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mingigoo · 2 months

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look after you || k.hj (m.)

🩺 pairing ⇢ nurse! (fem) reader x struggling musician! Hongjoong

🩺 synopsis ⇢ after a long night at work with little to no sleep, you nearly doze off on your way home, hitting a tattooed, spikey-haired guy in the middle of the road. Panicking, you run out to help him and go with him to the hospital, only to lie and say he was your husband so you could go back with him. Well, when he woke up, he didn't exactly take it the way you thought he would...

🩺 genre/au ⇢ enemies to lovers (kind of), some angst, smut, fluff, hospital au

🩺 warnings/tags ⇢ 18+ MINORS DNI, injury, car accident, hospital scenes, unprotected sex, undefined relationship, mention of possible suicide attempt, Hongjoong is a scruffy underground musician, trauma with touch, tattoo!joong, grumpy sunshine, cum shot, biting, teasing

🩺 word count ⇢ 10.3k

🩺 taglist ⇢ @atinywhore @jjhmk @yukine-smx @roe-sinning @meowmeowminnie @yeritheloml @y00nzin0 @yesv01 @halesandy @shegotboreddsoo @kangyeosangelic @gayliljoong @sanshineeeeee @kodzukein @baguette-atiny @seokwoosmole @nyeatinyjunkie @juliettechokilo @pockyddalgi @justaqueerbufoin @hwaightme @likexaxdaydream @ssaboala @gtr-skyline-lover @miriamxsworld @daegale @knucklesdeepmingi @naiify @yeoyeoland @arya9111 @mdibby @8tinytings @angelicyeo @wooyoungjpg @lonewolfjinji @asjkdk @charreddonuts @mangishii @yeoyeoland @pink-hwaberry @wooyoluvrr @maru-matt @pearltinyy @loveuwoo @m3chigo @northerngalxy @silverpixiedust23 @interweab @skz1-4-3 (if I missed you please lmk!! bold = can’t tag)

masterlist

A/N ⇢ this story is purely fictional! I am not nurse, and do not have unlimited knowledge on this topic. However, I am a healthcare worker, so I know a little, but not a lot. I am sorry for any information this is incorrect. This is meant for entertainment purposes only. This is not meant to take place in reality.

They never prepare you enough for the things you might see within the hospital walls.

Nothing is ever enough within those few years of education, the desperate attempt to create life savers. No one tells you how much it hurts to see a child suffer until death, a mother, a daughter.

You just wanted to be something. Do something. Be like the girl you dreamed of being as a child—a child who put bandaids on her mother, all over, decorating her like a painting. Sometimes, your mother would act like she was hurt, just for you to play make-belief, “stitching” up her “wounds.”

And here you were, in the hospital locker room, tears falling silently down your cheeks as you unclipped your hair, letting it fall just like the tears. You sniffed, hiding your face in the locker, although no one was around to see. It was embarrassing enough to yourself—you couldn't believe you were crying. You just…couldn't stop.

The day was rough—just too much. Too much death, too much sadness. This wasn't what you dreamed of. You never thought about how hard it would be to put a smile on your face to a patient, right after witnessing someone leave the world. To act, really. You should've taken up that career instead. You were pretty damn good at doing it—well, until you landed behind the curtain.

You haven't slept in ages. It's been constant insomnia on top of twelve-hour shifts, sometimes even longer, and once you are able to lay down, the only thing you hear is the sound of a patient crashing, the cries of family members. It had you questioning your profession. Your devotion. Your childhood.

As you made your drive home, for some reason, the lines on the road soothed you. Your eyes began to beg for sleep, rolling back ever so slightly as you continued. The gentle patter of rain graced the windshield, the red hue of the stoplight in front of you nearing.

You stopped at the light—pausing to look at the city around you. The city was bright, even at the dark hour of midnight. People were walking, carrying on, bar lights bright, apartments lit up in an array of colors. You took in a breath and closed your eyes.

And you closed them a little too long when a car horn sounded behind you.

You jumped, feeling apologetic for holding up the line, and continued forward. People passed you with impatience, but you didn't care. You kept going, crawling, really, till you felt sleep creep up once again, shutting your eyes. You drifted off, only for a short moment, and suddenly you awoke with haste—but not quick enough. In your headlights stood a man, walking across the street, and you didn't have enough time to move. You slowed as best you could, tires screeching, praying to anything, anyone, that this was your imagination.

As your car came to a screeching halt, you hit the man with a thump, causing him to crumble to the ground. You gasped, now wide awake, a scream caught in your throat.

You swallowed hard, hands shaking as you pulled over as best as you could and put your vehicle in park, looking around for any sign of someone.

No one, absolutely no one, but you and this man you just hit. Just a few blocks back, the city was bustling, bars were hopping, but now, it was like a wasteland. You stepped out of your car, gasping for air, and sprinted through the rain to get to the man.

He was lying still, his head bleeding, his back on the asphalt. His black clothing hid the damage he received from the hit, hiding his body, his black hair covering his face. The only thing you saw was the black ink of a tattoo on his hand as it grasped the road.

“Oh my god,” you breathed, kneeling down to him. You assessed him as best as you could, fighting an anxiety attack. “I am so sorry, oh my god.”

He groaned in response, his arm visibly broken. You hurriedly dialed the emergency line, panting, nearly in tears. You didn't even think about the consequences of this action—you were only worried about the man, the stranger, in front of you.

After nearly crying once more on the phone, the paramedics explained that they would arrive quickly. You hung up and looked over the stranger once more. “Are you alive?” you asked like a dumb ass, nearly face-palming. You were a nurse, goddammit. Act like one.

You leaned over him, as gently as possible, putting a finger under his nose, and you felt a soft breath hit it. You checked for an airway obstruction, but nothing. He was breathing fine. In pain, but breathing.

The man tried to move, to roll over sharply, but you quickly bellowed, “Wait, please, you could have a spinal injury,” you pleaded, and surprisingly he stopped. “Don't move.” You caught a glimpse of his face. A large cut near his eyebrow painted his skin crimson, but his eyes were beautiful. His lip was cut, too, and you felt immense pain just looking at him. God, what if he was homeless? He looked it. What if he didn't have insurance? Oh god—

You saw how much blood was coming from his head as he looked up at you. His eyes were hazy, like he wasn't really seeing. You hurriedly looked around for anything to stop his bleeding, and when you found nothing, you took your coat off, then your scrub top, and you quickly put your coat back on. You held your shirt to his head as gently as possible, applying pressure, praying that the paramedics would come soon—

Your anxious thoughts were interrupted by sirens. You let out a sigh of relief.

When the ambulance pulled up, two men came to you with a stretcher. You were barely alert enough to hear them say anything. You mumbled a few things, your hands shaking as they set down the gurney. You mumbled to have them put on a neck brace, chest tightening at how the man cried in pain. You let out an ugly cry with him, but no tears fell. They gently rested him on the stretcher, his head steady, but his arm—

“Are you crazy!” you hissed, standing up quickly. “His arm….he needs his arm stabilized!”

“I’m sorry, mam,” the one man condescendingly said, giving you a dull look. “We know how to do our job. We don't need your input.”

You huffed. Mam? Mam? That was insulting. “I’m a nurse, I also know what I’m talking about.”

They ignored you like everyone seemed to ignore you. They began to move away, but a small object caught their eye that lay right where the man was. You picked it up, finding it to be an empty wallet—you’d give it back later.

They rolled him towards the ambulance, and you followed, forgetting about your car, and everything in it, leaving the scene behind. The paramedics didn't seem to care that you went with them, so you sat in the vehicle, watching them treat the guy you hit. You wanted to throw up as they treated him, as you sat still, like a worthless piece of paper. A crumbled-up piece of paper. Yeah. Crumbled.

When you arrived at the hospital—a hospital that wasn't yours, you walked beside the homeless man, nearly reaching for his hand. However, your race with him was put to a stop as the emergency room staff stopped you as he headed into the wing.

“I’m sorry, only family members are allowed inside,” the woman softly muttered, her eyes genuine.

She reminded you of yourself.

What….what if this man was really homeless? What if he had no help, no insurance, no family? You had to do something. You’d feel horrible if you didn't do anything.

“I’m—I’m his wife!” you blurted out, louder than you intended.

The young lady gave you a heartfelt look and nodded towards the door. “Go ahead. There’s a waiting room inside. What’s your name? I’ll let them know you’re the guardian.”

You told her your name, sparing no second longer than needed, and you ran into the emergency room, sitting down in a hurry.

It was now a waiting game.

—

For what seemed like forever, a doctor came out into the waiting room, looking right at you.

“Miss y/n?” He asked.

“Yes?”

He cleared his throat. “….You are Kim Hongjoong’s guardian?”

You paused, almost forgetting your whole spiel at the entrance. You remembered the name from his ID in his wallet, and nodded sharply, standing up quickly. “Is he all right?”

“He sustained many injuries, but nothing too major. His arm is broken in three places, and that will limit his mobility quite a lot. We set his arm, but he might possibly need surgery.”

You nodded, relief washing over you. Good, minor injuries. Phew.

The doctor pondered for a long while as he stared at you. “The paramedics stated that you were the one to hit him with the car.”

You sighed. “Yeah, he came out of nowhere—”

“Why was he walking alone so late at night?”

You looked around the waiting room, seeing only one other soul in the corner seat, sleeping. You wondered about what to say, as your little white lie was becoming a web.

“I uh….he works late?”

“He was intoxicated at the time of the accident—”

“He works at a bar?” you tried not to sound like you were questioning that statement.

The doctor deadpanned and then sighed. “Listen, I’m sure there's stuff that’s none of my business. So I’m going to choose to ignore this,” he nodded toward the emergency wing. “But you’re welcome to go see him. He’s awake now.”

You wondered for a second whether you should go back there. If he was going to rip your head off for lying, for hitting him with your damn car.

You nodded, telling yourself to grow some damn balls. “Okay, I’ll see him.”

The doctor led you to a room at the very end of the hall, the lights dim. There, in front of you, was the man you hit. He was all bandaged up, a large one spanning around his forehead, covering some of the spikey black hair. His arm was wrapped in a cast and held up for circulation, and his eyes were wide open. Right on you.

“Your wife is here,” the doctor spoke nonchalantly as he entered with you. However, you were stationary at the door.

“Wife?” he scoffed, coughing a bit. He tried to sit up, but you put on your act, walking up to his bedside.

“Don't move,” you spoke sweetly, eyes pleading. The attractive man just furrowed a brow, his lips curling down in a grimace.

“We’re gonna keep you here for observation tonight, and see how you are doing in the morning to keep an eye on that arm of yours.” The doctor quickly did what he needed to do and left, leaving you alone with….your husband?

The pretty homeless guy spared no second in the questioning. “Who the fuck are you?”

Your eyes widened, looking down at him. He gazed up at you, his eyelashes fluttering as he blinked. A tattoo peaked out of his hospital gown, where it met the skin of his neck.

“Listen,” you sat down roughly on the seat next to the bed. He watched you emotionlessly. “I’m sorry—I didn't see you when you walked across the road. I take full responsibility,” you breathed, getting nervous under his gaze.

You were expecting him to scream at you. Well, at least to freak out in some way. It was more alarming that he sat still, completely still, his mouth set in a line.

You blinked.

“I don't care, it’s fine,” he sighed. He showed no emotion, nothing. Not even a twinkle of anger. It was the look in his eye that told you that maybe, just maybe, he ran in front of your car on purpose.

Your eyes widened at the man in front of you—at hongjoong in front of you. He looked distraught tired, brown eyes never leaving your face as you gazed at him. He raised his eyebrows slightly, tilting his head.

“You can leave now,” he huffed, eyes dropping to your open mouth before darting up back to your eyes. “I’m not sure why you're even here in the first place.”

It was your turn to scoff. You crossed your legs in irritation at his lack of care. “Well, maybe because I hit you with my damn car? Maybe I’m worried, maybe I feel horrible, maybe I wanted to see if you were going to be okay.”

Hongjoong just blankly stared. He didn't show any signs of pain, of anger, of anything, really.

“You don't have to worry,” he spoke eventually, turning away from your gaze to look forward. You watched the tattoo dance against his neck as he moved. “I’m fine. This is all fine.”

You didn't know what to say, how to feel. Your head was spinning, all the tiredness washed away. It pained you to see him so empty, so barren, even though he was a stranger. “I feel like I need to do something for you.”

He bit the bottom of his busted lip, as if forgetting. He made a face, the only expression he’s shone. “No need.”

“But I need to,” you leaned forward, closer to him. He turned to you, eyes void. “I’ll pay for your hospital bill, maybe treat you for a dinner, I don't know—”

“Don't,” he hissed. His eyes grew dark, the fire in them rising. You nearly shrunk back in response to his sudden change of attitude. “Listen, just forget about this, about me, all of it. I don't need your money, or your time, or—” he paused, his anger faltering as he looked at you. “Just…just carry on with your life. I’ll only affect it if I stay in it.”

You frowned, wondering what he meant by that. It didn't matter, though. Your guilt was all-consuming—and the fact that he most likely ended up in front of the car on purpose really was overbearing.

After a second of just…staring at one another, you sighed. “One meal.”

He didn't make a face. Didn't change his plain, empty expression. You looked at his starless eyes, his pale skin. You had the need to brighten him up, to heal him. That was your job, after all.

