#Fracture Nursing Assignment Help

[cryinggirlnamedhelen]

For the ladies: need help picking a scenario for a woman to be in the Blue Lock facility without making them a stereotypical (Y/n)? I gotchu bbg.

SCENARIOS

note: all of the ocs/(yn)s here are all 15-19 (high school to first year of college age) depending on your preference.

1. A manager who does the same jobs as Anri but is much more involved personally with the players

- One way this could play out is someone who is a manager from another club or U20 team (ex; Bastard München) and is transferred to Blue Lock, whether it’s out of personal interest or a request from Ego. Either way, with her experience, she helps the players with ease and professional advice and also acts as a PR manager of sorts for them, and might even begin a romance with one of them.

- Another way is perhaps someone who is in desperate need of money and is willing to do anything for money. One day, she checks a sketchy website for new job offers with lots of money, and the new Blue Lock program hiring managers catches her eye. She instantly applies and gets in almost immediately, and helps out the players and Anri. She also might get into a love story with one of the players.

- Another way is someone who is an intern at the JFU (Japanese Football Union) and is assigned to work on Blue Lock with Anri, as the intern is only a teenager and Anri is a new hire and only 22 and fresh out of college. While Anri is helping out Ego more, the intern is helping out the players more while also learning more about herself, soccer, relationships, and love.

2. A nurse who checks the medical data of players and nurses them back to health during injuries or sickness.

- One way this scenario could play out is perhaps someone who is an aspiring doctor, and one way to train herself is to sign up for Blue Lock. She has enough medical knowledge to know what to do with common sicknesses like colds or fevers, and she knows how to deal with broken or fractured bones and more. She’s mostly learning how to truly have patients trust her, and she herself learns to fall in love.

- A daughter of a doctor who is called to Blue Lock, but her parent instead gives her the opportunity to help out at Blue Lock. Any plausible reason would be fine, but to not be too repetitive, I think that maybe something similar to being able to have a backup plan if she ever can’t go to college or doesn’t know what profession to chase could be a good reason for why she’s at Blue Lock.

3. A chef at the facility who is supposed to work in secret but is seen one night by a participant

- Okaaaaaaay so major Rin vibes here, but anyways she’s desperate for money so drops out of high school begins working at some random restaurant as a chef and just earns enough to barely get by. But one day, Ego visits the restaurant and hires her to cook for Blue Lock. She agrees, and she’s the one who cooks all the food at BLLK. One night, when all the players are supposed to be asleep, she sneaks out of her room to eat something, but doesn’t realize that a player from one of the wings had just finished extra training and was eating away. Let’s just say that their love story started from there.

4. An aspiring psychologist who wants to see what will happen to the mentalities and personalities of the players before and after Blue Lock

- HEAVY HEAVY HEAVY Isagi main love interest vibes here, but she’s kind of a weird person. She’s always analyzing the personalities of people because she’s so lonely and just wants to feel loved by someone. She then goes to Blue Lock out of pure interest just to see the results of the project. She accidentally sees one of the results of the elimination tag game for one of the teams, and she basically falls in love with the final eliminator then and there. She then kind of just hangs around them to see their personality, but she unknowingly becomes more and more in love with the person who she finds most psychologically interesting.

5. A former athlete who receives a career ending injury but becomes a regular spectator/mentor in Blue Lock

- So basically, she is a young athlete and is in love with whatever sport she’s playing and what’s to be the world’s best (I personally think ice skating would be perfect for this prompt…but anyways). But then one day at a competition or performance or match, she receives a career ending injury that will never heal, especially not if she keeps playing. Forced to quit and bitter about her injury, she goes to Blue Lock as a former athlete to watch a group of teenage boys try to achieve the dream that she once had, and she becomes a mentor and PR manager of sorts, giving them advice and encouragement.

[nurse-bunnie]

Yeah sure why not. Welcome to my ramblings. Sharps is 141s nurse/medic, because these idiots fucking need one let's be real. Course soap falls hard. Ghost irritably holds his own burning feelings tightly away from himself. He's already let Johnny bury himself into his head, his heart. He can't take more chances, but... it's hard to ignore. Anyway, that's the quick backstory to this angsty thought. Lemme know if you want more Sharps. I have lots of thoughts.

✨️Tw for violence, abuse, abusive behavior, domestic violence, injuries, breakdowns.✨️

Someone, maybe gaz, finding sharps crying alone in a little closed off corner of medbay, trying to clean herself up after getting the shit kicked out of her from her now ex, the bastard. Too many figures cloaked in fatigues and camo get away with the shit they pull, it isn't a secret. This wasn't one. The man had a grip on her that bruised and broke, the slight woman clinging to false coos murmured after rough hands hit, hard words spat, tears spilt.

But now...

Maybe it was Gaz who got in her head, all but begging her to please, please leave him. He, they, would help, that she didn't deserve - "he loves me," a choked whisper. A question. A lie they both knew. He'd crept into that lonely place that held her isolated, quiet and alone for too long.

Before she knew it, Sharps had friends in the form of cheery, blinding smiles and constant kindness, check ins and late nights spent on worn in sofas or creaky wooden chairs, a pot of tea growing cold between conversation. Cigars and spiced tea becoming a soothing aroma, a near pavlovian response that was drawn out when their captians large hand clapped down on a shoulder, the smell of smoke and Chai simmering down the swell of growing anxieties. The hulking, brooding figure haunting just in the background, a silent but firm protector. Ghost, Simon, who Sharps had grown to understand are two very different people; a mask for the quiet, hurting man Ghost kept locked away in a box somewhere deep behind his ribcage. Simon still crept out, clawed his away to the surface like digging out of a grave, all blonde curls and murmured words, dry jokes spoken to a mussed up mohawk through the crackle of comms. It had thrown Sharps off when Simons gentle voice began to dust her poor eardrums with medical quips, clearly pleased with himself when the jokes drew a soft splutter or giggle from split lips. Soon enough, the brit had joined Johnny in leaving an offering or tea, or a sweet on her desk, the medcart, disappearing before she could catch and thank the phantom. It still made her heart swell, and stomach churn in a strange way. Soap had his own way of drawing heat to her cheeks, a flush of pink staining fair skin and causing a flurry of commotion in her chest. John was committed, relentless in his affection and flirting, despite the fact that she was nearly certain Johnny and the LT were more than just partners on the field. And besides, through Sharps didn't have a ring as Soap liked to point out -"ah'll get ya one, one day, bonnie-", she was by all means in a relationship of nearly three years.

A man on base who had caught and snagged her heart those years ago with charming smiles, lips on knuckles, scratchy swrawled notes that proclaimed love, adoration, dedication... She often wracked her brain wondering where it all went wrong. When things had changed from kissed pressed to her hand, to knuckles on her skin, blooming purple over fractured cheekbones, welts and marks placed by the brutality of anger and violence where love once was promised.

The 141 had been gently trying to coax her away from this guy who she's been with for a couple years, prior to being assigned to the chaotic men of the task force. Maybe it was then that the abuse got worse, intensifying in its art.

There was little to no regard to the bruised that pained fair skin, not bothered to be placed hidden. But this? This is what it takes to make her leave, run. Things had gotten bad before, creeping towards the threat of this violent break, but had not crossed the line before tonight. The threats spat at her had always been promises, and she had been stupid not to heed their warning.

So here she stood, pressed into the corner of her own medbay, dark bruising creeping around her throat in the shape of hands that aimed to kill. To finish the promised job.

The sight of them makes Gaz want to be sick.

The purple shade darkening cheekbones, snaking across swollen skin. Tears that run pink, mixing with the mess of blood seeping out from under her hair, hands trembling from where they clutch a stained gauze pad, failing in its attempt to swipe away the evidence of events a mere forty five minutes ago. Too late for Gaz, for anyone to have pried the fingers from her throat, to block punches and kicks. She could still hear the screaming. Choking on the fresh memory, more salt dripped down swollen cheeks, dark hands drifting over hunched shoulders, trembling under the weight of sobs poorly consealed. Sharps felt as if she were breaking apart from the inside out. The tender flesh hidden under skin and bone matching the bruises decorating her body. Finally, they match.

"Kyle -" she didnt know what she was asking for, the mans name falling broken from iron tinged teeth.

Plucking the bloody mess of gauze from her fingers, Gaz tempered down his own distress after a soft, pained noise, Vaguely, sharps managed to realize her fruends shirt was going to bw ruined between tears and crimson that lazily soaked into the fabric, her cheek pressed over a steady heartbeat, a gentle hand over her hair, arms around her sore body.

Finally broken, the woman allowed herself to sag into the comfort that had been wrapped around her, nearly unaware of concerned voices that approached, the rise of concussion drowning out anything but the pain, and Gaz's steady warmth. The white flag of surrender waved, giving way to exhaustion. Footsteps approached, paused, before the lilt of another thicker accent barely registered in her ringing skull, another hand at the small of her back, sticky hair tucked behind her ear. Her own hands clung to the man whose shirt she had ruined, not needing to open her eyes to know it belonged to sergeant Mactavish. Simon would be along any moment now.

Somehow, Sharps was beginning to feel more relaxed than she had in months. The vague memory of close combat training reminding her of the education that had long since been instilled in her. Tension buildup, release, reduction. Everything has to break. Push past that point and things had to begin to wear down and settle. The realization that the abuse was finally over, that the handprints bruised around her neck would never mark her body again, that she had been found this time, that this was not the end of her... story?

Did she have something worth living? Heavy boots registered on the dull floor, a rough voice laced with anger. Maybe. Either way, for the first time in recent history, with iron heavy on her tongue, she wasn't alone. And maybe that could be enough.

[winters8child]

It´s been a long, long time

Chapter 71

Whenever Nat managed to find a spare moment, she would drop by in the weeks that followed. Each visit brought bits and pieces of her latest missions and updates about Steve. Her reports were always mixed with an undercurrent of concern. Steve had become a shell of his former self, barely speaking to anyone, including her, and retreating into what used to be our shared room. The weight of his isolation was evident in her tone.

They had assigned a new agent to Steve—someone codenamed Agent 13. Nat was unusually vague about her as if she was carefully navigating around a topic she didn’t want to fully address. I couldn't help but suspect that her reticence had something to do with the way Agent 13 was growing closer to Steve. Nat’s evasive answers and the way she changed the subject suggested she was trying to spare me from uncomfortable truths about the new agent’s presence.

We hadn’t really discussed the specifics of this break. Was Steve thinking about dating anyone else? I knew I had no intention of doing so, but perhaps he did. Nat had mentioned that Steve was isolating himself, which didn’t exactly suggest he was keen on pursuing new relationships.

I had so many questions swirling in my mind, but the thought of talking to Steve directly to get answers was more daunting than reassuring. Amidst all this chaos, my thoughts kept drifting to Bucky. I found myself wondering if he had already left for Romania and if our paths would ever cross again. The uncertainty gnawed at me, a constant undercurrent in the sea of my daily distractions.

