about the way she's losing her damn mind right now.

Your left hand moves to meet her waist, pulling and pushing as you guided her into a rocking motion—riding your knee. Your tongue was desperate for her, curling and pressing against hers with soft pants. He kept quiet along with Billie, all too familiar with having to do so.

She follows your lead, rocking into your knee with a needy desperation, her hips moving without her permission. The feeling of your tongue driving against hers has her breath coming in panting gasps, all the heat in her body concentrated between her legs. Her body feels so sensitive, every touch leaving sparks in its wake.

Your grip on her hip isn't quite enough to hold her in place—so she grabs your wrist and yanks it to her upper thigh, pressing your hand against her skin and keeping it there. Your fingers curl into the skin there, acknowledging and teasing just how needy she is all for you.

There's a sound from outside the curtain, footsteps approaching the bus—probably one of the other crew members going to bed.

You don’t seem to hear it, tongue flicking against hers again—but Billie... she does. She reluctantly pulls back with a shaky gasp, her eyes wide and voice breathy—"Wait, w-wait—someone's coming—"

You pressed your palm against her mouth, ears wide open as you snake your fingers up the leg of her shorts—dangerously keeping this tension between you unwavering.

"Billie?"

A voice from outside the curtain, muffled but unmistakable—one of the crewmembers looking for her.

You freeze, fingers stilling—but not moving away—as you glance down at her with wide eyes. Your lips twitch into a smirk—one that says we shouldn’t, but—your fingers press down just a little harder.

You peek your head out of the curtain, fingers dragging up the lace of her underwear. "Dude— she's sleeping." You whisper to the guy before closing it right back up and returning all of your attention back to her.

Billie bites her lip, her teeth sinking into soft flesh as she fights to hold back a sound—her body shaking slightly as your fingers tease her, sending jolts down her thighs. She can hear the other member muttering "Oh, alright" and "Goodnight," and—thank God—stepping away.

She swallows hard, her eyes wide as she looks up at you, her breathing coming in soft, shaky gasps. Her voice is a hoarse whisper, "...That was close."

And then—as if something inside her snaps—her eyes lock with yours, and all she can think about is how badly she needs you in this moment.

She craves your touch, your kisses, your sweet voice sending shivers down her spine. She wants more—wants you to drive her insane, wants to forget everything else except the feeling of your body against hers. Her body moves on its own, her leg hooking around your hips as she pulls you back down on top of her.

"Don't stop."

An eyebrow cocked up at her demand for your touch, a smirk toying at the edge of your lips. Your fingers press slow circles into her clit, already soaking for you—of course she is… You leaned down, kissing her neck as you worked her more and more desperate under your hands.

It's so unfair how fast you have her a trembling, whimpering mess, her body quivering under your touch. She can barely remember how to breathe, all her focus on the heat building up between her legs, the pleasure coursing through her veins.

A soft, needy whine leaves her as you kiss her neck, her fingers tightening their hold on your biceps. "More—" she breathes, "I need more—"

A hand falls over her mouth, silencing her pleas with a soft "Shhh..." from you. Your hand tugs down her underwear along with her shorts, two fingers sinking deep into her before curling up into that perfect angle of hers.

Her eyes flutter shut, her back arching up off the bed to press into you—her gasp muffled by your hand over her mouth. Billie can feel a heat pooling in her stomach, a thirst that only you can quench. Your touch is like fire against her skin, leaving her burning and hungry for more. She lets her head fall back onto the bed, her breathing ragged—the sound of the other bus members in the background a distant thought at the edge of her awareness.

You try your best to keep her quiet within tiny space they share, it wasn't much of a struggle, but it surprised you how loud she allowed herself to be. Your efforts grew rougher—faster—thumb brushing over her clit as your fingers curled into that sweet spot you knew had her trembling, arousal already dripping between her thighs.

You couldn't help but let out a low groan at the sight of her.

She presses one hand over yours, the other moving to grab the edge of the pillow, anything to keep her from making too much noise—her breathing coming in ragged gasps, her chest heaving with each of her breaths. Billie can feel the heat building up inside her, the tension winding tighter and tighter—she's so close, so close to tipping over the edge.

