summary: dennis is not only your boyfriend, but your roommate, and your destressor. shenanigans ensue.
word count: 3k
contains: fluff & smut. trinity/dennis/reader roommate agenda. stress & upset from a bad day at the pitt. softdom!dennis, whiny!reader. *fingering/fingers in mouth, kitchen sex, getting caught. *no use of y/n
a/n: here you go anon 💝 ;) ignore me using plotlines from ER to storybuild i was doug rossing the reader and exodusing the hospital HA
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Living with Trinity and Dennis used to be difficult before Garcia came into the picture. Now you practically lived in an apartment with your boyfriend and kept Trinity’s stuff for safe keeping. But you couldn’t complain– at least you got time alone. That was really all you wanted anyway.
Starting your rotations at PTMC would have been terrifying if you didn’t get stuck with the group you follow now. On your first day, you came in off a terrible experience at Mercy upstate, and when you met the other R1s and fourth-year med students, they seemed to be familiar with each other. You were the odd man out. But Dennis was, too. While Mel reconnected with Samira and Trinity struck gold with Perlah and Princess– not to mention Victoria's parents literally being on the upstairs payroll– you two were the only ones who hadn’t made a connection. Well, some might say that your floundering was the connection. You hit it off in your first hour, and have been inseparable since.
The year was hard on both of you during the transition from student to resident. You were intent on specializing in pediatric emergency medicine while Dennis had his sights set on being attending chief, just like Robby. Outside of the traumas, Dennis followed Robby for teaching, and you used each spare second to pick up younger patients and build on your study.
You were working on an experimental treatment study that gave kids power over how they treated their pain– letting them choose their dosage, their care, their desired results. Children were more honest when they were trusted, you found, and it was all being done in the hopes of drawing attention not only to the sheer volume of peds cases that came through the ER, but the necessity of having a pediatric resident on at all times, and possibly even a pediatric attending physician. So, you and Dennis technically weren’t so different… Either way, it was a mountain of effort.
Even though he didn’t have the same academic drive to make change, Dennis admired you helplessly. He thought you were a genius, an angel-doctor, someone who they should give awards to for how sweet you were with children and how devoted to improving patient care you could be. You made him want to be a better agent of change, not just a good doctor.
While it took twelve months to get the hang of the place, you and Dennis were finally doing well. As a pair, you got accepted into the residency program at PTMC and were finally getting paid. You went in on a shitty downtown apartment with Trinity, hoping to save money by carpooling and splitting rent. And you were hopelessly, disgustingly in love.
At first, Trinity couldn’t stand you two. It was easy enough to ignore at work, because in order to stay focused you and Dennis decided to be neutral around the hospital. It made your lives easier and avoided any potential teasing or prying, especially from the nurses, who were dead set on sniffing out everyone’s business. But the second you guys were off the clock, he had his arms wrapped around your waist and he was steering you, petting you, kissing you; it made her sick sometimes. The lip smacking, the little giggles. Sometimes she would purposely get a ride home with Mel just to beat you to the apartment and lock the door, if only to preserve her peace for a few measly minutes. The frustrated banging on the wood was better than hearing you guys canoodle.
But once Trinity got together with Garcia, her frustrations were far and few between… and hard to even see anymore. She was never home. The girl had started keeping clothes and scrubs at Garcia’s place, and if she did come back, it was to do laundry or eat the fridge. So, you and Dennis finally had peace and quiet. After those long days in the emergency department full of staring eyes and stress and death, you could come home to each other and soak up the softness of each other’s silence. Like tonight.
It had been a particularly hard one– nearly seventeen hours on the clock. There was some freak toxic spill in a factory across town, and over twenty patients had come in with chemical burns and gashes from slipping and falling down stairs onto machinery. Hazmat came and closed off half the emergency wing, and everyone had to be cleared from quarantine and hosed down in the frigid air before coming or going. It was torture. Dennis drove home in his truck, the both of you soaked to the skin in paper-thin sterile scrubs, starving and shivering.
You stumbled through the apartment door, dead on your feet. Dennis took your bag and trotted off to drop the belongings in the bedroom, while you veered into the kitchen, yawning and shaking out the shivers as you yanked the refrigerator open.
“God,” you pouted, “We forgot to go shopping again.”
The soft patter of footsteps echoed down the hall, and a strong pair of arms wrapped around your middle. Dennis tucked his chin over your shoulder, squeezing your tummy. “I can call the Chinese place. They’re 24/7, right?”
“Think so,” you grumbled, rubbing your eyes. “I’m just hungry. And tired. And annoyed.”
“Anything else?” Dennis laughed, the rumble soothing your spine. You spun in his arms and faced him, leaning back against the counter and moping.
The apartment was a mess. The kitchen hadn’t been cleaned in days. There were clothes and shoes littering the living room, and Santos had a pile of papers covering the coffee table. Your research scattered the work desk by the bookshelf. It just felt like you never had time to catch up anymore, to take two seconds to clean up; when you got a day off, you slept through it on Dennis’ chest or your sad and forgotten pillow, just in case it would be another week before you got the chance. As you looked around, you felt the overwhelm of it all rushing back, and you dropped your head on his shoulder.
Dennis sighed softly and pressed a few smooches to your hairline. “I can see your wheels turning.”
“Doesn’t it bother you?”
“Bee, I lived on a farm. I’m used to the mess.”
You managed a tiny smile at the name, nodding to yourself. He was right. It could always be worse. You could still be living in the med student dorms, where the showers were riddled with mildew and your roommate slept with her boyfriend all night, forcing you to get no sleep. At least you had this privacy, and this man in front of you who ensured you kept it.
“I’ll call in an order.”
You sighed quietly as he pulled away and wandered back to the bedroom to grab his phone. For all the things he admired about you, you admired that about him: his ability to let things roll off, to take the good and leave the bad. You let everything affect you, but he never failed to have a good sense about him. He was way too wise, and it was why patients adored him. That and maybe his warm eyes, or his gorgeous, crooked smile, or the way he said “ma’am” and “surely” with that midwestern charm.
You rooted through the medicine cabinet to grab some acetaminophen as you listened to the dull babbling of Dennis on the phone, and you rested against the counter as you took the pills dry. Your feet ached, the black work shoes worn down from any support they once offered. You were still cold from the wet roots of your hair. You were in a miserable mood, and the apartment was lonely without his warmth. You closed your eyes and tried to take your mind off it all, and that was when you felt hands scooping you off your feet.
“Oof– Dennie!” You squeaked, wrapping your arms around his neck in case he dropped you.
Dennis grinned and hoisted your legs around his hips, bracing you against his chest. The pads of his fingers dimpled the soft, bunching skin of your thighs. “Yes?”
“Why am I being handled like a ragdoll?”
“Because you flail, and it’s cute.”
“That’s not a good enough reason,” you laughed, and he readjusted so his palms could cradle you dubiously close to the spot where your legs jointed to your ass. “I think you just wanted to squeeze me.”
“That, too,” he hummed, kissing your cheek.
“Put me down,” you mumbled, nosing his jaw.
“Why?”
“I’m heavy.”
“You are not,” Dennis scoffed, giving you a comical look of offense.
“Yes I am! Come on,”
“No,” he frowned, and he squeezed the underside of your legs to drive the point home. “You’re lighter than a hay bale.”
“I really don’t think that’s possible.”
Dennis narrowed his gaze playfully and slid you onto the kitchen counter, caging you in. You huffed at the relief of being put down and ruffled his hair, to which he shook the mess out like a dog.
“Did you get me an egg roll?”
“You’re not heavy,” he interjected.
“Okay, I’m not heavy.”
“Good. Correct,” he confirmed, and with a tiny glint in his eye, Dennis slid his palms up your legs and sides, caressing the spots where you curved and rolled. The farmboy was quick to trap you in a soft, unassuming kiss, and you melted on the faux marble, coiling around him once again.
Dennis grunted softly as he pressed close to the counter and wrapped his arms around your back, sneaking his fingers under your scrubs. Your mouths worked in tandem as he drew patterns down your spine with one hand and kneaded the pudge of your tummy with the other, making you squirm.
“Just been so stressed,” you mumbled, trailing your kisses down his neck.
“I know, honeybee,” he panted, nipping your ear and pressing you against the cabinets.
“You always make it better,” you confided, tugging sluggishly at his shirt.
“Come here.”
The air settled softly over the room as you two gave into the urge. It wasn’t a tense moment, not even a worked-up one. It was just like letting a breath out. His hands were so welcome on your hot skin as he freed your legs from the chafing prison of those hazmat-issued scrubs. Your mouth was so grateful for the traces of soap on his collarbone as you nibbled and suckled on the meat of his chest, caressing the ridges of the abs that formed in secrecy over the last year of hauling patients and volunteering at the shelters and community farms after hours. It was a simple exchange of love between two people who have been leaning on each other for over a year, and who simply didn’t want to function without their counterpart. The mesh of passion in a quiet little safe place.
Dennis tucked his thumb under the cotton lip of your panties, sinking the pad into the wet heat between your folds. He sought the throbbing nub that required his attention. You choked on a moan as your back straightened out, and you curled your fingers in his hair, breathing the air of his mouth as he began to encircle it.
“I’m sorry you had a bad day,” he murmured, prodding softly at your clit, smearing the mess over your mound.
“You had one, too,” you wheezed.
“Yeah, but I’m not upset,” he purred, giving you a little nip and kitten lick at the juncture of your neck and jaw. His palm adjusted to let his greedy fingers tuck under the cloth, and you grunted as he cupped your cunt. “I hate seeing my girl so drained. You’re too pretty… too smart for that.”
“Dennie,” you moaned.
“Yeah? Right there?” Dennis asked as he sunk two fingers past your entrance, feeling the pulse of your needy walls like a heartbeat around his knuckles. “Oh, baby… you’re so wet, sweetheart.”
“S’all your fault,” you whimpered, grinding gently onto his palm.
Dennis hooked an arm behind your hips to help angle you forward, and he crooked his fingers inside your cunt, grinning as the familiar squelch gargled around the digits. Your face twisted with need, and he began to gently thrust, pressing the heel of his palm to your clit and working out circles.
“That’s it, honeybee, come on– just take what you want,” he cooed, giving you every opportunity to rock against his fingers and use him up. “My little bee, yeah? You like it when I’m sweet.”
“Yeah,” you agreed, breathless and dizzy with pleasure. His hands should be exhausted from all the work he did on those trauma patients, but he made no show of it. The man’s fingers petted your g-spot like it deserved a treat.
“You’re so pretty, baby, did I tell you today?” Dennis whispered, attaching his mouth to your neck. You felt the scrape of his teeth. “So, so pretty.”
“Dennieee,” you begged, feeling the heat building in your gut. The combination of his pressure on your bud and fingers stroking your walls was enough, but the words made it impossible to hold out.
“Gonna cum, honeybee? Yeah? You can, don’t worry, baby. Come for me, let me see your face.”
Dennis always had that tone when you got desperate. Easy, gentle, as if you were a spooked horse. There was no fighting off the butterflies as they flitted happily around your spinning, floating orgasm, making you shiver and twitch as he wrought a crashing wave of pleasure down on your body. You moaned hoarsely and clung to the corded muscle of his arms, bucking into his palm and babbling weak, “Ah, ah, ah…”s.
Dennis smiled against the curve of your neck and pulled his fingers free, sliding them between your lips and exploring the hot slick of your tongue. He watched your pouty lips close around them and suck, and his cock twitched in his pants. “That’s it. Good girl, honey.”
You flushed from the praise, body buzzing and shaking with stimulation. You reached down to cup his erection. Dennis tensed and hooked his fingers over your teeth, biting the inside of his cheek. “Jesus, baby.”
“You need it, too,” you pleaded, gently palming him, watching his cheeks burn and his lips part.
“Fuck,” he moaned, and you tugged the string on the scrub bottoms free so he could shimmy them down.
Dennis was not one to get greedy often, but it was so hard not to let the urge overcome him when you watched him with those bog doe eyes and begged to be fucked. Your legs wobbled like a calf as he dragged you to the edge of the counter and lined himself up, gliding the head of his cock through your folds to coat the pink, hungry skin in the residual slick. The two of you let out a freakish, synced sigh, and he pressed the tip in with impatience. He was met with no resistance– your cunt stretched dutifully for him, and soon enough he was grunting like an animal, pinning your hips to the counter and watching your breasts bounce from the force.
Your knees hitched around his hips as the deep, eager force of his length speared you, and you lolled your head back against the cabinets, clawing at the edge of the counter. “Dennie, baby, please, please…”
“You feel so good, baby,” he whined, thrusting harder, watching the creamy rings start to form around the base of his cock. “Fuck. Such a sweet girl, honeybee, such a good girl!”
“S-so… so…”
He chuckled weakly as you lost your train of thought. He thought you were pretty without fail, but there was something to you when he had you at the mercy of your own pleasure. You seemed to glow, skin shimmering with sweat, all your bountiful curves twisting and turning with marshmallow torque. He gasped hungrily as he dug his nails into the fat of your thighs and moaned, “So fucking beautiful… God, could just squeeze you ‘til you pop.”
The heat wrapping around your womb in vines was pernicious and unrelenting. You licked up a stray droplet of drool from his chin as he pounded into you, and you threaded your fingers into his hair, dragging him into a sloppy, wonderful kiss. Dennis’ lashes mingled with yours as you swirled your tongue past his lips, jolting with every thrust, milking him to his breaking point. The heat between your bodies was overwhelming, and it was so good, so deep–
“Hello? Guys, I’m home–”
The apartment door swung open, and Trinity was ambushed by the sight of Dennis fucking you like a jackrabbit on the kitchen counter, your scrubs pushed up over your tits and his pants at his ankles. The poor girl covered her eyes and swallowed a spontaneous upchuck reflex. “What the actual fuck?!”
Dennis didn’t stop, he only slowed. A mortified expression crossed his face as he begged, “Get out!”
“Yeah, no fucking shit!”
The door slammed, and Trinity could be heard barking and grumbling down the hall. Maybe Garcia had to cancel their plans tonight. Maybe God had planned to embarrass you. It didn’t matter now, though, because Dennis was spurred on by the intrusion, and he pumped into you hard enough to burst. The two of you fell into a messy fit of laughter and lost, climactic whimpers as his hips stuttered and warm, thick ropes clung to your insides.
“Shit,” you wheezed, “She’s gonna kill us.”
“It’s our apartment, too,” he grinned, kissing your chin and resting his heavy forehead in the dip of your shoulder.
“Yeah,” you flushed. “Maybe you should go get her.”
Dennis lifted his head again and slipped two fingers into your mouth, shutting you up with drooping, sated eyes. “Just shut up and stop worrying about everything, honeybee… yeah?”
You could explode all over again. It was that stupid farmer’s voice. All the adrenaline and weight of the day dissipated again as you hummed around his fingers, a tiny “mhm.”
Dennis sighed happily and tugged you close again, feeling his cock jump inside your heat, and he kissed your cheek. “That’s my girl.”
