#hospital fic

[screwedupscrewball]

Okay yall, bare with me for a moment while I self promote with only a sliver of shame on my shoulder

Did you enjoy When World's Collide by celestiangel? Do you like books like Five Feet Apart and The Fault in our Stars? Well then you're gonna love this! Introducing my very own Leosagi hospital romance...

In Sickness and In Health! (Previously known as Life Don't Last for Young Love)

There will be ups and downs and all arounds but mostly there will be the sillies! Please mark this one for later, subscribe or even just binge the chapters I currently have up right now!

[mrspasser]

You look a little weird

On A03

His fingernails are in a sorry state, his hair is probably sticking up every which way because of the way he’s been running his hands through it when he wasn’t eating his cuticles and he has the beginnings of an ulcer from the bad hospital coffee, but Steve doesn’t care. Because Eddie’s eyelids are fluttering and he’s starting to wake up. His left hand, the one without the IV, starts moving restlessly over the blanket and Steve catches it in his own, rubbing his thumb gently across Eddie’s knuckles. “Hey Eds,” he whispers through his smile, as those big brown eyes finally open fully.

“Hey,” Eddie croaks. His eyes flit across the room, the pupils a little larger than usual. They land on Wayne, who’s standing on the other side of the bed, holding Eddie’s other hand. “You’re bald,” Eddie says in wonder, voice hoarse. 

Steve snorts. For someone who smokes weed on the regular, Eddie has a surprisingly low tolerance for hospital drugs. And now that he’s pumped full of painkillers because of his abdominal surgery, he’s probably high as a kite. Wayne knows it too, so he just smiles at the comment and says: “You’ve got a keen eye, son.”

Those big brown eyes land on Steve again. “You look funny.”

“Do I now?” 

“Yeah…” Eddie considers him without real recognition, lifting his hand from where Steve was holding it loosely to trace his fingertips across Steve’s face. Steve happily crowds closer to his boyfriend so he can feel all he wants. “Your nose is a bit crooked,” Eddie says, trailing his fingers down Steve’s face, “and your hair is all floofy.” It’s said by a man whose dark curls fan all over the pillow. “You’re cute, though.”

“Really?” Steve feels laughter bubble up in his throat, lets it escape when Eddie nods all earnestly. 

“Really cute,” Eddie repeats, trying to bop Steve’s nose but missing by a mile. 

“Then I’m going to blow your mind.” He carefully gets up from his chair and moves even closer to Eddie, going slow as not to spook him. Eddie clearly doesn’t really understand what he’s intending to do, so he’s going all cross eyed to follow Steve’s movements. Steve kisses him on the cheek, pulling back to see his reaction.

Eddie doesn’t disappoint. His eyes are wide as saucers and his mouth is gaping comically. He turns his head to Wayne. “The cute guy kissed me!”

Wayne smiles indulgently. “I saw.”

Eddie turns back to Steve, his mouth still hanging open. Steve can’t help but kiss him again, this time on the lips - or as close as he can, seeing as Eddie is still closely resembling a fish out of water.

“You kissed me!” Eddie lifts his head from the pillow, straining his neck to stare incredulously at Steve.

The face Eddie makes is so hilarious, Steve has trouble keeping his laughter down. “Did you mind it?”

“No!” Eddie grins cheekily. “Cause you’re cute!” And he puckers his lips to receive another kiss. 

Now, who is Steve to deny him that?

Based on this Instagram reel.

[antiadvil]

I wrote ~750 words over the course of like 3 hours in the car and i have no words left just screaming how is this fic still not done it's almost 7k

[hyuge]

Hospital Blues and Fantasy Hues

The lights are too bright, and the smell of antiseptic constantly tickles his nose as Katsuki lays in the godforsaken hospital bed after the war. Everything aches and it’s hard to breathe most days. The doctors said one of his lungs collapsed when his heart exploded. Turns out threading the muscle fibers of a heart back together in the middle of a war zone is a terrible way to triage a fatal wound but if it hadn’t been done, Katsuki would never have made it to the hospital. He would have died long before the battle ended, and that thought terrifies him. The nurses have to sedate him at night in order for him to get any sleep otherwise the night terrors make him thrash violently, ripping out wires, stitches, and IVs. It's a headache for everyone involved and sometimes Katsuki wishes the pro heroes hadn’t sacrificed so much to save him. Edgeshot is gone, and for what? He’s a mess. He’ll never be able to use his quirk the same way again. He’ll likely never be able to go pro now. His power has been cut in half. A prosthetic can’t sweat, which means he can now only create explosive blasts from his left hand. He won’t be able to fly anymore. God, Katsuki was so elated the first time he successfully flew in the air. There was nothing more freeing than launching himself hundreds of feet above the ground in a matter of seconds. Even Bird Brain can’t go that fast.

It's one of his bad days, where he’s left alone with his thoughts, staring out the window as life goes on, when there’s a knock at the door. It opens without him responding. It still hurts to talk. The nurses and doctors tell him he needs to conserve his energy and rest. He hates laying in a bed unable to move. His gaze drifts slowly toward the door. His vision is blurry, but that bright red hair is distinguishable anywhere. Kirishima moves to sit on the left side of Katsuki’s bed where he can see him best. The doctors said they managed to save his right eye, but he’s going to need one damn strong prescription to see out of it properly again.

“How are you feeling today?” asks Kirishima, smiling softly. He asks the same question every day because he comes to visit Katsuki every day. Even his parents aren’t here that frequently. They make do but their architectural firm is even busier than before. They’re helping with the relief efforts to rebuild the country. They’re true heroes unlike the bedridden shell he has become.

Katsuki reaches for his oxygen mask and lowers it to his chin. “Wish I could leave,” he says, because it’s the truth. Maybe his mood would be better if he weren’t stuck in this bed all the time.

“They’ll let you out soon,” says Kirishima. He sets his hand atop Katsuki’s and lifts the mask back over his mouth. They both know it’s not true. He has months of extensive recovery work in the hospital before he gets out, but the warmth from Kirishima’s hand and the kindness in his voice are comforting enough that he almost believes it.

Katsuki lets his hand fall to his side and turns his head, cheek brushing against the pillow as he squints to see Kirishima better. He closes his bad eye, looking only out of his left and his vision clears. He’s wearing his school uniform. Class has been back in session for a few weeks. Kirishima must have come as soon as school let out. He’s talking about something, but Katsuki misses it. There’s a ringing in his ears that comes and goes—tinnitus, another wonderful side effect of having overworked his quirk the way he did. He tries to focus, and the ringing slowly subsides.

“—sent me flying but I was able to stop him. Man, I don’t want to praise a villain, but Rappa is so strong, and he just wants to fight other strong people. It really made me feel good that he saw me as a rival. Probably the last time I’ll get to fight him though… The government is doing a massive overhaul on all the high security prisons.”

Katsuki blinks, trying to register everything Kirishima was just saying. It’s slow. His mind is sluggish from all the painkillers he’s on. He reaches for the oxygen mask again, lowering it to speak. “You fought that big guy… from the yakuza?”

Kirishima nods. The sunlight filtering in through the hospital room window casts a halo over the crown of his head. It suits him. Kirishima has always been angelic. He shrugs, suddenly looking self-conscious about bragging and says, “Yeah. Sorry. I shouldn’t be excited. Everyone was risking their lives and I know the battles were hard. There was a lot of emotional damage done on the others: Midoriya, Uraraka, Todoroki… I guess for once it was just nice to know that a villain thought of me as their equal and wanted to fight me.”

“You’re my equal,” Katsuki says but even as he says the words, he doesn’t believe it. Not because Kirishima isn’t strong enough, no, on the contrary. He’s stronger than Katsuki. Katsuki isn’t Kirishima’s equal.

They fall into silence after that, neither one of them sure how to carry the conversation from there. Katsuki’s mind wanders. He doesn’t like it when his mind wanders. The quiet scares him, so many new fears he didn’t have before. His eyes fall shut. He’s tired, always tired, but he doesn’t want to sleep, not with Kirishima beside him.

Kirishima clears his throat. “I—uh—I’ll go. You should get some rest.”

Katsuki snaps his eyes open to see Kirishima scratching the back of his neck. He moves to stand, and Katsuki reaches for him much too quickly. He winces, feeling his stitches tug on his skin, and grabs Kirishima’s hand. “Don’t go,” he says, beneath his oxygen mask.

Kirishima sits back down slowly and carefully picks up Katsuki’s hand, placing it back on the bed. “Okay, I’ll stay,” he says. “I’m not sure what to talk about.”

Katsuki moves the stupid fucking mask. “Anything,” he croaks. “Anything to fill the silence. Please.” He hates begging. His chest aches and his throat is thick as he fights back tears. He doesn’t want the quiet to come. Mindless rambling was always annoying but not when it’s Kirishima’s. His voice fills Katsuki with immeasurable comfort. He won’t tell him that though, not in the hospital hooked up to tubes and wires. There’s a lot of things he wants to say to Kirishima but not here, not like this. So, he’d rather listen until the day comes when he can be independent again and it doesn’t hurt to breathe, when looking at the void where his arm used to be doesn’t fill him with a sadness as deep as the Mariana Trench.