During this turmoil, I found myself contemplating returning to nursing. Even though I was still receiving payments for being part of the Avengers I kept sending the checks back. There was a sense of purpose in nursing that I missed, a chance to connect with people and help them heal, even as my own heart felt so fractured.

A job seemed like it might offer a much-needed distraction, I thought because living like this felt like a nightmare. No matter how much I tried to rearrange things or hide Steve’s belongings, this place was saturated with our past. Every corner, every object seemed to echo memories of him.

I spent my days waiting for Nat’s visits, clinging to the rare moments of connection. The rest of the time, I was confined to my bed, unable to find any solace in sleep.

My plans to return to a semblance of normalcy were abruptly shattered the day Nat’s call came through, her voice tight with tension. "You need to come to the Compound," she said, each word weighted with urgency. "General Ross wants to talk to us... all of us."

A wave of anxiety surged through me. The idea of going back to the Compound filled me with dread. It wasn’t just the thought of seeing Steve again that unsettled me—it was the crushing realization that I might be drawn back into this life I’d hoped to leave behind forever. The prospect of facing not only him but the entire tangled web of Avengers’ affairs was almost too much to bear.

I made a concerted effort to look human again, even going so far as to apply makeup and slip into a pretty dress. I recalled my mother’s advice: no matter how sad I felt, making myself look good would somehow help lift my spirits. Yet, as I stared at my reflection, meticulously dressed and dolled up, I found myself disagreeing with her. The effort seemed futile; my reflection only highlighted the chasm between the image I projected and the turmoil I felt inside.

I took a cab to the Compound, my heart racing the entire drive as the driver made futile attempts at casual conversation. I barely responded, lost in my own anxious thoughts, and he soon gave up, focusing on the road ahead.

When I stepped into the meeting room, I found everyone already assembled. Nat immediately sprang from her seat and wrapped me in a warm hug, and I clung to the comforting embrace, grateful for her unwavering support.

Sam greeted me next, offering a reassuring pat on the back. "It’s good to have you back," he said with a genuine smile, though his eyes briefly flicked toward Steve. Steve, meanwhile, was engrossed in the pen he was twisting between his fingers, deliberately avoiding eye contact. The atmosphere was heavy with unspoken tension, and Steve’s detachment was palpable, casting a shadow over the room’s otherwise welcoming gestures.

"I'm not really back, Sam, but thanks," I replied with a faint smile as I took a seat in the empty chair next to Nat.

"Ross should be here any minute," Tony said from his spot in the corner, where he was leaning casually, his tone betraying none of the tension that crackled in the room. Everyone else was seated around the table, a silent testament to the gravity of the meeting. Even Wanda was present; Nat had informed me that she was now part of the Avengers. It was hard to push aside the unsettling memories Wanda had once stirred in me, but I reminded myself that it was no longer my concern about who was on the team or why. For now, I had to focus on what was about to unfold.

I dared to glance at Steve for just a second, only to find him already looking at me. He appeared exhausted, with dark circles under his red-rimmed eyes. The sight was jarring, and I raised my eyebrows in surprise at the intensity of his gaze. As he seemed poised to say something, Ross’s abrupt entrance cut through the moment. “Thank you for coming,” he announced with a commanding tone, immediately shifting the room's focus and severing the brief, unspoken connection between Steve and me.

Ross launched into his prepared speech with an authoritative tone. "Five years ago, I had a heart attack. I dropped right in the middle of my backswing. Turned out it was the best round of my life, because after 13 hours of surgery and a triple bypass... I found something 40 years in the Army had never taught me: Perspective. The world owes the Avengers an unpayable debt. You have fought for us, protected us, risked your lives..."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over the room, his expression serious. "But while many people see you as heroes, there are others who would prefer to call you 'vigilantes.'" His words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of unspoken implications, setting the stage for whatever came next.

Natasha locked eyes with Ross, her confidence unwavering. "And what word would you use, Mr. Secretary?" she asked, her voice steady and challenging.

Ross didn’t hesitate, his tone turning stern and accusatory. "How about dangerous?" he replied, letting the word linger in the air like a warning.

Ross continued, his voice growing more pointed. "What would you call a group of U.S.-based, enhanced individuals who routinely ignore sovereign borders, inflict their will wherever they choose, and, frankly, seem unconcerned about what they leave behind?"

The rhetorical question hung in the air, dripping with accusation. He was no longer just addressing the room; he was laying out a case, his words carefully chosen to provoke and challenge the very foundation of what the Avengers stood for.

Ross activated the screen behind him, and it flickered to life, displaying footage of the devastation from New York, Washington D.C., Sokovia, and the most recent incident in Lagos. The scenes were brutal—cities in ruins, people fleeing in terror. The sheer scale of the destruction was horrifying, a stark reminder of the collateral damage left in the wake of these battles.

As the footage shifted, my heart sank. The screen flickered again, and there I was, my face contorted in fury as I shot a Hydra scientist. The image was haunting, capturing a side of me I wished I could forget. I could feel the weight of everyone’s eyes on me, but I was unable to tear my gaze away from the screen as it flickered again, showing another moment—this time, me in an elevator, slamming my gun into a man's face before driving my knee into his stomach. The violent images were a harsh reminder of the lengths I had gone to, and seeing them displayed so starkly made my skin crawl.

The screen shifted one final time, and there I was again—this time on the helicarrier, guns in hand, with the Winter Soldier by my side. The cold, determined expression on my face was unmistakable as I fired at every S.H.I.E.L.D. agent who crossed my path. The relentless, unflinching violence on display felt like a punch to the gut.

Steve finally broke the tense silence, his voice firm but tinged with something close to disbelief. "Okay. That's enough." His eyes were locked on me, and the shock in them was unmistakable. The images had clearly shaken him—images of me doing things he hadn’t known about, things I had never wanted him to see.

The final nail in our broken relationship.

Next Chapter

[angel-of-the-moons]

Hi there! So I hope this isn’t too strange of a request to make. I think your writing is wonderful and I wanted to maybe request something myself? Something somewhat angst but comfort and fluff, being a mother/parental figure to Pavitr and being assigned on a mission with him but everything goes horrifically wrong. (One or two of the assigned unnamed members of the spider society dying in the fallout and having to abort the mission). The survivors of the mission are completely devastated and numb, but reader’s concern is mainly Pavitr? Just finding him either in one of the bathrooms back at HQ or waiting for rescue crying his eyes out, and comforting him and just trying to ease the trauma he’s witnessed. (If that isn’t too much of course! That boy is sunshine incarnate and I want him to at least feel safe in danger *sobs*) 🤍

Oh my god Nonnie you monster genius!

Danger Close

Pavitr Prabhakar x Parental Figure!Reader

TW/CW: Angst, Mentions of Violence, Death, Trauma, Comfort, Injuries

🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷

The moment you stepped through the portal to HQ, the first related image in your mind was a kicked hornet's nest.

Every Spider of shape, species, gender, and size were scrambling, a small alarm blaring in the distance.

You immediately grab one of the other Spiders, another Peter Parker.

"What happened?" You say, trying to sound calm over the chaos flowing around you.

"S-something's happened." The young Peter stammered. "Pavitr and Team 47 were on a mission, and the Green Goblin and Kraven were involved and--"

You put your hand on his shoulder and stoop yourself a bit to be closer to his eye level. "It's okay, kid." You tell him. "Just take a deep breath."

Peter does as you ask, and blurts it out. "Two of them are dead."

Your eyes widen and you grip his shoulder in a soft but tight grip.

"Who--"

"Pavitr is in the med bay, now. It was bad. The others dragged him through the portal, and--"

You didn't need to hear anymore, you fling your wrist out and shoot a string of webs to pull yourself to one of the higher platforms, narrowly avoiding Noir as you go, breaking out in a dead sprint as you speak into your watch.

"Lyla! What's the status of the survivors of Team 47?" You say, breathing hard as you bump shoulders with other Society members as you dash by.

The tiny hologram of the usually snarky woman appeared next to you as you ran, her face fallen behind her heart shaped glasses.

"Hobie had to have some stitches and his arm put in a cast. The other Spider-Woman with them has a severe concussion and was put under medically to help her." Lyla told you.

"Pavitr?" You say, your voice already out of breath. Thought out of concern, shock, or just running you weren't sure at this point as adrenaline flushed your system.

You narrowly avoid stepping on Spider-Cat.

Lyla knew about your soft spot for Pavitr--hell, everyone did. Hobie joked multiple times you should just adopt him already, and even jokingly slapped some crappy handmade adoption papers he scrawled in a notebook on a table in front of you one day.

"Pavitr has a broken arm, a few fractured ribs, some internal damage..." Lyla had begun to rattle off the extent of his injuries, but stopped when she noticed the ever increasing spike in your heart rate and blood pressure.

Finally, you see the sign marking the medical wing.

You make a handbrake turn to the intensive care unit, having to grip the corner of the wall to keep you from sliding into the one opposite of it.

And you see Hobie, looking right pissed, shaking, as a Spider-Woman in a nurse-like costume tries to console him, to calm him down.

But Hobie punches the wall next to him and curses loudly.

His demeanor changes when he sees you get close. He shrinks, almost. Practically unheard of for Hobie Brown, of all people.

The way he says your name tugs at your heart, as does the look in his eyes. Haunted, in pain. Guilty.

"I... I messed up." Hobie blurts, his voice hollow, looking down at you. "The one corner I didn't check, and those bastards--Pavitr pushed me out of the way and--I fucked up."

You put your hand on his cheek to calm him, briefly. "You didn't mess up, Hobie. These things happen. We know this every time we put on our suits. Where's Pavitr?"

Hobie swallows the lump of concrete in his throat, and lifts his head to one of the rooms, the glass doors covered by the curtains that were pulled inside.

You punch in your ID number and the door slides open, allowing you into the sterile-smelling suite.

A Spider-Man wearing what almost looks like a military medic uniform turns to look at you.

"Right, Hobie said you'd..."

His voice was cut off when Pavitr shakily called out your name.

When the Spider-Medic moved, you felt like your heart had been cracked in two.

Pavitr Prabhakar. The Spider-Man who was the biggest ray of sunshine ever, looked shell-shocked. His face pale, bruised. His leg was in a cast all the way from the knee down; cuts in his skin were bandaged and stitched shut. His arm was in a sling, the bandages across his chest already having small blotches where blood has begun to seep through.

You didn't like the size of the bloody bandage across his abdomen.

Pavitr. Poor Pavitr. First the death of his uncle, and now this horror up close.

You immediately move to his bedside and your hands are outstretched, open, but unsure what to do as the Medic mumbles something and checks his charts, leaving to give you privacy.

Pavitr immediately latched onto you with his good arm, burying his face in your chest with weak, boyish sobs as he babbled about how he couldn't save them. How he almost couldn't save Hobie, the man who was like a big brother to him, and the other Spider-Woman on the team.