Trinity could wait– he had to make sure you were tended to first. The explanation and the possible rent redaction could be handled later. Preferably clothed.
hi guys i’m working on a clark request i have not forsaken you
heads up though if anyone is a fan of the pitt or bbc merlin i do have blogs for these… am actively writing on my pitt acc and plan to start writing on the merlin one soon too. those will be merthur fics probably but open to x readers. just thought i’d share maybe make a few people happy with like interests!!
summary: mel king can be both possessive and jealous, believe it or not– but only about you.
word count: 2.3k
contains: fluff/suggestive themes. subtle dom!mel, teacher/student dynamic, lots of overthinking, bubbly & intelligent reader. two idiots kissing. trinity and robby and dennis mention. *no use of y/n
a/n: drooling all over my pillow i’m so close ... enjoy anon LOL
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when you came to PTMC, you met a doctor who everyone would have described as sweet, odd, and anything but jealous or possessive. but the truth was, she was both of those things. you came to know...
jealous!mel, who on your first day as a fresh R1 transferred in from mercy upstate, felt a weird tug in her chest when trinity claimed you as her mentee. there was no way you could survive trinity and this hospital alive– hell, you bounced on your shoe soles! you were obviously completely unprepared for the kind of work you’d be doing at PTMC. whatever hospital you completed your ER rotation in certainly wasn’t a trauma center, mel could tell. your pristine white jacket would not last the first hour. she almost wished she could see it get ruined, just to know what you would do. if you would cry, get angry, stomp around… there was a reason nobody wore white coats around this particular department, and you would learn soon enough. as you smiled at her, she felt the tug again. her hands clenched tight.
possessive!mel who snatched up the second best option, some dorky kid named adams with glasses who you seemed to be friendly with– maybe a med school friend, or a past rotation cohort– and dragged him right into a trauma. as she looked over her shoulder, she saw you looking curiously at the room, almost wishing you were a part of it. her gut boiled with the urge to drag you in, too, and she didn’t know why.
jealous!mel who heard, shortly after teaching her shaky-handed kid how to do a crike, that trinity looped you in on your first dislocation, and you managed to order her around on how it needed to be done. she saw your spunky smirk as you walked around the nurse’s station, your jacket still white, with a flustered and aggravated trinity santos trailing behind you. mel liked the idea of someone strong enough to stand up to trinity on a first day– either you were insane, or had balls of steel.
possessive!mel was not meshing with her student and struggled to find a solution. he was nice and all, but he got along so much better with dennis. mel’s stutters and momentary lapses of thought seemed to irritate the student. when she gave orders, he overlooked them. yet when dennis told the kid what to do, he took the advice. maybe adams was a misogynist, or maybe he had a low threshold for neurodivergence, but whatever it was, she passed him off gladly. dennis was a better teacher, anyway.
jealous!mel, now without a student, picked up a head lac in the south wing. the morning rush had yet to pass, so it would keep her busy and hopefully keep robby off her ass for not maintaining a student. but when she turned down the hall, she found you working on an elderly woman with a broken ankle– and trinity over your shoulder. you chewed your lip, seeming stressed, and certainly the micromanagement didn’t help. trinity had a way of repaying debts of embarrassment dealt to her, and you were about to learn the consequences of being a first year. as mel passed, you flashed her a pursed-lip grin, and her heart squeezed. if she was your senior, she would have a much gentler hand. wait, what?
possessive!mel sat quietly and sutured her patient’s forehead, asking only the most basic questions and continuing the repair in silence. in the back of her mind, she saw the swing of your hair. the bubbly way you had greeted the day shift doctors in your blinding coat. you would be hardened by this place, like she had tried to avoid, and the thought left a sour taste in her mouth. trinity certainly wouldn’t help protect you. she was so much like frank, no matter how the girl denied it, and one misstep of yours could easily result in getting screamed at or dismissed for a twenty minute break. on your first day, too. mel felt herself tensing as she watched it play back in her head. she knew what the first day felt like– the trauma, blood, fear, exhaustion. you were so sweet, so pretty, so unscathed, and you needed someone to shelter that, to let you down easy, to teach and guide you, not to yell and throw you headfirst as if choosing to save lives was a joint punishment for everyone involved–
“ow! you’re pokin’ me, doc!” the forehead lac grumbled.
“crap. sorry,” mel mumbled, easing her touch.
jealous!mel finished up with her patient, and the rest of her day flew by in a blur of cases and charts. she felt oddly sick to her stomach. maybe it was the cheap breakfast she ate on the way in.
possessive!mel had watched you butt heads with trinity for nearly a month after that first day. she had shared her interactions with you, at least a few every day. once in a while she was lucky enough to steal you for a case. but trinity held your leash tight, and your patience was growing thin. everyone could see it. almost every shift now, you got into an argument with your senior. whether it was over the right kind of suture or the standard of care, or even the patient’s wishes in a few specific moments, trinity just did not understand you. the way you wanted to treat patients based on your knowledge and experience seemed to threaten her, and so she exploded on you again and again, demanding compliance and swearing on potential writeups. more than once mel had to step in and come to your aid or get robby involved. every time she saw your cheeks pink up with the humiliation of being berated, her blood burned hot. she would never scream at you like that– nobody should ever scream at you like that.
jealous!mel watched as you, always the bigger person (in times she almost wished you weren't), reconciled the issue. you and trinity holed up in the lounge for a half hour until you emerged with a drained smile and trinity with tear-stained cheeks. you two high-fived and split off in opposite directions. you still wore your white coat, but you had on scrubs underneath. something trinity had suggested– change without abandonment of the self. you already looked heavier with the weight of this place. mel hated it. she found herself following you to the ambulance bay without an ounce of good judgement.
“are you okay?”
“huh? oh, dr. king. yes, i’m fine… um, just a… rough start.” you rocked on your feet. you did that a lot, she noticed.
“you can call me mel. you know that.”
“right. sorry.”
“don’t be. so, what happened in there? with santos?” mel asked, leaning against the stony pillar of the bay.
“i-i told her that i think we work best as colleagues. and that i would talk to robby about a new mentor.”
“a new mentor… wow.”
“yeah.”
“you know, i don’t have a med student,” mel blurted.
“right! adams gave you a hard time, didn’t he?” you chuckled. she could see the tips of your teeth. they were adorably round. “he’s a tough one to crack.”
“yeah… but, um, if you’re– if you’re looking, y’know, i… i could…”
“are you saying you want to mentor me?” you stepped closer, tucking your hands into white pockets.
“well… who wouldn’t?”
you flushed a bit and smiled at your shoes. “i think that would be great. i think we would get along much better.”
“i do, too,” mel smiled, tugging on her braid, heart pounding. “come on. i’ve got a patient you can help me with.”
possessive!mel, after that fateful day, did not let go of her grip on you. and you were right– you two did get along. really, really, really well. like, never arguing well. a well-oiled machine in every trauma well. charting on time, bedside manner in check, lab retrievals speedy, breaks taken, food eaten, shifts ended in a mannerly fashion well. mel had personally ensured that you were the least overworked individual in the emergency department. your white coat lasted with bleach pens, and by the time your third month of your residency rolled around, you got an upgrade— an embroidered patch with your name on it, not some lousy metal nametag, from mel. it was the first time you ever hugged her. mel could still smell your shampoo.
jealous!mel hated when other doctors stole you. sometimes robby or abbot would drag you away for an incoming trauma, or langdon might sweep you up in a random teaching case. you got along so well with everyone, even trinity, and with your prodigious talents as a young doctor, it seemed people took you whenever they had the chance. without you by her side, mel felt unmoored. working without you was twice as hard. you made her better, more aware. you smelled like laundry. you ate sour gum and you made old people laugh and young kids smile. mel didn’t have the people skills in her whole being that you housed inside one pinky, let alone possessing your prowess as a caregiver. you were her best thing, and everyone wanted to take that from her, it seemed. she was getting restless.
possessive!mel started doing unusual things like walking you to your car and bringing you coffee. she fixed your coat when it rode up or slid down. she leaned against walls when you spoke, crossing her arms over her chest, because she liked the way it made you stammer. she pulled your hair back into clips mid-trauma when you didn’t have the hands, even when it drew attention. she even went so far as to buy your lunches and invite you to her and trinity’s karaoke nights. if the other ER doctors were going to whisk you away during shifts, she would steal your every spare moment. and you let her. she could see the blood pumping beneath your skin when she got close, when she gave an order, when she wrapped a hand around your waist to save you from a rushing gurney on the way to take you out. she could tell that you didn’t want to be pulled from her grasp. mel was growing entirely enamored and invested, and she couldn’t hold out much longer like this. she ate, slept, and breathed you in that stupid white coat. she wished it said her name and not yours.
jealous!mel saw you talking to dennis one day months into your residency. he was making you laugh so much that your ears turned rosy, and even though it was mid-shift and she definitely needed to eat instead of flying off the handle, she barged across the department and seized your arm, yanking you away and toward the lockers. crowding you up against the wall as a few nurses passed and averted their smirking gazes, she straightened out your coat.
“is he funnier than me?”
“no, mel,” you panted, eyes soaking up her soft skin and lips so close to your own. “we were just talking.”
“good. because you’re my student,”
“i’m your student,” you repeated.
“my student to teach, a-and help, and…”
“i’m yours, mel, yeah?” you flushed, chewing your cheek. she had your wrists pinned to the wall, and with her so near, your heart threatened to stop. “and you’re my teacher. my senior. i only want to learn from you.”
“only from me,” she repeated, pressing her forehead to yours.
your eyes fluttered shut. “i only want you.”
mel shuddered and dropped your wrists, only to cup your cheeks and drag you into a kiss. in broad daylight where anybody– robby, trinity– could see. her lips carried that medicinal taste of the black-label chapstick, and you whimpered with relief as you dove in, tangling your tongue with hers, feeling her braid in your hand, brushing your fingertips over her neck and her back.
“mm– all mine,” she purred, “only i get you, get to teach you, keep you–”
“yes, baby– mel– just you! just you.”
possessive!mel revealed a new side of herself after you got her in trouble for kissing on shift. robby stumbled across you both and demanded an answer, to which you quickly interjected about no improper power dynamics and being willing to tell HR and swearing it wouldn’t impact your job, and mel stood back and grinned, wolfish and infatuated. he seemed to care very little– in fact, he might have even been happy to not deal with mel’s moodiness any longer. from then on, she was happy. peaceful at work, eating better, sleeping more, and kissing you around every corner. thinking about your soft skin beneath those scrubs, and remembering what it looked like when she last shoved that coat away from your thighs to spread them– and other things. she fought harder and she worked with passion. nobody had seen mel with such light since she first came to PTMC, and it was all because of you.
your!mel loved you more than anything. you made her a better doctor, and she made you happy. you knew it the day you came to PTMC and saw her meek eyes and soft smile that you wanted her to be your mentor, and while the road to your wish was bumpy, it reached its destination. now, you had a hot teacher and a girlfriend who fell to her knees for just your attention, and you had your dream job. really, there wasn’t much more you could ask for– well, aside from a longer break to properly shove mel against the supply closet wall.
contains: fluff. reader takes care/babies mel. hair washing & brushing, lots of kissing, lots of mushy sappy talking and declarations of love. mel is clingy and obsessed. *no use of y/n
a/n: fucking give her to me right now now now. enjoy anon
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When Mel walked in the door, your heart broke a little. Her glasses were askew. Do you know how bad a day would have to be for Dr. Melissa King not to notice her glasses weren’t aligned?
The blonde sighed deeply and slumped against the door, dropping her bag in the foyer. The clock over the doorway ticked past the midnight mark. You rose from the couch, adjusting your ridden-up sleep shorts, and stalked towards her quietly, plucking her glasses from the bridge of her nose. You smiled softly and rubbed her temples, humming a careful, “Hi, Melly.”
Mel’s crystalline eyes fluttered open and you watched the stress slowly deflate from her muscles, the girl’s gaze softening within seconds. She mustered up a little grin and leaned into your touch. “Hi.”
“Bad day?”
“Bad, long, tiring, stressful. Every negative word.”
You cooed softly and reached behind her to tug the tie from her braid, hoping that loosening the hair wouldn't tug so hard on her pretty brain. Mel stepped off the door and cupped your cheeks, pressing her lips to yours without warning. You flushed a bit, furrowing your brow in concentration, and you let her take the comfort. She kissed you– well, eagerly wouldn't be the right word to use– something more like determined. Determined to experience one good thing, one thing she had control over, one thing that didn’t ask too much of her. Her mouth still tasted like gum, and she still smelled like body wash, just with a little tinge of sweat. Still prim and proper. Still Mel.
When she pulled away, she pressed her forehead against yours. “I really missed you today.”
You frowned, chest squeezing. “I missed you too, baby.”
“Sometimes I wish I could just keep you at work. So I could have you nearby.”
“Like a stress toy?” You giggled.
Mel smiled at you and squeezed your hips, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Yeah, like a stress toy. Makes sense. You bring my cortisol down.”
“Well, I’m happy to be so useful,” you murmured, leaving little pecks along her jaw. “I made you dinner. Are you hungry?”
“A little. Gotta shower first.”
“I can help,” you offered, and when she gave you a cheeky little look, you blushed and added, “I meant that in a serious way.”
“You want to help me shower? Like, wash my hair?”
You nodded softly, walking her away from the wall. You grinned as she stumbled on her feet, and you waddled backwards, never looking away. “Sure. I’m good at it. I’ll wash it, brush it, feed you dinner…”
“Why?” Mel asked as you wrenched the bathroom door open.
You finally let go of your grip on her hands to turn the shower on, and you took one more look at her sleepy eyes and run-down frame. She looked so small sometimes, and it made part of you hate that hospital, that ridiculous emergency department that kept her too long and let her go without care. You knew she loved the job, and you knew the doctors meant well. It was just an impossible profession. You admired what she was willing to put herself through, even when you didn’t like it.
“I just want to take care of you, that’s all.”
Mel leaned against the sink and drew you back in, looping her arms around your waist. She tucked her face into your neck, smelling the leftover notes of your lotion and breathing softly. “You’re really good at it.”
“I know,” you stamped a kiss on her temple. Then, you curled your fingers under the hem of her scrubs. “Can I?”
Mel nodded and raised her arms, and you pulled her scrub top and undershirt off with ease. You let her step out of her own pants while you stripped down, and by the time you were ready, the water was hot. The two of you climbed into the steaming shower and you watched Mel melt under the warmth of the spray.
You took a few minutes to work the suds of the shampoo through Mel’s hair. She smiled a little when you scratched the nape of her neck with your nails, almost like she was a dog. She just stood there, silent and grateful, as you washed her golden locks and conditioned them, passed the soap over her milky skin, kissed a few freckles here and there. Mel lost track of time as your hands touched her with intention, making sure to press out the knots forming in her back and to get all the product from her hair. You hummed quietly to yourself, some song she didn’t recognize but loved anyway, and when you turned the water off, she frowned.
“What?”
“Over already?” Mel pouted.
You laughed softly and tugged the curtain open, stepping out to grab her a towel. “What, did you think I’d get tempted and keep you in there?”
The doctor shrugged sheepishly, stealing a glimpse of your supple frame before you cruelly wrapped it up in a towel.
You only rolled your eyes. “Later, if you’re not too tired. You need to eat first.”
Mel huffed in fake petulance and trotted behind as you walked down the hall to the bedroom. There were fresh pajamas on the bed– something you always did when Mel wasn’t home at the time she was supposed to be. Her heart thumped as she dressed in them, and she admired the way you brushed your hair from the corner of her eye. After a moment, she crawled onto the bed behind you. “Let me do that.”
You snatched the brush back with a grin. “Nope.”
“C’mon,”
“No. I’m done anyway. Turn around.”
Mel grumbled but did as she was told, sitting on the mattress with her back to you. She felt your fingers in her hair once again, gathering it in a thick rope and beginning to pass the brush through it.
“Do you want to tell me about your day?” You inquired, studying the sheen of the darker pieces lacing her natural color.
Mel yawned, a bit lulled by your monotonous strokes, and shrugged again. “We had nearly fifteen traumas. There was a pile up on the highway. Another few were freak injuries. And then the computers went down again because admin refuses to replace them, and so all the charting on our tablets wasn’t uploading, and it took us hours after our shift to collect the files from the cloud base and download them into the system… and I forgot my lunch this morning. The soda machine broke. My socks kept slipping down and now I have blisters on my ankles from my sneakers. Just stupid, inconvenient stuff, over and over again.”
You listened as she complained, heart tugging with sympathy. “Jeez… it really just piled on, huh? Did you ever eat?”
“No,” Mel shook her head, “I never got a second.”
You frowned and let her combed hair fall down her back, wrapping your arms around her shoulders. “I’m sorry you had such a rough day, Melly.”
“It’s okay. It wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle,” she promised. “You made dinner, you said?”
“Mhm. Ziti. I’ll warm it up.”
Mel peeked over her shoulder at you. “Thank you.”
“Mhm,” you purred, leaning in to kiss her once more before clambering off the bed and disappearing through the doorway.