“Okay,” repeats Kirishima. He sits silently, contemplating, then smiles. The evening’s golden light makes him glow as he parts his lips to speak. “Have you ever heard the story of the barbarian prince and his dragon companion?”

Katsuki knits his brows together, studying Kirishima. “No.”

“Hah. Okay.” Kirishima scratches the back of his neck again like he does when he’s nervous. What does he have to be nervous about? “It would be so cool to live in a fantasy world with magic and stuff.”

Katsuki rolls his eyes. “Our world is fantastical enough as it is.” He puts the mask back on and sucks in a deep breath. His lungs burn but they’re thankful for the added rush of air. “Go on,” he says into the mask. It’s stifled, but Kirishima hears him. Katsuki watches the bob of Kirishima’s Adam’s apple and the way he picks at his nails. He’s stalling.

“So, once upon a time—”

“Once upon a time,” Katsuki barks. It hurts to laugh. He coughs and Kirishima admonishes him for it.

“Be quiet and let me tell the story.”

“Fine,” Katsuki concedes. He relaxes into the pillow and shuts his eyes so that he can listen properly, envisioning the world Kirishima is about to create in his head.

“A long time ago there was this fierce barbarian prince. His family owned the largest kingdom in the entire land. They were well respected; feared by their enemies and loved by their people. The prince was strong and handsome and manly. Everyone wanted to be him or court him. He was very direct about what he wanted and while it rubbed some people the wrong way, others admired him for how straightforward and determined he was. His strength wasn’t just physical either. The prince was super smart and tactical. His magic was unmatched. So, he got bored easily. There wasn’t anyone he considered his equal because of how strong he was. He wanted to fight even stronger people to prove he was worthy of leading someday.”

Katsuki lowers his mask and speaks without opening his eyes. “He sounds cool.”

“Yeah,” says Kirishima fondly. “He really is.”

That makes Katsuki crack his eye open and peer at the soft expression on Kirishima’s face, the way the corners of his mouth are just slightly upturned, and the look in his red eyes is a little distant. Katsuki’s heart aches seeing him like that and not because of his injury. Kirishima clears his throat and continues.

“The prince decided to set out on a journey to find someone he could call his equal. He met and battled all sorts of people and creatures on his journey but none he would call worthy of being his partner. He slayed some ogres, fought some bandits, cleared out a cave of goblins, and while he enjoyed the fights, they never left him feeling satisfied. He had been traveling alone for a while when he heard rumors of a dragon nearby. The prince decided to check out whether or not the rumors were true. He wanted to take on the challenge of fighting a creature as big and strong as a dragon.

“He went to the forest where the dragon’s den was supposed to be and followed a trail that seemed too big to be anything but. The dragon was eating when the prince found him. He made a warning growl, but the prince wasn’t deterred. He unsheathed his sword and pointed it at the dragon, shouting, ‘Hey, you overgrown lizard! I want you to fight me and if I win, you have to become my partner!’

“The dragon huffed a breath of warm air and said, ‘If I win, you’ll be dead,’ which made the prince grin triumphantly.”

Katsuki snorts. “The prince sounds like an idiot.”

“Yeah,” says Kirishima, “but that didn’t stop him. He fought the dragon with his sword and with his magic, sending waves of fireballs at the beast. It was a heated battle.” Kirishima laughs at his own joke. “The prince used his spells to propel himself into the air to avoid the dragon’s lethal tail swings and the dragon spewed flames from its mouth into the air to keep from burning the forest. The dragon was enjoying the battle almost as much as the prince was. They both found someone worth fighting for once. The sound of sword clashing against scale echoed through the trees, and trenches were dug from the dragon’s massive talons scraping against the ground. The prince was getting tired and knew if he didn’t finish the battle quickly, he would die, so he landed on the dragon’s snout and swung his sword, slashing just above the dragon’s eye where the scales were thinnest.

The dragon shook him off and wrapped its giant hands over its face, covering its eye. Gradually, it’s size began to shrink until it was the size of a human man. The dragon stood in front of the prince with one hand covering his eye and the other held out for the prince to shake. ‘Looks like you win,’ said the dragon. The prince stared at him, surprised to see the dragon look so human. His eyelid was bleeding, but the dragon didn’t seem to care. He smiled at the prince and spread his large red wings wide behind his back.

“‘You can shapeshift!’ said the prince, taking the dragon’s hand. The dragon nodded and pulled his other hand away from his face with blood trickling down his cheek. The prince pulled his hand free and tore a part of his cloak, handing it to the dragon. ‘Here. Use this to help stop the bleeding,’ he said. The dragon took it and pressed it to his eye.”

A knock on the door startles them both and Katsuki looks to see the nurse walk in. “Apologies, but visiting hours are over now.”

Kirishima bows apologetically. “Sorry. I’ll go now.” He turns to Katsuki and smiles. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Bakugou.”

Katsuki pulls the mask off his face and takes a slow breath. “You better tell me the rest of the story.”

Kirishima beams at him, thrilled that Katsuki wants him to continue. “Promise.” He holds out his pinky and even though Katsuki rolls his eyes, he happily locks pinkies.

***

Kirishima returns the next day as soon as school lets out. He’s red in the face from running the whole way from the bus stop. Katsuki’s brows arch as he watches Kirishima stumble to take his seat next to the bed. “H-hey,” he greets, breathless.

Katsuki lowers his mask. “Why the rush?” His voice is raspy. He had physical therapy earlier in the day which resulted in an abundance of shouting and cursing from the pain.

Kirishima drops his bag on the floor and slides the chair up against Katsuki’s bed, placing himself inches away. “Just wanted to get here as quickly as possible. I know how lonely you get.”

“M’not lonely.”

They both know it’s a lie, but Kirishima doesn’t call him out on it. Instead, he smiles and says, “Where did we leave off yesterday?”

Katsuki buries himself in the pillows and holds his oxygen mask in his hand. “Shitty dragon lost to the prince.” The elastic on the mask snaps and smacks against his face. Katsuki scowls.

“You deserved that,” teases Kirishima. “The dragon isn’t shitty. He’s manly.”

Katsuki rolls his eyes. Kirishima starts to talk again, recounting the story as if he had been there in that fantasy land. The dragon and the barbarian prince travel together. They make the perfect pair and even though the prince beats him in battle, he doesn’t look down on the dragon. They’re a partner duo, not master/servant. They spend all their time together visiting new lands, fighting monsters, defeating bad guys, taking on odd jobs when one is posted. They don’t need the money, the prince brought a hefty amount of coin with him on his journey and the dragon has a lofty sum accumulated in his horde, but they take the pay. They donate it whenever possible. The prince never tells anyone who he is. He wants to see the kingdoms as a traveler, not as royalty, and he doesn’t fear death by anonymity. They’re too strong to be killed.

“—the dragon admired the barbarian prince. Everyone admired him. The people they helped showered him with praise, but they were wary of the dragon. Whenever they turned in a job, the dragon would stay back so that the villagers wouldn’t be afraid. The prince would collect their reward and head back to him. He always smiled after hearing how good of a job he did. When the dragon would tell him the same, he’d just shrug it off and say it wasn’t a big deal.

“The dragon would brush it off. He was happy enough just getting to adventure with the prince, so they’d head to the next town and take another job. They’d camp in the woods or find an inn to stay at. It was the two of them against the world.”

Everyday after school Kirishima would rush to Katsuki’s bedside. Work studies are canceled for the near future, so he has time to kill. The HPSC and the Japanese government are both in the middle of rebuilding. Because of that, they decided that student hero work would be put on pause indefinitely. That was one less thing for Katsuki to worry about falling behind at, not that he has any shot of going pro anymore.

He listens as Kirishima continues to tell stories about the dragon with his impenetrable scales and the barbarian prince with his explosive fire magic. With each visit, Kirishima becomes livelier with his storytelling. Katsuki watches as he jumps around the room, pretending to be the characters fighting. He watches the way Kirishima stands on the chair as if they’ve just conquered a battle. He laughs when the nurses chide him for his outlandish behavior, and Kirishima’s forced to apologize and sit down. It brightens Katsuki’s days, and he feels less like he wishes he had died.

They meet other people on their adventures, but in the end, it’s always the barbarian prince and the dragon. The two of them are inseparable and they don’t feel the need to have others around for exceedingly long. They explore caves, they slay monsters, and when one is injured, the other does everything in their power to tend to the wounds. When they camp, the dragon varies between sleeping in his full form or as a human. On cold nights, he takes his true form, allowing the barbarian prince to curl up next to him and leach off his body heat. When it’s warm, they sleep in bedrolls beside one another, the campfire crackling a few feet away. They never pitch tents—they block the view of the stars above.

It's romantic, though Katsuki won’t admit that thought aloud.