You gently pet his hair, muttering soft gentle things to him, to try and ease him through what looks like a guilt-induced panic attack.

"I'm--I'm sorry." He hiccuped, shaking, wincing as sobs wracked his injured body. "Now they can't go home..."

"Hush, Pavitr." You murmur, giving a soft kiss to his hair, in a loving paternal gesture of comfort.

"You know they wouldn't blame you."

"B-but--"

"Hush, now, Sunshine." You coo, smoothing his hair beneath your hands as you hold him to you and essentially let him use your suit as his handkerchief.

"It's like I told Hobie... He's blaming himself too, you know. He thinks it's all his fault... Like you do. Like you're blaming yourself right now, honey." Your tone is gentle, patient, and you hope it sounds convincing enough to hide your shaking hands and trembling breaths.

"It's a risk we all take. The moment we first decided to become heroes. We all know this is a possible outcome every time we go on a mission. A sacrifice some of us will have to make, at some point in our lives."

You let out a wary breath as Pavitr sobs silently, clinging to you like a child desperate for the safety of his parents.

"Don't ever blame yourself. These things happen. They happen to normal people every day. This is just one thing we have in common with them."

Pavitr lifts his face, tears down his cheeks and nose running.

"But I could have done something..." He says, his bottom lip wobbling.

You wanted to cry for him.

You reach out to the bedside table and grab some tissues, easing onto the bed with him to gently clean his face.

"Hush, now... hush." You soothe as you toss the tissues into the bin.

You move yourself up, sitting next to him fully as he clings to you again. He does this sometimes, clinging like a koala bear baby to people he likes. He does it with you and Hobie the most.

It wasn't just cuddling this time, or a gesture of affection. He needed comfort.

"Can you stay with me?" He sniffles.

"As long as you want me to, Sunshine." You say softly, wrapping your arms around him.

[lovemylegcasts]

Mr. Pendleton stood at the front of the room with his attendance clipboard in one hand and a look of amused disbelief on his face. It was Thursday morning, and his seventh-grade homeroom looked… different. For one, four students had their desks moved to the edges of the room. Each sat in modified chairs or low recliners with their legs extended — and every single one of them had both legs in fiberglass casts.

“Okay,” he said slowly, glancing from Rebecca to Thad to Alexander to Ezra, “I have to ask... how?”

Rebecca’s hand went up first. “If you're about to assume this was a group stunt or something, we swear it wasn’t.”

“No,” Mr. Pendleton said, “I’m just trying to understand the odds of four students in my class showing up with double leg casts in the same week.”

“Well,” Rebecca said, “mine happened last Thursday. I was skiing with my cousin over the long weekend. Caught an edge wrong and flipped.”

“Both legs?” Mr. Pendleton asked.

Rebecca nodded, the tips of her blue-casted feet poking out from under a blanket she had draped over her legs. “Fractured tibias. The ER doc said it was a ‘clean fall,’ whatever that means. I just remember seeing snow and sky at the same time.”

“And the matching blue casts?” he asked.

“I like symmetry,” she said, with a small shrug. “And I knew I was going to be stuck like this for a while. Might as well look put-together.”

Before he could respond, Thad chimed in from across the room. “I fell off my grandma’s porch.”

Everyone turned toward him. Thad was sprawled across two beanbag chairs, his legs in bright pink fiberglass casts propped on a short table. His toes stuck out at the ends, completely bare.

“You fell how?” Mr. Pendleton asked.

“It was icy,” Thad said defensively. “I was trying to help carry in groceries, slipped on the top step, and landed wrong. Clean break on both ankles. It wasn’t even a cool fall.”

“You picked pink?” Ezra called out from the other corner.

“They didn’t have green,” Thad muttered.

Mr. Pendleton moved to jot a few notes on his clipboard, then paused and glanced at Ezra. “And let me guess. You got your casts over the weekend too?”

Ezra nodded. His casts were a sharp, almost neon orange, and he had both legs resting on a rolled-up sleeping bag. His orange toes wiggled occasionally in the cool air.

“Roller derby,” Ezra said casually, as if it were a common hobby. “My older sister’s team needed someone to fill in for practice. I was just messing around, wasn’t supposed to go full-contact, but… yeah. Took a hit, landed on the rail.”

There was a pause.

“You… were doing roller derby?” Mr. Pendleton asked.

“Trying to impress someone,” Ezra admitted. “Didn’t work.”

The class laughed.

Mr. Pendleton finally turned to Alexander, who had his matching blue casts resting on an ottoman borrowed from the teacher’s lounge. His toes were stiff and still, only occasionally flexing.

“I don’t even want to guess,” Mr. Pendleton said. “Tell me yours involved a dragon or time travel.”

“Wet stairs,” Alexander said. “Leaving the dentist. Slipped and boom — landed knees-first, shins caught the edge. Hairline fractures in both legs. I didn’t even get any candy after.”

“Blue too?” Rebecca asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I picked it before I knew you had blue,” Alexander said quickly.

Rebecca gave him a skeptical look. “Uh-huh.”

Mr. Pendleton lowered his clipboard. “So let me get this straight. Four students. Four separate accidents. Four pairs of broken legs. One class.”

“It’s just coincidence,” Ezra said. “A weird, cursed coincidence.”

“Maybe we’re trending,” Thad offered. “We’re going to start a thing. Dual-cast-core.”

Mr. Pendleton sighed. “Well, I hope not. The nurse is already ordering more wheelchair ramps, and I had to move an entire row of desks to create a clear path.”

Alexander leaned back. “At least we’re not doing gym class this month.”

“I heard Coach Linton gave up and just assigned essays,” Rebecca said.

“Bet he’s terrified someone else is going to come in with full leg casts,” Ezra grinned.

“Honestly, I’m kind of impressed,” Mr. Pendleton said, arms crossed. “In my twenty years of teaching, I’ve had the occasional crutch, the boot, maybe one or two kids in wheelchairs. But this?” He gestured toward the four of them. “This is new.”

Thad lifted his foot slightly. “At least our toes match. All out and everything.”

“Speak for yourself,” Rebecca said. “My big toe keeps getting cold.”

“I’m going to draw little faces on mine,” Ezra added, already reaching for a marker. “Give them names. Get to know them better.”

“No one wants to see that,” Alexander groaned.

Mr. Pendleton couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, make yourselves comfortable. Just please — no more injuries. I don’t think the janitor can handle another wheelchair backup in the elevator.”

“Deal,” all four of them said at once.

And as the bell rang and students shuffled in, the sight of four casted pairs of legs — blue, pink, orange, and blue again — became just another strange, unforgettable feature of Mr. Pendleton’s already unusual school year.

[reliantemergencyroom]

Navigating the Emergency Room with Pediatric Care: A Comprehensive Guide for Parents

Emergencies involving children can be distressing experiences for any parent or caregiver. Whether it's a sudden illness, injury, or unexpected symptoms, knowing how to navigate the pediatric emergency room with pediatric (ER) is crucial for ensuring prompt and effective care for your child. In this comprehensive guide, we'll explore everything you need to know about the pediatric ER, from understanding when to go, what to expect, and how to advocate for your child's needs.

Understanding When to Go:

Recognizing when a child needs emergency medical attention is the first step in ensuring timely care. While some situations may be clear-cut emergencies, others may leave parents feeling uncertain. Here are some common scenarios that warrant a trip to the pediatric ER:

Difficulty Breathing: Any signs of respiratory distress, such as wheezing, rapid breathing, or bluish discoloration of the lips, require immediate medical attention.

Severe Injuries: Falls, head injuries, fractures, deep cuts, or burns that require medical intervention should be evaluated in the ER.

High Fever: A fever in infants under three months old or a fever above 104°F in older children warrants a trip to the ER, especially if accompanied by lethargy or other concerning symptoms.

Persistent Vomiting or Diarrhea: Dehydration can quickly become a concern in young children experiencing severe vomiting or diarrhea.

Altered Mental Status: Confusion, lethargy, seizures, or any other sudden changes in mental status should be evaluated promptly.

Allergic Reactions: Severe allergic reactions, such as difficulty breathing, swelling of the face or throat, or widespread hives, require immediate medical attention.

Persistent Pain: Severe or persistent abdominal pain, headache, or other types of pain that do not improve with over-the-counter medication may indicate a serious underlying condition.

What to Expect:

Navigating the pediatric ER can be overwhelming, but understanding what to expect can help alleviate some anxiety. Here's what typically happens during a visit to the pediatric ER:

Triage: Upon arrival, a nurse will assess your child's condition and assign a priority level based on the severity of their symptoms.

Medical Evaluation: A doctor or advanced practice provider will conduct a thorough medical evaluation, which may include asking about your child's symptoms, performing a physical examination, and ordering diagnostic tests such as blood tests, imaging studies, or X-rays.

Treatment: Depending on your child's diagnosis, they may receive treatment in the ER, such as medications, IV fluids, wound care, or splinting for fractures.

Observation: In some cases, your child may need to be observed in the ER for a period of time to monitor their condition or response to treatment.

Discharge or Admission: After receiving treatment, your child may be discharged home with instructions for follow-up care, or they may need to be admitted to the hospital for further observation or treatment.

Advocating for Your Child:

As a parent or caregiver, you are your child's best advocate in the healthcare setting. Here are some tips for advocating for your child in the pediatric ER:

Be Informed: Ask questions, seek clarification, and make sure you understand your child's diagnosis, treatment plan, and follow-up care instructions.

Communicate Effectively: Provide accurate and detailed information about your child's symptoms, medical history, allergies, and any medications they are taking.

Voice Your Concerns: If you have concerns about your child's care or treatment plan, don't hesitate to speak up and express your concerns to the medical team.

Follow Up: Make sure to follow up with your child's primary care provider or specialist as recommended for continued care and monitoring.

Trust Your Instincts: You know your child best. If something doesn't seem right or if you're worried about your child's condition, trust your instincts and seek medical attention.

Conclusion:

Navigating the pediatric ER can be a stressful experience for parents, but being prepared and knowing what to expect can help alleviate some of the anxiety. By understanding when to go, what to expect, and how to advocate for your child's needs, you can ensure prompt and effective care for your child in the event of a medical emergency. Remember, you are not alone—medical professionals are here to help you and your child every step of the way.

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Ask Idea! (Any version of these two Links!)

Time being a “Dad” for Legend.

(@thepinklink @hermitdrabbles56 @triforce-of-mischief @servantprincess come enjoy)

The emergency department was fairly abandoned as Time entered. The surgeon made his way directly to the charge nurse station and saw Warriors coordinating some bed assignments to get patients to the floors where they needed to go upon admission. When the charge nurse finally finished his task, he let out a sigh of relief upon noticing Time.

"Your patient's in the 300 block," Warriors said. "Census is finally low enough that I have an actual excuse to kick him out. Please help."