Mel sat for a moment in the quiet of the room, rubbing her eyes and gathering her hair into a wet braid. She could still smell your skin, and she heard your footsteps in the apartment like a comforting ghost. You were always home when she needed you. Always there to take the reins when she’d been holding them too long. Sometimes she would think back to when she still lived with Becca, before the care home and before Becca moved in with Adam, and how there was no passenger seat for her in life. All there seemed to be was coming home to be another caretaker. It wasn't that she didn't love it, but the undeniable toll of never getting a break had nearly destroyed her. It was only when she met you that she realized it was okay to let people in. That maybe they could help, and that passing on responsibility was not necessarily a burden. At least, you never made her think so. You just cooked and smiled and kissed her with all the love in your body. She was so grateful that she couldn’t find it in her to contain it the same way she could keep everything else under wraps.
Mel’s body buzzed with relief and exhaustion, hunger and need, and so she rose and padded into the kitchen where you stood before the microwave with a spoon in your mouth. Ice cream for you while her dinner heated. Mel quietly spun you around and pulled the spoon from your mouth, and she watched your lips curl like it was a movie frame.
“I love you,” she whispered.
Your throat clenched, and you pressed her nose like a button. “I love you too.”
“A lot.”
“How much?” You cocked your head, seeing how her eyes gleamed. Every now and again, Mel got overwhelmingly affectionate, and you would press it out of her like a grape. You adored it.
“So much,” she cooed, kissing your jaw, your neck, combing through your wet hair with her fingers.
Butterflies rushed you like a wave, making you turn rosy and lean into her nudges. “Use more words,” you joked, breathless and swooning.
“Sometimes I feel like I could explode,” Mel mumbled.
You laughed softly and jumped when the microwave rudely interrupted. Mel swatted at you when you attempted to turn and get her food. “You need to eat!”
“Kiss me again,” she whined.
You chuckled with weak exasperation and grabbed her face, trapping her in a deep kiss, feeling her jaw mold instantly to take all you gave her. She tasted the hint of mint on your tongue from the ice cream, and it made her entirely starving, but not for the plate in the microwave. When you pulled away, she pawed at you.
“I mean it, Mel, you have to eat,” you urged, wriggling free and grabbing her dinner. You led her over to the couch like she wore a leash, and she crawled up next to you, taking the food dutifully.
You clung to the fork and she stared at you, hand open. “Gimme.”
“I was gonna do it,” you said.
“Feed me? I thought you were kidding.”
“Just one bite.”
Mel glanced away, suddenly a bit shy from all the care, but she opened her mouth without another word. You speared some and held it up to her lips, depositing the cheesy bite, and she grunted in approval. She loved your cooking, and for the moment, she put aside her other itch to eat.
You passed the fork over and watched her, twirling the end of her braid around your finger while flipping through television channels for something boring. You landed on the History Channel, which was running some documentary on medieval castles– you knew she would want to see that, the little dork, so you left it on. Mel gave in and polished off her dinner, and she leaned against you, finally full and satisfied.
“You should get some rest,” you advised as you took her dish and slid it onto the coffee table. You’d clean it later.
“I want to see you a little longer.”
“I’m right here.”
“I know,” she smiled, draping herself over you.
Your stomach fluttered, and you collected her into your arms and laid a bit more comfortably on the couch. It would only be minutes before she passed out, you could tell; it was in her drooping eyes and deep breaths. So, you kissed her forehead and settled in, keeping the remote handy to change the channel when she drifted off.
“I have to set an alarm,” Mel slurred.
“I already did, baby,” you whispered, petting her head. “Just close your eyes. I’ll get us to bed in a bit.”
“You’re like an angel,” she teased, and you laughed.
“I do what I can.”
“I love you,”
“You already said that.”
“I know.”
The two of you laid for a while, Mel slowly succumbing to the weight of sleep, and you watched her lashes wink shut. When she rested, all that distress melted away, and you could see the girl that loved you, and the girl who cared for her patients. Just a warm, knowing face. Beautiful and unafraid.
You let her doze off on top of you, hoping that tomorrow would be better– and even if it wasn’t, you’d still be home, and you would take care of her all over again. For her, you would do it every day for the rest of your life.
summary: frank comes home to his girl, despite the world’s hurdles.
word count: 3.0k
contains: fluff & smut. softdom!frank, tired reader. frank is just frank (no divorce/kids/drug problem) i was too tired to make it complicated… *piv/riding, body worship, praise/slight condescension, slight overstim if you squint, teasing bc frank’s a little shit. *no use of y/n
a/n: i love him and i am as exhausted as reader so if this sucks, blame… me… enjoy my special anon this ones for you !
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Frank felt like he was dying. He was ready to surrender his entire career and degree and soul for the opportunity to get home right now. Home was where you were, meanwhile the hospital was coming off a major trauma that chained him to the emergency department for four hours past his shift. He loved his job, but Christ, it was hard to have a life.
He texted you around seven (when he should have been leaving) with the bad news. You only sent a frowny face and a little Okay be careful!, but between the characters he could envision you sitting in the apartment, eating a dinner you made to share all alone, watching the television in silence. He could see you spending the night by yourself when he should be wrapped around you, and it was driving him insane.
It was his Friday, too, which was the worst part. Frank had finagled getting Sundays and Mondays off so that he could always have his Saturday nights and Sunday mornings with you. Your job at UPitt across town afforded you a realistic schedule and ample time to live a full life, which he would never experience with his work, but at least you had the weekends to be alone together. He was lucky that you actually needed your solitary time, or else you never would have stuck around so long. Sometimes he still felt there was a shoe waiting to drop, but on most fronts, it seemed like you were just perfect in a way he wasn’t prepared for. He wanted to sink his claws in and never let go.
That was why when Robby finally gave him the go-ahead to clock out, Frank nearly tripped over himself to reach the lockers and tear his scrubs off. He then stumbled over a rock in the parking garage because he was too worried about reaching the car, not looking where he was going. He hit the speed bump to get out of the garage with a bit too much force. All in all, Frank was a lucky guy for not breaking anything or getting pulled over, and he just wanted to get back before you were asleep and he lost the nerve to rouse you.
In the apartment, you were half-asleep on Frank’s couch, snuggled underneath a Spiderman blanket that your boyfriend definitely owned longer than he said he did. The fibers were worn flat and thin; something told you this was a high school relic at least. The History Channel was replaying some Ancient Aliens episode with the grainy texture of 2010 fuzzing the screen, and the mind-numbing buzz was lulling you into oblivion. Part of you was still waiting up on him, because it had been a busy week for you both and you missed him terribly, but the sleepy warmth of his cologne-smothered pillows was starting to tug you under…
Frank barged through the front door to find you curled like a plush kitten on his sofa, perking your messy head up. His stress melted with his next intake of breath, and he dropped everything at the door– bag, coat, shoes– to pad over. You were still awake. That was all he cared about.
You let out a tiny grunt as the doctor flung himself on top of you, burrowing under your arms and tucking himself against your chest like a hugging pillow. Chuckling softly, you squeezed him and nudged his chin up, pressing a long overdue kiss to his lips. He must have chewed gum on the way home, because his tongue made yours tingle.
“Baby,” he sighed, body collapsing with relief. “Fuck, I missed you.”
“Missed you too, Frankie,” you hummed, remembering the ridges in his lips.
Frank cradled you close, smushing his nose into your cheek. “I’m so sorry. There was this–”
“Some kitchen fire in a food hall, right?” You nuzzled him back. “Saw it on the news. Said nine victims with serious burns… bunch more with minor injuries.”
Frank grumbled in affirmation and snuck a hand under the back of your shirt, feeling your toasty skin. “Mm. Nasty burns. Took a long time.”
“You were saving lives,” you smiled, tipping his head back so you could look at him properly. “In the book of boyfriend excuses, s’one I can’t argue with.”
Frank grinned, canines peeking past his pink mouth, and he trapped you in another kiss, drawing the breath straight from your lungs. You shifted gently beneath him, unable to ignore how easily he made mush of you. It was hard not to feel something when he had that sweet antiseptic scent all over his clothes.
Frank felt the movement and laughed against your mouth, smoothing his palms down your soft sides. All your curves and bounds, all that soft skin, it stoked a flame inside him that burned red hot. “You were about to fall asleep a second ago, weren’t you?”
“So? Missed you,” you mumbled, legs tangling with his.
“You already said that.”
“Your point?”
Frank’s gut churned with heat. You looked like a gorgeous mess, all frizzy-haired in your sweats. He constructed this exact image of you when work dragged too long, just to get him through the day, so he could have the rewarding and real thing at night. Beneath him, right now, you were the exact cure for his overworked heart, just like you always were. And you seemed unable to resist him in the same way. It was a good match, he thought.
A soft yelp escaped you as Frank pulled you free from the prison of blankets and pillows only to crash into the leather again, this time anchoring you atop him. You settled over his hips and giggled, bracing your arms on the couch rest.
“Well, now I’m awake.”
“Good, because I’m dying here.”
“Dying, huh?”
Frank leaned up to kiss your neck, which had you wilting like candle wax. “Dying.”
You slumped into his arms, feeling blood boiling under your skin as he worked his way down your collarbones and chest. The slight fog of sleep made it quite easy to care little about the steps and rules, so you shoved your hands under his shirt and felt around, mapping the skin, eyes fluttering shut.
Frank’s stomach clenched and he nipped the soft skin of your breast through your shirt. “You up for it?”
“Mhm,” you sighed, “anything y’want.”
“That’s generous,” the doctor teased, tugging you down until your body was flush with his. His glinting eyes caught the moon like jewels.
“Well, I gotta make up for eating your dinner.”
“I have a suggestion,” Frank purred, tugging at your sweatpants.
You shivered and lifted your hips, giving him a hand. “Don’t you wanna go to the room?”
“Couch is fine. Shush.”
His nimble fingers tossed your sweats on the floor. When he got a view of the black panties cutting into the meat of your hips and thighs, he let out a tiny grunt. You chuckled at the animalistic sound and watched his palms knead the soft sides of your legs where faint plum marks stretched over your skin. Your lids drooped a bit at the soothing feeling, and Frank’s eyes glinted.
“How would you feel about being on top?”
Lashes fluttering open, you gave a shy smile. “Is that what you want?”
“Mhm. If you can handle it.”
“Can handle it,” you frowned, feigning offense.
“Well, you seem pretty tired, sweetheart.”
“Take your pants off,” you ordered, crossing your arms.
Frank smirked. “You’ll have to get up first.”
Emitting a soft grumble, you perched yourself on your knees and helped him unzip his jeans and shimmy them down. There was a growing pain in his boxers, and you grinned at him, wiggling your eyebrows.
“You act like we’eve never done this before,” he laughed.
“It’s not my fault I’m easily excited,” you teased, and then you leant down to kiss him again.
At the feel of his lips against yours, the slither of his tongue, the heat of his breath, you sunk into that deep frequency that only Frank could crank you to. He had this way, just by being near, of shutting your mind down. He always tasted good, always smelled good. He touched you like you had travelled a thousand years to be with him. What’s more, he looked at you like he’d travelled a thousand years to be with you. As if this were an apartment just beyond the isle of Avalon, and you were the once and future girlfriend he’d waited centuries for. Frank was a vessel made for your love and attention that barged into your university library, begging for a study that the school would take too long to loan to PTMC through the interlibrary net, and you never relinquished your grip on him since. He seemed to leave you as breathless and wanting as that very first time you ever laid eyes on him.
That frequency buzzed low and warm in your belly as you rocked your hips against his twitching bulge, feeling already the slick slip of your own skin between your legs. All you needed was a few seconds on him and suddenly you were halfway to gushing.
“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, lips parting to flash those fangs again. “You weren’t kidding about missing me.”
“Mm-mm,” you panted, grinding your hips slow and long, feeling the drag of cotton on cotton.
“Need me that bad?”
“Yeah,” you whined, hiding your face in his neck.
Frank’s chest squeezed at the sight of his girl waxing needy in a matter of minutes. You usually got this way when you were tired– hungry for it but struggling to think it all through. It was one of his favorite ways to have you.
The doctor trailed his hands down your back until he could cup them over the cushion of your ass, squeezing softly and helping you rock. The heat of your clothed cunt was a pleasant sting which winked his eyes shut.
“Oh, sweetheart… need my help?”
“I can do it,” you swore, but the slow lathe of your mouth against the crook of his neck suggested otherwise.
“You sure? You don’t want me to guide you down… help you rock… get you there…?”
His words send hot spiders up your spine in a line, tiny little pricks of skittering heat. There was no denying him when he took that tone– soft, deep, condescending. You flushed and nodded.
“That’s better,” he purred, nipping your earlobe. “Good girl.”
In a decisive motion, Frank tugged your panties to the side. There was no getting them off without making you move, and he refused to do that when you were arched so nice for him like this, hips back and face pressed close. There was a cautious prod between your folds, and suddenly the familiar press of his cock head greeted you. A soft moan slipped through your teeth and stuck to his skin as he dragged himself up and down your entrance, collecting the arousal and smearing it like paint.
“Good lord, honey… what, did you have a wet dream or something?”
“No,” you lifted up, anchoring your hands on the arm of the couch and rubbing a flushed cheek against your shoulder.
Frank huffed out a knowing chuckle. “I just do that to you, is that it? Fuck, you’re a nightmare.”
You whined softly as the slit of his cock notched your clit, and he watched your expression twist as he nudged it again and again. Your knuckles turned white as you gripped the couch and hung your head. While dropping a hand to brush his hair back, you whispered, “Can I ride you now?”
“Can you?”
“Don’t tease, m’too tired.”
“All I wanted were some manners,” Frank jutted his chin.
You gave a frustrated smile and poked the dimple of his chin with your finger. “May I ride you?”
“Much better,” he purred, and you couldn’t deny how the praise softened you.
You lifted your hips a bit, wrapping a gentle hand around his cock, and slowly eased yourself down. As he sunk past the hot muscle, you felt like collapsing again. It felt good to be teased and touched, but having something inside was a whole new beast every time. Maybe it was just what your body liked, but the stretch of him struck a hardwire in your head.
Frank anchored your hips with his hands and helped you slide all the way down, tucking his length as deep as it could go. The corrugated texture of your cunt sucked him in, making his chest squeeze with pleasure. When you laid over his chest again and spread your fingers through his hair, he cradled you close and grinned to himself, twitching slightly as you settled.
“Good girl, you can take it, I’ve got you,” he murmured into your hair. “Can you move for me?”
You shivered as you gently lifted up and sunk down again, feeling the hot drag. It made your muscles contract all over. A tandem groan escaped you both, and before you knew it Frank had his hands back on your ass, coaxing you up and down.
“Fuck, there it is. Just like that. Feel it? Is that good, baby?”
Your head reeled as he guided you through the motions. The sloppy noises of his skin on yours were making you dizzy. You could feel your arousal stringing like spit, wetting his thighs, probably soaking the curly hairs on his creamy skin. You didn’t bother to lift your head and glance down. You had all you needed behind your shut eyes.
At the base of his spine, a growing pulse started to drive Frank up the wall. You were listening, executing everything he had you doing, but it wasn’t enough; his cock was throbbing inside you, finally home in the pink heat of your folds, and he wanted so badly to drive deeper, maybe make you cry. You were a big crier, and he utterly adored it. You were so tired that it felt a bit cruel, but it seemed things always happened this way– soft and slow was your jam until you got close, and then you were begging for more. By the way you were clenching and fluttering, he knew the request was at the tip of your tongue.
“Can you take a little more for me, sweetheart?”
Against his neck, you slurred, “Yeah, Frankie, please…”
That was all he needed.
Frank began bucking his hips into your heat, grunting weakly at the undeniable drip he felt spilling from you now. Your walls seemed to welcome him, widening and squeezing out of memory. His cock bullied deeper, faster, harder, until he registered the sting of your nails on the nape of his neck and your moans.
“Ah, ah… ah… mmf… that’s… oh!”
“Good girl, let it out, let me hear you.”
Frank’s chest pounded as you blabbered soft and empty exclamations, hips bouncing with his every thrust. You looked so pretty like this, disguising getting fucked as riding, as if you were working for it. You never did a thing when it came to sex. And why should you? Why would Frank make you work a day in your life when you should be getting bent over, thrown down, fucked into every surface possible? Why would he make it about him when you so beautifully received praise, preened at his tone, were so gorgeous when he talked you into an orgasm? Why would he make you wait when his every wish was to sink deeper into you and show you just how much he loved and craved you? He’d be an idiot to do something that vapid. Honestly, any man who made his girl work for sex was a monster. You were not a thing to be rewarded, you were a treasure he would strive all his life to deserve. This moment was just one of many opportunities to prove to you that he was worthy of all that body and mind and heart.
