What do you mean âchatâ is now referring to ChatGPT and not twitch chat? What? What? What the fuck? No?
When I address chat I am speaking to a presumed Greek chorus of real human people shitposting on their lunch break, not a machine that devours lakes to covert electricity into slop.
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summary: in which you're ready to end things with clark, but he doesn't let you. how were you supposed to know kryptonian saliva is an aphrodisiac?
CWs: 18+ MDNI! DUBCON AT THE VERY LEAST! READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION!, explicit sexual content (oral - f!receiving, some brief nipple play), fem!reader x clark kent, super manipulative & icky clark bc he needed some dark!representation and im here to provide for that gap, very VERY messy kisses, spitplay? i guess that's a term for it? idk man he spits in your mouth, HE SPITS IN YOUR MOUTH!!!!
wc: juuuust under 4k!
author's note: alright. listen. LISTEN. this is a labor of love for me. it took me a very long time and i am very proud of it. however, i will not be writing dark!clarkie in a long time, because he is exhausting. i hope you all enjoy him. let's be depraved together <3
this is dedicated to my beloved @thceseus and @tw1sters !! thank you two for being the best depraved perverts who Also want to be manipulated by clark kent. i love you more than words can express.
Clark Kent is a good man. Thatâs why he never kisses you.Â
Itâs something he saves for certain occasions. Anniversaries. When you have a really hard day at work. Nights when youâre struggling to sleep.
Fights.Â
Especially the fights where a particularly rough grit in your voice is present, telling him when heâll have to break his own rather shaky moral code. It always comes after a night spent yelling at each other, of going back and forth about some issue in your relationship that heâd rather avoid.Â
A night like the one youâre both being strangled by right now.
Youâve been screaming back and forth at each other for over 20 minutes; nothing but barbarous insults hurled at each other that neither of you will be able to forget but will refuse to discuss when your tempers have regulated. Not to mention that he heard that tell-tale grit in your voice from the very first second that you opened your mouth. Hell, it almost weighed heavier on him than the horrible things you were telling him.Â
Now, though, youâre both silent. Everything that needed to be said was said.Â
Eyes wide and unflinchingly locked together, unwavering connection stemming from the vicious battle you just went through in this bedroom. The one that was never going to produce a victor, because neither of you can take back what you told each other. Youâre still red in the face. Youâve still got veins popping out of your neck. Hot, angry tears are silently pouring down your cheeksâno doubt from the high emotions, the unbearable pain.Â
Or maybe from the realization youâre arriving at for the millionth time this month: This relationship isnât working. Hasnât been working for weeks, and he knows youâve been in that state of mind for a while.Â
Clark, though? Not so much. Heâs given you so much of himself, so much of his time, so much of his life and loveâŚhow could he ever let you go?
So when you finally break that eye contact, when you look down at the floor separating the two of you, he knows what he has to do. Does he want to do it? No, because Clark is a good man.Â
But heâll do anything to keep you with him.
It starts when you let out one of those wistful little sighsâthe exact type of sigh that precedes the line he knows youâll forget you even said to him in a few minutes:Â
âI think we need to take a break.âÂ
Your voice is much softer now. Broken, in a way. Broken from how hard you were yelling. Broken from how upset you are. Broken from your own suggestion, because Clark knows that, deep down in your heart, you never mean that. Youâve never gone through with it, so how could you possibly mean it? You donât want that.Â
He knows what you want.Â
Clark clears his throat. Takes a few slow, long strides across your bedroom until he reaches you. Youâre so tired from the fight that you donât even move away from him. Not like youâd want to, anyway. Clark knew you wouldnât. He knows this fightâand the way you react to itâbetter than anything else.Â
You might have said you canât stand him, that you want to take a break, that youâre tired of it allâŚbut your body doesnât agree. Your body leans into him. Your body presses your hands against his chest and lets your forehead fall on his shoulder. Your body rests on his so that you donât have to carry the weight of your shared dysfunction on your own anymore.
âCâmon, baby. Donât say that.â he whispers. âYou donât mean that.âÂ
âClark, donâtââÂ
That tiny beginnerâs protest doesnât really ring true while youâre sliding your arms around his shoulders and pulling yourself into his chest, so he cuts you off.
