perfectimprecision
Fandoms
- The Pitt (TV) (9)
Recent works
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Summary
It is, of course, at that moment that Yolanda finds her. She doesn’t even have to try.
Trinity.
She watches the younger woman chat with a patient—a middle-aged white man, brunet but balding with a sad stubble where there might be a beard, tall and sturdy but not clearly so while grimacing in a hospital bed. Trinity is open, fluid, almost smiling as she disconnects the tubing from the patient’s IV line. Yolanda, on the other hand, stands still, frozen in place outside Central 10.
or,
The classic conflict intervention fic, except Yolanda is the one to take the hit.
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Summary
So, now, on November 9, the day before Trinity’s twenty-ninth birthday, as Yolanda wakes up beside her—beside her girlfriend—as she has done countless more times since that fateful July morning, Yolanda marvels at how fucking lucky she is.
To have and to hold Trinity.
To wake up beside her, their legs tangled together, and to be the one she kisses good morning.
To love her.
Because Yolanda loves her, and she loves loving her.
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so forgive me, love, if i cry all afternoon by perfectimprecision
Fandoms: The Pitt (TV)
19 Apr 2026
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Summary
Both Trinity and Mel are now onstage, a microphone stand in front of each woman. Yolanda is simultaneously sick with envy and excitement, regret and reverence, heartache and hankering.
“I want you to know,” Trinity drawls, each word distinct, like it stands on its own rather than forming part of a sentence. “That I’m happy for you.”
And with that alone, the weight of the song, the meaning of it—all at once, it hits Yolanda.
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i won’t be happy ’til i see you alone again by perfectimprecision
Fandoms: The Pitt (TV)
08 Apr 2026
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Summary
Yolanda turns, already prepared to roll her eyes at Emery’s witty retort, but before she can process what it is, her eyes catch on something, the familiar dark brown hair of a woman she knows very well, visible now that she is erect, able to see above the sea of bodies.
And there her eyes stay.
Because it’s Trinity, sure, of course, but also because she’s swapping spit with some woman, some girl who seems entirely elated by the fact that she’s kissing Trinity Santos—if she even knows her fucking name. Trinity’s hand is in her hair, tugging at the mass of dark curls, and she slides her tongue into the girl’s mouth, and Yolanda wants to scream.
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Summary
“Did you have something to say?”
She feels Yolanda shake her head, or at least feels her try to, limited by how she has buried herself in Trinity. “No. Just your name.”
That, too.
There’s something new about that.
Something nice.
Something special about these quiet moments being broken only by Yolanda calling her name.