[sherryharlo]

<𝟑 .ᐟ My World

Kara Zor-El x F! Reader

Fluff

W/c: 400+ (sorry it's so short, I'm having writer's block😿)

A/n: in honor of pride month and that my goat's movie will come out this month❗ also lowkey inspired by “The Guy She Was Interested In Wasn't a Guy At All”

My girl, my girl, my girl

You will be my world

My world, my world, my world

The laughter filled the place just as much as the soft music on the radio. Your playlist plays on repeat while the sunset rays reflect through the windows, perfect memories captured as beautiful photos to be remembered.

The shop has closed early, you flipped the sign so no one bothers the two of you. You're sure your uncle — also your boss — won't mind. He's not here anyways.

You two are lying on the floor, upside down facing each other, with several records scattered across the floor, along with some cheap beers.

You're wearing her beige overcoat.

“What was the music like on Krypton?” You asked, looking at a Pink Floyd album and swinging your legs slightly from side to side, moving your skirt along.

“Oh, there was just as much variety as here, I guarantee. The most common was the kinda- boring-classic ones, like harp and piano... It's pretty and all but it's not my type, I guess.” Kara answered while tossing a ball for Krypto, who came back in 3 seconds. Her tone was tinged with nostalgia.

You let out a small chuckle, “You know I imagine Krypton like the elf place from Lord of the Rings, right?”

That made Kara scoff, remembering the movies you made her binge watch with you. “C'mon, we weren't that boring and goody-goody!”

You laughed, putting the album aside, “Tell that to your cousin!”

“Well, now I don't have an argument, do I?”

You both laugh this time.

The close bond you two share now reminds you of how you met.

‘A bookstore is nearly crushed by a Kaiju, but is saved by Supergirl!’ Was one of the headlines of Daily Planet that day; In exchange, you and your uncle offered free books and dvd of her choice for Kara. It's obvious she exploited the opportunity, unexpectedly bringing you two together by how similar your taste in entertainment is.

“You know...” The blonde starts, “I liked listening to music in the sunset, just like that.” Her tone lowered, nostalgia turning into yearning. The ball stops on her hand. Suddenly the floor felt too cold.

At that moment, you sit up, only to lie down again, now facing her.

Your gentle hand reaches her face, brushing a strand of her messy hair, your eyes meeting each other's like diamonds shining together.

“I'm glad I can share this moment with my favorite girl...” Kara's words made your skin feel warmer. Without noticing, her free hand intertwine with yours.

Without noticing, you became her new home. You're the only person that makes her feel that cozy and lovely feeling she misses everyday.

“I love that you're sharing this moment with me.” You admit, laying your head on her shoulder, she kisses the top of your head...

Only for Krypto to jump on you both, the little brat knows that you're fragile, so he goes extra careful when playing with you.

You both laugh, warmer than the sun rays that hit your skins so ethereally.

[msbug15]

You lot better expect a shit ton of Supergirl x reader fics when her movie comes out! Thinking of making a vampire au as well 👅

[gokusclit]

Who tf watching shit like love island and euphoria

[whitemelanin]

Why in some fics i feel like im 12 and not 20 ?

[sadmortician]

Not bad, the feeling of imperfection

[maplemackintosh]

I seriously love your writing 😭 may I request some Protective/Guard dog (butch?) Reader X Mel

Very protective over everyone. But specifically Mel. Maybe R is the type to keep to themselves, stays quiet and doesn't talk much, but tends to keep a watchful eye on everyone (totally not projecting cause I'm autistic 😂) Maybe after the incident where Mel gets knocked over by the patient R pays more attention to her, slowly starts falling for her then maybe another roudy patient trys to attack her and pushes her or something, R is practically bolting across the ER and body slamming the crap out of them. Maybe as soon as help arrives R is right by her side, kneeling over her (Accidentally calling her baby and not even realising cause you're so worried???) R is the one to do the check up on them and Mel calls you out for the 'Baby' thing. Maybe they have a little heart to heart talk about feelings and maybe have a cute moment and kiss 👉👈

Orbiter

Mel King x Guard dog!Reader

Summary: You're protective of everyone in the Pitt, but especially Mel. And when she gets hurt for the second time in your presence, it's hard for you to not let it show just how much you care for her

Word count: 2.7k

Warnings: Medical innacuries, medical injuries, mentions of injury to the back of the head, bruised shoulder blades, bruised ribs, pet name (baby), protective!reader, reader is also kind of down bad sorry not sorry, multiple check in's throughout check up

🎵 - Orbiter

a/n: This one took so long, and there's literally no reason why because I enjoyed writing every bit of it. I also am in absolute LOVE with this concept. Of someone projecting Mel to the highest degree. She deserves it honestly for taking care of herself for so long UGH MEL GIVE ME A CHANCE I WOULD OUT-FREAK YOU AND TREAT YOU SO RIGHT LIKE YOU DESERVE

Everyone in the department knew to get you when something felt like it was about to go down. Not because you talked much, but because you didn’t. Not because you demanded attention, because you never did. People knew you because when things got bad, they looked to you.

A psych patient getting aggressive? Someone whispered your name.

Family member screaming at staff? Someone went to get you.

Drunk guy trying to swing at a resident? You appeared out of nowhere with that cold stare and crossed arms, and suddenly, he remembered how to act as a sober human being should.

You weren’t big necessarily, that was the funny part. You just had a face that looked permanently unimpressed. One look, and it had fully grown men reconsidering their decisions. And somehow, despite your silence, everyone trusted you. Especially Mel.

Melissa King was practically the opposite of you. Warm where you were guarded. Bright where you were sharp-edged. Granted, she didn’t always understand a joke, but once she got it when explained, she would laugh even if it still didn’t make sense to her. She cared for people a lot more than the average nurse or doctor, and somehow she still managed to smile after twelve hours of nonstop disaster.

You didn’t know when you started watching her more closely than everyone else. Maybe it was because she always smiled at you as she understood. Maybe it was because she’d started bringing you coffee without asking. Maybe it was because she never pushed when you didn’t answer right away.

Whatever it was, your attention had naturally become solely focused on her.

However, then the incident happened. July 4th.

You hadn’t seen the whole thing; you were on the other end of the department, trying not to punch the computer screen in front of you as Baran Al-Hashimi breathed down your neck, telling you to chart more. Chart faster.

You only witnessed the aftermath, the commotion as two police officers entered, found who they needed, and swiftly chased after him. The patient slammed into Mel hard enough to throw her backward off the chair she was sitting on.

You still remembered the sound of her body hitting the floor. Something cold and ugly had ripped through your chest, and by the time security tackled the guy, you were already beside Mel, crouched low.

“Hey,” you’d said quietly, hands hovering near her shoulders. “Look at me.”

“I’m okay,” she’d groaned.

She winced as you helped her up, and you remembered your jaw clenching so hard it hurt the rest of the night. After that day, everyone noticed the change. You hovered near her, not obviously because you were too subtle for that, but suddenly, you were always nearby when Mel was dealing with difficult patients.

You lingered around her trauma bays longer. You walked her to her car after night shifts without mentioning it. If someone raised their voice at her, they’d look up and find you standing behind them like an attack dog, seriously deciding whether you should go the full mile and show your teeth.

Mel had started to notice, and that should’ve been your warning sign.

But even if it was, you wouldn’t have taken it seriously. Because over the next few months, you had started to fall for her. Now, you had noticed her before all this. She was awkward in social situations, but so were you. She got overly emotional in some cases, and you had understood because while you don’t necessarily show a bunch of emotion anymore, you used to be her.

You two became friends, and you got even more protective of her if that was possible. Everyone in the ER began to refer to you as Mel’s Guard Dog. It was fitting, you had to admit, but you hated the title because it would get back to Mel. It always got back to Mel.

The second incident happened while the ER was once again overloaded. Half the waiting room was angry, psych was backed up, and staffing was short enough that everyone looked half-dead.

You were helping restrain a combative patient in Bay 6 when you heard Mel yell. Your head snapped up instantly, and across the department, a man twice Mel’s size was screaming in her face while she tried to calm him down.

Security was still too far away.

You tried to get away, but your hands were tied up with the current patient under you. However, then he shoved her, hard, and your eyes followed as Mel stumbled backward into a supply cart with a sharp cry.

Everything in you went white-hot.

“Sorry, Robby.” You told him before you moved, without thinking. One second, you were across the ER, and the next, you slammed into the patient hard enough to drive him sideways into the wall.

Gasps erupted around the department. “Bad choice, buddy,” you snarled as the patient tried to then swing at you. That was also a bad choice, as the adrenaline was coursing through you enough for you to drive him down before he could even finish the motion, pinning him brutally to the floor while security finally came running.

“Take him,” you snapped.

Your voice cracked through the ER so sharply that even the patient shut up. The second security had him restrained, you were already turning, already looking for her. Mel sat against the supply cart, stunned and breathing hard. The second you reached her, your entire demeanor changed.

Gone was the violence. Gone was the terrifying, angry edge in your voice. Your mouth isn’t in a frown anymore, your bottom lip is now sucked between your teeth as you dropped to your knees in front of her so fast that you know it will hurt later.

“Mel.”

Her eyes flicked up to yours. You reached for her carefully, hands hovering before settling on her shoulders.

“Hey. Hey, look at me.”

“That was a doozy.” She laughs a little.

“It’s okay. It’s okay, baby. You alright? Hm?” The word slipped out accidentally, but you didn’t realize it. “Melissa?”

“Y-yes. Yup. I’m okay.” Now, Mel is trying to reassure you.

Someone was asking for statements. Security dragged the patient away. Dana was yelling for someone to call psych. None of it mattered because all you saw was Mel. You checked her over quickly, gentle but thorough.

Her pupils are equal, so there’s no obvious internal head injury. You would know anything further when you examined her head more thoroughly, but she seems okay for now.

“Let’s get her to a room.” Dana is insisting, helping you haul Mel up from the floor. You keep your eyes on Mel’s face the whole time, making sure she stays wide awake. She’s still a little shocked, which who wouldn’t be, with her eyes wide open, pupils darting from both of you on either side of her.

She can certainly walk by herself, but some part of you likes to think she likes the attention. She’s not pushing you or Dana away; she’s simply following along. But it’s not like she has a choice anyway.

You get her to a room and have her sit down on one of the beds. You grabbed supplies from the cabinet- ice packs, gauze, a penlight, and vitals equipment. Your hands were steady now, but only because you were forcing them to be.

Mel watched you the entire time. You could feel it.

“Where does it hurt the most?” You ask, and she points to her right shoulder blade. “Are you comfortable enough with me to take a look?”

She nods in response and shuffles a little.

“Okay. Turn a little away from me.”

Mel shifted carefully, and your hand instinctively settled against her waist to steady her. The contact lasted maybe two seconds, but it was still too long. Your thumb brushed lightly against the fabric of her scrubs, slowly lifting the black fabric up past her side and stopping just underneath her ribs. You use your free hand to lift the shirt a little bit higher, but try to keep some decency for her as well, as you catch a glimpse of her bra.

Professional. Stay professional. You have to remind yourself as you hunch slightly to inspect her. The skin hasn’t turned purple or an angry red, but as you lightly brush your fingers over the spot she pointed to, it feels tender, and you can hear her let out a small wince.

The fluorescent lights overhead cast pale shadows across her skin as you examined the tough skin near her shoulder blade. “He’s lucky security got there first,” you mumbled. You reached for an instant ice pack, activating it with a sharp snap before wrapping it carefully in a thin towel. “This is gonna be cold,”

You moved closer again, gently pressing the pack against her back. Mel sucked in a breath.

“Sorry.” You told her immediately as a response.

“No, it’s okay.” She again tries to reassure you.

Your hand lingered there a moment longer than necessary, holding the ice pack in place while she adjusted. You hated how carefully she was breathing, hated how stiffly she moved, hated that split second earlier when you’d looked up across the ER and seen someone put their hands on her.

The memory made your adrenaline flare up all over again, and your hands clenched together. You stood and grabbed a second ice pack for her shoulder.

“Lie back a little,” you said quietly.

Mel shifted carefully until she was resting against the raised exam bed, one leg bent slightly to ease the pressure on her side. You adjusted the pillow behind her before she could do it herself. You wrapped the second ice pack in another thin paper towel before gently placing it behind her.

Then, you checked her pupils again, then her pulse, and then asked pain questions she clearly found repetitive. But she answered every single one anyway.

Mel watched you quietly while you updated her chart on the tablet.

The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable. You loved being quiet. You had never been the talkative type. You were better at silent companionship than most people would probably like. Most people found your quietness intimidating at first, but Mel never seemed bothered by it.

If anything, she understood it better than anyone. She also liked silence, routines, and she also couldn’t help observing everything around her. She noticed a lot of other details that other people missed. Which meant she also, of course, noticed what you had called her earlier.

“D-did you mean that?” She asked, a little embarrassed to ask in the first place. Because what if you don’t remember? What if you just didn’t mean it? She has felt some way about you for months now. “What you said earlier?”

“What did I say?” You replied, your fingers coming around the back of her head to feel if there were any bumps or bruises. She winces a little, but so far, you don’t feel anything major. “I’m gonna take out your braid. It will make it easier to feel for anything abnormal.” You tell her, and she nods.

Your fingers slide down to the elastic holding her hair together and slip it off. Her hair fans out a little bit below her shoulders, and she looks beautiful like this. Granted, you think she looks beautiful in any scenario, anything she wears, anything.

“You called me ‘Baby’.”

“That’s what I said?” You question, your fingers feeling up the back of her head before moving down to try and get a look at her shoulder blade.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s what you said.” She nodded.

“I don’t remember.” You whisper, steadily focused on the back of Mel’s head. “Sorry if I said it.”

“You don’t have to be sorry for it. I….I actually quite enjoyed it.”

“Did you?”

Now her face is getting hot. “Yeah.” She nods, and you have to ask her real nice to remember to stay still for you.

“Stay still for me, baby.” You let the name slip again, before ultimately making the decision, you’re done with the exam, and you come back around to face her head-on. “That time I did it on purpose.” You smile.

“Are we…can we talk about…all of this? Please? It would make me feel better.”

“About what?” It’s a genuine question, as there are so many places she could potentially start.

“M-Me and you? I’ve seen the way you look at me. I’m observant in that aspect, and I find it… nerve-wracking when you look at me like that.”

“I’m sorry if I made you feel that way, Mel. I never meant to. I never wanted to.” You shake your head, looking at her face. “You’re just too cute to look away from sometimes.”

She offers you a smile. “Thank you. But I thought we were just…friends?”

“We can be friends if you want to.” Although it would break your heart. “If you don’t like me like that, then I’d rather you not pursue me.”

“Right. And I wouldn’t want to break your heart, either.”

“That would be very nice, yes.” You chuckle a little.

“I really like you as a friend, and I really like you as a person. I’ve been wanting to talk to you about this, too, because I think I like you.”

“Are you sure this isn’t the adrenaline talking?” You try to joke, but Mel doesn’t grasp it. “I-I was kidding. That’s a joke, Mel. I like you too.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.” She nods, tapping her thighs.

“I was hoping you’d say that too.” You confirmed. You just look at her, and she just looks at you. Both of you are watching each other’s mouths and eyes, your lips and the crinkles that appear around the corners.

“Can I kiss you?” Mel suddenly asks, and it takes you aback for a moment.

“Ye-yeah. Yeah, you can kiss me.” You’re a very protective person, a very guarded person, but you still have your moments where you’re caught off-guard. And Mel sure knows how to create them. Your knuckles grip the swivel chair beneath you as Mel leans forward.

You try to stay still, not knowing if a singular movement could potentially make her rethink her decision.

Mel’s soft lips press up against yours, and one of your hands slides towards the back of her head. It takes so much resistance inside yourself not to press your tongue into her mouth. But she tastes so sweet and so soft.

She lets out a small gasp of breath when the two of you finally part, and suddenly, it’s not just you and her in an examination room. The sounds of the ER flood back in, and the two of you become almost embarrassed.

“Was that…okay?” Mel has the gall to ask.

“Mel, it was perfect. I mean, did I think I was going to kiss you in an ER examination room? No.” You shake your head, reaching out to take her hand. “I was thinking more of a nice candlelit dinner, and then I would walk you back to your apartment and kiss you on the stoop. But this is just as fine.”

“You could still take me out for dinner. I wouldn’t mind. I really like Italian right now.”

“Noted.” You laugh.

“So are we…I mean is this…”

“Are we together? We can be. But we can also go as slow as you and I need.”

She seemingly lets out a deep breath. “Okay, good. That alleviates some pressure off my shoulders.”

“I like you a lot, Mel. And I would at least like to take you for Italian.”

“That would be very nice of you, thank you.” She smiles for what feels like the first time that afternoon, and it makes your heart flutter, and your stomach fill up with butterflies.

“8:00, Mariano’s?” You pull out your phone, typing in the address so she can look at the menu and decide if she’s comfortable with any of the food or not.

“Sounds good.”

You nod in confirmation. “Good.” You stand to leave, but you hear her make a disgruntled noise.

“Um, can I just…before you go…”

“You want another kiss?”

“Yes, please. If you want-” but you cut her off before she can finish and press your lips to hers this time.

[ct-rhom]

Pretty Privilege

FBI!Benjamin Poindexter x female!reader

16k+ words

Please Read: This story contains stalking, self harm, discussions of mental illness involving both Dex and the Reader, a female reader, an age gap relationship (Dex is 34 and Reader is in her mid 20's), and consensual sex.

MDNI

Story takes place in 2018, please see the authors notes at the end for more background on the story.

+++

He had seen you around.

The first time was in the mail room, 8:30 on a Thursday night. Work had kept Dex late and he always checked his mail before going up to his apartment for the night. He remembers feeling frustrated that the day ran long, an unnecessary briefing he believed he shouldn’t have had to attend in the first place, so he was edgy by the time he arrived home. Dex stomped into the mail room and beelined to his box, but still took the time to notice you.

Standing in front of an open mail slot dressed in a soft, worn t-shirt that was wet at the neck because your freshly washed hair was leaching into the fabric. You had glanced at him for a brief second then went back to rifling through your own mail. Your face was shiny and smooth in the dim light of the room, recently moisturized. When Dex brushed past he caught a whiff of your body wash, something cool and reminded him of the color green.

He grabbed his mail and by the time he turned back around you were gone. 

A few weeks later when he got home after another late night, hands shaky as he slid open the door of his safe and snatched the tape player, he sat on his couch and looked out the window of his apartment. Deep breath in, hold, slow exhale. The soothing voice of Dr. Mercer played in his ears as Dex looked out into the courtyard of his apartment complex. It was early spring, the days were getting a little longer and people had their windows open letting in the fresh air. Down in the courtyard someone was sitting on the bench near the tree that was turning green again.

