voldemortisshipping
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Trinity Santos doesn't do feelings. It's simple. It's casual. It's exactly what they agreed to.
A story about jealousy, miscommunication, and two emotionally constipated idiots who eventually figure out that "no strings" was never really an option.
Bookmarked by voldemortisshipping
08 Apr 2026
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Memory can be funny like that. Trinity looks at her and remembers the Yolanda from months ago, sat across from her with a drink in hand, their knees brushing every time one of them leaned in to say something. The dim lighting of the bar had softened her eyes, painting her face into an expression that could almost be mistaken for the same longing that echoed inside Trinity’s chest.
A lot can change in ten months. Not all of it for the better.
Or: It happens in increments, like all the worst things do.
Bookmarked by voldemortisshipping
07 Apr 2026
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"Okay, what the fuck are we doing here."
"Santos-"
"No, I'm serious." Her voice came out with an edge she hadn't entirely planned for, sharp and tired and real in a way that months of careful management had been preventing. "What is this. What is this, Garcia, because I genuinely need you to explain it to me."...
Or:
One charity gala, one whisky too many, and one balcony confrontation later, and the two doctors finally say what they've been avoiding for months.Series
- Part 5 of code blue, i love you
Bookmarked by voldemortisshipping
06 Apr 2026
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"Why don't you go shower while I get dinner started?"
Trinity's mouth opens and for a brief second, nothing comes out. It's not that she doesn't have words. She has too many words, stacked in her throat like plates she's afraid to drop—a series of things she would love to vomit at Yolanda's feet, purging them from her body so that she doesn't have to carry them around anymore. But that's not what she asked. Trinity swallows hard, choking down her desire to be difficult. Now is not the time for complaints. Instead, she forces a weary smile, and hedges, "You don't have to do that."
Bookmarked by voldemortisshipping
04 Apr 2026
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The street is littered with green leaves and tiny rosy florets, and in the long summer months, she likes to come home and hang from her knees off the lower branches, even when insects come out and get everywhere. The ordinariness of the building of it is what made her choose it; walls covered in mosses and too many motorcycles out front, a short linen couch where she can watch her shitty shows once a week.
This house was the only thing she ever used her court settlement money on.
Trinity takes the stone stairs two at a time, her hand on her house keys. “I live on the third floor,” she says, by way of explanation, as she turns over a shoulder.
Yolanda is framed in the florets as she makes her way up; she is only in a cream tank, which stands out on the smooth brown of her skin. “I like it,” she says, in that same ever even tone. “I think I might like it more on the inside.”
(or. in a long summer, they finally get together. well, sort of.)
Bookmarked by voldemortisshipping
04 Apr 2026