Work Text:
Victoria’s eyebrows were furrowed together as she nursed her beer like it was some kind of emotional support object, her heart beating way too loudly for someone sitting on a picnic bench. Trinity and Samira were cackling about something beside her. There was not an ounce of remorse in sight. Victoria couldn’t believe what they were saying. Actually, no. She couldn’t believe she agreed to this.
Well, she technically didn’t agree. But no one ever really agrees when Trinity comes up with something. You get swept into the current, like a leaf in a very gay hurricane.
It had been a stupid dare. All Victoria said was that she kind of wanted a tattoo. To rebel, or to feel cool, or totally not because she googled “soft sapphic aesthetics” after the whole bookshelf-Cassie incident and fell into a three-hour Tumblr rabbit hole. No. Definitely not because of that.
And Trinity, traitor of a friend that she was, immediately lit up. “Okay, sure, but if you faint during a shift next week, I pick the placement.”
Victoria didn’t mind. Because Trinity would pick something cool. And sapphic.
When Trinity casually dropped once that she had a “little thing” going on with both Yolanda and Parker last year, Victoria didn’t feel jealousy, just admiration. Plus, Victoria had been doing really well with fainting lately. Hardly ever did it anymore. Working in the ER makes you a real stoicist. She had even said that out loud once. Too loudly.
Of course she fainted.
Not even during something traumatic. She fainted during a trauma cleanup. A real gore-fest.
Some guy had come in after a car accident, and she’d been doing fine until she caught sight of the way the tibia was very much external and the bone was glistening like it was freshly polished in the fluorescent lights. And then she caught the smell. And then her vision started to sparkle. And then Cassie said her name, concerned, hand on her back, which made it ten times worse.
She woke up flat on the floor with Dennis fanning her with a chart and Trinity recording her on Snapchat like a menace.
And now, because of all of that, they were here. In the park. The entire day shift huddled across three benches like they were having a group therapy session sponsored by poor life choices.
And Trinity, devil incarnate, came up with her “great idea.”
“Victoriaaaa! Loosen up!” she sang, leaning back with her arms stretched to the sky. “It’s like the opposite of a tramp stamp. A front stamp. Right here.”
Trinity laughed and patted the place directly below her stomach and directly above where all Victoria’s dignity lived.
Victoria stared at her. She hated her. She truly, deeply, viscerally hated her. And also loved her, but mostly hated her.
Samira snorted into her drink. Dennis wheezed. Robby looked like he was silently praying.
Victoria wanted the earth to open up and drag her inside before Trinity could say another word like “pussy-adjacent art.”
But Trinity only grinned wider, like she was fueled by Victoria’s mortification.
“Can you stop bullying my med student?”
Cassie’s voice cuts in warm and low, carrying that mix of amusement and authority she never tries to have — she just has it. She walks up to them after finishing what looked like a very intense conversation with Mateo about that old man who’d thrown a urine sample across the room this morning.
“Your med student,” Samira whispers under her breath.
Victoria shoots her a glare so sharp it could puncture a lung.
Cassie doesn’t seem to hear it — or she pretends she doesn’t, which is somehow worse. She stops next to their bench, leaning her forearm on the backrest right behind Victoria’s shoulder in that casual, protective way she always has around her, her presence immediately grounding and overwhelming at the same time.
“We’re not bullying her,” Trinity says, far too gleefully to be innocent. “She’s just a little nervous about her first tattoo.”
Cassie’s eyes light up. Actually light up. Like someone plugged a string of warm fairy lights behind her pupils.
“Tattoo?” she repeats, her voice smiling along with her mouth. “Vadi, that’s so nice. I can’t say I’m not surprised.”
Victoria can’t tell if that’s good. Or awful.
She swallows.
“What are you getting?”
“I—I haven’t really decided yet, or where either, I just—”
“She’s getting it right above her kitty,” Trinity announces loudly, pointing at Victoria’s pelvis like she’s unveiling artwork at a gallery.
Victoria drops her face into her hands and quietly contemplates the logistics of faking her death.
She doesn’t see Cassie’s reaction. But she feels the air shift. Like Cassie went still.