âNo. No, we donât need a break. We can work through this. We always work through it, donât we?â he purrs at you. Tilts your head up with one hand while his other arm stays wrapped around your waist. Glues you to him and doesnât give you any space to unstick yourself from him. His fingers curl around your jaw and a quick scan of your face in the pale blue moonlight streaming into your room gives him what he was hoping to see.Â
You have a certain habit that he uses to his advantage when you fight with him. You gnaw at your bottom lip when youâre trying to keep certain insults in. Sometimes, itâs so harsh of a bite that you cut the skin. Make yourself bleed.Â
Give him an opening to change your mind.Â
âGoodness, honey. You gotta stop doing this,â he sweetly coos. Runs his thumb over your bottom lip to make it seem like heâs only concerned about the cut. To be fair, he is concerned about how itâs probably hurting youâbut thatâs not taking precedence right now.Â
âGonna hurt yourself. I know this doesnât feel good.â
He pushes out a sigh through his nose. He has to look frustrated and sympathetic if he wants to act like he doesnât know what heâs doing.Â
âYou gonna let me clean you up?â Â
You whine and lean into his touch; a confirmation without the words to accompany it. He knows you canât resist him. He puts on his sweetest smile and mumbles, âGood. Gotta take care of my girl,â while he gives you a soft squeeze.
Getting you this close is just step one.Â
Step two, though, is where the last remaining dregs of his own guilt start to creep in. He hesitates for a moment when he pulls his thumb off of your lip and brings it up to his own mouth. He could pull away from you and get a wet rag to clean it instead. He could be the good man Ma raised him to be.Â
Then you lean into him a little more. Get so close to him that he can smell the shampoo in your hair, the perfume on your skin, the adrenaline pumping through your blood. Your bottom lip is still subtly trembling. A shockwave from your crying that just refuses to leave you, much like how you canât leave his arms right now.
How could you blame him for what heâs about to do? Your body is begging him to do it. Begging him for some release from this pain. Craving relief that only he can provide you.
Isnât the whole point of his being here on Earth protecting and caring for its inhabitants, anyway?
So he ditches the guilt. Swallows it down and acts like heâs just trying to clean you up when he licks his thumb to wet it and swipes it over the gently oozing blood on your lip. Drags it back and forth over the still-open cut once, twice, three times. Soft and sweet, like Ma would do when he had a stain on his cheek from playing outside when he was a kid. As though thereâs no ulterior motive here.Â
And to you, there probably isnât. To you, he probably seems like heâs just caring for you. Trying to make you feel better.Â
Clark knows thatâs not the case.Â
He keeps his thumb pressed against your lip. Keeps it over that cut. Keeps pressing his saliva into the little wound. Rubbing it back and forth. Licking his thumb again. Repeating the whole process when some more blood wells from your self-inflicted bite. Feeding more and more of himself to you.Â
Part of him wishes Kara never told him about this little trick.
âAll I know is that itâs likeâŚa fuckinâ love potion, or something. If you kiss a human, theyâll go crazy for you. I think itâs in our spit. I know it sounds crazy, Kal, but trust me. That shit works.âÂ
He thought she was lying. Didnât believe her at first, because how outrageous would that be? Sure, his parents wanted him to repopulate Earth, but isnât aphrodisiac-laced spit a little far fetched?Â
Two years later, he knows she wasnât lying. Especially right now, as heâs watching you fall into the effects of it. Heâs watching your pupils dilate with every gentle brush of his thumb over your lip, watching your breathing quicken in your still-heaving chest.Â
This trickâs worked on you every time. And every time he does it, he feels bad about it, but heâs sure not stopping any time soon. Not when he gets to see you like this.Â
Your eyes keep locking onto his mouth. You keep squirming in his grasp, body warm, skin dampening, and much more pliable than you were only a few seconds earlier. When your fingers dig into his shirt, he finds that theyâre trembling. Whether itâs from the rage of your fight or the lack of his attention toward the mess youâre already making between your thighs, he doesnât know. Maybe itâs both.Â
âClark,â you whine. Pitchy, breathy, irresistible. He ticks his jaw, annoyed with himself for being so turned on by this. By being able to control you this easily. Heâs supposed to be a good man. Heâs not supposed to get hard when youâre upset with him.Â
âIâm here. Iâve got you, baby.âÂ
Your lidded eyes trace every single word that leaves his mouth. You moan at the pet name. His fingers, still curled around your jaw while his others grasp at your waist, pick up on the heat radiating from you.Â
âDonât like it when we fight.â
âI donât like it either, honey.âÂ
Your knees buckle at the saccharine nickname he knows is your favoriteâa slight jolt that makes him tighten his hold on youâand you start panting, start gripping him a little harder.Â
Are your hips rolling against his? He pays no mind to it. Forces himself to take his thumb away from your lip, because youâre good and moldable for him already. Three rounds of feeding himself to you through an open woundâll do it. He doesnât need to take this any further.