Dex was a few stories up but he already recognized you. Wet hair, dewy skin, baggy sweatpants and a pair of slides. An old, faded Polo Sport t-shirt with a marlin printed on the front. He wondered if you were cold as you sat on the wooden bench watching the squirrels run past. Out of instinct Dex grabbed his telescope and watched as you slowly sprinkled out the contents of a ziplock bag into the ground in front of you. Squirrels and birds gathered at your feet but you seemed unbothered, sitting still and quiet as they pecked around you. They came, then the went, and when they were gone you got up and headed towards the entrance to the mail room. 8:30 on the dot.

At 8:45 Dex is still looking out the window, his heart no longer racing in annoyance from his long day, and he catches movement in the corner of his eye. He looks up and sees into the window directly across the yard from his, and it’s you. Dropping your mail on the table in front of your couch, a brown tabby cat jumping up on the furniture to greet you, and you falling onto your sofa. 

A neighbor. A girl. A nonthreat.

Weeks go by and Dex almost forgets about you. A cold snap hits and you keep your curtains closed while Dex gets caught up in a major case at work. His team successfully pulls off a sting operation against the Albanian mob. There are raids and Dex picks off two men from a rooftop with his rifle making him feel antsy and giddy which was maybe why he agreed to go to the bar after work with a few of the guys. Another case closed, another criminal off the street. A routine and a purpose that kept Dex good.

11 PM on a Friday night and while his colleagues were just getting started Dex was itching to go home. The bar was getting more and more crowded, Ray had already left to go home to his wife and son, and Dex had no desire to have another drink. But still he stayed, keeping up with the self-assured cocky persona he had created for work. He smiled, he laughed at jokes, and he looked normal even though the nagging thought about how he should be home cleaning his pistol kept making his fingers feel itchy.

A quarter till midnight he finally decided to head out when his colleagues decided to switch bars. Dex stood against the sticky bar counter as the tender left to close out his tab. He was half heartedly paying attention to his surroundings, his head pounding from the loud talking and annoying music. A girl next to him was telling her friends how she found another friend’s fiance on Tinder.

“That’s terrible.” A soft voice murmured, sounding genuinely hurt in regard to the story. “How did she react?”

“What do you mean?” The original girl asked. The bartender had dropped Dex’s card and receipts in front of him. He slowly signed his name as he continued to listen. This was the most interesting conversation he had heard all night.

“Is Leah okay? How did she react when you told her? That’s heartbreaking.” The soft voice said. Dex finally glanced over and was shocked when he saw you. Neighbor. The girl across the yard. You had left your cozy clothes at home and instead wore a black cropped tank-top and baggy, ripped jeans. You had heavy boots on and a leather jacket draped over your right arm.  

Your friend scoffed and your face winced with hurt. “Why would I tell her? I am not getting involved with that. They’re supposed to get married in four months.”

“Because she’s our friend.” You said steadily. You swallowed harshly and tucked a stray hair behind your ear. “It would be wrong not to tell her, cheating is a horrible thing to do.”

“Babe,” Another girl said, standing across from you and placing a hand on your shoulder, “it’ll come to light, but it’s not our job to make that happen.” You shrugged off your friend's hand and clutched your jacket over your arm. 

“Yes it is our job!” You hissed. Dex could see the rise and fall of your chest, rapid and unsteady. Your knuckles were white with how hard you were ripping at the fabric of your jacket. “I’m telling her, she has the right to know.”

You turn around and you leave and your friend makes a half-hearted effort to stop you. Once you’re out of sight they scoff again and murmur something about how you were starting unnecessary drama. Dex stares straight ahead counting liquor bottles on the shelf, one for every second, then he leaves.

You’re already at the end of the street when he spots you but he knows which way you’re going. Your apartment complex was close, another reason why Dex agreed to go out. With each step, each slight movement to stay out of your line of sight, he reminds himself that he is just going home and you happen to live in the same building as him. There’s nothing wrong with what he is doing.

He almost avoids getting into the elevator with you, not wanting you to notice him quite yet, but you’re distracted by your phone which is already held to your ear. Dex can hear the line ringing, your baited breath as you pick at the skin of your nails. The elevator dings and you part ways. When he rounds the corner of the hall he sprints to his door, wanting to get in front of the window before you’re back at your apartment. 

He leaves his lights off so he remains unseen and looks through his telescope to see your cat lounging in the windowsill perk up when you open your front door. You’re talking, presumably to Leah, and you’re running your hands through your hair. The more he watches the more you look upset. You start to hyperventilate, you wince again, you pull the phone away from your ear abruptly and collapse onto the floor in front of your couch. Looks like Leah didn’t take the news well and blamed you for something that was never your fault.

And even though Dex had seen you around the apartment this was the first time he had really seen you. Noticed you. Paid attention in any meaningful way because as you tried to calm your breathing by stroking your cat's fur the voice of Dr. Mercer echoes in his brain. 

“Your North Star.”

All this time Dex had been following her words like the gospel. Years of rigid military service directly followed by Quantico which provided the job in the FBI. Structure, discipline, strict routine with occasional release that came from pulling the trigger had kept him sane. Every monotonous minute of every day had brought him to you, and you had been right in front of him for so long. Finally he was able to look up to you. His North Star. 

The moment at the bar intrigued him. You had the opportunity to look the other way but instead you decided to gamble all of your social credit knowing what it would cost you. Friendships put on the line just so you could do the right thing.

Dex Decided to cash in some long accrued PTO claiming he needed some time off from the last case. The department psychologist signed off on it saying some mental health days were in order because Dex’s job could be oh-so taxing, and Dex decided to get to know you a little better.

He wouldn’t lie and say he wasn’t delighted at what he learned. 

You had a routine. Not just weekly habits or a schedule that you semi-adhered to no, a strict routine that you followed diligently. Dex wondered if your routine brought you that same peace it brought him, that every task that was lined up and completed throughout the day brought you relief. He watched with fascination and found ways to rework his own schedule so it could align with yours. 

Sundays were for errands. You woke up at 8 AM and spent ten minutes in bed petting your cat before getting up and washing your face, then applied serums, then brushed your teeth, then moisturized. You’d get dressed in silence and Dex would always turn away to give you privacy, then you’d inspect your small fridge and pantry and make a list. He found out that you liked lists and you especially liked when you could cross something off of one. When he tailed you in the grocery store he couldn’t help but notice how your lips would curve into a smile every time you stopped and placed an item in your basket and got to cross off the item in one swift line of ink. 

When you got home you would do laundry and paint your nails one of four colors that you kept on hand and watched a movie. Whatever you watched he would watch too. It seemed like you weren’t just a creature of habit with your routine but with what you consumed as well, whether it be music or food or media. You stuck to the same handful of meals every week. You watched a rotation of about fifteen movies. He found your Spotify and listened to all your favorite songs. 

At night you would read before getting ready for bed and it seemed like reading was the only part of your life you felt the need to branch out. You would read anything ranging from horror to non-fiction. Books littered your apartment as the tiny bookshelf in your living room was already stuffed full. He read what you read and he found himself enjoying it too. 

During the week you worked at an accounting firm in the operations department. You assisted with billing and worked out of a decent sized cubicle in a quiet part of the office. He observed you Monday through Friday, sitting alone at your quiet desk listening to the same music and podcast episodes that you enjoyed. 1 to 1:30 you had your lunch break where you sat outside your building on a bench and ate whatever leftovers from the night before you packed. You fed your crumbs to the birds, watching as they fluttered around you without flinching. You kept to yourself at work, friendly but you didn’t have anyone you were close with. You left at five every day and took the same train home. 

By 6 you were making dinner and Dex mirrored you. Ate when you ate with baited breath, smiling when he tasted what you tasted. Then you showered and so did he and while he didn’t change his body wash or shampoo to yours, he did buy the bottles and smelled the soapy contents of them while standing under the showerhead. By 8 you were dressed in your usual soft sweats and t-shirts and headed outside with a ziplock of birdfeed. Doves and chipmunks swarmed around you, occasionally you would place birdseed in your hands and sit unmoving as pigeons pecked at your fingers, and when it was all gone by 8:30 you would check your mail. Dex started checking his mail at that time too, the one time a day when you would share the same space and he found himself looking forward to it more than anything. 

The following week when Dex returned to work, refreshed and happy with a few new adjustments to his routine, he kept you in his thoughts and made time for you when he could. 

He sat in his car across the street during your lunch break. He tailed you to and from work telling himself that he was just making sure you were safe. He grocery shopped with you on Sundays and followed you to the bookstore every Friday night when you picked up whatever you’d be reading for the week. On Saturdays you went to the farmers market a few blocks down where you’d buy a new bouquet of flowers that you kept in the apartment all week. Dex would buy a duplicate of whatever bouquet you picked out and stared at them longly. 

Dex learned what you liked and disliked. You enjoyed the company of animals, something Dex found difficult at first considering his troubled past with small creatures as a kid. When he observed you feeding the birds he listened to the recording of himself as a child recounting how he killed a family of robins with skipping stones. When you sat on the floor of your apartment next to your cat, who he learned was named Penny, he recalled the time he kicked a stray dog nearly to death as a teen. 

This is good for me. He thought to himself as you pet an outdoor cat on your walk to the subway station one afternoon. You were kind to animals so therefore he should be too. You were good and to be good like you he needed to be kind to animals too. He bought a hanging birdfeeder over the weekend and installed it outside his window so while he watched you feeding the birds he could feed them too. Just like you.

You didn’t like leaving your apartment once you got home on weekdays. Errands and time out of the apartment were meant for weekends whether it be a trip to the store or the diner you went to for breakfast on Saturdays. Dex liked that you were a homebody. It meant you were more likely to be safe. 

You enjoyed quiet moments. Your lunch break on the bench. Time spent in your living room watching your cat take a nap. The book store. You kept to yourself and you liked when other people did too.

You liked being clean. You swept and dusted your apartment every other day which Dex could appreciate because he took care of his own apartment diligently. You liked showering. You liked laundry. You liked fresh smells like cucumber and pear and wheatgrass. Your perfume was Elizabeth Arden Green Tea and Dex kept a small bottle on his nightstand just so he could remind himself what you were like up close. The scent made something in his chest unravel.

He found himself smiling more. You had become something for him to look forward to. He was less snippy at work and found himself actually laughing at a few of the guys' jokes in the breakroom. Paperwork was no longer as trivial as it used to feel. Briefings and strategy meetings suddenly not as mind numbing. Dex often thought about what you were doing at that exact same moment, at work dressed in your pleated skirts that went past your knees and logging bills for tax clients while listening to a podcast.

Ray even picked up on the shift. While sitting in a van on a stakeout he asked if Dex had been seeing someone and all Dex could do was smirk and try not to make eye contact. 

“Kind of.” Dex allowed himself to say and Ray grinned. 

“Oh yeah? I’ve known you for almost five years and this is the first I’ve heard of something like this.”

That’s because I keep it that way.

“It’s new.” Dex replies as he watches their mark who is sitting outside at a restaurant and is a suspect in a high profile human trafficking operation. He’s dressed in an expensive suit and smiles at his wife who is wearing designer shoes, all bought from the blood of their unsuspecting victims. Dex pictured ripping the fork out of the man’s hand just before he went in for another bite and stabbing him in the eye with the utensil. His wife would scream but he’d shut her up by taking her champagne flute and throwing it into her windpipe. He’d kick the man’s chair out from underneath him and watch him tumble to the ground then end his life by slitting his throat with the steak knife. The man and his wife deserved it because their operation targeted young women like you.  

“Well whoever she is, must be good for you.” Ray said as he popped his gum and smiled over at Dex who had been ripped away from his own thoughts. Dex nods in agreement, cracking his own while he pictures the way your hair falls over your neck. 

“She keeps me sane.”

By the first week of May it seemed like spring was finally deciding to stick around in New York. The magnolia tree in the courtyard started to bud and you don’t look like you’re shivering anymore when you feed the birds. Dex has gotten to know you for weeks. Your routine folded and adapted into his.

However as the weeks went by he couldn’t help but notice how morose you seemed to be. Sadness clearly induced by loneliness as your friends hadn’t reached out to you since the fateful night. The few times you talked on the phone were with your parents every few weeks. When he was able to view your phone screen you were rarely texting anyone and you hadn’t posted on social media in over a year. Penny provided as much companionship as any cat could and it seemed to quell your despair, but more often than not you were going to bed exhausted with red rimmed eyes. You started leaving your bedroom window open since it had gotten warmer leaving Dex with an uninterrupted view into your most private space. 

It all came to a head on a Wednesday night.

You had just returned to your apartment, mail in hand and an empty ziplock in the pocket of your shorts. Through the telescope Dex could see how tired you looked. Work must’ve been difficult because you ate on your usual bench with your head hung low and that evening you barely paid Penny any mind when she rubbed against your shins when you got home. Even when feeding the birds you seemed uninterested, scattering seed at your feet aimlessly and not paying attention to the critters milling around you. Your constant state of almost bursting into tears tugged at something deep inside Dex’s chest that he tried to expel at the shooting range earlier in the afternoon. 

As you laid on your couch with the television off and only the surrounding hum of the neighborhood keeping you company your phone buzzed for the first time in almost a month. Dex watched as you shot up and grabbed at your device. Leah’s name was on caller ID and with shaky hands you answered her call. 

Years of sitting behind lenses, watching and waiting for the perfect time to pull the trigger, allowed Dex to be skilled at lip reading. While raking your hands through your hair you asked, “Hello?” and Dex imagined your soft spoken voice he had listened to a handful of times. 

You waited patiently as Leah spoke on the other end, biting at your lip as your breathing picked up. You tried to speak at one point but got interrupted causing Dex’s nostrils to flare in anger as Leah wouldn’t let you get a word in. After a minute he watched as your face crumpled and you let out a sharp gasp that cut through the silence of the courtyard and into Dex’s own open apartment window. 

The phone slipped from your hand and thumped against the couch cushion. Bottom lip wobbling as you harshly rubbed at your eyes and heaved for air. Penny, aware of your distress, nosed at your arm but you ignored her as you stood shakily and went to your kitchen.

In your half-present state you managed to bump the bookshelf near the doorway which shelved your special glass vase that you kept your weekly bouquet in. If Dex had been with you he would’ve caught it instinctually but by the time you turned your head it was already toppling to the floor. The shatter was loud enough to echo into the courtyard and you stood in its broken wake looking helpless. 

Penny was scared by the crash at first but then became curious as she watched you stand silently amidst the mess of broken glass. When she tried to walk to you to investigate you finally snapped out of your daze and shouted for her to not come any closer. The uncharacteristic volume of your voice startled her and she ran away into the bedroom and you winced in regret. 

Through his telescope Dex watched the first tear spill over your lashline as you knelt to the ground. Everything was finally boiling over. The loneliness, the phone call, the accident with the vase and to wrap everything together was the lash out against Penny who Dex figured was your only friend at this point. You struggled for air as you let out a choked sob and something white hot zipped down Dex’s spine and settled in his hips.

It was the first time he had witnessed you cry. All this time you had been keeping and repressing and ignoring the inevitable and it was all coming out in this one moment. Angry, betrayed tears spilled onto your face as your shoulder wracked with harsh cries. Dex’s own chest felt tight and his hands shook, he lowered the telescope and let out a few deep breaths in an attempt to steady himself. After a beat he raised his lens just in time to find you sweeping the glass and flowers into a dustpan all while still letting out pained sobs. 

Something was gnawing into Dex’s ribs as you held the dustpan over your trashcan, hesitant to throw everything away. You must’ve been attached to the vase, or maybe it was everything else that was making you wait. Foot on the lever that keeps the lid open, you hover and let tears drip onto glass shards and flower stems. With a shaky hand you reach out and pick up the largest of the broken pieces. 

Holding in tears your chest starts to heave again. Deep breaths in and out as it looked like you tried to calm yourself but then you started gripping the glass in your delicate hands and Dex watched as sharp edges pierced the skin of your fingers and palms. He gasped at the sight of you hurting yourself, his mind screaming as blood dripped into the open trash. Eventually the shard was crushed in your grip and smaller pieces of glass tumbled into the waste. You gasped for air again and more tears welled up in your eyes as the hurt and pain started to set in. You finished cleaning with an injured hand and cleaned your wounds in the kitchen sink after. It was difficult for Dex to see the total damage done but it was sure to scar.

While you were in the privacy of your own bathroom away from Dex’s prying eyes he laid on his comforter and processed what he just witnessed. His North Start intentionally hurting herself in a response to her own loneliness and maybe as an act of punishment. He wondered if this wasn’t the first time. You were good. So good. Too good. You got sad when you saw missing dog posters and always took a picture of the flyers in case you saw the pet somewhere. You assisted your elderly neighbor down the hall with her groceries and treated your cat with the most care Dex has anyone ever seen give to an animal. You sorted your trash and read the AP. You always did the right thing even if it meant losing everything. 

And yet you punished yourself for it. 

All you had was Penny at this point and as much as Dex had come to respect her, she wasn’t enough. You needed someone who you could talk to. You needed a companion. Someone who could understand the routine as much as you did someone who could keep you safe even from yourself. 

Dex could be that someone for you.

+++

You had never met a guy like Dex before. 

Before he was Dex he was “Mail Guy” because he was the attractive man who usually got his mail at the same time as you. 8:30, right after you finish your “outside evening time”, and he’d be there in the mail room standing in front of his box reading through whatever bills or coupons he had received. The first thing you noticed about him were his broad shoulders and the way his hair always looked neat and parted. He was a bright, small moment of your day that appeared during a dark and intense stretch of isolation. 

A guy like Mail Guy would never be into you anyways, or at least that is what you had always told yourself. Attractive guys, guys who were normal and didn’t carry a mental checklist around in their heads at all times, guys who didn’t feel guilty all the time.

You were the type of girl who was a little too quiet in an off-putting way rather than a cute, shy way. Blue Planet was your favorite television show. Animals were more comforting and loads more interesting than people. Books were your best friends until freshman year of college. At parties you were the first person to leave or, if your friends managed to convince you to stay, you would go so unnoticed that you’d start cleaning up while everyone danced. One time you managed to reorganize a frat house’s entire kitchen in an entire night, your greatest but also most pathetic accomplishment. In class on Monday you overheard one of the boys who lived in the house say that they were convinced a ghost had done it, unaware that the culprit had been in a group project with him a semester earlier. 

His comment made you realize that you were sort-of a ghost in a few ways. You had drifted through your life only occasionally noticed by others, free to roam as you pleased if you were quiet enough. Similar to a ghost you also tended to have the same haunts. 

The routine. 