After two weeks of Kirishima’s storytelling, he gets to a part he has difficulty with. Katsuki watches him struggle to tell the story the same way he did when he first started telling it. He assumes Kirishima is likely running out of ideas for it, until he finally speaks.

“One night, the barbarian prince and the dragon got separated. They agreed to meet up later in the evening after completing a lengthy list of errands they needed to run. While they were a part, an evil warlock that specialized in torture and death magic captured the prince. He had apparently been watching them for some time. The dragon was devastated when he found out. If he hadn’t left the prince’s side, then maybe he never would have been captured.”

“There’s no way to know that for sure,” says Katsuki.

Kirishima gives him a sad smile. His lips are turned up, but his forehead is scrunched, and he shakes his head. “He should have been there. The dragon will never forgive himself for not being there.”

“It’s just a story,” says Katsuki, studying Kirishima carefully.

“Yeah,” says Kirishima. He sighs. “The dragon sent an urgent message to some of the people they met while traveling. They were able to help him find the warlock’s location and cause a distraction for him. When the warlock and his allies were distracted, the dragon swooped in from above and called out to the prince. He used his fire magic to launch himself into the air and land right on the dragon’s back. The rest of their friends withdrew, and the dragon scooped them up as well. They made a hasty retreat. When they were far enough from the warlock, the dragon set their friends on the ground, thanked them, and flew off into the night with the prince.

“They found an inn to stay at. The dragon didn’t want to risk being out in the forest, so they paid for a single room. It took a lot of reassuring from the prince that he was okay for the dragon to calm down. He kept getting worked up and starting to transform and the prince had to remind him that the fees would come out of his horde if they destroyed the inn because he went ‘full dragon’ while they were inside. The dragon didn’t sleep that night. He laid awake until the sun came up, watching the prince as he slept. Whenever his eyes shut for even a few seconds, he would fear the prince was gone again or that he failed to rescue him in the first place.”

Katsuki’s chest ached and not because of the open-heart surgery. Kirishima wipes away a few stray tears with the back of his hand and turns to look out the window, trying to hide his breakdown. Katsuki knows he can be dense at times but he’s not clueless. He sees the lines in the sand for what they are. He wishes he could reach out and properly comfort Kirishima, but Katsuki is limited to the small range of motion he has on his shitty hospital bed. So, he quietly waits for Kirishima to compose himself and carry on with the story.

***

Kirishima keeps telling tales of the prince and dragon each day he comes to the hospital. Katsuki doesn’t have any more bad days. There were tough days, but no longer did he wish he were dead. Instead, he stares at the clock, waiting impatiently for the redhead to arrive. His stomach flutters every time Kirishima walks through the door. It’s annoying as fuck because Katsuki still doesn’t have a deadline on when he can leave the fucking hospital. And it’s getting harder to stay quiet about it. He knows the implications buried in the stories Kirishima tells. The dragon and the prince are more than friends, even if Kirishima doesn’t outright say it. It’s also blatantly obvious that they’re a metaphor but he’ll play along for now. It’s all he really can do.

“They helped a pair of knights from the neighboring kingdom search for the lost prince of that kingdom. While they searched, the prince ran into someone he knew from his childhood. They hadn’t been on the best of terms growing up, but as they worked together to search for the prince who had apparently run away from home after a fight with the king, they had finally managed to work together and grow a true bond of friendship. The dragon was proud to see how much he had changed in such a brief period of time, and the barbarian prince’s friend knew all sorts of facts about dragons that even the dragon himself didn’t know. The dragon couldn’t help feeling embarrassed about that.

“They escorted the prince back to his palace. He thanked them. Even though he ran away, he was glad to be home. The neighboring prince had gotten into a lot of trouble on his own. He said people kept getting mad at him for no reason and he was covered in scratches and bruises from wandering in the forest. The barbarian prince said it was pretty obvious why people hated him. He was scolded for that, but the neighboring prince didn’t seem to get what he meant. That was probably for the best.”

Katsuki snorts. That idiot has to be Kirishima’s personification of Todoroki. It makes sense. The fucker is as dense as a board of plywood. Kirishima will never admit it, but he obviously thinks so too. Katsuki’s gonna pocket that one for later. He knows it’ll come in handy eventually.

Kirishima stays until Katsuki finishes his dinner, then he leaves so that the nurses don’t yell at him. They like to hover outside the door, lacking confidence in a teenage boy doing anything on time. They’re not wrong. Given the chance, Katsuki is certain Kirishima would stay long after visiting hours end. He’d spend the night if he could. Katsuki sort of wishes he could. His days might be better, but his nights are still rough. He could use a familiar face at his bedside as he tries to sleep. He lacks the comfort of friends and family at night. He’ll take that admission to the grave. They’ll all get too full of themselves if he ever says it aloud.

The better days bleed into better nights. He wakes up with less panic attacks, which means the nurses sedate him less often. That leads to mornings that are less groggy and quicker to start. The doctors say the ophthalmologist will be able to visit him soon and get him fitted for a pair of glasses. Katsuki is thankful. The blurry vision makes him dizzy and gives him headaches which require more medication. The ouroboros that is his life. He briefly wonders how stupid he’ll look in glasses and then remembers he looks good in everything he wears.

***

One afternoon, Kirishima comes in with a story of even greater magnitude than the rescue mission the dragon had gone on to save the prince. He talks about how the evil sorcerer has mounted a retaliation, pissed off with the way things went previously. The sorcerer knows who the prince is, and he declares war on the kingdom. The prince and the dragon have to call on all their allies to help them fight the sorcerer. The prince reaches out to the king and queen who mount their army and request aid from the neighboring kingdoms.

Katsuki sits up in his bed on his own. He’s finally able to do so without it hurting. He’s got a wicked grin on his face as he smiles at Kirishima. He lifts his mask and says, “I bet the prince kicked his ass good.”

Kirishima laughs solemnly and nods his head. “Yeah. Yeah, he did, but it takes everyone to defeat the sorcerer and not without casualty. They lose important allies. They mourn the loss of their friends and comrades, and the prince… The prince is severely injured. He’s on bedrest in the palace. Servants come and go tending to his wounds and bringing him meals. They wash him and bathe him because he’s too weak to get out of bed. The prince is alive, but at a great cost. All the while he’s in his bed, the dragon is at his side. He’s there from sunup to sundown, only leaving to stretch his wings in the sky and bathe. Then he returns to the prince’s side once more.

“The barbarian prince heals quickly. The royal healers use strong magic on him, and in no time, he’s back on his feet. He’s offered the crown, but he turns it down. He says he’s not ready to take over yet. He wants to keep on adventuring. So, he does, and his dragon is right by his side. The dragon is in awe of him. He doesn’t feel admiration for the prince anymore. It’s grown into something more, something deeper. The dragon likes the prince more than any treasure in his horde. It’s been that way since before the battle with the sorcerer, but he’s been too afraid to say anything.”

“Why?” asks Katsuki. His words are muffled behind the mask.

Kirishima stops talking and looks at him confused. He quirks a brow as he says, “Huh?”

Katsuki clears his throat. “What was the dragon so fucking afraid of?” he asks, callus as ever. “Did he think the barbarian wouldn’t want him? After everything we—they’ve been through?”

Kirishima splutters. “Well, maybe the dragon was afraid they wouldn’t last. Maybe he was afraid that once their time adventuring ended, that would be it. Maybe the barbarian would realize just how strong he is and that he doesn’t need the dragon’s help anymore. Maybe he’d decided to finally move on and find a stronger partner once he realized just how weak the dragon really was. They made a lot of friends on their journeys and the prince even reconciled with an old friend from his childhood. He might think one of them was a better option. Anyone was better than the dragon.”

Katsuki wrenches the mask from his face and tosses the stupid thing down on the bed so that it’s not in his way. He can breathe fine on his own now, but the doctors insist he keep using the mask for a while longer.

Kirishima lunges forward to reach for the mask. “Bakugou wh—”

“That’s fucking dumb,” snaps Katsuki. “If I had a kickass dragon as a partner, I think I’d wanna adventure with him forever.” Kirishima puts the mask back on his face and Katsuki huffs. He folds his arm across his chest and glowers at Kirishima. Kirishima’s cheeks flame red and Katsuki breaks eye contact, directing his focus on the wall across the room. His face is warm but he’s not fucking blushing because Bakugou Katsuki doesn’t blush like a bashful little girl. If his face is pink, it’s because the hospital room is unusually warm.

Kirishima smiles beside him and continues the story. “Well, maybe the dragon finally gets enough courage to confess once the barbarian prince is healed after the big battle. They set off on their adventure together again and the dragon searches for the perfect spot to tell the prince how he feels. There’s a clearing near where they first did battle. It seems like as good a spot as any. It’s the place they first met and where they first fought. It’s important to them, so he takes the prince there, and he finally tells him how he feels. It’s terrifying.”