That doesnât mean he doesnât want to, though.Â
âI love you,â you whisper to him. The inky blackness of your pupils eats up your irises. Youâre soaking through your panties, making such a big mess that he can smell it. He should be excitedâand part of him isâbut his heart aches instead. When was the last time he had you this wet, this compliant, this soft and needy for him, without using his saliva to get you there? Must have been before everything started going downhill a few months ago.Â
Oh well. At least youâre there now, right?
So he smiles at you. Sweet and crooked, the smile youâve told him you love a thousand times before. Makes you whimper and has you bucking your hips up against his. Youâre so hot that your skin is burning. Warm to the touch and a little bit damp. Just how he likes you. His trick worked like a charm.
âThereâs my sweet girl. Was starting to think Iâd never see you again, baby. I love you so much.âÂ
When his lower-octave purr hits your ears, you almost collapse. He felt it all. The way your knees gave out, the way you grabbed onto him a little harder, the way your heart started slamming so roughly behind your ribcage that it almost burst out of your chest.Â
âCan I have a kiss?â you mercilessly, pathetically beg. Voice so soft and needy and whiney that he couldnât possibly dream of resisting you. âI knowâI know you donât like to do it, butâŚI need one. Please?â
âIs a kiss gonna make you feel better?â
You hum and nod so hard that your head looks like itâs about to fall off. He finds himself laughing. Not mean, not teasing, justâŚlaughing. Because heâs in awe. How has this trick worked for this long? How havenât you built up an immunity by now?
Thank God you havenât built up an immunity by now.Â
âMy needy girl always gets what she wants.âÂ
He licks his lipsâgetting them wet so he can keep you pliantâand leans down to press them against yours. His tongue gently glides against your bottom lip, making sure to take a little extra time on that cut there and causing you to suck in a brief wince. He pushes his way into your mouth without even a hint of resistance from you. Does its work. Keeps you easy.Â
20 minutes ago, youâd have had his head on a pike if he kissed you when you were that mad. If he had so much as suggested a kiss 20 minutes ago, you would have walked out of that door and never came back.Â
You break away not even 10 seconds later. Clearly woozy from the kiss, like he knew youâd be. Everything is so heightened for you that heâs surprised you even lasted that long. You press your forehead against his jaw.Â
âBetter?â Clark asks. Your answer is some sort of jumbled little confirmation.Â
Your sticky, warm skin clings to his when you catch your breath, pull back, and try to reconnect the kiss. He lets you. Youâre the one parting his lips to press your tongue against his, youâre the one licking into his mouth so you can get as close to him as possible, youâre the one tangling your hands in his hair and yanking on it so you can part for air after a pathetic 10 more seconds. And yet, after you gulp in a few deep breaths, you kiss him again. Surprise engulfs him when, this time, you suck on his tongue.Â
Couldnât hold the moan that burst from his chest back if he tried.Â
Itâs the first time in a couple weeks that youâve paid any sort of positive attention to him at all, and he loves it. He loves you. If his girl wants a kissâor two, or threeâsheâll get one. Matter of fact, heâd let you do anything if it meant he got to keep you forever. He just might be able to do that if you keep sticking your tongue down his throat and sucking on his like you just did.Â
He pulls away when he senses that youâre losing yourself in him. That realization comes through your landing a particularly rough bite on his bottom lip before you start kissing his chin, his jaw, and his neck, leaving a trail of tiny wet patches in your wake.Â
Clark cradles your face in his hands to stop you from diving in for another kiss. Gives you a chance to breathe and gives him a moment to drink you in when youâre not mad at him. Your precious, soft, absolutely lovedrunk face. His poor baby. So far goneâeyes half-lidded, lips kiss-swollen and glistening from your messy litany of kisses, skin hot to the touch and chest heaving as you claw at his shirt and stumble over your own two feet while you drag him backwards toward your bed.Â
Youâre more than pliable enough, now.Â
Clark swipes his thumb over your bottom lip, thumb dampening from the filthy kisses youâve shared with him, a mix of your saliva and his. You chase after the contact and tilt your head into his palm when he slips his thumb down toward your jaw.Â
He puts on his best soft, deep voice and asks, âGonna let me take care of you, now, baby? Let me apologize?â before you can yank him down onto your bed.