He opened his mouth to speak, but a nurse came in before he could say a word. You immediately straightened, putting on a smile, hoping he would keep up the act even though he had no reason to. You didn't want to be kicked out—not right now.

“How are we feeling, Hongjoong?” the young nurse asked, a smile on her bright face.

“Fine, I guess.” His response was toneless. The nurse still bubbled around, checking his vitals. You watched as he stiffened as the woman touched him.

She looked at you, arching a brow. “Oh? Are you the wife?” she let out a hum of appreciation, then turned her gaze to Hongjoong. “You’re lucky with this one. They said she freaked out when they didn't stabilize your arm and when they wouldn't let her inside the emergency wing! She must really love you to nearly fight someone to get back here.”

Hongjoong, for the little time you knew him, showed more emotion on his face than ever after hearing that. After hearing that someone—you, a stranger nonetheless—was distraught at his expense. His lips flattened in a line, his gaze faltering.

You grabbed his good hand, although bruises were painted across his knuckles. Old, yellowing bruises. You furrowed your brows, subconsciously rubbing a thumb softly over the colored skin. Hongjoong stiffened, eyes widening, at either your caring touch or the pain it could have been causing. Or both.

You felt your stomach tighten as you met eyes with him. The air was stuffy, his eyes were….practically begging for a reason for your attention, as if he’d never had it before.

“I’m lucky to have him,” you sighed, acting but feeling an intense pull to him. Just touching him, although you didn't even know him, felt like a second nature.

Maybe it was the regret, the disparity, of hitting him, of being the reason his life was almost nonexistent. Maybe this feeling was because of the responsibility you felt for doing this to him. It didn't matter if it was true; this tension you were feeling with the stranger was more powerful than what you felt with your ex, the one before that, and the one before.

His face was devout of color besides the bruises that scattered his skin. He looked drained, tired, alone. The nurse just smiled at you two, noticing your bloody scrubs and messy exterior. “You’re a nurse, too?”

You just nodded, lost in the feeling that strummed through your body.

Hongjoong’s hand twitched under your hold, his eyes still wide. Still on you.

“Well, Hongjoong,” the friendly nurse smiled. “Don't let her go, she’s a keeper.”

He tore his gaze from you to look at your hand on his. He swallowed hard, blinking. “Ah, yeah.”

Soon after the nurse left, your hand still rested on his. He sat silently, staring forward at the whiteboard with his name on it.

“I….” you struggled with your words, realizing you were still caressing his hand. “I’m sorry,” you said as you pulled your hand away. His head shot towards you.

After a few moments of silence, he said, “It’s okay.” His tone was soft, defeated.

You wiped your hands on your thighs, sweating buckets. “I, uh, I should go.”

He watched you stand up, but your back was turned, unable to see the wishful glance he offered you.

You stopped in the door frame, turning around to meet his eyes once more.

“It was nice to meet you, Hongjoong,” you smiled, watching the glimmer in his eye trying to sparkle. “I wish you well.”

Before you were able to leave the room, he called for you.

“Wait,” he breathed, voice raspy.

You froze.

He took a breath in, exhaling his words. “What’s your name?”

You turned around. “Y/n,” you spoke softly, your chest aching at the little half-smile peeking through his bruised lips.

“y/n,” he repeated, blinking slowly. He didn't say anything else. You didn't either. You smiled at him once more before turning on your heel and walking out of the room, despite the tear in your heart telling you to stay.

And on your way out, you paid his hospital bill in full, not a single regret in your mind about it.

—

After a few days, you continued your days like normal.

Well, as normal as they could be. Your mind wandered to the spikey haired guy at every sparing second, thinking of how his eyes pleaded something unreadable, how his hand twitched underneath yours.

You were at the hospital, reaching the end of your workday in the emergency room. After running in with a few scruffy-looking guys, they reminded you of a certain someone, and you just wanted to tear at your hair. You were certain your odd feelings were due to the fact that you hit him with your car, and nothing else. This will pass.

When the quietness of the night was about to still, a man ran into the emergency room door.

“My friend is hurt,” The man huffed in desperation. You turned to the commotion, seeing a thin, black-haired man holding up another—his friend. But that friend and his familiar spikey hair jolted something inside of you.

You jumped out of your seat behind the nurses’ station and ran to the men, meeting eyes with the taller one. He was just as beautiful as hongjoong was, but his eyes were frantic.

“Sir, what happened?” you questioned, reaching out to the man who was just who you thought. Hongjoong’s head rolled back, his eyes squinted in pain, his teeth barred. You carefully steadied him. “What’s hurting you?”

At your voice, Hongjoong opened his eyes wide, looking straight at you. “Y/n?” he grunted out, his breaths strained. He shut his eyes again, and you almost couldn't take the look he had on his face.

“His arm,” the other guy said to you as you called for help, struggling to hold Hongjoong up. “He got into a fight at the bar, some guy decided to mess with his broken arm and, well…..”

You felt a sense of rage fill your body. You wanted to ask Hongjoong why the hell he was at the bar only days after getting hit by a damn car, let alone getting into a fight.

A few other nurses gathered around, all helping to walk him over to a bed. The wing was empty at this time of night—only a few people around. Once again, Hongjoong looked extremely uncomfortable as the nurses touched him.

You held him gently as you set him down on the bed, feeling his fingers curl around your arm.

He held on to you with his good arm—the hand you held only days before. The other nurses fluttered around, setting things up, but Hongjoong just stared up at you.

“Hi,” is all he said, his fingertips etching into your skin.

Your chest tightened, forcing yourself to smile. “We must be fated or something,” you joked, hoping to brighten him up. “That or you just frequent hospitals often.”

He blinked up at you, his eyebrows knitted in pain. “Maybe I just wanted to see you again.” He coughed as he joked.

Your heart skipped a beat, the other nurses and the man that came with him side-eyeing you.

“If you wanted to see me again, there are better ways than this,” you huffed, looking around. “We have to get an X-ray, alright? We’ll give you something to ease your pain meanwhile.”

The air between you two was undeniable. He nodded, emotion sparkling in his eyes, unlike the days before. You wondered if you were the reason for it.

It was probably just the pain.

The other nurses wheeled him to the radiology room, leaving you alone with the man who brought him there.

“You’re the girl that hit him, aren't you?” His voice was soft, gentle. It held no anger.

You turned to him, seeing the caring exterior he showed. “I….yes.”

He tilted his head at you, blinking, as if figuring you out in a single glance. “He’s been looking all over for you. You…paid his bill. He doesn't like handouts.”

Your eyes widened. “Oh? I didn't think he ever wanted to see me again. You know, I hit him with my car—that isn't something to take lightly—”

“You paid his bill,” the man repeated, crossing his arms. “He feels indebted to you. Please just make sure he knows not to feel that way.” The man sighed, looking into your eyes. “Despite how he looks, he ruminates over things. He’s sensitive. He’s a mess right now.”

You sighed, too. “I…I paid his bill because I did this to him—”

“No,” he interrupted, eyes serious. “You didn't.”

You knitted your brows. “....What do you mean?”

The man gave you a deadpan stare, as if not wanting to spell it out. He let out a breath he seemed to be holding. ��He….he jumped in front of your car on purpose, y/n,” he bit his bottom lip. “So no, you really didn't do it to him. He’s…he’s just been a mess lately—and now that you acted sweet, played a wife, held his hand or whatever, he’s even more of a mess.”

Before you could ask what he meant by that, Hongjoong was back, alert and upright, but the pain still rested on his face. His gaze met yours, and you felt your stomach swirl in a mess of emotions.

You couldn't look him in the eye as you took care of him.

—

Hongjoong was sleeping as your shift was about to end. Before you clocked out, you couldn't help but go to him, check his injury out, check his vitals. His friend—Seonghwa, you learned his name—left about an hour ago.

As if noticing your presence, his eyes slowly peeked open, slightly drugged and delirious from the pain medications.

“I didn't expect to see you here,” he mumbled out, blinking lazily.

“I didn't expect you, either,” you spoke, keeping your emotions in check.

Silence enveloped you as you checked his pulse ox.

“Why’d you do that?”

He turned his head to look at you. “Do what?”

You unclipped the pulse oximeter from his finger. “Why’d you get into that fight? You were really injured.” You wanted to ask the deeper question, the question as to why he stepped in front of your car, but you didn't want to overstep.

He shrugged, wincing. He didn't have an answer. He didn't owe you one, really.

“Just,” you breathed, moving over to the computer to open his chart. “Just don't do anything like this while you’re healing. You need surgery. You need rest.”

He bit his lip, probably stopping himself from saying something he shouldn't.

“Also,” you sighed, looking over at him. “Your friend told me you were looking for me?”

“Yeah, well,” he scoffed. “I really didn't mean to meet you here.”

You let out a chuckle. “Well, here we are.”

He nearly smiled at you, lips curling beautifully. He had a bit of dried blood on his lip, and knowing that you were supposed to be leaving, you still reached for a washcloth. You didn't need to do this—in fact, you were acting against every thought in your head as you leaned forward and brushed the cloth against his lip, watching them part.

His breath hitched as you neared, as you touched him, and once again, his hand twitched, begging to touch you.

Your hand lingered on his cheek for a moment too long, meeting his eyes. He stared at you, expression unreadable, lips parted.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

You took a second to study his face before you moved away from him. His eyes followed you as you put space between you and him, dark and beautiful.

You logged out of the portal on the computer. “We’ll move you to your own room before we prep you for surgery,” you said gently, heart aching as you met his gaze once more. “The doctor will tell you more.”

“Will you….be there for the surgery?” he showed no specific feelings as he asked the question.

“I am only part of the emergency department right now,” you shrugged. “I don't think so.”

He pondered for a second before nodding, settling himself back into the comfort of his hospital bed. “Okay,” he spoke softly.

You offered him a solemn look, causing him to stiffen.

“What?” he asked.

“What?” you repeated, confused.

He blinked. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” you frowned.

“Like you feel sorry for me.” He looked pained, a deeper type of pain.

You thought about a response to that—you didn't necessarily feel sorry for him, you didn't pity him either. In fact, you just felt an immense feeling of wanting to see him happy, to see him without pain.

Which confused you incredibly, given that he was just a stranger.

“I don't feel sorry for you,” you clarified. “I just don't want you to be in pain.”

“You don't even know me,” he huffed, his expression contorting, and you figured that he didn't even know how he was feeling—what he was feeling. “Why would you even care if I’m hurting?”

You smiled at him. “Because you don't deserve the pain.”

He just stared at you, hazily, emotionally. There was a light in his eyes—a light that wasn't there the other day. “You don't know me well enough to know that.”

The air grew cold; you had nothing left to say. You wished he realized that he didn't have to suffer like this.

“Goodnight, Hongjoong,” you hummed, walking away, feeling his stare burn into your back.

—

The next day, you found yourself drawn to the bed Hongjoong was in yesterday. It was empty, with him now in a room of his own in another part of the hospital.

You typed away at your computer as your colleague, Yeosang, came up to you.

“Hey,” he leaned over the counter of the nurses’ station. “There's a guy asking for you.”

Yeosang, although very young, was a surgical resident in orthopedics. He was super smart, super sexy, super everything. You went to school together, spending lots of time in the library and everywhere else together.

“Who?” you mumbled without looking up.

“He’s a patient I’m prepping for an open reduction surgery, but he’s having a hard time letting anyone touch him. Says he only needs you or something.”

You looked up, hands freezing on your keyboard. Hongjoong. “He won't let anyone touch him?”

Yeosang sighed, propping his head up on his palm as he leaned on the counter. “We had to give him more pain medication, and it made him a bit….difficult. I suspect he has some sort of trauma.”

You frowned. “And why is he asking for me?”

Yeosang gave you a knowing look. “I don't know. He kept saying your name, saying he needed you.”

You tried to avoid the rush of blood to your cheeks. “I don't even know him.”

“Yeah, about that….” Yeosang looked a bit confused, a smile peeking through his lips. “He keeps calling you his wife.”

Oh, dear god. “How drugged is he?” you huffed, looking defeated.

Yeosang laughed. “I kept telling him that you weren't his wife, and he got super mad at me. He said only his wife can touch him. I really need him to stop this so I can get him into pre-op,” The surgeon sighed, giving you a pleading glance. “I’ll ask the attending if you can scrub in—”

“I’m an ER nurse,” you raised a brow. “I have other duties, Yeosang.”

“Y/n, please,” Yeosang pleaded, “ignore the rules or whatever. Can you just come and help me so we can get him into surgery?”

Your mind wandered to the fact that Hongjoong was having a hard time. Sure, he was delirious off of his meds and pain, but knowing that he was struggling with touch, a part of you crumbled.

So you followed Yeosang—after getting approved by the charge nurse, and went up to the third floor.

As you neared the room, you let Yeosang enter first.

“Mr. Kim, I have Nurse y/n here for you.”

There Hongjoong was, his eyes frantic, his breathing rushed. He was anxious, a mess. The nurses tried to ease him, and relax him, but he wasn't having it. That is, until he saw you in the doorway.

“y/n,” he breathed, as if he knew you forever. Everyone in the room let out a sigh of relief.

“Hi, Hongjoong,” you spoke softly, walking slowly near him. You sat in the chair next to his bed, scooting closer as the room emptied, Yeosang being the only other presence. “I heard you were asking for me.”