The routine, the to-do list, the pattern. An entirely made up and self imposed procedure that you adhered to religiously, the first iteration of it dating back to sixth grade. The method had changed and evolved over the years, guiding you through high school then college til the present, post-college early twenties routine that allowed for the most freedom which is why you kept it so monotonous. The fear of falling off track or messing up so badly that you were in complete social and financial ruin plagued you so relentlessly you often found yourself clutching at your chest in an effort to sooth your racing heart as your mind replayed images of you homeless, or unemployed, or so terribly broke that you lost everything and had no one to turn to. 

So instead you lead a simple life filled with simple pleasures and kept your head down and your savings account full so you could enjoy the little things like getting breakfast every Saturday morning or caring for your cat Penny; the first love of your life. 

Your friends had never understood your anxieties and you envied their abilities to be careless. To them, your routine was limiting and annoying, something that got in the way of their abilities to be totally free. They never understood the importance of bed time, the joy that “outside evening time” brought you, or how you had to do your laundry on Sundays or else you would feel like a failure. 

“One night out won’t kill you.” Mary chided over text when you declined to go out on a Tuesday night. 

“A few years ago the Avengers fought an alien invasion in Manhattan. Maybe it will.” You responded, too tired to give any other explanation that they wouldn’t pay attention to. You liked your friends and sometimes it seemed like they liked you too, but they would not ever be able to understand you. No one would, and you knew that was your own fault. 

At night when you buried yourself in a book during your designated reading time in an attempt to stay off your phone you could still remember the way Leah screamed at you when you told her the truth. 

“Why the hell would you accuse him of something like that?” She spat, already crying because even though she was in denial, deep down she knew that you wouldn’t make something like this up.

“This is the truth Leah. Mary and Izzy just told me about it and they did not want to get involved which I would argue is worse.” You tugged fingers through your hair as you paced your living room and Penny started swatting at a stray thread in your jeans. “I’m not lying, Izzy said she found Jeremy on Tinder. I’m telling you because I don’t want you to be with a cheater. You don’t deserve that. You’re my friend.”

“Friends don’t make up lies! You just don’t want me to be happy. You’re jealous because I’m not miserable and single like you are so you’re going out of your way to make me just like you!” Leah was practically hissing and the loathing in her voice made your heart shatter. 

That’s what she thought of you?

You had known Leah since college. At one point you were roommates for almost two years before she met Jeremy and eventually moved in with him. You helped her send wedding invitations and next week you were supposed to go out to brunch. The sage green bridesmaid dress you saved up for was hanging in your closet in a dry cleaning bag and the matching heels were sitting untouched in their box. Leah was your friend who you watched Planet Earth with and was there when you adopted Penny. And now she was telling you that you were a miserable piece of shit trying to ruin her life. 

“I-” You stutter, tears threatening to fall but you hold it in because it would be too embarrassing to cry, “Leah how could you say something like that?”

“Next time we speak it better be an apology!” She shouted before hanging up so you couldn’t have the last word. You yanked the phone back from your ear at the shriek and let it set in that something terrible just happened.

Izzy and Mary texted you later that night after Leah called them and they berated you in long paragraphs and said that you always started unnecessary drama even though you had never started drama in your life. When you tried to defend yourself Mary told you to keep your head down and your nose out of everyone’s business which you found ironic because all you ever did was keep your head down your whole life. 

Three friendships down the drain in the span of four hours. Your already meager social life dwindled down to small interactions at work and the attention Penny gave you. Anxiety ate away at you for days as you clung to your routine that would never hurt you in an effort to stay alive.

So Mail Guy was kind of a blessing. For roughly 55 seconds every day except Sundays you could admire the side profile of your handsome neighbor who would wear things like tight fitting quarterzips that showed off his biceps. One time when he came into the mail room he was still dressed in work clothes and when he opened his box you saw a gun in a holster on his hip. It made you a little nervous but it also made him a little more attractive. 

Mail Guy was part of your routine, a welcome addition to your mental checklist that gave you satisfaction every time you could cross it off. 

The checklist is what kept you sane for all of your weeks of social quarantine. It was timed down to the minute. Perfectly planned so every thirty minutes would keep you occupied and just enough time to anticipate what was coming next. The routine kept your mind off of the clusterfuck that were your friendships and without it you probably would’ve hurt yourself a lot sooner than you did. 

But even the pattern couldn’t cover up the fact that you had barely had a meaningful conversation in over a month. You filled the void by talking to yourself and Penny but the lack of response was starting to drive you crazy. If Penny wasn’t in your life you often wondered if anyone would notice if you were alive or not. It would be easy to slip away if no one was looking for you. Work could easily fill your position and write you off as a no call no show. Your ex-friends would never know you were gone because they made it clear they didn’t want to talk to you anymore. It would probably be a few weeks before your parents realized you weren’t returning their calls. But Penny would notice. If you did kill yourself you’d probably do it in the soft comfort of your apartment where Penny would be. You wouldn’t be able to feed her so at some point she’d start eating you and even though most people find that sort of thing morbid you always thought it was nice. Good. Penny deserved to eat you. You’d hate for her to starve. That would be so sad. 

It would be worse if she got taken by animal control and would probably be put down after your body was finally discovered. You loved Penny more than anything so for her sake you stayed alive.

Then Leah called. 

“Jeremy and I talked it out.” She said firmly. “We are still getting married. He made a mistake and I have forgiven him.”

“Cheating isn’t just a mistake Leah.” You said softly, scared of provoking her as you recalled the way she screamed at you last time you spoke. 

“I have forgiven him.” Leah reiterates. “But neither of us feel comfortable having you at the wedding. You’re not allowed to come.”

“What?”

“It was a mutual decision between Jeremy and I. What you did caused me a lot of pain for the past few weeks and if you would go as far to do something like this now then I don’t know what you’d do at the wedding. You’re not allowed to come and that is final.” She hangs up the phone quietly this time and you are left speechless. 

It’s all your fault. You officially have no one and it was all your fault. You did this. Pushed everyone away. You made the mistake. It’s all on you. 

Your chest felt so tight and you realized you were hyperventilating so you attempted to get water but because you’re such a fuck up you broke your favorite vase. Then you embarrassed yourself by crying then you shouted at Penny who was just trying to check on you and that was worse than anything you did to Leah. You were a bad, bad person. Evil. Despicable. You deserved to be punished. The glass was almost silent as you crushed it in your hand and let it dig and break skin on your fingers. You deserved this. 

That night you went to bed with aching skin and Penny didn’t sleep by your side like normal. By morning she was laying on the foot of the bed and the hurt under your skin wasn’t as present. You changed your bandages and winced at the large cut that was on your palm. It was no longer bleeding but it was sure to scar. 

Work went by with no issue like it always did. You had what you dubbed “outdoor lunch time” and tried to soak up the sun. You always hated crying but you did feel a bit lighter. The calm after the storm. That evening you could only wash your hair with one hand because your fingers stung when you would bend them. Your hand ached from typing on the computer all day but it didn’t look like you were getting an infection. You pressed into the center of one of the wounds over the wrapping and felt the dull twinge. 

Then you went to feed the birds like you always did at 8 dressed in black sweats and an Umbro t-shirt. You headed down the stairs to your usual bench and had to stop yourself from gasping when you saw someone sitting next to your usual spot reading a book. 

Mail Guy.

He was wearing a soft crewneck and baggy pants while reading a copy of Jaws. He chewed on his bottom lip as he read and looked up at you slowly and then grinned politely. Turns out, Mail Guy had really nice teeth, but sort-of an intimidating smile that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. You felt your hands start to sweat. 

“Evening.” He said coolly. “Do you mind if we share the bench?”

A tiny gust of wind could knock you over if it wanted to. 

“Sorry,” He cringes but it’s cute because he is unfairly good looking, “I noticed you out here a few times so I know this is your territory but I couldn’t stand being cooped up in my apartment on such a nice day.” He gestures around the small courtyard and you nod your head before trying to crack a smile of your own. 

“You noticed me?” You asked dumbly, chastising yourself mentally for already making such a terrible impression on Mail Guy. You assumed he probably thought you were weird. Feeding the birds and squirrels wasn’t the coolest hobby but “evening outdoor time” was one of your favorite parts of your day. You enjoyed the way the animals interacted with one another and how if you were still enough, sometimes a bird would land on your foot. 

“Yeah, once or twice.” He scooted further into the other side of the bench to give you room and you sat down in your usual spot. Already, pigeons were starting to flock around the two of you. “It’s sweet that you feed the birds.”

“Oh!” You blush and suddenly wish you were wearing anything but the ratty old shirt and pants you had on. Your hair was still wet and your bandage probably made you look like a freak. Mail Guy was just being nice so you wouldn’t feel bad, no way a guy like him thought someone like you was ‘sweet’. “Yeah I feed them every day. I really like animals.” You mumble as you throw your first bit of seed in a wide ark around you. Doves coo and flutter around you and you hear squirrels chatter in the magnolia behind the bench. 

“But this bench isn’t mine or anything,” You said as you recalled the way he said ‘your territory’ and wondered if any of your other neighbors had taken notice of your antics, “it’s a public space. I don’t mean to hoard it to myself or anything.” You look at him out of the corner of your eye and take note of the way the sunshine made the white-blond hairs on his temples glitter in the light. Mail Guy smiled again, his eyes crinkling at the edges. 

“I’ll try to be quiet so no one is disturbed.” He says before running a hand through his hair and settling into the corner of the bench.

There's a moment of silence as just the chatter of animals fills the air surrounding you and him. He goes back to reading and is sitting just as still as you are only occasionally moving to turn a page in his book. You try to keep the fresh bandages on your hands as clean as possible by brushing extra seed onto the hem of your sweats after every throw. A lady bug lands on a blade of grass by your feet and you watch it crawl lazily along the grass before a sparrow lands near it and it flies away. 

The bag dwindles down and soon you will go inside and get your mail before returning home but the fact that you’re sitting next to your silly apartment crush makes your heart go wild. The two of you are sitting close enough together that you can smell his cologne, something that reminded you of teakwood and made your stomach flutter. 

“Do you like it?” You hear yourself ask, voice low as to not disturb the wildlife. You try not to look at him, instead fixating on some of the tape of your wrapping already peeling off of your skin so you try to flatten it down. Mail Guy looks up from his paperback.

“The book?” He asks, holding up his copy. You nod, still fiddling with the tape and trying to ignore the weight of his stare. You think his eyes are hazel but you can’t quite tell yet. 

“Mmhmm.” The last bit of seed is scattered around the two of you and all the courtyard animals flock for one last frenzy. “I read it for the first time a few weeks ago.”

“Well what did you think?” He bookmarks his spot with a yellow post-it that still looks crisp. His movements were clean as he stuck it on his page then closed the book, each action seemingly very intentional. Mail Guy adjusted his posture so he was facing you directly, knee thrown up on to the bench casually but just enough room so he wasn’t touching you. You finally turned to face him, still ducking under his gaze and looking at his chin dimple rather than his eyes. 

“I enjoyed it, it was different than I thought it would be but I think that’s what made me like it more. I don’t wanna spoil anything for you though.” You say, a smile forming on your face the longer you speak as you recalled your experience from a few weeks ago.

“I’ve never seen the movie either.” Mail Guy admits, almost looking sheepish. He lowers his head so he can catch your gaze and you blink up at him surprised which makes him flash his sharp smile again. “But it’s good so far. I think I enjoy non-fiction more than fiction if I’m being honest, but it is keeping me entertained. The cheating plotline though…” He trails off and sucks his teeth, “Not my favorite.”

You nod politely even though the mention of ‘cheating’ makes your chest twinge at the thought of Leah and her soon-to-be husband. “You’ll probably enjoy the ending.” You say offhandedly and Mail Guy is still smiling. The tape on your hand is still peeling and it is 8:30, you should be leaving.

“Is your hand alright?” Mail Guy asks, pointing to your poor attempt at first aid that you’re fidgeting with before you can excuse yourself. 

“Oh!” You blush again and scramble for an explanation that doesn’t make you look crazy in front of your cute neighbor, “I stupidly broke a vase last night and underestimated how sharp the glass was when I was cleaning it up.” A half-truth that he seems to believe because he lets out a soft hum as he appraises your hand. 

“You know,” He says softly as he looks at the already fraying gauze on your fingers, “I’m first aid certified. I can take a look at your hand and bandage it a little more comfortably.”

The offer shocks you and for a second you think you might be dreaming. First Mail Guy admits to noticing you now this direct offer of help. “Is it that bad?” You ask shyly, holding up your injured hand weakly and cracking a self-depricating smile and he chuckles. 

“Let’s just say we can’t have our friends out here in the courtyard going hungry because of your injury.” You smile which makes him smile. 

You consider his offer for a second. On any other day you would’ve been in the stairwell walking back to your apartment so you could sit with Penny and read for the remainder of the evening and a part of your brain was already getting antsy because you were behind schedule. You hadn’t even gotten your mail yet due to this conversation. But the other half of you knew that if you accepted this offer you’d not only get to spend more time with the mysterious Mail Guy but because he’d be fixing your bandages he’d have to touch you. You hadn’t been touched in months.

“Only if I can check my mail really quick first.”

The elevator ride to his apartment was short and when you stepped out of the car you realized you were on your own floor. “This way.” He nodded, heading left when you would’ve gone right to your own unit. You don’t even know this guy's name nor does he know yours but you’re following him back to his apartment. He could be crazy, a psycho killer who was luring you to your demise but you didn’t even care because you were so intrigued at the possibility of feeling someone else’s skin on yours.

His unit was just like yours except it was sparser and exceptionally tidy. A loveseat in the livingroom, a perfectly aligned stack of newspapers on the edge of the kitchen counter, a small breakfast table with a chair on each side spaced evenly apart from the edge of the table. He pulled out one of the chairs for you and asked you to wait for a moment while he got everything in order. By the door you noticed one of the few framed pictures on his walls. A picture of him and a group of men in army fatigues taken somewhere in a desert. Mail Guy was on the edge of the group smiling a bit awkwardly while holding the largest gun you’ve ever seen. 

He returns to the table just after stopping in the kitchen to turn on his electric kettle then settles in the chair next to you. Mail Guy peels the tape and bandages off of your hand so tenderly you think you might melt into his hardwood floors. Once it is all removed he tuts softly, maneuvering your hand gently in his grasp as he inspects the wounds. A large slice into the palm of your dominant hand with four smaller ones on each of your fingers.

“Ouch.” He mumbles, his thumb tracing the edge of the largest cut. “Poor girl.” His voice is a low murmur and you almost don’t hear the last comment and try not to blush again. 

“Where’d you learn first aid?” You ask softly. You were standing over his kitchen sink with the kettle coming to a slow simmer behind you. Mail Guy is washing your hand for you and even though the soap causes your ache to return you don’t mind because his touch is so warm, contrasting the cold water lapping against your skin. 

“Oh! Uh,” He ponders his next sentence as he dabs your skin dry with a dish towel, “It was mandatory for my work. I’m an FBI agent. I do a decent amount of field work.” Mail Guy, or rather FBI Guy, mumbles and you raise your brows in surprise. No wonder he was so attentive. 

You’re back at his table and Mail Guy is prepping each item he plans on using. Unwrapping fresh gauze, pre-cutting ribbons of tape, opening a packet of antibiotic salve, and laying it out in a neat row in front of him. 

“This will sting a little.” There’s an alcohol wipe in his hand and he glances at you like he’s waiting for your permission before he begins his work. You stifle any reaction to the burn, staying perfectly still and hoping you’re a good patient as he works to disinfect each cut perfectly. “I’m Benjamin Poindexter by the way.” 

Finally a real name. You repeat it in your head and your first thought is that his last name is actually kind of dorky and it makes him a little less intimidating. 

“My friends call me Dex.” He adds just as he finishes disinfecting your hand. Suddenly his edge is back. Poindexter is a little silly but Dex is kind of intense and you think it suits him with his sharp smiles and orderly apartment. His hands reach out and grab one of the clean gauze squares with that same precision you noticed earlier and he narrows his eyes as he places it onto your palm. 

“No one calls you Ben?” You quiz, keeping your hand steady and your own eyes on his face. Soaking up all his attention as he wraps medical tape around your hand, each movement completely deliberate. First he admits to noticing you feeding the birds, then he makes an effort to pay enough attention to you to notice your injury, he takes it even further by offering to patch you up with the most tender care anyone has given you in a long time. You wonder if this guy was noticing you in the mailroom all this time. 

“You can call me anything you want.” Ben says, a sharp smile gracing his features once again, but this time it doesn’t make any part of you want to turn and run. 

After ten more minutes of careful and precise work you are left with a much more professional and comfortable dressing than you could’ve managed by yourself. The tape won’t peel and the smaller cuts on your fingers have their own individual gauze squares that Ben cut down to the perfect size. The tape is tight but not too tight and wrapped around your fingers in a way where you can still bend them comfortably. He leaves the table so you can admire his work by yourself while he fixes mugs of tea for the two of you and you can’t help but feel incredibly wooed. 

“I can redo it for you tomorrow if you want.” Ben says almost eagerly but you can tell he’s trying to hide it. You sip your tea, something herbal that reminds you of your favorite restaurant. His soft yet sure touch and willingness to help you is starting to become overwhelming and you wonder if you should’ve been eased into receiving small acts of service rather than all at once. “Just leave it unbandaged after you shower. I’ll meet you in the courtyard at the same time and after we can come back here.”

As you finish your tea and he cleans everything up you gaze out his window. His apartment has a clear view of your spot in the courtyard and it’s interesting to see it from a different angle. Your eyes flick up and just across the yard in the window parallel to his you see a familiar shape. It’s Penny, sitting in her usual spot on your living room windowsill watching a crow hop around on one of the branches of the magnolia. Maybe meeting Ben was fate. 

The next day he’s already waiting for you on the wooden bench, a copy of Jaws still in his hands but this time he’s almost all done. He tells you it’s the final showdown, Hooper has just been eaten and now Brody and Quint are determined to kill the shark. 

“I kind of like the shark.” Ben admits as he inspects your hand in his apartment that evening. “I guess I kind of like sharks in general but it’s a shame he’s being persecuted for what he’s best at. What else is a shark supposed to do?” You let out a laugh which makes him grin and for a second you think that Ben is kind of shark-like himself.

In hindsight you probably should’ve been more cautious when it came to letting a stranger patch you up daily. If one of your friends told you that they were going to an older neighbor's apartment once a day to allow them to perform first aid despite having minimal contact prior, you would’ve told them to be cautious and to go to a doctor. But you don’t have those friends anymore and medical bills are outrageous and besides, Ben isn’t a stranger, he's a Mail Guy. He’s your neighbor. More importantly, Ben is an FBI agent and you remind yourself that psycho-killers don’t work for the FBI because they probably have to go through screenings and training. At least that is what you tell yourself.