Every muscle is tensed, her fingers gripping the pillow so hard her knuckles are white. "Please," she whispers against your palm, "Fuck—baby, please—"

Your thumb works faster, drawing tight circles into that sensitive bud as you drank in every single noise and reaction that you pulled from her.

God, it was intoxicating...

You were drunk at the sight of her, at the feeling, it was all so much and not enough at the same time.

Her body shakes—every nerve ending on fire, her entire being zeroing in on the maddening pleasure you’re pulling from her. She bites down hard on your palm to muffle herself, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes as she's pushed closer and closer to that edge.

And then—then—she tips over.

A silent scream parts her lips against your hand as she comes undone, waves of ecstasy crashing through every inch of her body like a tidal wave.

Your fingers begin to slow, that schlick sound becoming more prominently pronounced just before you stop. But you don’t pull them out just yet, letting her settle, letting her breathe. Your eyes are locked onto hers, your gaze sincere and genuine as your lips part, "You okay...?" You ask, voice tender and caring as you pull your hand from her mouth.

Her chest rises and falls rapidly, her body still humming with the aftershocks of pleasure. She blinks up at you—her dark eyes wide, glassy from the intensity of it all—and she nods weakly.

"Yeah… yeah," she breathes out, voice hoarse and soft as a whisper. Then—because she's Billie, because affection is her default language—she reaches up to cup your face in both hands before pressing a slow, gentle kiss to your lips.

You kiss her back—of course—eyes fluttering shut as you very gently pulled your digits from that soaked hole between her thighs, brushing lightly past her clit before pulling away. They wipe across the hem of your boxers, peeking out from those soft pajama pants, as your free hand moves up to gently cup her face.

You melt into this moment, the vulnerability after the blaze.

She nestles into the kiss, her lips moving softly against yours—gentle and slow, nothing like the desperation from earlier. The vulnerability in this moment makes her heart swell—how tender you are with her after something so intense. It's a side of you, she adores—the way you hold her face like she's something precious.

She pulls back just enough to press your foreheads together, breathing you in before closing the small gap between them for another soft peck.

Though this moment between you is utterly wholesome, something you’d never forget, you can't help the throbbing between your thighs… Those pretty noises she made just moments before echoed through your ears over and over again.

"You did so good for me," you whispered, eyes drowning in hers, and praise makes her stomach flip—god, the way you say that, so soft and proud of her.

You glanced down at her neck for just a moment, pressing a tender kiss there to distract your because this is supposed to be something gentle. And when your lips brush against her neck, she shivers—not from arousal this time (okay maybe a little), but from how loved it makes her feel. Like she's something cherished, not just desired.

Her fingers slide into your hair as you kiss down to the base of her throat—a quiet sigh escaping as she leans into you completely.

She wants to return the affection tenfold...

You lean back, almost sitting up as you reach for her panties, still stretched on either side of her ankles, pulling them back up for her. "Up." You command softly, lifting her hips as you slid the fabric over her hips.

Billie sits up obediently, her body moving on instinct as you adjust her panties—her cheeks still flushed from everything that just happened.

The sight of her was utterly intoxicating… You couldn't help when you squeezed your thighs together—just the slightest.

There's something achingly sweet about the way you take care of her afterward—the gentle commands, the soft touches. It makes her chest feel tight with affection. Her eyes flicker down to your lap for half a second—she knows that look, knows what it means, and despite how spent she feels right now? A small part of her wants to return the favor too.

You lean down, relaxing your body with a soft hum vibrating in your throat as you lie down next to her. Your arm drapes over her stomach, eyes fluttering shut to relax yourself a little bit. "Mmh..." You hummed, "So pretty for me." Your fingers traced circles into her waist, gently rubbing the skin there to ground her from that high. Your imagination takes over from there, her noises echoing in your ears even louder as your eyes closed, so you opened them to look at her—the endearing gaze masking his... want.

Her heart melts at the way you look at her—so tender, so devoted—even as she can see the quiet hunger in your eyes. She knows that gaze. The one that says I want you, but also says, but I’ll be patient for you.

Without a word, Billie scoots closer and presses a kiss to your jaw—then another to your cheekbone—then finally lands on the corner of your lips. A soft peck before tilting her head just right and kissing you properly again.