"How many?" Time asked, more out of morbid curiosity than anything.

"This is night eleven."

The surgeon's eyes widened. Eleven? He remembered his residency days when he would work well over a hundred hours in a week and was on the brink of insanity while being expected to work. Eleven shifts... that made for, what, 132 hours?

"Eleven consecutive shifts?" he repeated.

"Yeah," Warriors confirmed tiredly. "It isn't safe, Time. For anyone. I'm not letting management get away with it. Get him out of here."

With that, the conversation was cut off as the phone rang and Warriors had to start dealing with another situation. Time watched him a moment longer and then sighed, heading for the area sectioned off for the 300 rooms.

The emergency department was divided into several "blocks" of rooms, usually separated by acuity. The 100s were the "primary care" rooms, where patients who really didn't have an emergency but had nowhere else to go would be sorted. The 200s were the behavioral health area, secluded from the rest of the ER with doors that were always closed to mute the noise of the rest of the department. The 300s and 400s were the acutely ill while the 500s were the critically ill, and the 600s was the pediatric block.

The 300s wasn't far from the charge nurse station, so it didn't take Time long to reach the open area. The nurse station for each block sat in the center of the room so they could easily see all their patients, alongside the "doc box," where the physicians worked. Off to the left side of the nurse's station was the person in question.

Legend sat in front of a computer, a patient's chart open with an assessment half charted. Legend had his head propped on his right fist, his left hand absentmindedly typing words until the computer autocompleted them and he'd tab to the next box.

"Legend?" Time prompted as he approached him.

The travel nurse perked up slightly, some energy lighting his dull eyes. "Hey. Can I help you? They... they didn't put in a trauma consult for the guy in 12, it's a simple fracture. Right?"

"Nobody put in for a trauma consult," Time assured him, resting his hands on the counter in front of him. Legend looked very small and, for lack of a better word, defeated.

They stared at each other for a moment longer, Legend clearly not processing what was going on, and the nurse eventually settled his eyes back on charting with a noncommittal hum of acknowledgement.

"Legend."

The nurse's eyes gazed back up at the surgeon.

"Warriors changed assignments," Time explained. "Someone is picking up your patients."

"I only have one," Legend remarked confusedly. "Wait, what? Shouldn't I be picking up someone's assignment? Why are you even talking about--what?"

"He told me you had one patient, who is waiting for some paperwork from the physician and then is getting discharged," Time said slowly, gently tapping his fingers on the counter as he waited for Legend to process his words. "Which means you really don't have much of a patient assignment right now."

"Yes...?"

"You're going home, Legend."

Legend blinked. Then he blinked again.

Before he could argue, another nurse slid in beside him, stating exactly what Time had just articulated. Legend stared between the two, baffled.

"Then what am I...?"

"You're. Going. Home." Time repeated, stressing each word.

The travel nurse's coworker cleared her throat with a smile, and Legend hastily gave her report before staring at Time once more.

Then it finally seemed to click.

"What kind of bullsh--"

"Legend."

"Why the hell did that idiot think he could send me home--"

"Legend."

"What, does he think things are going to stay calm just because census has settled? I swear, the instant I leave the hospital the waiting room's gonna flood--"

"Legend!" Time finally said a little louder, making the travel nurse jump at his snappish tone. Then the surgeon settled. "Don't worry about what's happening here. That's Warriors' job. You've been working far too much lately."

"They're short staffed," Legend argued, motioning at the barren nurse's station. "What the hell was I going to do, just let them flounder?"

Time sighed and put a hand on his shoulder. "Your sentiment is admirable and good, Legend, but wearing yourself to the bone isn't going to help, either. You'll burn out and fall apart, and they'll be short staffed all the same."

"You're saying I'm replaceable," Legend grumbled, looking at the ground.

"I'm saying you can't help them if you have nothing left to give," Time corrected him patiently, understanding that the nurse's exhaustion was no doubt going to lead to irritability and false assumptions.

"I have plenty to give," Legend fired back, taking a step away and stumbling. "I'll--"

Here he faltered, scrambling for an argument and unable to find one. Time crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow, making the travel nurse wave at him dismissively with an irritated tch.

"Where are you going?" Time asked as Legend walked away.

"To see if I'm needed elsewhere," was the terse reply.

"Legend," Time warned. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way."

The travel nurse froze, throwing a seething glare in his direction. "What, you think you can boss me around like you do Twilight or Wild? I'm not your kid, and I'm not part of your little war veteran posse either. What difference do I make, shouldn't you be in surgery or something? Pretty sure you have a job you're supposed to be doing."

Time took a steadying breath and walked towards Legend. His silence intimidated the travel nurse far more than his words did, and Legend took a wary step away. "What are you--"

With a swift motion, Time reached forward and slung the travel nurse over his shoulder, Legend squealing in alarm. A curious family member peeked out of one of the rooms, but beyond that Legend's hemming and hawing did little to change the situation.

Time had to admit, he was impressed at the combination of curse words the travel nurse was coming up with, though.

By the time they reached the alcove just outside the staff room for the ED, Legend had settled a little, only occasionally cussing Time out, jumping to different languages when he felt particularly irate.

"You need to clock out."

"Fuck you."

"All right, you can deal with it later."

They reached the entrance to the waiting room, and Time finally paused. "Am I going to have to carry you out of here, or will you walk with me?"

Legend's death grip on Time's shirt eased a little, followed by a defeated sigh. "Fine, dammit, I'll walk with you. Just put me down."

With that settled, Time slowly eased Legend to the ground, watching the nurse stumble a little with a dizzy spell. He steadied him by his shoulders, and Legend hissed, pushing him away.

Time furrowed his brow. "What compels you to think you can singlehandedly save everything and everyone, Legend?"

Legend's glare lost its bite, and he looked away. "It's my job, damn it. I'm a travel nurse, we come in to help departments who don't have enough nurses. This is what people rely on me for."

"Well, I don't know what your other assignments did to abuse you so much that you think eleven shifts is acceptable," Time stated, his words softened by his gentle tone. "But you have support here. We're not letting you burn yourself out like this."

"I'm not burnt out!"

Time stared at him until Legend withered under his gaze. He didn't have to rub salt in the wound. Instead, he just said, "Let's go."

Legend followed him somberly to the exit. The longer they walked, though, the more confused the young man became.

"Wait, my car's in a different deck. Where are we going?"

"I'm driving you home."

"What?" Legend stopped in the middle of the parking deck. "Come on, old man, I can handle driving myself home. Do you trust me that little?"

"You do realize that the level of exhaustion you're at probably makes you as addled as if you were drunk?" Time threw back. "You're coming home with me, Ledge. Someone has to take care of you since you don't seem to know how to take care of yourself."

Surprisingly, this didn't merit another string of curses or a fit. Instead, Legend deflated, suddenly out of energy to argue. Time left him be, willing to give the boy some space since he'd been manhandling him so much already. Instead, he unlocked his car and walked towards it, opening the passenger door. Legend dragged his feet over, sliding in silently and buckling up.

The travel nurse was out like a light before they even left the parking deck.

[fandomsonrequests]

unexpected friend

fandom: ATEEZ

characters: choi san

reader: fem

word count: 5.4k

summary:  fate decided to test this decade long feud between you and choi san

notes: enemies to lovers AU, toxic themes, character death, substance abuse (it’s not explicit) such as alcohol and cigarettes, heavy themes, language, violence 

You had no idea where it started— you just knew that you hated Choi San with every fiber of your being. And unsurprisingly, the feeling is mutual with you.

Maybe it started in kindergarten when he accidentally pushed you to the ground in the game of tag. You got so mad at him, saying that he meant it when he obviously didn’t, calling him stupid because “all boys are stupid.”. Or maybe it started when you knocked over his tower of building blocks as revenge. Or was it when he dipped your pigtails in paint to get back at you? Or maybe the time he spread rumors that you had cooties causing everyone to avoid you like the plague.

Whatever the reason, it spiraled into a childhood rivalry that continued as you grew older. The endless cycle of cat versus dog, taking revenge on one another, followed into grade school, where you reached your horse phase and he reached his gun dam phase. It was inevitable you’d see him again— you both lived in a fairly small town after all.

Petty actions like drawing on the other’s homework turned into stealing each other’s lunches or setting some sort of prank at each other’s seats— whatever your ten-year-old brains could think of. Your screaming matches grew even worse and at one point, you both started throwing punches. The teachers always had to watch you during breaks because eventually, you’d be on top of each other and pulling at each other’s hair.

San had an advantage of course since he took taekwondo, you always ended up as the loser. But in retaliation, you managed to convince your mother to enroll you in some other martial art to protect yourself. And when you won your first little fistfight— you always made sure to lord it over him.

“Hah, you got beat by a little girl! Not so tough now huh potato-head?”

“Shut up horse-face!”

San saw your kindness and charisma towards others as an act. It was your own way of reeling others in to be on your side, gathering some sort of army to help you gang up against him. You on the other hand managed to convince yourself that his cute little dimples and selflessness for others was a facade, You couldn’t believe how many people he’s managed to fool or turn against you. And you’ve always hated him for that. You let it fester as you go through grade school and towards middle school. That hatred you harbored for him was always lit inside you.

Your parents and his were always apologizing to each other during parent-teacher meetings or school events, having to hold you back from jumping on one another. Your dad had given up on the whole thing so he was totally useless; that left you to run to your mother for comfort. Whatever the situation was, at the end of the day, she was always on your side.

“Things will blow over soon. But please, honey, try to stay out of trouble for me?”

So when she died in your junior year of high school, you couldn’t help but feel alone. Your dad had taken to smoking to cope with the loss, marrying a woman who was in love with alcohol while bringing her two hellish twin daughters with her into your home. Things grew miserable for you at home; your dad became a pathetic pushover, letting his new wife run the household. That made you angry— how could he get over your mother so easily? How could he let himself get walked over like that? How could he ignore the way your older step-sisters trampled all over you?

How could he let all this happen?

San’s endless taunting at school didn’t help either. His harmless pranks grew worse as time passed: spray-painting some nasty words on your locker, or setting a bucket of paint on top of the gym doors since you’re always the last one to head out. You’d heed your mother’s words, always doing your best to ignore him. For a while, it had worked and he pestered you less than usual but your mom’s death and the situation at home had triggered something in you, making you snap back. You’d shove his face down into his food during lunch or knock his books down the stairwell whenever you pass by each other. You had even managed to sneak some of the insects from the lab into his gym clothes, causing him to end up with nasty rashes all over his body for a week.

Your physical fights weren’t frequent but they became more violent, with one or both of you having to go to the nurses, holding an ice pack to your busted lips while a piece of gauze was stuck up his bloodied nose. It took several students or even teachers to pull you apart because most of the time no one wanted to jump in and separate you two; it was always so messy with fists and kicks flying everywhere. There was even one point where you both had to go to the hospital for fractured bones. You were both suspended for a week.