Katsuki lifts the mask again, determined to speak without it hindering his voice. “The dragon better be ready for the barbarian to one-up him before that. He’s not clueless. He would take them somewhere they would both enjoy, maybe with some nice dumbass sunset or some shit. The prince already made the dragon his once. He’s gotta do it again, but official.”

Kirishima tears up. Fat, wet tears track down his face as he smiles. He chokes back a sob and nods his head. “I think the dragon would like that a whole lot.”

Good, Katsuki thinks. Now, he just needs to get out of this damn hospital bed so he can prove to the ‘dragon’ just how much the ‘barbarian prince’ cares about him.

Link to fic on AO3

[side-blog-writes-stuff]

Chapters: 10/? Fandom: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing Rating: Not Rated Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Momota Kaito & Oma Kokichi, Akamatsu Kaede & Momota Kaito, Amami Rantaro & Momota Kaito, Amami Rantaro & Oma Kokichi, Iruma Miu & Oma Kokichi, Momota Kaito/Oma Kokichi Characters: Momota Kaito, Oma Kokichi, Akamatsu Kaede, Amami Rantaro Additional Tags: Killing Game Was A Virtual Reality Simulation (Dangan Ronpa), Recovery, Momota Kaito-centric, Momota Kaito/Oma Kokichi-centric, Oumota could be read as romantic or platonic tbh, Hospitals, Everyone Is Alive, Oma Kokichi Needs a Hug, New Dangan Ronpa V3 Spoilers, Post-Canon, Alternate Ending, Guilt, I added the ship tag because even when I say no explicit romance happens, Any friendship I write turns so romantic so fast, Seizures, Medical Conditions Summary:

After dying, Kaito woke up.

And Kokichi hadn't yet.

[antiadvil]

re: #nurse phannies weigh in: would this be enough?

I am American and not a nurse but I am writing a fic based on this premise and I did some googling to try and see how realistic it was!

From NHS websites and what people said online, in the UK you can visit anyone in the hospital as long as they're willing to be visited by you. This matches up with my experience with American hospitals. I was able to visit my grandfather in the ICU by just buzzing in and saying who I wanted to visit (though I think they may have only allowed two visitors at a time- either that or my mom and grandmother just left me to watch our bags for a while, I don't remember, lol). When he was out of the ICU we kind of just. Walked up to his room, lol, no one stopped us. Then, when I was in the ER, no one had any problems with my dad being there and when he left to get food for me he had no problems getting back in. No one really checked with me first, but I think the people at the desks might have recognized that he came in with me. When I was hospitalized, I did not have any visitors, so I'm not sure what the exact process was, but there was no restriction on visitors being family, the only restriction was that no one could visit outside of visiting hours. Since Phil said that the hospital Dan went to doesn't allow friends or family to visit, I'm guessing they have a blanket rule about no visitors (maybe only for A&E, or it's a covid era policy, or something like that, it seems odd to me that they wouldn't allow visitors at all, but I have no personal experience with the NHS).

One complication is if someone is unable to speak for themselves, their next of kin is supposed to make decisions on who's allowed to visit them, and I was able to find some questions on the legal advice UK subreddit where people had run into a next of kin who was blocking them from visiting a relative, so that does seem to happen sometimes.

You can name whoever you want to be your next of kin, it doesn't need to be someone you're legally related to, and according to the internet, in the UK the NHS will ask who you want to be your next of kin when you're admitted to the hospital.

If someone is unable to name their next of kin because they're unconscious/etc, that's when not being legally married could ding you. So this is the route I chose for my fic (sorry Dan).

I'm not sure if a hospital would be able to take into account a long term relationship or if they would have to look for parents/siblings for the next of kin. My fic takes place in 2018, so Phil is unable to reveal their relationship anyways.

convinced dan and phil got engaged just for the purpose of being allowed in the hospital with each other

[stars-obsession-pit]

Following an accident, Danny wakes up in Gotham City in a DC universe. Lacking any forms of ID or possessions beyond the clothes on his back, he’s forced to commit some crimes to survive. Minor crimes, but still.

And then he gets caught.

During the court proceedings, they come to the mistaken conclusion that he’s a Meta suffering from some psychiatric issues such as Cotard’s Syndrome (a real rare condition where a person holds the delusional belief that they’re dead/don’t exist/etc).

Thus, between his “need for mental treatment” and the concerns about housing someone with his unique physical traits, he is sentenced to spend time in Arkham Asylum. He’s under pretty low security aside from the anti-Meta stuff and has more freedoms than some other inmates, but it’s still not a great experience. Even at the best of times, Arkham is hardly a nice place.

Some of his fellow residents are decently chill all things considered, but lots very much aren’t.

[greengoblinswifey]

When I Met you in that Hotel Room- Nicholas Chavez x Fem!Reader

summary— you meet Nicholas Chavez during a solo vacation at a hotel pool. your flirtation quickly escalates into a passionate night together in his hotel room.

warnings— explicit content. unprotected sex, daddy kink, degrading kink, praise kink, ass slapping, possessive!nicholas, reader has a clit piercing, creampie, cockwarming, rough sex, oral(f receiving)

You had been enjoying the peace and quiet of your solo vacation. It was your second day at the hotel, a much needed break from everything at home. That night, after a day of exploring, you decided a swim was exactly what you needed before heading to bed. Wearing nothing but your bikini, you grabbed a towel and made your way to the pool.

As you walked through the hotel hallways, you stopped to take a selfie. The lighting was perfect, and the glow in the hallway made your caramel skin look radiant. You snapped the picture and sent it off to your little sister. She’d be thrilled to see you finally taking some time for yourself. Moments later, you felt your phone buzz in your hand, but before you could check it, you noticed a guy walking in the same direction as you.

He wasn’t bad-looking, in fact, he was really attractive, and you noticed he was glancing at you. He was tall, with brown eyes, and as you caught his gaze, you could tell he was checking you out. It wasn’t creepy, though. He seemed, intrigued. His eyes trailed over your body in your bikini, but he wasn’t being sleazy about it. You chuckled to yourself, rolling your eyes slightly.

“Not to be that creepy guy at the hotel, but you’re really beautiful,” he said with a sheepish grin, his voice deep and smooth.

“Well, you’re a little less creepy now that you’ve said that,” you teased back, trying to play it cool even though his compliment made your heart race a bit.

You both realized you were heading the same way and fell into step together. As you approached the elevator, you noticed how close he was standing to you, the air between you buzzing with an odd, electric tension. He was definitely throwing glances your way, and as the elevator doors closed behind you, it felt impossible to ignore.

You stared at the floor, trying to keep your cool. To break the awkward silence, you glanced at your phone, where a flurry of messages from your sister had come through. You furrowed your brow, confused as to why she had texted you so frantically.

Sis, OMG, do you know who that is?!

That’s Nicholas Chavez!!!

PLEASE ask for a picture!

You frowned, not immediately recognizing the name. Who was Nicholas Chavez? Before you could piece it together, another message from your sister came through with a TikTok link. You clicked it, and to your shock, it was an edit, a fan video of the man standing right next to you. The very same Nicholas Chavez. And oh my God, he was an actor? A famous one, apparently.

Your eyes widened, but you forced yourself to stay composed. You didn’t want to freak out or fangirl. In fact, you hadn’t even heard of him until just now. Instead of saying anything, you put your phone away and focused on the present moment.

When you arrived at the pool, you dropped your towel on a nearby chair and took off your robe, revealing your bikini-clad body. As you stepped toward the water, you heard a sharp intake of breath behind you. You turned to see Nicholas, Nicholas Chavez, you reminded yourself, standing still, his eyes fixed on you. He was clearly trying hard not to stare, but his gaze kept drifting over your figure.

You smirked at his reaction and chuckled softly. “See something you like?” you teased, your confidence boosted by the way he was looking at you.

Nicholas flushed a little and quickly looked away, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly before finally taking off his shirt. And holy shit, he was hiding all that muscle under there? Your mouth went dry as you stared at him, your heart racing. His body was even better than the TikTok edits had let on. You could feel the heat between your legs growing at the sight, and you mentally cursed yourself. Not now, you thought, trying to get a grip.

You both slipped into the pool, swimming to opposite ends. The cool water did nothing to calm the heat between your thighs. As you floated there in silence, Nicholas spoke up.

“I’m Nicholas, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you, Nicholas. I’m Y/N,” you replied, your voice carrying softly across the water.

“That’s a beautiful name,” he said, his voice sounding sincere as he moved a little closer, cutting the distance between you.

You smiled softly, feeling a strange connection beginning to form between you two. There was something about him, beyond the fact that he was famous, that was pulling you in. The chemistry, it was all there, simmering beneath the surface.

The water felt cool against your skin, but the heat between you and Nicholas was undeniable. You stood there, trading glances, eyes locked, neither of you willing to break the tension. He moved closer, his body cutting through the water with an effortless grace. You could feel your heart beating faster with every step he took toward you.