“Listen…” Cassie says after a beat, her tone softer, gentler, protective in a way that makes Victoria’s shoulders tense. “Vic, I know a couple of tattoo artists. I can call around, maybe fight for a discount.”
Victoria peeks through her fingers “You don’t have to do that—”
“I will,” Cassie says simply.
Victoria doesn’t know that Cassie already decided she’ll pay for it. She doesn’t need her knowing. She just wants it done right, safely, and she wants to be there.
“Maybe you can go with Crash too,” Trinity adds, lifted-chin superior, sipping her beer like a puppet master. “You can tell she’s just really nervous and—”
“What if she faints?” Samira gasps, matching Trinity’s energy so perfectly Victoria wants to throttle them both. “She has a habit.”
“Guys!” Victoria squeaks, horrified.
Cassie’s lips twitch into a smile. She licks them once, glances down at her phone, then back up at Victoria. A soft, deliberate look that does not help with the whole “Victoria staying upright” thing.
“I can take care of you,” Cassie murmurs “You know I don’t mind.”
Victoria almost fucking dies. Actually feels her soul leave her body.
“You probably have Harrison—” she tries weakly, reaching for anything that will make Cassie less… Cassie.
“Tomorrow I don’t,” Cassie answers.
“Tomorrow?!” Victoria squeaks.
Cassie tilts her head, smirk blooming at the corner of her mouth — the one she gets when she knows exactly how flustered she’s making someone.
“Too sudden?” she asks. Her voice is warm, teasing, soft. “Maybe it’s better to get it over with.”
Victoria’s heart thuds like she’s running a marathon. Samira’s eyes sparkle with mischief. Trinity is already planning the Instagram story. Dennis snorts under his breath.
Cassie just keeps looking at Victoria like she’s got her. That quiet confidence, the one that says I’ll be right there. You’re safe. Don’t panic.
Victoria is panicking anyway. So hard she forgets to breathe.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
Cassie couldn’t stop thinking about it.
It started as a small thought; picking her up, making sure she wasn’t nervous, walking her into the studio so she wouldn’t faint on the way in. It should’ve been simple. A responsible doctor helping her med student.
But Cassie is not fucking fine.
Because Victoria walks out of her house in an outfit she clearly picked three times and changed out of twice: soft little top, cardigan slipping off one shoulder, hair half-up like she did it in a rush but somehow still looks like a perfume ad. And she’s smiling when she spots Cassie’s car, that wide innocent smile that always melts Cassie into something shapeless.
Cassie grips the steering wheel before she even unlocks the doors.
Picking up Victoria. Driving her somewhere she’ll have to lie down with her shirt pulled up. For a tattoo Cassie is paying for.
Fuck.
It’s not helping.
The second Victoria settles into the passenger seat, the entire car fills with her perfume — warm, floral, expensive but soft, like a bouquet pressed into the pages of a book.
Cassie almost groans.
She actually does at the next red light. Quiet, restrained, but real. Victoria doesn’t notice. She’s too busy talking, excited and nervous and rambling about the dozens of designs she stayed up all night scrolling through.
“And then I found one that kind of looks like a moth but also maybe a bow? But then I thought maybe something simple? Or stars? Or like—”
Cassie nods. She tries to focus on the words. She fails. Because all she can think about is the placement. That impossible, ridiculous, intimate placement.
It’s not like Cassie will ever see the tattoo. It’s none of her business. Victoria is her student. They go out with other coworkers sometimes — that’s all. She’s respectful. Always. Painfully so.
And yet the idea that she’s paying for something that will live on Victoria’s body forever has her chest tightening in a way she absolutely shouldn’t allow.
Like she’s marking her. Leaving something on her. Something permanent.
Jesus Christ, Cassie, what the hell are you thinking.
She shifts in her seat, forcing herself to exhale, long and slow, pretending it’s about the traffic. Victoria keeps talking, and Cassie keeps pretending she’s hearing every word.
When they park, Victoria reaches for her seatbelt too fast, fingers trembling a bit. Cassie’s already out of the car, stepping around to open Victoria’s door because of course she is. She always does. Victoria freezes for a moment like she forgot Cassie always does this. She feels like it has a certain meaning now that Trinity so kindly made sure that she knows that Cassie is indeed gay.
