Chapter Text
Victoria Javadi’s scrubs were sticking to her back from the sweat of a twelve-hour shift that felt more like twenty-four.
She was having the shift from hell—okay, she thought that roughly two times a week, but today really couldn’t end soon enough.
It had started off with a drunk driving victim coding on the table right as she was assisting. They’d managed to resuscitate him twice before he finally flat-lined from massive internal bleeding. The drunk driver, of course walked away with only minor injuries.
Then came the elderly woman with a fractured hip who screamed bloody murder every time anyone touched her, followed by a kid with a severe asthma attack whose parents kept yelling at the staff like it was their fault the boy had forgotten his inhaler. And that was all before lunch, if you could call a stale granola bar scarfed down in the break room “lunch.”
Her scalp was aching from the tight ponytail she’d thrown her hair into at the start of the day, and now the pain was radiating down her neck in a persistent reminder of her exhaustion.
And to top it all off, she was pretty sure she was about to start her period any second, based on the familiar stabbing pain in her lower abdomen that twisted like a knife every time she bent over or hurried down a hall. Mother Nature’s cruel joke on top of an already brutal day.
She leaned her elbows on the nurses’ station counter, letting her eyes rest for half a second. The antiseptic hospital smell was a cocktail she’d grown numb to over her time there, but today it was suffocating.
And then, like a storm cloud rolling in, Dr. Robby came breezing through on his way from one trauma room to another. “Javadi, we need more IV bags and saline flushes. There’s a whole room of them stockpiled in the old ICU upstairs. Take Ogilvie with you, he’s not doing anything useful right now.”
Victoria’s stomach sank like a lead weight. Fuck. The old ICU was on the second floor, decommissioned after the hospital’s renovation last year, a dusty relic of creaky floors and flickering lights. And now she had to spend at least ten minutes with the worst person in the world, which was ten minutes more than anyone should ever be subjected to.
She didn’t look over as she felt him sidle up next to her, his looming presence already irritating, like a bad smell you couldn’t escape.
“Lead the way, Javadi,” he said, his voice dripping with that faux-casual tone that grated on her nerves.
She rolled her eyes so hard she thought they might stick, then started walking quickly toward the stairwell, not bothering to hold the door open behind her. It swung shut fast, and she heard him mutter something under his breath as he caught it just in time.
They climbed the stairs in silence at first, her sneakers pounding against the concrete steps like she was trying to outrun him. But of course, he couldn’t keep his mouth shut for long. “God, can you believe that guy in 5? Like, what did he expect to happen if he kept smoking meth five times a day? Darwin award, am I right? Natural selection at work.”
Victoria’s jaw clenched so tight she felt her teeth grind. How someone went through life with such a profound lack of empathy was beyond her. Room 5 was a repeat patient, a homeless vet with addiction issues who’d come in overdosing again, his body ravaged by years on the streets. Ogilvie talked about him like he was a punchline, not a human being fighting for his life.
He was just the complete embodiment of the Asshole Doctor stereotype. Arrogant, dismissive, always quick with a joke at someone else’s expense. And the worst part was, he’d probably still do fine in this field—hell, thrive—because if there was one thing mediocre white males did, it was fail upwards.
Connections, charm (if you could call it that), and a system rigged in their favour. Meanwhile, she had to prove herself every single step of the way. Double the work for half the recognition. It burned her up inside.
They pushed through the door at the top of the stairs into the dimly lit hallway of the decommissioned ICU. The air was stale and thick with dust. Fluorescent bulbs flickered overhead, casting long shadows on the peeling linoleum floors. Empty patient rooms lined the corridor, their doors ajar.
Ogilvie didn’t miss a beat. “And that lady with the hip? Jesus, she was milking it for all it was worth. Probably just wants the pain meds. These people come in here thinking we’re a free pharmacy.”
That was it. Victoria snapped. The rage that had been simmering all day boiled over in an instant. She whirled on him, her hands shooting out to shove him back against the wall with more force than she intended. The thud of his back hitting the faded blue paint echoed in the empty hall.
“Ow!” he whined, his eyes wide with shock, that smug smirk wiped clean off his face. “What the fu–”
“Shut the fuck up, Ogilvie!” she hissed, grabbing the front of his scrubs in her fist and yanking him forward just enough to make her point.
Her face was inches from his, her brown eyes blazing with rage. “You’re the worst potential doctor I have ever come across. You are a shitty person, and I pity every single patient who has to interact with you. If you have any good in you, any at all, you’ll leave the medical profession right now and go into a field more suited to your strengths. Like defending rapists in court or helping corporations fuck over the middle class! Something where your complete lack of humanity is an asset, not a liability.”
He stared down at her, jaw slack, his blue eyes blinking rapidly like a deer caught in headlights. For once, he had nothing to say—no snarky comeback, no dismissive laugh. Just glorious, stunned silence.