You, on the other hand, were not thinking nearly as intelligible thoughts. All you could think was Fuck, good, that’s good, right there, Frank, Frank Frank… and that was all you said, too. You said it over and over again until the heat became a blaze, and that usual bubble threatened to burst in your tummy.
“M’close, Frank, think I might–”
“Yeah? Come on, cum for me, sweetheart," he purred, fingers digging into your thighs, pumping himself hard enough to make his eyes flutter. In a last ditch effort to see your big eyes well up, he slipped a thumb over your clit and played with his favorite button. “Show me how good you are, show me, baby. Make a mess like you always do, good girl…”
Your body couldn’t take it. You were already exhausted, and Frank had you half suspended in dreamland as you trembled. With shaking thighs, you put all your weight on him and cried sweetly on his skin as he fucked you through the violent wave of release that numbed your limbs. He kept going, knocking at the spongy spot between your hips and circling your bud until he reached the edge, spilling into you with a strangled whine. His nails clawed at your lower back as you sniffled back dumb tears, trying to catch your breath and failing.
The haze behind his eyes began to clear as he emptied himself inside your cunt, and when he felt the sticky tears on his collarbone, he retracted his claws to pet your head and stroke your back, wiping your arousal off and whispering gently against your temple.
“Shh… good girl… felt that good, huh? You a little overwhelmed?”
“M-mhm…”
His susurrations blurred the line between boyfriend and doctor once again, and that caretaking feeling settled your short breathing. As you toyed with the ends of his hair, your heavy eyes sealed shut and you slumped against him, keeping his cock nice and warm inside your cunt.
“There she is, that’s my girl,” Frank shushed. “Been waiting for that all day. Did so good, sweetheart.”
“Missed you,” you mumbled, still buzzing and twitching from the stimulation.
Frank laughed softly. You could feel it ping-ponging inside his chest. “That’s the third time, y'know. It’s almost like you missed me or something.”
“Shut up.”
“Be nice,”
“Shut up, please,” you grumbled, pressing the outline of a spent smile into his jaw.
contains: fluff & slight suggestive themes. strangers to lovers, uhaul lesbians down bad <3 humor, awkwardness, teasing, flirting, yearning. book talk. mel drinks coffee. pitt staff mentions & interactions. mushy romance. *no use of y/n
a/n: this one took me a while i was very invested… i hope it accomplishes the vision, anon!!!
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It wasn't unusual for pretty people to come into the library. Pittsburgh is a big place, there are beautiful people bound to be out and about. You just didn’t expect to see someone like her.
You knew she was a doctor because of a few screaming hints: her black scrub pants, her issued hoodie with a yellow and blatant Pittsburgh Medical Trauma Center print, and the badge reel hanging on her hip with a bright green stripe that read DOCTOR. If you knew anything about information literacy, these three details could only lead to one conclusion.
The girl was a very pretty doctor. Much too pretty to be working in a monstrous state hospital where she likely lost hair ties frequently and stained her creamy skin with blood. As her blonde head of hair bobbed through the sliding doors and towards the counter, your brain ran through about four different scenarios in which you could get hurt and trap her into saving you, each of them consistent with necessary mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.
You blinked when she reached the desk, shifting weight between her left and right foot, and you were unsure as to what you might begin with. You, of course, had to welcome her in and ask if she needed help. But your tongue felt like cotton. Was that medically qualifying?
The beautiful doctor smiled tightly, like she had to remind herself of the expression’s importance, and she said, “You guys are still open, right?” The timbre of her voice was smooth and deep. Like a saxophone. Or Superwoman.
“Yes! Why?” You spat out, brain catching up with mouth.
The doctor glanced around and smiled. “It seems pretty dead. But the sign was still on.”
You hummed eagerly and leaned on the counter, hand wrapped around the book scanner for emotional support. “Oh, yeah. Well, we don’t get a lot of latecomers, but we close at eleven. You’re just in time.”
The doctor nodded curtly and tucked a rogue lock of golden hair behind her ear. They were incredibly round ears, ones you could picture in a Disney movie. She was pretty enough to have walked right off the animated set of Tangled. You felt yourself revving up to blabber, and a nervous rhythm began to thump inside your chest.
“Well, welcome in! Can I give you a hand with anything tonight?”
She scratched her temple and shrugged. “Yeah, actually, um… I was hoping to set myself up with a library card?”
Your ears perked up. A card. A card indicated there would be multiple visits. Books to find, books to touch, books to put in her long-fingered, wide-palmed hands, hands that looked like they could slot nicely with yours, fingers that looked like they could notch nicely in places not work-appropriate. “Absolutely! I can get it done right now. It’s easy.”
“Cool,” she smiled wide, and her teeth broke through this time. White and round as a rabbit’s. Christ, there was no winning.
“Um, yeah, so…” You blinked, trying to remember what you needed to start a library account. This was literally the most basic and common routine you did every day. You needed… shit… “Oh! Sorry. Right. Your license. Could I just peek at your license? For, like, identification purposes.”
“Oh, sure.”
The doctor dug into her pocket, the same pocket her hospital badges were clipped to. Your gaze flickered down to see a whitewashed photograph of her with a neat braid and glasses– she looked the same now, without the braid, and much more tired– and in black letters, you made out the name. Melissa King. Her name was Melissa King. Doctor Melissa King from Pittsburgh Trauma, one of the largest trauma centers in the country, only a few blocks up the road. You heard the sirens all day long. She likely took people out of those ambulances with those sirens. Saved their lives. And she wanted a library card from you at 10:30 p.m.
You took the little slab of plastic and smiled at her, reading the name you already memorized. “It’s nice to meet you, Dr. King.”
“How did you– oh. Right,” Melissa grinned down at her appearance. “I sort of scream it, don’t I?”
“A little. Just wait here, I’ll be right back.”
Melissa crossed her arms and leaned against the desk as you scampered away to the card copier along the back wall. All day you pressed these buttons and spat out cards for newcomers who would show up once or twice and then forget they had an overdue book and never return. You hoped to God she wasn’t one of those people.
You punched the right sequence to assign her a fresh card with its own number, Melissa’s number, on the back. This number could follow her around the entire county. She could go to other libraries if she wanted and return the books to you. Wouldn’t that be fun?
You could print either a white card with a black logo, or a black with a yellow, and seeing as her work garb was running with the yellow motif, you picked the coordinating choice. A little square came hot off the press and you retrieved it, turning back to the counter. You slid her license back to her and plucked a Sharpie from the pen cup, scribbling her name on the special line.
“So, do you like being a doctor?” You regretted trying to make small talk the second you said it, but it just popped out.
“Yeah, I do. It’s great, y’know, doing something important every day.”
Her sincere answer made your heart flutter. “I can only imagine.”
“I mean, you do something important every day, too.”
You lifted your head as you capped the marker and laughed. “Like what?”
“I don’t know, like… protecting literacy. Giving kids a place to have imaginations. Giving adults a place to remember they had one once.”
Melissa crossed her arms and tilted her head, offering you a twinkling look that made you grateful the counter was there for purchase. “I wouldn’t say I do all that.”
“Libraries are important. That’s why I’m getting a card.”
“Usually people get cards because they don’t want to buy books.”
“That, too,” she teased.
You giggled awkwardly and passed her the card, flipping it over to show her the barcode on the back. “Just show this when you check books out. The library has a cap on five books at a time, and they’re due back three weeks from the day you took them. You can call or come in if you need a renewal. You also have free access to all kinds of stuff here with it, like we have study rooms and a recording studio, and we have a huge movie and audiobook section, and there’s CDs and cassettes and–”
“You seriously have all that?”
“Mhm,” you smiled, “and we do a lot of community events, if you’ve got family or friends, a boyfriend you like to take out.”
Melissa’s cheeks pinked as she scrunched her nose. “No, no boyfriend. Not my type. A sister, though. Although, she’s been busy with her boyfriend as of late… really busy… and I work so much I bet I wouldn’t ever have time to make it, I’ll probably mostly be coming by at night, so– well– you didn’t need to know all that, actually.”
A warmer laugh erupted inside you, and all you could think was how absolutely sweet she seemed. And no boyfriend. No boyfriend was good. Not her type. “It’s okay. A lot of people like to talk to us.”
“Us as in librarians?”
“Sure. I guess we have friendly faces.”
“You do,” Melissa said, and then seemed to realize what she said, and swallowed thickly.
You shared in her nerves and tapped your nails on the counter. “Well, um, was– was there anything else?”
“Huh? Oh, no! Just the card. I should get home, anyway. You gotta close up, I think.”
Your eyes darted to the clock above the door, and sure enough, it was ten to close. Being the only librarian on staff at night was great until you had to clean everything by your lonesome. “Ah! Yeah. I do. Okay.”
“Thanks for your help,” Melissa tucked the card into her wallet and flipped it shut. “Are you usually here at night?”
“Yeah. I’m the resident owl.”
“I bet I’ll see you soon, then?” she offered, her voice upturning with hope.
“I’ll be here,” you gushed, unable to help yourself. You felt like gummy worms were crawling inside your stomach.
“Cool. Goodnight, then.”
“Night, Dr. King,” you lilted.
On her way out the door, she looked back. “Mel’s better.”
You caught it just in time. “Mel it is.”
As the sliding doors zipped shut and the dark street swallowed Mel’s figure, you slumped against the desk and groaned in metaphorical pain. That was really great, you scolded yourself, bumbled like a true idiot. You didn’t even want to close up. You just wanted to stand there, behind that desk, in your old cardigan and unfortunate boots until Mel came back. You wanted to show her every book you had and then kiss her promptly on those life-saving lips. In just twenty minutes, you had made a fool of yourself and fallen into a deep and predictable infatuation. You read too many romance novels, you decided, as you pushed off the counter and got to work.
˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ ‧₊
Mel had let a week pass before she came back to the library. She was incredibly nervous to do so, because the last time she showed her face she had encountered you, and you were proving to be horrific trouble.
You were so cute. Plump like a peach, curved in all the right places. She could see your soft tummy when you pressed against the counter. The violet of your sweater made the tones in your skin sing. Your teeth shimmered when you smiled. Mel was convinced that she could draw you from memory after only looking at you for at most twenty minutes, and if she was already at that stage, there was no getting herself back. She wasn’t good with crushes, and so naturally, she avoided it.
But she was bored. So, so bored, and so alone. Becca was no more than a series of rushed phone calls recently since she moved in with Adam and started spending their dedicated weekends and Elf Fridays with her boyfriend. Mel’s apartment was a mess of unwashed clothes and uneaten pizza, and without her sister to give her any reason to keep it clean, the poor girl had ended things with her vacuum. But even more than that, she hated being by herself. It was bearable when each night was just a few hours of sleep because then she barely saw the place, but on her days off that were once scheduled for Becca, Mel had nowhere to go and no one to see. Trinity had invited her to karaoke a few times, and that was great, but it wasn’t enough. No amount of Samira and Frank and Parker was enough. Mel thought maybe if she picked up a hobby, the time would go by faster and she would find herself at work again. Work was the only place she felt comfortable anymore– however twisted that was, she did not need to know.
That was the point of the library card. It was close to the hospital, so she could go on her lunch (if she got one) or after her shift. It was a huge library, four stories of stuff to absorb, and it wouldn’t cost her a thing. She barely used the resources in the city while she instructed patients all day to drain the system for what it was worth, and so taking her own advice would be a good step forward. Except now she knew what waited for her at the library, and so the question became this: Be alone, or be infatuated?
As she trekked down the sidewalk in the balmy summer heat, she had decided to go with the latter.
The glass doors slid open in greeting. Mel crossed the threshold anxiously, peering at the front desk. You weren’t there, which initially was a relief, and then a colossal letdown. As the doctor walked further in and studied the first floor laid out before her in a maze of shelves wrapping around a lit staircase, she heard a soft rustle and turned around again.
You poked your head out of a shelf and called, “Welcome in!”
Mel’s heart fluttered at the sight of you stationed behind a book cart. There was a pencil spearing your hair and failing to keep it out of your eyes, and a pair of glasses perched on your nose. You had no glasses last time. She walked deeper down the aisle until she could see you up close.
“Hi again.”
You startled and whipped around to see the beautiful and elusive Dr. Melissa King, and immediately your face went up in flames. “Oh! You!”
“Me,” she bantered, laughing sheepishly. “Sorry if I scared you.”
“No, it’s okay! It’s great! I’m glad to see you, Mel, I was wondering if you’d use that card!”
Mel watched you beam, and it made her wonder what in the ever living fuck she was doing avoiding this place. You clearly were this place. You were in its fabric, warm and real and there for anyone to admire. She huffed out a breath and rocked on her heels.
“I was hoping you could help me find something.”
“Like what?” You rolled the cart away, unlocking her entry to the row. She was in scrubs again, top and bottom this time, and her hair was pulled back in a springing ponytail. Little tendrils of yellow coiled near her ears.
“I wanted to try something easy. I’m not a big reader, all I get around to are medical journals these days,” the doctor admitted.
Your fingertips buzzed with the request. To do the job you loved, to hunt down the perfect source, for the most gorgeous girl in the world was like hitting the lottery. “Oh, sure! What kind of genres do you like? Classics? Romance, fantasy, thriller?”
Mel blinked at your enthusiasm and flushed. “Uh, I like history, actually.”
Your lashes fluttered as you slipped past her and waved the girl down the aisle. “Historical fiction is an awesome genre. More research than you think goes into it, those authors spend forever getting the details accurate enough to plop a composite character in… ah, Ws, here– follow!”
Mel trailed after you like a puppy, because she would be a fool to waste this chance to watch your hips sway in that long satin skirt. You halted abruptly in the middle of the row, running your finger over some spines before plucking a green paperback off.
“How do you feel about Arthurian legends?” You asked, holding out the book to her. “This is a historical fantasy fusion. White used the legends from Malory and took them down in novel form so they would be easier to read. It redefined what a contemporary fantasy novel should be, it was a big hit, and now it’s a classic. I’ve read it a few times, it’s a favorite of mine.”
Mel flipped curiously through the pages, smiling to herself. “I’ve read the Death of Arthur, I had to in college. You like this better?”
Your eyebrow quirked in surprise. So she’s trained in some classics, you thought, that’s hot, and very good news. “Honestly?”
“Yeah.”
“Definitely. Malory is great, and you have to pay homage, but truthfully it's so dense that it feels like homework. This is a great way to enjoy the legends without torturing yourself.”
The doctor nodded thoughtfully and glanced back up to see your big eyes watching her every move. You had on a jean jacket tonight, with a little square neck tank underneath. You were what they tried to make librarians look like on television. You were unreal.
“I’ve never read it. But I think I want to, since you’re so good at selling.”
“Good choice,”
“Yeah, well, you made it for me.”
“I guess I did.”
Mel’s mouth tingled as she held the book under one arm and glanced you up and down. “Is this the sort of thing you read when you’re not working?”
With a hammering heart, you turned to weave back towards your restock cart. “I read all sorts of things.”
“Like what?” Mel hummed, following at your heels and watching you hustle. She ducked into the next row and followed the top of your head, catching quick glimpses of you between the books.
“Um, I mean, I love English classics a lot. I was always into them in college. But I love sci-fi and fantasy, realism, um, and plays, too. It’s hard to pick.”
Mel’s face opened wide with interest. “I guess you have to be well-read to be a librarian."
“It’s kind of a requirement,” you giggled, pausing and stacking a book into the space she stood across from.
“Makes sense. I never got much of a chance with med school, and now with my residency, but I’ve recently had some time free up, so I’m hoping it’ll keep me busy.”
“How long have you been a doctor?”
“I’m doing my third year residency, so technically three. I’ll get paid like one after my next year.”
You slid a few returns back onto the shelf and tugged the cart along, playing the game of predicting when Mel’s eye would peep through a space. “Wow. So you’re the real deal.”