Fortunately, things had toned down now that you both were in your final year of high school with the pressure of college and meeting requirements looming over you. Although, neither of you managed to make up. You’d still exchange some foul words but the stupid pranks and fights had simmered down. That never meant you were on good terms though.

But then fate decided to be a little shit and put you in a situation you never thought you’d find yourself in.

Your new biology teacher didn’t seem to be informed about the decade-long feud between you and San. So when she assigned the both of you as partners, you felt your heart drop to your stomach as a sick feeling crawled over you. You wanted to cry and throw up at the same time- that’s just how much you despised him. You both tried to plead with her to change partners but she was as stubborn as a mule, insisting that you two can “sort out your differences” and finish this project as a team.

And now here you were, avoiding each other’s stares despite being sat next to each other. The proximity between you two was suffocating, it made it hard to focus on the project being explained to you by your cruel teacher. Your skin tingles unpleasantly whenever either of you shifted in your seat, your arms just several centimeters away from touching each other. Many thoughts ran through your head on how you can get out of this. But you knew that you had to find some time to work on the damn thing together or else you’d flunk high school— and being stuck in community college, never being able to leave this town, was not worth hitting San at the back of the head and gloating at him.

“You have the rest of the period to plan with each other. Make sure to have your presentation set and ready for next week.” Your teacher says and sits at her desk.

The room was filled with chatter as the students started conversing with each other. Many pairs threw knowing stares at you, worried that you’d be at each other’s throats. Surprisingly you weren’t… at least not yet anyway.

For a while, neither of you said anything to each other. San simply scrolled through his phone hidden under his desk while you organized your final notes. Minutes tick by and the class slowly comes to an end. With a heavy sigh, you decided to swallow your pride and talk to the guy.

You turn to the boy, roughly shoving his knee with yours and he sends you an irritated glare. “C’mon we need to plan for this.” You deadpan, ignoring the look he gave you.

San returned the sigh and pocketed his phone, shifting to face you. “Alright then. So what’s the plan?”

“That’s what we’re supposed to be talking about, dumbass.” You mutter, growing irritated. You clench your fists together in an attempt to keep your calm before continuing. “Anyway, we’re supposed to make some model of the nerve cells then present it.”

San stays quiet for a moment before speaking up. “My sister has some spare clay and wires from her sculpting hobby. I could ask for some.”

“Great. You work on that while I work on the script.” You conclude before going back to your notes.

“Hold on- you’re gonna leave me with all of the hard work?”

“We have the same workload?? I’m making the script.”

“That’s easy- scripts can be finished within a day or something.” San shot back, finding the arrangement you had set, without his consultation by the way, as unfair.

“Then I’ll help you when I’m done. Quit whining like a bitch.” You sigh, having no energy to continue the argument with him.

“Asshat…” He mumbles under his breath, pulling out his phone to text his sister. He expected some sort of retaliation from you but you simply remained quiet. That was odd- considering that you never missed the chance to have the last word in. Maybe you just weren’t feeling it today.

Nevertheless, he ignored you, deciding that it wasn’t worth pestering you at the moment. The bell rings, signaling the end of the class, and you’re immediately up and out of your seat, stuffing your notebook into your bag and swinging it over your shoulder. It almost hits San’s cheek in the process but you were already walking out the door before he could call you out on it.

“Geez…” He huffs and keeps his own things, glaring after you while hoping that time would fly by fast so that the project was done and over with.

~~

A few days have passed by since the biology class. True enough, you’ve finished writing and even printing the script within the day the project was assigned to you. So now you were stuck helping out San with sculpting the whole model. You two would work together at the back of the library after school. Initially the librarian was hesitant about letting the two of you inside given your reputation and all. But when she saw that neither of you were at each other’s throats, surprisingly, she allowed for you to work on it in the library.

Of course you and San still had some disputes— how it’s supposed to be positioned, what shape it’s supposed to take, yadda yadda. But it had never escalated into a full blown argument because it always ended up with you taking the blow of his harsh words. That alone started to concern the boy, you’d always get back at him. But your resigned silence after every quip he threw at you started to worry him. Sure he hated your guts but San wasn’t a nasty person. He knew something was bothering you. But, he never took the initiative to ask what was bothering you; it wasn’t his problem anyway.

~~

A weekend away from Monday aka the day of your presentation. The model was almost done— it just needed a paint job. Since it was a Saturday afternoon, meaning the school was closed, neither of you were able to work at your usual spot. So San decided to just take the whole thing to your home to finish it. Of course he could finish the whole thing himself but he had a party to attend later in the evening, and he didn’t want to miss out on it.

He arrives at your home, model in one hand and a crate of paints in the other. He takes note of the absence of your dad’s and step-sister’s cars in the driveway and assumed that you were all out. He sighs in frustration, hoping that that wasn’t the case. Jogging up to the porch, the boy sets down the crate and rings the doorbell a couple of times, foot tapping against the wooden floorboards as he waits.

When there was no response after a few minutes he tried again, this time ringing the doorbell a bit more frantically. Before he could turn around and head back home after getting no response, he hears frantic footsteps scurrying inside and steps back as the door swings open. There you were, hair looking like a bird’s nest while your week-old cardigan hung off your shoulders. There were dark circles under your eyes and you looked like a hobo who had the opportunity to clean after themselves. In other words: you were a mess.

“The fuck are you doing here?” You snap the minute your hazy mind registers that San was standing at your door.

The said boy snaps out of his own trance and shoves the model in your face. “We need to finish this.”

You stare at the figure in his hand then to the crate by his foot and then to his face that displayed an expectant expression. You sigh and rub your face. “Couldn’t you have finished it yourself?”

“I’m busy later.”

Another sigh leaves you and you step back to let him in. He enters the house, leaving his shoes by the door as he looks around the place. It was a bit messier than he had expected. There were rumpled coats hanging off of the arm of the couch, a small pack of cigarettes and a few bottles of cheap beer on the coffee table. The wallpaper was starting to fade with a few faint stains here and there.

San stays quiet as he follows you through the house, seeing the small stack of dishes waiting to be washed in the sink. He turns back to look at you, finding your silence as unnerving. You only trudged up the stairs, motioning for you to follow him. He expected to see you turn down the hallway and enter one of the rooms but was quite surprised to see you stop by a frayed rope hanging from the ceiling of the hall. You reach up and tug down on it, revealing the ladder towards the attic.

“Don’t tell me you live up there,” San jabs.

“Yeah and what of it?” You grumble, sending him a tired glare over your shoulder before climbing up the ladder.

He was stunned into silence when he realized that you were serious. He bites his tongue and refrains from jeering at you, handing the box of paints to you before climbing up. Several thoughts ran through his mind— why was your room in an attic? And since when did you start smoking and drinking? Was it even yours?

His head pokes into the surprisingly clean but small room. Your bed was pressed up near the slanted wall of the roof, several polaroids of you, your few friends, and your mother plastered along it. On the opposite side was your desk and your wardrobe whose paint was starting to chip off. Several boxes, labeled and not labeled, were pushed to the corner of the room, stacked in a way for them to take up less space.

San looks to you rummaging through your desk, probably finding a brush or something. He wordlessly steps into the room and pulls the rope, closing the trapdoor beneath him. He turns to you again and before he could stop himself, he found himself blurting the question that was plaguing his mind: “What the hell happened to you?”

You turn on your heel, almost knocking over the picture frame of you and your mom. Your hand reached out to steady it before answering San. “You’re going to have to be a little more specific than that.”

“Why do you live up here?” He motioned to the whole attic space with his arm. “Don’t you have a room downstairs?”

“I do.” You simply say and take the crate of paints, pulling out the needed colors and some paper cups for you to place them in.

When you don’t elaborate, San squats down to your level on the ground and tugs the purple paint tube out your hand. “What happened to it?”

“Why do you care?” You snatch the tube back with a hiss, preparing all the things needed. “It’s none of your business…”

The boy sighs, running a hand through his dark locks. He nibbles at his cheeks, carefully going over what he wanted to say. “...look, _____,” he starts, voice surprisingly gentle. “You don’t have to tell me everything but you don’t have to keep everything in.”

You don’t answer him or make any move to acknowledge what he had said. But you were listening; part of you decided to take down your walls for just a moment and hear what he has to say. And San seemed to sense this because he continues.

“I’m not gonna say that ‘I’m here for you’ and all that crap but, there are people who're willing to listen to you. Whatever you’re going through right now, no matter how big or small it is, you don’t have to go through it alone.”

Again, you don’t respond. A moment of silence full of high strung tension passed by. It was only a few seconds but it felt longer than that— especially since you both stopped in what you were doing and stared at the ground or at each other’s hands.

You always hated San but you couldn’t help but sense the sincerity in his words. It’s kind of pathetic but at the moment, his genuinity, the softness of the way he spoke was what you were craving for. At that moment, you just wanted assurance that things will be okay and that whatever you were doing in life wasn’t useless. And the guy you seemed to hate most was offering you that.

Tears prick at your eyes and you hastily brush it away with the sleeve of your cardigan, refusing to show any weakness to your nemesis. But it was hard; once the tears started flowing it was difficult for you to stop. You play it off by finishing up in preparing the paints, suppressing any hiccups or sobs that would escape before eventually giving up and bringing your legs up to your chin, crying into your sweats. Fuck it if San sees.

You curled up into yourself, crying into your pants when you felt a gentle but hesitant hand on your shoulder. You jolt at the touch, seeing San back away quickly. His brows were furrowed in concern and his lips were pursed, almost as if he were thinking about what he was going to say.

“G-go on, gloat,” You hiccup, choking on your tears. “I look like a m-mess anyway…”

You were surprised, and a little bit embarrassed, that he didn’t follow with what you said. Instead, he reached into his pocket, pulling out a small packet of tissues and handing it over to you. He looked up to your desk, seeing your water container on your desk. He stands up to take it, shaking it to check if there was still some water in it, before placing it by your foot.

“I’m not going to lie, you are a mess,” San says before returning to his previous spot on the floor. “But I guess that’s normal when you’re having a shitty day.”

“More like a shitty life…” You mumble. You chug down the rest of your water, managing to stop your tears as you wipe them away with the tissues. You look up at the boy across you and sigh heavily. “It’s my step-mom,” you say.

“I’m sorry?”

“My step-mom. She made me move up here so that her daughters could take my room.” You explain. “My dad didn’t say anything because he’s a pushover, wasting his life away on cigarettes and the alcohol his wife buys…”

San nods slowly in understanding, finally making sense of what he saw in the living room and kitchen. That explained a lot of things: why you would always faintly smell of alcohol or nicotine a few months after your mother had died. It had honestly shocked him to hear that— your dad and step-mom always looked presentable in public. Your step-sisters were a bit more extravagant but neat nonetheless. The way they talked and carried themselves didn’t seem to indicate that they had any substance addiction.