Victoria kept going, the words pouring out like a dam breaking. All the frustrations she’d bottled up over weeks of working with him—the snide comments in rounds, the way he flirted with nurses while ignoring patients’ pain, the casual sexism he’d slip in under the guise of “jokes”—it all came flooding out.
“Oh, now you have nothing to say? This can’t possibly be the first time someone’s told you what a piece of shit you are to your face. I can tell you we all say it behind your back, that’s for sure. The nurses hate you, the attendings tolerate you because your daddy probably donated to the hospital, and the other students and residents? We dread being on shift with you. You’re a walking malpractice suit waiting to happen.”
She paused to catch her breath, her chest heaving, breathing hard through her nose. The adrenaline was pumping, making her hands shake slightly where they gripped his shirt.
Then she felt it—a twitch against her stomach. She looked down, startled. In her righteous fury, she hadn’t realized she’d pressed up against him, her body pinning his to the wall. And now he was… getting hard? The unmistakable press of his erection against her abdomen sent a jolt through her.
Victoria jumped away from him like she’d been burned, her eyes widening in disbelief. Ogilvie kept his head lowered, his cheeks flushing a deep red, seemingly ashamed. That made her smile—a sharp, vindictive curve of her lips. Good. He should feel bad. All the time. He deserved it.
“God, you’re pathetic,” she scoffed, feeling some kind of heady power rising up inside her, intoxicating and unfamiliar. It coursed through her veins like fire, making her pulse thrum in her ears.
Her heart sped up, pounding against her ribs. Between the constant grind of med school and endless shifts, she had basically no time for any kind of sex life.
She’d kissed a few guys at parties her parents threw growing up—fellow Indian nerds—awkward, fumbling encounters fuelled by boredom and curiosity, but that was it.
Her sad little crush on Mateo hadn’t gone anywhere; he only saw her as a friend, and she’d buried those feelings deep. There hadn’t been anyone else who’d caught her eye, no one who’d made her feel that spark. Not that Ogilvie had caught her eye—he was the opposite of everything she wanted. Arrogant, entitled, repulsive.
But this? This was exciting in a twisted way, a rush of control she’d never experienced. The empty hallway, the dim lights, the thrill of the forbidden—it all swirled together, and she decided to roll with it.
What the hell, right? No one would know.
She stepped closer again, her hand reaching out tentatively at first, then boldly palming his erection over the thin fabric of his scrubs. He sucked in a sharp breath, his body tensing like a live wire. His eyes bored into hers, glassy and pleading, a mix of humiliation and desperation that sent another thrill through her. Good. Let him beg.
“Getting turned on over being told what a shitty doctor you are?” She squeezed hard, and he let out a delicious whimper that echoed softly in the hall, his knees buckling slightly. “What the hell is wrong with you? Is this how you get off? Being put in your place?”
He mumbled something unintelligible, his voice a low, broken murmur, his gaze dropping to the floor.
“What was that?” she hissed, keeping her hand where it was, her fingers digging in just enough to make him squirm.
“P-please…” he whispered, the word barely audible, laced with shame and need.
Victoria laughed darkly, the sound low and mocking, echoing off the walls. It felt powerful, liberating. “Oh no. I’m not touching that thing.”
She let go of him abruptly and stepped back again, crossing her arms over her chest. She felt drunk on the moment, her head spinning with the rush.
But she wasn’t done yet. “Take it out.”
His eyes snapped to hers, wide and disbelieving, searching her face for any sign she was joking.
“You heard me,” she said, her voice steady and commanding.
He swallowed audibly, his Adam’s apple bobbing, as his trembling hands went to the tie of his scrubs. He hesitated for a split second, then untied the knot, lifting the waistband over his erection along with his boxers. His dick sprang forward, pink and hard, curving slightly to the left, the tip glistening with precum under the flickering lights.
Victoria kept her face neutral as she observed him, trying to hide the fact that it was the first time she’d ever seen an erect penis in a non-medical setting. In the ER, it was clinical and detached—part of exams or procedures. But this? This was raw, personal, and it was like that because of her. The thought sent a forbidden heat pooling in her core, despite herself.
“Touch yourself,” she commanded, her tone brooking no argument.
He lifted his hand slowly to his mouth, parting his lips as if getting ready to spit in it for lubrication.
“No,” Victoria said sharply. Ogilvie froze, looking up at her in confusion, his hand hovering mid-air. “You don’t get to make it feel good. Dry. Now.”
He reluctantly took hold of himself, his dry palm wrapping around his length. He started working it over his skin, the friction rough and unforgiving. A wince crossed his face, but he didn’t stop, his movements jerky and desperate. Victoria watched with disdain, her lips curled in a sneer, arms still crossed.