He blinked, his eyes lined with worry, with anxiety. For someone who looks so tough, he looks like a completely different person.

He didn't speak; he just looked at you, his eyebrows furrowed, his expression all over the place. You took a glance at Yeosang, who was observing you before you reached for Hongjoong's hand just like before.

The bruises were faded now, only old scars left on his skin. A tattoo trailed the skin of his arm. You went to rub his knuckles, but Hongjoong gripped your hand tightly.

You met his frantic gaze. No words were spoken. He just pleaded with his touch, his eyes. You knew he was scared.

“It's okay,” you hummed, fighting the urge to tuck his hair behind his ear. “It's a simple surgery. You will be just fine.”

He mumbled something, but you weren't able to catch it. Yeosang stood in the doorway with his arms crossed, the other nurses peering over his shoulder from the hall. Hongjoong’s gaze moved to the door, seeing everyone watching him.

And you realized that, more than being anxious, he was embarrassed, too.

You looked to Yeosang, giving him a desperate look, a silent cry for him to leave and to get those damn nosy bitches out, too. He complied, and they were alone once more.

“It’s alright,” you hummed, and this time, you did reach out to his face, gliding a gentle hand across his cheek. Without thinking, he leaned into your touch, craving it, longing for it, as if you were really his wife. “They’re gone now.”

His eyes were droopy, his lips downturned. He looked tough, someone with a rough exterior, but now, he was crumbling. He was alone. Alone to the point that he called for you, basically a stranger to him.

The moment could have lasted forever. His eyes bled into yours, yours into his, your hand on his cheek drawing circles into his skin. He took in a breath, and nodded.

“Will you let them take care of you?” you asked him gently.

He hesitated. You also did, as you realized that he leaned into your touch rather than avoiding it. That he felt comfortable with you—the one who hurt him. In his eyes, though, he didn't see it that way.

Your hand stilled on his cheek, his worried eyes lighting up a little. You didn't even realize that his good hand—the hand that you were holding just a minute before, was now resting on top of your hand that was on his cheek. He gripped it, his medical haze confusing him, confusing you.

You froze, your eyes wide. You allowed his fingers to interlock yours, having him hold your hand to his face as he shut his eyes. He was vulnerable. Human. Although he looked tough, looked troubled, he was just a person under all that trouble. Just a normal guy with normal feelings, normal fears.

And you were indebted to each other. You for hitting him, him for his gratefulness of your care.

“I’ll be there with you,” you murmured, knowing that Yeosang was still outside the room, close enough to hear, close enough to see. “I’ll be in the room while they’re operating.”

He nodded, his grip loosening slightly, but he still didn't release your hand.

“I’ll look after you,” you offered, and his eyes met yours once more.

He slowly let go of your hand, allowing you to move back. You looked at Yeosang through the window, giving him a curt nod for him to come back in.

Hongjoong let the other nurses touch him, but not without a grimace on his face. Yeosang’s words swirled around your mind; I suspect he has some sort of trauma.

Trauma. Trauma that didn't quite reach you—your touch. He allowed it, actually, he wanted it. You wondered what made him okay with yours. Why he needed you when you were the one to do this to him.

Eventually, Hongjoong entered the operating room, knocked out by anesthesia, but not without you holding his hand, making him childlike, making him….a normal human being.

—

After the surgery, Hongjoong sat in his bed even more dazed than before. Before the daze wore off, he kept calling you his wife, causing confusion to stir around the hospital.

As you left Hongjoong’s room to go back to the ER, Yeosang followed. “What’s this about?”

“I don't know what you mean.”

You walked faster.

“I mean, why does that guy keep calling you his wife?” Yeosang’s shoulder bumped into yours accidentally as you turned a corner. “And why are you the only one who can touch him? Why did you—”

You stopped suddenly. “Why did I what?”

Yeosang let out a breath. “Why did you….touch him like that? As far as I know, you….you aren't married.”

“I’m not married, you’re right,” you nodded, confused by why you touched him like that, too. Confused as to why he looked so relaxed with your touch rather than freaking out. “And…let’s just say we have met each other before. I did that to calm him down.”

You continued walking towards the elevator, Yeosang following still. “Okay, but you still didn't answer my question about why he keeps calling you his wife.” you pressed the down button and waited.

“Is that really any of your business?”

“Just a little—”

“Why?” you interrupted, turning towards him, arms crossed. “Why does it matter to you?”

You didn't mean to sound rude, you and Yeosang were good friends for a while. You've never dated, but you’ve flirted with each other occasionally. You never thought much of it other than being a little playful.

But the look on Yeosang’s face caused you to pause your racing thoughts. “Because I thought we…we had something going on?”

You blinked. “Do we?”

“I mean,” Yeo scoffed. “With the way you were looking at him, I don't think I have a chance.”

The elevator dinged, doors opening. You paused for a second before entering, Yeosang following.

It was quiet before the doors closed.

“I didn't think I looked at him any differently than anyone else,” you admitted honestly, causing Yeosang to look over at you.

He gave you a smile, although it didn't quite reach his eyes. “You feel something for him, huh?”

You frowned, leaning back against the wall. “I barely know him. I only…” you sighed. “I only met him twice.”

“But yet, you are the only one he allows to touch him,” Yeosang breathed as the elevator dinged on the first floor.

“That’s something to think about.”

—

Hongjoong was back to his normal self when you went to check on him in the evening; the anesthesia and meds had worn off. His arm was bandaged up and held in a sling, his eyes empty once more.

You hesitated on entering, but his stare moved to you.

For a second, you saw regret, and embarrassment, cross his face before melting back into a void stare.

You entered, but he didn't look at you. He avoided your gaze, too. Very unlike his earlier, medical high self.

You took his blood pressure, fingertips gently wrapping around his tattooed bicep as you put the cuff on. He didn't say anything, didn't even spare a passing glance. He just kept looking forward.

“119 over 79,” you mumbled out, letting loose of the cuff.

He nodded, coughing a bit. He didn't say anything, though.

“Dr. Kang told me that you’re cleared to be discharged,” you tried to start a conversation, but things just felt too awkward. You wrote down his vitals in his chart. “That’s good. Can I call anyone to pick you up? Maybe the guy that was here—”

“No,” he said quietly, looking down at his arm. “There is no one to call.”

“You need someone to help you. You just had surgery—”

“I have no one, y/n,” he hissed, finally looking at you. “Not like that’s any of your business, anyway.”

You didn't know what to say, so you just stared at him with confusion. He was putting his walls up.

“I just….don't want you to suffer alone,” you admitted.

“Why?” he let out a laugh, but it wasn't humorous. “I don't need your worry.”

“Okay,” you breathed, defeated. There was no point; he was just a stranger, just a man. Although, this feeling you had about him was overwhelming. And when you touched him, you wanted to hold him longer. Wanted him to feel better.

You left the room without a glance toward him and carried on the rest of your day as best you could.

—

Hongjoong was sitting on the bench outside the hospital entrance, head low, as if sleeping.

You knew you should keep walking. You shouldn't give him any attention, any time of day. But your chest ached as you got closer and closer, and as you reached him, you couldn't bear to walk past him.

“Why are you still here?” you asked him, keeping a good amount of distance away from him.

At your voice, he looked up quickly, as if waiting for you despite his nastiness earlier.

He took a second to respond. “I, uh, I’m just sitting here.”

You looked him over. His black hair was no longer styled spikey, it laid flat across his forehead softly. His tattoos were on full display in the black t-shirt he wore.

“You don't have anywhere to go,” you meant to ask it like a question, but it came out more like a declaration. He furrowed his brows at your words but didn't deny it.

“I’m fine, I’ll figure it out,” he sniffed, the cold air dancing around him. He didn't even have a coat.

Without thinking, you spoke quickly. “Come with me.”

He tilted his head. “Why?”

“Because,” you huffed, taking a step closer to him. “I owe you.”

“For what?” he spat out, probably not intending to sound rude.

You gave him an honest look, and his eyes softened. “Did you just forget that I hit you with my car? That I broke your arm?”

He just sat there, blinking slowly. “You don't owe me anything, y/n.”

You reached your hand out. His own hand twitched. “Come with me.”

After a long moment of just staring at your outstretched hand, he let his hand find yours, standing up at his full height. You got a good look at his face, his eyes, his lips. He was breathtakingly beautiful. So beautiful.

You held his hand as you walked to your car, feeling a flutter of emotion in the pit of your stomach.

When you got to the car, you helped him into the passenger seat, despite his aggravated digs at you. You leaned over him, buckling his seatbelt, feeling his hot breath against your cheek.

You paused, frozen, inches away from his lips.

He swallowed hard, eyes glancing down at your lips. He didn't make a move. You didn't, either.

You pulled away, forcing yourself to get out of his personal space to shut the door. You saw him tilt back his head and take a deep breath before you got to the driver's seat.

As you drove, you asked random questions like a goddamn idiot.

“So, uh,” you swallowed, looking over at him for a second. “What do you do for a living?”

What kind of damn question is that?

“I’m a musician,” he mumbled, looking out the window. “Kind of.”

“Ah,” you nodded, thinking of what to say next. Now you were thinking way too much into things. “What do you play?”

He looked down at his arm, sighing. “Well, I played the guitar, piano, some other things. I don't think I’ll be picking anything up for a while.”

“You will, eventually,” you tried to encourage him, but he just kept his gaze even out the window. You arrived at your apartment, pulled into the parking lot, and shut off the car. “We’re here.”

He nodded, watching you get out of the car. You opened his door, and with slight hesitation, you leaned over him again to unbuckle his seatbelt, but before you could, he stopped you with his good arm.

You paused, inches from his face, meeting his eyes.

“Thanks,” he muttered quietly. “I’m sorry for how I acted earlier.”

“You don't have to be sorry,” you whispered, feeling an immense pull to him, to his lips.

You ignored the urge and unbuckled the belt, but you didn't back away. Not like you could, anyway, with Hongjoong’s grip on your arm tightening.

The belt slowly slipped off of him.

He chewed on his bottom lip, his eyes dancing with emotion. “I was just… embarrassed. And drugged, and uh, well,” he paused, thinking. “Mostly embarrassed. I can't believe I freaked out over a little surgery. That’s so lame—”

“No, it's not,” you hummed softly, delicately. “It's a normal fear.”

He smiled. Actually smiled. From the little time you knew him, you haven't seen a genuine smile on his face. Or any sort of light, really.

“Thanks, uh,” he sniffed. “Thanks again. For looking after me.” his eyes fell to your lips. “You don't even know me, and you still…” he trailed off.

You realized that you were inhaling the air he was exhaling, that you were eye to eye, almost nose to nose. His breaths were shaky, labored, and tired.

“I would want someone to look after me in the same way,” You whispered. “That’s all.”

“That’s all?” he tilted his head upward, leaning against the headrest, warm, brown eyes on full display.

“Mhm,” you swallowed.

His eyes glimmered. He didn't have anything to say, and you didn't either. Realizing that you were shrinking the space ever so slowly, you took the opportunity to back away from the musician. He let go of your arm, but not without a little tug on it beforehand.

You cleared your throat as he got out of the car. You shut the door for him, and you walked together—slowly, till you reached your apartment door.

When you entered, hongjoong strayed back behind the door, not entering. You turned to face him, eyebrow raised.

“Come in,” you beckoned, and with one more second of hesitation, he followed you in, shutting the door behind him.

He surveyed the place, his eyes finding the piano that sat in the corner of the room. His eyes danced as if surprised to see it there.

The air was thick. The room was quiet. You tossed off your shoes with ease, noticing his struggle with his own, so you bent down the help him. He didn't pull away, didn't speak. He just let you take care of it—of him.

“I don't mean to be a bother,” he mumbled as you untied his shoe. “But I’d really like to shower.”

You glanced up at him. “Oh,” you nodded, taking off his shoe before standing up. “Sure. it’s the first door down the hall.”

He didn't make any move. He stood, a confused, shy look resting on his face.

And then you realized.

He had no clothes to change into. Nothing. He also only had one working arm, and one covered in material that couldn't get wet.

“I can help you,” you trailed off, trying not to read too much into his stare.

“If you comfortable with that.”

—

In the bathroom, Hongjoong stood anxiously as you waited for the water to warm up. It took a second, and most of the time, the hot water only lasted so long.

You figured a shower would be too difficult to help him with without seeing too much. You opted for a warm bath, filling the water up once it got hot enough. You made sure to add some suds to it, so he wasn't too uncomfortable.

When you turned around to face him, his eyes were cloudy, his lips in a line.

“Do you….not like baths?” you mumbled, scratching your head. “I probably should've asked you before I—”

“It’s not that.” His eyes met yours, switching his weight onto his other leg.

You didn't pry, knowing he was just probably embarrassed that he needed help for something as trivial as a bath.

Walking toward him, he backed up into the door. You nearly smirked but maintained your cool as you grabbed the plastic bag off the sink counter. “I just have to wrap your cast in this. It'll just be a second. You might want to take your shirt off before I….”

He blinked, eyes wide. “Huh?”

“I don't think you normally bathe in clothes,” you murmured slyly, tilting your head. “Unless you like that.”

He didn't move. His body was as stiff as a board, his throat bobbing as he swallowed.

“Just take your shirt off, dammit, or I’ll do it for you.”

You saw his expression change the minute the words left your mouth.

