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iwritefandomimagines · 2 months ago

Text

DO NOT TOUCH— NURSE MATT PEARSON

masterlist pinned to profile! (link broken rn)

pairing: matt pearson x nurse!reader

description: when matt contracts the plague, of all things, you’re quick to offer to care for him. and maybe end up making your feelings for him obvious.

tags/warnings: soft fluffiness and awkward cuteness ! friends to lovers, plague mention obviously, nothing else I can think of

author’s note: listen if i have to be the first to write a matt pearson x reader, then i absolutely will and i absolutely have !!! i hope you enjoy, sorry if it’s a lil ooc and not amazing i just had the idea and ran with it. PLEASE let me know what you think (and if you haven’t watched st denis medical yet … DOOOO IT)

———

“Just the plague, no biggie.”

You round the corner at the sound of these words, eyes blowing wide at the sight of Matt Pearson — fellow nurse and object of your affection for as long as you can remember — all patched up.

You’d just come over specifically to check on him after Serena had texted you what happened.

You’d been working on another wing for the day, helping out in an understaffed department that you’d previously worked in and had plenty of experience in.

You were reluctant to be away from your favourite team of nurses, but duty called — and of course you missed an eventful day.

What you hadn’t expected was to find that Matt had contracted the bubonic plague from a loose cat in the hospital and that you’d end up rushing to find him at the end of your shift.

“I’m away for one day shift and you manage to get the plague, Matty,” you tut, your gaze soft as you take a small step towards him, “Are you okay? How’re you feeling? You should be lying down!”

His heart warms at your concern, but he fiddles with the chain around his neck and sends a reassuring smile your way, “Oh I’m fine. Like I said, it’s just the plague. I’ll be—I’ll be alright. It’s totally treatable these days, y’know.”

You shake your head at his stubbornness, reaching out to touch him until his hands fly up to warn you away, “I’m kinda labelled ‘Plague patient, do not touch’ right now. Not that I wouldn’t really like you to touch me— oh not like that. Uh—,”

You can’t help but chuckle at his awkward rambling, no stranger to his tendency to get flustered by you.

You couldn’t really mock, given that you too often got flushed when he made little jokes or got closer to you than usual.

“I know, it’s okay,” you cooed, “But I’ll ignore that if you’re not going to take care of yourself. Plus, I’ve got gloves. Never mind that though, are you feeling okay? What symptoms have you got?”

He sighs softly, shaking his head, “I am taking care of myself— I might not even have the plague, it’s just—well, likely. And I’m fine! I feel fine! Good, now, actually.”

Behind you, Serena scoffs and folds her arms over her chest, “I wonder why.”

You turn to give her a pointed look and she raises her hands in surrender, as Ron just shrugs in agreement with her and Matt’s face turns cherry red.

“What, I’m happy to see my frieeend,” the way he overemphasises and elongates the word friend makes Ron and Serena unable to contain their laughter, and he huffs, falling silent again.

You shoo the other two away, mumbling that you should give him a check over — naturally receiving chuckled out responses of “oh I bet he’d like that” and other similar jokes.

Rolling your eyes, you snap your gloves on and smooth down your apron, “I was so worried when I got here and they told me what happened. You did a good job, even if you have ended up a plague patient.”

The praise makes him feel all gooey inside, and the look on his face as he receives it makes you feel all gooey inside too.

He shrugs, “Yeah, things don’t run so smoothly round here without you.”

The sweet comment makes your heart swell, and you notice he’s toying with his necklace again — and despite having never seen him wear one before, you take it as a tell of his nervousness.

You reach down to touch it, barely thinking about the action, and you feel his body tense at your touch as his hand falls away.

“I like this,” you hum, “It looks hot. Y’know, amongst all of your battle scars.”

Okay, you’d heard the others teasing him about it while you were walking over and wanted to make him feel better, but it still wasn’t a lie.

You did think it looked hot. Not that you ever thought he didn’t.

It’s a little harmless flirtation, but somehow his blush deepens even further and his hand flies back up to cover yours now in instant reaction.

“Oh, uh, thanks, it’s new,” he gulps, pretty brown eyes fluttering up at you as you bite your lip.

You let out a small giggle, “I figured, Matty. Think I’d have noticed it before. But yeah, I like it. It suits you.”