Cassie offers her hand without thinking, helping her down from the car like Victoria is something delicate.
She is. To Cassie, anyway.
They start walking toward the studio. Victoria fiddles with her sleeves, looking anywhere but at Cassie.
“How do you even know tattoo artists?” she finally asks, trying for casual but sounding adorably suspicious. “You don’t have any tattoos.”
Cassie stops and smiles. It's slow, crooked, a bit mischievous. “I, uhh… I have a couple.”
Victoria gasps softly, eyes widening, mouth opening just a little. It hits Cassie like a physical force.
“You do?” Victoria breathes, already short of air.
Cassie nods. “Across my ribs.”
Victoria’s brain short-circuits. Hard. She goes silent and then looks at Cassie’s chest like she just committed a felony with her eyes.
Cassie bites back the laugh rising in her throat — not mocking, but warm, fond, helpless. Victoria looks like she’s about to collapse in on herself. And suddenly, the tattoos on her ribs feels like the most dangerous thing Cassie has ever confessed.
Victoria swallows loudly. “I think I… need to go home,” she whispers, horrified at her own thoughts.
Cassie gently touches her elbow. “Not a chance, sweetheart.”
The tattoo studio is tucked between a barber and a record store, its windows tinted and painted with intricate white line drawings. Moths, flowers, celestial symbols. Victoria has walked past places like this before, but never inside, and never with a woman like Cassie holding the door open for her with an easy tilt of her head.
“Go on,” Cassie murmurs, voice dipped in something soft.
Victoria steps inside and immediately feels swallowed by the space, dim, warm lighting; leather chairs; walls covered in framed flash sheets and photos of healed work. It feels cooler in here, like the air-conditioning has intentions. There’s music playing, something slow. The kind Cassie would know and Victoria would pretend she recognized.
There’s a low leather couch at the entrance. Victoria sits down on the edge of it, knees together, hands folded neatly in her lap. She looks like someone waiting for high tea, not a tattoo.
Cassie notices, of course she does. She smiles.
The artist behind the counter, a heavily tattooed woman with a shaved head and bright silver hoops, lights up when she sees Cassie.
“Mckay!” she calls. “Haven’t seen you in forever.”
Cassie laughs, stepping forward to greet her with a half hug over the counter. “Yeah, I know, I’ve been buried alive in the trauma bay. But I brought you someone special today.”
She launches into an easy conversation with the artist, completely in her element. They’re talking placement, needle sizes, pricing — things Victoria has no real grasp of. She sits quietly on the couch, watching Cassie’s profile as she gestures gently, confidently, laughing at something the artist says. Cassie is just…
She’s so comfortable here. Like she belongs everywhere. Like every room rearranges itself for her.
Victoria can’t stop staring.
She notices, with a sudden swoop of embarrassment, that her knees are pressed so tightly together she looks like she’s in finishing school. She forces them a centimeter apart. It doesn’t help.
Cassie glances back at her once. Just once. And her eyes soften in a way that makes Victoria feel like she’s floating three feet above the couch.
After a few minutes, the artist taps a glossy black folder. “Alright,” she says brightly, “let’s get the paperwork done. Then we can set you up.”
She looks directly at Victoria. “You nervous, sweetheart?”
Victoria nods too quickly. “Yes. I mean—no. I mean—yes.”
Cassie snorts under her breath.
The artist laughs kindly, waving Victoria over. “C’mere. You’ll be fine. Worst-case scenario, tattoo mommy over there will catch you if you faint.”
Cassie groans. “Please don’t call me that in front of my med student.”
The artist just winks.
Victoria stands, but before she can take two steps, Cassie moves smoothly toward the counter, credit card already sliding into her palm like a magician’s trick. The artist looks down at it and immediately grins.
“Cass. I told you I’d give her two-for-one when she comes back.”
Cassie only shrugs. “Just ring her up.”
Victoria stops dead. “Cassie—no. You said you’d get a discount, not—”
Cassie looks over her shoulder at her, eyes soft and final. “It’s handled.”