Thinking back on it, it had also explained why you were so irate and moody almost all the time, leading to you losing some friends in high school as you fell back into yourself or into violence. It was a defense mechanism— you didn’t want to seem vulnerable because at home, you were vulnerable enough.

An idea pops into his head and he promptly stands up, momentarily making you jump from his sudden movement. You look up at him, puzzled. “What?”

“Come with me.”

“What???”

“I said get up and come with me.” San says and actually held his hand out to you.

You look at it skeptically before looking up at him, contemplating about any consequences in following him— if there were any. He wiggles his fingers, impatiently coaxing you to join him and you finally make up your mind. Might as well follow him; you had nothing to lose anyway.

You swat his hand away to get up on your own, mumbling something along the lines that you could get up yourself before straightening yourself out and placing your hands on your hips. He gives a satisfied nod and grabs his shoes to put them on. He then kicks open the trapdoor before heading back down for you to follow.

He returns to the living room with you trailing behind, still wondering where exactly he wanted you to go. When you glance at the clock you see that it’s already 5:30 in the afternoon. Your thoughts were interrupted when you felt something land by your feet. You whipped your head around to see San pointing at your shoes which he probably threw at you from the door.

“We’re heading out for a while.” He says as he exits your house. You take a moment to process what was happening when he pops his head in. “Come on slowpoke.” He ushers you.

You hastily throw on your shoes, grabbing the house keys hanging by the coat rack, and hop out of the house. You lock the door behind you and approach San who was sitting upon his notoriously loud motorbike. “Where are we going?” You ask, settling down behind him.

Your arms awkwardly flutter beside you, opting to hold onto whatever space was left on your seat. You jump in surprise when you hear and feel the engine roar to life, eliciting an amused chuckle from the boy in front of you. You glare at the back of his head, smacking his shoulder and settling yourself once more.

“Hold on tight,” San tells you as he revs up the motorbike.

“I am.” You argue and strengthen your grip on the seat, shaking the bike a little to emphasize your point.

“No you aren’t.” You feel heat rise to your face when he tutted in annoyance, taking your arms and placing them around his waist. “There you go. See? No harm done.”

You only grumble something in response, making him chuckle to himself. It was a bit strange to see you tame like this. Sure it kind of boosted his ego considering that he managed to make you flustered with just a few words and a simple action but he actually kind of liked it when you weren’t at each other’s throats. He revved up the engine again before taking off and speeding down the road.

The evening breeze is cool as it whips through your hair and brushes against you, sending small goosebumps running down your skin. A small yelp escapes you when San picks up speed, causing your grip on him to tighten. He glanced back at you for a moment before taking the turn that exits the town and towards the road uphill. It led to the small forest that overlooked the city; it was a popular place in town for hiking or camping. You remember going there to play as a kid.

The air gets chillier as you both reach a higher altitude. You unconsciously nuzzle closer to the boy in front of you in an attempt to seek some body heat. The sky grows darker, turning into a deeper blue shade as the night slowly creeps upon the town. Some stars start to peek and settle themselves in the dark blanket of the sky by the time San slows down to a stop. He had stopped by the edge of the forest, a metal railing along the opposite end to keep people or vehicles from falling off the edge.

“We’re here.” San says and looks back at you. “You can let go if you want now.”

At that, you peel yourself away from him and hop off his bike mumbling something about how cocky he was while walking over to the railings. He joins you soon after, keeping a respectable distance from you. None of you say anything at first, simply taking in the view of the city in front of you. Now know why San took you out here: to breathe and clear your mind of things; something that you didn’t know you needed at the moment.

The spot you were in allowed you to overlook the town, seeing the lights from the roads and houses down below. You could spot the water tower in the distance along with the radio tower next to it. As you survey the scene before you, you make out one house in the distance with a multitude of colored lights flashing around it.

“Looks like someone’s having a party.” You muse, finally breaking the silence.

San hums in acknowledgement. “I hope they aren’t missing me.”

It takes a moment for you to understand what he said, perking up when it made sense to you. “So that’s what you meant when you were ‘busy.’” You say as you lightly punch his arm. “You’re such an ass.”

“What? I wasn’t lying; I would’ve been busy.” He defends himself, holding his hands up in surrender.

“Yeah,” You huff. “Busy shoving your tongue down people’s throats.”

A mischievous hum. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Ew no, gross- I’ll pass.”

You share a small laugh together before settling into silence again. It was… kind of cathartic, being able to actually laugh for a long while-even if it was with your longtime nemesis. It was better than crying yourself to sleep almost every night.

You turn to lean your back against the railing, using your arms to support you as you mull over the forest.

“I used to come here a lot as a kid.” You say, managing to capture San’s attention. “Pretended to gallop along the trees like some sort of princess when I was in my horse phase… I would always come home with scraped knees. I was a clumsy kid.”

“Except when you’d throw punches at me,” San interjected, ghosting a hand over his jaw. “You sure knew how to pack a punch.”

You smile apologetically, a sheepish flush on your cheeks, and look over to him. “Well you did deliver some pretty good kicks- I needed to learn how to defend myself.”

San shrugged in agreement. “I guess,” He muses and offers you a small smile, lapsing into silence again. “You know… it’s actually kind of surprising but you aren’t so bad to talk to.”

You nibble at your lower lip at his confession, unsure of what to make of it. When you look up at him, you see that he had inched a little closer to you. He still kept a reasonable amount of space between you two but it was apparent that he wanted to get closer. He drums his fingers against the cool metal of the railing, brows furrowed as he thinks over his next words carefully.

“I’m sorry.” He blurts out. “I’m sorry for all the times I’ve been an asshole to you. I know that I’ve hurt you, not just physically, but emotionally too. And I want to apologize for that… I know, words are just words. It won’t do anything to reverse or take back what I’ve done to you then, but please, take it as a first step to making it up to you.”

San decided to meet your watery gaze, his chest clenching at the tears you were trying so hard to hold back. He holds his hand out instinctively, wanting to offer some sort of physical comfort. He stops himself midway, opting to just settle it on the rail halfway from you. “You don’t have to make a decision right here and now. You can still hate me all you want, but I promise to leave you alone from now on.”

You whimper pathetically, finally letting the tears flow down your cheeks. You felt guilt consume you at his apology. Why was he taking the blame for everything? It should be you who was saying sorry. After all,you were just as cruel as him. And thinking back on it, this feud had most likely started with you. You raise a sweater paw to wipe at your tears, sobbing into your hand.

God you were a mess.

“Don’t, don’t blame yourself… I should be apologizing too. It takes two to tango right?” You hiccup, managing to give him a shaky smile. “I could’ve chosen to ignore you or direct my anger elsewhere but I still ended up targeting you at the end of the day…”

“_______, it’s okay—“

“No it’s not.” You hiss. “I’m not just talking about what I did in high school. I’m talking about every instance I was cruel to you. It was petty, extremely childish, and just horrible overall. I don’t expect you to forgive me but I want to apologize too. I’ve made part of your life a living hell.”

You glance at his hand on the railing before holding your own out towards him. “Truce?” You offer. “We don’t have to be all buddy-buddy after this but at least we can just end this whole thing.”

San gripped your hand in a gentle but firm handshake. “Truce.” His touch lingered for

just a second before he gave a gentle squeeze and pulled away. He returned it to the previous spot on the railing.

The both of you remain for a while, just overlooking the town and reflecting on what had happened. The quiet atmosphere that you both shared suddenly didn’t seem so awkward anymore. Instead, it was filled with some tension but with a bit of comfort at the same time. It was similar to the feeling of a thorn being plucked out of your side: painful but relief that it was finally out.

You don’t expect that things would go right at once— this wasn’t like the movies or the books where everything was magically solved. You both had left some scars on each other, some that are too hard to forget or too deep to heal easily. But you two were working on it: healing and forgiving each other. It was still a long journey but it was something you were both willing to go on together.

You glance to San, seeing how relaxed he was right now. He didn’t look so annoying or so terrifying anymore. A tiny grin makes its way to your lips; never in a million years did you think you’d find solace in someone you despised so much.

“Hey San,” You call out to him, resting your hand beside his, your pinkies brushing against each other. “...thanks for this. I really needed it.”

He smiles at you, flashing his cute dimples at you. It sends a warm, tingly feeling down your spine and you couldn’t help but feel calm at that. “Glad I could help.” He momentarily pat the back of your hand, engulfing it with his larger one when you didn’t pull away.

It was late when he drove you home to finish the project. Unsurprisingly, your family was still out, probably at an event they forgot to tell you about. But you didn’t mind, you had an unexpected friend with you right now.

You smile to yourself as you wave goodbye to San from the doorway, seeing him speed down the road and into the night. He may have been the bad guy in your life but it turns out, he wasn’t such a bad guy. And you were thankful that you were able to see that because at least you knew you had someone in your corner.

[professional-benaddict]

depressed!peter gets into a fight with some classmate which leads to him getting a skull injury. He wakes up in the psych ward regressed and cuffed to his hospital bed. Tony is his assigned psychiatrist and is trained in Littles. Especially ones with mood disorders.

anything for my auntie!!🥺🥺💗💗 this got a bit heavy, but i hope the comfort makes up for it!!

Psychiatrist Tony, +18 Little Peter, Littles are Known, doctor Stephen, depression, suicidal thoughts, crying, head injuries, hospitalisation, psych hold, whump, comfort

“Hey, Doctor Stark.”

“Yeah?”

“Doctor Strange called from the ER. He says he has a patient who he thinks should be put on psych hold.”

“All right, I’ll head down in a bit.”

The psychiatric ward of the hospital is at the far west side of the hospital, so Tony has a bit of walking to get to the ER at the other end of the huge hospital. He brings a coffee with him, sipping on it while he walks, his mind already racing a bit with what Stephen Strange has for him at the ER.

For once, the ER is surprisingly quiet when Tony walks in. He throws away his empty coffee cup before he finds Stephen in trauma room 3. The neurosurgeon is stood at the foot of the hospital bed, his nose in a chart scribbling away. He smiles a little tiredly at Tony.

“Hey, he’s the one.” Stephen says, pointing at the patient with his pen.

The patient is a male in his late teens or early twenties. He is unconscious, although it seems like he is just sleeping peacefully where he is tucked in the blankets. The bandage on his head tells another story.

“Peter Parker, 18 years old. Someone found him knocked out unconscious and bleeding after what seems like a fight. He woke up in the ambulance, but he didn’t make much sense. My guess is he fell or was pushed over and knocked his head on the ground. He was bleeding from his head and vomitied once when he woke up. CT confirms a skull fracture, but there’s no other damage luckily. 12 stitches on his scalp, and he’s stable now.” Stephen lists, hanging the chart back on the boy’s bed.

“So, why did you bring me here?” Tony asks.

“He said he wanted to die in the ambulance. Multiple times.” Stephen says, his tone more serious. “Will you take him?”