His good hand found the hem of his t-shirt, hesitating to take it off. You realized that he probably did need your help with taking it off, but with the look in his eye, you weren't sure what would happen if you got any closer to him.

But you moved closer, anyway, setting the plastic bag back onto the counter. His back was nearly up against the wooden door, his breath hitching as your fingertips gently pulled at the fabric.

“Why are you….so okay with this?” he breathed before you could pull the shirt up.

You met his gaze, his eyes unreadable. Almost as if he didn't know what he was feeling, either.

“I told you already,” you shrugged, smiling.

He blinked, his eyes red with emotion, begging to send a flood down his cheeks. “I don't deserve your help.”

“You do, though.” Ever so slowly, you began to pull his shirt, soft, carved abs appearing as you moved it up. “Because you know, you don't have to suffer alone.”

“Who said I was suffering?” he croaked out, his eyes, his tone, spilling his guts out on the floor for her to see.

You didn't say anything. You just slowly tugged the black t-shirt over his casted arm, watching him wince slightly. Then, he stood, half-naked, emotionally charged in front of you. He was no longer a stranger. No longer someone that you classified as a patient, either.

His eyes spoke volumes, his good hand twitching at his side. You looked at it, and took it in your own.

“Come on,” you nodded behind you. “I’ll help.”

He looked like he was ready to cry. Ready to break down. He didn't, though, and you walked him over to the bath. You unbuttoned his jeans, but turned around as he stepped out of them and into the tub.

The soap covered his lower body, all that was on display was his torso, his slim shoulders, the tattoos inked on his tanned skin. He didn't break away from your gaze as you began to wash him.

“I feel….something I shouldn't be feeling,” he swallowed, his voice raspy, tender, defeated.

“And what’s that?” you wondered before running your hands through his silky hair, coating the strands in your lavender shampoo.

He shut his eyes, sighing. “I don't know what it is, but what I do know is, for some reason, your touch is very calming when everyone else’s hurts me.”

You paused, hands still tangled in his locks, but he opened his eyes.

A confession of feelings—worth more than any other cliche words. He stared up at you, heart on his sleeve, confusion and fear and everything in between dancing around his eyes.

“For the first time,” he whispered, the only sounds in the room being your shaky breathing and the quiet trickle of water from the spigot. “I feel…comfortable being touched. I….need it.”

His lips parted, his hair dripping wet, your hands still frozen within the strands. You didn't know how to respond, didn't know exactly how you felt, either. But you also knew one thing, and it became ever so apparent as his hand slowly reached your cheek, wet fingertips leaving a trail of soap across your skin.

You blinked slowly.

Softly, gently, you moved forward, over the tub, and brushed your lips against his. His eyes remained open from shock, but his lips moved slowly along with yours.

You pulled away, but didn't go too far, resting your forehead against his. His breaths tickled your skin, sending a blush to your cheeks.

Emotions are complex. You didn't know exactly why you kissed him. Why you needed to. Why you wanted to do it again. But what you did know was that you liked how his touch felt, liked the little smile that appeared as you kissed him, liked how he gently pulled you back into another kiss.

You took in his breath as you kissed once more, this time a bit more urgent. Your hands gripped his soapy hair, his hand rested softly on your cheek, his thumb on the corner of your lips, his fingers tickling the lobe of your ear.

He kissed you like he knew you forever. Like he knew just how you liked it. You found your hand trailing down his tattooed neck, fingers dancing on the ink, his dewy skin, his tongue in your mouth.

You parted once more, so close, breaths tangling, fingers scrunching. His breath was hot against your face, his dark eyes pleading.

You’d so get on top of him in that damn tub. You wanted to, so bad. But you remembered that his arm was hurt, that you were the one that did it, and you nearly stood up to move away before he gripped you by the arm.

“Don't go,” he breathed hazily.

So you didn't. You washed him, this time, knowing that you were begging to end this bath and fuck him silly till the sunrise. Till the warm, glow of the burning star fluttered through your blinds. And with that damn look on his face, you knew he was thinking about it, too.

You helped him out of the bath, not turning around this time. He stood slowly, body on full display, even more tattoos, even more scars covering the skin you didn't get to see.

You sheepishly handed him a towel. He took it, but didn't use it to cover himself up.

“You’re not dating that damn doctor, are you?” he spoke, his tone serious, deep. Sensuous.

You breathed out, “No.”

He grinned, cheshire-like. “Good.”

You could tell he wanted to rip your clothes off. He wanted to claw at your skin like some goddamn animal, his expression pained in all of the right ways.

You needed air. God, this bathroom was stuffy.

Turning on your heel, you forced yourself to walk out of the damn room, because if you didn't, Hongjoong would become something far more stranger than, well, a stranger to you.

But he had other plans. More impulsive plans.

He followed you out of the bathroom and into your main living space. He gripped your hand, his fingertips gently pressing into your skin. When you turned to face him, he was dripping wet onto the lightwash wood floor, beads of water collecting on the ends of his hair. His eyes were wide, begging you for something, anything.

So you gave up on your act.

“Do you want to fuck me right now?” you wheezed, smiling as his eyes widened even more. “Is that what you want?”

You stepped closer to him at his silence, and arched your body against his bare torso, feeling the hardness of him press your thigh, his lips begging to meet yours once more.

You teased him, lifting your mouth to his, letting out a sigh. He shivered as your hands felt up his bare skin, and your hot breath tickled his face.

He nearly growled, his good arm wrapping around your waist swiftly, tugging your body towards him completely, holding you here as his mouth crashed to yours. His broken arm begged to touch you, too, and without thinking, he moved it quickly. He hissed in pain, his arm definitely hurting him, but he didn't care as much as you did. You tried to part from his lips, to ask him if he was okay, but he bit hard down on your lip to keep you from speaking.

You moaned while he stuck his tongue down your throat, his hand now tearing at your top, your waistband. You hurriedly tore off your clothes for him, giving him no second to stare at your body before tossing yourself onto him again. He grunted, moaning into your mouth, the vibrations tickling every part of you. He pushed you back, nearly tripping over the throw rug, the coffee table, until your back slammed into the keyboard of your piano.

The keys slammed as your ass hit them roughly, the musician making music without even intending to. His hips bucked into yours, your core right where he needed it, his dick pulsing, aching to be inside you. You lifted your hips, grinding them against his cock, gaining pleasure in his expression.

He nearly whined as you bit his ear lobe, his hips shifting into you, begging for you.

“Can I get inside you?” he moaned, eyes frantic. “I need you, fuck, I need it bad.”

In more ways than one, he needed you, but now, he needed your body. Needed your touch, your moans. You obliged, your body already wet enough for him to enter. You lined up, and without a second to waste, he slowly moved into you, causing you to toss your head back at the feeling. His eyes rolled back; a whine left his pretty pink lips, his chest heaved in pleasure.

His head dipped to suck your nipple, tongue gliding over the sensitive skin of your breast. You huffed, trying so hard to breathe. He let out moans that did something dangerous to your body, to your mind. You moaned along with him as his hips snapped.

“Oh, god,” he whimpered, his tone light, airy. Water dripped onto the soft skin of his chest from his hair. “You feel so good.”

You smiled, tearing your hands up his back as the piano cried along with you. The keys clicked, moaning from the weight above them. The music filled the room, tangled within your breaths, your sweat. You gripped the back of his head, lacing your fingers through his wet, dripping hair, feeling yourself get wetter and wetter by the minute.

Your walls caved into him, his cock pulsing inside you. He looked into your eyes for a long moment as he moved, his black hair stuck to his forehead, his mouth open in gratification. He kissed you, tongue dragging across your bottom lip, tugging on it. He liked to bite.

You felt euphoria reach you before you knew it, and you cried out, gripping his hair, pulling it as he fucked you. His face pained, his teeth barred, his eyes shut tight. Just his expression—his appearance—could've made you come on the spot.

You felt tingles in your fingers, and your toes, and saw stars in your vision. Black spots fluttered, your heart rate probably much higher than it should be. You didn't care if you died right here, right now. It didn't matter. Nope. This was bliss. So much better than that damn vibrator.

You felt like you were on fire—no, more like a falling, burning star crashing to earth. Your stomach ached at his pressure, your hips aching, your head pounding. You came onto him with haste as your vision blurred, tearing into his shoulder blades, leaving little marks on his skin. At your actions, you witnessed the look of utter satisfaction on the pretty boy’s face, his breaths quickening, shallowing. He let out a whine, just as musical as the keys underneath you.

Before he could come, he pulled out, cumming all over your breasts, your stomach. You sighed, closing your eyes, trying to catch your breath.

He stared at you, eyes low, lips swollen and red. So fuckable, so delicious.

He looked at how he painted you, smirking a bit to himself. He was so full of life, full of emotion. “Let me go grab that towel,” he breathed, his voice crackling a bit. You watched in enjoyment when he walked away from you, watching his ass, his legs, the tattoos move with him.

He returned with the towel, wiping you gently as if he hadn't just made you nearly black out. You gazed at him, not sure what you were feeling, how you were feeling. You could do it all night with him, with this guy who was a stranger only a couple of days before. It wasn't too often that you acted on your desires, but there was no possible way you were supposed to avoid this, avoid him.

When he was done, when you were clean, he set the towel down on the floor, but his eyes didn't leave you.

“What?” you hummed.

“Just,” he breathed, smiling. “That was really good.”

“I hope so,” you chuckled the feeling of the room lightening, almost in a playful way. “I hope this wasn't your goal all along—you really freaked me out when I hit you.”

He looked down as you jumped off the piano. “Uh, yeah. I bet I did.”

You moved to him, gently reaching to hold his cheeks for him to look at you. “I got you now, huh? No more running in front of cars, unless it's mine. I’ll be prepared next time.”

His eyes widened as if he was shocked by your words. That you knew he did it on purpose. He didn't deny it. He just leaned into your touch, eyes closing tight in comfort.

“Like I said,” you started, giving his lips a little peck. “I’ll look after you, if you’ll allow it.”

He took in a deep breath, opening his eyes, meeting your sincere gaze. His lips curved up. “I’ll look after you, too.”

You smiled along with him. You wrapped your arms around his waist tightly, embracing him, feeling even more intimate than sex. He let out a shaky breath, as if finally realizing he wasn't alone, didn't have to be. That he deserved a caring touch, a longing touch, a needy touch. That he could actually have something to himself.

You didn't know what you were to each other, and it really didn't matter. There was no need to label it so specifically. You could be his rock, his personal nurse, the person to stitch him up when he gets hurt. The one he could confide in, have sex with, whatever he needed. Whatever you needed.

So when he kissed the top of your head while you hugged him, you tightened your arms just a little, holding onto him as long as he’ll let you.

You’ll look after each other.

#ateez #ateez smut #ateez fanfic #ateez angst #ateez hongjoong #kim hongjoong #hongjoong fic #hongjoong x reader #hongjoong smut #hospital au #enemies to lovers

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moonstruckme · 1 month

Note

Hiiii!I hope your doing great I saw your requests just opened and I was wondering if you would mind doing a poly emt marauders with a reader that’s in hospital and they don’t know until they’re like bringing in someone in or something and their like why didn’t you tell us and she’s like oh cause I didn’t want you to worry.Something like that if not it’s fine have a good day!!!🌊

Thanks for requesting gorgeous! Not super sure if this is accurate since I don’t think paramedics usually spend much time inside the hospital but oh well haha. Hope you have a good day too! <3

cw: hospital/emergency room, mention of broken bone

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 827 words

You’re just on your way out of A&E, feeling sore and shattered and more than a little sorry for yourself, when someone says your name. With an odd mix of relief and trepidation mingling in your chest, you turn.

Sirius makes it to your first. He takes your face in his hands, eyes scanning it over thoroughly before starting to make their way down your body. “Baby, what’s happened?”

“Hey,” you say, “what are you doing here?”

“Um, no.” James gives you a funny-looking smile, amusement tangled up with worry. “It’s fairly normal for us to be here, what are you doing here?”

“I, um—”

“Idiots.” Remus bypasses them both, taking your injured hand gently and holding it up where your other boyfriends can see it. “What happened here, lovely?”

“I broke my finger,” you admit.

Sirius looks devastated, though with the splint binding your two fingers together you thought it was fairly obvious. “How?”

“Shut it in my car door.”

James winces and Remus tsks compassionately, turning your hand so he can see the injured digit from another angle.

“How long have you been here?” he asks.

You shrug, not quite looking at any of them. “I had to wait a while. A few hours.”

Remus’ look lets you know your sheepishness isn’t without good reason. “Did you drive yourself like this?”

You nod meekly.

“Angel!” James wraps his arms around you, tucking your head underneath his chin, and you go happily. You’ll take his mollycoddling over Remus’ reproachful stare any day. “Why didn’t you call us? I can’t believe you had to sit here all by yourself.”

“I knew you were busy at work, and I didn’t want to worry you.” Now Sirius is glaring at you, too. You snuggle further into James’ embrace. “It wasn’t so bad.”

“Did they have to set it?” Sirius asks.

Your face heats. “Yeah. It was pretty weird-looking when it first happened.”

James makes a pitiful whining sound. “Poor love.”

“How long did they tell you it’d take to heal?” Remus’ voice sounds somewhat gentler now. He finally relinquishes your injured hand to Sirius, who starts turning it about and inspecting it in the same manner, like the doctor who splinted it for you might not have done a good enough job.