He’s quiet for a moment, mumbling a thank you and then leaning back in his chair a bit, “I promise I’m fine, you don’t need to worry about me. I’ll be going home with some antibiotics in like, 15 minutes.”

“Well I’ll come with you,” you say, as though that’s the most normal and logical thing to do, “I can take you home and I’ll make you some dinner or something. Just to make sure you rest up properly.”

He’s taken aback by the suggestion and you can tell, but his grin becomes wider than you think you’ve ever seen it, “You’d do that, for me?”

“Matty, I’d do anything for you,” it’s supposed to come out a little jokey, but you realise you sound deadly serious — because you really are, “No—I’ve just finished my shift so I may as well make sure you get home okay.”

He nods, the corner of his mouth quirked up because he can tell that you mean it and he’s trying insanely hard to quell his excitement.

“That’s so nice of you. I know you’d do it for anyone but I really appreciate it.”

You scoff, “You think I’d give up my evening of binging old New Girl episodes for just anyone?”

His face lights up, his hand still lingering on yours atop his collarbone until you both pull back and you stand back up straight.

His chest almost puffs out in pride at the notion you care enough about him — specifically him — that you want to take care of him when you don’t have any obligation to.

“You can—well we can watch New Girl together if you like?” he offers, “I’ve never, uh, seen it. But I might like it. Or it doesn’t matter as long as you do.”

You place a hand on your hip, about to scold him for having never watched New Girl, until you remember that this is Matt Pearson you’re talking to and he knows and has seen approximately two shows in time you’ve known him.

“Oh Matty, you’re about to have your life changed and your plague cured by the greatest sitcom of all time.”

When Matt is finally given clearance to leave, you’re immediately ushering him to your car, eyeing him through the rear view mirror as he silently gazes out the window like he can’t believe this is happening.

Well, probably because he can’t.

You stop off at the store for sick-day essentials, insisting that he neither comes with you nor gives you cash to pay for the groceries, and you return with a bag full of goodies and a warmth in your chest as Matt looks unsure what to do with himself in the wake of your kindness.

With his directions, you make it to his flat in little time and are quick to fuss about him getting in and comfortable and out of his scrubs.

“You really didn’t have to do this,” he sighs softly as he returns to the lounge in sweatpants and a plain black tee, “I could’ve managed but I’m really grateful you’re here.”

He hands you a bundle of clothes that you identify as another pair of sweatpants and a graphic tee with a cow on it, and you accept graciously as he suddenly looks stressed by his decision to give you them.

“Sorry I just thought that if, uh, you’re staying for a bit you might want something comfy.”

You beam reassuringly at him, “Matty it’s okay, I get it. Thank you, I’ll just go and changed and then I’ll get the soup on, yeah?”

He nods, and so you return a short while later in his sweats and carrying two bowls of freshly made soup and bread.

“You’re the best, Y/N,” his voice wavers a little bit, overwhelmed by you being here in his home and his clothes and, really, if he was totally honest, in his life, “I’m just—Just really grateful to have you. Lucky, even.”

You shake your head, “Matty, even if I’d not worked at all today I’d have come over to do this. I care about you… A lot.”

His brows raise inquisitively, hope glimmering in his features.

“I care about you too, and I’d have done the same for you… Though you’d never be stupid enough to get the plague at work,” he looks down, embarrassed.

You shake your head again, “You’re not stupid, accidents happen. Let’s get cosy, eat our food and watch some TV, shall we?”

He notes the way his sweatpants hang on your hips as you sway to his side and hand him a tray, and he finds himself gulping and nodding profusely.

You notice, and you think he notices that you notice, because at the sight of the subtle smirk on your face he looks down at his food and bites his lip.

You’re silent for the duration of the consumption of your food, save for a few mumbles of how delicious it was, and then New Girl is fired up on your Netflix account after ten minutes fumbling to log in and you’re both tucked up under blankets and locked in on Season 1 Episode 1 as you insist he needs to see it from the start.

Matt is inquisitive the entire time, and you get immense joy from introducing him to the characters and the plot and answer every question earnestly.

You lose track of time watching together, the comfortable ease of being curled up on his couch making you never want this evening to end.

But alas, it’s dark now and as another episode finishes you figure you should probably get out of his hair.

“You look tired, do you want me to turn this off and head off to let you get some sleep?” you ask reluctantly, watching his pretty eyes blink away sleep, “I can come check on you tomorrow, since I’m off.”