He gets a soft hum from you. A nod. Of course he does. Youâd never say no to him when youâve got this much of his âlove potionââas Kara would call itâ coursing its way through your veins. So he takes your confirmation that he knew heâd get, lifts you up, and lets you indulge in your forced desires. Â
Clarkâs form of an apology isnât an actual apology. He doesnât say sorry to you anymore. When has it ever soothed your anger, anyway?Â
Instead, he apologizes by burying his face between your legs. He never has to give you much after youâve kissed. A gentle circling of his tongue around your clit for a handful of seconds is enough to get you to come undone for the first time. The next is a little harder to work for, but if being between your legs and humping the mattress to get his own relief could be a full time job, heâd apply for it immediately.Â
âClark!â you groan while arching off the bed. While youâre being thrown off the proverbial cliff, falling into your third climax in an obscenely short time frame. Â
Your body is a gorgeous symphony to him when youâre like this. Everything you do is music to his ears when youâre in this bed. The roughness of your breathing, the sheets rubbing against your heated, sticky skin, the lewd squelch of your wetness as he drives two fingers in and out of you, the moans you sing out when he curls those fingers up to hit the soft, spongy spot that he loves to abuse until youâre boneless beneath him.Â
âComing! Fuck, Iâm coming! Donâtâah! Donât stop!â you babble. Thereâs a string of curse words attached to the end of that jumbled declaration. Clark just hums and continues eating. Slips his fingers out of you to replace them with his tongue. The rough push of his nose against your clit forces a full-body jolt out of you.Â
You keep screaming for him to continue, to go deeper, to not stop, and he gives it all to you until youâre falling apart. Itâs not like it was his intention to stop. Wouldnât dream of stopping now. Wouldnât deprive himself of the pleasure of being glued to your pretty pussy like this.Â
Heâs not sure when he became so selfish. Maybe it was the first time he kissed you to manipulate you. Well, itâs not manipulation. Not if you were the one who asked for a kiss. Thatâs what he tells himself, at least.Â
âShit!â you hiss while you collapse back down on the bed with a heavy thump. Your bodyâs starting to give out. Mindâs been gone for a while, now; thereâs no way you remember what that fight earlier was about. Perfect. Just where he wants you. Should be enough to buy him at least a couple days of peace. A couple days of not having to worry about you wanting to break up with him and him losing all his motivation to live.Â
Clark smiles. Pulls back just enough to speak to you. When he pushes his thumbs against each of your folds and spreads you open, your whimpered response is telling him youâve got tears in your eyes. You cant your hips up, bucking and squirming for him to give you more.Â
How are you still begging for more when youâve had so much already? Maybe heâs not the only selfish one here.Â
âLook at the mess you made. Love it when sheâs cryinâ for me like this, baby. Canât believe I get to call this perfect little pussy all mine. Howâd I get so lucky?âÂ
He pushes his filthy words into your thighs between kisses as though heâs praying to you. He is, in a way. Praying that you wonât leave him. Praying that heâll get to keep you if heâs good enough at worshipping the altar of your body.