“Six to eight weeks,” you say glumly. It already feels annoyingly constraining not being able to bend either of those fingers; you’re not sure how you’re supposed to deal with it for weeks on end.

The boys exchange a look, and James drops the protective circle of his arms from around you. “I’m going to go find Amelia,” he says, “see if she’s on break.”

You clutch at his shirt with your good hand. “Don’t leave me,” you whisper.

Your boyfriend smiles, dropping a kiss on your head. “Sorry, lovie.”

“I think we ought to feel insulted,” Sirius comments as James walks away. Remus only shrugs.

He reaches for your face now that it’s not hidden under James’ chin, wiping frownily at something on your cheek.

“Are you feeling alright now, dove?” he asks, and you veritably liquefy at the tenderness in his voice.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You shrug one shoulder lightly. “I’m sorry I didn’t call, but it really wasn’t awful.”

Sirius gives your wrist an admonishing little squeeze. “You have tear marks on your face,” he contradicts you softly.

“Oh.” You run a finger under your eyes, feeling your face heat.

Remus tuts and lets his hand against the side of your neck, thumb stroking at your jaw. “We’re only on shift for another hour,” he tells you. “James is finding our friend Amelia so you can stay in the break room with her until we can come back and get you, okay?”

You shake your head, and his stare hardens but you say anyway, “I don’t need to be babysat. I can get home on my own.”

“You shouldn’t be driving after having anesthetic.”

You narrow your eyes. “Wouldn’t they have told me if that were the case?”

“We don’t want you driving with a numb hand,” Sirius clarifies. When you turn your attention to him, he gives you a stern look. “You should have called us in the first place. Just let us do what we can for you now, okay?”

You sigh in resignation just as James comes up behind you again. Seeing as no one has taken over hug duty, he wraps both arms around your waist, setting his chin on your shoulder.

“Okay,” you tell Sirius.

“Oh, excellent. All on the same page, are we?” James turns his head to smooch your cheek. “Knew you’d come around, angel. Amelia’s ready for you, so you can hang in the break room until we get back.”

“Is she going to baby me too?” you joke, letting him steer you towards the hallway.

“Probably not,” Sirius says, “but don’t you worry, sweetness. We’ll make up for that when we get you home.”

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steddiealltheway · 8 months

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(Part Two aka the final part to this)

As soon as Steve parks outside of Eddie's trailer, he races to Eddie's car door and opens it for him.

Eddie shoots him a bewildered look as he makes his way out of his car. "I can open my door, you know."

"But a proper date opens the door for you."

Eddie snorts. "So this is already starting?"

Steve shrugs as he follows Eddie to his front door. "I need all the time I can get to prove you wrong. Plus, I need to see this charm you insisted you have."

Eddie opens the door and dramatically guides Steve inside, quickly closing the door behind them. He stuffs his hands in his pants and avoids eye contact with Steve, staring off as if contemplating something. Eddie shakes his head and looks back at Steve. "Welcome to my home," he says holding his arms wide.

Steve glances around and nods. "It's cozy. I like it."

"No need to lie to me, Harrington."

"I'm not," Steve insists and laughs humorlessly. "I mean, you should see my house. It's huge but extremely uncomfortable. My parents hired a decorator and insisted that we couldn't make a single change. It's just so..."

"Nice to look at but not nice to live in?" Eddie asks, finishing his sentence again.

Steve nods quickly. "Exactly that."

Eddie gives him a small smile and leans back against his kitchen counter. That same distracted look crosses over his face.

Steve can't help but walk closer to him and say, "Eddie?"

Eddie snaps out of it and asks, "Why are you here, Harrington?"

"To prove you wrong and help Dustin," Steve answers easily, leaving out the part about how he needs to know where this will go.

Eddie hums in response and pauses before asking, "So, you're not going to use this against me."

Steve sighs. "Maybe I would've in high school, but no. I won't tell anyone how much I'm going to 'woo' you." Steve throws up air quotes around the word woo which makes Eddie smile a bit.

"Then can I tell you a secret?"

Steve nods.

Eddie pushes off the counter and steps toward him. "I've never been on a date before."

Steve stares at him for a second. "And Dustin still asked you for help?"

Eddie scoffs and walks past him. "No need to rub it in."

Steve runs a hand through his hair and follows after him. "Sorry, that was stupid to say." He grabs Eddie's hand gently and waits for him to turn to him. "I'm sorry," he says sincerely, "Not cool."

Eddie just gives him an unimpressed look.

"It's just hard to share Dustin. I'm used to him only going to me for help. I don't know. It probably sounds dumb."

"It doesn't," Eddie says, squeezing his hand.

Steve glances down at their hands, having forgotten that he had even grabbed Eddie's in the first place. He runs his thumb over the back of Eddie's and says, "Let's do this trial run."

Eddie pulls his hand away and runs it over his face. "Steve, I don't know how to go on a date."

"Which is exactly why we're doing this and whatever else you have planned for Dustin and Suzie after the movie date. Plus, I still have to prove you wrong." Eddie pulls his hair in front of his face nervously. Steve reasons, "Plus, this can be practice for any future dates."

"A date with Steve Harrington," Eddie says with a laugh.

Steve shrugs. "Why not?"

Eddie eyes him and breathes out, "Okay."

"Okay?"

"We can do this trial run, but just because I'm new to this doesn't mean you'll have an easier time winning me over."

Steve smiles and saunters up to him. "Are you sure about that?"

Eddie's eyes flicker down to his lips and back to his eyes, immediately making Steve's heartbeat stutter. He doesn't expect Eddie to card a hand through his hair smoothly, tilting his head back and making Steve's knees buckle a little. Eddie smirks. "Careful, you're not the only one who needs to prove themselves."

He backs away quickly and moves to his kitchen, rummaging around before coming up with a bag of popcorn which he pops in the microwave. Steve clears his throat, trying to gather himself before asking, "How have you never been on a date before?"

Eddie raises an eyebrow at him.

"I mean, you have all the... charm stuff down."

Eddie smiles. "So, you're already admitting to my charm."

Steve just puts his hands on his hips unimpressed.

Eddie's smile falters before he answers, "Okay, I mean I've hooked up with people at the Hideout, but no one's stuck around to actually go on a date with me."

Steve nods but replies, "That's hard to believe."

Eddie shakes his head. "Let's just say that it's easier for you than it is for me."

It feels like Steve's had this conversation before with... Robin? But why would it feel so familiar? He glances back at Eddie who has a bit of fear in his eyes.

The microwave beeps and suddenly it hits Steve.

He watches as Eddie grabs the bag, cursing slightly when the steam hits him. For some reason the revelation makes Steve feel a bit more nervous as the chance of something happening increases dramatically.

"Hey," Steve says, "It's okay if you're... you know."

Eddie's head snaps up.

Steve holds his hands up. "I promise I won't tell a soul."

Eddie relaxes a bit, but he stays behind the counter as he asks, "And you still want to do this trial run knowing that...?"

"Yeah," Steve says a little bit too enthusiastically, "Now I can be sure that your judgment of my skills is accurate."

This makes Eddie laugh loudly, and Steve immediately smiles. "You know, I think I'm finally starting to see why Dustin likes you so much."

"And why the ladies love me so much?"

"Don't push it, Harrington," Eddie says, pointing a finger at him before grabbing a bowl to put the popcorn in. He grabs the bowl and gestures for Steve to follow him to the couch. "So, you're the expert here, what do you recommend?"

"Like movie options?" Steve asks as he makes himself comfortable.

"Movie options, seating arrangements, where to put the popcorn..." Eddie trails off.

Steve tucks his feet under himself and shrugs. "Depends. If we were Dustin and Suzie I would say to watch something cheesy or something science fiction that they both enjoy. Dustin should definitely watch to see if her hand is free to hold at any point, but that's about it for them."

"And how would it change for us- or me?"

Steve smiles and scoots in closer, throwing an arm over the back of the couch. "If it's here then definitely get as comfortable and close as you want. As for a movie, it depends. Do you actually want to watch the movie or do you want background noise?"

Eddie rolls his eyes. "Classy."

Steve laughs. "No, no, I don't mean like hooking up. I mean if you just want to talk and get to know each other maybe make out a little, you want to pick a movie that you've both seen and won't be upset missing." He glances toward a stack of tapes near them and points at one. "Like Back to the Future, great movie to comment on and talk during, but I wouldn't be upset about missing parts. But I'm guessing you're like Dustin and Star Wars would be a no-go for missing scenes. At least, I was that way when watching."

"You've seen Star Wars? Which one?"

"The one with the little teddy bears."

Eddie hums in response.

"So, what are you thinking for a movie?" Steve asks.

"Back to the Future would be nice, but maybe we do like thirty minutes so we can get to my part of the date without you falling asleep on me," Eddie suggests.

"You already have an idea?"

Eddie shrugs and looks away. "It's kind of always been a date idea in the back of my mind."

"Secret romantic," Steve teases, hand dropping down from the couch to Eddie's shoulder, squeezing lightly.

Eddie tenses up a little, so Steve asks, "Is this okay?"

"Yeah, I'm just not used to it," Eddie answers honestly.

Steve nods and pulls away, moving to put the tape in the VHS player before coming back to the couch. He sits a little further away from Eddie and says, "We can keep our distance if that's more comfortable with you."

Eddie just nods and looks ahead at the screen, tilting the bowl of popcorn toward Steve who takes a handful. He tries to find something to say, but he's struck by sudden nervousness and wonders if Eddie's right about him cruising based on his looks because usually by this point whatever girl he's with is giggling and practically climbing into his lap to get closer to him.

But then Eddie relaxes a bit and throws his arm around the back of the couch which fills Steve with relief. "So, how did you get so close to Dustin? He goes on and on about you, but he never has told me that story."

Steve shrugs, trying not to give away how much the question freaks him out. He tries to keep the answer as close to the truth as he can. "He's friends with Nancy's younger brother so he's kind of always been around I guess. One day, I was bringing flowers to Nancy to apologize for doing something stupid, but Dustin found me instead. He told me that Nancy wasn't home and that he needed a ride and help with something, and the rest is history."

Eddie narrows his eyes at him. "I feel like there's more to the story."

Steve shrugs again and shoves a handful of popcorn in his mouth.

"Like the whole bat with nails that Dustin didn't even look twice at. The story between you two doesn't make sense."

Steve swallows his mouthful and moves closer to Eddie. "What if I told you that it's a story I'll have to come back to another time?"

Eddie twists toward him and tilts his head. "Do you really think that's going to make me less curious? And I see what you're doing trying to distract me with your charm."

Steve tucks a strand of hair behind Eddie's ear and asks, "Well, is it working?"

Eddie just shakes his head and says, "You wish, pretty boy." Nonetheless, he turns back to the movie leaving Steve to privately panic over the way the nickname makes him feel.

And maybe he wants to torture himself or something because next thing he knows, he's asking, "Well, how would you have distracted me?"

Eddie's head slowly turns to him, eyebrows raised. "Do you really want to know?"

Steve blames morbid curiosity as the reason he nods in response.

Eddie sets the bowl of popcorn down - and the implications of that scare Steve shitless - and he moves until their knees are touching. He gets a thoughtful look on his face as he recalls their conversation. "So, I was saying something about how the story between you didn't make sense. And instead of agreeing with it, I would've said something like. You know what doesn't make sense? How someone so gorgeous ended up here with me."

Steve flushes red but simultaneously snorts in response, "That's a horrible line."

"Yet, you're the one who is blushing."

Steve raises his eyebrows and says, "Well, if I got a do-over and time to think like you, then maybe I would've done something like this." Steve leans in and puts a hand on his chest, slouching down so he has to look up through his lashes to say, "Maybe that's a story for another time because right now... I have other ideas about what we could be doing."

Eddie stares down at him, hand slipping off the couch to trail up his back and into his hair. "And here I thought that you had said more intimate didn't mean sex."

Steve smiles and hopes Eddie can't feel his heart pounding in his chest. "It's true, but I also told you that some movies are great background noise to make out during."

Eddie's eyes flicker down to his lips, and Steve can feel his eyes start to flutter shut.

But then, Eddie abruptly pulls back and says, "Okay, yeah, you got me. I understand the Harrington charm."

Steve only smiles slightly, feeling the disappointment settle in his chest at losing the chance to kiss the boy.

"So, I think date part one is covered. Onto my part?" Eddie asks, already standing up and rushing to stop the film.

"Yeah, sure," Steve says.

Eddie glances at him and pauses before beckoning him to follow him. Steve gets up immediately and follows Eddie to where he assumes his room is and suddenly gets a wave of panic.

Eddie glances back and must catch the look. "Relax, I'm just grabbing you some warmer clothes."

Steve nods but stays in the doorway, glancing around at Eddie's room. Something about it feels so Eddie that he can't help but smile at it.

"Here," Eddie says, thrusting a yellow sweater into his hands, "I haven't worn it in forever but it should keep you warm."

"Thanks," Steve says, stripping off his jacket to throw on the sweater before putting the jacket back on. "But why do I need more clothes?"

Eddie smiles. "You'll see." He grabs the blanket off his bed and walks past Steve to the front door. He opens it and says, "After you."

Steve gives him a look of confusion before heading out the front door. Eddie follows behind him and closes the door before grabbing Steve's hand and leading him around the trailer to a ladder which he immediately starts climbing.