“You could say that,” Mel nudged at the carpet with her toe, watching your manicured nails fill slots. “What about you? How long have you been a librarian?”
“Well, I started working here part-time when I got my bachelor’s, and I only just finished my master’s a little over a year ago. So that’s…” you did the mental math, “about four years.”
Mel toyed with her fingers, trying to expend the pent-up energy she felt just watching your sweet head try to remember the time passed. “And you like it?”
You tucked a lock behind your ear, a thoughtful expression creasing your brow. “I do. It can be difficult, especially recently with all the federal funding cuts. We rely on those a lot to help us give back to the community, y’know, with our events and stuff. We do a lot more fundraising now. But it’s all worth it, really. I get to be around books all day, and talk to interesting people from all over. It’s never boring like people assume libraries are.”
By the time you stopped, the doctor was at the end of the row and leaning against the shelves. Mel watched the way your mouth moved, rounding out vowels and punctuating each word with those plush lips. You chewed on them when you thought hard and she could tell. There were little red patches beneath your front teeth where you picked the skin. She could listen to you and watch that mouth move for hours. What a dream that would be.
“That’s great,” Mel said. Intelligent, she winced.
“Yeah,” you flushed and glanced at the cart. It was empty now. “Um, did– did you want to check that out?”
Mel stared at your mouth. “Huh?”
“The book.”
The girl snapped out of it and stood straighter, mustering a tiny chuckle. “The book! Yes. Definitely.”
Focusing hard on not tripping, you shot her a smile and dragged the cart back to the atrium where the desk was. Mel took her time to admire you as you scooted around, docking the cart against the wall and scurrying back to sit at the dusty desktop. Mel leaned on the counter and rested her chin in her palm, sliding the book towards you.
From beneath your lashes, your eyes fluttered up. The doctor was still grinning with her bunny teeth, and it was rapturous. “You remember the rules?” you solicited, taking the book and scanning the code on the spine.
“Due after three weeks, call or come in to renew,” Mel recited softly, “although I hope it shouldn’t take that long.”
“No shame. You’re busy cutting people open and touching their guts and stuff,” you smirked, click-clacking away on the computer.
Mel snickered softly. The sound drew her attention to your nails, which were a short shape with a deep blue polish, almost black, carving them out. The square edges were what made all the ruckus. She very quickly fell down a rabbit hole about those fingernails and what they might be capable of.
“Okay, Mel, you’re all set,” you quipped, pushing the rims of your glasses up the bridge of your nose. Sliding the book back into her hands, you promised, “It’s really good. Tell me how you like it.”
Her nails, barely manicured and bitten to the beds, looked awful compared to yours. Maybe you’d paint them for her if she asked. Maybe you’d make them pretty again. Something her patients could enjoy, and something that would remind her she could pull her life together if she tried hard enough.
“Mel?”
“Hm?”
“You zoned out for a second.”
“Sorry,” she mumbled sheepishly, brows jumping. “It’s been a long day.”
“I bet. You should go home, get some rest.”
Mel gazed down at you, all tucked into that desk chair like some guardian angel, and she felt threads that have been fraying for a while coming loose. It stoked a fire in her chest.
“It was nice to see you again,” she offered, smoothing her ponytail with her hand as she squeezed the book into her bag. “Have a good night.”
“Yeah, you too,” you sighed in a way that made your face turn pinker and her eyes shine brighter.
As Mel headed for the doors again, you called, “You’ve got three weeks!”
“I won’t need them,” Mel shot back, flinging a wink over her shoulder.
It was enough to knock you on your ass.
˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ ‧₊
Mel didn’t need three weeks. She blew through the stories in one day and came back on the second, itching for another chance to see you.
This was a bad idea, she knew it. You’ve never seen her out of her scrubs. Mel was not stupid, and it was very obvious that uniforms added a certain… attractiveness to people. Cops in their coats, firefighters in those pants, and doctors in their scrubs. All she had on was a pair of blue jeans and a grey shirt. Her hair was down in that wavy sort of way it dried, which wasn’t terrible, and she had found the one lipgloss she owned lost beneath her dresser, but other than that, Mel looked like anybody. She hoped you would recognize her. She hoped you would still smile how you did.
It was just past dinnertime on her second day off, and in the waning summer daylight, the library attracted plenty of business. When she came through the doors, there were clusters of cardholders all over the place; mothers and children reading picture books in the kids section, elderly couples puttering about, teenagers lounging on the couches and climbing up and down the stairs. It lightened her heart to see so many people using the building, because she thought it must make you so happy. Speaking of you… you weren’t behind the counter, once again.
Instead there was an older woman, a brunette with red-jelly glasses hanging from a beaded string. As the off-duty doctor approached the counter, the librarian looked up with barely an ounce of your enthusiasm. She asked after you, to which the lady only offered, “Third floor.”
That was a relief, at least– you were here. She had hoped she didn’t come too early. Her ‘thank you’ went unappreciated by the desk clerk, but she was too anxious to care. Mel trotted up the steps, peeking at the activity of college kids on the second floor– had to be the one with the study rooms, she figured– and crested the stairs on the third, looking for your cart or your head of hair or revelatory grin. She had to make a lap around the edges before finding you tucked away in the biology row. Quietly, she held onto the strap of her messenger bag and came closer. Seeing as you didn’t hear her footsteps on the wiry carpet, she took her chance.
“Hey, bookworm.”
She laughed as you jumped and let out a tiny yelp, but the look on your face was worth it. Your skirt fanned across the ground between stacks of donated textbooks, and the little platforms on your boots thunked the ground like happy tails as you beamed up at her. You recognized her, thank God.
“Hi, Mel!”
“Hey,” she melted, kneeling to sit beside you.
“What are you doing here? No work today?”
“Nope. Came to get a new book.”
“You finished it already? You’re screwing with me, right?”
“I did, and I’m not,” she chuckled, “it was really good.”
You gave her an incredulous look. “I’m impressed. You’re a fast reader. I bet that’s how you got through med school, huh?”
“Still is. I’m the only one who can get my charts done these days,” Mel jutted her chin, and when your head tilt led her to believe you didn’t know what charting was, her chest clenched tighter. “How’s it going?”
“Great, now that you’re here,” you gushed, pausing after you blurted it. Way to play your cards, you thought.
Mel’s throat jumped, and she ran her clammy palms down her jeans. “Actually, I didn’t just come to get a new book.”
You leapt at the chance to bury your lapse in judgement. “I can help you with anything you need, it’s my job.”
“Actually, um…”
It truly wasn’t fair how you could sit there, expression so trusting and aching for affection. She knew this was stupid. She’d only met you twice before. But there wasn’t a free second where her mind didn’t drift back to the warm, dust-mitey depths of the library, where you skittered around like a breathtaking thing, casting light everywhere you went. She was enamored with you.
You were in no better position, which would be nice for her to know. Historically, you never learned how to mask your emotions. When you were taken, it oozed from you in every direction, sinking into the music you had on repeat and the books you picked up, into the colors you wore, the way you did your hair. You wore love like a gift, and it was ridiculous and unfounded, but you couldn’t get enough of her. Just sitting there and waiting for her to speak was like being suspended in a state of bliss, where you had her attention and everything was alright.
Mel cleared her throat, lashes fluttering as her nose scrunched. With a big breath, she summoned the courage. “I was wondering if you’d want to go out. On a date. With– with me, like… romantically.”
What was that you heard? Angels humming? The trumpets of Heaven sounding over the galaxy, calling, Rise, people, rise, the girl is getting what she wants? Whatever it was, it was deafening. It sounded like the doctor’s voice, resonating inside your bones like a blessing.
“Yes,” you wheezed.
“Really? You’re into girls like that?”
“I am into girls, and I am incredibly into you. I want to go on a date. I really, really do.”
Mel was certain she would perish on the spot. That was a good reaction. “Well… great! Good! I– mhm,” she stammered, “a date. When? When can we go on a date?”
“I take an hour break in twenty minutes.”
Mel’s eyebrows shot sky-high. “Oh!”
“Too soon? Shit, sorry,” you chewed your lip, “I– you probably wanted to plan it, right? That’s fine, I can wait–”
Mel’s hands shot out to grip your arms, feeling the soft flesh as she halted your rambling before it could get going. “No. Twenty is fine. As long as you don't care that I’m in jeans.”
Your stomach flipped, and you couldn’t help how fondly the words slipped out: “You could be covered in blood for all I care.”
Mel laughed, “I usually am.”
The textbooks sat abandoned around your legs, and the thought of working another second made you nauseous. You wanted to leave now. You could hypothetically quit if it meant getting to a date with the beautiful doctor as soon as humanly possible. But before you could commit to a life-altering choice, Mel hopped to her feet and leaned down to tuck some hair behind your ear, as she saw you do before.
“I’ll wait downstairs. We can get something to eat when you’re done?”
You pushed into the touch like a shameless, shameless cat. “Please.”
“Okay,” she confirmed. “See you in a bit.”
“Yeah,” you pulled back, feeling her fingers slip from your hair.
Mel left you there like a lovesick pile of mush, practically skipping down the steps. In her head she began to run through every dinner option up and down the street, and then a five block radius, and whether you liked ice cream, or how strict you were about kissing on the first date. She nearly tripped over a child in the process, but it didn’t matter. She had a real date.
Life hadn’t felt this good in a long time.
˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ ‧₊
One date turned into three, and then five, and then you stopped counting. Whatever number tonight was might have been nice to know, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. All you knew was that this was the one, you told yourself. This was the night you would be brave enough to ask for what you want.
Things were going so much better than you could have hoped for. After a few weeks of meeting Mel after work, you started to wonder when it would go downhill. She was always so eager, bouncing on her heels and following you around the library, taking you out for ice cream, inviting you to watch television at her place. It all seemed so right, like she was meant for you, and the little voice in the back of your head thought surely no girl as wonderful as Mel could be sustained. But she stayed, and you were absolutely lost.
You had always loved girls, but never liked this. Her every move was magical. You could tell she probably had the touch for needles, because sometimes when she grabbed your hand, you barely felt it. Like air, brushing you affectionately. After the first few dates, it became second nature to pick up every habit. There were no bad ones. For example: Mel rubbed at her neck pretty often, and tugged the strings of her hoodie if available, because that was where her stethoscope sat all day, and it soothed her to feel the ghost of it. Another one was Mel’s tendency to stop talking when your eyes flitted away, assuming you had stopped caring, only for you to turn again and prompt her with a Keep going, I’m listening. Mel bit her fingernails enough that she always had on a layer of top coat to try and deter her by taste. Mel only liked hot coffee, never cold, but never hot tea, always cold, because of her passion for boba. Mel did not like romance books, but she loved history, and with enough prodding, you could get her to try anything. Mel never liked to see the same movie twice, she always wanted seconds when you cooked, and when she sneezed, her nose twitched once, twice, three times. From top to bottom, you memorized every action and reaction, every love and hate, and by the time three months of seeing her rolled around, you were utterly in love.
Tonight, Mel asked you to meet her in the park across from the hospital when you took your break. You walked down the street at lightning speed, thrumming with excitement at seeing her face. When you wound down the walkway, you spotted the girl in black scrubs perched on a drug-rug blanket. Your cheeks pulled tight with joy as you walked across the grass.
“Melly,” you sighed, “a picnic?”
The doctor was trying to arrange a handful of strawberries on a plate when she heard you. Her braid slipped over her shoulder as she sat back and patted the blanket, affirming your observation. There was a little cooler with two sodas, what looked like Chinese takeout boxes, and a whole lot of strawberries.
“Do you like it?”
You sunk to your knees on the ground and laughed sweetly, tugging her in to peck her lips. “I love it. This is so sweet.”
“Mira suggested it,” she flushed, “she’s a lot better with what to do on dates than me.”
“I knew I liked her. I’ll have to meet her.”
“Come to the hospital one day,” Mel offered, cracking open a can for you.
You took it gratefully and crossed your legs. “You want me to?”
“Sure. Whenever you want.”
You struggled to contain your blissful jitters as you sipped your soda. Mel had this habit of staring at you when she wanted you to do some talking, and she was employing the strategy now, sinking her teeth into a berry and tracking you with her hazel eyes. You hadn’t even eaten anything yet, but maybe that was better. Nothing to puke up if you got rejected.
“Mel, um, I was… I wanted to ask you something.”
“What’s up?” The doctor scooted closer and nudged the plate towards you, trying to make you pick up a bite. You felt the tip of her sneaker knock against your ankle, and part of you just wanted to die.
“Well, I guess– y’know, we've been seeing each other for a while.”
“We have,” she hummed, focus drifting to your mouth.
“And I really like you.”
“I like you, too.”
“We spend all our free time together.”
“We do.”
“Your sister likes me,” you added, reminiscing the movie night you shared with Becca and Mel a few weeks ago. You giggled your way through Elf like a champ in the heat of August.
“She does.”
“So… I… I mean… I guess what I wanted to say was…”
Mel’s smile grew wider and wider, and she could read it all over your face. Mel knew a thing or two about you– how you repeated yourself and trailed off when you didn’t want to say something, how you only liked the warm syrup in diners and never from a bottle because it ‘didn’t taste the same’, the way you took your iced coffee, your shoe size, the coworkers from the library who grinded your gears. Mel adored you like she never had anything in the world, and if you were about to ask what she thought you were, she was going to be made a very, very happy woman.
“Tell me,” she urged.
You locked eyes with her and took a deep breath, and you came straight out with it: “I want to be with you for real. Like a girlfriend.”
After a beat, the doctor asked, “Like a girlfriend, or my girlfriend?”
That was another thing. Mel often teased just to see you get annoyed.
“Oh, shut up! You know what I mean!”
She threw her head back in laughter and crawled across the blanket, knocking you onto your back. You fell with a thump, and with your hair all fanned out behind you, she could barely breathe.
“I would love nothing more than for you to be my girlfriend, and for me to be yours.”
Your heart soared. “You mean it?”
“Do I mean it?” Mel scoffed, and without warning, she dove down.
You surrendered to her mouth willingly, back arching off the ground as her lean, strong arms slipped beneath you to hold you tight and squeeze. She crowded you against the ground and ran her hands from the backs of your knees to the pits of your arms, screwing up your skirt and vest and eventually your hair. The sharp tang of fruit passed between your tongues as she worked your jaw open, and you whined softly into the mix, head reeling and hips aching. Mel had to find the strength to pull away because she had a creeping suspicion you would make out with her until you lost consciousness.
Panting through the rush, Mel confessed, “I might love you.”
It wasn’t too soon. Not at all.
“Might?” You smirked.
˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ ‧₊
With a couple months of dating under your belt, you were itching to see Mel’s workplace. She’d visited you at the library so many times now, exchanging books and following you around while you restocked or dusted or worked on table displays. She had kissed you in many a dark corner. But all you caught a glimpse of was her scrubs, and you were eager to see what life was like when she was working. You wanted to match names to faces and hear what she sounded like when she treated patients. It would be satisfying to know how accurate your image of her being the best living doctor was in person. You resolved to bring her an unannounced cup of coffee on a Wednesday midmorning, figuring it would be a safe enough time for a dull emergency room.
When you walked in the front entrance, the waiting area full of chairs was sparsely seated. The air-conditioning was out, which was unfortunate for such a warm October day, but you were emboldened by the idea she might not be busy. You had heard horror stories of Friday nights and weekends, and they seemed nothing like this.
As you approached the front desk, a short clerk with a name tag that read Lupe lifted her head in a comforting smile. Her finger flicked the microphone on, and she asked, “Checking in?”
You shook your head and held up the coffees in your hand, asking hopefully, “Um, no, I was hoping I could see Dr. Melissa King, if she isn’t busy?”
Lupe’s eyes narrowed in playful recognition. “Oh. You’re the librarian girl.”
Your face heated up in an instant. “Um… yes.”
“She never stops talking about you,” Lupe smirked. A buzzer rumbled the glass partition, and the lock on the door to your left clicked. “Go on in, honey, down the hall and to the right. The doctors at the nurse’s station can help you find her.”
“Thank you!”