“Of course. No doubts about it.” Tony nods, putting his hands in the pockets of his lab coat. “I’ll talk to the nurses to have him transported.” He adds, turning on his heel to walk out, but Stephen speaks up.

“And one more thing. He’s a Little.”

Oh. That complicates things.

———

Peter wakes up to a pounding headache. He sometimes does that when he hasn’t had enough to drink the day before, so the pain in itself isn’t surprising. However, as he starts to come to his senses, he realises it’s not his head that hurts. It’s his scalp.

The boy opens his eyes, realising with a soft gasp that he is in a room he doesn’t recognise. It is white, bare and far from homey. It’s a hospital room, Peter realises, closing his eyes again in agony.

What happened?

He was going to class, although he didn’t want to. Some of his classmates bumped into him, wanting to cause trouble. And Peter saw an opportunity, and he took it. He had ended up exactly where he wanted, but then again he didn’t.

The confusion, the fear and the uncertainty of it all crashes down on Peter, and he regresses into his Little headspace. It just makes it worse, but at least it lets him cry. So, Peter cries.

Peter tries to lift his hands to his face to wipe his eyes, but he feels something holding him down. Looking down at his wrists, Peter finds he has been restrained to the bed. The restraints have soft faux fur on the insides, but the emotional hurt still pains him.

Peter cries louder, so he doesn’t hear the knocks on the door to his hospital room. A man in a white coat walks in, and he hurries to the bed with a concerned look on his face.

“Wha-”

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m Doctor Stark. You’re safe here, it’s okay. Are you in pain?”

At first, Peter nods his head. He is hurting, but then he realises that’s not what the doctor is asking about. He shakes his head, and his lips wobble as he looks up at the doctor.

“It’s okay, it’s okay. I know you must be scared, but it’s okay, and you’ll be okay. Can you try and breathe for me?”

Peter does as he is told. Being given simple instructions to follow makes Peter feel a lot better, in fact. It’s a common thing for Littles, wanting to please their caregivers by doing as they are told. The boy clings to the doctor’s calm and reassuring aura.

“My hands- I…”

“I’ll take them off.” The doctor says with a kind smile. Peter cannot help but notice how nice and warm the doctor’s hands are on his wrists. Peter wants to hold onto him, but he resists the urge with all his might. “There, that’s better. Here, I’ll raise your bed a bit. You should blow your nose too.”

Again, Peter does as he is told. He blows his nose, whimpering a bit at the pain that spreads through his head in the process.

“What happened…?” Peter asks, holding his head. He feels the bandage that’s wrapped around his head and the dressing above his left ear.

“You hit your head on the ground, and you fractured your skull.” The doctor says. He is leaning his hands on the side rail of Peter’s bed. His hands look strong.

“Wha- I dunno… what that means…” Peter mumbles. The words are hard to find, and Peter is not sure whether that is due to his head injury or his current headspace. It’s been months since he last dropped.

“Tell me, Peter, how old do you feel?”

“Huh?”

“It says in your file that you’re a Little. You’re regressing now, right? It’s important for me to know how old you are in your headspace, so that I can explain things to you so that you understand.”

“Oh…” So, they know. They must know about everything. Peter has to lean back on the bed and cover his eyes with his hands to keep himself together. Otherwise, he will just burst into tears in front of the nice doctor, like a silly baby. “I- 10, maybe? I- I dunno…”

“Okay, thank you. You’re doing great, Peter. Now, about your head…”

Doctor Stark is easy to understand. Despite his upset and the pain, Peter finds it easy to follow the doctor’s explanations. There’s a fracture in his skull, a part of the bone that’s broken, but nothing else has been damaged. The bone will heal on it’s own, and he’ll be okay. But, Peter still doesn’t feel okay. He hasn’t in a long time.

“Peter, I can see that something is eating at you. Tell me what it is.”

“I…”

A long pause. The sobs are pushing at Peter’s throat again, wanting to get out so bad.

“It’s okay. It’s safe to tell me.”

Maybe, just maybe.

“I- I said I wanna die…”

“You said you wanted to die.” Doctor Stark repeats. Hearing it back like that makes Peter sob finally. “Do you want to die now?”

If only he wasn’t feeling 10 years old, Peter would be able to explain. He doesn’t want to die, but he wants to die. He wants everything to stop, and he hates himself for wanting such a thing. What would May think? His palms are wet with tears.

It started a few weeks after he got classified officially and his first regression started. Peter never thought he would be one of the rare Littles to suffer from depression after classification, but he did.

“Okay, Peter. I see how upset you are, and I’m going to help you. I’ll get a nurse to start a ketamine treatment. It helps people who are in similar situations as you.”

Peter nods a little, wiping his tears. He is too embarrassed and snotty to look the doctor in his eyes, but his ears are zoned in on the doctor’s calming voice.

“I’ll look after you, Peter. I bet you’ve had it rough for a while, and I know how to help you. We’ll get this sorted out, so you don’t have to worry. You’ll be okay, I’ll make sure of it.”

Peter nods again. He wants to cry more, but he finds the strength to hold back now, thanks to Doctor Stark.

“I’ll help you, Peter. We’ll sort this out.”

And Peter believes him.

[amarimaryllis]

I Do Not Think I Would (Bokuto x Reader)

Pairing: Bokuto/Reader

Prompt/Summary: The rational side of you tells you to leave, but for Bokuto Koutarou, you choose to stay. Alternatively, Bokuto Koutarou’s fangirls are ruthless.

Tags: Angst, Fluff, Haikyuu Timeskip Spoilers

Note: I used she/her pronouns for the reader, Bold Italicized sentences are excerpts from the poem “Love is Not All” by Edna St. Vincent Millay

Warnings: Mild Swearing, Mentions of self-hate, Mentions of insecurity, Bokuto has toxic fans

Part of A Sensitivity to Ephemera

You met Bokuto Koutarou in your 3rd year at Fukurodani, but you had known of his existence for longer. It was hard to not know of Bokuto Koutarou if you studied in Fukurodani. Hell, it was hard to not know of him if you studied in Tokyo in general. Aside from the fact that he was the embodiment of solar energy, Bokuto Koutarou also had a ton of admirers.

Fangirls

Fanboys.

And everything in between and beyond.

However, the first time you ever interacted with him was in Honda-sensei’s room. It was quick, a brief encounter that promised longer ones. Bokuto’s grades had been slipping, and you were his assigned tutor.

“Bokuto-san, this is L/N-san from Class 6.” Honda-sensei introduces you two briefly. “She’ll be tutoring you until your grades are back to… Satisfactory. I trust you to not give her a hard time.”

“Nice to meet you, L/N-san!” Bokuto bows briefly, the grin plastered on his face, unfading. However, there’s a sense of urgency in his stance, vibrating, itching to run off. Probably because he had volleyball training, and nothing in this world could keep Bokuto Koutarou from his beloved sport.

You didn’t know why, but your heart was beating a little bit faster than normal.

Love is not all: it is not meat nor drink

Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain;

After a few weeks of tutoring, Bokuto’s grades were slowly getting better. It wasn’t “satisfactory” yet, according to Honda-sensei, but you guys were getting there. As a celebration, right after volleyball practice, Bokuto drags you to the closest cafe and tells you to choose anything you want because it was “on him” as he enthusiastically stated.

“Bokuto-san, you didn’t have to.” You mumble bashfully as Bokuto sets a tray down and seats across from you.

“Don’t worry about it!” Bokuto grins as he slides the food over to you. “It’s the least I can do since you’ve been such a great tutor.”

A small smile makes its way to your face. “I guess I’ll take it then. Thank you for the food!”

As you eat, you can see Bokuto’s eyes continuously flitting back and forth between a spot on your face and away from it. He looked hesitant, but your sudden speaking urges him to reply.

“Is there anything on my face?” You furrow your brows, raising a hand to wipe at your cheek.

“Ah yeah, wait, not there.” Bokuto reaches over the table, a large hand cupping your cheek before he presses his thumb to the corner of your mouth and swipes to remove whatever it was on your face. “You had sauce on your face.”

Fire and ice could co-exist at once, you concluded. Because if it didn’t, then you would like to present yourself as evidence. You were frozen, but inside you, there was an inferno of different emotions swirling, sparked by a single touch on your skin.

That night, after Bokuto had walked you home and you had settled in for the night, you dreamt of black and white streaks paired with the brightest golden eyes. You let yourself dream. You knew that this was the closest you could get to him. The real world wasn’t as kind to you after all.

While you slept soundly, Bokuto walked home. It was raining, but it didn’t matter to him because as the rain drops onto his skin, he wished that it was your touch that fell upon him instead. And for a second as he imagines, it almost felt like it was.

And though he so desperately wished for it as he lied in bed, slumber never came. Instead, in its place, were a hundred different stories, a hundred different futures, a hundred different lifetimes, and they all ended with the sight of a bashful smile, and the prettiest eyes.

Love can not fill the thickened lung with breath,

Nor clean the blood, nor set the fractured bone;

You gripped at your skirt tightly, fighting back the tears that threatened to escape your eyes. Fear gripped your chest as you watched Bokuto’s sleeping figure from your place on the chair beside the bed. There had been a small accident during Fukurodani’s practice match, a small collision, but it was enough to send him to the infirmary and you running after him.

It was stupid, you think to yourself. You had rushed to the clinic the moment your break started, and by the time you reached the room, you were a mess. The nurse only gave you a cheeky smile before she patted your back and said, “Don’t worry about your boyfriend. It’s a minor injury and it was probably just an ant bite for someone like him.”

Ant bites didn’t usually require sleep for recovery.

Also, he wasn’t your boyfriend, but you’d be the biggest liar on earth if you said that you didn’t want him to be. You were just his tutor. Sure you’d been tutoring him for a long time, and that was enough to form a friendship of sorts, but that was all you’ll ever be: a friend. So why were you acting like you were something more? Friends get concerned, they’ll drop by, check on you, go off once they realize it’s minor and you’re in good hands, and then wait for you to recover. They don’t stay, fussing, practically crying, and worrying over something so small.

You’re so caught up in your thoughts that the sudden placement of a heavy palm on your head startles you.

Bokuto chuckles as he takes in your disheveled state. Your eyes are damp, your hair is slightly messed up, and your skirt is still tight in your grip, but even then, he still couldn’t help but be mesmerized by the way you looked. “Hey hey hey, did I make you worry that much?”

You can’t help it. He’s recovering, you know that, but you couldn’t stop yourself from lunging at him and enveloping him in a hug. “I hate you so much. Promise me you’ll never make me worry like that ever again.”

Bokuto chuckles and you could feel the vibrations since you two were practically chest-to-chest. “If making you worry means you’ll hug me like this, then I don’t think I can make any promises.”

“Bokuto-san…” You attempt to pull away, but find yourself unable.

Sturdy arms wrap around your waist, and your frozen figure is pulled tighter against Bokuto’s body as he engulfs you with his larger frame. “Do you like me, Y/N-chan?”

You freeze.