Victoria’s stomach drops, flips, does something violent and fluttery all at once. No one pays for things for her. Well, Cassie always pays for her drinks, insists, but it took enough outings till Victoria stopped paying her back. And she gets her lunch when she forgets. But still. Not like this. Not casually. Not with that tone.
She bites her cheek to stay upright.
Then the artist calls her. “Alright, princess. Let’s get the stencil set up.”
Cassie steps aside, letting Victoria pass, but then the artist calls out:
“Hey, Mckay — want to grab snacks while I prep her? You already know what I like.”
Cassie laughs. “Yeah, yeah. Same stuff?”
“You know it.”
Then she turns to Victoria. “What about you? Anything you want for after?”
Victoria’s mouth opens, but before she can answer, Cassie says, without even thinking:
“Vegan gummy bears, the sour kind. And those little cheese crackers shaped like animals.” she answers before she starts toward the door when Victoria blurts, too fast:
“Wait — you’re leaving?”
Cassie pauses mid-step, turning back toward her. Her expression softens into something warm enough to melt furniture.
“Only for a minute, sweetheart,” she murmurs, voice low with a laugh hidden inside it. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Victoria’s face goes hot — so hot it’s almost dizzying.
Cassie pushes the door open, giving her a look that makes Victoria feel held, steady, claimed in a way she doesn’t understand.
“I’ll be right back,” Cassie promises.
And then she’s gone, leaving Victoria standing in the dim studio, heart pounding, stomach fluttering, knees weak, trying desperately not to faint before the tattoo even starts.
It took a while to get the design perfect — the two of them tweaking little details, shifting a line here, shaving a millimetre there. Victoria kept nodding politely like she totally understood what all the variations meant. She didn’t. But she pretended convincingly.
“You have the hands of a surgeon,” she finally murmured as the artist brushed off the stencil and checked alignment one last time.
The artist grinned. “Don’t tell my mother that. She still thinks I wasted my grades.”
Victoria laughed, soft, awkward, grateful for the distraction.
She lay back on the chair, hands folded on her stomach for precisely three seconds before unfolding them. Her jeans were tugged low on her hips so the artist could work; her pink panties were the only thing saving her from a dignity meltdown. She kept telling herself it was like a doctor’s appointment — clinical, normal, safe.
She is a doctor. She can do this.
The artist rolled closer on her stool, adjusting gloves, checking the machine, tapping the foot pedal once so the needle buzzed to life. It was such a sharp sound, so unapologetic, that Victoria felt her whole ribcage tighten.
“Okay, I’m just gonna test the machine against your skin,” the artist said. “Super quick. Just breathe.”
Victoria inhaled like someone who forgot how lungs work.
The first tap hit her skin — a tiny, electric pinch — and she flinched despite trying not to.
“’S okay?” the artist asked, lifting her brows, pausing the machine just long enough for Victoria to be embarrassed.
“Mhm— yup,” Victoria mumbled, her voice muffled because she was already burying her face in her own arms. “Mm-hmm.”
The artist hummed, amused but kind. “You’re doing fine. First touches always sting more.”
The buzzing returned, louder now that Cassie wasn’t there to take up space with her calmness.
The next line dragged fire across her lower stomach — slow, deliberate — and Victoria’s breath caught in her throat. Her toes curled. Her thighs tensed. Every instinct in her body told her to squirm away from the sensation, but she forced herself still, fingers digging into her forearm hard enough to leave nail marks.
She could practically hear Cassie teasing her if she were here. Thankfully, she wasn’t.
“Breathing helps,” the artist said, voice gentle.
Right. Breathing. The thing Victoria forgets how to do sometimes.
She inhaled shakily. Exhaled shakier.
The needle hit a more sensitive patch of skin and she let out a small, humiliating sound — not a yelp, not a gasp, just this tiny wounded noise that she hoped the music covered.
It didn’t.
The artist paused again, hand steady on the stretch of Victoria’s skin. “This spot’s always a killer,” she said with a little laugh. “The lower stomach is… yeah. People underestimate it.”
Fantastic. Just fantastic. She’s being tattooed in the world’s most humiliating location.