The long, tiled hallway was relatively quiet, but the closer you got, the louder the beeping, humming, and buzzing became. You turned the corner and saw Mel’s world open up before you. A white hospital wing crawling with doctors and nurses barreled down and branched off. Patients on gurneys were passing by or stashed along the walls. You spotted four custodians wiping at the floor. All around was the bustle of a busy hospital, and you could barely imagine your mild-mannered girlfriend functioning in such a fast-paced environment. Her explaining it was one thing, but seeing it was another. It was just another reason to admire her.
You walked in, clutching the cups tight and avoiding oncoming healthcare professionals as they sped around the halls. At a big desk clump in the center, you saw a tiny blonde woman with an expression best described as having seen enough, and a tall, bearded man with a stethoscope around his neck and little professor-eqsue glasses perched on his nose. They were seemingly deep in conversation. A lightbulb flickered over your head, recalling a certain nurse and doctor who frequently get into it from Mel's tales.
“Excuse me?”
The pair whipped around at your voice, and the nurse smiled warmly. “Hiya, sweetheart. Lookin’ for a family member?"
“Hello– um, no. Is Dr. Melissa King around?”
The doctor squinted at you, a slow grin tugging at his cheeks. He outstretched a palm. “I’m Dr. Michael Robinavitch, and this is our charge nurse Dana Evans. You must be the girlfriend our Mel mentioned.”
You shook his strong palm nervously and nodded, ears burning. “The lady at the desk said the same thing…”
“Trust me, honey, that girl never shuts up about it. Robby can show you around, she’s with a patient.”
“I guess that works!”
Robby swooped out from behind the desk and gave you a wink, placing a courteous hand on the small of your back and guiding you down the hall.
“I hope you’ve never been here before,” he quipped.
“Oh, I haven’t. Lucky me.”
“Yes, lucky you. Mel is one of our best residents. Hard worker, fiercely intelligent, great with patients. How did you guys meet?”
You chuckled softly as you peeked down the halls, catching shadows of men and women in black scrubs hopping between rooms and nurses carrying clipboards around with an air of urgency. “If it’s what it sounds like, then Mel probably already told you that.”
“Can you blame me? It’s not every day that family comes to see us at our jobs. Most people stay away from the stress of this place. You must be a pretty special one to show up unannounced.”
You glanced up at Robby. His eyes were so dark, and something very calming settled over you. Mel once described him as ‘the hospital’s dad’, and you felt that was a very fitting image.
“Well, I thought it might be a nice pick-me-up. You work her pretty hard,” you quirked an eyebrow.
Robby’s laugh rattled in his chest. “Only because she’s the best to do it. You should see her in action. She’s one of the best I’ve seen in a long time, and I’ve been at this for thirty years.”
It made your whole body tingle with pride to hear Mel praised so genuinely. You knew she was good, you could just see it when you looked into her eyes; but to know other people thought so was twice as nice.
“She’s a wonderful person,” you gushed, following the curve of the hall.
“She says the same thing about you.”
Curtain areas full of beds stuffed with patients passed as you looped the department. A few doctors perked up at the sight of you, and it made your face glow– just how much did she tell them? Do they all have a picture of you in their wallet or something? You saw a few faces with details that rang bells– a pretty Indian girl, a brunet beanstalk of a man, a short farmboy type…
As Robby asked you about your job at the library, the nurse’s station came into view again, and you saw Mel standing at the desk, lording over a clipboard. Robby patted your back and whistled, “You have a visitor, Dr. King!”
Mel’s head darted up at the sharp sound, and you wished you had your camera out when her face twisted through a rapid set of surprise, confusion, and glee, all in a second. She abandoned her chart to rush to you, showing off her teeth.
“What are you doing here? Hi!” She exclaimed, hands hesitating between hugging you or taking the coffee first.
You put them both down on the desk and grabbed her face, pressing a soft smooch to the skin of her cheek. “I thought I’d surprise you. Dr. Robby was just showing me around.”
Robby threw Mel a wink and slinked away, looking like a happy little hyena. She burned bright red and groaned, “He didn’t say anything embarrassing, right?”
“Only that you talk about me nonstop. I think everyone knew me without even saying hello.”
Mel’s eyes blinked in horror. “I– well– it– y’know–”
“I think it’s sweet,” you giggled, wrapping the end of her braid around your finger. You leaned against the desk and cocked your head, studying how she looked no different– still beautiful– in a place that wasn’t the library, her place, or yours. “I hope this isn’t a bad time.”
“No, no, God no. My patients are all inbetween being observed. I’m good.”
“I brought you coffee,” you hummed, and Mel leaned in closer, seemingly charmed.
“I missed you.”
“I missed you, too. Is there a rule against kissing in your hospital?"
“Probably,” she grinned.
You grabbed the ends of her stethoscope and tugged her in, slotting your mouth against hers. Mel let out a tiny grunt against your mouth, her voice thick and warm, and her hands slid around the soft stuff of your hips. Your nose smushed against hers and you sighed softly, relieved to finally have a fix again. Mel was two seconds away from shoving her tongue down your throat when another whistle sounded, starling you two apart like dogs.
“The lounge, Mel,” Robby called, his wolfish teeth peeking from behind a knowing look.
Mel could only wince and tug you along, grabbing her free coffee. “Come on. I’ve got twenty minutes.”
“I like him,” you teased, and Mel gave you a chiding glance as she dragged you towards the doctor’s lounge. “Can I meet the others?”
“Me first,” she purred.
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Mel’s bed was incredibly comfortable, especially in the slow transition to winter. You had come to appreciate this when you slept over after the fourth date, and even more after the fateful picnic, where the title of girlfriend raised the flag for you both to tear into each other in the way you’d wanted to for forever. As you lay in it now with one hand in the beautiful doctor’s hair and a book in the other, you hoped you might sleep in it for the rest of your life.
“You should really go to bed. It’s late,” Mel rasped, heavy eyes drooping.
“Says you. You’ve got work in four hours.”
“Well, I wanted to see you,” she murmured.
You put your book face-down on your thigh and coaxed your nails through her golden locks. “I know. You still need more sleep than me.”
Mel peeked up at you, seeing the enticing little roll of your chin that she wanted to climb up and bite. She let out a huff and rolled over, inching onto her knees and perching herself on your lap. You grinned and jutted your chin out as she leaned in to press a slow kiss to your lips, waking up the butterflies that had only just caught a break.
Against her lips you asked, “What are your days off this week?”
Mel’s hands sunk into your hair. “Mm… Sunday and Monday.”
You arched into her a bit and swiped your tongue along her bottom lip. “We can do something Sunday… park, zoo, something…”
“Stop talking,” she mumbled.
Mel loved to kiss you. You loved to kiss Mel. It was arguably what you did most, and for good reason. It had been a lifetime for you of wanting love and never getting it, putting your career first, hoping that one day someone would walk in and change everything. And with Mel losing her parents, and down the line her sister to another love, kissing you was her opportunity to finally regain the connection she had been searching for as life dragged her down. Here, in her bed, you could put your hands on her and find her perfect. She could squeeze your tummy and your thighs and mumble questions about books while she made you whine; she could tuck her fingers in warm places and tell you that you were everything she ever wanted.
Kissing and loving was so incredibly easy, and together you had realized that maybe everyone else was just stuck in a love that wasn’t the right kind. All this talk about making things work, about how work hours and separate lives can be too hard to reconcile, none of that made any difference to you. You worked nights at the library because Mel usually stayed late. You came home and ate eleven o’ clock dinners and slept in the same room. You woke with her to have coffee and fall back asleep when she left. On her days off she came to your job, and on yours you repaid the favor. Mel learned to take a day off now and again so she could live her life with you. Suddenly, in everything people said made love hard, you found moments that made the wait worth it. Months were a short period of time, but within them you realized how much real love smoothes the edges of everything, promising to get you through a hard day for the sake of coming home to a kiss. And it didn’t seem crazy at all, or impossible. Maybe it was a miracle, or maybe it was just Mel. These days, they felt one and the same.
When Mel pulled away, she tucked her face into your neck and peppered her lips across your collarbone. “Read to me?”
You melted like butter beneath her, and as she curled in your lap, you picked up the book again. She was a precious thing when her body was drained. “You’re so pretty. Did I tell you today?”
Mel grinned. “A few times, I think.”
“Well, you are.”
“So are you, bookworm,” she whispered, nudging up to kiss you one more time.
You released her with a sheepish expression and snuggled closer, finding your spot on the page. You would read until she fell asleep, and then you would shut the pages and stare at her face for a while until the image remained when you closed your eyes. And you would love her forever, because when you thought about the future, she was all you could see, stretching in an endless line. From where you stood now, it was easy to imagine. It felt good to think so.
A beautiful doctor and a librarian, you thought. That sounded like a good book.
summary: you and mel are both equally nervous and eager for your first time together. the good news is, you two are a perfect match. what’s there to worry about?
word count: 3.3k
contains: smut & fluff. mel and reader meet at work, established relationship, mutual anxiety and yearning, mutual horny losers. *clitstim, cunnilingus/fingering, praise. first time trope. *no use of y/n
a/n: wrote this speedy and barely proofread so forgive me if it sucks i just cant stop thinking about her… hope you enjoy my lovely requester !
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The prospect of a first time was a very serious matter for both you and Mel.
You had always known you wanted to be with a girl, but you never had the luck of making the dream a reality, and you were hellbent on it being right; and Mel, who had been too busy with med school and the grandiose drama of her own life, barely had the time to even think about love. She had only just realized how deeply she wanted love from a girl when she met you.
Together, you two worked quite well, although the match was a surprise. Mel didn’t know you existed until one uncharacteristically slow day when Samira was catching up on her study research. She paged the hospital library for an article on something obscurely geriatric, and after a little over a half hour, you came down to the emergency department. In a cardigan that clung to your curves and a long skirt that swished in a pleasant way, not a grating way, when you walked, you sauntered across the tile floor and handed a stack of paper articles to Samira, smiling warmly and adjusting your hair clip. Mel stood by the nurse’s station and tried to catch the soft tones of your voice, the gentle song that lifted and sunk in familiarity, as if you knew Samira well and were tweeting little birdsongs between pretty women. She found herself trailing her eyes all over you, curious about you, wondering who you were and if Samira liked you and how hard it was to get articles on loan from the hospital library, and if you personally delivered them all or only for Samira.
She didn’t have to follow this spiral long before she discovered her answer— the next week, Mel needed some information on sickle cell pain levels for a medicine trial study, and you brought it down. In a dress, long and flowy, hair falling like ribbons down your neck. You grinned at her like the world blurred to uselessness around her. You touched her stethoscope playfully, tilted your head like a puppy. She was a goner.
Samira had gotten your number for Mel, and within the week she took you out for drinks after work. The two of you had no self-control— two gin and tonics in and you were kissing her in the bar, barely five hours of knowing each other between you, but it didn’t matter. Mel made something inside you settle, like a nervous dog finally curling at the feet of its owner.
Since then, you and Mel were a great fit. Every day you came down to the ER to bring her a coffee, knowing when she would be on the cusp of a slump, and her coworkers and attendings would watch the way you rewove her braid and kissed her cheek before leaving. You seemed to pull her together in ways they didn’t know she needed. Mel was more expressive around you than anyone was used to— hands sliding over your back, fingertips tracing your cheeks, kissing you in public. Everything that seemingly went against Mel Code lost traction when you were near. The two of you drove in and left together, and moved in together after barely two months, simply unable to spend a second apart. Trinity had made some joke about you being U-Haul lesbians, to which you giggled and Mel asked innocently, “Like the moving company? What’s that mean?”
Despite the way you both clung to each other like limpets, you had never broken the final seal. Early on– the first time you ever slept over– you had sat with Mel and had a real talk about sex. About your insecurities and reservations around your body, about your inexperiences, and namely your fear that you would move too quickly and get the first time wrong. A part of you knew that Mel was the only person you truly felt you could trust with your body, but the years of anxiety were a hump you had yet to crawl over. Mel was completely– almost too strongly– on the same page. As the lower maintenance sister in comparison to Becca, her oddities were always of the gravest concern to herself and no one else; she could feel the way she rescinded from touch, how infrequently she thought about other people, how confusing her romantic feelings got when her body and mind felt so far from sexual. It was not that Mel did not want to lose her virginity, but there was always a piece of her which felt detached from it. Maybe it was the unresolved neurodivergent questions she had about herself, or her devotion to being a caretaker, but she simply struggled to foster a sex drive. Well, until she met you.
She agreed with you in principle, and she never wavered. But Mel very quickly learned that being around you had an effect on her that was inexplicable. She actually grew quite afraid at the start, because she had never felt such a hot mess of emotions– when you brushed past her, smelling like your soft perfumes and looking like heaven teeming under clothes, she felt all the blood in her body rush south. You drove her up the wall. Sometimes all it took was hearing someone say your name, and suddenly she was staring at the wall, blinded by an imaginary image of you pressed against it with her mouth against your neck and her hands down your pants. Her skin was crawling with need, and the longer she was with you, the more sure she grew that she not only wanted to have sex, but she wanted to be good at it.
Mel had not told you for fear of embarrassment, but she took it upon herself to study up. The girl was a doctor, it wasn’t like she didn't know how it worked. But there was so much finesse, so many techniques, so many toys and tricks and games… she wanted to try them all. She wanted to do everything the world would allow with you. She wanted to hear your voice, see you laugh, kiss you stupid. So, she read articles. Watched porn that made her shut her computer in shame. Flipped through scandalous self-help books. She got her hands on whatever could help expose her to the best way to please you, in preparation for the day when you were ready.
She figured it would be after a big anniversary– their six months, their one year, a birthday, something along those lines. She was surprised to discover you were not as disciplined as she thought, and that the big night was much closer than she anticipated.
It was a Friday. The schedule shifts had been lining up for you recently, and Mel shared your weekend off. Usually these Fridays were spent eating takeout on the couch, maybe sitting inside the takeout place to eat it if you were really being fancy, and then falling asleep entangled to some movie in the living room. With Becca always at Adam’s, Mel was more than happy to spend her free time with you. But this Friday was a particularly tough one. Mel had lost two patients, both in the same car crash. A couple. Their young son survived them, and she had to sit with him and explain what happened, and wait with the poor thing until his grandparents could get him. It was grueling and traumatizing. You saw the vacancy in her eyes when you came down to walk her to the car, and your heart ached for her. Kids always weighed the heaviest on Mel’s shoulders. She told you once that if it weren’t for her passion for emergency medicine, she probably would have become a pediatrician.
Mel barely spoke on the way home. She just drove in silence, not even the radio on, staring at the red lights and stroking your knuckles with her thumb. And as twisted as it was, it was getting you all worked up. It was a hard thing to explain– something about her passion just… made you crazy. Her jaw would tick as she tapped the brakes. Her eyes bore into the road, focused and unwavering. Her hand on the wheel would flex, and her nose would twitch, and the frustration and anger and upset that radiated from her just felt like waves of warmth washing over you. You were spending your life around someone who was beside herself with empathy, and the depth with which she carried the pain of her cases was a most intoxicating cocktail. She was upset and gorgeous, and you might have loved her most when she got that way. You just couldn’t help yourself this time.
When Mel reached the apartment door, you studied her for a second as she completed the routine. Unlock the knob, kick off the shoes, put the keys on the rack, and take out the braid. You stood behind her until she had checked every box, and then you smoothed your hands over her hips and gently spun her around.
“What are you doing?” She furrowed her brow, finding herself the object of your hands’ desire.
You brushed your knuckles up and down her side, ruffling her black scrubs, and you leaned in to press a kiss to her jaw. “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” she flushed, growing more confused… and overheated. “But really, what are you doing?”
You lifted your eyes to her no nonsense depression, and you muttered, “I’m ready.”
Mel paused. You could see her computing. “Like… ready?”
Nodding eagerly, you cupped her cheeks in your palms and pressed a cautious kiss to her lips. A soft sigh slipped from her throat, and her hands clenched at her side for a moment as she adjusted to the surprise. Then, they burrowed in your sweater.
“I get it– mm– if you’re tired,” you mumbled between pecks, feeling her tugging you closer
“No,” she panted, pulling away. Her lips were a shiny pink, and her eyes sparkled with the light that had left them not too long ago. “No. I want you, I definitely want you right this second.”