Steve tries to advert his eyes from the view Eddie's giving him before he follows him up the ladder, grabbing Eddie's hand once he makes it to the top in an attempt to steady himself. He's never been the biggest fan of heights, but he doesn't want to admit that to Eddie who guides him to the middle of the roof. He lets go of his hand to lay out a blanket and immediately lays down on it, patting the empty spot next to him.

Steve lays down and lets out a deep breath as he sees their view of the night sky, glittering with stars.

"Pretty amazing, right?"

All Steve can do is nod. He doesn't know if he's ever really taken the time to stare at the sky and appreciate its beauty.

"I like to go up here to clear my mind sometimes. But I've always thought it would be nice to share with someone else. But maybe Dustin and Suzie can just lay out in his yard instead because I think it would be life or death before I let one of them up here. Dustin would break a leg or something."

Steve chuckles and glances at Eddie only to find him staring at him as if trying to gauge his reaction. "Thank you for taking me up here," he says sincerely, going as far as reaching into the space between them and intertwining their fingers.

Eddie's hand squeezes his as he turns to look up at the stars, looking so at peace with the world that Steve can't help but stare at him.

Eddie glances at him. "Look at the stars, Steve. You're wasting your time staring at me."

"The stars are here every night though, so maybe I want to spend all the time I can looking at you."

Eddie turns to him with a conflicted look on his face. "Is this your Harrington charm?"

Steve shakes his head. "It's just the truth." He sighs and looks up at the sky. "Do you ever wish you could start over knowing everything you know now?"

"Yes," Eddie answers immediately, thumb running over the back of Steve's hand. "What would you change?"

Steve considers the question for a moment before turning to Eddie and saying, "Everything."

Eddie looks back at him and asks, "Would you change this?"

Steve's eyes search Eddie's, wondering how he wants him to answer the question, but he answers honestly, "I wouldn't have been such a dick earlier, and I would've changed this from a trial date to a real date."

Eddie whispers, "There's nothing stopping it from changing now."

Steve shifts onto his side and looks down at him. "Are you sure you want a date with King Steve of all people?"

Eddie shakes his head. "I don't think that's you. So why don't you prove me wrong?" he asks, running a hand through Steve's hair before resting it on the back of his head.

Steve lets Eddie take the lead to slowly drag him in, pausing when they're close enough to be breathing each other's air. "Are you sure you want this?" Eddie asks.

"More than you could possibly know," Steve replies before closing the gap between them and gently brushing their lips together before breaking the kiss to look Eddie in the eyes and make sure he's okay.

Eddie just pulls him back in and kisses him as if he's pouring everything he's feeling into the kiss which Steve returns just as passionately, unable to deny the truth that no kiss has ever made him feel this way before.

He cradles Eddie's face as they deepen the kiss and Eddie tries to pull him in impossibly closer, both hands making a mess of his hair until Steve pulls away, breathing hard before moving in to kiss him again as sweetly as he can before he rests their foreheads together.

They both try to catch their breath, and neither dares break the silence between them.

Eventually, Steve gives Eddie a gentle kiss on the forehead and rolls away onto his back, finding Eddie's hand and intertwining their fingers again.

They both stare up at the stars, not looking at each other until Eddie finally breaks the silence to ask, "Steve, where do we go from here?"

Steve turns to him and squeezes his hand. "I don't know," he confesses. "But what if we didn't think about it now? What if we just see what happens?" Steve asks, not wanting to think of the reality of their situation.

Eddie nods. "I like that idea."

So, they both turn back to the stars, wishing that their paths will be able to cross again.

Little do they know that their wishes will be granted soon.

(Super quick happy ending in the tags)

Tag List <3 (Sorry this took longer than planned):

@estrellami-1 @resident-gay-bitch @7-starboi @steves-yellow-cardigin @anaibis @saramelaniemoon @big-ol-regret @piemaker-from-gallifrey @queerriotgrrrl @sharingisntkaren @zoeweee @goodolefashionedloverboi @l0st-strawberry @dragonmama76 @pluto-pepsi @its-a-me-a-morgan @tiny-enthusiast @aol19 @pansexualhousecat @paintsplatteredandimperfect @thesuninyaface @messrs-weasley @gemini-local @paperbackribs

#steddie #steddie fic #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #So after the man hunt Eddie sees Nancy and Steve and is like #of course me and Steve would have never worked #and he basically tells Steve that he should go after nancy #and Steve is like ???? did you forget about our whole date???#Also their little moment in the woods with Eddie telling Steve that he's actually a good dude is him telling him everything he wanted to sa #During their first date but he didn't #But Steve and Eddie dont get the chance to talk things out and they're filled with misunderstandings until Steve drags Eddie's body through #the portal and they reunite at the hospital where Steve basically tells Eddie he's an idiot for assuming he wanted to be with Nancy #Because he can only imagine being with Eddie #And they live happily ever after

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manwrre · 3 months

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i love how every fandom’s got its fics. you know the ones, that one way or the other, everyone has and probably will read at some point in their lives? and no one else would understand. like i could say “you’re hesitating, love” and an entire group of people will fall to their knees in a target

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jonathanbiers · 1 year

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i just wanted to see them reach their full shared trauma bestie potential

#stranger things #eddie munson #robin buckley #strangerthingsedit #stedit #eddiemunsonedit #robinbuckleyedit #where are the platonic roddie fics where robin sneaks snacks into the hospital and sings while he plays the guitar and commiserates about #their equally awkward and fumbly romantic endeavors #im still a robin joins corroded coffin as their vocalist truther #*#*gifs

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comehellorhighwatertheywillwrite · 6 months

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Wasn't really expecting to see this on a Tuesday afternoon

‘Had to wait a bit’

#like in hospital or?#come hell or high water they will write #the devil works hard but fic writers work harder #archive of our own #fanfiction #ao3

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chiharuuu22 · 1 month

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Whumpee blinked when he felt someone pulling up the blanket. He saw the Team Leader there, smiling at him.

"Sorry to wake you," he said. "Go back to sleep."

Whumpee seemed to circle the room with his eyes because he felt something was missing.

"Where... where is Caretaker?" he asked in a weak voice.

At first glance, Team Leader looked sad, but his expression immediately changed, "She's a little unwell, so I'll be on guard. When she's well, she'll come here."

Whumpee didn't answer and chose to close his eyes again. Team Leader, who felt a little guilty about lying, could only sit beside the bed in silence.

***

"Whumpee is looking for you," said Team Leader to Caretaker who was sitting alone in the dark hospital lobby, handing her bottled tea.

Caretaker did not answer. Her hand accepted the offered drink. Her eyes looked puffy, as if she had been crying for a long time.

Yes, Caretaker just expressed her emotions. The anger, fury, hatred, and disgust she had been holding at Whumper's trial poured out all at once. Had it not been for the Team Leader and other members to be detained, Caretaker would have wanted to kill Whumper right then and there.

How could it not be? It was Whumper who captured Whumpee during their fight, held him hostage for almost a year, subjected him to experiments, and even harassed him. What's more, Whumper records all of it. The recording was also played in court and made many people sick to their stomachs. In fact, the judge also had to pause it several times. Not just Whumpee, but all of Whumper's victims were killed.

Whumpee managed to survive with great difficulty, even taking strong evidence to corner Whumper. Unfortunately, Whumpee also ended up languishing in the hospital and being critical for some time. Victims who survived also had the same condition; some even had mental disorders.

After seeing everything that happened to Whumpee, Caretaker was unable to meet him. Found Whumpee who was still lying weak and still had to be helped with medical equipment, even just to breathe. Caretaker didn't dare imagine what Whumpee was going through.

"Whumpee didn't say anything, but he noticed you were avoiding him," Team Leader sat down next to Caretaker. "He woke up several times and looked like he was looking for you."

"I don't dare go see him. I can't stand what I just saw, let alone Whumpee who experienced it," Caretaker spoke in a trembling voice. "I'll definitely cry if I see him."

Team Leader sighed, "At least he's safe and still has his sanity. I know you two need each other, and now Whumpee really needs you by his side."

Caretaker downed her drink.

"Go meet him; Whumpee will be very happy to see you." Team Leader patted Caretaker's shoulder to encourage her.

Caretaker nodded.

***

Whumpee woke up again when he felt something soft and cold touch his cheek. His eyes widened slightly when he found the Caretaker beside him stroking his cheek with affection.

"The Leader said you weren't feeling well. Are you sick? Are you okay?" Whumpee asked and slowly trying to get out the sound he managed to muster, his hand reaching for Caretaker's face. "Are you crying? Why?"

Caretaker started to feel a pinch in her heart; she wanted to cry again. "I'm okay. Just... just a little tired. Don't worry. I'm feeling better too; that's why I came here. Why? Miss me?"

Whumpee flashed a weak smile and said, "Yeah. Very."

Caretaker chuckled softly and said, "Don't worry. I'll be beside you."

Whumpee actually realized why Caretaker was acting like that. Whumpee knows today is Whumper's court, and he already expects that the indictment and evidence will be shown there.

"I'm sorry," said Whumpee.

"Why apologize? You didn't do anything wrong," Caretaker kissed Whumpee's forehead gently. "Go to sleep. You need it."

Whumpee squeezed Caretaker's hand. Just for that alone, Whumpee felt safe.

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inevitably-johnlocked · 1 month

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I’m trying to find a fic I read (then “lost”): It starts with Sherlock regaining consciousness in an alley but he’s helpless with a head injury; John’s going nuts trying to find him. Sherlock eventually communicates with John via his mobile phone and gives John enough location clues to find him. While in hospital, John keeps touching Sherlock’s forehead where he was injured; John’s having some kind of an epiphany about his feelings for Sherlock since he was hurt?

Hey Lovely!

Oh gosh, I have no idea which one this is but it sounds amazing!! I'd love to know too! Anyone able to help us out?

#steph replies #johnlock fic reqs #help steph find fics #sherlock whump #whump fics #hospital fics

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urhoneycombwitch · 18 days

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thinking about post-vecna Eddie in recovery with a little bit of post-traumatic amnesia

it takes him a bit to remember the kids and the adults, but it isn't long before he's falling back into his usual repertoire with them

but for some reason, his brain just blocked out significant other!reader. Having them around is comforting and he knows that they are important to him, he just can't figure out why

And the nurse advised against telling Eddie too much too soon because it might be overwhelming so reader is stuck between a rock and hard place of whether they're should tell Eddie they are/we're dating or if they should wait until maybe he remembers or wants to start a relationship (but there's also the fear that maybe the knock to his head might have changed his affections and he won't want them anymore)

Until finally they end up telling him, all emotional and worried how he's gonna take it

But all he does is flop his head back against the hospital pillow going "Thank GOD" because he finally understood why he was getting so jealous when reader and Steve came to visit him and why it just felt wrong when Steve's arm was slung around reader's shoulder comfortingly

He had already been planning to ask reader out anyways, when he was all better and rockin' and cool, but now he's over the moon with relief and happiness that hey, they're already together!

amnesia trope my beloved!!!!

yeah Eddie’s watching you from his hospital bed thru the little hallway window. you’re talking quietly to Steve- why he’s gotta be here Eddie’s unsure, seems like it’s just to flirt with you 🙄. but why would that matter to Eddie? you don’t belong to him. not his property. or his girl.

doesn’t change the fact that he’s getting grumpier by the second, as you touch Steve’s arm (you’re simply saying goodbye but Eddie’s spiraling a lil). when you come back in the room and take your place by Eddie’s side again you can tell something’s off, he’s pouting, distant-

“are you okay?”

the concern in your voice sits like a rock in Eddie’s stomach. he wants to do anything but make you feel bad. he twists one of the hospital wires that he’s connected to in his fingers, still slightly sulky- “yeah. I just… I know I don’t really have any right to say this to you, ‘cuz you’ve been a really good friend, better than I deserve through this whole weird time. but- I’m saying this as Steve’s buddy, too- I don’t think you two are right for each other.”

your silence is deafening. Eddie thinks he’s fucked everything up. and then- wait, are you laughing?

through a fit of giggles, you’re leaning over to take Eddie’s hand in both of yours- “sorry. sorry. I really don’t mean to make fun… it’s just- you do have a right. to be jealous.”

“I’m not jealous,” Eddie says too quickly. “…but if I were… what do you mean, I do have the right?”

there’s an emotion Eddie’s never seen before on your face- or maybe he has, ‘cuz that look in your eye (like you’re fighting something back) is striking a chord from deep in the recesses of his memories. fuzzy and unclear but deeply affecting.

he sweeps a thumb down the length of your palm, like he’s done a thousand times before.

the storm brewing in your eyes clears, and when you lean forward to kiss him, Eddie swears he can taste the sunshine in your mouth.

“not Steve’s,” you pull a hairsbreadth away to whisper.

Eddie is cupping the backs of your elbows, holding you in place, gaze roving over your face, heart thrumming quick in his throat as that same chord strikes, memories swimming a little further to the surface.

“kiss me again?” it’s an inch away from begging, he knows- must be reaaaal soft on ‘em to be speaking like that- but luckily, you seem to like it, leaning in again with a soft smile.

“you can have all the kisses you want, Eddie. from now on.”