Those kisses slowly trail up your hips, your waist, your stomach. Each time he makes contact with you, he feels the goosebumps on your skin. Feels the way you shiver, the way youâre still weak for him even though he hasnât kissed you in what feels like an eternity.Â
He wants to kiss you. Wants to push you a little further. Wants you to go completely dumb so that you donât have to think about how mad you are at him. So that, if heâs lucky, youâll forget about everything altogether and just love him the way he loves you. Without hesitation. Without regret.Â
For now, he refrains. Kisses up to your chest and sucks one peaked, sensitive nipple into his mouth while his thumb teases the other. A gentle back and forth swipe, one that he drew on your bottom lip just a little while earlier.Â
He stops his kisses when he reaches your jaw. Tilts his head away from you when you try to kiss him. Nearly dies from the tiny, sad noise you push out when he doesnât give you what you want. Clears his throat and gently spreads your legs with one knee. Somewhere along the way, he slipped his hand down to your overstimulated clit, and he earns a cute little moan from you when he starts tracing soft circles on it.Â
âGonna let me use her one more time, honey?â
âLast time,â you confirm while spreading your legs wider for him. You nod. âOne last time.âÂ
Clark stills. Lifts his head so he can actually meet your eyes for the first time since this has all started. Itâs a miracle that theyâre still open. Whatâs not a miracle, though, is how your irises have started to return.
His blood chills. Threatens to freeze in his veins and render him useless. How long has it been since that aphrodisiac wore off?Â
âLast time? You donât mean that,â he mutters. The way his voice went up an octave is embarrassing. How could five words make him panic so quickly?Â
âI told you I wanted to take a break,â you counter. Your arms wrap around his shoulders and your fingers play with the curls at the nape of his neck. Clarkâs face starts to burn. Whether itâs from embarrassment, panic, or anger, he doesnât exactly know.Â
âYou didnât mean it when you said that, either.âÂ
He sighs. He knows what he has to do. He didnât think itâd ever get this far, but if it means keeping you, itâs getting done.Â
He steels himself and sends you a fake smile. You probably clocked it. Heâs never been good at faking them with you. He brushes some of your hair off of your forehead and lowers his face towards yours. His voice is a whisper when he finds it again.Â
âWeâll talk about it later.âÂ
You huff at him. Press your lips into a thin line but turn toward his palm when it slides down your cheek. Soon enough, his thumb is gliding over your lip again. He always seems to find it. This time, though, heâs got a reason.Â
He swipes it back and forth. Gentle. Unassuming. Considers it a win when you tilt your chin up for him to continue the tiny, comforting movement. He regains some confidence in his voice now that heâs accepted his fate and knows what he has to do here.Â
âBe a good girl and open up for me, baby,â he commands while he drags his thumb down your chin. For someone who wants a break so badly, you comply immediately. The smile he sends you is genuine, this time.Â
âThatâs it. Just like that, sweetheart.âÂ
As soon as youâve got your mouth open, chin tilted up, he does it. He stares into your eyes as he lets a single, heavy dribble of his saliva fall onto your tongue. Just enough of it to bump up the concentration of the aphrodisiac without knocking you out completely.Â
âSwallow,â he coos when he closes your mouth for you. Smiles when you do as he says without skipping a beat.Â
âAtta girl.â
When he finally tears his focus away from your mouth to look at your entire face, he sees everything he wants:
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Imagine ghost getting shot in the knee during a mission, a career ending injury, right?
He also happens to take a crowbar to the head, and it'd only by you dragging him some two miles does he even survive. You feel horrible about it, ghost was assigned to work with you after all. You spend hours in his hospital bed, even in the medically induced coma he's in.
You know your lieutenant better that most people do, had he been anyone else you would've even called yourself his friend. You also know that the military is all he has, that his apartment is empty and the only time he gets a warm meal on leave is when you drag him to your own apartment.
The whole team is there when the doctors wake him up. For the longest moment, ghost says nothing. He just stares at his legs covered by the thin blanket, the raised portion where bandage is wrapped around.
"...I'm done for then, eh?" He finally asks, voice completely blank. You have no idea how he feels about it, but you nod and take his hand.
"Cap has already handled it, sir. We got you a decent house and a monthly paycheck." A fact you had to fight like hell for, but it worked out nonetheless.
Ghost nods, looks at price "I'm not a lieutenant now? Officially done?"