You laughed softly and kissed her again, and then you admitted, “I still don’t exactly know how to do everything right.”
“That’s fine, let’s figure it out,” she rushed, practically dragging you across the apartment toward her bedroom.
Mel knocked you down on the bed like a delighted dog, crawling over you in a fit of soft giggles and kissing down your neck. You could feel her getting sloppy, paying less attention to how she was kissing and more to how much she could kiss; your breath began to pick up as she tugged her shirt over her head, revealing a whole slab of milky, freckled skin. Your hands greedily smoothed up her stomach while you turned rosy.
“You’re so pretty,”
“So are you,” she grinned, nibbling at your ear. “Can I take yours off, too?”
“Mhm,” you answered, heart pounding with nerves.
Mel was a little more careful with you, tugging your sweater over your head, mindful of your earrings. When she finally gazed over the soft, plentiful flesh spread before her, the round tummy, the swooping hips, she let out a canine whimper, drooling over her treat. The girl smothered you instantly, mouth on yours, hands unhooking the clasp of your bra.
You were at a loss for breath and words as she anxiously attacked, and the overwhelm of her had you reeling. You tugged at her hands softly and panted, “H-hold on, hold on!”
Mel pulled back instantly, face paling. “What? Are you okay? Did I do something wrong?”
You burned beneath the skin, hiding behind your hands. “N-no! No, I just… it’s a lot.”
Mel suddenly felt quite stupid. She was so desperate for you that she was moving at a rapid pace, like they did in all the videos she watched. Why did she ever think you would want it that speedy? You were so careful, so detail-oriented, and that’s what she loved about you. She had nearly forgotten it in the midst of the moment. Mel sat back on her heels and tugged your hands away.
“I’m sorry,” you swallowed.
“Don’t be. I’m sorry. I was too eager,” she smiled down at you. “I just… I’ve been dying for this, and you said it and it just… flipped my switch.”
You peered up at her, her open face, and you sighed. “I really want you, too. Just… slower. So I can catch up.”
Mel nodded, big eyes fluttering, before she crawled back over you. This time, she kissed you slow and deep enough that it practically melted you into the mattress. Her steady hands cradled your hips, and you looped your arms around her neck and hitched your knees over her hips, tugging her down. Mel hummed softly at the heat of your body as you pressed against her, and her thumbs stroked your cheeks, making you buzz.
“Mel,” you wheezed, “touch me.”
“Where?” Mel inquired, kissing a trail down your jaw.
“Anywhere,” you said. You writhed a bit, the heat between your legs growing unbearable.
“Might as well just get right to it then, huh?”
You groaned quietly as Mel cupped her palms over the swell of your breasts and began to knead, keeping you muffled with her lips over your own. You arched into her touch, and she left little brushes against your nipples, listening attentively to the way you squeaked at the stimulation.
“You’re beautiful, you know,” Mel purred, "Everything about you. Been wanting to love you like this forever.”
“Gonna make me nervous,”
“I’ll take care of you, I promise.”
Mel hooked a finger under your stretchy slacks and tugged them down your thighs, freeing your legs. She nuzzled her nose into your cheek as a sure palm pressed your knee down, opening you up. Your breath hitched as the light and whole pressure of her palm pressed over your cunt, noting the warm, damp present waiting there for her.
“Oh, baby, you’re so wet,” she cooed, forehead dropping to your shoulder. It sounded almost as if there was a hint of condescension in her tone, and it made you burn up with desperation. Her finger notched your bundle of nerves without a second’s thought, right over your panties, and you choked on a whine as she began to circle it. “Really wanted this, huh?”
“Oh, God,” you moaned.
“Good? Right there?”
You bucked and shimmied your hips a bit, nails digging into her corded arms. Her blonde hair fell over your face, a sunny curtain to keep you enclosed for her, and she grinned down as she watched your face contort with pleasure for the first time. “Cute,” she mumbled.
“Ah, a-ah, Mel,” you stammered, hands tugging at the bedsheets. “Careful, I don’t think I’ve got a lot of con…control!”
“That’s okay, we’ve got plenty of time to try again, and again, and again…”
Your legs twitched as she ordered her fingers in brutal, unrelentingly pinpointed circles, much more concentrated than you’d ever managed alone and with twice as much drive. You didn’t even have a chance to warn her before you spasmed under the weight of the first orgasm Mel had ever given you, chest heaving and eyes glazing over.
“Oh, yeah, honey,” she cooed, working you through it. “Good job, pretty, that was so good… did I do it right for you? Hm?”
A searing heat tore through you, and you knocked her off you with your legs and clambered atop her, smushing her down against the pillows.
“Oof– hey!” she protested.
“So good. Really fucking good. Shut up,” you babbled, making quick work of tugging her scrub pants down. “Can I eat you out? Please? Let me try,” you begged.
Mel’s cheeks flooded and she nodded without a word, hands fisting in the sheets. That taste of control was gone as quickly as it came. She watched with wide eyes as you dragged her panties down with purpose, ogling the mortifyingly swollen lips of her cunt, studying the puffy pinkness as it throbbed and glistened from all that teasing she’d put you through. You whimpered with need as you nestled between her legs, pressing your cheek to her thigh and spreading her.
“Baby,” she panted, shifting on the bed. “Come on.”
“Tell me if it feels good or if I hurt you,” you instructed.
“Yeah, sure, j-just do it.”
You wasted no time. With a hungry lick of your lips, you leaned in to nudge her clit with your nose for a moment, drawing in her scent, before you lathed a full lick from the base of her entrance to the top, taking a mouthful of the collecting arousal. Mel’s hips bucked off the bed as you swirled your tongue without any sense of rhythm just yet, simply testing what the soft and slippery slide of her flesh felt like between your lips, teeth brushing her clit, hot breath shocking her nerves. You found a good momentum once Mel braced her legs over your shoulders. Sliding your palms under her back to keep the weight of her hips pressed close, you dove in the way you’d seen the girls do in videos, suckling dutifully at the warm little pearl cresting her folds while you slurped and spat and simpered into the heat. Mel was a stuttering mess beneath you.
“Ah! F–oh, I– it– you– ah…!”
You felt your hips throbbing, felt the wetness soiling your panties as you devoured her. You ground against the bed, finding a bunch of the blanket in a good spot between your thighs to focus on. Mel gazed down at the sight of your slick face disappearing between her knees, at how you desperately humped the bed, and she fought back overwhelming tears of pleasure. Her nimble fingers tugged at your hair as you coaxed her closer and closer to the edge. It was the simple and lethal addition of your fingers that did it– as you peeked up to see her struggling to breathe, you neatly tucked two fingers past your tongue and crooked them, kissing her cunt sweetly. Mel moaned like it was being ripped from her throat and clenched your digits hard, shaking her way through an orgasm that made her legs straighten out around your neck. You giggled and slobbered your way through it, flattening your tongue and applying some soothing pressure to her aching skin as the shockwaves rolled.
Mel grabbed you up by the hands and crashed her lips against yours, grunting at the savory taste of herself, and she slurred, “You’re way better at that than you think.”
“Yeah? It was fun,” you huffed, trying to catch your own breath.
Mel stroked your nose and brushed some hair from your eyes, twirling the strand around her finger. She nuzzled your cheek. “Felt really good. Thank you.”
“Sure,” you blushed, nuzzling her back.
“Your turn.”
“Huh?”
Mel laughed and rolled you over again. “You only get one first time for everything. Your turn. I’m gonna show you up.”
“It’s not a competition.”
“No, but you’re hot when you feel challenged, smarty pants.”
You beamed as your head hit the pillows, and as she kissed her way down your stomach, you felt an overwhelming burst of affection. Here you were, in a spot you’d always struggled to envision– alone and bare before someone who loved you more than anybody else in the world. And boy, did she love you. She didn’t like breathing without you to share her air. And she was about to go down on you with that kind of passion– the kind of passion she saved lives with. It was quite possibly the best feeling in the world– well, second only maybe to her tongue thrusting between your lips. That, you were about to learn, was a big hit– and you had all night to learn how.
summary: when you get injured at a renaissance faire, mel has the privilege of making your acquaintance… and breaking a little hospital code, too.
word count: 5k
contains: fluff. absolutely dumb jousting injury, plus size reader if you squint, mel being a good doctor and a prettier girl, mel showing her neurodivergence, reader being sooo easy. flirting and meet cute stuff. *no use of y/n
a/n: first mel post :,) oh how i love her…. HOW I LOVE HER… there’s not enough mel king x readers on this site for me so now i have to do it. look at what you did. look
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It was not originally in your plans to get mowed down by a horse, but things simply just got out of control.
You had been to many Renaissance faires, and the activities were not new to you. For years, you’ve trotted around campgrounds and county parks decked out with wooden stages, makeshift jousting arenas, unusual tents full of wares and magics, and stalls overflowing with trinkets and drinks. It was your favorite part of the year when the season came around. You never ceased putting thought into it; your very first year you started small with a bustled skirt and some faerie-like wings, and the confidence quickly evolved to a meter which tipped between bedazzled pirate princess, to medieval witch, to Shakespearean sweetheart. You had a box full of clothes saved especially for the weekends off work that you dragged your sister’s unlucky soul to a land far, far away.
All of this is to say that when it came to knowing how to enjoy a Renaissance faire, as well as how to keep your wits about you, you were well-prepared. But you cannot always account for anomalies. Nobody can. And so when you were standing around the edge of the fenced-in jousting event– this was the big money maker of the day– you expected to stand in this year’s Anne Boleyn-style dress and enjoy the show.
You were gravely mistaken.
All had been well up until this point. Your sister came with you, and together you got a head start, stepping foot on the fairgrounds the second the event opened. You had eaten your way around the perimeter and indulged in a handful of beers, and by the time the sun rose to noon, you were tipsy and spinning with random strangers in your dress during little dance circles. You took a slew of pictures around the grounds and even convinced your sister to try out the axe throwing stall, which was a terrible idea given your summed blood alcohol level, but somehow you two survived. It wasn’t too hot and it wasn’t too bright, and in the book of past times, this was likely the most fun you’d ever had at a faire.
When the jousting show was announced, your sister was adamant on joining the bet on the winner.
“We gotta go with the guy in the blue,” she giggled, “He’s hot.”
“He is not!” you snorted.
“That means nothing coming from you.”
“I still like men, dipshit,”
“Yeah, but not that much!”
You rolled your eyes in the moment, set on acquiring two more beers, and when you returned, she had put the money down. There was no going back now– you had to stay and watch, to see if she would make it or break it.
The joust was as clumsy as expected; it was two nerds on horses, which was more realism than you’d seen in the dinkier places you’d tried, but they seemed to circle each other and hurl old insults more than anything. It began to intensify the second the blue knight– your sister’s bet– swiped at his opponent’s ankle. The red knight parried, and suddenly they were close enough to engage in a battle of steel. You squealed and ducked with the crowd as the men sliced away, false swords swishing the air and feigning hard. The red knight, in the heat of the moment, miscalculated a swing, and that was when disaster struck. His sword might have been painted wood, but the end was still pointy. It prodded the ribcage of the blue knight’s horse, and the steed roared and kicked high, nearly throwing its rider off.
The crowd gasped and screamed with fear for the man as he clung on for dear life. The horse, a beautiful chestnut brown and absolutely enraged, pounded around the opponent in a circle, huffing hard and kicking his legs. Then, he neighed violently and made a break for the wooden fence. Right at you.
You felt the sting of your sister’s nails digging into your skin, vision a bit lagging as you realized the gravity of the situation. You yelped and jumped away into her tug, but the horse’s hooves hit the edge of the wooden fence as it jumped over, and he came crashing down with his knight in a rough tumble, catching your leg in the commotion. You cried out as the bottom half of your left leg, just below the knee, twisted at an irregular angle in the steed’s rush to right itself. The knight was ejected off its back in a final shake, and the horse ran off into the faire. A handful of people ran after it to try and catch the animal before it reached the road, but you were out of commission in the dirt, clutching your leg and gasping for air. The fall had knocked the wind from your lungs.
“Shit! Oh my god!” Your sister panicked, fishing through her purse anxiously to find her phone.
The blue knight crawled over to you, groaning and wincing. His face had a deep gash in it, trailing from browbone to cheekbone, and he clutched at his right rib. “Are you alright, your highness?”
You shook your head violently and attempted a thick, shaky breath as the pain began to ripple like fire through your leg. You couldn’t get any air in, and you were pissed off beyond repair.
Tugging up the hem of your dress, you gazed down at the damage– your ankle was absolutely broken, already beginning to swell and discolor, and the bruise reached your shinbone. The whole foot seemed out of place, and it nearly made you sick. You did not do well with pain. The knight laid on the ground and wheezed beside you, and you choked as the world began to spin. The pain was growing, slow and hot, and nearly unbearable.
Your sister’s voice appeared again beside you. “I called the ambulance, okay? It’s gonna be okay, it’ll be fine, you’ll be fine!”
You sat like a trapped deer on the ground, dress soiled and clutching your sister’s hand, struggling to draw in any breath. The fair was a disorganized mess around you as people began to check around for any other injuries and repair the trail of damage that the horse left in its wake. You were so shocked and overwhelmed and your lungs were so strained that by the time you were close to regaining normal breathing ability, you passed out on the ground beside the knight.
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“What’ve we got?”
“Ren faire nightmare,” the medic, a young guy named Shepard, smirked. “Chart’s in her lap. 23 years old, dispatch sent a convoy to a fair off the county road after a slew of calls came in about an escaped horse. Sister said she was standing by the fence during a jousting accident and the thing mowed her down, stomped on her leg. No signs of trauma, but her ankle and foot are broken, shinbone probably fractured, there’s swelling and bleeding, throbbing pain. Passed out on scene from losing wind, she woke up on the ride in. Had a few drinks over the day but was lucid enough for morphine. Good BP, but pulse ox has been steadily lower– 93 on two liters, we put a line in.”
You blinked dizzily and glanced around. Bright fluorescent lights hypnotized you as a band of doctors in black scrubs wheeled you through motorized doors. You tried to focus on the things the paramedic was saying, but half of it sounded like gibberish, so instead you redirected your waning focus to the faces looming over you as the world passed you by.
A middle-aged man with big, soft eyes was peering at you and prodding you, brushing your hair back from your forehead to check your eyes. His beard had little salt-and-pepper patches by the cheeks and his glasses routinely slid down his nose. Just beside him was a younger doctor, shorter and a bit mousey, with brown hair and a nervous expression. He had his hands on the handle of the gurney. On the other side of the bed were two women– one with wild bangs objectively obscuring her vision, smiling crookedly and questioning the paramedics, and closer to you with her stethoscope on your chest was a blonde girl with little round glasses and a beauty mark by her nose. Her eyes were a glacial kind of blue, cheeks pin with exertion, eyes wide and scrutinizing as she seemed to take in everything about you and everything around her simultaneously. You felt her gentle fingers taking your pulse, and you drew a shaky breath and croaked, “Am I okay?”
The doctor nodded softly and took her stethoscope away. “Yeah, you’re gonna be just fine. I’m Dr. Melissa King. Do you know where you are?”
“My sister said she called an ambulance… looks like the hospital…”
“Mhm. Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. Don't worry, we’re gonna fix you right up, okay? Just focus on breathing,” Mel hummed and glanced across the gurney to her colleges. “Central 14 is open.”
The foxy doctor raised his hands in playful surrender and backed away with a knowing smile. “Hands off, everyone, Mel’s got it covered,” he joked, leaning over you. “Don’t worry, your majesty, you are in the best hands.”
You watched her face twist awkwardly as the mousy doctor helped her wheel you down a hall. Her eyebrows gathered so close, closer than you’d ever seen someone’s get. It was cute.
“Did I break my leg?”
“It sounds like a horse broke it, actually, but I’m gonna take a look at it to pinpoint where the breaks are.”
“That fucking horse,” you groaned, writhing a bit. “Ow. Fuck.”
“Hurts? Tell me on a scale of 10,”
“S-seven,” you grunted, feeling the burning, shooting pain in your left leg.
“Okay, okay, we’ll get you some more medicine once we set you up. You’re doing good. Keep breathing.”
