doctor's order's: no touching
mel king x reader x parker ellis
Doctor’s orders say no sex until you heal… which becomes you and your girlfriend's least favorite rule to follow.
details: smut (poly), top!ellis, service switch!mel, bottom!reader, established relationship!dating, oral/fingering/strap in v, light injury (stitches, reader), fluff, very slight hurt/comfort
It was absolutely not a good idea. And yet, you’d done it anyway.
Now you were paying for it.
A hospital visit late at night. Bright lights. Sterile air. The dull, thudding ache in your side that made every breath feel too sharp, too intentional. A laceration—neat enough to stitch, deep enough to hurt, and just serious enough to land you here under harsh fluorescent judgment.
Your face flushes under the attention as soon as the ambulance doors open, Dr. Robinavitch being one of the first to see you. Recognizing you as you're moved off the car and into the hospital.
Your face flushes under the attention as soon as the ambulance doors open, Dr. Robinavitch being one of the first to see you. Recognizing you as you're moved off the cart and into the hospital.
“Jesus—” his voice cut through the noise. “I’ve got her. Bay two, now. And nobody tells Ellis or King yet—we keep them focused. We’ll brief them after. Move.”
You smile weakly at him after the EMT gives the quick handoff report.
“I’m fine, really… I—”
“Mm-hm,” Dr. Robinavitch interrupts immediately, not unkind, already moving with the gurney as it rolls into bay two. “That’s what everyone says while they’re actively bleeding.”
“Hey,” he gestures for the team. “Let’s get her onto the bed.”
You wince, hissing as your side tightens sharply when they move you over. Instinctively, your hands start to reach for the wound, trying to brace against the pain, but they’re gently intercepted and guided away.
“Don’t,” one of them says simply. “Let us handle it.”
The dressing the EMTs applied is carefully peeled back, and there’s a brief pause. Just a tight, assessing silence before they continue, controlled and efficient. They're talking in that code mumble that you have little understanding of despite hearing it back home. About your heart rate, what stitching to do, how much pain meds to give....
Dr. Robinavitch leans in, taking it in with a quick, practiced look.
“Yep,” he says. “Need stitches.”
He straightens, already stepping back. “Can hand her over to you all?"
A short nod. “We’ve got it.”
He nods.
“I’ll be nearby if anything changes,” he says, before turning and heading out of the bay. Everything feels slightly distant, like your body hasn’t fully caught up with what’s happening yet. One of them offers you a small, easy smile. Despite feeling a little awkward, you smile back. Introducing herself to you as Dr. Cassie,
“How’d you end up like this?” she asks, tone light but curious.
You let out a soft laugh, but it catches slightly as a dull pull of pain reminds you your side is still very much there. The anesthesia hasn’t fully settled yet, more edge-taking than complete relief.
"It's silly, really... I was-"
Once the stitches are finished and you’re resting more comfortably on the bed, the room has finally begun to settle into something quieter. The urgency has eased, replaced by the steady hum of monitors and controlled movement.
Later, once things have calmed and the immediate work is done, they’re informed of the situation.
Mel is the first to move. Stethoscope still looped loosely around her neck, she’s already heading toward the room before the explanation is even fully finished. Parker isn’t far behind—because the moment she hears your name, her composure shifts. Subtle, but immediate. And then she’s moving too, just as fast.
They enter almost at the same time, finding you on the bed.
You manage a small, tired smile when you see them.
“Hi…” you say softly.
Mel stops just inside the doorway, frozen for a moment like she’s trying to take in everything at once. Parker doesn’t hesitate, she’s at your side immediately, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead.
“God, baby…” she breathes, hand coming up carefully like she’s checking you’re real. “You scared me. I’m glad you’re alright.”
“I’m okay, they stitched me up.”
Mel finally steps closer, but her expression is tighter now—controlled, but clearly unsettled. Her eyebrows lift slightly at the word.
“Stitches?” she repeats, then exhales softly through her nose. “I—how did this… happen?” she asks again, her voice calm, but there’s something underneath it. Strained focus. Concern she’s trying to keep contained.
“It’s a stupid story, really. I’m embarrassed… I—”
“Hey,” Parker cuts in gently, squeezing your hand before you can spiral further. “You don’t have to explain everything right now.”