The thirty minutes a day in Ben’s apartment allow you to get to know him better. He’s tidy which you admire and appreciate. Ben has shockingly good aim and a good throwing arm because he’s always able to throw your old, balled up bandages in the trash can which is on the other side of the room closer to the kitchen in a single throw and never misses. The third time he does it you wonder if he’s trying to impress you, which he succeeded at, and you ask him if he ever tried to be a professional baseball player. 

“I did honestly consider it back in high school.” He says as he applies ointment to your cuts. Your hand has dramatically improved since Ben started working his certified first aid magic on it. You kind of want to heal a little slower just so you can spend more time with your neighbor. “But baseball can be boring. Also they kept pulling me halfway through the game because I’d strike everyone out the whole time. I never got to  pitch a perfect game.” He lamented, working the salve over each cut with undeniable precision. “There are other ways to have a good aim.”

Through quiet conversation and cups of tea you also learn that Ben has a routine of his own, and not the simple kind that most people have, a strict one that he says is timed down to the minute. “I know it’s kind of weird, most of my colleagues and friends growing up always told me to loosen up but it’s good for me. Keeps me in the right direction.” 

“Trust me,” You’re staring into your mug of tea, decaf because Ben said he doesn’t allow himself caffeine after four PM, in an effort to hide the flush on your face and neck, “I completely understand.”

After a week and close inspection of your hand Ben tells you it doesn’t need to be bandaged anymore and gives you a fresh tube of antibiotic ointment. For a second you’re disappointed, your new extra step in your routine had filled the deep dark hole of social isolation you had been suffering in. But then Ben shyly asked if you’d still like to join him for tea after you feed your friends and check the mail, admitting that he didn't have many people he knew in the city outside of work and had been enjoying your company. You agreed, and suddenly you and Ben made space for one another in your lives. 

Two weeks ago you thought that you’d be spending the rest of your life in almost total isolation and tried to come to terms with your new fate. Making friends had never been easy and with your college connections severed you felt hopeless. It had been so much harder to make friends as an adult and it was difficult for you to relate to many of your peers. The incident with the broken vase had been a lapse that was a long time coming, boiling under the surface the longer you had to ruminate in your self-loathing. For a minute it seemed pointless, you would remain a terribly sad girl who had issues with pain and punishment for the rest of your life. Then, suddenly, you had Mail Guy’s phone number and a promise from him that he would text if he was getting held up at work and couldn’t make your meet up. You had someone and it seemed like your someone needed you just as much as you needed him. 

Evening tea with Ben also became Sunday morning grocery shopping with one another and he always offered to carry your bags for you and push the cart. He tagged along to the farmers market with you and helped you pick out your weekly bouquet and met up with you at the bookstore on Fridays. Ben cooked you dinner once a week on Wednesdays because you mentioned they were your least favorite day of the week. You introduced him to Penny and he’d come over on weekends and watch nature documentaries with you and wouldn’t complain. Thirty minutes a day morphed into almost any moment you had when you weren’t asleep or at work. Your hand was fully healed and the hurt from your old friends was just a scar.

One summer night you’re curled up on Ben’s couch while he sits a little more properly next to you. You’re listening to an audiobook that is playing through the speaker system in Ben’s living room because he mentioned he liked listening to audiobooks during his morning runs. The two of you sit in silence as you listen to the narrator of Sharp Objects talk about the dead body of a teenage girl who was found in an alleyway with all her teeth ripped out. It was your choice, you liked fiction and Ben liked true crime so a murder mystery seemed like an appropriate choice that suited both your tastes and Ben appeared to be enthralled with the story so far. After each chapter he would pause his phone and you would discuss what you just listened to. 

But as the narrator drones on, your attention fades out of focus and you begin to appreciate the slope of Ben’s nose and the way he keeps his jaw clenched as he listens to something with full attention. He’s tapping his index finger on the rim of his white mug. Ben has very well manicured nails despite the rough calluses that you know are on his fingers. He shifts in his spot and your eyes flit back up to his face and hazel eyes are staring back at you and if it was anyone else you’d apologize for staring but instead you hold your gaze. 

Ben is so pretty it could almost make you jealous. He was blessed with even, symmetrical features and good bone structure with cute cheek and chin dimples to top it all off. His high cheekbones and chiseled jaw made him look more like a model than an FBI agent. Still, as you stared at one another while an audiobook echoed around you talking about a gruesome murder, you wondered if Ben’s good looks were the one blessing that Dex received in life. Pretty privilege was a lucky thing to acquire and despite Ben’s perfect features there was something about him that always looked a little haunted. After all, you did see his medicine cabinet the week prior. 

His bathroom is just as clean if not more pristine than the rest of his apartment. Ben admitted that he wiped it down after every use which was evident by the roll of paper towels under the sink and the squeegee hung up in the shower. You asked if you could steal some floss, Ben had made salmon for dinner and it was lovely but something was poking at your tongue. He said it was in the top left hand drawer of his vanity but you were feeling bold and Ben was your friend so when you peaked in his medicine cabinet you expected to find cologne and moisturizer, not a pharmacy. 

Several pill bottles stood in a neat line on the middle shelf of the cabinet, each of their labels faced proudly outward all labeled with his full name and with four refills noted on the bottom corner of the stickers. At first it shocked you, you closed the cabinet quietly and returned to the living room where Ben was sitting on his couch waiting for you to start the next episode of a documentary about the Cold War you were watching together. The rest of the night went on as normal and Ben even walked you back to your apartment afterwards leaving you with a warm feeling blooming through your chest. The second you closed the door you rushed to your laptop where you looked up each of the medications. 

Anti-depressants, anti-psycotics, and mood stabilizers. Sterile web articles illuminate your computer screen and you click link after link trying to figure out what all of these pills would be used in combination for. BPD and PTSD are among most of the results and an ugly, evil, unwanted thought rips through you. 

Ben was almost too perfect. He was attractive, your cat liked him, he enjoyed the same music that you did and even remembered you liked honey more than plain sugar in your tea. Ben understood the importance and sanctity of repetition and even made the time to alter his life so you could fit into his already curated schedule. Ben was perfect, so therefore the universe made sure he was not, all because you liked him. Of course the one, meaningful, companion you were finally able to hold space for would have such a giant issue. Ben’s routine was probably not something he found satisfaction in, it was probably a lifeline. The more you read about borderline personality disorder the more it scared you. 

Before clicking on another web article Penny jumps up next to you on your bed and nuzzles at your hand hovering over the trackpad. Her rough tongue scrapes over your palm and you wince a bit as the familiar ache and sting blooms over your skin. The night of the vase incident plays through your memory like a film and then your greatest, or rather worst, hits flick through your mind after.

The one guy you had any sort of fling with in college telling you that you’re not very fun to be around but you give decent blowjobs which is why he stuck around for so long. You had asked him if he wanted to get dinner at the dining hall after class and that was his way of cutting things off with you. That night you didn’t eat and laid in bed while digging your thumbnail so hard into the skin above your hipbone you managed to break skin. The time you messed up a project at work and had to redo it all resulting in a condescending email from your boss and the four parallel scars on your right shoulder. You were fifteen and your mom just yelled at you for getting a C on a biology exam so you use cuticle scissors to cut off one of your toenails.

You remember that you have issues too and you might be clinging on to your own lifeline more than Ben is. Ben is medicated at least, and if he’s medicated then he goes to therapy regularly and has a psychiatrist and you haven’t seen your GP in two years. The ugly thought fades and you appreciate Ben even more than you did before. It also helps that Ben is very pretty.

Ben has become less intimidating over the weeks that you’ve known and it’s less of you becoming used to how intense he can come across and more of him acting softer around you and only you. It’s evident that he likes you the same way you like him and knowing this information gives you great satisfaction. You’re not the type of girl that guys fawn over and yet Ben does. He speaks softly, he buys your favorite snacks when you have movie nights, he still checks your hand every now claiming he just wants to make sure it’s healing alright. It’s an obvious excuse to touch you and you happily pretend like you don’t notice. It’s fun to dance around one another because Ben is smart enough to pick up on your obvious reciprocated feelings. A brush of the knee feels electric and eye contact burns in the best way possible. The way Ben looks at you while sitting on the couch that night can only be described as vulnerable. 

The chapter of the book ends and you know you’ll have to ask him to replay it because none of the words had any sort of lasting effect in your memory. Ben presses pause on his phone without even looking at it, maybe because he can’t stand the idea of missing out on looking at you. For a guy who works for the FBI he’s not very brave when it comes to his feelings and you know he is too scared to make the first move. By no means are you renowned for being fearless but if Ben hadn’t been so obvious in his affection you wouldn’t have gotten the courage to reach your hand out and brush his cheek with your finger tips.

Ben shutters and leans into your touch so your light graze turns into you cradling his face in your hands. The scratch of stubble threatens to irritate your scar but you pay it no mind as Dex looks up at you with wet, almost puppy-like, hazel eyes. You lean in and he moves to fill the remainder of the gap and presses his lips to yours. It’s a soft kiss, sweet and almost chaste and it tastes like wintergreen toothpaste and your nose is filled with his teakwood cologne. You pull away and he rests his forehead against yours as one of his hands cards through your hair and the other wraps around your waist. 

It’s your first kiss in years and you wonder if it’s his too, not because it’s bad but because he pulls you in for a tight hug after and takes a deep inhale of your hair and the skin on your neck. You quickly realize that Ben’s nice arms are not just for show because he kind of manhandles you during your hug so you’re practically on his lap as he pulls you closer. His touch is greedy, like your first kiss opened the floodgates for all his yearning to spill out. Ben presses a kiss to your cheek and you have to stifle a whimper, unused to all this touch. It feels like you’re drowning but at the same time you welcome it with open arms because Mail Guy is smothering you with affection. It's almost like a dream. 

You kiss him again and this time he does moan into your mouth and an undeniable pang of attraction makes your stomach twist. Ben wants you, maybe even needs you with the way he’s kissing you, like he could die tomorrow and be perfectly happy. His callused hands rest firmly on your waist and back keeping you in place as you make out like teenagers on his couch and you don’t stop until Ben accidentally knocks his phone onto the floor and the steady voice of the narrator announces “Chapter Two” loudly into the living room. You jolt away from Ben and his eyes are wide and frantic until you start laughing as he scrambles to find his phone on the floor to shut off the audiobook. Once it’s quiet again he chuckles along with you, leaning his head into the crook of your neck once again. 

That night he walks you home and leaves you with a kiss on the lips and a warm hug goodbye. When you sit on the couch to give Penny some much needed affection you glance out your window to see Dex neatening up his apartment from across the yard. He notices you looking and waves with a shy smile. You blow him a kiss and you swear you can see his blush rise to the tips of his ears. 

The next night you tell Ben that you can’t handle a casual relationship, it’s all or nothing and you already knew he would understand. He also agrees that he wants the pace of the relationship to be whatever you want it to be which in this case is slow.

Dating Ben is easy because not much changes except you touch more. He’s awfully clingy in the best way, always wanting some form of contact even if it’s just linking fingers as you walk down the street or a knee resting against your thigh when laying on the couch. Sometimes when he gets home from work he gifts you with small trinkets that he said made him think of you. A very smooth stone he found while he was out on his run that morning, a foreign coin, a petal from a poppy that he kept safe in his suit pocket all day. 

He buys you birdseed refills and even helps you scatter it during your evening routine and helps you trim Penny’s nails without complaint. At night when you listen to audiobooks or watch television he’s often draped over you with his head resting over your stomach while his arms are wrapped around you. You comb your fingers through his hair and you swear he actually purrs. Penny has even started getting so used to him that often she’ll lay on his back during these moments.

The first time you spend the night together is at your apartment on a Friday night. When you met up at the book store after work he insisted on buying you whatever your selection for the week was and even bought you one of the cute bookmarks that sit next to the register made out of pressed flowers preserved in resin. You cooked him dinner, pasta and homemade pesto which is one of your favorite meals and he compliments you after every bite. He leaves to shower at his place and grab an extra change of clothes and comes back with damp hair that you think makes him look charming. You feed the birds as normal, sitting in his lap this time while he rests his chin on your shoulder, then check the mail like always and return to your apartment where you watch Blue Planet. 

That night is also the first time you slept with one another and you learn that he is shockingly submissive in bed but in the way a guard dog is submissive to their master. Ben thrives when he’s told what to do even if it’s just a simple direction like “kiss my neck” or “touch me here”. His special precision is perfect in these scenarios because on the first try he finds the pulse point on your shoulder that makes you moan as he leaves a purple, crescent shaped hickey while his thumb presses into your clit. He makes you come remarkably fast with just his touch and practically begs to go down on you after.

Your old friends had you convinced that guys who liked to eat pussy were rare but Ben must’ve been an outlier or they just had terrible taste in guys. He loved having his head in between your thighs, pressing your legs against the side of his head seemed to give him some sort of comfort and he made you come again with his tongue buried in your heat while you tugged at the short, blond strands of his hair. Coming down from your high he presses his face into your slit, taking in a deep inhale whimpering at your ripe scent.

“Fuck.” He says, voice gruff and low as he kisses the bend in your knee. “My perfect, lovely girl. All for me. All mine. Mine, mine, mine.” You realize Ben is not speaking necessarily to you but rather about you, his stream of consciousness slipping out of him in his pussy-drunk state. He crawls up your body and gives you a searing kiss where you taste yourself on his lips and you moan as he slips his cock into you in one slow thrust.

In truth you haven’t had much experience with guys and had only seen a handful of dicks but you have a feeling that Ben’s is larger than most. He certainly walks like there’s something sizable between his thighs and as he presses into you it feels like you’re being split open in the best way possible. You’re undeniably full as he reaches the hilt, his cock is practically in your brain because it’s all you can think about. 

“Jesus fuck.” You mumble, sweat forming at your brow as Ben lets you adjust to him. He presses his forehead against yours and his eyes are completely blown out. All traces of hazel gone as he stares at you in a way that would make anyone else run and cower. But you stay put because as he finally moves in shallow thrusts, you know that Ben is yours and yours alone.

He doesn’t last long but you don’t care as you were more than satisfied by the time he fucked you and the fact that he came so quickly from just your pussy alone is kind of hot. Beautiful and pretty Ben spills inside of you in just a couple of strokes and the sound he made when he finished was so sinful you made sure to commit it to memory. You shower him in kisses and praise as he shutters through his high and eventually he pulls out and carries you to the bathroom so you can clean up before bed. 

That night you fall into a dreamless sleep and are awakened by Penny kneading biscuits into your thigh over the blankets and Ben curled into your chest as you held him all night long. He buys you your bouquet at the farmers market and that night he paints your toenails in perfect strokes so he doesn't get any polish on your skin.

Summer carries on and so do you and Ben. He visits you on his lunch break as often as he can. He buys you books and nail polish and never complains if you want to watch a nature documentary for the fourth time in a row on movie nights. He buys Penny treats and gains her full approval, always greeting him at the door when he comes over and nuzzling at his legs when he sits on the couch. You run errands with him on weekends and stand in line with him at the pharmacy when he needs refills on his meds. You never ask him to explain why he needs them and you know he’s thankful for it. He tells you he made you his emergency contact at work and you do the same. On the nights that one of you sleeps over he fucks you however you want and you fall asleep tangled in each other’s embrace. 

“I very much enjoy our time with one another. You’re the best part of my day.” You know he’s trying to say that he loves you and you know it’s probably too early to admit feelings like that; but you welcome it and tell him you’re glad he’s in your life.

So when you wake up at three o’clock in the morning on a Monday, alone because you only do sleepovers with your boyfriend on weekends, and hear the floor shift in the darkest corner of your room you pretend like you didn’t hear a thing. You haven’t given Ben a spare key yet, you’ve thought about it in the case you’re not home and Penny needs to be checked on, but you haven’t made that next step yet. Instead you try to fall back asleep and pay no mind to the fact that you think you can hear someone else breathing and how Penny keeps staring at the corner of the room.

Ben doesn’t always eat lunch with you but you notice on the days he doesn’t there’s always an unmarked car parked across the street of your building. It’s far enough away that you can’t tell if anyone is in it or not, but it always arrives just before you go outside and leaves just after you go back in. 

He has a Walkman with an old pair of headphones tucked into his nightstand. The first time you saw it was when he was pulling out a condom and when he saw you notice it he shut the drawer quickly and kissed you so hard you almost forgot about it. A week later when he was in the shower and you were laying in his bed you brought it out, put on the headphones, and pressed play. You only listened to it for a minute, thinking you would find a mixtape not a therapy session. You regretted your snooping the second you heard Ben’s young voice, so clearly him with the quiet and measured tone of voice he’s always had. He talked about baseball and his resentment for his coach and then you stopped listening because it was much too personal. 

In his hall closet there’s a large safe that you’ve never seen him open but you know what’s probably inside. He’s never explicitly shown you his gun that he carries for work but it’s always in its holster on his dresser, sitting neatly next to his black belt he always wears for work. You wonder what else is in the safe. His social security card, cash, maybe even more tapes, but most definitely more guns. 

Soon it is early October and your friends in the courtyard are begging for food so they can prepare for winter. You sit on your bench curled into Ben’s side as he murmurs to you in a low voice about his day at work. They’ve been tracking an illegal arms dealer that has ties to one of the scientists that was involved in the Sokovia incident a few years ago. It all sounds very intense but he says they aren’t planning any busts soon, just tracking and monitoring.

“And if there was a field assignment I’d probably be halfway across town perched on a roof, far away from any of the action.” He assures, smirking a little as he pictures it which makes you shiver so he wraps his arm around you a little tighter because he assumes it’s the autumn air making you shake. Ben had told you his actual role in the FBI about a month ago. You had assumed he was just a regular investigator but turns out he had a more specialized position, sniper. It made sense and explained the picture of him and his military squad he had hung by his door, but you had to quickly come to the realization that Ben has definitely killed people and will probably kill more people because that was his job.

The same hands that had pulled the trigger countless times were the same ones that took the time to love and heal your wounded ones all those weeks ago. A trained killer bought you flowers every weekend. A murderer always thanked you every time you had sex with him. It was a little ironic but it was all Ben, and you loved Ben. 

The next day at work you were logging an expense report when your phone buzzed. You expected it to be Ben, who texted you about three times a day while he was at work. Usually a picture of an animal, a plant, or an interesting building he saw while he was out. If you were lucky there would be an occasional selfie, only half of his face while he took a picture of something behind him, and sometimes a picture of his coworker Ray who you had heard about.

Only it wasn’t Ben, it was Leah.