You couldn't help the hum that escaped you when her head tilted, tongue pressing against your teeth. Your brows furrowed, hands cupping her waist again as you melted into her like nothing.

Your hips gently bucked forward, the thoughts in your head silently chastising yourself and hoping she didn't notice.

The kiss deepens slightly, her lips parting against yours as the quiet huff of breath between you is warm and sweet.

She feels the subtle shift of your hips—so small, so careful—but she notices. Of course she does. And though a part of her wants to tease you for it, the way you try to hide how much you wants this, another part just melts at how restrained you’re being for her sake right now.

Your breathing grows a little heavier, more ragged as you slip your tongue into her mouth. God—you can't hide how much you wants this, how much you’ve needed this ever since you got into this damn bus.

She meets your tongue eagerly, her own sliding against yours in a slow, hungry dance—her hands moving to tangle in the hair at the nape of your neck.

The tension between them is thick—electric—and she can feel every unspoken want radiating off of you.

Without breaking the kiss, she rolls onto her side slightly, pressing closer until there's no space left between your bodies—chest to chest, heartbeat syncing with heartbeat.

Your back presses against the wall, hand digging gently into the fabric of her tank top with the other lying just beside your face, fingers twitching. Your body rolls forward, hips pressing lightly against hers with something hungry you can't control. The edges of your brows furrow inward, tongue chasing hers as each catch of your breaths mingle with each other.

The kiss burns hotter, deeper—both of you lost in the sensation, bodies pressed flush together.

Her hands slide down your chest, fingers tracing the hard planes through your top before she finally breaks away just enough to press her lips to you jaw—then lower, along your throat. Each kiss is feather-light but intentionally teasing.

Billie knows exactly what she's doing—and judging by the way your breath hitches? It's working.

You tilts your head upward, allowing her more access as your hand comes up to the dark strands of her scalp—not pulling, just grounding. The sound of your lips parting is almost audible, breath coming out unevenly as one of your legs props upwards, almost silently asking for this.

"Fuck," you breathe, eyes darting down to her as the feeling of her lips against your skin bloom heat in the wake of touch.

The way you melt for her—offering your throat like a sacrifice—makes something primal stir in her chest.

She kisses lower, teeth grazing the sensitive skin just above your collarbone before sucking gently—not enough to leave a mark (they’re on tour, after all), but enough to make you gasp. Her free hand trails down your torso again, this time slipping under the hem of your tank top, fingertips skimming over warm muscle.

You’re on your back now, fingers gently curling into her hair for purchase as you let your head tilt back, eyes fluttering shut. Your free hand presses flat against the wall beside you, nails almost digging into the surface like it would help at all.

A low, almost inaudible sound falls from your lips, eyes locked onto hers with that pathetic begging look.

God, that look—those eyes—they’re the death of her. That helpless, wanting gaze, the kind that makes her stomach flip and her heart race all at once.

Without breaking eye contact, she leans down and captures your lips again in a slow, devouring kiss—one hand still under your shirt while the other traces your jawline, featherlight yet burning under the touch. She can feel you trembling beneath her and it's intoxicating.

Your hand glides off the wall, fingers wrapping around her wrist before gently guiding her touch lower.

You’re desperate now—utterly so—and you need her.

Your free hand holds the back of her neck, pulling her impossibly close as you taste that addicting flavor of her tongue on yours.

She knows exactly where you want her, and the need in your touch is overwhelming.

Her palm presses against the waistband of your sweatpants, fingertips brushing over warm skin as she kisses you deeper—tongue sliding against hers with a slow, teasing drag that’s equal parts affection and torture.

And then, She finally slips her hand beneath fabric...

You’re already soaking wet from the noises you pulled from her earlier, even more so from all this teasing. A choked whimper falls from your lips as you feel her fingers trace the skin, thighs spreading wider for her almost subconsciously.

Your eyes flutter shut, allowing yourself to just feel.

The second her fingers make contact—skin on skin—she feels how warm you are, how ready.

Her thumb brushes over the fabric of your boxers first, teasingly light, before she finally hooks a finger into the waistband and slowly... so slowly... starts to pull them down. Every movement is deliberate—watching your face for every reaction, every twitch of pleasure or impatience.