It took a few minutes for them to help you off the gurney and into the bed, because they had to call over the closest two people they could find– it seemed the hospital was stretched thin for hands. You had never been in one before, not for yourself, and the whole thing was making you incredibly nervous. You were also painfully aware of the ridiculously obnoxious dress on your body– the blue velvet, the petticoat, the headband and veil spilling over the side of the bed. You looked like a freak in comparison to all these clean-cut doctors and robed patients behind the dividing curtains.
Mel noticed the way your eyes darted around awkwardly, and she tapped a new line for you, upping your dose a bit. Then she pulled up a stool and glanced at her colleague.
“I’ll take her history. You’re good, Whitaker. Go finish charting.”
“You sure? It’s past–”
“It’s fine. Becca is with Adam tonight. I’ll finish her up.”
“Okay. Beep me if you need anything.”
You watched the doctor– Whitaker– duck behind the curtain, and you glanced back at Mel. Her golden braid was half untucked as it felt down her shoulder, like it had lived its own life throughout a shift in the ER and was just as disheveled and sleepy as she was. When she glanced back up at you, cradling an iPad and prepared to write down all your symptoms, she smirked.
“So. what exactly happened?”
You flushed a bit. The pain in your ankle was a dull throb now– the medicine she adjusted was helping. The buzz in your head was mournfully fading. “I was at the Renaissance faire with my sister. She bet on the jousting tournament… the horse went crazy or something. Ran right at me. I– I didn’t get out of the way in time, I was a little drunk…”
“Don’t be embarrassed,” Mel encouraged, typing on the tablet. “Even a fully lucid person would struggle to move out of the way. Did you know spooked horses usually break off into a run between 25 and 35 miles an hour? Sometimes they even reach as high as 55 miles an hour, depending on the breed. Anybody would get hurt.”
You tilted your head, listening to the lilt of her low voice as she tried to offer what were seemingly comforting words to you, and you laughed a little. You couldn’t help it. It was so… unusual.
Mel looked up. “What?”
“How do you know that?”
Mel tinted pink and shrugged, staring down at her tablet. “I watched a documentary with my sister once.”
“You have a sister too?”
“Yeah. Becca. We’re twins.”
“Two of you,” you said, “Lucky stroke.” It slipped out. Must have been the morphine.
Mel’s eyes flicked up to yours and she smiled sheepishly. Placing her tablet down on the bed, she leaned over your leg and gently tugged the dress up. “I’m just gonna take a quick look, okay?”
Her hands were warm on your skin. You nodded.
“Any history of medical issues?”
“Mm-mm.”
“Are you on any medication?”
“I–I just take some allergy medicine now and again. I probably need Xanax, but I’m not on anything.”
Mel smirked at the joke. “Any allergies, surgical history?”
“Nope and nope.”
Mel freed up your leg to the knee, revealing the soft skin of your leg. With careful fingers she began to assess your foot and ankle first, testing the limits of its mobility, catching each time you hissed and feeling the inflamed spots. As she worked, she offered, “I love ren faires.”
“Huh?”
“Renaissance faires,” she repeated, dragging her gloved hand up to your shin and applying pressure to the swollen area. “I love them. I used to go a lot more, but the hospital keeps me busy.”
“Really?”
“Mhm,” she grinned, tugging your dress back down. For a second, she felt the fabric reverently. “I usually dress a bit more medieval. I like your dress, though. It’s very… Anne Boleyn.”
You smiled wider. “That’s exactly what it is.”
Mel’s eyes crinkled, and she picked up the tablet again. “Well, I think I know what your issue is.”
“Is it bad?”
“It’s not ideal, but it could be worse. It looks like you have a few broken metatarsals– those are the bones in your foot that connect it to your ankle. You also have a fractured tibia. I am going to order a few scans for your leg to identify the exact spots of the breaks, and from there I can set you up for a care plan. You’re going to need a cast and crutches.”
You whined softly and rubbed your temples. “Jesus…”
“Don’t worry. I’ll keep you comfortable and I’ll come back to check on you while we wait to get you x-rayed, okay?”
“Okay,” you sighed softly. “Where’s my sister?”
“She came in with you, but she was drunker than you were. We set her up on an IV to help sober her up.”
“She’s okay, though?”
“She’s fine. Worry about you for now, okay? Can I get you anything? You should eat. I’ll get you a snack. And something to drink.”
You swallowed as she rambled over you, heart thumping a bit. This doctor really could talk. But her eyes glowed as she did, like taking care of you was the one and only thing she cared about doing in the moment. It made you feel warm all over.
“U-um…”
“What is it? Something else?”
You flushed down your neck. “Maybe just… something else to wear. This dress is hot.”
Mel glanced over you again. The puffy velvet number clung to the soft pudge of your stomach, the expense of your arms. It cradled your chest like a perfect fit. Her stomach flipped and she nodded, tearing her eyes away. “Sure. Um, I’ll get you a gown. I’d offer scrubs, but we gotta keep that leg free.”
“Okay.”
“Alright. Sit tight, then. I’ll be right back– if you need anything, press the call button and tell them to come get me.”
“Thank you, Dr. King,” you smoothed over your dress, feeling so awkward, so flustered.
Mel’s face heated at the name. “Sure. Don’t move, your majesty,” she teased. With a dorky little bow and a visible wince, she ducked behind the curtain and tugged it shut to give you privacy.
The hospital buzzed around you, the sounds of beeping monitors and kibitzing doctors echoing in your spacey head, but you just stared at the space Mel had sat. She seemed young– young like you. And soft. And pretty. Very, very pretty, and very smart, and very good at her job. Soon enough, you were thinking about Mel and Mel only, and found yourself in quite the precarious position.
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It took a while for the young doctor to return– the hospital was backed up in every department, no surprise, and with the pass-offs to night shift, she had gotten dragged away on her way back to you ten separate times. But she did come back, and when she did, she had a gown bag around her wrist, along with a plethora of treats in her arms and a can of ginger ale. You smiled curiously as she drew her stool up and sat down before you.
“That’s a lot of stuff.”
“Yeah, well, our cafeteria sucks, so I got some stuff from the lounge.”
You giggled as she spread out an unusual smorgasbord– two different kinds of potato chips, some mini muffins, a pre-packaged cookie, a baggie of apples, and a Hostess cupcake. “This is doctor food?”
“Don't tell them I took it.”
You laughed again, and Mel’s eye strained softly on your rising and falling chest. Good breath sounds, she thought, and a pretty laugh. She laid the gown across your velveteen lap. “With your leg, it might be hard to change. Do you want me to get a nurse?”
You blinked and glanced down. You forgot about that part. “Right. Um… n-no, no, that’s not necessary, I can just… maybe if you could unzip the back of my dress, I can definitely get my arms out and pull this thing on. You could just… tug it down my legs after.”
Mel nodded curtly, schooling her expression. This never happened to her. She was a great professional, always clinical with her patients, never distracted by them; but you were so blushy, so soft and copious, so smiley and grateful for her help that she couldn't help herself. And you wanted her to take off your Renaissance dress. She could melt into the floor.
When you leant forward, she carefully unzipped the joint of your dress and expertly avoided looking at the smooth skin of your back. With her eyes averted, you shrugged it down your tummy and pulled the gown over yourself. When you were ready, you glanced back at her, but she was zoned out in a staring match against the curtain. You reached out and brushed her arm without thinking, and her attention snapped back to yours.
“Um… help,” you chuckled awkwardly.
“Right. Yes. Sorry,” she fussed, coming around the edge of the bed and supporting your leg as you used your good weight-bearing foot to lift your hips and shimmy the dress over your hips. Mel pulled it the rest of the way, conscious of the injury, and her fingertips dragged down the length of your legs as she did. You felt butterflies in your gut as she folded the dress up meticulously and tucked it into a belongings bag. You detangled the headband from your hair and passed it off, too.
Mel watched your painstakingly curled hair settle in tangles over your shoulders, and she set the bag down on her stool. “Do you… want me to brush your hair? It looks like it’s bothering you.”
You felt the stiff ends, sticky with hairspray and dirt. That didn’t even occur to you as an option. The thought of this gorgeous doctor passing her hands through your hair… oh, man. It made you incredibly selfish. “Sure.”
Mel smiled a little and wandered towards a cart across the hall, and you watched her search the drawers until she came up with a wiry brush. She helped you sit up a bit and perched herself on the side of the bed. “It’s not the best, but I’ll be gentle. Let me know if I tug on anything.”
You felt all the blood in your body bubble as her warm hands gathered your hair behind your neck and began brushing at the ends. You barely even felt it, her strokes were feather light. With Mel this close you could smell her– it was subtle, something clean, like cucumber or something, and the sweet sting of hand sanitizer. It was more intoxicating than the beers at that faire.
“You’re good at this,” you murmured.
“I’ve been practicing on my sister all my life.”
“I bet you’re a great sister.”
Mel flushed and passed the paddle over your scalp, tucking some hair behind your ear. “I bet you are, too.”
You locked eyes with her for a moment, and her hands stilled in your hair. You asked softly, “How old are you, Dr. King?”
“27,”
“Wow,” you hummed, “Young.”
“Like you,” she tilted her head, studying your expression.
“Do you like being a doctor?”
Mel pulled the brush from your hair, letting the revived locks fall loosely. They framed your face like a painting. It made her head spin. “Yeah. I love it. It can be stressful, but I meet amazing people, and I help them feel better. There’s nothing more rewarding to me.”
Your eyes softened. “It must be exhausting.”
“Oh, sure. I mean, I’m sixteen hours into my shift that was supposed to end four hours ago.”
You furrowed your brows and asked, “Wait, what? Why aren’t you home?”
Mel thought, Because I took your case. Because I wanted to be the one who made you feel better. Because I saw you in that stupid dress and wanted to know you. But she didn’t say any of that. Instead, she responded, “I just haven’t finished up yet.”
“What do you have left?”
“Feeding you,” she grinned, “and clocking out.”
A smile overtook your face as you grabbed one of the bags of chips. “Well, that’s done. Go home.”
“You sound like my boss,” Mel joked.
“Maybe your boss should try harder to get you out on time!”
Mel laughed softly as you popped a chip past your soft lips, and she had to rip her gaze away. “Fine. I’ll make sure that Dr. Abbot takes over your care until I come back tomorrow. Imaging is backed up, so we have to keep you overnight. You won’t get those scans until the morning.”
You nodded softly, heart sinking just a bit at the thought of her really leaving, but you could sense the weight on her shoulders. She was just a good faker.
Mel stood up and flicked your hair over your shoulder playfully. “I suggest you get some sleep. I’ll be back in a few hours.”
“Okay.”
“Okay,” she said softly, smiling down at you. “Remember, call if–”
“If I need any help,” you cut her off. “Thank you, Dr. King.”
“Mhm. Goodnight.”
“Yeah, night,” you hummed.
Mel left you once again, her tight little black jacket moving with every sway of her body as she disappeared behind the curtains, and you watched her walk away until the sea of workers swallowed her. You wouldn’t be happy about the bill, but you would be glad to see her again in the morning. As you looked upon your feast of crappy, hand-picked snacks, you felt a flutter in the back of your throat. She did that for you. It made you wonder what else she would do for someone, given the chance.
—————————— ˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ ‧₊——————————
The morphine knocked you out overnight, and when you saw Mel again, Dr. Jack Abbot was wheeling you back from imaging. You knew this man would be your sister’s type– the (undeniably sexy) arms poking from under his scrub sleeves, his frosted hair, his sarcastic way. You liked him, too, but you missed your primary. You caught her eye as she walked in the double doors, and her expression lit up.
“Abbot! Wait up!” She called, rushing in with her bag and all, halting before you. “How’s she doing? Hey, you.”
You waved a little, heart in your throat. Behind you, Abbot grinned like the wolf he was. “Oh, this one? She’s a trooper. Second and third metatarsal have a clean break, and she’s got a tibia fracture halfway up, but she could probably walk on that leg– couldn’t you, kiddo?”
You chuckled sheepishly up at him. He had a good grip on you since he came to see you after Mel clocked out. “Give me a little more morphine, then yeah.”
“How about we just get you back to your room so I can set you up with a cast, huh?”
You smiled up at her, and she ruffled your hair. Abbot swatted her hand away jokingly and popped a wheelie with your chair, making you yelp. He maneuvered you away and you giggled as Mel disappeared down a hallway.
Abbot got you back in bed, and Mel popped up out of thin air with the makings of a cast and boot for you. You beamed when she placed a coffee in your hands.
“Oh, thank god,” you groaned, sipping it gratefully. Somehow, it was just right. Freakishly right. “How did you know I’d want this?”
“I stopped to see your sister before I clocked in. She’s feeling much better after a night of sleep and fluids. She told me how you took it.”
You fell quiet for a moment as she got settled in, heart pounding. “That was sweet of you,”
Mel burned up. “Yeah, well… um, how’s your pain?”
“Fine. The medicine works.”
“Good.” Mel began to wrap your leg, and between snips, she said, “You’ll be able to go home after this. I’ll get you crutches and we can discharge you. You’ll have to come back every few weeks for a checkup, it’ll all be on the paper I’ll give you.”
The idea of leaving this sterile, white place should’ve been a relief, but it made your stomach twist. You didn’t want to. In the most stupid and childish way possible, you wanted to lay there and let Mel tend to you forever. She was so warm, so soft, so careful when she touched you. She thought of you, she made things easy when they were most embarrassing. In those few hours, she had completely overtaken you, and now you had to go home not knowing if you’d ever see her again.
“Oh,” was all you managed.
Mel’s hands paused and she looked up. “What’s the matter?”
You sipped your coffee. “Nothing. S’fine. Sounds good.”
In all honesty, Mel didn’t want you to go either. She wanted to find a reason to give you every test, to run up your bill, just so she could see the way you smiled when she walked into your bay again. But that would be insane. As she slipped your leg into the boot, she imagined coming home to you, helping you itch that stupid thing, giving you medicine, making sure you stayed off it.
You watched her for a moment before saying, “I really appreciate everything you’ve done to take care of me. I wish I knew how to make it up to you.”
Mel swallowed before blurting, “We could get coffee.”
Your eyes widened. Did she just…
“Coffee?”
Oh, no. Oh, God, Mel panicked. That was completely inappropriate, a complete breach of doctor-paient ethics, but you looked so dejected and she was so completely into you–
“Y-yeah. Um, sure. If– if you wanted to. I could buy you coffee.”
You flushed profusely. “Wouldn’t it make more sense for me to buy you the coffee?”
Mel’s head lifted when she didn’t hear an immediate rebuke or rejection of what should’ve been an unprofessional slip up. Instead, she saw your gorgeous face, still streaked with yesterday’s makeup, smiling and blushing and gazing at her like she personally made your leg magically heal with the snap of her fingers.
“I guess it would, yeah,” she breathed out.
“I can bring it here. To you.”
“I work five shifts a week,” she added on, the two of you talking so fast it couldn’t be stopped. “I’m on days until Monday.”
“I can come back tomorrow.”
“You have to stay off this leg,”
“I’ll make my sister drop me off.”
“You are very eager,” she beamed.
“You have no idea.”
Mel helped you swing your leg over the bed, watching you test the weight of the boot, and she laughed at your silly little leg kicks. “I’ll get you scrubs to go home in.”
“Dr. King?”
“Yeah?” she asked, adjusting one of the straps on your boot.
Her cheek was close enough, and so you made the stupid decision to kiss it. Right over her beauty mark. Mel froze, and she glanced around quickly to be sure no one saw. And then she looked right at you, her blue eyes dark and wide as windows, and she said, “Save those for when you’re not my patient anymore.” And then, she leaned in and kissed your cheek right back– a dubious kiss, one that was close enough to catch the corner of your lips. Her mouth was the warmest thing about her.
You chewed your lip and nodded, fighting back a smirk at her flustered, smiley face.
“I’ll go get you those scrubs.”
“Ah ah ah,” you heeled her, quirking an eyebrow. “You forgot to address me.”
Mel glanced at your forgotten outfit that she had helped you out of the day before, and back at you. It was then that she knew that she was going to like you for a very, very long time. “I’ll go get you those scrubs, your majesty."
You fluttered and teased a tiny curtsy with your gown. “I’ll be waiting.”