When he finally reached you, his hand gently pushed a strand of hair behind your ear. The touch sent shivers down your spine, and you could feel the heat rising in your chest. His gaze dropped down to your lips, and instinctively, your eyes flickered to his.

God, kiss me already, you screamed internally, your breath catching in your throat. He leaned in, his lips hovering just inches from yours, but he stopped himself. You could feel his breath against your skin, and the tension was nearly unbearable.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked softly, his voice husky, filled with restraint.

“Yes,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. But before he could make the move, you grabbed the waistband of his swim trunks, pulling him in, your back pressing against the pool wall. The space between you vanished as his lips found yours, slow and deliberate. The kiss was deep, full of need but laced with patience, as if he wanted to savor every second.

You let out a soft moan against his mouth, and that sound seemed to do it. His body pressed into yours, wet skin sliding together as you reached up to grip his hair, pulling him in closer. The kiss intensified, deeper, hungrier, as you devoured each other. His lips moved against yours in perfect sync, the taste of chlorine and desire mixing together. You couldn’t get enough.

Nicholas groaned as your bodies molded together, your hands tangling in his damp hair, and you tugged him closer, wanting more, needing more. His hands found your waist, gripping tightly as he pushed his hips against yours, leaving you breathless.

Finally, you both pulled away, gasping for air, eyes searching each other. His chest rose and fell rapidly, and you could feel the heat radiating between you.

"Do you want to come up to my room?" he asked, his voice low, filled with urgency.

You hesitated for just a moment, your pulse racing as the weight of his words settled over you. But the way he looked at you, the way his lips were still swollen from your kiss, made it impossible to say no.

“God yes,” you whispered, nodding.

Without another word, you both grabbed your towels, hurriedly drying yourselves off as you made your way to the elevator. The air between you buzzed with excitement, anticipation simmering. You could barely keep your hands off each other as you rushed inside.

As soon as the elevator doors closed, Nicholas had you up against the wall. His hands were on either side of your head as he kissed you again, this time with a ferocity that sent a surge of heat through your body. You groaned into his mouth, and he responded by slipping his hands under your ass, lifting you effortlessly. You instinctively wrapped your legs around him, locking your ankles behind his back.

You could feel the hardness of his bulge pressing between your legs as he pinned you to the wall, his body grinding against yours. His lips trailed down your neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses, and you let out a breathless moan as you tilted your head back, giving him more access. His hands gripped your ass tighter, pulling you closer as you rolled your hips against him, feeling the heat of his arousal through your swimsuit.

“Fuck,” Nicholas groaned against your skin, his voice rough with desire. “You’re driving me crazy.”

You grinned, tugging at his hair, bringing his lips back to yours. “Then stop talking and do something about it,” you teased, your voice breathy as you ground against him harder.

His hips bucked against yours, and you could feel the rough fabric of his swim trunks pressing against your core, and it only made you want him more.

“I’m gonna do a lot more than that,” he growled, his lips crashing against yours once more, leaving you dizzy with need.

The elevator dinged, signaling that you had reached your floor. He didn’t even wait for the doors to open fully before he carried you out, still kissing you as if he couldn’t get enough. You were breathless, panting against his mouth as he carried you down the hall to his room. The door clicked open, and you both stumbled inside, the tension only growing with every second.

He set you down just long enough to rip off his swim trunks. The sight of him, of his sculpted, wet body, made your knees weak, and you bit your lip, trying to suppress a groan. His hands were back on you in an instant, pulling you to him as he kissed you hard, backing you up toward the bed.

Nicholas gazed at you, his eyes dark with desire as he pulled your bikini top aside. His hands gently caressed your breasts, and he let out a soft groan. “Your tits are perfect, your whole body is perfect,” he murmured, his voice thick with admiration. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

You couldn’t help but smirk, feeling your cheeks flush from both his words and the heat radiating between your bodies. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you replied, a laugh bubbling from your throat as the tension momentarily lightened. He chuckled softly with you, but it quickly faded into another passionate kiss.

His lips moved from your mouth to your neck, sucking and biting as he left marks on your skin. Each graze of his teeth sent shivers through your body, and your moans grew louder when he reached your breasts, his mouth closing around one of your nipples. The sensation made you arch into him, hands gripping his hair as you held him against you.

Nicholas wasn’t done. His kisses traveled lower, leaving a trail as he moved down your stomach. His lips brushed over your navel piercing, and then lower still, to your bikini bottoms. You bit your lip, anticipation building as you watched him.

He pulled the straps of your bikini bottom down with deliberate slowness, revealing more of you. The moment his eyes landed on your clit piercing, his breath hitched audibly. He looked up at you, eyes blazing with lust.

“Fuck,” he swore, licking his lips. “Like I said, you’re so beautiful, so fucking sexy.” His voice was low, almost a growl. “After tonight, no one’s gonna see that pretty pussy,” he paused, his fingers brushing over your clit piercing, sending a spark of pleasure through you, “or that fucking clit piercing. Only I will.”

The possessiveness in his voice sent a wave of arousal through you, and you bit your lip, already dripping with need. His words were enough to make your body pulse with desire, but you had no time to react before his mouth was on you.

He wasted no time, his lips pressing against your core, tongue darting out to taste you. The moment his tongue flicked over your clit, you gasped, your back arching off the bed as pleasure coursed through your body. He worked you with expert precision, alternating between long, slow licks and fast, teasing flicks of his tongue over your piercing. The sensation was overwhelming, and you could feel yourself growing wetter with every second.

Your hands found his hair, tugging him closer as you bucked your hips against his face. “Oh fuck, daddy,” you moaned without thinking, and the moment the word left your lips, he groaned into your pussy.

His tongue worked even faster, and he pulled back just long enough to look up at you, his chin glistening with your arousal. “You little slut,” he growled, eyes dark with lust. “Calling me daddy, making a stranger eat your pussy? You like that, don’t you?”

You whimpered, the words sending a thrill through your entire body. “Yes, oh, fuck, yes,” you panted, not even caring how desperate you sounded.

He grinned, the smug look on his face making your heart race. “Good girl,” he purred, before diving back in. His tongue circled your clit relentlessly, and your moans grew louder as you felt the pressure building inside you. His hands gripped your thighs, holding you in place as he devoured you like a man starved, and all you could do was writhe beneath him, your fingers tightening in his hair.

“Fuck, daddy, m’ so close,” you moaned, your voice barely above a whisper.

He growled again, and the vibrations sent you over the edge. With one final flick of his tongue, the tension snapped, and you came undone beneath him, your body trembling as waves of pleasure crashed over you.

“Cum for me, baby,” Nicholas whispered against your pussy, and you cried out as your orgasm rippled through you, your thighs shaking as he worked you through it.

As your breathing slowly evened out, he pulled back, looking entirely too pleased with himself as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I told you… only I get to see that,” he murmured, his voice full of possessive satisfaction.

You lay there, panting, still feeling the aftershocks of your orgasm. But even in your blissed-out state, you managed to smirk up at him.

“Maybe, daddy,” you teased, “if you’re lucky.”

Nicholas smirked at you, eyes dark with lust. “Oh, if I’m lucky?” he echoed, his voice dripping with dominance. He leaned down, his breath hot against your ear. “If I’m fucking lucky? No, I said no one else gets to see you like this.”

His hand gripped your jaw, forcing you to meet his intense gaze. “I’m gonna fuck you so good, ruin every other man for you,” he growled. “Ruin you for every other man.”

His voice dropped lower, almost a whisper as his eyes raked over you. “I’d let you suck my cock like the whore you are, make you swallow every drop of my cum, have it simmer inside you,” His fingers lightly brushed over your trembling body. “But I need that sexy little pussy first.”

You watched as he reached to grab a condom, but you quickly stopped him, breathless. “I’m on the pill,” you whispered, biting your lip. His reaction was immediate.

His grin widened, eyes gleaming with excitement as he tossed the condom aside. “Fuck yes,” he growled, and before you could react, his hand wrapped around your throat, not squeezing too hard, but enough to make your pulse race. He dragged his tongue up the side of your face, groaning like a man possessed. “I’m gonna fuck you raw, baby. You’re mine.”

You shivered as he positioned himself, the thick head of his cock pressing against your entrance. Your eyes widened when you looked down, suddenly realizing just how big he was. You hesitated, a flicker of nervousness crossing your face. He noticed and paused, leaning down to kiss you softly, his lips gentle against yours. “It’ll fit, baby,” he murmured, his voice soothing. “I’ll take care of you.”

Before you could respond, he thrust the tip inside you, and the feeling had your back arching instantly, a loud scream escaping your lips. The stretch was overwhelming, filling you in ways you hadn’t imagined.

“I know, baby, I know,” he soothed, his voice deep and husky as he kissed along your neck. “It’s okay, you can take daddy’s cock. Be a good slut and take it for me.”

You nodded quickly, your breath shaky as your legs trembled. His hands gripped your thighs, pinning your legs behind your head, spreading you wide for him. The position gave him deeper access, and you gasped as he slid further inside, filling you completely. His cock throbbed inside you, every inch making you feel deliciously full.