#loved this anon #I love a hospital setting for fics #eddie munson x reader #lu’s anons #e.m. thots from lu

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bamsara · 8 months

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Hey chief you've been sitting on the new chapter for a while what's the current word count? (also crumb? little crumb for us perhaps?)

I have about 70k worth of draft written but thats DRAFT and incoherent rambling so not an actual idea of the chapter word count, but since I've been talking about SL Monty latley I think it's fair to throw these here

#narrator note: he did in fact do that again #also between orders and packing for patreon and the other fic idea i havent revised anything in like a week #and there was also like two weeks where i didnt touch it when i was in and out of hospital caretaking #so i need that sweet sweet brain refresh before i go back in or ill write it and hate it again

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try-set-me-on-fire · 10 months

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Ok well i had the brief thought “what about an ER nurse Eddie au?” and then this popped fully formed into existence so fuck it Friday pt 2.. warnings for smoking and vague references to critically injured kids

“That doesn’t seem very healthy.”

Smoke curls up from the cigarette held loosely in Eddie’s hand. “It’s not, particularly.”

Buck’s hands are in his pockets as he strolls away from the glass doors out into the ambulance bay where Eddie is doing the mature, professional equivalent of playing hide and seek. He comes to a stop barely a foot or two away from where Eddie leans against grimy concrete. “Didn’t know you were a smoker.”

“I’m not,” Eddie sighs, “Particularly.” He looks over Buck’s face as he takes a drag, cataloging bruises and cuts. He hadn’t been the one to look him over before he was discharged, probably because he was out here avoiding having to do so. “Only when it’s- only after the bad shifts.” And only once a month, even if the bad shifts come again and again. He bought this pack in January, it’s stale as shit.

Buck’s eyes follow the smoke as it drifts skyward. “Rough one today?”

Eddie thinks he probably doesn’t have to explain to Buck that it’s sometimes better when a kid is dead on arrival so he doesn’t have to try his best to administer care he knows will be useless. He doesn’t have to explain a day where nothing goes right and he loses more people than he can save and he still has to walk away from someone’s parent or wife or sister, left behind forever in a waiting room on the worst day of their life, and go on to lose the next person too. Doesn’t have to explain why he’s out here, and not in there. “Mm. We’ve got this repeat customer, always hate to have him back.”

Buck’s eyes flick to his face before they settle somewhere around his elbow. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. He seems like a nice guy. I worry about him. He’s here too often.”

Buck doesn’t look up. “What was he in for this time?”

“Minor concussion. Bruising. Lacerations.” Eddie sucks cancer into his lungs. “Heard a house fell on him.” Exhales it into the night.

Buck does look up this time, eyes a darker blue out here in the shadows. “Part of a house. Just a staircase and the- like, the balcony, really.”

“Maybe he should stay away from those.”

“From houses?” Buck asks, half his mouth twitching into a smile.

Eddie rests his head on the wall behind him. “Guess that’s not really practical.”

“No.” Buck is quiet for a moment, one hand slipping out of his pocket and running through his hair. Eddie wonders what he looks like, when he’s not here. He’s more styled, sometimes, when things aren’t very bad. He wonders if he’s usually all gelled up and neat. Eddie kind of likes the loose curls. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Making your day worse.” Buck looks genuinely apologetic, and Eddie shakes his head.

“The guy made it out okay this time.” Buck is just close enough that Eddie can kick at his boot with his sensible orthopedic sneaker. “You didn’t even need stitches.”

“That’s good.” Eddie’s left foot is pressed along the inside of Buck’s right, and Buck is staring down at them. “His favorite nurse was on break. I would have missed you if someone else had to do them.”

Eddie laughs, just a few bursts of soundless oxygen. “You gotta find new ways to see me before something happens that I can’t fix.”

Buck moves, taking the few steps necessary to lean against the wall beside him. Carefully, he takes the cigarette from Eddie’s hand, holds it between two of his own fingers, and takes a drag. Eddie watches it happen like he’s monitoring somebody’s pulse ox, and when Buck coughs he laughs again, louder this time. “Fuck,” Buck says, laughing too. “Thought that would be cooler than it was.”

“Smoking isn’t cool, firefighter Buckley,” Eddie says, taking the cigarette back and pulling from it again between smiling lips.

“Hm,” Buck says, grinning out into the night. Then he sighs, and rolls his head along the concrete to look at Eddie. “I think there’s nothing you can’t fix.”

They’re very close. “There’s lots I can’t fix.”

Buck shrugs like he disagrees. “I also think I’d like to find other ways to see you.”

Buck’s eyes are even more in shadow at this angle, and they’re the color of the lake back in El Paso that he and a bunch of kids went to after graduation, drunk off beer somebody’s cousin got for them, skinny dipping with breathless terrified delight under bright constellations. “Then ask me.”

Buck inhales as Eddie exhales. “What time’s your shift end?”

“5:30 AM. So, probably 6:15.”

Buck traces the two fingers he’d used to hold the cigarette down Eddie’s arm. “You wanna get breakfast with me?”

“Yes. I would.”

Buck smiles, and Eddie snubs out the cigarette on the wall between them. “I’ll meet you here?”

“Alright.” He takes a step forward, then a step to the right so he’s standing in front of Buck. “Two hours.”

“Uh huh.”

He should really get back inside. They’re understaffed, as always, and there are too many patients, as always, and not enough beds, as always. “See you then.” He doesn’t make any move to leave.

“See you then,” Buck almost whispers. He leans forward, and Eddie still doesn’t move, so he presses a tiny kiss to the corner of his mouth for just a moment. His lips are warm. Eddie hadn’t noticed it was cold outside.

Buck pulls back and leans against the wall again. Eddie smiles, puts a hand in his pocket, and walks back toward the doors.

#my writing #fuck it Friday #i swear I’m going to finish trapped buck and Chris and work on proposal fic before i work on this more #but it would be a bunch of glimpses of Buck’s various hospital trips from Eddie’s nurse perspective #and maybe shuffle some events around? like maybe eddie still gets shot but by a disgruntled former patient this time and #so he does a stint in the maternity ward and buck shows up there #and Eddie is like you’re having a kid?#and bucks like no my sister is what are you doing here #and when buck gets the story he’s like fuck. shit. im sorry i wasnt there #and eddies like picturing seeing buck in that moment of violence and says im glad you weren’t #also Eddie could still be the one who restarts his heart after the lightning strike #this bit is maybe the last scene actually sorry for posting the end first #have a good breakfast boys #buddie #evan Buckley #eddie diaz #911 abc

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theminecraftbee · 3 months

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Joel stares at the ceiling. It’s sure a hospital ceiling alright. Grey tiles, fluorescent lights, a steady beep in the background. Great. He’s in the hospital his first day in town. He’s sure that bodes well for the future of his time in Hermiton, truly. What had he been saying to himself before he arrived? That he just had to survive one more year of high school and then he could go be a hermit in the woods or at least pass his exams to get that architecture degree he used to dream about.

“Oh, you’re awake! You’re the last to wake up. It’s just exhaustion, don’t worry. That always happens the first few times you summon your Persona. Your body gets used to it and stops trying to force you into the ground the moment you enter Real Space again eventually.”

He tries very hard not to groan out loud. If he doesn’t move or make any noise, maybe the weird guy won’t notice he’s awake. Maybe he’ll go away and like, whatever adult in town is currently supposed to be in charge of him will show up and sign some paperwork and Joel can leave.

There’s a long, awkward silence.

“You know, I can tell you’re awake. I already said so,” the stranger says.

“Shut up, I’m trying to make you go away,” Joel says.

The stranger snorts. “What, you don’t want information on your two friends you apparently risked your life to save?”

Joel… would kind of like that information, actually, but he’s not just going to say so.

“It’s not like I know them. I’ve been here five days. Idiot,” Joel says.

“I don’t know. Seems a lot like you know them,” the stranger says. “You’ll probably get to know them even more soon, after we do an assessment to make sure it’s safe for you all to enter Altered Space. It’s just been me and Scar for so long, I didn’t think other Persona users would ever show up!”

“What,” Joel says. “I don’t believe in Personas. They’re stupid. I was lucid dreaming. This is stupid.”

“Can’t you still hear yours? I think I’d go insane if I stopped.”

Yes.

“No.”

“Well then, maybe you’re the weak one. A strong Persona user would definitely still hear their Persona,” the stranger says, and look man, Joel doesn’t want to be doing this, but he can’t let ‘maybe you’re the weak one’ stand. It’s a matter of honor. Of pride.

“No, buzz off. I’m the strong one. I didn’t just awaken Pygmalion, I kicked ass using Pygmalion. Stupid Skizz and Impulse passed out immediately. And I was the only one who knew how to get to Skizz so, so, screw you, I’m super strong with your fake brain ghost thing.”

The stranger is quiet for a long moment. “Did you say you knew how to get to Skizz?”

“Yeah you just follow the evil butterflies. You should know, since you’re crazy,” Joel says.

“Oh my god,” the stranger says. “Oh my god. This changes everything.”

Something sinks in Joel’s stomach. “Wait, what does that—”

“I have to go tell Mr. Hills. Meet us when you get out of here, a doctor should let you out once you’re awake! But I have to tell him! Being able to preemptively find entrances to Altered Space! Fighting off a shadow and rescuing people your first time summoning a Persona! Me and Scar won’t have to be alone anymore!”

“No, I, uh, was lying, stop that,” Joel says unconvincingly.

“See you!” the stranger says.

“You forgot to tell me what happened to Skizz,” Joel says, finally sitting up to try to stop the stranger, but it’s too late. He’s already gone. Joel stares blankly after the space where he’d once been.

“You also forgot to tell me your name, you moron,” Joel says weakly.

He buries his head in his hands, breathes, and calls the nurse. If his strange classmate isn’t going to tell him what’s actually happening, then Joel’s going to find out for himself.

(Power throbs beneath a scar on his hand. A voice whispers agreeing remarks in the back of his head. He has way too many aches and pangs for last night—or, well, however many nights ago it was now—to be fake. But for now, he just wants to know Skizz is okay and go back to his stupid apartment and pretend none of this happened. Is that too much to ask?)

#smallishsona au #a bee fic #joel smallishbeans #grian #(not named but he’s the other persona user here)#I have decided I am going to write various ficlets for this au. click on the au tag to go find the first few posts if you’re confused.#let’s get this thing started with: joel wakes up in the hospital after his first battle and IMMEDIATELY regrets everything

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cannot-be-cyn · 2 months

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yoohankim are never in the same room with complete memories

#therefore i propose writing a crackfic about amnesiac yhk sharing the same hospital room #misunderstanding miscommunication and assumption ensues #yoohankim #yoo joonghyuk #han sooyoung #kim dokja #omniscient reader's viewpoint #orv #omniscient reader #orv fic

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turtletaubwrites · 2 months

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Bend Until You Break ~ Part 3

Thank you so much for this request from the lovely @anemptypuddingcup !!🖤

Pairings: YANDERE!Trafalgar Law x Fem!Reader

Bend Until You Break ~ Masterlist

Word Count: 3208

Ao3 Link

Summary: Law gives you the choice to go against your doctor's recommendations as you begin your recovery. Are you clear headed enough to make the right choice?

Rating/Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, 18+ ONLY, MDNI, AFAB!Reader, She/Her Pronouns for Reader, Reader-Insert, DARK CONTENT, DUBCON, Dubious Consent, Swearing, Eventual Smut, Yandere, Manipulation, Power Imbalance, Hypermobility, Medical Examination, Medical Trauma, Medical Conditions, Chronic Pain, Injury, Physical Disability, Physical Therapy, Doctor/Patient, Abuse of Authority, Kidnapping, Possessive Behavior, Other Additional Tags to be Added, (Reader is described as having hair "above her shoulders" that she can brush), Needles, Drugs, Arguing, Massage, Praise Kink, Pain, Dissociation, Humiliation, Gaslighting, Non-Consensual Drug Use, (Implied)

A/N: I hate hospitals 😩 But for Law I might make an exception... Some of these medical issues may or may not have come from personal experience 🙃

Extra A/N: I am not a doctor, and this is not meant to be educational, or to contain any health advice. Please seek a health professional.

Beeping.

What is that sound? There’s another sound.

That soun–

Fuck!

A strangled cry left your throat, pain tearing through you.

Tight, fuck it’s so tight, can’t–

Your eyes were still too droopy to open as your hands scrambled at your neck. A sharp pinch twisted against your right wrist, and you felt the pull of wires restricting its movement.

That beeping noise was louder now.

“Y/N, you’re okay, it’s okay. I’m right here.”

Law’s deep voice pulled you out, giving you a reason to open your eyes. He pulled your hands away from scratching at the neck brace, and you slumped with relief at his touch.

Only to let out a choked scream at the pain.

“Shh, I’ve got you. Can you stay still for me? I know you can, you’re so strong.”

“I don’t want to be strong anymore.”

Your confession slipped quietly from your trembling lips as you tried to acclimate to the pain, tried to be still for him.

His brow creased as he looked down at you, and you felt pathetic. You wanted to take it back.

Law brought those cool, tattooed fingers to your face, leaving featherlight touches along your temple and cheek. Your eyes fluttered closed, burning tears starting again.

“You’re right,” he rasped, brushing your tears away with his fingers, leaving the tissues in their box this time.

“You’ve been strong for so long, haven’t you? You shouldn’t have to fight so hard every day.”