"No, it's fi-"
"Tell us...!" Mel blurts, honest and blunt before her expression softens a bit. Almost scared at her own tone. "I... please.. only if you want to, I mean."
You reach for her immediately, fingers curling around hers.
“Mel… come here.”
She steps closer right away, letting you pull her in just enough to feel her there.
“I’m okay,” you say again, quieter this time. “They stitched me up. It’s not a big deal.
“I was at home,” you start slowly, “just doing something stupid—moving a table I shouldn’t have been moving alone.” You glance between them. “It was heavier than I thought, I lost my grip, it shifted, and the edge caught me right on my side against the counter.”
“It wasn’t deep at first,” you continue, “but it opened more than I realized. By the time I got it checked, they said it needed stitches just to close it properly.”
You shrug faintly, like you’re trying to downplay it, though both of them are already looking at you like you’ve done something far more reckless than you’re admitting.
“I didn’t think it was that bad,” you finish softly.
Parker looks to Mel before turning back to you, her expression still tight with lingering worry.
“I can say for sure, between the two of us, that we’re just glad you’re alright.”
Mel opens her mouth like she wants to argue—stay, ask more, keep her hand in yours a little longer, but the moment is cut short by a knock at the door. It opens just slightly.
“Mel, they need you in triage. Med student needs help with an extraction.”
A beat. Mel exhales through her nose, eyes flicking back to you.
“I… yeah. I’ll be there.”
The door closes again, leaving a quieter kind of tension behind. You squeeze her hand gently, thumb brushing over her knuckles.
“I love you, mm? Go do your thing. I’m not going anywhere.”
Mel’s gaze lingers on you for a second longer than necessary—like she’s memorizing the fact you’re here, intact, breathing.
“Okay,” she says softly, voice gentler now. “I won’t be long. I promise. I'll be right back."
Parker watches her go, then looks back at you, her expression softening into something more exasperated than angry.
“Never move furniture like that on your own again.”
“Promise!"
Since you’ve been discharged and sent home, you finally feel a breath of relief settle into you—the kind that only comes from familiar walls, soft lighting, and the quiet safety of being out of a hospital bed.
Parker guides you carefully toward the bedroom while Mel stays close on your other side, ready in case you need support. When you shift a little too quickly onto the edge of the bed, you wince before you can stop it. Both of them reacting.
“Hey—slow down,” Parker says gently, hand steadying your arm.
“Are you okay?” Mel adds, already watching your face, scanning for signs of pain.
“I’m fine,” you insist again, softer this time. “Really. I’m okay.”
You ease yourself back onto the mattress, carefully settling in until your body finally relaxes into the familiar comfort of home. The ache in your side is still there, dull and pulling, but manageable now that you’re not under bright hospital lights. It's more like uncomfortable pressure than anything.
Parker exhales quietly, like she’s only just letting herself believe you’re actually okay. She pulls a chair closer to the bed but doesn’t sit yet.
“Alright,” she says, slipping into that calm, practical tone she gets when she’s trying to feel in control again. “Ground rules.”
You glance at her, already bracing yourself.
“No heavy lifting,” she starts. “No stretching or twisting. No strenuous activity of any kind for at least a couple of weeks. About four weeks. You’re not working out, you’re not doing anything that puts strain on your side.”
“And you’re not pretending you’re fine when you’re not,” Parker adds, softer now. “If it hurts, you say so. Tell us."
There’s a pause as they both seem to settle into the list, like they’re making sure they haven’t missed anything important.
Then Mel clears her throat slightly.
“And sex!” She adds, a little awkwardly, like she’s trying to make it sound as clinical as everything else but doesn’t quite manage it. “Also off limits. Until it’s healed properly...."
The room goes still. Your eyes widen slightly before you can stop yourself, heat rushing to your face almost instantly.
“I—” you start, then falter, embarrassment creeping in. “I wasn’t… I.."
Your words trail off completely as your cheeks flush deeper, suddenly very aware of how strange this entire conversation feels. Silence lingers for a beat too long. Parker glances between the two of you, then very deliberately breaks it.
“Do you want water or something to eat?” she asks, tone shifting smoothly back into normality like nothing just happened.
"Please..." she nods, getting up from the chair to grab some items for you.
Mel sits onto the bed, looking over at you.