Hey. If you don’t want to talk I will understand, but if you do would you be willing to meet up? I would like to apologize to you in person.

For a second you had forgotten about Leah. The past few months had been filled with anything and everything Ben that the fallout with your friends felt like a distant memory. Last time you checked she had you blocked on everything but when you opened Instagram she was following you again. Half of her pictures had been deleted, including her engagement pictures, and there was no trace of a wedding. 

Yeah, we can meet up. Does this Friday work?

“I don’t like this.” Ben says that night after you show him the messages. Leah asked if she could take you out to dinner and you agreed on the one condition that you go out to your favorite restaurant. She agreed instantly and you mentally started to go through all the items in your closet trying to figure out the best thing to wear. Something that made you look nice but in a sort-of effortless way that made you look nonchalant about the whole situation even though it had your stomach in knots. 

Ben’s reaction doesn’t surprise you, the past few months you hadn’t exactly told him any of the good facets about Leah, the reason why you were friends in the first place, so his view was biased. It also wasn’t shocking that he was feeling a little protective.

“If you go out to dinner we won’t have time to go to the bookstore, or watch a movie together.” His voice was steady but the way he had his arms crossed while sitting on the foot of your bed indicated his frustration.

“I know, and that is annoying because I want to buy the next Earthsea book, but would you be willing to go with me on Saturday after the market?”

“Yes.” He agrees instantly, you knew he would and admittedly you were frustrated that your usual Friday night plans were straying from their usual course, but you also knew you had to do this. Despite the hurtful things Leah had said and done to you a few months prior she was willing to extend an olive branch so it was the right thing to do to meet her half-way. 

“And we will definitely still have time for a movie. We’re meeting at 6:30 and I want to be home by 8:30 at the latest.” You said as you rifled through your closet looking for a very specific plaid skirt. “Do you think you would be willing to feed the birds for me?”

“Only if you let me drop you off at the restaurant.” Ben said, his voice closer to you than you recalled. When you popped your head out of the recess of your closet you jumped as Ben was right next to you. Sometimes he moves so quietly he reminds you of an electric car.

Friday evening you walk twenty minutes downtown hand-in-hand with your boyfriend to the little conveyor belt sushi restaurant that has always been a favorite spot of yours when you have a little extra cash to spend. Ben compliments your outfit three times on the walk over. “My beautiful girl is so dressed up,” he murmurs, brushing hair out of your face as you wait outside the restaurant for Leah to arrive. You’re predictably five minutes early.

At 6:34 Leah rounds the corner and waives tentatively at you as she approaches. You smile and wave back trying to hide the fact that your stomach is twisting and you’ve had to wipe the sweat on your hands onto the fabric of your skirt three times since you arrived. Ben stands firmly next to you with an arm wrapped around your waist, face unreadable.

“Hey,” Leah says breathlessly, pushing her hair behind her ears and wrapping her jacket around her to protect herself from the autumn chill. “Thanks uh, for meeting me.” She glances at Ben nervously and then settles her attention back to you. “Is this your boyfriend?”

“Yes! Yeah um-” You motion to Ben who smiles tightly at her and sticks his hand out for her to shake. 

“Dex, I’m just dropping her off.” His voice is a little more measured than usual and this time Ben smiles with his teeth, shark like, and it makes Leah look a little on edge. A part of you kind of enjoys the fact she seems nervous around Ben, it’s like you have a Belgian Malinois by your side. 

Ben turns to you after he releases Leah’s hand and gives you a tight, warm hug and a kiss to your cheek and temple. “Text me when you’re wrapping up and I’ll walk you home.”

“I promise.” You respond, shy from all his PDA that Leah is witnessing. Ben smiles, warmer because this one is meant for you, and kisses you softly on your lips before leaving you with a final squeeze on your shoulder. Ben disappears into the crowd and when you turn back to Leah she looks a little dumbfounded. Is it because she found Ben intimidating, or was she just shocked you were able to find a boyfriend in the first place. You grab the door and hold it open for her, “After you,” You said softly and Leah smiles before heading inside. 

The first five minutes are awkward. The two of you sit next to one another at the bar and small, multicolored plates pass pay on the conveyor belt in front of you. A waitress takes your order, tea for you and Diet Coke for Leah, and you exchange pleasantries with one another while you wait on your beverages. Leah’s old engagement ring is noticeably gone from her ring finger. After you take your first bite of food Leah finally cuts to the chase. 

“Jeremy and I broke up two weeks before the wedding.” Leah’s pretty face is pale behind her foundation and she’s ripping her napkin into tiny shreds of paper. You chew and swallow as fast as you can, coughing as it goes down so you take a sip of water while Leah looks like she will be ill. 

“Oh?” Is all you manage to say. What exactly does someone say in a situation like this? An ‘I told you so’ would be warranted but also you felt like it was too cruel. “I’m sorry-”

Leah held up her hand in order to cut you off, laughing a little as she brushed shredded paper off her jeans. “Don’t be sorry, you’re the last person who should feel sorry about any of this.” She grabbed salmon nigiri off the belt and set it in front of her before unwrapping her chopsticks and breaking them in half. “I’m sorry. I said terrible things to you and cut you off when all you wanted to do was look out for me.”

The restaurant buzzes around the two of you as you eat in silence for a few minutes. Leah is staring intently at the bubbles in her Diet Coke and your gaze is drawn towards the windows. New York City is bustling outside despite the cool autumn air. People getting off of work, couples getting dinner, college kids preparing for a night out. In the hustle and bustle you think you catch a flash of a familiar navy baseball hat from across the street.

“He was cheating on me with Mary.”

“What?” Baseball hat be damned, you whipped your head back around so you were looking at Leah as tears pooled in her eyes. “Mary?” You ask, confused and suddenly angry.

“Yeah, it had been going on for a while. It’s why she wanted to keep his infidelity hidden so badly and why she got so upset with you when you told me. I think she was afraid of getting found out.”

Colorful plates keep passing by and your chopsticks are making your fingers feel sweaty. Izzy’s behavior was still unexplained but you chalked it up to her just being a bad friend who could apparently excuse cheating. 

That’s so evil. Ben had said when you explained the whole situation over tea only a few weeks into seeing one another. Cheating is immoral. I’d never do something like that. Loyal. Just like a dog.

“Obviously I knew he had been cheating but he swore it was a one time thing and that he’d never do it again.” Leah wipes fallen tears and pushes hair out of her face, trying to stay composed even though Calvin Harris is playing over the speakers in the restaurant and it all feels so ridiculous. “But apparently I’m an idiot and not only was he cheating with random girls he was also cheating on me with my maid of honor.” She laughs coldly and shoves a piece of sushi into her mouth as you try to process it all. “I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry. And please don’t feel obligated to forgive me because you aren’t. I said terrible things to you, things no one should ever say, especially not to someone who was the only one looking out for me. I don’t know why I thought you betrayed me when in reality is was Jeremy and that fucking bitch.”

Your face feels flushed and you set your chopsticks down so you can wipe your hands on your skirt again. Something nasty is licking at your heart, making it bloom with anger and frustration and suddenly your hand starts to ache again. All that hurt and pain you thought you had left behind a few months ago comes crashing down as you remember how Mary and Izzy and of course, Leah, had lashed you with their words and left you for dead in the wake of their betrayal. They hurt you so bad you felt the need to hurt yourself. Their actions had left permanent scars and it was all for nothing.

Herbal tea wafts through the air and cuts through your anger like a hot knife. The waitress is serving the person next to you, an older gentleman who is already grabbing sashimi off of the belt. The cup clinks against the saucer and suddenly you’re sitting in Ben’s apartment and he’s inspecting the damage done to your hand while his electric kettle is simmering in the kitchen. Despite his rough hands he had handled you so carefully as he washed, disinfected, and rebandaged your hand every day for a week until you were healed. Then he served you herbal tea, just like the kind they served at your favorite restaurant.

You’re jealous because I’m not miserable and single like you are so you’re going out of your way to make me just like you!

Leah is reaching for a drink but you surge forward and wrap her in a tight hug. Yes, she caused you pain. She hurt you more than any friend ever had. But without that pain you wouldn’t have made the connection with Ben, and without Ben you would no longer be miserable and single. As much as Leah’s words had cut you it wasn’t like they were a complete lie. You were miserable. You had been living in a lonely existence, never truly seen or understood until you made your connection with Ben. 

“I forgive you.” You mumble, Leah hugs you back and laughs wetly before letting you go so she can finish drying her tears.

The next hour feels sort-of perfect. Leah gives you all the gritty details about how Jeremy’s mother cussed her out after cancelling the engagement and how she lost 3 grand on her deposit for the venue. She moved back in with her parents in Brooklyn but she did get a promotion at her job so she should be able to save up and move out soon. Mary and Jeremy were still seeing each other apparently but neither of you could stalk them on social media because you were blocked, and Izzy seemed to cut ties with everyone and hasn’t been seen since the summer.

“Jeremy can rot in hell.” You say, throwing back the shot of sake that Leah had ordered once the real tea had started to spill. She laughed, a little shocked at your statement because you weren’t the type to usually be that bold, but it’s what Ben would’ve said if he had been there.

Maybe you should’ve held your grudge towards Leah for a little longer, most people would’ve in a similar scenario but you couldn’t. For the past few months it seemed like Leah was experiencing the same type of isolation that you had gone through earlier in the year so you couldn't help but empathize with her. Jeremy and Mary had manipulated her and she seemed genuinely sorry for her actions. Evil guys could make even the most normal girls do crazy things, plus you weren’t really the type to hold a grudge against anyone unless it was yourself. 

By 8:20 you’re waiting for the check and despite insisting on paying for at least your share of food Leah says she’ll foot the bill. “It’s only fair, trust me.” She says as she hands the waitress her card.

“Well then I’ll get it next time.” You say with a smile and Leah grins because you just said ‘next time’. It’s nice knowing that you have a friend again, they came in rare supply.

“So, you gonna tell me about your boyfriend or do I have to wait?” Leah says as she signs the receipt. You smile, blushing as you recall how Ben had kissed you so sweetly before leaving earlier.

“I guess I can share some.” You say coyly. You’re loose and flushed from the alcohol and a little excited because this is the first time you get to gush about your boyfriend. “We’re actually neighbors, he lives in my building and noticed me feeding the animals. We started seeing each other a few months ago, just before spring.”

“Aw,” Leah says, resting her cheek in her hand. “He’s handsome, is he older? No judgement, obviously.” Her eyes widen and her laugh and shake your head in reassurance.

“It’s okay, and he is. He’s 34, but it’s kind of nice. He’s more settled in his life and has an important job. It’s nice having a boyfriend who values routine and stability. I think it’s really good for me.” You say fondly.

“What does he do for work?”

“He’s an FBI agent.”

Leah’s brows raise in surprise. “Oh! Yeah that is really important. I guess that kind of tracks he seems, um…” Her voice trails off and you can tell she’s trying to choose her next words carefully but you know what’s about to come next, “intense.” 

“He is. I like it.”

By 8:30 you’re out the door and it’s already nightfall in New York City. You hug Leah goodbye and wrap your coat around your waist as you watch her head towards the train station. You should’ve texted Ben twenty minutes ago so he could have enough time to walk over and pick you up so you could head home. Instead, you walk down the street for half a block. Normally, you would be in a rush, paranoid even. Anything can happen in the city at night, especially to a young woman like you; but there’s no need to feel scared. Nothing is going to happen to you. The street is empty and you look around at the vacant buildings surrounding you.

“Ben,” You say in a steady tone. Nothing happens, the street is still empty but you stay put. “Ben, I know you’re there.” Still, nothing. It’s getting chillier and you tuck your hands into your pockets. “Dex, come out.” You command. 

The name felt foreign on your tongue. You never called him Dex, always feeling like the name was a little too harsh for you even though that’s what everyone else called him, including himself. It seemed to get his attention though, because after you said it he finally revealed himself as he came out of the shadows of the alleyway across the street. He crosses over to you, walking steadily even though his eyes are wild and red-rimmed. Wet and illuminated in the harsh streetlight that makes the lines of his face look more intimidating. You don’t startle and stand your ground. Ben stops in front of you, further away than he usually would be and despite his broad stature he looks like a scared little boy.

You stare at one another, his lip wobbles, your cheeks grow hotter from the alcohol and nerves that are signaling that you should be running but you’re not. You stay put, so does he, always waiting for your command.

“I’m not mad at you.” But you should be. You should be freaked out and changing your locks and blocking his number.

“You’re not?” Ben blinks rapidly as he tries to hide his tears, his fear that should rightfully be yours even though it’s not.

“I’m not.” You take a step forward and Ben flinches but you ignore it. “I could never be mad at you.” You say softly. Ben looks down at you and bites his lip and furrows his brows.

“But you should be.” He mumbles. You shrug and nod. What’s the point in being mad? You’ve known for a long time that Ben has issues even though he never explicitly said anything about it. You never talked about your problems either but you know that Ben knew the real reason behind your scars. 

You reach up and place your hand on Ben’s cheek and he nuzzles into it immediately. Scruff against scar tissue that makes you shiver. Reaching out you grab his jacket and he immediately pulls you close into a hug. You’re engulfed by his lovely cologne and feel as he kisses along your hairline. You stand on your tiptoes so you can reach the shell of his ear.

“I love you.” You whisper. Ben moans into the curve of your neck, holding you tighter as you comb your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. 

“I love you too.” He whispers back, kissing you behind your ear then your jaw then he places a tentative kiss onto your lips as you hold onto the collar of his jacket. When you pull away he rests his forehead on yours and smiles. 

“Take me home?” You ask sweetly.

“Of course.” Ben replies, grabbing your hand and placing a warm kiss on your knuckles. You cling to his side and Ben wraps a warm arm around your shoulders, keeping you close.

+++

Authors Notes:

About a month ago I rewatched season 3 of Daredevil. The only other time I've seen it was back in 2018 a week after it premiered and I remember being blown away by it. What I remembered most was Dex, who upon rewatch is still so captivating and not only because he is played by a handsome guy but also because the way he's teetering on edge and so easily manipulated into a monster, directly contrasting Matt, is so deeply entertaining. I know Born Again season 2 just wrapped and Dex finally got to continue his story almost 10 years later, but I'm unsure if I will watch it. At least not for a while. I think the strongest iteration of Dex's character is the way he was portrayed in season 3. There's something extra special about the way he is so haunted throughout those 13 episodes that really makes him a standout character.

I do want to continue this story but probably just in smaller one-shots capturing more mundane, intimidate moments between this reader and Dex. I'd like to think that this story and anything related to it that I may make in the future is set in an ideal world where Dex is never manipulated by Fisk and Fisk dies in prison where he belongs so both Dex and Matt can know peace :).

If you like the story feel free to comment, I'd love feedback. Thank you for reading!

[eatmycodbetty]

“oh you’ve been reading a lot of Pitt ff recently? i also love hucklerobby!!!”

yeah! yeah . no. it’s mel king.

x reader.

[melomani3]

you're seriously the best mel writer here, especially with the smut, you capture her essence in something that a lot of fans dont view her capable of, it never feels out of character

can i humbly request mel x healthcare!reader🙏🏻 not necessarily someone in the ER but someone that worked on a patient w her, like the delivery episode that had a nameless OBGYN

xoxo

✉️ AWWW you are so kind! I'm just doing my part & trying to keep some of the wlw mel community alive :,) means the world to me that you have nice things to say about my writing :,) love u nonie! but yes! ofc <3 hope u enjoyyyyy xx so many kisses to u

demure! inaccurate medical info, reader is kind of stand-offish but she's soft at heart <3, mentions of pittfest, mentions of a praise kink (reader talks mel through a procedure), garcia antics, not proofread wc 2.9k

If you were being honest, you didn’t hate being called down to the ED. 

You liked to think that you were down to Earth despite the reputation preceding your profession. The whole concept of surgeons believing they were above those who treated disorders without getting knuckle deep in a body may have been true for some; you’d certainly met your fair share of superiors who reinforced that, but from your side, you knew that was the furthest from the truth. 

Maybe it was because you were initially withdrawn before starting med school, before being matched, but you were an observer more than anything else. Didn’t talk much apart from answering questions or asking them–preferring to keep your personal life to yourself despite the two other girls that started residency at the same time as you, because there were things co-workers simply did not need to know. That reservation earned you quite a few props when you were still a student, your residents and supervisors always claiming you were a joy to work with when really you just shut up and got the job done instead of making inquiries about every little thing. You weren’t there to make friends; you were there to learn how to save people. Talking someone’s ear off wasn’t going to do that. Learning favorite foods and preferred activities when off the clock wasn’t going to teach you how to handle peripheral nerves to address trauma and relieve chronic pain. 

There was no interest on your side of things, so you tried not to take it personally when people in the department joked about your constant RBF. You had to remind yourself you didn’t know these people really, and they didn’t know you. That they were just getting caught up in their own minds, and what they perceived, maybe because of that superiority complex that would apparently sink its claws into you eventually. 

But then, also, that was you assuming, not reading facts, which is what others did with you, and maybe that was why you didn’t get involved: people were too complicated.

Tensions could heighten in the operating room, with an individual’s life obviously on the line, but it also gave people too much time to talk. Which you didn’t necessarily hate, but it was like an itch on your foot that you could never really get–persistent and lingering with just enough presence to be agitating. It was off-topic and distracting for others, more specifically you, and it wasn’t something you understood.

Which was one of the reasons you actually liked the ER. There was never enough time for people to find tangents or philosophicals to go off on. It was simple statistics and facts, more often than not, the usual pattern of: new case, assessment, diagnosis, and treatment. You had to give credit that there was normally at least one thing that went wrong, but usually the only words exchanged were those of finding and verdict, everyone being so focused on the rapid influx of patients and things to do that there were no spare moments to discuss upcoming vacations or what everyone was having for dinner.

The people were erratic, but the environment was one you felt like you could thrive in.

And you thought you did a good job whenever you were called down. With the cases and the staff, even if you received lingering glances that you chalked up to your stoicism. But you weren’t mean. Straightforward, sure, but you never gave out playful insults like Garcia from general surgery or chewed newer residents out for mistakes like Baker from cardiology. That had to be something worth noticing. It wasn’t like you were down in the ED every day. Plus, not that many people cared enough to notice little things anyway. 

At least, not until Mel.

The first time you met her, it wasn’t for the case you’d been paged for. But she’d still come up to you after you’d exited the trauma bay, ripping off the blue latex gloves and dropping them into the trash, rubbing hand sanitizer over your skin as she’d sped past you. Basically a blur to your eyes before she stopped, shoes squeaking on the tile before she’d whipped her head back around, braid following the movement. 