Your hands practically fly downwards, hips lifting up to help her pull off that last barrier of fabric between her and what you need her to touch. Your boxers slip off your feet, discarded somewhere in the sheets below the both of them as you meet her eyes, desperate and needy for her.

All for her.

"Please..." Your whine, something pathetic taking over you in this moment. You can feel just how soaking wet you is for her, your clit throbbing with need.

That whine—that begging tone—sends a thrill straight through her. She loves this side of you, loves how unraveled you are, how desperate and pliant under her touch.

Without hesitation, she leans down and presses a slow kiss to the inside of your thigh—then another higher up—her breath hot against your skin as she inches closer... closer... until finally, finally, her lips brush over where you want them most.

You could barely feel it, but with just how desperate you are, it’s so fucking good. Your hand gently rests on her head, fingers entangling with the dark strands of her hair as you try your best not to buck your hips upward—not to chase that feeling.

Another whine falls from you, wordlessly pleading for her—for this.

She presses a featherlight kiss right there—just a brush of lips, nothing more—a tease before she finally parts her lips and... Licks. A slow, deliberate stripe, testing, tasting.

Your free hand gripped the sheets beside you, jaw tightening at the feeling of her tongue against you. God—you’ve needed this, for so long.

"Billie," you breathed, already hoarse. "P-please..." Your thighs flexed at either side of her face, holding back from squeezing shut and taking what you want.

Hearing her name on your lips like that—broken, pleading—sends a rush of heat straight through her.

She does it again. A longer lick this time, slower, savoring the taste of you before finally closing her mouth over that bud properly—sucking gently, just enough to make your back arch off the bed. Her hands slide up to grip your hips, keeping you steady as she starts moving in earnest—lips and tongue working in perfect rhythm.

A low groan pulls from your throat, not enough to be heard by everyone else, but loud enough to echo within the small space they share. Your fingers grip her hair just a little firmer, trying your best to keep yourself steady as the pleasure of each stroke of Billie’s tongue shoots up your stomach.

The feeling is addicting, something you’d savor every moment of.

Every sound your makes—the quiet groans, the hitches in your breath—fuel her. She loves this. Loves how responsive you are, how every flick of her tongue or press of her lips pulls another soft noise from you.

Her rhythm stays steady—teasingly slow at first, then building slightly as she feels your hips twitch beneath her hands... wanting more but not pushing yet. Just worshipping.

Your hand loosens its grip, lowering to tuck a loose strand behind her ear before returning to its original position. You’re panting now, eyes half-lidded with your lips parted. "Fingers..." You breathed out, "please..." Your thighs twitch for just a moment, almost like your body is begging along with your words.

Billie hears you—of course she does—and without missing a beat, one of her hands slips down, fingers gently circling there. A test, a tease.

But when you whimper again? She obeys.

Two fingers press in slowly, carefully—watching your face the entire time to make sure it’s good... before curling them just right and starting to move.

A deep groan pulls from your throat, head bowing backwards as your fingers grip her hair and the sheets all the more tighter. "Fuck..." You cursed, dragging out the syllable as your back arched upward from the feeling of her fingers.

You’re so ruined. And she's barely touched you yet.

Billie loves how wrecked you look already, and she’s only just begun.

Her fingers keep moving in that perfect rhythm while her mouth stays busy too—alternating between soft kisses and gentle suction to drive you even crazier. And when your hips jerk? She presses a flat palm to your stomach to pin you down, not letting you rush this—not allowing you. The sounds of your gasps and whimpers mixed in with the wet sounds of her tongue and fingers is downright sinful as they all echo in this small space of a bunk.

Your hand flies to your mouth, pressing hard against your lips to muffle those noises you so desperately wants to scream for her.

But you can't. Not here.

Your eyes squeeze shut, an all-too familiar heat building in your lower stomach with every passing second.

The effort you’re putting into staying quiet—biting your lip, muffling yourself—makes her heart clench. She wants to hear you. Wants to ruin you. But she understands—they’re on tour, surrounded by people who could walk in any second.

So instead of pushing for noise, Billie focuses on the pressure, the angle of her fingers. When she feels the velvety interior of your walls start to tighten, She speeds up just slightly—testing how close you really are.

