scipunk
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Summary
Trinity stilled. The world stilled around her, seconds stretching into eons.
This must be her exhaustion playing tricks on her. A hallucination. Not real. Not happening.
The world, as it always did, came crashing back. It was happening.
First thing she registered was the curls, matted with blood. -
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“Okay, hon, you’ve got to explain the weighted blanket thing to me,” Samira said, pulling a thinner chenille throw over her as she curled up next to Jack on his worn leather sectional.
“You need me to explain weighted blankets to you?” He asked dubiously, wrapping an arm around her, pulling her closer. Samira revelled in the feeling of his strong arms pressing her against his body. “It’s a blanket with beads in it so it’s heavy?”
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Samira knew that sleep was a precarious proposition for Jack. He required an extensive combination of psychotropic medications and vitamins, a regimen of stretching, of practiced breathing, and a bed made tight enough to double as a straight jacket—what Jack had explained as "sleep hygiene"—to override the damage to his amygdala and manage even a few hours of contiguous sleep. By his own admission, deviation from this carefully crafted routine was a recipe for insomnia.
So, as Samira pulled the covers down from the palatial bed to the floor in an effort to make the bed to Jack's precise specifications, the change in texture of the flat and fitted sheets as well as the pillowcases, silky instead of their usual worn flannel, took her by surprise.
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Samira is nothing if not a realist. She can accept, without rancor, that her feelings are hers alone, that they are not reciprocated and never will be. He’s her attending, he’s eleven years older than her – and, most importantly, she is nowhere near the caliber of woman that he deserves.
So she shouldn’t feel anything when he comes in one day, Al-Hashimi beside him, her hand resting on his back.
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I'll be staying light, like a kite, like a feather by rollingintheshallow
Fandoms: The Pitt (TV)
21 Mar 2026
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Staring at him, completely mortified with mussed hair and the look of morning in her eyes she blurted.
“What the fuck!”
Whitaker flinched at that, immediately rising to his feet as well on the opposite end of the couch. “I didn’t do anything!”
“I didn’t say you did anything!” Santos all but yelled with her hands in the air.
“You looked like you were going to!” Whitaker responded, reciprocating the energy she was giving in his completely shocked and startled tone.
“I always look like I have something to say!” Santos snapped, fingers digging into the hoodie that was very clearly his.
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Santos has taken it upon herself to do the lord's work: teach Whitaker how to be a cultured human being.Cue an adobo cooking run, heated Mario Kart, impromptu movies and accidental dozing off. Together, in between all the sibling banter and domestic room-mate hood they have found themselves in.
Series
- Part 5 of And they were roommates...