At prices nod, you brace for some sort of anger or despair. An apology is already on the tip of your tongue when ghost looks back to you. His hand grips onto your bicep.
And proceeds to pull you in for a kiss.
You startle for only a second, mind stuttering over the reality of your lieutenant kissing you. Your hands burn where you touch his skin, melting into the kiss that really could be better. His lips are dry and the angle is awkward, but you'll be thinking of this moment for years later.
A cough from across the room.
Oh shit, your teams still here. You pull away, face blazing in embarrassment. Ghost looks nothing but please, with a smug look on his face as he lies back in the bed with content. At gazs pointed look and soaps gaping mouth, he says "wot? Ahm' not a lieutenant anymore. Can't get me on fraternization now, can you?"
You should probably stop to think about what just happened, but you've been fantasizing about your lieutenant kissing you since you met him.
So you ignore the sigh price lets out when you dive back in for another kiss. Ghost hums into your mouth, taking his time with this one and letting his hand rest on your waist. It's hot, heavy, and everything you've wanted.
The room quickly empties when you swing your leg up onto the bed and over his waist.
being a poor, frazzled med student just trying to survive rotations and getting ceremoniously thrown at the sharkâa man with more mythology behind him than anyone else on staff, and none of it goodâand someone who seems to have it out for you from day one. and sure, maybe you talk too muchâa nervous habitâbut it doesn't seem like it's enough to justify the scathing glare you can feel.
one that digs in through layers of vulnerable flesh: a surgeons knife cleaving into fat, tendon, muscle, and bone until nothing is left but a lump of barely masticated anxiety lodging itself in what remains of your throat. choked up in front of himâsomething you're sure he knows, can scent in the water like bloodâand offered no reprieve as he aims that flaying stare at the tremble of your bottom lip and asks questions you should know the answer to, but can't seem to get out through the muck stuck in the hollow of your throat. a gaping, teary eyed rookie in the face of a man who parts halls like a shark sluicing through schools of fishâa sick match up that culminates in a brutal bite to your jugular as he demands an answer you can't force out. left bleeding out in the operating room in the resounding echo of a mocking remarkâpretty quiet for someone who had a lot to say five minutes ago, huh? or maybe you just like wasting my timeâ
you don't get his vitriol or what you, in particular, did to piss him off. but he becomes a battering ram to your ego. a man you can't seem to win over or find some semblance of common ground no matter how hard you tryâand you do try. so much so, that it almost becomes an obsession. driven into a primal state of flight or flight: get his approval no matter the cost or die of humiliation tryingâthe latter of which seems to be the only viable outcome as the three weeks beneath him become what can only be described as a humiliation ritual. a psychological experimentâhis voice starts to sound like dinner bells: tears welling in your eyes the moment he appears in your periphery. primed, like a dog, to weep on command whenever he's around. and that, in itself, becoming another sort of hell when his voices carries through the room when he catches sight of them: come on, crybaby, save the waterworks for someone who cares.
(crybaby becomes a nickname you can't shake, one he won't let youâbut when the other med students, ones eagerly lapping at the jowels of the beast that decided you were the morsel it wanted and not themâtry to tap into the mockery, he snaps at them. goes off on anyone else who uses it in his presence, like bullying you was just for him and him aloneâ)
but despite the harsh treatment, which while brutal, blistering, it's often waylaid by the devastating competency of his lessons. the reason why he's able to get away with a shocking lack of decorum, and why everyone around him seems to go soft at the knees, bowing out in order to stay out of his way (and in these terse moments, Garcia's poignant wisdom always seem to come back and haunt you with a viciousness only matched by the waspish doctor she tried warning you about: some advice, crybaby? just stay the fuck outta his way and let him do his job. maybe stop whimpering long enough to listen to what he's sayingâmight learn a thing or two) reveals itself within minutes of meeting him. he's sharp tongued and surly, but it's undeniable that he's an expert in his field. jowels dripping with both ire and proficiencyâtwo facets he wields with an unshakeable deftness. it almost makes the punishment worth it in the endâ
almost.
but for as much as there is an acute sense of awe in being beneath him, the abject misery of failing short of success in leaving a modicum of a good impression (or even just impressing the imposing man) is enough to leave you bereft at the end your rotation. reeling, almost, because for as much as you like to fill empty space with empty words, everyone else seems to like you well enough, and your ego (which really should be non-existent after three weeks under that horrible glower) is sufficiently bruised enough for you to feel some sense of desperationâlike a kicked dog that doesn't know what it did to make someone so angry.
and like a kicked dog, you just can't help yourself when you come crawling back a day after your rotation ended, knocking on his office door with the words you rehearsed in the mirror for five hours running through your headâ
not that it matters much because the moment he's in front of you, all of it is drowned out by the sound of the bell ringing in your ears.