“Im alright… how’re you? I'm more worried about you,” you ask, reaching for her hand, fingers curling gently around hers as you intertwine them.
Mel doesn’t hesitate before taking your hand properly, holding it like she needs the contact to settle herself.
“I’m good… worried,” she admits, voice quieter now. “I’ve been worried sick about you. I don’t like that I have to go to work and you’re here… unattended.”
You shift slightly on the bed, careful of your side, but don’t let go of her hand.
“You and Parker are on different shifts,” you remind her softly. “There’ll always be one of you here like usual..."
That seems to ease something in her expression. Not fully, but enough.
“Oh… right,” she says after a beat. A small exhale follows. “That’s good.”
Her thumb moves absently over your knuckles, slower now, like she’s grounding herself in the fact that you’re here, talking, warm under her touch.
After two weeks, you start to get restless.
Not because of the pain anymore, it’s mostly a dull reminder now, something you only really notice when you move too quickly or twist the wrong way. The stitches are out, the skin is healing, and your body is starting to feel like yours again.
But that’s not the problem. The problem is them.
You’d been genuinely disbelieving when Mel first brought up sex as something to avoid. Not because you needed it, you’d thought it was obvious, unnecessary to even mention. It wasn’t like a few weeks without it would matter.
You could go a month. Easy. Except it wasn’t just that.
It was the way Parker kissed you before she left for work. Soft, lingering, like she was trying to make up for the hours she’d be gone. The way Mel’s hands always found you when she passed behind you in the kitchen, gentle touches at your waist, your shoulder, your thigh, absent-minded but impossible to ignore.
The way they both looked at you when they thought you weren’t paying attention. Each touch was harmless on its own. Together, it was starting to feel like something else entirely. And it was driving all of you crazy.
It starts to show...
Little things at first. Your patience thinning, your replies a little sharper than you mean them to be. When they ask if you need anything, if you’re okay, if you want help, you find yourself sighing a little too quickly, brushing them off.
“I’m fine,” comes out more clipped than intended. “I said I’ve got it.”
And you hate it, a little. Because you know they’re just worried. You know why. But it’s like something under your skin won’t settle.
They notice.
They don’t call you out on it—not directly. But Parker’s a little quieter when you snap, her responses softer. Mel just watches you a second longer, like she’s trying to piece something together she hasn’t said out loud yet.
At work, it’s different. They’re the same. Snappy, feeling it settle into their bones.
But underneath it, there’s something else. A tension that wasn’t there before. A distraction they both push down the second it starts to surface. They don’t talk about it there. They don’t even look at each other too long.
Late that night, the apartment is quiet.
You’re asleep in the bedroom, finally comfortable enough to rest without shifting every few minutes. The door is cracked open just enough for the soft glow of the living room TV to spill into the hallway. On the couch, Mel is tucked against Parker’s side, her head resting lightly against her shoulder. Some show plays in the background—something neither of them are really paying attention to.
They’re talking quietly. About work. About patients. About nothing important. Parker hums at something Mel says, turning slightly to press a slow, absent-minded kiss to her temple. Mel tilts her head up in response, their lips meeting properly this time. It’s soft. Familiar. Easy.
But when Mel pulls back, something lingers. Parker notices it immediately.
“What?” she murmurs, voice low.
Mel hesitates, just for a second.
“…I miss her,” she admits.
Parker’s hand shifts against her arm, grounding. “She’s here,” she says gently. “Down the hall.”
Mel shakes her head slightly, gaze dropping.
“I know,” she says. “I just… miss her. Like—”
She trails off, but Parker gets it.
“Oh.”
A quiet beat settles between them.
“Yeah,” Parker exhales softly, leaning back into the couch. “I get that.”
Mel’s fingers fidget lightly against Parker’s sleeve. “It’s been two weeks.”
“I’m aware,” Parker says dryly, though there’s no real humor in it.
Another pause.
“I miss her in bed,” Mel admits, quieter this time. “Not just—” she gestures vaguely, then drops her hand. “Just… all of it.”
Parker’s thumb brushes slowly over her arm.
“Yeah,” she says again, softer now. “Me too.”
The TV continues to play in the background, neither of them watching anymore. Because now they’re both thinking about the same thing. And trying—very deliberately—not to act on it. Not until you were completely healed.
