dxvidward
“If it were up to me, I’d dub you doctor already,” his hands flat on the kitchen counter of the clinic that he had once called home, goddamn skimming through today’s paper to see if his numbers hit the lottery jackpot. “When I win the lottery, I’m gonna buy a sword and one of those red-ass capes with fur on it and dub you. I’d give you the desk, the office; I’d even give you my favorite mug,” he spoke in masked dark humour, then retelling Mariana how he had been in his goddamn pajamas with cheese cheetos powder on his goddamn fingers at 4 am when a bunch of teenagers started rapping his goddamn front door last night for some goddamn bandages.
“Who says I want your dirty dick mug?” she teased, moving to stand next to him before bumping him with her hip. “Everything else you said was fine---and I expect you to buy me a beautiful dress too. Non-negotiable.” She winked at him. “How did those teenagers even know where you live? You haven’t been involved in anything dirty, have you doctor? Because that would be very unbecoming for someone of your status.” She bumped him with her hip for a second time, studying him with dramatic skepticism.