"what? got something to say to me, or are you just gonna pout at me all night, crybabyâ"
and he's not wrong. tears are already brimming in your eyes. all you can do is there and gape at him as he huffs and shuffles you inside. too busy trying to stifle the hitch in your throat to notice him turn the lock. too caught up in the size of him like this, in an office that feels comically too small to fit him in it, much less you. and it's not like you weren't aware of how big he is. the brooding eyes and the glower are usually noticed secondary to the absurd size of him cutting through a room with an unmatched sense of urgency. biceps you laid awake at night thinking about. easily coming to the conclusion that even with both of your hands wrapped around the thick of his arm, your fingers wouldn't meet. but still.
you've never really been alone with him, have you? and something about the way he's staring down at you, gaze slipping to trace the tears running down your numb cheeks, makes you feel like every bit of the dumb dog you are, one with too much prove and no way of knowing howâ
âor maybe, he says after the tear he's been feasting on falls into the collar of your scrubs. something ugly cuts through the pallid brown of his eyesâa spark that makes your you stomach twist into knots as he looms over your head, looking down the barrel of his nose at you.
"maybe you just wanted my attentionâ"
dogs are good at picking up new tricks, especially ones so eager to please, and when he curls his hand around the meat of your throat, the baleful glare from before is peeled back into something a little less hateful, a little more base; a grunt slipping out when your eyes flood once again, the reason for his singular anger made apparent when he drags you closer and you can feel his cock thicken against your belly, twitching when the tears roll down your stinging, sticky cheeks. he bends down until his mouth is flush against the corner of your eye, picking up your tears with a groanâthe agony of a starving man. bearing his teeth against your skin as the sound of his stomach echoes in the throaty rasp of scathing words:
is that why you keep showin' me those pretty tears, huh?
(and after being thrown to the shark like a sacrificial lamb, is it really a surprise when you show up to your next rotation with a slight limp and chain tucked into your collar that reads crybaby)
i know dr.park runs a TIGHT SHIP! if anybody even looks at you wrong on the new rotation god help them⌠can imagine lamb in the er and robby taking a liking to her because she is sensitive and caring (the same way he is with mel) and dr park suddenly doing every consult down in the pitt to make sure nothing happens even if it is good natured. god forbid something happens with a patient and robby handles it before he has a chance too because he is gonna FLIP!! youâre a crybaby when somebody gets in your face :(? wait until youâre bent over his lap or on your knees under his desk for him! you are creating so many beautiful brain worms god bless you
goddddddd it would be so terrible too because have you seen those arms? those biceps?? that man treats spanking like it's a professional sport and cock warming like it's something he's OWED đ he's not the type to tease, eitherâa punishment is a punishment and it's supposed to hurt so keep crying.
i also love the idea of lambs next rotation being in emergency medicine because compared to dr park, dr robby would just such a breath of fresh air. so much so, that she's googling "is it normal to be bullied so much by a surgeon?? are doctors just nicer people?" in between patients.
and if they never hooked up at the end of her rotation, then seeing her follow dr robby around like a lil puppy, wagging her tail with stars in her eyes, would surely push him over the edge. lamb would have a sticky, hot face full of snot and tears, a sore ass, and a crybaby collar around her bruised throat before the end of the day đŽâđ¨
something something ever since that one consult you happened to be in the room for, dr park keeps visiting the er for no reason. he just appears without warning, like he manifests out of thin air, scaring the daylights out of you every time. he's outside the break room when you sneak away for lunch, across the ambulance bay when you step out for a breather, sipping coffee and watching you, but he never says a word.