Awkwardly, you could still remember the way you slowly moved, fingers still clasped as your brows furrowed and lips pressed together. Her eyes had flicked around behind her glasses almost as quickly as her limbs were apparently capable of moving, like you were some kind of spectacle, intrigue clear on her face. Her hands hovered gauchely by her hips as the corners of her mouth finally ticked up, making the corners of her eyes crinkle in the sweetest way that strangely made something in your chest squeeze.

“Hi,” she’d started, fully turning to face you. “We haven’t met yet. What’s your name?”

It had been her first day at the PTMC. She’d told you she was trying to meet and remember every single person, every new face that she saw in the ED. She was intense the first time you met her, in the way sunlight could be too bright sometimes, and you felt like any longer than half an hour with her would require you to curl up in your room, alone, for double that. You could appreciate the effort, though. Especially when transitioning to such a chaotic place.

So, you’d given her a half smile and your name, accompanied by a brief, ‘Good luck.’

And you’d seen her later that evening after the absolute disaster of PittFest, shuffling through the staff parking lot with her hands tucked into her pockets. You weren’t sure what had compelled you to approach her, taking part of your habit that you needed to break where you would near someone and remain close until they noticed you first. Mel didn’t seem to care, though. It was like part of her had dulled, a complete contrast from what you’d seen that morning, and strangely, it was the first time you found yourself concerning over someone’s life outside of Pittsburgh Mercy. 

You’d given her your number if she needed anything.

She texted you the next day, telling you that things went much better than yesterday’s meltdown. Even if you hadn’t specifically asked for it. It was like she saw right through your front to that piece of your mind that was caught on her, catching itself up with worry, and identified that, maybe, it could morph into something more if she was just persistent enough.

But even a week later, with text message threads plaguing both of your phones, you still hadn’t worked with her. Somehow, your curiosity about her remained.

The ED is clearly short-staffed, more than usual, when you arrive, elevator doors sliding open to reveal the long white hallways that stem from the central nurse’s station. They’re lined with spare gurneys that contain patients who are more often than not sleeping. When some try to stop you as you pass, you pay them no mind, pretending like their words are too quiet for you to pick up on as you fix your scrub cap–one you’d received from the resident in your department that had gotten you for Secret Santa the previous year, a dark plum with doodles of moons and stars over the fabric.

“Well. Look who finally decided to rejoin polite society.” 

You don’t bother to hide your eye roll at Garcia’s remark, shrugging on the surgical gown with a sloppy knot before reaching for a pair of gloves. Polite was not a select word for her. “What’ve we got?” you venture instead, glancing over to Robby as you round up to the patient’s head. A man, balding thankfully, so at least you wouldn’t have to deal with hair.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see the man nod, eyes directed elsewhere. When you follow his gaze, your eyes meet Mel’s. The expression that flickers across her face is akin to the stutter that occurs in your chest. Eyes that flutter before widening as her mouth opens for a split second, with her lips pressing back together when she swallows. The lighting is harsh, but beneath her dirty-blonde strands pulled back into that braid she’s so fond of, you think the tips of her ears turn pink. You look away quickly, back to the patient. 

“29-year-old male that took a fall doing household work off a ladder,” she rambles off hastily after her pause, shifting closer to you to the point where you can feel her presence on your right side. Hovering. Something warm and unfamiliar to you that you would usually push away from. “There’s a depressed skull fracture sunken 8 millimeters actively pressing into brain tissue, according to CT and the neurological exam. Minor CSF leak out of the wound–”

“Alright,” you say softly with a tiny nod, mind already moving miles a minute as you shift your front towards hers to let Mel a bit closer to you. “We’re gonna elevate the bone.” She doesn’t look at you despite this being the closest you’ve ever been. You don’t pick up any kind of scent on her, but you notice the way her tongue keeps darting out to wet her lips. The work of her throat as she swallows and the tiny freckle under her right eye. “Sound familiar?”

Mel’s brows raise a bit, but she still nods, movement of her hands jerky as she lifts them–that same speedy pace you’d first seen her with. Around the two of you, a few of the nurses bustle through the trauma bay, prepping the tray of materials you would need. Your focus stays on her, though–the increased rate of breathing, how her eyes keep darting around, the slight tremor in her hands as you hand her the scalpel, your other hand indicating where to cut over the scalp with your pinky. 

“Everything okay?” you ask her softly as she makes the incision, perfectly curving the blade around the injury site as she lets out a small breath from her mouth. 

Her work is steady. Her hands move swiftly with a kind of assuredness her face seems to lack as she keeps her eyes glued to the patient. “Mhm,” she hums, setting the scalpel down. 

“Okay,” you say slowly, eyes lingering on her face before one of your hands moves to grip her knuckles with your fingers. You feel her body stiffen next to you, but there’s no resistance as you guide her to pull the scalp flap back. “Fractured bone wedges tightly together, so you’re gonna make a burr hole right next to the fracture,” you trail off as you let go of her, leaving her hand right where she should work as you retrieve the surgical drill. “You’re doing good, but I’m right here if you need anything.”

A muscle in her throat flexes, her mouth turning down at the corners as her eyes flutter. Still, it’s like the rest of her body is disconnected from whatever’s going on in her own mind as she makes the small hole, earning another mumble of approval from you. 

“Good,” you whisper, leaning a little closer to her as you look over the spot. “Alright, grab that elevator next to you,” you instruct, not paying mind to how she jolts to follow the direction, coming to assume that’s simply how she works. It went along with her normal movements, and as long as she capably finished the trauma, you would be satisfied. 

Satisfied from watching her complete the work by herself, but you find yourself reaching for her hand again. Her bicep hovers near your chest, your chin almost on her shoulder as you help her ease the tool to use the upward leverage against the depressed fragments. “Just… gentle pressure– Like that, yup.”

“Do I have to hold it?” Mel asks, voice a little airy as you watch her work. Her fingers flexing beneath the gloves, your eyes glued to the way they curl and how her brows furrow as she concentrates. 

“No,” you mumble as her honey colored eyes finally flit briefly to yours. Something in your knees weakens as you fight to not let your gaze fall to her mouth. “I’ll suture the dura mater and then keep the fragments together with tiny biocompatible plates and screws– Look back down, you’re doing great.”

“Sorry,” Mel breathes, jaw clenching as she eases the last piece back into place before slowly removing the instrument and looking back to you.

“Good job,” you say with a nod of approval before taking her place to begin your suturing. Mel remains close by you, close enough that if you concentrated enough on her, you could almost imagine the soft puffs of air from her breathing brushing over your neck. “It’s like doing a puzzle,” you continue, feeling like you need to fill the sudden quiet apart from the gentle beeping of monitors.

When you glance up, the weight of eyes from both Robby and Garcia has something bristling inside of you. Garcia’s smirking a little, arms folded over her stomach with a kind of smug expression on her face, and Robby is just blatantly staring.

“Oh,” Mel utters, but you sense the way her eyes never leave your profile. “I don’t like doing those kinds of things.”

You glance at her before looking back down to make another suture. “Detail-oriented things?” 

She shakes her head, and you see the corners of her mouth lift out of the corner of your eye. “Tiny things? They kind of freak me out, I don’t know.”

A small hum leaves you as you tie off the stitch, “Which is why… you’re down here.” You return her smile with a brief lift of your own lips before getting started on securing the bones. “You guys can go,” you add, along with an undisguised glare in Garcia’s direction.

“I didn’t say anything,” she says, lifting her hands in mock surrender with that stupid grin still on her mouth. Your eyes track her as she exits the trauma bay before flicking back over to Robby, who copies her action of showing you his palms, but with an added shake of his head, before he’s directed out of the bay as well.

With a tiny huff, you return to your work. Mel doesn’t move.

Still hovering, still watching. 

Gradually, you tilt your chin to look at her again, her own eyes instantly shooting up to the ceiling like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

“Mel,” you say softly, watching as her eyebrows twitch up when her eyes lock with yours again. “You did good.”

“Thank you,” she chirps, her hands coming together in front of her chest so she can fidget with her fingers. “This is my first neurosurgery case here,” she continues as your hands remain busy with the screws over the final fracture piece. “Which is sort of alarming since the parts of the brain are so intricate, so it’s relieving that it was a skull fracture– Not that– Not that skull fractures are good, but–” 

She lets out a long sigh before falling silent. 

“But it was less pressure,” you finish for her, the relief of your understanding evident on her face as her shoulders seem to relax, her hands dropping to hand in front of her. 

“Yes,” she confirms. Then, quieter, “And I’m glad it was you that assisted."

That annoying pitter-patter of your heart resounds in your chest again. You would have to get that checked out. You clear your throat as you finish, finally stepping back and away from her. “Rinse that with saline and close the incision with surgical staples,” you say, tone soft and a little short as a kind of nervousness surges through you. 

You had to get out before you said something stupidly soft.

“Thank you!” Mel calls as you rip your gloves and PPE off, running your freed hand over your forehead before pushing one of the doors open without another word. The ER hasn’t slowed, it never will, but it’s oddly easier to breathe out here. A slow sigh is pushed from your lips as you harshly shove your hand under the dispenser for hand sanitizer, the liquid splattering a little when you clap your hands together.

“You guys are sweet–”

“Shut up,” you mumble, focusing on rubbing the alcohol into your knuckles and between your fingers as Garcia falls into step beside you.

She doesn’t get the message. Or, no, she definitely does, she just ignores it for the opportunity to tease.

“She was nervous ‘cause you were touching her, y’know,” Garcia remarks, snark in her tone, and that grin on her mouth was going to drive you back up to your department, never to return if she was anywhere in the vicinity. “Mel doesn’t struggle with nervousness during procedures.”

“She did well,” you offer quietly. 

Garcia scoffs, “Considering you were talking her through it, she did amazing.” You purse your lips together, restraining from snapping at her as your hands fall to your sides, the elevator thankfully coming into view as you cringe internally. “Question–”

“Don’t want it.”

“–Do you normally talk that much to people who have a praise kink?”

Heat spreads over your face, but you keep your chin up. Eyes forward. “Maybe I just don’t like talking to you,” you grumble as you finally reach the elevator. 

It’s like Garcia’s laugh follows you all the way back up to neurology. That, and the feeling of Mel’s hand in your own.

[melomani3]

you're seriously the best mel writer here, especially with the smut, you capture her essence in something that a lot of fans dont view her capable of, it never feels out of character

can i humbly request mel x healthcare!reader🙏🏻 not necessarily someone in the ER but someone that worked on a patient w her, like the delivery episode that had a nameless OBGYN

xoxo

✉️ AWWW you are so kind! I'm just doing my part & trying to keep some of the wlw mel community alive :,) means the world to me that you have nice things to say about my writing :,) love u nonie! but yes! ofc <3 hope u enjoyyyyy xx so many kisses to u

demure! inaccurate medical info, reader is kind of stand-offish but she's soft at heart <3, mentions of pittfest, mentions of a praise kink (reader talks mel through a procedure), garcia antics, not proofread wc 2.9k

If you were being honest, you didn’t hate being called down to the ED. 

You liked to think that you were down to Earth despite the reputation preceding your profession. The whole concept of surgeons believing they were above those who treated disorders without getting knuckle deep in a body may have been true for some; you’d certainly met your fair share of superiors who reinforced that, but from your side, you knew that was the furthest from the truth. 

Maybe it was because you were initially withdrawn before starting med school, before being matched, but you were an observer more than anything else. Didn’t talk much apart from answering questions or asking them–preferring to keep your personal life to yourself despite the two other girls that started residency at the same time as you, because there were things co-workers simply did not need to know. That reservation earned you quite a few props when you were still a student, your residents and supervisors always claiming you were a joy to work with when really you just shut up and got the job done instead of making inquiries about every little thing. You weren’t there to make friends; you were there to learn how to save people. Talking someone’s ear off wasn’t going to do that. Learning favorite foods and preferred activities when off the clock wasn’t going to teach you how to handle peripheral nerves to address trauma and relieve chronic pain. 

There was no interest on your side of things, so you tried not to take it personally when people in the department joked about your constant RBF. You had to remind yourself you didn’t know these people really, and they didn’t know you. That they were just getting caught up in their own minds, and what they perceived, maybe because of that superiority complex that would apparently sink its claws into you eventually. 

But then, also, that was you assuming, not reading facts, which is what others did with you, and maybe that was why you didn’t get involved: people were too complicated.

Tensions could heighten in the operating room, with an individual’s life obviously on the line, but it also gave people too much time to talk. Which you didn’t necessarily hate, but it was like an itch on your foot that you could never really get–persistent and lingering with just enough presence to be agitating. It was off-topic and distracting for others, more specifically you, and it wasn’t something you understood.

Which was one of the reasons you actually liked the ER. There was never enough time for people to find tangents or philosophicals to go off on. It was simple statistics and facts, more often than not, the usual pattern of: new case, assessment, diagnosis, and treatment. You had to give credit that there was normally at least one thing that went wrong, but usually the only words exchanged were those of finding and verdict, everyone being so focused on the rapid influx of patients and things to do that there were no spare moments to discuss upcoming vacations or what everyone was having for dinner.

The people were erratic, but the environment was one you felt like you could thrive in.

And you thought you did a good job whenever you were called down. With the cases and the staff, even if you received lingering glances that you chalked up to your stoicism. But you weren’t mean. Straightforward, sure, but you never gave out playful insults like Garcia from general surgery or chewed newer residents out for mistakes like Baker from cardiology. That had to be something worth noticing. It wasn’t like you were down in the ED every day. Plus, not that many people cared enough to notice little things anyway. 

At least, not until Mel.

The first time you met her, it wasn’t for the case you’d been paged for. But she’d still come up to you after you’d exited the trauma bay, ripping off the blue latex gloves and dropping them into the trash, rubbing hand sanitizer over your skin as she’d sped past you. Basically a blur to your eyes before she stopped, shoes squeaking on the tile before she’d whipped her head back around, braid following the movement. 

Awkwardly, you could still remember the way you slowly moved, fingers still clasped as your brows furrowed and lips pressed together. Her eyes had flicked around behind her glasses almost as quickly as her limbs were apparently capable of moving, like you were some kind of spectacle, intrigue clear on her face. Her hands hovered gauchely by her hips as the corners of her mouth finally ticked up, making the corners of her eyes crinkle in the sweetest way that strangely made something in your chest squeeze.

“Hi,” she’d started, fully turning to face you. “We haven’t met yet. What’s your name?”

It had been her first day at the PTMC. She’d told you she was trying to meet and remember every single person, every new face that she saw in the ED. She was intense the first time you met her, in the way sunlight could be too bright sometimes, and you felt like any longer than half an hour with her would require you to curl up in your room, alone, for double that. You could appreciate the effort, though. Especially when transitioning to such a chaotic place.

So, you’d given her a half smile and your name, accompanied by a brief, ‘Good luck.’

And you’d seen her later that evening after the absolute disaster of PittFest, shuffling through the staff parking lot with her hands tucked into her pockets. You weren’t sure what had compelled you to approach her, taking part of your habit that you needed to break where you would near someone and remain close until they noticed you first. Mel didn’t seem to care, though. It was like part of her had dulled, a complete contrast from what you’d seen that morning, and strangely, it was the first time you found yourself concerning over someone’s life outside of Pittsburgh Mercy. 

You’d given her your number if she needed anything.

She texted you the next day, telling you that things went much better than yesterday’s meltdown. Even if you hadn’t specifically asked for it. It was like she saw right through your front to that piece of your mind that was caught on her, catching itself up with worry, and identified that, maybe, it could morph into something more if she was just persistent enough.

But even a week later, with text message threads plaguing both of your phones, you still hadn’t worked with her. Somehow, your curiosity about her remained.

The ED is clearly short-staffed, more than usual, when you arrive, elevator doors sliding open to reveal the long white hallways that stem from the central nurse’s station. They’re lined with spare gurneys that contain patients who are more often than not sleeping. When some try to stop you as you pass, you pay them no mind, pretending like their words are too quiet for you to pick up on as you fix your scrub cap–one you’d received from the resident in your department that had gotten you for Secret Santa the previous year, a dark plum with doodles of moons and stars over the fabric.

“Well. Look who finally decided to rejoin polite society.” 

You don’t bother to hide your eye roll at Garcia’s remark, shrugging on the surgical gown with a sloppy knot before reaching for a pair of gloves. Polite was not a select word for her. “What’ve we got?” you venture instead, glancing over to Robby as you round up to the patient’s head. A man, balding thankfully, so at least you wouldn’t have to deal with hair.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see the man nod, eyes directed elsewhere. When you follow his gaze, your eyes meet Mel’s. The expression that flickers across her face is akin to the stutter that occurs in your chest. Eyes that flutter before widening as her mouth opens for a split second, with her lips pressing back together when she swallows. The lighting is harsh, but beneath her dirty-blonde strands pulled back into that braid she’s so fond of, you think the tips of her ears turn pink. You look away quickly, back to the patient. 

“29-year-old male that took a fall doing household work off a ladder,” she rambles off hastily after her pause, shifting closer to you to the point where you can feel her presence on your right side. Hovering. Something warm and unfamiliar to you that you would usually push away from. “There’s a depressed skull fracture sunken 8 millimeters actively pressing into brain tissue, according to CT and the neurological exam. Minor CSF leak out of the wound–”

“Alright,” you say softly with a tiny nod, mind already moving miles a minute as you shift your front towards hers to let Mel a bit closer to you. “We’re gonna elevate the bone.” She doesn’t look at you despite this being the closest you’ve ever been. You don’t pick up any kind of scent on her, but you notice the way her tongue keeps darting out to wet her lips. The work of her throat as she swallows and the tiny freckle under her right eye. “Sound familiar?”

Mel’s brows raise a bit, but she still nods, movement of her hands jerky as she lifts them–that same speedy pace you’d first seen her with. Around the two of you, a few of the nurses bustle through the trauma bay, prepping the tray of materials you would need. Your focus stays on her, though–the increased rate of breathing, how her eyes keep darting around, the slight tremor in her hands as you hand her the scalpel, your other hand indicating where to cut over the scalp with your pinky. 

“Everything okay?” you ask her softly as she makes the incision, perfectly curving the blade around the injury site as she lets out a small breath from her mouth. 

Her work is steady. Her hands move swiftly with a kind of assuredness her face seems to lack as she keeps her eyes glued to the patient. “Mhm,” she hums, setting the scalpel down. 

“Okay,” you say slowly, eyes lingering on her face before one of your hands moves to grip her knuckles with your fingers. You feel her body stiffen next to you, but there’s no resistance as you guide her to pull the scalp flap back. “Fractured bone wedges tightly together, so you’re gonna make a burr hole right next to the fracture,” you trail off as you let go of her, leaving her hand right where she should work as you retrieve the surgical drill. “You’re doing good, but I’m right here if you need anything.”