Gentle sobs left your throat, interrupted by a small gasp.

His hand still traced your face in soothing lines, until he brushed his tear soaked thumb across your lips.

Your eyelids were still heavy, but you held them open to melt into the storm gray eyes above you.

“You don’t need to be strong with me, Y/N,” he breathed, close enough to leave the warmth of his words on your face. “I’ll save you.”

Beeping.

I’m with Law. I’m okay.

Foggy dreams of Law’s hands on your face made your skin flush before you opened your eyes.

That beeping got louder as you fought off the embarrassing thoughts you were having about your doctor’s hands, but the slight shift you made in the bed had you forgetting it all, groaning in pain.

“Nice and slow, Y/N. You’re safe, just take some deep breaths.”

Your doctor stepped into view, his eyes scanning your body before gifting you with a gentle smile.

Attempting a small stretch of your arms was a bad choice, but it brought your attention to the rest of your body.

The bed was still angled so that your upper body was lifted. Lying flat had been excruciating. But even with your raised position, it was difficult to look down at yourself over the neck brace.

“Where are my clothes,” you muttered, looming horror growing at the feeling of a hospital gown against your skin.

“I apologize, Y/N,” Law admitted gently, tilting his head toward the beeping machine. “I needed to monitor your vitals to ensure your safety since we used that medication to help you sleep. I’m afraid I had to cut through your top to avoid injuring your neck further. I was able to save your bra, and I have scrubs you can wear once your neck is healed enough for you to pull the clothes on by yourself.”

He just said a whole bunch of words.

Your brain decided the best way to handle all of the emotions flying through your head was to ignore them.

“Why do I have an IV?” You changed the subject, lifting your wrist, and tugging all the tubes with it.

“Again, since you hadn't had that drug before, I took this as a safety precaution. I assumed you would prefer a single needle versus the potential of many if I needed to administer more medication,” he explained as he disconnected you from the tubes, but left the placement on your wrist. “You’ve also been receiving fluids, which is essential after the traumatic night you had.”

A nod made you wince, so you thanked him softly, feeling warmth move through your chest as another hint of a smile touched his lips.

“Do you have the energy to move, Y/N? I’d like to show you the room, and do another physical exam to see if you’ve improved since last night.”

The thought of moving hit you with the sudden realization that you needed to fucking pee.

“Is there a bathroom,” you asked, holding your breath from embarrassment.

“Of course, it’s right here. Let me help you.”

After many whimpers, and groans, and heavy breaths, you were on your feet. Shaking with pain as he led you to the door, you knew that nothing else could have motivated you to walk right now.

“Do you need help sit–”

“I’ll be fine,” you blurted out, closing the door.

He’s my doctor. This is fine. He’s helping me because I’m injured, and he’s my doctor.

Those thoughts did not diminish your embarrassment, especially when you did struggle to fucking sit down.

Gritting your teeth, and clinging to the safety bar, you managed to keep at least some sliver of your dignity by not yelling for him to help you.

Shame rocked through you as you washed your hands, avoiding looking in the mirror. You didn’t want to know how wrecked you looked.

But you looked anyway.

You wanted to splash some water on your face, but couldn’t bend down to do it.

“Y/N, are you doing alright in there?”

“I’m fine,” you called out as you fought with the ties of the gown.

Oh my gods, he took all of my fucking clothes off.

That knowledge kicked in again as you tried to make sure every inch of your ass was covered.

“Can you put me to sleep again,” you half joked, taking his hand as he helped you through the door.

“We don’t want to overdo it,” he said in that serious tone he’s so good at, leading you slowly toward the center of the room.

He sat backwards in that rolling chair.

But his chair isn’t that color…

“Is this the same room,” you interrupted him, looking around by turning your body instead of your head. You couldn’t tell if the weird sounds you were hearing were real, or if you were just getting a headache from moving around.

“No,” he hummed, nodding slowly at you. “I’m impressed you were able to notice that in this state.”

You followed the line of his arm as his tattooed finger pointed to a large door.

“Those are my quarters. I had you moved to an adjacent room so that I can be close if you are in pain, or become injured again. That vent is open so I’ll be able to hear if you need me.”

“O-Oh…”

He shifted his hand again, and you turned to follow it, your eyes a bit wide.

“You already know where your bathroom is. The third door leads out into the corridors of the Polar Tang, but Y/N,” he said, his voice taking on more force, “I request that you refrain from leaving these quarters until you are steadier on your feet. I would hate for you to become injured under my care.”

“But how–”

“Y/N,” he rasped, that low voice pulling you in, “let’s complete the exam before you tire yourself out, alright?”

“Okay.”

“There you go,” he purred, “I love seeing you take care of yourself. Do you consent to me touching you?”

Your ‘yes’ was barely audible as you tried not to let his words, and the way his words sounded with that dangerous voice, make you fall over.

Feeling his fingers on you might be your favorite thing in the world. Even as you whimpered in pain while he checked along your shoulders and spine.

“This seems to be the problem area,” he noted, tracing lightly over your left shoulder down between your shoulder blade and spine, rubbing along a few of the vertebrae.

“But my neck?”

“Everything’s connected, Y/N,” he breathed over your ear, making you shiver and wince. “Don’t worry. I’ll help you learn how your body works.”

Fuck, his voice.

There was no way, no fucking way that you could be dripping wet in a hospital gown while your body was stiff with pain. No way that tight coil of pressure could be building in your core over the only doctor that had ever helped you, ever believed you.

I can’t fuck this up.

“Are you feeling alright?”

“Mhm,” you lied, catching yourself before you nodded this time.

“Let’s have you sit down. We need to take the brace off, so I can examine your neck again. It is going to be painful. Are you ready, or would you like to take a break first?”

“Fuck fuck fuckfuckfuck.”

“You are doing so well for me,” Law praised, gently removing the brace to press against your neck, asking you questions while you tried not to move.

How can I like his fingers touching me like this? What is wrong with me?

“Look at you. I’m so proud of how you’re handling this,” he rasped, soothing your whimpers as he secured the brace again.

“When will I be able to go home?”

Law’s jaw shifted a bit as he sat back, and it felt like the air in the room got heavy.

“As your doctor, I had to make the call to protect your health. We left your island, and my recommendation is that you remain with me for the time being. I think we both realized that one more week of treatment would not be enough support for your chronic condition. This incident with your neck further proves your need to receive continued treatment.”

“Left the– We’re underwater,” you said in a small voice, realizing what the strange clanking sounds in the background must be.

“You took me away,” you asked softly as your boyfriend’s warnings about Law started playing in your mind.

Fear ran through you then, and the metal room grew smaller, your oxygen growing harder to find. Panic hit your lungs, fast, shallow, useless breaths spiking your neck with pain.

“Y/N,” he drawled, that voice almost frightening now.

“But you were going to be there another week. Why did you take me? Why–”

“Y/N, I will take you back right now if that's what you want,” he soothed, voice warm and inviting. “Please let me explain why I had to make that choice. You weren’t able to make decisions for your own health and safety at the time. As your doctor, I had to do what I believed was best for your wellbeing.”

You stilled, your breath slowing, but staying shallow. That fuzzy distance started to take over, but you dug your nails into your palms to try to focus on what your doctor was saying.

“Your boyfriend came to the ship in the morning, demanding to take you home.”

The image in your mind built up. That fight. The keys you left in the open door.

You jolted a bit as Law laid his hand on your clenched fist.

“He refused to listen when I explained your condition, and that it would be dangerous to move you so soon. He…” Law took in a heavy breath, looking to the ground as he shook his head. When he met your eyes again, his were deep and sad, but etched with kindness.

“Y/N, your boyfriend accused me of taking advantage of your ‘obsession with being sick.”

Those words were thick like the nausea rising in your throat.

He did say little things sometimes. Things that made it seem like he didn’t believe me.

Law’s thumb stroked the back of your fist until you relaxed your hand. He took it in his before continuing with a gentle voice.

“He threatened to return with a group to take you by force. You are my patient, Y/N. I could not in good conscience release you in this current state. I had to make the call since couldn’t.”

That inner distance was coming again, all the sounds feeling washed out. Until he squeezed your hand, leaning in close.

He smells good.

“As your doctor, I must always do what is in your best interests. I believe that you should remain here under my care, at least until we have time to make progress with physical therapy. Until you feel safer in your own body.”

Your eyes had to close. It was all too much.

“However, it will always be your decision, Y/N,” he comforted. His voice was smooth, and thick, like some rich dessert. “If you choose to go against my recommendations, I will turn around right now. If you want to go back home, I will take you. All you have to do is tell me what you want.”

A trembling mouth opened, but you had no words to speak.

“Y/N, I need you to really think about this. Think about what’s best for you.”

Law massaged your hand as he spoke in that liquid voice, a shiver breaking you out of the fog.

“Where was he, Y/N,” he asked, not pausing for an answer. “You walked all the way here on your own, didn’t you? The amount of pain you were in was frightening, yet you chose to suffer alone. Why didn’t you ask for his help?”

He caught your rush of tears with a tissue, his voice raspy as he came closer to dry your face.

“Do you want to go back to a place where all the doctors treat you like you’re crazy?”

Years of frustration, anger, and pain fell on you, but you tried to stay present, tried to think straight.

“Do you want to go back to a family that doesn’t believe you? To a partner that believes you’re pretending, that thinks you want to be sick?”

No. You didn’t.

But you tried to let it go, tried to think without emotions. You wanted to shake your head, to move, to fling some of these sickening feelings off of you.

But you couldn’t move. You were in too much pain.

And Law is the only person who cares.

“You know, Y/N, I understand exactly how lonely and angry you must feel.”

He trapped you in the stone wall of his eyes again, and you’d never seen this look on his face before.

“When I was a child, myself and everyone I knew got sick. They all died.”

“I—“

“Even though I wasn’t contagious, even though I was just a child, every single doctor treated me like I was trash.”

The hand that was holding yours was squeezing tighter while you were frozen by his barely contained rage.

“There was only one person in the world who cared about me,” he muttered, the tension in his shoulders easing a bit.

“He did everything he could to save me. Even when I fought him. Even when I hurt him... He never stopped.”

The overwhelming closeness you’d felt in that metal room was easing, and the heat of tears building in your throat wasn’t for yourself this time.

Law rested his palm against your cheek, and that foggy dream floated through your mind.

“I’m not like all those doctors that abandoned us, that left us to suffer all alone,” he rasped, the twitching of his creasing brows giving you more emotion than you’d seen from him before.

“I will never abandon you, Y/N.”

His promise filled the air, as if this metal room were a ringing bell, the vibrations wracking through your body.

I feel like I should be scared. But why? He’s helping me. No one has ever helped me before. He’s just intense because he knows.

He knows this pain even more than I do.

Of course he’d do all of this to help me. He’s just helping me.

Law kept his hand on your cheek while he waited for you to think. He didn’t push, just gave you time. You heard the heart rate monitor starting to slow as you breathed with him.

He had taught you to follow his breathing during exercises, and now it felt natural, soothing.

“I want to stay with you. If you want to help me.”

“Of course I want to help you,” he purred, brushing a few strands from your forehead before stroking his fingers through your mussed up hair.

“I’m your doctor. You can trust me.”

“Law?”

“Are you alright,” he answered as he charged through the connecting door.

“I’m fine. Well, the same,” you reported, trying to shift your body up the bed.

It was getting difficult for you to tell the passage of time underwater, but you knew it had been at least a week.

Your pain was reducing, and your range of motion was improving, but you were still on bed rest unless Law was with you to guide your movements.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” you said, a sheepish grin pulling at your lips. “I’m just… I’m so bored, Law. And if I listen to Bepo’s Uta tone dial one more time, I’m going to go insane.”

That crooked smile made your skin flush as he walked toward you. He started piling pillows onto your lap, gently moving your arms out of the way before propping them up.

“I believe you’ve healed enough to read a book with some support,” he rasped as he brought his fingers to your skin. He pressed lightly against your shoulders, your jaw, and around the edges of the brace. You only winced a little when he stuck his fingers in to check the tightness.

“Although, you’ll need to make sure you’re not straining yourself, so we’ll have to start with short periods of time. Can you do that for me, Y/N?”

“Yes,” you agreed with a smile. It felt like your birthday, finally getting to open and enjoy your presents.

“You like mysteries, right,” he asked as he walked toward the door.

“Oh, uh, yeah.” Your smile wilted just a bit as you tried to recall telling him that.

You hated being so loopy all the time. It felt like you were missing out on parts of your life.

“This is one of my favorites,” you almost squealed, catching yourself before you wiggled in your hospital gown.

“Really,” he teased as he took it back, flipping through the pages. “I’ll go find you something you haven’t read then.”

“No, please. I love it, thank you.”

“Show me how you’ll be holding it, Y/N.”

Law’s hands on your arms made you crave his massages more than seemed healthy. With your neck as it had been, he wouldn’t risk hurting you.

You still couldn’t lie flat anyway.

But I’m getting better. Then we can start. He can teach me how to take care of my body. He can touch me again.

Your own thoughts sent blood rushing to your face as you dove in, getting lost in one of your favorite mysteries.

Even though you knew who the villain was, you always loved the thrill of the chase.

And you still weren’t sure who you were rooting for.

Likes and reblogs bring me much ✨dopamine✨ thank you so much!

a/n: I'm having so much fun 😈

Part 4

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