Victoria pressed her face deeper into her arms, heat climbing up her neck. Without Cassie here, she had no buffer, no cool presence to ground her. It was just her, the machine, the pain, and her own mortifying reactions.
The needle buzzed again. She braced for the next drag of heat across her skin.
She is a doctor.
She can do this.
(She might die, but she can do this.)
When Cassie returns, she can hear the buzz of the tattoo needle and she smiles softly. She remembers when she got her first tattoo, the nerves, the pain you stop feeling after a second.
"Come see how well she's doing!" the tattoo artist calls out and Cassie breathes a bit, her heart dropping to her stomach.
"She doesn't mind?" she asks, almost timidly as she walks behind the divider.
Victoria's too focused on trying not to make any weird sounds of pain or how her heart is beating profoundly — because if her mother ever got to find out, holy shit — to think of Cassie seeing her like this.
Cassie peeks a bit, the snacks she bought in hand and—
Holy fuck.
Victoria's eyebrows are furrowed slightly, making her look like a little deer more so than usual, her lip caught in between her teeth, her cute top lifted up and her pretty jeans tugged down to her hips, the little lace and bow of her panties — Cassie's dizzy.
She clears her throat. "D-does it hurt?"
Victoria tries not to giggle. "A-a bit but.. I'll handle it."
"Attagirl" she whispers as she watches the slither of her bronze skin, covering her just barely —
Victoria's shaking a little. Not too much, not to cause any problems for the artist, she's too careful and selfless for that. But in a way that makes Cassie's stomach churn in jealousy a bit. She wants to make her shake.
Wants to run her fingers across the perfect bare skin she's seeing for the first time right now, gently, and watch how she leans in and breathes shakily and maybe gulps and —
"If I press down a little bit more is that okay?" the tattoo artist asks.
Cassie thinks of pressing down there, her fingers would be deep inside Victoria, pumping in a way she could only imagine would cause little pretty sounds—
Victoria lets out a little moan, breathing in deeply. "Yeah that's fine."
Maybe Victoria would let her use her strap, and she'd press down then, checking how deeply inside her she is. She's already paying for the tattoo, might as well take more of what's hers.
Would she let her use the strap? Maybe she'd ask for it, timidly, nervously but desperately. Or maybe her fingers would be too much for her already, Victoria's such an angel. No one's touched her before. Cassie would ruin her for any others.
“What?” Victoria breathes, her voice light and breathy, a tiny smile pulling at her lips. She peeks at Cassie, eyes wide and curious. “Am I too tense?”
Cassie opens her mouth, tries to smile back — and fails. Her throat is too tight. Her pulse feels like it’s in her ears.
She manages a soft exhale. “You’re… fine,” she says, but her voice sounds wrong even to her. Too low. Too strained. Too guilty.
Respectful. She’s respectful. She knows that. She’s proud of it. She knows how to treat a girl right, how to make a woman feel safe, comfortable, seen. She never looks too long, never stares, never crosses a line.
But right now?
Right now, she doesn’t feel like the composed attending who always has control. She feels like someone standing on the edge of something she shouldn’t even be imagining.
Victoria’s skin is warm under the studio lights, glowing softly each time she exhales. Her stomach trembles with every tiny jolt of the needle. Her lashes flutter. Her fingers curl into the cushion like she’s trying so hard to behave, to be good, to stay still.
And Cassie’s thoughts are nowhere near respectful.
“You sure?” Victoria asks again, gentler this time. “You look like something’s wrong.”
Because you’re lying half undressed in front of me and trusting me not to think about it.
Cassie swallows, her jaw tightening for a second. “No. Nothing’s wrong.” She forces a small smile. “You’re doing great. You’re… stronger than you think.”
Victoria smiles in the flustered way she always does. That same way that always kills Cassie. Like she wants Cassie to think she’s strong. Like Cassie’s opinion of her actually matters.
“Oh,” Victoria murmurs, tucking her chin shyly into her shoulder. “Thanks. I just— I didn’t want to look like a baby in front of you.”
Cassie’s heart stutters.