God, that angle is utterly destructive. It's almost too much.

Your head falls backwards onto the pillows, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as they blow wide with surprise and pleasure. The choked, muffled sounds of your moans fill the space between them, thighs trembling as your back arches with that heat coiling tight within you.

You’re so close.

She can see it—the way your body locks up, the sudden squeeze of your eyes shutting, the muffled sounds you’re trying so hard to swallow. She wants to push you over—wants to feel you unravel under her touch. So without warning—without easing up—Billie adds a third finger, curling them deeper while her tongue flicks just right and keeps going at that brutal pace until—you shatter.

The pleasure hitting you like a brick wall as your back arches off the mattress, thighs shaking relentlessly with your eyes rolled back.

God—so fucking good.

Your hand stays firmly pressed against your mouth as you comes down from your high, utterly sensitive and downright flinching with every slight movement of her fingers even after she came to a stop.

Billie stays there—fingers still buried deep inside and holding you down with her free hand—watching in awe as you completely fall apart for her.

When you finally start to come down, she pulls away and slides her fingers out slowly—the wet sound nearly makes you both shiver—before she lifts those fingers to her mouth and licks them clean.

"God... you're so good. Taste so good…” Billie sits up, eyes locked onto your body as you press your thighs back together, the slick heat between them almost audible.

Your eyes meet hers, heavy and dazed as you panted, lips dry and parted. You hummed, hands coming up to her waist and pulling her in, wrapping around her torso as you pressed your face into the side of her neck, breath still uneven.

She can feel just how out of breath you are, the way your muscles are tense, the way your body feels needy under hers.

Her hands slide up to tangle into your hair, fingers running through the soft strands while she whispers against your ear. "You okay, baby?"

The soft rustle of the sheets fill your ears as you nod wordlessly, arms squeezing around her waist just once. You hummed, pressing your face deeper into the skin of her neck. You’re spent, wrecked and fucked-out, but utterly melting into her.

Billie melts with you, her body molding against yours as she nuzzles into the top of your head—kissing it softly.

No words are needed. The quiet is perfect. Just the sound of your breathing syncing, hearts slowing down together.

Her arms tighten around you—not in passion now, but in pure affection. She presses another kiss to your hair before shifting slightly to pull a blanket over you both, keeping you warm against her chest.

You snuggled into her, embracing the warmth and melting into her skin.

She sighs—content, so content—as you curls into her like this.

There's something so comforting about holding you after moments like that, the intimacy of it, the quiet trust. Her fingers trail lazy patterns along your back under the blanket—gentle touches meant to lull you even deeper into relaxation.

And when she feels your breathing start to even out, she smiles against your hair and closes her eyes too, just enjoying being close like this.

thanks for reading <3

masterlist | rules and guidelines

“Dana, please, help me out here; I’m just trying to go by what Baran said.” You leaned over the desk and pointed at Santos.

But she just looks up at both of you as if saying, “Really?”

Dr. Santos just scoffed and sat down to chart, clearly ignoring you.

Honestly, this conversation was childish. Everything between you and Santos had been mostly petty, so to avoid another headache during this shift, you walked away to check on your other patients.

Thankfully, Dana already knew you were having a bad day. As you turned away, you heard her warn Santos to lighten up.

“Really, Santos? He is being nice to you. God forbid any of us get a break around here, and he’s had one hell of a day. I would tread lightly, Missy.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The day got worse. It’s barely 3 pm.

Your glucose monitor kept beeping every 30 minutes, warning that your blood sugar was low. You told Baran and Dana what was going on in case things got worse, but you were still able to keep up with the two extra patients you picked up.

Dana calls you over with the charts for one of your patients, and you head over.

*Beeeeeeeeeep* *Beeeeeeeeep*

“Can you please just eat something so I can chart in peace?” Santos begged from the computer next to you, her head in her hands like she was going to lose her shit.

“You don't think I already know that?” you snapped at her. “You really aren’t making today any easier, Dr. Santos.”

“As if you are,” she muttered, still covering her face, and you turned back to the charts, immediately feeling guilty.

You sighed and closed your eyes for a few seconds. Hearing the buzz of the pit, you took a minute to think about what you needed to do next.