A muscle in her throat flexes, her mouth turning down at the corners as her eyes flutter. Still, it’s like the rest of her body is disconnected from whatever’s going on in her own mind as she makes the small hole, earning another mumble of approval from you. 

“Good,” you whisper, leaning a little closer to her as you look over the spot. “Alright, grab that elevator next to you,” you instruct, not paying mind to how she jolts to follow the direction, coming to assume that’s simply how she works. It went along with her normal movements, and as long as she capably finished the trauma, you would be satisfied. 

Satisfied from watching her complete the work by herself, but you find yourself reaching for her hand again. Her bicep hovers near your chest, your chin almost on her shoulder as you help her ease the tool to use the upward leverage against the depressed fragments. “Just… gentle pressure– Like that, yup.”

“Do I have to hold it?” Mel asks, voice a little airy as you watch her work. Her fingers flexing beneath the gloves, your eyes glued to the way they curl and how her brows furrow as she concentrates. 

“No,” you mumble as her honey colored eyes finally flit briefly to yours. Something in your knees weakens as you fight to not let your gaze fall to her mouth. “I’ll suture the dura mater and then keep the fragments together with tiny biocompatible plates and screws– Look back down, you’re doing great.”

“Sorry,” Mel breathes, jaw clenching as she eases the last piece back into place before slowly removing the instrument and looking back to you.

“Good job,” you say with a nod of approval before taking her place to begin your suturing. Mel remains close by you, close enough that if you concentrated enough on her, you could almost imagine the soft puffs of air from her breathing brushing over your neck. “It’s like doing a puzzle,” you continue, feeling like you need to fill the sudden quiet apart from the gentle beeping of monitors.

When you glance up, the weight of eyes from both Robby and Garcia has something bristling inside of you. Garcia’s smirking a little, arms folded over her stomach with a kind of smug expression on her face, and Robby is just blatantly staring.

“Oh,” Mel utters, but you sense the way her eyes never leave your profile. “I don’t like doing those kinds of things.”

You glance at her before looking back down to make another suture. “Detail-oriented things?” 

She shakes her head, and you see the corners of her mouth lift out of the corner of your eye. “Tiny things? They kind of freak me out, I don’t know.”

A small hum leaves you as you tie off the stitch, “Which is why… you’re down here.” You return her smile with a brief lift of your own lips before getting started on securing the bones. “You guys can go,” you add, along with an undisguised glare in Garcia’s direction.

“I didn’t say anything,” she says, lifting her hands in mock surrender with that stupid grin still on her mouth. Your eyes track her as she exits the trauma bay before flicking back over to Robby, who copies her action of showing you his palms, but with an added shake of his head, before he’s directed out of the bay as well.

With a tiny huff, you return to your work. Mel doesn’t move.

Still hovering, still watching. 

Gradually, you tilt your chin to look at her again, her own eyes instantly shooting up to the ceiling like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

“Mel,” you say softly, watching as her eyebrows twitch up when her eyes lock with yours again. “You did good.”

“Thank you,” she chirps, her hands coming together in front of her chest so she can fidget with her fingers. “This is my first neurosurgery case here,” she continues as your hands remain busy with the screws over the final fracture piece. “Which is sort of alarming since the parts of the brain are so intricate, so it’s relieving that it was a skull fracture– Not that– Not that skull fractures are good, but–” 

She lets out a long sigh before falling silent. 

“But it was less pressure,” you finish for her, the relief of your understanding evident on her face as her shoulders seem to relax, her hands dropping to hand in front of her. 

“Yes,” she confirms. Then, quieter, “And I’m glad it was you that assisted."

That annoying pitter-patter of your heart resounds in your chest again. You would have to get that checked out. You clear your throat as you finish, finally stepping back and away from her. “Rinse that with saline and close the incision with surgical staples,” you say, tone soft and a little short as a kind of nervousness surges through you. 

You had to get out before you said something stupidly soft.

“Thank you!” Mel calls as you rip your gloves and PPE off, running your freed hand over your forehead before pushing one of the doors open without another word. The ER hasn’t slowed, it never will, but it’s oddly easier to breathe out here. A slow sigh is pushed from your lips as you harshly shove your hand under the dispenser for hand sanitizer, the liquid splattering a little when you clap your hands together.

“You guys are sweet–”

“Shut up,” you mumble, focusing on rubbing the alcohol into your knuckles and between your fingers as Garcia falls into step beside you.

She doesn’t get the message. Or, no, she definitely does, she just ignores it for the opportunity to tease.

“She was nervous ‘cause you were touching her, y’know,” Garcia remarks, snark in her tone, and that grin on her mouth was going to drive you back up to your department, never to return if she was anywhere in the vicinity. “Mel doesn’t struggle with nervousness during procedures.”

“She did well,” you offer quietly. 

Garcia scoffs, “Considering you were talking her through it, she did amazing.” You purse your lips together, restraining from snapping at her as your hands fall to your sides, the elevator thankfully coming into view as you cringe internally. “Question–”

“Don’t want it.”

“–Do you normally talk that much to people who have a praise kink?”

Heat spreads over your face, but you keep your chin up. Eyes forward. “Maybe I just don’t like talking to you,” you grumble as you finally reach the elevator. 

It’s like Garcia’s laugh follows you all the way back up to neurology. That, and the feeling of Mel’s hand in your own.

[faelalalady]

the lines between fiction and reality. why, they keep me bound here to thwart me from holding a one dr. mel king between my teeth and shaking her like a dog

[gothamskittycat1]

I genuinely can’t watch tv without wishing it was me. Like there are no words to describe how bad I want to be an actor.

[scarlet48]

Me and My Headphones

AGAINST THE FUCKING WORLD

[gurlfred]

attractiveness really is subjective because people continuously leave mel out of their pitt hear me outs but every time i see her i wanna eat her so it’s really hard to understand

[snoopymelking]

direct signals

word count: 1,063

contains: barely any angst, fear of rejection, slow burn

the pitt’s er never slept, but the quiet moments between codes were when things got dangerous. dangerous like noticing how dr. melissa king’s eyes lingered a second too long when you handed her a chart, or how her fingers brushed yours when passing instruments, never quite accidental, never quite claimed.

you were a nurse who’d transferred in six months ago, steady under pressure, quick with a smile that disarmed even the crankiest attendings. mel was… mel. brilliant, earnest, a little chaotic in the best way. she hyped herself up in the ambulance bay with megan thee stallion lyrics under her breath, missed high fives by a comical margin, and cared so fiercely it sometimes left her blinking back tears in the supply closet. but she never said what she meant outright.

shift 47

you were restocking trauma bay 3 when mel appeared in the doorway, shifting her weight like she’d been summoned for a performance review.

“hey,” she said, voice pitched a little too bright. “you’re… really good at suturing. like, the way you keep the edges even? impressive.” you glanced up, smiling. “thanks, mel. high praise from the resident who diagnosed that zebra case last week.”

she rocked on her heels, eyes darting to the ceiling tiles. “yeah. zebras. cool. anyway, some of us are grabbing terrible diner food after shift. if you’re not busy. or whatever.”

translation, you’d learned: “i want you there, but i’m terrified you’ll say no.” you set the suture kit down. “mel.” her gaze snapped to yours, wide, startled.

“if you’re asking me to come eat greasy fries with you,” you said gently, “just say that. ‘i’d like you to join us for food.’ direct. no pressure, but clear.”

pink crept up her neck. she opened her mouth, closed it, then managed, “i’d… like you to join us for food.” you grinned. “see? world didn’t end. i’m in.”

shift 62

another late night. you found her in the residents’ lounge, staring at her phone like it had personally offended her. becca, her sister, had sent a string of texts about a missed appointment. mel’s shoulders were tight, her usual restless energy coiled into something heavier.

you sat beside her on the sagging couch. “bad day?” she shrugged, then caught herself. “i keep… hinting at things. to patients. to coworkers. to-” she cut off, cheeks flushing. “it’s easier. safer. if they don’t get it, i can pretend i didn’t mean it that way.”

you nodded. “i’ve noticed. you’re really good at reading everyone else’s cues, but you hedge your own. like you’re waiting for permission to take up space.” mel let out a shaky laugh. “permission. yeah.” you turned toward her, knee brushing hers. “try it with me. right now. tell me one thing you want, straight out. no softening.”

her eyes met yours, hazel, intense, a little scared. for a long moment she just breathed. then, voice barely above a whisper, “i want to know if you feel this too. the… whatever this is when we’re in the same room.” your heart did something complicated. slow-burn, you reminded yourself. she was worth the patience.

you reached over and covered her hand with yours. “i do. and i’m glad you said it directly. made it real.” she exhaled like she’d run a marathon, but her fingers curled around yours.

shift 89 - the break room incident

weeks of tiny lessons. “mel, say ‘i need help with this chart’ instead of hovering hopefully. mel, tell me ‘i missed you on days’ instead of leaving extra coffee at my station with a post-it that just says “caffeine :)”.” she was getting better. still slipped into hints when nervous, but she tried.

tonight the lounge was empty except for the hum of the vending machine. you were both off-shift in ten minutes, scrubs rumpled, eyes heavy. mel stood by the door like she might bolt. “so… my place is closer. if you wanted to… unwind. watch something. not that you have to-”

you raised an eyebrow. she caught it. closed her eyes for a second, then opened them with determination. “i want you to come home with me. not for- i mean, we don’t have to do anything. i just… really want more time with you. alone. where it’s quiet and i don’t have to share you with codes and interns.”

the words tumbled out raw and honest. her hands fidgeted at her sides, but she didn’t look away. you crossed the room slowly, stopping close enough to see the faint freckles across her nose. “thank you for saying that. i want that too. a lot.” relief and something warmer flooded her expression. she smiled, small, shy, but real. “yeah?”

“yeah.” you brushed a stray curl behind her ear. “we’re taking this slow, okay? but direct. always direct with me.”

“direct,” she repeated like a vow. her hand found yours again, thumb tracing your knuckles. “i can do direct.”

shift 112 - the threshold

rain hammered the pittsburgh streets as you walked her to her apartment door. months of late night diner runs, quiet confessions in call rooms, hands brushing more deliberately now. mel had grown bolder, “stay five more minutes. hold my hand. kiss me goodnight if you want to.”

tonight she stopped on the welcome mat, keys in hand, and looked at you with that focused intensity she usually reserved for tricky diagnoses.

“i want you to come inside,” she said, voice steady despite the flush on her cheeks. “i want to kiss you without worrying about pagers or tomorrow’s rounds. and i want… more, eventually. when we’re ready. but right now, i just want you close.” you stepped into her space, heart thudding. “then i’m coming inside.”

the door clicked shut behind you. mel’s hands found your waist, hesitant at first, then surer as you leaned in. the kiss was soft, searching, the kind that promised the slow unraveling of everything good. no more hints. just the two of you, learning the language of what you both wanted.

outside, the city kept bleeding and healing. inside, dr. mel king was learning she didn’t have to hint at happiness. she could reach for it directly. and you were right there to meet her.

written by: @snoopymelking

tagged: @eyek0ns , @linziee , @grayyyz , @rockangelsz , @nickswriting , @djosfool

[vmacsi]

can we start making more mel smut on here?? like i should be able to refresh and get 20+ more fanfics 😒

[maplemackintosh]

can you do a mel fic where reader is the only one who listens to her yap and is all sexy about it and gets mel flustered, with smut preferably but it’s ok if not !!

The Complete Knock

Mel King/Fem!reader

Summary: Mel KIng is used to people leaving, especially while she's talking, so what happens when you don't? And what happens when you invite her over to get to 'know' her better?

Word count: 5.2k

Warnings: Angst (Mel), brief backstory of parents dying, mentions of stapling someone's head, mention of RSD (Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria), Service top!Mel, Switch!reader, stuttering (Mel), probably some mischaracterization (idk for some reason, I sometimes can't nail down how Mel talks), mentions of tics, check-ins, swearing, no use of y/n, orgasms, fingering (both Mel and reader receiving), oral (again, both Mel and reader receiving), mention of overstimulation (Mel), praise, begging

a/n: here you go!!! I hope you like it :))))!! God I love service top!mel she's such a freak I KNOW IT. I also might've written a Baran/Trinity fanfic based on the Call Me By Your Name movie...would you guys want that? It's a bit different from my other writings because as you guys have seen I usually just write /Reader things but idk...if you guys want to see it let me know! Again, I hope you liked this anon!!!

🎵 - The Complete Knock

Melissa ‘Mel’ King had gotten used to people leaving.

Her father had died while she was going through the transition of middle to high school, which hurt her badly, and then her mother was diagnosed with an aggressive, malignant pheocromocytoma that had killed her over a quick few months.

So Mel had been left with her twin sister, Becca, and while it was hard at first, and became harder still all throughout Med School, she did see the metaphorical ‘light at the end of the tunnel’ when she found a great care facility for her sister and started her residency at a nearby Veteran hospital. And then became better still when she got to play out her second residency at the PTMC.

But then the leaving started happening all over again.

Her first day, people kept leaving mid-sentence, mid-thought—hell, midpoint. Someone’s pager would go off, or a nurse would wave the person she’s talking to down, or they’d just… seemingly peel away. Like whatever Mel was saying existed in a lower priority lane than everything else in The Pitt. Which, okay, fair, it was the ER. Pandemonium was kind of the brand. Still, it really stuck with her.

She never got her first day out of her head. When she had asked if anyone notified the family or was going to notify the family, of the patient who’s head she was stapling back together, and no one had answered her. She had glanced up and everyone had filed out of the room.

“I can try.” She said, mumbling it under her breath. But in that same instance, of when she was talking to herself, you had entered the picture.

“Did you say something?” You had asked, an eyebrow raised. You were an R2, much like Mel herself, but while she had come from the VA, you had come from Peds. You were in the small group along with Doctor Santos, Whitaker, and Javadi and it seemed like all of you had taken up to being friends already.

Mel had wanted to try and talk to you, as you seemed the closest to her age, but the fear of rejection and, well, the fear of you just leaving trumped her excitement to talk to the really pretty nurse. That, and she didn’t really know how to talk to girls.

“Oh,” she exhaled, looking at you. Her eyes moved from your face all the way down before snapping back up. It wasn’t an accusing look, more of a ‘you look very nice’. “Um, I-I just asked if anyone had notified his family?”

You shrugged. “Don’t know. But I can look into it for you.”

“That would be nice. Thank you.” She nodded, her eyes never straying from yours.

You gave her a nice smile. “Of course.”

She nodded again, not sure what to say to keep the conversation going. She’d never carried on a conversation this long with anyone here yet. Her RSD gets in the way a lot, still flaring up somewhere at the back of her mind.

“Anything else you need?” You asked and she shook her head.

“N-no. Thank you.”

“Okay.” you graced her again with that nice smile of yours before disappearing.

It happened several more times that day. You tried to make sure she was heard, telling everyone that yeah, Mel was speaking and had a great point. Every time you did it, her hand went to the back of her neck to scratch, a small tick she’s had since childhood.

Not to mention the fact that everyone’s eyes would turn to her, and she hated that too. She’s never been real great with keeping eye-contact with anyone. She’s gotten better at it of course, as being a Doctor you have to make eye contact with everyone. Patients, other doctors, nurses, staff overall, etc. But sometimes, it was still a hassle. She doesn’t like eye to keep contact with anyone but she likes when people keep eye contact with her.

Which is what you do.

Every time you talk to her, your eyes seem as though they’re trained on hers. Completely. And you answer all her words with a question. She doesn’t like to assume things, but she is smart, and she knows she’s smart, and she knows when you’re trying to flirt with her and when you’re not.

Using “yeah?”’s and “keep going, I like listening to you talk”’s made her flustered and you knew it. Mel King had faced down trauma bays, combative patients, and twelve-hour shifts that felt like they bent time itself, but somehow, walking ten feet across the nurses’ station felt worse than anything ever.

She would apologize sometimes, too. Asking you, ‘Sorry, am I talking too much?’ Her words would be light in theory, but her worry would settle heavy in her chest.

But you would just respond with ‘I like hearing your voice. Keep going’

And speaking of you, you were currently leaning against the counter, flipping through a chart, brow slightly furrowed in that way Mel had memorized without meaning to. You always looked so focused. So put together. So completely out of Mel’s league, if her brain had anything to say about it, which it always did.

Don’t go over there. You’ll say something weird. She’ll think you’re annoying. She’s just being nice to you because she’s nice to everyone.

Mel swallowed hard, gripping the edge of a supply cart like it might anchor her in reality. RSD was a hell of a thing, every possible rejection already playing out in vivid detail before she even opened her mouth.

But you weren’t just anyone. You were… you.

You’d laughed at her jokes. You’d saved her a coffee once when she forgot hers. You’d even sat down with her during a rough shift, both of you bonding over contemplating if you should come back tomorrow. If there was anyone safe to try with… it was probably you.

Probably. Mel exhaled sharply through her nose, pushed herself off the cart, and walked over before she could talk herself out of it.

“Hey,” she said, a little too quickly.

You looked up, your expression softening immediately. “Hey, Mel!”

That helped stimulate some confidence in her it just a little.

“Uh—busy?” she asked, instantly regretting how stupid that sounded. Of course you were busy. You were at work.

You smiled faintly, shaking your head. “Not too bad right now. What’s up?”

This is it. Say something normal. Be a person.

“I, um—” Mel rubbed the back of her neck, gaze flicking anywhere but your face. “I was just… wondering if you, uh—if you wanted to—no, wait, that sounds—” She cut herself off, grimacing. “Sorry. I had something to tell you.”

You didn’t laugh. You didn’t look annoyed. If anything, your expression softened even more. “You’re okay. Take your time.” because you know what it’s like. You have a hard time reigning in your brain before it just spouts things off.

And Mel knows that, you’ve told her that many a times, apologized many a times, which is why that should’ve been reassuring. But you also like getting under her skin. You like it a lot, in fact, because it’s so easy to do so.

“Come on, tell me. What is it?” You prompt her, your finger coming out to brush against her arm.

“I just,” she tried again, quieter this time, “I like talking to you. And so I thought maybe I should, um… keep doing that and ask if you would like toooo maybe get a drink? O-or something. You don’t have to obviously, but I thought it would…be nice…?” Mel braced herself.

For confusion. For awkwardness. For some sort of excuse from you, ‘Oh, um actually I have to…babysit tonight’ ‘Sorry, Dana’s calling me’ ‘Oh, uh actually I have plans with Jesse’

Instead, your lips curved into something warm and a little shy. “Yeah? You like talking to me? I like talking to you too,” you said.

Mel stared. Her brain, so prepared for rejection, stalled out completely. “Oh,” she said, eloquently.