He shakes his head too rapidly at first, taking in a sharp breath as he tries not to look so upset at the notion.

He too doesn’t want this time and this closeness to end, and the thought of the absence of your warmth at his side makes him feel more ill than any stupid plague.

“No, no, one more episode please?” he pleads, and you’re not unaware of the way he tugs you a little closer to him with the blanket as he speaks.

You grin, “I’ve made a New Girl fan of you, huh?”

He doesn’t reply immediately, his features twisting into an expression you read as him being anxious. You saw it often enough at work.

“Can I, uh, be honest?”

“Always, Matty.”

“I just—I just like you being here. In my house and on my sofa and,” —gulp—, “In my clothes and, I don’t know… I just like spending time with you.”

Oh my god, you are certain that your heart might explode out of your ribcage at those words.

“You—uh—I,” you’re the one stuttering now, so you clear your throat before continuing, “I love spending time with you too… In your house, and clothes, and— Matty why do you think I ran from my station to see you?”

His eyes are twinkling and his hands are fumbling again with the chain dangling around his neck.

He’s silent as he takes everything that you have just said in, gazing so intently into your eyes that you wish you could bottle up this moment forever.

“Stay?”

“Tonight?”

“In an ideal world, forever,” Matt’s eyes blow wide at his own words, panicking at the intensity of what he’s just said, “No—uh—that’s a joke—yeah, tonight. If you want. I have a spare room.”

You’re smiling so sweetly at him that all panic dissipates immediately though.

You nod, “I’d like that. I can take better care of my plague patient if I’m just next door. As long as I’m not imposing.”

Matt shakes his head vigorously, “Never. If anything I feel like I’m holding you hostage.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes as he leans a little further forward.

You can’t help but watch the way his teeth pull his bottom lip between them, or his eyes twinkle across at you, and you can’t help but want to kiss him.

That thought is no surprise, given that you have it often.

“Never,” your voice is soft, and as his eyes flutter to your lips you wonder if the same thought crosses his mind, and you’re sure it does.

And then you’re reminded that he’s managed to contract the bubonic plague and you probably should keep a little more distance from him.

You stay still for a moment just watching each other, entirely unsure of what next move to make.

It’s you that breaks the silence when he yawns, “We should probably head to bed.”

He nods, disappointed but knowing you’re probably right.

He just doesn’t want his time with you this evening to end, because he fears it might all be a dream, “Yeah, sure. Sure. Bed.”

You both shuffle out from underneath the blanket, and so begins the quiet retreat towards the kitchen to get ready for bed.

It’s as though you’re both scared to speak, knowing the tension in the room had grown exponentially in the last ten minutes.

The two bedrooms in the flat sat directly opposite each other, and as you both reached to open your respective doors, you seemed to pause at the exact same moment.

“Y/N?”

His voice is quiet, as though he’s not at all sure of the words he plans to say.

“Matty?”

You hear him gulp, and debate turning around to face him as you wait to hear what he has to ask you.

“Did you—did you want to kiss me as much as I wanted to kiss you? Like—just now? Like if I wasn’t all plaguey and gross?”

There it is — the confirmation you needed to set your stomach aflutter with butterflies and your heart racing so fast you fear it can’t be contained in your ribcage.

You exhale, relief washing over you, “I did. Really badly.”

You both do turn around now, smiling cautiously at the weight of what this meant.

“Yay—I mean, good—I mean, uh, that’s good to know,” he looks down for a split second, shy under your gaze, before looking back up to hold it, “And you promise this isn’t the plague getting to my sanity? I’m not going to wake up and realise I imagined this and you actually think I’m insane?”

You chuckle.

“Matty, you’re not imagining anything. And I’ll be here in the morning to remind you that, okay?”

“Okay,” his smile is soft and his voice so shy that your heart swells, “Thank you. Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Good night, Matty. Sweet dreams.”

And knowing you were in such close proximity and with feelings that reciprocated his? Sweet dreams he had, indeed.

———

ok i think i hate this but you know what… it’s my first time writing matt and also i’ve not written much lately so feel a little rusty !!! let me know what you think <3

#matt pearson #matt pearson x reader #matt pearson imagine #matt pearson imagines #matt pearson x y/n #st denis medical #nurse matt #nurse matt pearson

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