Orders for a head CT and blood work. Discharge one patient with a broken leg and refer them to ortho. Another patient is waiting for the OR, and another for the ICU. The stillness makes you realize you need to piss, and you remember to apologize to Santos, but that can wait.

“Hey, stud.” You heard something from behind you, pulling you out of your thoughts. It was Baran, holding a granola bar.

You chuckled at the nickname she’d given you. “Thank you.” You smiled, grabbing the snack and taking a bite, your headache slightly clearing up.

“You know there are dextrose tablets in the staff lounge now, courtesy of HR; they’re right above the sink. Please take care of yourself, Pesaram. I need you here today; we can’t spare any more staff.” She gave you a small smile, rubbed your back, and left the nurses' station.

You took a moment to realize what she said. Pesaram. Son. She called you her son.

You smiled, looking around to see if anyone saw the moment. Locking eyes with Dr. Santos, who glared at you, you noticed her gaze go glassy. Your smile faltered.

Oh shit. She likes Baran. It makes sense now—the glares and scoffs when you talk about her or when she talks to you.

As you opened your mouth to explain, she stood up and walked to a patient's room.

Fuck

Before you can follow her, Dennis calls you about a patient. This whole situation will have to wait.

“What do we have coming in?” you asked, trying to pull yourself together from the past few moments.

“Dr. Al-Hashimi told me it was an aggressive patient. All hands on deck kind of situation. EMS was barely able to administer a full dose of Versed.”

Running with Dennis to the ambulance bay, you see an aggressive man screaming, cursing, and thrashing.

Even with what EMS gave him, he’s still thrashing. Despite being cuffed to the gurney, it’s hard to poke him without the needle snapping. As if things weren’t already out of hand, he slips one cuff and throws a punch square into your nose.

You stumble back in pain, your face stabbing and throbbing. You take a moment before lunging forward and finally giving him the drug. Once the adrenaline wears off, blood drips down your nose and the pain pounds through your skull.

“Fuck,” Baran reacts, then hurriedly gives orders for the patient before walking toward you with a wheelchair and pushing you to sit.

“Holy shit, are you okay?” Whitaker looked at you, shocked and slightly amazed that you were still able to pull off giving the medication.

“Whitaker.” You deadpan

“Sorry, no shit. Um. I'll go get an ice pack.” He replied, taking off out of the room.

With the pounding in your head, it becomes hard to think. Al-Hashimi hands you a small towel for your bloody face.

“Am I still a stud, Dr. Al-Hashimi?” You ask quietly.

She laughs at the sudden question, then pushes you into the nursing station. Everyone comes up to you, asking what happened, and Perlah and Princess check on you.

“Hey Perlah, let’s get this stud a head CT, please, and I will be taking most of his patients now that he is one,” she ordered. “And Dana, can you please update the board now that we are unfortunately down a senior resident?”

Whitaker came back with an ice pack, patted your shoulder before wishing you luck, and ran back to work.