You glanced around briefly, then leaned a little closer, lowering your voice. “Actually… I was hoping I’d run into you today.”

That got Mel’s attention fast. “You were? Why?”

“Yeah.” You hesitated, trying to choose your words carefully. “I checked the schedule earlier. We both have tomorrow off.”

Mel nodded slowly. “We do…?”

“And I was thinking…” You smiled, just a little nervous now, mirroring her in a way that made something in Mel’s chest flip. Maybe it was her heart, who knows. Medical diagnoses and discoveries were being made every day. As far as Mel knows, even as a doctor, maybe your heart could do flips if you were happy enough. And Mel was completely in bliss. “Maybe you’d want to come over tonight? We could have a drink. Hang out. No hospital, no interruptions in our conversations.”

Mel stared at you. This… this wasn’t how this was supposed to go. She was supposed to stumble through a conversation and maybe not ruin everything. Not…get invited over. Not have you initiate something that sounded suspiciously like….

“A hangout?” she asked, cautious.

You huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah. A hangout.” Then, softer, “A getting-to-know-you-more kind of thing, I guess. Do you want that?”

Mel’s heart kicked hard against her ribs.

Her brain tried one last time. She doesn’t mean it like that. Don’t read into it. Don’t get your hopes up— however then you added, a little more quietly, “I’ve been wanting to ask you for a while. I just wasn’t sure if you’d… want that. We weren’t really that close when I thought it up, so.”

That sounded exactly like how Mel felt.

“Yeah,” she said, a little breathless. “I—yeah. I’d like that.”

Your smile widened, relief flickering across your face in a way that made Mel realize, wonderfully, that this wasn’t one-sided. Not entirely. Maybe not even mostly.

“I was hoping you would.” you said. “I’ll text you my address?”

Mel nodded quickly. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.” she fumbled for her phone in her scrub pocket as you held out a waiting hand. After this, she would definitely have to take a break outside. She knew her cheeks were red and probably her lips from biting them so much during the conversation.

Mel felt it then, the familiar RSD voice, in her mind creeping back in but it was quieter now. Don’t mess this up. it still told her, warned her. But for once, though, it didn’t feel like a warning. It felt like something she could actually handle.

“Okay, I added my number to your phone. I’ll text you later, yeah? I have to go make a coffee run for Dana and Jesse.” You smile, sliding her phone back towards her before taking the note of everyone’s coffee order and leaving Mel by herself at the Nurse’s Station.

As soon as you disappeared from sight, Mel smiled to herself, looking down at her phone. You had just put your name in the contact, nothing special. So she decided to delete it and put something more fitting.

————

Mel had opened her closet three times. Open. Stare. Close. Open again. She thought maybe somehow the clothes might rearrange themselves into a solution if she reset the scene but every time she had closed and reopened her closet doors, they were in the exact same order they had been before.

She had finally, finally settled on a simple loose-fitting shirt and some jeans. Which is funny because as a kid, she hated jeans. Her parents could never get her in them. But now it’s practically all she wore when not in work clothes.

But then, it wasn’t so final because she had completely forgotten about the sleepover part. She had focused so hard on her outfit she was going to wear there, it had completely slipped her mind that she needed pajamas as well.

Looking at her alarm clock, it was already too late to change. “Shoot.” She murmured to herself, highly debating if she should just try and change real quick, but she quickly realized that she does not have enough time.

She grabbed her car keys from the small table in her entryway and made her way to the parking garage of her apartment complex. The ride there was anxiety inducing, her fingers drummed against her steering wheel the whole way there.

Mel now finally stands outside your apartment door and a full thirty seconds pass before she’s knocking. Not because she doesn’t want to be there—God, she does. But because her brain won’t stop cycling through every possible outcome of this night like it’s trying to protect her from something that hasn’t even happened yet.

You could’ve changed your mind. You could just be being polite. You could open the door and immediately regret inviting her. Her hand hovers in front of the wood, drops, then finally, knocks. It’s just a quick sound, doesn’t even know if you’ll be able to hear it.

When the door swings open and it’s you, warm smile on your face, Mel forgets every rehearsed line she had.

“Hey,” you say, soft but bright, like you’ve been looking forward to this.

“H-hi. Yeah. Hey.” Smooth. Incredible. Truly killing it. She shifts her weight, holding up the overnight bag like proof she belongs here. “I, uh… made it.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” you tease gently, stepping aside. “Come in.”

Your apartment smells like something sweet, vanilla, maybe, and there’s music playing low in the background. It feels… lived in. Safe. The kind of place Mel instantly wants to stay in.

She steps in carefully, like she’s walking on eggshells. “Nice place,” she says, eyes flicking around but not lingering too long on anything. She doesn’t want to seem like she’s studying you, even though she absolutely is.

“Thanks,” you reply, closing the door behind her. “I wasn’t sure if you’d actually come.”

“Oh. Yeah—no, I mean—of course I came,” she says quickly, a little too quickly. “You invited me. Why wouldn’t I?” Because people usually don’t mean it, her brain supplies.

You shrug, but there’s something a little shy in your expression. “I don’t know. You seemed kind of… unsure when I asked.”

Mel huffs out a quiet laugh, one again scratching at the back of her neck. “I’m- um I didn’t mean to.”

But you simply just smile. “Well, I’m really glad you came.”

Mel looks away for a second, pretending to adjust the strap of her bag. “Yeah. Me too.”

You gesture toward the couch. “You can put your stuff wherever. I got snacks, movies, terrible reality TV, whatever you’re in the mood for.”

“Terrible reality TV sounds…perfect,” Mel admits, setting her bag down on the floor near the couch.

You grin. “Good.”

There’s a rhythm that starts to build—awkward at first, overlapping words, little silences—but it’s not bad. Just new. Mel finds herself relaxing in tiny increments, like her guard is lowering one cautious inch at a time. But she suddenly remembered she had no fucking pajamas.

“Oh!” she suddenly says, freezing halfway through unzipping her bag.

You glance over. “What?”

Mel stares into the bag like it’s betrayed her. “I—uh.” Her stomach drops. “I forgot my pajamas.” The words come out flat. To you, she seems almost horrified.

You blink, just looking at her and you know she doesn’t know the difference between being sarcastic and joking and being serious, so you have to hide your smile by biting your bottom lip. “…That’s it?”

“I spent so much time picking out my outfit, now I have nothing to sleep in.”

You lean casually against the arm of the couch, clearly trying not to smile too big. “You could borrow something of mine.”

Mel’s brain short-circuits. “Oh. No. I mean—you don’t have to—”

“I’m offering, Mel.”

“Yeah, but out of politeness,” she counters, already backing herself into a corner. “You don’t actually—”

“I want to,” you interrupt, softer now. You tilt your head just slightly. “Unless you don’t want to.”

Mel exhales, shoulders dropping a fraction. “No, I— I do. I just… didn’t want to assume.” there’s that fear again

You step a little closer, not enough to crowd her, just enough that she can at least try and somehow feel your sincerity. “You’re allowed to take me at my word, you know.”

Mel looks at you then. You don’t seem annoyed. Or obligated. Or like you’re waiting for her to mess this up. You just seem… genuine. “Okay,” she says, voice softer now. “Okay, yeah. I’d like that.”

“That’s what I thought,” you say, smiling again.

So you had dragged her by the wrist down the short hallway that led to your bedroom. You gave her an over-sized t-shirt and some shorts and showed her where your on-suite bathroom was so she could change.

While she was doing her thing, you were completely spiraling. You didn’t know what to do. Mel was now in your apartment, wearing your clothes, and now she would be sleeping in your bed along with you.

Your mind was going a thousand miles a minute with not one single, cohesive thought. When the bathroom lock finally clicks and the door opens, your breath is stolen away from you as your eyes roam over her body.

Granted, it’s hidden beneath a t-shirt but she looks so good in out-of-work clothing that you have to bite your bottom lip to make sure the moan that’s low in your throat doesn’t vocalize itself.

“Good?” She asks, looking down at the shirt.

“Yeah, looks good. You look good.” You have to choose your words carefully because one wrong sentence and she might go running. You pat the side next to you, smiling. “C’mon.”

The TV is playing some sort of dumb, reality dating show as you and share take small handfuls of the snacks that are on a tray between the small space of you and Mel. And then at some point, the tray had been done snacking from and you placed it on the floor, shuffling down the mattress and slightly turning over, leaning into Mel.

You asked her if it was okay, and she said it was fine with it. She gave you an inch, but you took a mile and looked at the back of her neck, which she had been scratching this entire time.

“What’s this?” You asked, your hands going to her shoulder to gently urge her forward.

“What’s what?” She stutters, trying to look back at you.

You lifted a finger, tracing the prominent, angry red marks on her skin and tut. “Scratching yourself.”

“Oh, yeah I um…I just do that…it’s a tic of mine.” She expresses to you and you frown.

“Looks painful, Mel.” you move her braid onto her left shoulder.

“It’s just a little warm. I-it doesn’t hurt, I promise.”

“You sure? I can help it feel better.” You’re basically shooting your shot here and hoping it lands in her hoop. You rest your chin on her shoulder, gauging her reaction to see if you’ve crossed a line but all she answers with is,

“Do you want to kiss me?”

You taken aback a little, your chin coming off her shoulder and she’s looking as you now. “What?” you ask.

“You want to kiss me, right? I can’t understand when you and Trinity are joking but I can understand when someone wants to kiss me.”

“I mean, I want to do a little more than that but yeah. Will you let me?”

“You could’ve just asked.” She said, looking at you with a smile of her own.

“I could’ve just asked.” You shrug, looking at her too before leaning in and kissing the back of her neck. She shivers in response as her hand goes to your thigh, her short nails digging into your skin there as she whimpers.

Your lips trail to the side of her neck from the back and then to her jaw before you’re turning her face and planting your lips on hers. Mel hates the feeling of having her lips cracked and rough so she always has some sort of lip balm on her. And it pays off because her lips are so soft against yours.

The position of kissing her like this is starting to get uncomfortable so you try to move while also keeping your lips on hers. She doesn’t seem to mind at all since she’s somewhat pulling you into the new position which happens to be on top of her, in her lap.

“Mel,” you whined, as her tongue slipped into your mouth.

“I want you to kiss me whenever you want to,” she tells you, barely above a whisper.

“That’s impossible. ‘Cause I can’t kiss you whenever I want,” You mumble dejectedly, tilting your head away from Mel’s curious hands. “But I know what you mean. You can kiss me too, but you’re waiting for me to do it. You don’t have to wait.”

“I don’t have to wait?” Mel murmurs to herself, looking forward at the wall in front of them. “I don’t have to wait.” She says, her smile cracking onto her face.

You don’t get a glimpse of Mel as she crashes her lips against his. You manage to catch yourself before you’re sent flying backwards into the mattress by the unforeseen force of Melissa King.

You make a sound at the back of your throat, sounding an awful lot like relief, and kiss her back with the same urgency. This time, Mel doesn’t have to coax you into deepening the kiss, because you do it first. You open your mouth and Mel does the same shortly after.

You get back into her lap, a move that the other seemingly enjoys by the noise she makes. Your hands start at her waist, but slowly, giving enough time to be stopped, your hands sneak up her back, holding the back of her neck as your mouths move together.

“You like my hair a lot.” Mel says breathlessly when she feels the first tug. “Stop talking,” You exasperate, grabbing Mel’s face and smashing your lips back together. Fortunately, Mel doesn’t have anything left to say, only things to do.

You shift on Mel’s lap, receiving a quiet and ragged groan that encourages you to do it again, and again, and again, and you never want to stop. You can feel it, the aching pressure slowly building in the deepest part of your stomach. The warmth is spreading through your body already, the pleasure hiking up.

As you move against Mel, she breaks away from your mouth and lowers her kisses down your jaw, down your neck, and towards your collarbone.

“Do you-” Mel’s breath hitches as your teeth sink into your bottom lip. She holds you tighter, hands reaching for the waistband of your shorts. “Can I keep going?”

You look down at her to place a messy kiss on the corner of Mel’s mouth. “Keep going, Mel. Please? Please, keep going.”

Tentatively, as if Mel is waiting for you to retract your words, her hand slips under your pajama shorts. The moment her finger slips between your folds, you’re holding back a coarse sound. She’s moving her finger in circles around on your clit and your hips move right up against her hand.

“W-wanna take care of you too.” You mewl but she shakes her head.

“Let’s just- let’s take care of you first, okay? That’s what I want, to take care of you.”

“Shit, Mel. Okay. Okay.” Her fingers leave your shorts and you’re questioning why before she’s gently sending you back down to lie on the mattress again. She sticks her fingers in her mouth, making eye contact with you the whole time, before she’s sliding off your pj’s and before you can say anything, her mouth is between your legs.

You prop yourself up onto your elbows to watch her as she props your legs onto her shoulders. “What has gotten into you?”

“What? Nothing.” She shakes her head, before running her flat tongue slowly up your center, stopping just below your clit.

“I didn’t mean that lit- god.” You say, trying to suck in a breath as she makes sure to pay attention to your clit. “Mel.” her arms bracket your hips, helping you move against her mouth. “Shit!”

Mel watches you watching her. Your chest is heaving, your skin feels hot. She likes seeing you like this- needy and desperate. She leans down and slowly takes your clit between her lips, sucking gently while looking up at you through her glasses.

“Fffuuucckkk.” You whine, your voice broken and hoarse.

Mel hums around your clit, loving the sounds you’re making. She releases it and replaces her mouth with her fingers, rubbing circles around it while she kisses your inner thighs. “I know you didn’t mean it literally.” she murmurs against your skin.

She smiles against your thigh, her fingers never stopping their circles. She kisses her way back up to your clit, replacing her fingers with her mouth again. She sucks harder this time, flattening her tongue to lick you from bottom to top in slow, deliberate strokes. “Is that okay?”

“Yes!” Your back arches off the mattress, your fingers moving from gripping the sheets to gripping her hair. Mel grunts softly at the sensation of your nails against her scalp. She hooks her arms beneath your thighs, pulling your closer to her mouth while spreading you open wider. She starts sucking and licking faster, one of her hands leaving through leg to insert themselves slowly into you.

You can’t speak.

Well, you can, but you don’t trust yourself to say any coherent enough sentences.

You look down again, seeing her glasses all fogged up, constantly slipping down her nose whenever she sticks her tongue out and bobs up and down. She moves her mouth away before cupping her hand, so that the heel of her palm rests against your clit. Your trembling fingers move up to take off her glasses, and she can see you better now.

You can see her better now, too. You’re right at the edge, your hips moving to keep the steady pressure her hand is bringing. She’s peppering kisses all over your face, and one of your hands comes up to place a strand of hair behind her ear that had came loose from her braid. She leans down, pressing her lips against yours and somehow, that’s the reason you cum for her. You can taste yourself on her tongue.

You practically try to hang onto her for dear life as you finish, squeezing around her fingers. You whine her own name into her mouth as her fingers don’t stop. They prolong your orgasm, her thumb rubbing at your clit still to continue to help you get off.

She only stops when you’re whining at her to. “I-I’m sorry. Did I do too much?”

You’re shaking your head. Completely out of it. “No. No.” you look up at her face and she looks like a whiny puppy. There’s a pout on her face, brows pinched together as she blinks to better focus her eyes. “Let’s take your braid out. It’s all messy. I wanna see what you look like with your hair down.” You say, and she’s instantly slipping the elastic off. Her hair comes down, fanning out against her shoulders, and god, she’s so eager to please you, serve you.

“What do you want now?” She asks, her eyes moving over your face to see. “What do you need?”

You begin to pull down her shorts, but her hands are quick on yours. She keeps them there. “No. U-use your words. I can’t help you out if you don’t tell me what you need. Please?”

“I want to eat you out, Mel. Really bad.”

She’s praising you beyond measure when you answer her, and it makes your brain melt. She nods at your question and settles back on the bed, near the headboard. You roll onto your stomach and when you turn to face her, her shirt is off as is her sports bra and the only thing she’s left on are the shorts.

“Well fuck.” You say, momentarily stunned.

“I-I can put the shirt back on.”

“No!” You shout, making Mel jump a little. “Sorry. No. No don’t-don’t do that, Jesus. You just look…really good.”

“Oh, thank you.” She squirms at the compliment. Her legs are open, but you can’t see anything.

“Can I take these off?” you hesitantly ask, your fingers breaching the hem of the shorts against her stomach.

“Yeah. Please?” She whines, and she’s lifting her hips to help you. You peel them down her body, throwing them to the floor along with her underwear. She’s presented in front of you now and truthfully you don’t know what to do. Your hands are on her knees, and you begin to leave hickeys on her hip bones.

She jerks as you bite the skin there before your placing your mouth on her. She moans softly as your tongue touches her clit. She spreads her legs wider, giving you better access. Her fingers go to your hair, and she starts to grind against your face gently, using you for pleasure. “J-just like that.” she praises softly.

You whine against her, your hands going to her thighs. Mel gasps as your hands grab onto her legs, pulling her even closer. She starts to basically ride your face, her hips moving in a circular motion. She reaches down and grabs a handful of your hair, pulling your face deeper into her cunt.

Your tongue moves against her clit before going down to her hole. She shivers at the feeling, the sensation making her melt. She pushes back against your tongue, fucking herself slowly on your face. Your nose bumps against her clit and the sensation makes Mel’s head fall back in pleasure.

She starts to grind against you now, chasing her own orgasm. “Right there, p-please don’t stop.” She pants. You press your fingers into her, hearing her let out a whine. Mel’s whine turns into a louder moan as your fingers slide inside her easily. She’s so sweet, so wet that your fingers slip in without any resistance. She pushes back against your hand, fucking herself on both your fingers and tongue.

“Please, please cum for me, Mel. Please? Wanna taste you so bad,” you mewl against her. Hearing your desperate please and feeling your tongue and fingers working together drives Mel over the edge. She cries out loudly as she cums, her cunt clamping down on your fingers and gushing on your face. You get exactly what you asked for- the taste of her flooding your mouth.

She’s letting out short breaths as you lap at her, your tongue moving over her lips, her hole, her clit, everything. You look up as her body shivers with aftershocks. She pushes down your head, keeping you trapped between her legs until she’s completely satisfied.

But you don’t care. You could say between her legs forever if she let you. You wouldn’t even have to come up for air. You still don’t pull away, you keep yourself there even though her hand has left your scalp. Your tongue continues to move against her, feeling her hips try to pull away. She’s whimpering above you, mewling too. You finally stop when she’s practically forcing your head away and you look up at her.

“Sorry.” You kiss the inside of her thighs.

Mel shakes her head, her body covered in sweat. “I just wanted t-to see your pretty face.”

a/n: mel and I are gonna do it until the walls are white