people start to take notice, and the jokes follow quickâbecause apparently, when you're not around, he's impossible to get ahold of.
it earns you a nickname. sharkbait.
because whenever someone needs dr park, they make you ask.
dr park who visits whenever you ask but he makes you ask for it. only comes when you say please. tells you to look at him when you're talking to him, even though he's bent in half breaking someone's leg
dr park who lingers awkwardly in the corner of the room after he's finished helping a patient. he's staring at you, he doesn't glance at anyone else. clears his throat, raises his eyebrows expectantly. doesn't leave until you say thank you, dr. park
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i didn't wait for anyone to respond before writing this, so if you did, i appreciate it:
takes place during season 1 when Shane, Carl, and Lori leave the city with Rick still in a coma in the hospital. everything about the start of the apocalypse is the same except crucially Shane and Lori never hook up because in this au, Lori doesn't trust that Shane was right about Rick being dead (she's absolutely sure that he must have missed something or not felt Rick's pulse right in the heat of everything), and she still has hope that her husband is still out there alive.
Shane is still in love with her though, despite his feelings not being reciprocated. and he still does develop an intense familial bond with her and Carl while living in the survivor camp by the quarry, still not adjusting quite right to this new world; or rather, adjusting right but far too quickly, and things rapidly begin to fall apart when Rick makes his way to the camp after fighting through the city with Glenn and the others.
obviously, of course, you're one of the survivors living in the camp (I haven't given much thought to family or occupation, but that stuff isn't important because this is a rough outline). you're definitely not adjusting well to the apocalypse just yet - probably not sleeping well and a few other things, and though you and Shane don't interact much in the camp, I think his first impression of you is probably not great. he's already starting to develop that sort of "you need to do what it takes to survive and anyone that can't is dead weight" mentality that plagues him throughout the show.
everything in season 1 still happens, except Shane isn't going crazy in quite the same way because he never actually had Lori. but he is still lonely and distraught when Rick comes back and he suddenly isn't Carl's pseudo-father figure anymore and the possibility of ever being with Lori suddenly vanishes completely, and it's making him bitter and angry and cruel.
I would want to add some scene in between the camp falling apart and the CDC where the group has another close call with the walkers and you finally manage to overcome your own fears to save Carl or Lori - someone that Shane considers precious and it earns you not only his gratitude but also his approval.
that's when his interest slowly starts to shift. it's also been weeks now since he's gotten laid or really had a moment alone to relieve himself, and the pressure's starting to get to him. he can't stop watching you now, a little too interested in the way your sweat-laden shirts cling to your chest and whenever your shorts pull a bit too tight between your thighs, giving him a perfect outline of the pretty cunt undoubtedly in need of a big cock to fill it up.
it makes him get a little careless at the CDC when he tries to pull you aside after your shower when he's had a little too much to drink, and he doesn't take kindly to you turning him down. he's almost surprised that you wouldn't take him up on his offer until you try to tactfully tell him that you're well aware of the fact that he's in love with Lori and you don't really want to get involved with someone carrying a torch for someone else.
that pisses him off. hurts his pride. makes him sneer and crowd you up against the wall while he says something cutting about you being choosy in the middle of the goddamn apocalypse. that he'd never disrespect his friend like that (doesn't acknowledge that he definitely tried to initiate something with Lori a few weeks back, even though it was a lot less crass than how he propositioned you) - he's never touched a married woman. only wanted to do you both a favour and have a little mutually beneficial relationship.
probably even kicks your legs apart and lets out a mean, mocking laugh when he catches your knees wobbling a bit. not even trying to hide how pent up you are as well. but "far be it for him to stop you from finding your prince charming while the dead are walking around tearing everyone apart" and just storms off.
and then what follows are several weeks of driving down highways, getting lost in the woods, finding Hershel's barn in the middle of nowhere after Carl got shot, and Shane never letting you have a moment's peace. knocks on the wall or just wanders into the trailer whenever you try to slip away to take care of business. not a chance in hell are you gonna get off if he isn't responsible for it, and he's gonna make your nightmare life even more of a nightmare until you come begging on your knees for him to fuck you. and then he's gonna make you wish you said yes to him all those weeks before.