Perlah places you into triage while you wait for a CT. As much of a break as you needed, it still sucked not being able to do your job. Waiting behind the curtain, you found it quiet enough to nap, so you took off your bloodied scrub top, set it aside, and stayed in a muscle shirt, hoping to get comfortable enough for a quick nap.

~~~~~~~~~

4 pm

After what felt like five seconds, you woke up to the curtain drawn and a gasp. Squinting, you make out that it’s Dr. Santos.

You felt awkward as Santos examined your face and body. Your clothes started to feel too tight in the wrong places, even though they were the same size scrubs you always wear.

You weren’t as muscular as Abbot. But in the pit, you had the strength you needed to move patients and handle the more aggressive ones without much struggle, so you thought. Tugging at your muscle shirt and pants, you ask, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“What happened to your face…” she asked bluntly, staring at you.

“Uh yeah… great question, so there was a group of gang members, and I went 1v-”

“Can you be serious for once?” she asked, cutting you off.

You gulped, not really knowing what to say other than what actually happened.

“Ended up being Cocoethylene toxicity. The big guy slipped his hand out of his restraint and landed a clean one on my face before I could administer Versed,” you say, not making eye contact.

“That’s gotta hurt. I thought EMS would have taken care of that already? What are the odds of that happening?” She chuckled, giving you an awkward smile.

“Today was just not great…Trinity, do you ever feel like this job isn’t worth it anymore?” you mumble, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. Your chest feels heavy.

You don't really know why you are being so open right now, especially with her.

“Yeah. I do. Every day it gets a little harder to breathe. The few days we get off don’t even begin to catch up with what we deal with,” she sighs, looking down before sitting on the edge of the gurney.

You couldn’t help but sniffle. The day was finally catching up with you: the pain in your head, your body feeling like it wasn’t yours, the tiredness of being happy, the thought that life is better without you. You didn’t mean to go there, but the thought flashed through your head for a second before you shook it away.

Before you could respond, one of the nurses came in to take you to get a CT scan. You mumbled a small thanks before leaving Santos in the small room.

Everything can feel so lonely when you keep things inside for too long. You knew that. A psychiatry rotation in med school taught you a lot about your own mental health, but it’s easier said than done.

Asking for help is hard. Admitting what you see in the ER messes with your brain, especially the loss of each patient. It drove Dr. Robby to go on a three-month sabbatical, and no one really knows if he’s alive right now. But having Baran as a mother figure, Dennis as a best friend, and everyone else being kind enough brings you comfort at the end of the day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

5 pm

Labs came back better than you expected: no concussion, a hairline fracture, and a lot of Tylenol. Luckily, Baran was able to get your patients discharged or admitted, along with charting, so you were free to head home.

That feeling was still stuck with you. You just needed some fresh air.

What if

What if things weren’t going to get better?

You love the family you’ve gained while working at the Pitt. Nothing was necessarily wrong. But that feeling lingers after every shift. Death.

Once you snap out of your thoughts, you realize you were on the roof. Walking toward the edge, you see Santos leaning over the railing. You join her there, saying nothing until she glances at you.

“I didn't know I was going to have company during my daily 5 pm ideation session,” she muttered.

“Why were you planning on trying out some partcore?” you giggled.

But she just went quiet and looked down.

“I'm sorry that was a bad joke.” You immediately apologized.”

As soon as you spoke, she started to giggle too. The tension was truly coming to an end. As the laughter died down, she spoke.

“Some days I really do think about jumping,” she admits, looking out at the skyline, eyes slightly tearing up.

“And this,” she pulls out a scalpel, only for you to snatch it out of her hands.

“Trinity, please,” you whisper, looking around as if anyone is on the roof with you two.

“I-,” you sighed, not even knowing what to say.

She’s clearly asking for help and just needs someone to listen. In response, you nod, understanding the weight this conversation has on her. Standing up, put the scalpel in your pocket, and note to return it to the suture cart.

“I understand. I really don't like the way we started off, Trinity,” you said softly.

“And if I'm being honest, I always wanted to be your friend. I've tried many times. I know you're the type to clash with others. But I also know you’re kind; I see the way you advocate for patients who aren't seen or taken seriously,” you tell her.

“Whitaker also tells me you're a good friend”

She gives a small smile, sighs, and lets her shoulders fall. For a moment, she let the wall crumble.

“I’m sorry for this,” She spoke, as she traced her tattoos, looking you in the eyes.

You shrug

“We’re all carrying something heavy,” you said honestly, giving her a warm smile. 

There are no easy answers. You know the heaviness will return; it always does. But tonight you two admitted the hardest part.

The air falls into a comfortable silence as you both watch the sunset. The neon-like pink and orange put a nice note to the end of the day.

“So you and Dr. Al-Hashimi?” she blurts out. And you can't help but laugh.

“Lord no,” you turn to walk back into the ER. “Baran is like a mother to me. The other day, she came over to my apartment and scolded me for having my laundry all over my couch, then gave me fifty bucks to get some healthier groceries because I “eat like I'm still a broke college student”.

“So she's available?” she beamed.

“I'll put a good word in, but I don't think you will have to worry about her disliking you.” You wink at her, only for her to spring a series of questions about Baran.

Finally getting into the parking lot, you both make plans to get drinks after a shift, recommend a few therapists you knew from med school, and bid goodbye. Things aren’t always perfect, but you’re willing to face things together.