You gasped, breaking the kiss with Parker to cry out at the sudden, intense pleasure. Parker took advantage of your open mouth, her lips claiming yours again, swallowing your moans. Mel continued her assault, her tongue flicking against your clit, her fingers sliding into your wet heat, curling to stroke that spot deep inside that made your toes curl.
Parker's hands found your breasts, her thumbs brushing against your nipples, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. You could feel the tension building, the pleasure coiling tight in your belly, ready to snap. But just as you were about to tumble over the edge, Mel pulled back, her fingers sliding out of you, leaving you bereft and whimpering.
"Not yet, love," Parker whispered, her voice husky with desire. "We've got all night."
Parker grinned at Mel, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
"We're going to take our time," she promised, her hands moving to your hips, flipping you onto your hands and knees. She reached into the drawer of the bedside table, pulling out a strap-on harness and a dildo, already slick with lube.
Mel watched, her eyes wide with anticipation, as Parker secured the harness around her hips, the dildo standing proud and ready. She ran her hands over the silicone, a wicked grin spreading across her face. "You ready?" she asked, her voice a low growl.
You nodded, your breath coming in short gasps, your body already craving the feel of them both again. Parker positioned herself behind you, her hands gripping your hips tightly. She leaned down, her breath hot on your ear. "Here we go," she whispered, before slowly pushing into you.
You moaned, your body stretching to accommodate her, the sensation of fullness overwhelming. Parker gave you a moment to adjust before she began to move, her hips snapping forward, driving into you with steady, powerful thrusts. You pushed back against her, meeting her stroke for stroke, your body already building towards another release.
Mel, not content to just watch, reached between your legs, her fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight circles. The dual sensation of Parker filling you and Mel's fingers on your clit was almost too much. You could feel the pleasure building again, higher and more intense than before.
Parker leaned over you, her breath ragged in your ear. "Come for us, love," she growled. "Come all over Mel's fingers."
And with a cry, you did, your body convulsing as the pleasure washed over you, drowning you in its intensity. Parker continued to thrust into you, drawing out your orgasm, until you were nothing but a boneless, quivering mess between them. Mel, her fingers still slick with your release, brought them to her mouth, sucking them clean.
Mel pushed you onto your back, her body covering yours, her legs straddling your hips. She reached between them, guiding Parker's still-slick dildo into her own waiting heat. She began to ride it, her hips moving in a slow, sensuous rhythm, her eyes never leaving yours.
Parker, her hands gripping Mel's hips, began to thrust up into her, matching her rhythm. The sight of the two of them, lost in their own pleasure, was almost enough to make you come again. You reached between them, your fingers finding Mel's clit, rubbing tight circles as Parker filled her.
Mel's movements became more frantic, her breath coming in short gasps. You could feel her body tense, her orgasm approaching. "Come for us, Mel," you whispered, your voice hoarse with desire. "Come all over Parker's cock."
And with a bitten back gasp, she did, her body convulsing as her pleasure washed over her. Parker thrust into her one last time, her own release finding her as she collapsed onto your bodies, the three of you a tangle of limbs and sweat and satisfied moans.
In the aftermath, you lay entwined, limbs loosely tangled together as the room settles into a quiet, steady calm. The earlier tension has melted into something softer now—warmth, closeness, the slow return of normal breathing.
Your head rests against Parker’s shoulder while Mel stays close at your other side, her hand absentmindedly tracing slow patterns along your arm.
For a while, none of you say anything.
Just breathing. Existing. Letting it settle.
Then Parker exhales softly, a quiet huff of disbelief slipping out.
“God,” she murmurs, voice low and a little rough, “never injure yourself again. I can’t ever wait that long.”
There’s a faint hint of humor in it, but it’s buried under something more honest.
Mel lets out a small breath that almost sounds like a laugh, her forehead resting lightly against your shoulder.
“That was medically necessary,” she mutters, though there’s no real conviction behind it anymore.
You shift slightly between them, a tired smile pulling at your lips.
“I’ll try to avoid it next time,” you murmur.
Parker hums, her hand finding yours again, fingers threading together like it’s second nature.
“Please do,” she says softly.
And this time, there’s nothing strained or restless left in the silence that follows—just the quiet comfort of being exactly where you’re supposed to be.
note: i hope you enjoyed this 🥲