He didn’t stop there. With a low groan, he started to move, thrusting deep and hard, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing in the room. His hand moved down between your legs, fingers expertly rubbing your clit, the piercing catching the pads of his fingers. The combination of his cock and the relentless stimulation of your clit was almost too much.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he growled, his hips moving faster. “This pussy was made for me, only me. No one else is gonna fuck you like this.”

You moaned loudly, your body trembling beneath him as the pressure built inside you. “Daddy!” you gasped, your hands gripping his arms tightly.

“That’s it, baby,” he groaned, his thumb brushing over your piercing again, sending jolts of pleasure through you. “Cum for me. Be a good slut and cum for daddy.”

Your legs shook violently, and you felt the tight knot in your core finally unravel. With a loud cry, you came hard around his cock, your pussy clenching tight as waves of pleasure washed over you. He groaned loudly, thrusting deeper into you, riding out your orgasm as you trembled beneath him.

“Good girl,” he muttered, watching your body convulse from pleasure, his fingers still teasing your oversensitive clit. “You’re fucking perfect.”

Nicholas kissed your neck again, his lips trailing down your skin, sending shivers all over. Without warning, he lifted you properly, your legs wrapping tightly around his waist. With one powerful thrust, he slammed you onto his thick cock, the sudden stretch making you gasp loudly.

“Oh my god,” you moaned breathlessly.

He chuckled darkly, his breath hot against your ear. “Not God, baby. Me,” he growled, gripping you tighter. “Your daddy. I’m the one fucking this pussy. My pussy.”

Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him even closer, as he held you there, trembling. You could feel his cock pulsing inside you, stretching you out, filling you to the brim. Slowly at first, he started moving, lifting you up and slamming you back down on his cock. Every powerful thrust made your body jolt, your voice growing louder with each movement.

“Daddy,” you screamed, grinding against him, desperate for more. His thrusts grew faster, more intense, and you felt yourself nearing that familiar edge, your body trembling uncontrollably.

“Fuck, yes, grind on me, baby,” he panted, slamming you harder onto his cock. Your body responded, and before you could even speak, the pressure inside you erupted. You screamed, your entire body shaking as you squirted all over him, your juices splashing down his abs and dripping down his legs.

He groaned in pleasure, looking down at you with a grin. “Such a good girl,” he rasped. “Such a dirty little slut, squirting from a stranger fucking you.”

Your breath was still shaky, but he wasn’t done. He placed you down on the bed, but before you could even arch your back, he grabbed your legs. Your body hovered off the bed, only your upper half resting against the mattress, and he positioned himself behind you. Without hesitation, he thrust deep inside, slamming into you relentlessly.

You screamed in pleasure, feeling him reach so deep inside you, your moans echoing through the room. “Does daddy’s dick feel good?” he growled, slapping your ass roughly, his grip on your hips tight.

“Yes, daddy! Fuck me harder,” you begged, your voice barely coherent through the pleasure.

He responded with even deeper, rougher thrusts, his cock hitting all the right spots. You moaned louder, overwhelmed by the intense sensation, your body rocking with each thrust. When he slapped your ass again, you couldn’t hold back, and your body exploded once more, creaming all over his cock as another orgasm tore through you.

He groaned, his pace faltering as he followed right behind you, his thrusts becoming erratic. You felt the warmth of his cum filling you up, spilling deep inside, making you tremble in pleasure as your body relaxed.

Nicholas collapsed onto the bed, pulling you on top of him, your bodies still connected as he cockwarmed you. His hands gently cupped your tear-streaked cheeks, his lips brushing over them. “You did so good, baby,” he whispered, his voice soft now. “You’re so beautiful.”

You let out a soft hum, snuggling into his chest, feeling completely blissed out. He shifted, smiling. “I should clean you up,” he offered, his hand brushing gently over your back.

You shook your head, sighing contently. “I just want to cuddle.”

He laughed softly, pulling you closer. “Alright, baby. But we’re getting up early,” he said with a smile, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your back. “I want to do this right. I’m taking you on a proper date.”

You smiled, feeling warmth spread through your chest, the perfect end to a wild night. You soon drifted off in his arms but not before snapping the picture your sister asked for. You had to turn on DND to silence the frantic messages she sent as soon as she saw the picture.

[enderlovez]

can you write Spencer Reid and his secret girlfriend that's a nurse/doctor, when the team comes back from a mission and reid is injured they all go to the hospital and they see them two flirting and figure it out

(sorry idk how to phrase it)

also can you tag me when it's out?

Kiss It Better

Spencer Reid x Nurse Reader

WORD COUNT: 1000+

Summary: Spencer gets injured on a case. Imagine his team's surprise when they come to see him and find his nurse flirting with him.

Content Warning: hospitals, Spencer got hurt on a case, probably a whole lot of medical inaccuracies, stitches and needles

────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──────

Spencer sits on the edge of the hospital bed, his button-up shirt and cardigan draped over the back of a chair, leaving his undershirt rolled up past his elbow. His thighs are parted so you can stand between them, cleaning the small gash on his arm, your gloved fingers brushing over his skin with the gentlest touch.

"You know," you begin, your tone lightly teasing, "for someone with your IQ, you're really bad at stay out of trouble."

Spencer chuckles softly, though his ears turn a shade of pink. "It's not exactly something I plan for," he defends quietly, good arm wrapped loosely around your waist. "Besides, statistically, my injury rate is relatively low for the kind of work I do."

You glance up at him, a brow raised. "Spencer, you've been here three times in the last two months. At this rate, I should really just set up a reserved bed for you."

"Maybe I just like the company," he quips, and now it's your turn to blush slightly.

"Flirting isn't gonna get you out of a lecture about taking better care of yourself," you reply, tying off the final stitch and cutting the rest of the thread off. "There we are. Good as new."

Spencer watches as you peel off your gloves and toss them into the bin. Everything you do seems to catch him off guard, even after months of... well, whatever this thing between you two has become.

"You're amazing, you know that?" he murmurs.

You laugh lightly, shaking your head. "I just stitched up a cut. Pretty sure that doesn't qualify as amazing."

"To me, it does," he counters, his gaze soft as he watches you walk around the room. "You're brilliant and kind and—"

"—And wondering why you're still sitting here," you cut him off with a grin, moving back to your previous spot between his thighs and holding the back of your hand to his forehead. "Don't you have a team to get back to?"

As if on cue, the door swings open, and a group of people spills into the room, their voices a mix of concern and exhaustion.

"Reid, how's—" a man with a shaved head starts, but immediately stops again, his eyes narrowing slightly as they dart between the two of you.

The room grown awkwardly silent as they take in the scene: you standing between Spencer's legs—closer than any medical professional should be with their patients, his unbandaged arm hung loosely around your waist.

"Oh," says a woman with dark hair and a wicked smirk. "This is interesting."

Spencer shifts uncomfortable but doesn't quite move away. "Guys, this is—uh—this is Doctor L/N. She was just... patching me up."

"Patching you up, huh?" the man from before drawls, a teasing lilt in his voice, his grin widening. "Looks like a little more than that to me."

You straighten and take a step back, trying to maintain your professional demeanor despite the heat crawling up your neck. "Doctor Reid is in good shape now. He'll need to keep the stitches dry for a few days, but the cut wasn't too deep."

The blonde woman in the back raises an eyebrow, clearly biting back a smile. "Thank you, Doctor L/N," she says politely before her attention shifts to Spencer. "Though I have to admit, considering his arm got cut open, this is the first time we've seen him quite so... comfortable."

Spencer groans, his head falling slightly forward. "Can we not do this here? Please?"

"Oh, we're doing this," the dark-haired woman says, crossing her arms. "How long has this been going on?"

"Emily," Spencer pleads, his voice laced with something somewhere in-between exasperation and resignation.

You glance between then, suddenly feeling a little like a deer caught in headlights. "I'll just—uh—leave you all to it," you say quickly, stepping toward the door.

Spencer's hand shoots out, his fingers brushing against yours for the briefest moment. "Wait—"

But you shake your head with a small, reassuring smile. "It seems you've got enough explaining to do without me making it harder."

As you slip out and shut the door, you hear the inevitable teasing start.

────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──────

The hallways is surprisingly quiet compared to the chaos inside, and you take a moment to collect yourself. You've grown used to Spencer's shy smiles and occasional compliments, but seeing him surrounded by his team—people who clearly adore him and who are incredibly perceptive—feels like stepping into a spotlight you hadn't anticipated.

You're about to head back to the nurses' station when the door opens again, and Spencer emerges, wearing all his clothes and his cheeks still faintly red.

"They're never going to let this go," he says, running a hand through his hair.

You bite back a laugh. "I can see why. You should've warned me they'd be so observant."

"I was trying to keep things simple," he admits, stepping closer, "but apparently, we weren't as subtle as I thought."