His thumb swiped desperately over the tip, gathering every drop of fluid leaking out, trying to ease the discomfort as much as he could without defying her. His breathing grew ragged, shallow pants filling the silence.
“Look at you,” she sneered, stepping just a little closer, her voice dripping with contempt. “And you think you deserve to take my residency spot here? With that attitude? You’re a joke. A pathetic, entitled joke.”
He groaned softly, his hand moving faster now, chasing release despite the pain, his eyes locked on hers in a haze of submission. The power dynamic hung thick in the air, and for the first time that day, Victoria felt in control—of her shift, of him, of everything.
Victoria’s eyes narrowed as she watched Ogilvie stroke himself, his hand moving in frantic, uneven pulls, the dry friction making his skin redden slightly under the strain.
Beads of sweat dotted his forehead, his floppy blond hair sticking to his temples, and his chest rose and fell in shallow, ragged breaths.
The dim flicker of the overhead lights cast erratic shadows across his face, highlighting the flush creeping up his neck and the way his lips parted in silent pleas. She could see the tension building in him—the way his thighs trembled, his free hand clenching into a fist against the wall behind him, knuckles white. He was close, teetering on the edge, his eyes half-lidded and locked on her like she was the only thing anchoring him to reality.
She tilted her head, a cruel smile playing on her lips as she circled back to her verbal assault, her voice low and venomous, cutting through the heavy silence.
“Pathetic doesn’t even begin to cover it, does it? Look at you, humping your own hand like a desperate animal because someone finally called you out on your bullshit. Is this what you need, Ogilvie? Being reminded of what a failure you are? I bet your mom didn’t love you enough growing up—probably too busy spoiling you with daddy’s money to teach you how to be a decent human being. That’s why you’re like this, isn’t it? Twisted up inside, getting hard from humiliation because it’s the only attention you can handle. No wonder you treat patients like garbage; you’re projecting all that mommy-issue crap onto everyone else.”
He whimpered again, the sound raw and involuntary, his hand speeding up despite the discomfort, chasing that elusive peak.
She honestly had no idea about his home life or childhood at all, but true or not, her words seemed to be working.
His erection throbbed visibly in his grip, the curve more pronounced now, the head flushed a deeper pink and slick with the meagre precum he’d managed to gather.
Victoria could see the muscles in his abdomen tightening, his body coiling like a spring about to snap. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, a low groan escaping his throat as he teetered right on the brink.
“Stop,” she commanded, her voice sharp and unyielding, slicing through the air like a scalpel.
His hand froze mid-stroke, his eyes snapping open in wide-eyed disbelief. He was breathing as if he’d just run a marathon, his chest heaving, every muscle in his body taut with unspent energy. A bead of sweat trickled down his cheek, and he looked at her with pure, unfiltered desperation, pupils blown wide, lips trembling as if he might beg.
“You don’t get to finish,” she spat, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, relishing the way his face crumpled in frustration and need.
The power surged through her again, heady and addictive, making her own pulse race despite the exhaustion of the day. Seeing him like this—denied, aching, completely at her mercy—it was a rush she hadn’t anticipated, a dark thrill that chased away the cramps and the headache and the endless grind of her shift.
“Why should you? After all the shit you’ve pulled? No, you get to stew in this, Ogilvie. Let it remind you of what a worthless excuse for a human you are.”
He let out a strangled whine, his hand still wrapped around himself but motionless, his hips twitching involuntarily as if his body was betraying him. The desperation etched into every line of his face was almost comical, but mostly satisfying, like scratching an itch she’d had for weeks.
“Put it away,” she ordered, her tone dripping with disgust. “We’re done here.”
With shaking hands, Ogilvie tucked himself back into his scrubs, wincing as the fabric brushed against his oversensitive skin. The bulge was still obvious, straining against the thin material, but he tied the drawstring with fumbling fingers, his cheeks burning a humiliated crimson.
“Let’s go,” she said, turning on her heel and striding back down the hall toward the storage room, not bothering to check if he was following.
The echo of her footsteps on the linoleum was the only sound at first, but soon she heard his shuffling steps behind her, hesitant and uneven. She grabbed a few boxes of IV bags and saline flushes from the dusty shelves, stacking them efficiently in his arms, her mind already shifting back to the chaos downstairs.
As they headed toward the stairwell, she glanced over her shoulder at him, her eyes cold and commanding. “And don’t you dare think of touching yourself until you get home tonight. No sneaking off to the bathroom, no quick rub in the on-call room. You hold it in, let it burn. Maybe it’ll teach you some goddamn empathy for once.”
He nodded mutely, his head still lowered, avoiding her gaze as they descended the stairs. The air between them was heavy with unspoken tension, and Victoria felt a twisted sense of victory bubbling up inside her.
For the first time that hellish day, she was looking forward to the rest of her shift, knowing he’d be suffering in silence, right there beside her.