“I’ve seen you handle far worse than a tattoo needle, Vadi,” she murmurs. “You're the bravest in ER. Even... when you're passed out and all”
Victoria hides her face again, but she’s smiling — that tiny, soft, devastating smile she gets only when Cassie says something that genuinely reaches her.
And Cassie feels it: the twist in her stomach, the warmth in her chest, the ache low and dangerous and impossible to ignore.
She shouldn’t be thinking any of this. She shouldn’t be imagining how warm Victoria’s skin would be under her hands. She shouldn’t be wondering what sounds Victoria would make if the trembling was for a different reason.
She cares about her job. She is aware of the age difference. She's a capable adult in control of her actions.
But Victoria is lying there trusting her — trusting her more than anyone else — and it’s undoing her.
So Cassie steps back a little, just enough to breathe.
Victoria notices immediately, glancing up with a soft frown. “You okay?” she whispers.
Cassie nods once. Too quickly. “Just… giving you space.”
Victoria smiles again — unguarded, almost tender. “But I like when you’re close.”
And Cassie feels herself break, just a little, in a way she will never admit out loud.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
“All done! It looks great. Let me wrap it.”
Victoria nods, letting out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. Cassie stays quiet, watching, her hands tightening around the plastic bag of snacks like she’s grounding herself.
When the wrap is on, Victoria carefully pulls her top back down. She slides off the chair slowly, still a bit tense from staying still so long. Cassie immediately steps forward like she’s scared she might stumble.
“I’m good,” Victoria assures her softly.
But she doesn’t move away from Cassie’s hand hovering near her arm.
They thank the artist and step out into the cool evening air. The door closes behind them with a soft chime.
For a moment, they both just stand there.
Victoria touches the edge of her shirt, thinking about the sting. “It hurts… more now,” she admits.
Cassie exhales shakily through her nose. “Yeah. That happens.” and then unlocks the car with a beep.
They both eventually climb in, settling carefully so her shirt doesn’t rub her new tattoo. Cassie closes the door for her then walks around, breathing like she needs the few extra seconds.
When she gets in, she doesn’t start the engine right away.
For a moment, they just sit there — the dim streetlight outside catching the curve of Victoria’s cheek, the way she’s biting the inside of her lip, the slight tension in her shoulders. Cassie’s eyes trace every detail before she can stop herself.
Victoria notices. Her gaze flicks over, lingering.
“What?” she asks softly, not teasing this time. Just… curious.
Cassie grips the steering wheel. “Nothing. Just—” She shakes her head once, trying to smile it off. “You handled that really well.”
Victoria tilts her head, studying her. “You look more shaken than I am.”
Cassie lets out an embarrassed, breathy laugh and turns the key in the ignition — probably just to have something to do with her hands. The engine hums to life.
“I’m fine,” she says, eyes fixed forward “Just… thinking.”
“About what?”
Cassie’s jaw tightens. “Nothing important. Just... it's been a while since I've gotten a tattoo."
Victoria hums quietly. "We can get matching ones next time." Her gaze stays on Cassie a second too long, searching, almost like she wants to know what’s actually going on in that head.
Cassie finally looks back at her.
And that moment — that tiny, held breath of eye contact — is too much and not enough at the same time.
Cassie looks away first.
“Seatbelt,” she says, voice low.
Victoria clicks it on. Cassie does too.
They pull out of the parking spot, the road empty and quiet. Neither of them speaks for a while. They don’t need to — the tension sits heavy and warm between them, like something alive, something waiting.
At a red light, Victoria shifts slightly, trying to get comfortable. The movement draws Cassie’s eyes without permission. She catches herself, forces her stare back to the road.
Victoria sees that too.
She turns her head just enough to watch Cassie’s profile — the lashes that shouldn’t be that long, the messiness of her red hair that looks just right, the way Cassie bites the inside of her cheek when she’s fighting herself.
“Cassie,” she says quietly.
Cassie swallows. “Yeah?”
Victoria doesn’t say anything else. She just keeps looking at her.
And Cassie keeps her eyes on the road, because if she looks back right now, even once — she’s not sure she’ll be able to pretend this is nothing.
The light turns green.
Cassie drives on.
And the car stays filled with every thought neither of them is brave enough to voice.