"Subtle?" you repeat, raising an eyebrow. "You were practically glowing in there, Spencer! You were quite literally holding onto me."

He grins sheepishly. "I can't help it. You make me happy. I like being close to you."

Your heart does a little flip at his words, but you roll your eyes for his benefit. "Well, now that they know, I'm sure the rest of your team will, so I guess our secret's out."

"They'll adjust to the idea," he says lightly. "And for what it's worth, I don't mind them knowing. I'm proud to be with you."

You smile, reaching out to brush your fingertips against his. "I'm proud to be with you, too. Even if it means getting interrogated by the Behavioral Analysis Unit."

Spencer laughs, the sound warm and genuine. "They'll get over it. Probably."

"Probably?" you echo, laughing with him as you start walking back to the nurses' station.

He shrugs, his hand brushing against yours as he keeps pace. "I think Morgan might take longer. But that's okay. I'm not in any hurry."

@priv-rose

[dcxdpdabbles]

Cluster of Cores Part 4

Holiday request: cluster of cores x2 please! I love all your writing

Roy helps Danny into the living room, mindful of the two sleeping babes strapped to his chest in a nested sling. Once he's sure Danny has cleared the entrance, he sidesteps them, rushing toward the big swivel loveseat sofa they had just purchased.

It's large enough that the two could sit comfortably and pill up the pillows that were to Dani's demand of fluff. The thing spins, and has a nice little backrest that Danny can both sit and lay down. In the first few months, the twins will need a nest to grow in, and Dani has been cleared that the circular couch will be perfect.

Danny makes a tiny little noise of happiness when he settles in the middle of it. Roy is quick to pile the fluffiest throw blanket across his lap. Jason helps him lean back while Danny carefully holds the head of the newborns.

According to the humans ' medical knowledge, his children, Dan and Danika, have a clean bill of health. The trio had been released after a five-day stay- all expenses paid by Tim Drake- undergoing tests and observations.

Thankfully, for all intentions and purposes, the twins were fine.

They were sleeping in his arms, having just finished feeding off of Danny's ectoplasm. The young alien seemed confused when a nurse handed him a bottle, but when they explained the usage of it, the young Indigenous Daxamite opened the bottle and weakly poured a green liquid from the palm of his hand.

The babies enthusiastically launched onto the bottles, and Danny could not look away from them. The coma had turned him so weak that he needed one of those feeding pillows, unable to hold them in his trembling arms for too long.

But they were perfect. Roy thought it was adorable how his eyes shone as he stared at his children. During visiting hours, Dani spent most of her time leaning on her father's side, a feeding pillow on her lap, and being a miniature version of Danny.

The alien had even chosen a last name, claiming it was the closest thing in English. Surprisingly, what the Daxamite considered a lost language was what humans considered English.

The Fentons were now welcomed guests in the Todd-Wayne household. They will stay there alongside Roy and Lian until they reach their feet.

It was a shock to find out Danny was a teenager in Daxamite terms, just as much as a he was in human terms. Having three children, a five-year-old and twin newborns, will be difficult for the teenager to raise on his own.

Roy offered him complete support, deciding he would be his rock through every milestone the children needed. It was the least he could do for the person responsible for his daughter's safety.

"Are you comfortable?" Roy asks. Danny offers him a weak smile, nodding. His eyes, however, return to his children as though he is checking to see if they are real.

He can't help but smile warmly at the alien. "Is there anything you need?"

Danny thinks it over, hunching his shoulder slightly when he requests. "Fudge? My Dad would make me some when I was incubating the eggs."

Roy snaps his phone out of his pocket, pressing the speed dial to Oliver. The archer snaps into the speaker before the blond can greet him, "Fudge. Send me the most expensive and delicious fudge you have."

"Yes, of course." Oliver's answer is just as serious and as fast. "I'll have it there within thirty minutes."

Roy's voice softens when he turns back to Danny. "Is there anything else you like?"

The alien blinks his wide blue eyes at him, considering the question carefully before whispering. "Blankets? For Dan and Danika?"

Roy nods, face turning hard as stone when he returns to his phone. "Baby blankets. The softest ones you can find. Have the names Dan and Danika sewed into the blankets. One lilac, the other easter green.'

"It will be done," Oliver promises before hanging up the phone. Roy turns back to the bewildered Danny, then, as soft as spring rain, smiles at him.

"They should be here in about thirty minutes. If there is anything else you want, let Jason or me know."

"Um," Danny curls slightly inwards, holding the babies against his chest. Dan makes a bit of a fuss, wiggling around, but with one quick bottle grab, Danny has him resettle. Danika wiggles a bit, whimpering a little, but the Daxamite bounces his knee a little, moving the pillow under her.

This causes a soft rocking motion that quickly helps her calm down. Roy is mightily impressed that Danny already knows what to do as a new father. When Lian was born, he struggled to figure out all her different cries for weeks.

Dan slurps his bottle with his virgor, his soft tuff of hair shifting into a little flame. Danika makes a slight movement like newborns do when attempting to turn in the direction of their voices.

She seems comfortable facing her little head toward Danny before she settles into a nap. Apparently, as an ice core, she didn't need as much ectoplasm as Dan did. His son needed more help stabilizing in his environment through the help of his father before he was big enough to do it himself.

Roy was so happy Danny had woken. It would be a nightmare trying to figure everything out on their own. Roy's eyes fall to the bag resting on Danny's left side, nested comfortably among the pillows. Inside are the remaining eggs that are carefully waiting for the day they hatch.

He hopes it will take some time. Twins were already hard to manage, even with Roy's and Jason's help.

"Danny!" Dani yells, running into the room with a faint doll. "I brought Danika her first Earth toy!"

"Maybe when she's bigger." Danny laughs, one hand holding the bottle up for his son and the other carefully tracing the features of his new daughter. "She may like to make ice sculptures of it someday."

Dani beams, looking much brighter since the day Roy had met her. "I can teach her how!"

"Me too!" Lian shouts, jumping up and down, growing as excited as the Daxamites seem to gain a little glow around them. Roy's widens, turning away from the group to press the next speed dial on his phone.

"Yes?" Jason's modified voice sends a burst of excitement down his spine, but he squishes it. He needs to remind himself that for all the feelings he has for the other man, they aren't lovers. It likely won't ever be.

"Buy better blinds. Danny glows"

It is a testament to how long they know each other when all Jason responds with is a very serious "Of course. I'll bring some milk, too."

Distantly, he hears one of Jason's goons ask. "Is that the boss's boyfriend?"

"I thought they were married with kids?"

Roy hands up before he has a heart attack.

[ellecdc]

the basilisk and me

Sirius Black x fem!reader who is hallucinating [979 words]

CW: hallucinations, reader is in hospital, post first wizarding war, suggested and implied PTSD, anxiety/panic attack, based off of this prompt/idea, high stakes hurt/comfort A/N: ok first attempt at this kind of vibe so hopefully it's not complete shit

Sirius tried to stamp down on the fury threatening to take over as he walked as fast as socially acceptable through the hospital corridors. He promised you he’d be here today; the same time as he was the day before, and all the days before that since you’d been rescued following the end of the war from the Death Eater’s hideout. 

He kept that promise, but you wouldn’t know that thanks to the security personnel who spent the past twenty plus minutes arguing with Sirius about whether or not he was authorised to visit you.

There were only four people authorised to visit you, one of them was Sirius Black; Sirius Black who had been here yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that, etcetera. At the same time, every day; Sirius was here. You needed him here.

And he needed to be here; twenty plus minutes ago. 

Any relief he felt at the sight of your room vanished at the sound of your gut wrenching sobs, a shout, and the clattering of furniture. 

Officially forgoing social acceptability, Sirius broke out into a sprint before all but barreling into your hospital room. 

There were two mediwix closing in on you with three security personnel flanking them; all of their wands drawn as your wild eyes split your attention between the people circling you, anything in your room that you might be able to use to your advantage, and - apparently - the empty corner of the room.

“Get away from me!” You screeched before dodging behind a table tray meant for meals just as a purple spell left the tip of one of the mediwix’s wand.

“What is going on!?” Sirius barked, making to step further into the room as one of the security-wix stepped in front of him.

“You can’t be here.” They stated simply; gesturing towards the door as if that would simply be the end of it.

“Would you fucker’s stop trying to tell me that!?” He all but bellowed before shoving past him to grab - rather roughly, looking back at it now - the one mediwitch he was familiar with who turned towards him with a look akin to relief. 

“What is going on?” He tried again.

“She’s hallucinating; woke up screeching that there was a basilisk in the room trying to kill her. When we tried to offer her a calming draught, she started accusing us all of trying to poison her."

"And you're...?" Sirius started bemusedly. "Firing hexes at her?"

"Mr. Black-"

“Don’t call me that.”

“She needs to be stupefied.”

“The last thing she needs is more violence.” He growled in response before shoving past her and pointing his back to the four wands still aimed at you.

“Hey, baby hey. Hey hey hey, whoa, whoa.” Sirius started as he crouched down in front of you, listening to the way your shrieks and wails quieted to pitiful hiccups and sobs. “Hey, doll; hey. Easy, love, come now.”

“St- Stop, no.” You shook your head, eyes glued to a point across the room. “Stay… stay away from me.”

“It’s me, doll. It’s me; it’s Sirius, yeah? Come on, babygirl, look at me.”

"No..."

"It's me, doll." He repeated.

“Sirius.” You keened as he took your face between his hands; tears pouring a steady stream over the apples of your cheeks as you kept your gaze locked on an invisible threat that only you could see. 

You didn’t pull away from his grasp, though; trembling hands landing near gently around his wrists. Your knuckles were close to white as the joints threatened to push through the dry and cracked skin of your hands even though your grip never strengthened on him. 

Sirius’ heart ached for you. 

“Look at me, baby. Come on.”

“I’m scared.” You whispered; breath hitching as you managed to make the briefest eye contact with your boyfriend before your eyes darted back to the corner of your room. 

“I know, love. I know.” Sirius agreed, moving to his knees and tucking his feet underneath him before pressing his forehead to yours; his thumbs sweeping methodically over the highs of your cheeks as he kept his gaze on you. “I know; it’s okay.”

“But the-”

“It’s okay; just look at me until it goes away, okay?” 

Sirius’ heart didn’t return to its normal cadence until your blinks started to slow - time stretching between each heavy blink - as you tried your best to keep your gaze dutifully on Sirius. 

“Why don’t we get you to bed, hm?” Sirius whispered after a period of time, feeling wretched at the way your body tensed and your eyes started darting around again.

“But, the-”

“Can you still see it, dolly?” He asked kindly, quietly; allowing you some space to crane your head and get a good lay of the room that saw only one mediwix and one security personnel present after the ordeal. 

“Uhm,” you let out with a nervous woosh, breaths threatening to speed back up at having lost track of your threat, “no…no, but…”

“Let’s get you to bed, and I’ll keep watch, okay?” He offered, beginning to stand before you had a chance to think too hard on his offer as you obliged Sirius, allowing him to guide you to your hospital bed. 

Sirius was just pulling the thin blanket over your form when you grabbed him by the wrist. 

“Will you stay with me?” You blurted, turning bashful as you added a timid “Please?”

“Of course, my love.” He agreed quickly, shucking off his boots and sliding under the thin sheets beside you. “How else would I keep watch, hm?”

And if the mediwix took issue with Sirius being there, they didn’t dare mention it; quietly working around the two figures in the bed as they cleaned up the various pieces of furniture you’d used to defend yourself whilst Sirius kept watch for any threats - visible or invisible, real or imagined - that might deign to disturb your peace.

[antiadvil]

day 7 of posting wip snippets for the phandommetrics

He put his phone down and looked at Dan. It was a strange, burning sensation— wanting to look away, and needing to look at Dan for the rest of his life. His eyelashes were dark, resting against his cheeks, and he was breathing. He was still breathing, and that meant he was still moving, just a little. If Phil were to lie down beside him, rest his head on Dan’s chest like he had done hundreds, thousands of times before, he would hear a heartbeat.

[mingigoo]

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.

[gomzdrawfr]

PriceGhostWeek

cw: omegaverse, tini bit suggestive, inspo

What's hidden under the scarf?

what's hidden under the collar?

[morganski-19]

part 1

The next day, there’s someone new to visit Steve. Making Wayne stop in his tracks on his third coffee run. The rumors were true, the Chief isn’t as dead as he was a year ago. Just lost what looks to be half his body weight and all of his hair. Looking gaunt and malnourished. 

But he’s alive. That has to count for something.

Wayne wishes the Chief was there to see him. Give him the key to unlock the chain around Eddie’s wrist. So he’d be able to wake up to a clean slate. That his record will be clear and he won’t get carted off to jail as soon as he’s stable. So Wayne will be able to bring him home. 

Once he has a home to go to. Not just a shitty hotel room that costs more than it should for a night. But it’s right next to the hospital, so Wayne can be here in five minutes if something happens. When his boy wakes up. He has to wake up. 

It’s been five days since Eddie was brought in. Twelve since Wayne saw him last. All he wants is to hear his obnoxiously loud music blaring down the hall while he’s trying to sleep. Or the laughter that could make him smile even when he didn’t want to. Wayne wants his Eddie back, the boy he watched grow all of these years. He’s not ready for the day Eddie wakes up and the light is gone from his eyes. 

Because it will be. Wayne’s seen enough people come back from combat a completely different person. With the scars that are sewn into Eddie’s torso, up his neck, one on his cheek. There’s no doubt that he’s been through something unimaginable. Life changing. 

As much as Wayne wants Eddie to wake up. He’s not ready for him to wake up changed. 

There’s a knock on the hospital door before it opens. Wayne’s expecting a nurse to check Eddie’s vitals, tell him the same shit they have for days. That all is good and he’s progressing. It should be any day now that he wakes up. If the damage to his body wasn’t too much for him. Those words of hope lack their meaning now. 

But instead of a nurse walking through the door, it’s the Chief. 

“Can I sit?” He motions to the chair next to Wayne.

“I suppose.”

The Chief sits next to Wayne, not looking at him. “I hear he’s been in a coma for a few days now.”

Wayne nods, not much in the mood for talking. Civilly at least. Push the right button and the volcano is about to burst. 

“I’ve known a few people who’ve been in medically induced ones like this. They all wake up in the end.”

“I’d like for the cuffs to be off his wrist when he does,” Wayne snaps. Knowing that the Chief has the key to unlock them. “That way he can recover as an innocent man. Like he should.”

The Chief takes a deep breath. “I’m not fully reinstated yet. I don’t have the authority to do anything about that. Even if-”

“Even if what?” Wayne looks at the Chief. Anger filled his voice. “Even if he’s innocent. I know he’s innocent. My boy, my boy could barely hurt a fly, let alone a living, breathing person. He was kinder than people gave him credit for. This town gave him so much shit that he didn’t deserve. Still is. When I’m afraid he might never wake up the same again. So I’d like the cuffs off, so he knows that some part of this town sees him as something other than a villain.”

Finally looking Wayne in the eyes, the Chief takes a second to think. Nodding his head in thought. “You smoke?”

Wayne scoffs. “That really what you're thinking of right now?”

“Answer the question.” Something about the Chief makes Wayne believe there’s more to his words. 

“I do.”

“Great,” he stands, waiting for Wayne at the door. “Come on, let’s go.”

Wayne gets up, mainly because he doesn’t really have a choice but also because he wants to see where this is going. They pass Harrington in the hall, talking to someone on the phone. 

“Yeah, I’m free tomorrow. Can’t wait to sleep in my own bed. No don’t do that. Cause I don’t think it’s time to throw a party yet, not while.” He makes brief eye contact with Wayne as they walk by. Before turning away. “Just won’t feel right without all of us.”

Wayne has no clue who he’s talking about, but it’s probably not Eddie. Hopes it isn’t. He still doesn’t know how he feels about this kid, even if he knows Eddie’s innocent. Doesn’t forgive him from his past, if rumors are true. And knowing who his dad is, Wayne wouldn’t be surprised if they all were true. 

The Chief leads him to the side of the hospital, where there’s no foot traffic. No one around to hear. Wayne suddenly understands what this might all be about. Something not for wandering ears. 

“What I say does not leave this conversation,” he starts, handing Wayne a cigarette. Lighting his own before passing the lighter to Wayne. “Got it?”

Wayne nods. 

“I know Eddie’s innocent. But there’s some weird shit that was happening around then that I cannot tell you about it. All you need to know is that the Feds are involved, and they’re looking for a fall guy. And I’m trying my hardest to make sure that the fall guy isn’t your nephew. So while it might not seem like it, some progress is being made. Your nephew will be a free man when he wakes up. I give you my word on that.”

“I don’t even know how to start processing what you just said.” Wayne takes a long drag from the cigarette, letting the smoke blow out into the alleyway. 

The Chief laughs. “That was all of us the first time this happened. I’d say it gets easier but it really doesn’t.”

“The first time?”

“There’s a lot more to this town than meets the eye.”

“How do I know your word is any good?”

The Chief considers this for a moment. “You don’t really. But who else do you know who can fix this?”

With that, the Chief nods goodbye and heads to the parking lot. Leaving Wayne with more questions than answers, and a little flame of hope he’s wishing won’t get put out.

part 3

I don't know how many parts this will be but I do know they will be posted sporadically whenever I have time to write them. So, no promises of consistency.

also, tag list. I tagged anyone who asked/seemed interested in a part two. please let me know if you would like to be added or removed: @the-they-who-nerded, @insteviewetrust, @croatoan-like-its-hot, @jettestar, @tinyplanet95, @steddie-as-they-go, @slv-333, @littlecelestialmoth, @thatonebadideapanda, @fandomsanddeath, @marismorar

[moonstruckme]

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 rest 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.”