Oh hell no.

Out of all the conversations in this world, this one was the one you did not want to have, especially not when you were emotionally vulnerable. You didn’t know if you had enough control over yourself to give the proper answers.

“What? No! I mean yes? You’re my friend, of course I like you.” Your fight or flight response to this conversation seems to have given you ample strength to pull away. You attempt to stand straight and face this problem head on, but your feet are pointing you towards the exit.

Ready to run. From this conversation. From your feelings. From rejection.

Bokuto raises a brow, a teasing grin on his face. “Oh, really?”

Contrary to popular belief (see: Honda-sensei), Bokuto Koutarou was not stupid. Very far from it. While he’s not academically gifted, he’s definitely smart on the people side of things.

You were an open book, and Bokuto was taking his time rereading every page.

“I…” You’re unable to answer, unable to find the words that would make the impending rejection hurt less.

“Well, if it helps—“ Bokuto sits up and sets his feet on the ground, lightly grabbing you to make you stand between his legs. “—I like you a lot.”

Your heart stops. Your world stops. Everything just stops. You’re gaping at Bokuto, mouth closing and opening as you try to find the proper words. You want to reply, eloquently, confidently, to save what’s left of your dignity, but you can only blink back at him.

You weren’t expecting this. Bokuto wasn’t expecting this.

A wave of uncertainty flashes through Bokuto’s eyes, and for a second, he wonders if he misread the situation. “Hey, it’s ok if you don’t feel the same—“

“Wait, no! That’s—“ You take in a deep breath, attempting to calm your racing heart as you try to find your next words. For someone who usually kept a level head, you sure weren’t acting like it. “That’s not it at all. I just… Are you sure?”

Bokuto is confused. He could understand the words individually. He could understand the sentence too, but he couldn’t understand its relevance in this context. What did you mean by ‘are you sure?’. Would he tell you if he wasn’t? Why wouldn’t anyone be sure about you? I mean, it’s you.

“Yes? Why wouldn’t I be?” Bokuto grabs your hand, and he laces his fingers through yours.

You don’t answer as you attempt to arrange your whirlwind of insecurity into one coherent sentence that could sum it all up. You didn’t want to burden him with an entire monologue of self-deprecation, but you couldn’t find a way to express the years of insecurity into one sentence that could do that feeling justice.

Bokuto sees this, and his heart breaks for a second. He was familiar with it. He knew those feelings all too well.

Uncertainty.

Doubt.

Self-Hatred.

“Can I kiss you?” Bokuto blurts out, and as he watches you get flustered, he thinks that this is a much better look on you compared to the one you were previously wearing.

You don’t speak. You just nod.

With that, Bokuto grabs you by the waist and reaches up to press his lips against yours.

It was Bokuto who broke the kiss, breathless as he pressed his forehead to yours. It was almost as if you had taken his breath away to breathe a new life into him with a simple kiss. You can feel his warm breath against your lips, his calloused hands gripping at your waist, and at the same time, you feel nothing. Maybe this is what it felt like to know of everything and nothing all at once. Hyperaware of every feeling, every part of your body that was connected to his, but at the same time you felt weightless, floating on a plane that didn’t seem to exist on earth.

“Can I do that again?” Bokut asks with a grin.

You don’t answer, simply grabbing at his collar and smashing your lips against his.

That was how your love story with Bokuto Koutarou started.

And you wish it ended there.

It well may be that in a difficult hour,

Pinned down by pain and moaning for release,

Bokuto’s fans were ruthless.

Bokuto’s fans are ruthless.

The toxic fangirls? Even more so.

Not all of them are terrible to you, some are kind, but there are enough bad apples that you start wanting to run away the moment you see the tree. His fangirls during highschool only ever went as far as gossipping and making snide remarks, but now that you were older and Bokuto was part of the MSBY Black Jackals, they had gotten worse.

Facebook? You don’t spend time there anyway.

Instagram? You’ve always avoided that place.

Twitter? Ah, good luck.

People are ruthless when they hide behind a screen and a fake name. Anonymity has a way of sparking bravery in even the most sheltered souls. There wasn’t a single tweet on your account that had no comment telling you how you’re not good enough, how Bokuto probably only stayed out of pity, how he’d probably break up with you soon, how they could make him happier than someone like you ever could.

Bokuto doesn’t know. He doesn’t have to know. You don’t want to tell him.

You’re never going to tell him.

It’s pathetic, you think to yourself. You’re afraid that if Bokuto saw these comments, the rose-colored glasses he wore would shatter. You were afraid that these tweets would tip him off the edge and plunge him into the sea of realization. The realization that he could do so much better than someone like you.

You were tired. So tired that you just want to give in to the comments and leave. It’s logical, after all. Bokuto would find someone much better than you. He’d go off, marry a girl deserving of him, and she’ll give him a family, a future, and a life worthy of someone like him. And you? You’d be free. Alone, heart destroyed beyond repair, but free. You could move on, move away, move as far as you could: out of sight, out of mind. It was so easy.

Or nagged by want past resolution’s power,

But you couldn’t.

The only thing you could do was stare at the tweets that dissected each and every single one of your insecurities and laid it bare, waved it around freely for the world to see and judge. You could only let the tears fall as the laptop screen glared back at your face. Everything is numb and you don’t feel like yourself as you scroll through every single comment and find yourself agreeing with each and every single one.

Sobs wrack throughout your body as it all becomes too much.

You’re too weak to stay, too weak to leave. So where do you go? Where the hell are you supposed to place yourself in this world when it feels like everything is going against you? Why was the world doing this to you? Why did it have to be you? You weren’t strong enough for this. You weren’t good enough for this, you never were, never are, and never will be--

“Love?”

You immediately slam the laptop shut and throw the covers over your body as if you had been there the whole time instead of sitting at the edge of the bed and crying over comments.

“Hey…” The side of the bed sinks. “Bad day?”

The fucking worst. You thought to yourself, but you only shook your head before burying your head deeper into the covers of your shared bed.

“Don’t wanna talk about it?” You can hear the worry in Bokuto’s voice as he places his hand on your waist over the blanket, rubbing up and down to soothe you.

Some part of you finds the courage to speak, and the words tumble out of your mouth faster than your brain can process them. “Why are you still with me?”

“Because I love you.” Bokuto doesn’t hesitate as he looks at your still-covered figure.

“What if you stop?” You mumble, but it was loud enough for Bokuto to hear,

“Not possible.” Bokuto gently pries the blankets away from you, uncovering your form that was curled up into a fetal position.

“But— Just—“ You turn the other way, unable to look at him. “What if you do?”

“Like I said—” You can feel the mattress behind you dip lower, sturdy arms moving to wrap around your waist as Bokuto nuzzles his face into your nape. “—not possible.”

With that, the tears start flowing once more.

You bury your face into the pillow, not wanting to show Bokuto because you knew that the sight of you crying wasn’t something he liked. He hated seeing you in distress, and he hated that the only thing he could do was talk you through it and comfort you.

“Hey hey hey…” Bokuto pulls away and makes you sit up straight before he sits against the headboard and pulls you to sob into his chest. “Where’s this coming from? What’s wrong?”

“Everything’s wrong.” You spat angrily, your grip on his shirt tightening. Anger at yourself, anger at the universe, all summed up in a single sentence. “Nothing ever goes right anymore, and I’m just—“

Your speaking is interrupted as another wave of sobs. “I’m so tired.”

You can feel Bokuto freeze, his hand that was rubbing your back stopping as he takes in your words. “Of what?”

“Everything.” You murmur, your grip on Bokuto’s shirt loosening as you press your forehead against his neck. “Just everything.”

“Does that include me?” You can hear Bokuto’s voice waver as his grip around you gets weaker. “Are you… Are you breaking up with me?”

You’re silent for a while. Was this it? Was the universe making the choice for you?

Whatever it was, you take it.

You pull away and look down, unable to stare into Bokuto’s eyes. You didn’t know if you could pull through if you could see the look on his face as you say your next words. “If it means that it will all stop, then maybe I should.”

Bokuto’s heart shatters, and his world follows in its footsteps. He can feel the tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. He knew you had been acting off the past few days, but he gave you some space so that you could sort it out until you were ready to finally approach him. But this? He wasn’t prepared for this.

“Why?” There’s a painful tug at your chest as you hear Bokuto speak in such a broken tone. “Did I do something wrong?”

“It’s not you. It’s me.” You cringe inwardly at your statement. Of all the things you could’ve said, you just had to say the most overused line in all of break-up history. “Bokuto, you—“

“It’s Kou.” You can hear Bokuto’s voice crack at the end. “It’s not Bokuto to you, Y/N. It’s Kou. Whatever it is just tell me, please I can fix it—“

“I’m the problem, okay?!” You couldn’t stop yourself from raising your tone, standing up from the bed to distance yourself from Bokuto. “I’m not good enough for you. I don’t deserve you. They’re right when they say that you could do so much better than me—“

You’re cut off as a sob pulls itself from your chest. Your chest is tight, your head is throbbing. Your legs are shaky and you couldn’t stop yourself from falling to your knees as you continue to cry. “I-I just… I know I don’t, but I-I’m so tired of b-being constantly r-reminded that I’m never g-going to be enough.”

“Y/N, none of that is true. Who told you that?” Bokuto’s tone gives away the pain he was feeling, but there was a hint of anger underneath it all.

You don’t answer, shaking your head, continuing to sob as Bokuto moves from the bed to kneel in front of you.

“Love, who told you that?” Bokuto places a comforting hand on your thigh as his other hand lightly grabs you by the chin to make you look at him.

“Everyone.” You wondered how pathetic you looked in his eyes right now. “Not a single day passes by where I’m not reminded by your fans. It’s stupid to keep listening to them, but they’re right—“

Bokuto cuts you off with a brief kiss, just enough to shut you up to give him a chance to speak as he moves to cup your cheek in his palm. “No, they’re not. They never will be.”

You don’t reply. You don’t argue, but you don’t agree either.

“Don’t break up with me, please.” Bokuto cups your face with both of his hands, occasionally brushing his thumb over your cheek as he presses his forehead against yours. “You mean the world to me. You’re absolutely perfect the way you are, and I know you don't believe that.”

You sob at that, and Bokuto is quick to press a kiss against your forehead and pull you into his chest. “If I have to spend my entire life reminding you of that then I will.”

I might be driven to sell your love for peace,

Or trade the memory of this night for food.

Bokuto hovers over you, his arms on either side of your holding him up as he looks at you with the most lovestruck look you’ve ever seen on someone.

“You’re perfect.” Bokuto whispers against your lips before he presses a searing kiss against your lips. “Absolutely perfect.”

Bokuto presses his weight against yours, pulling your bodies closer to each other as he continues to kiss you breathless. You wrap your arms around his neck, an attempt to blur the boundaries of skin, muscle, and bone that separate your soul and his. He pulls you closer against him, his fingers digging deeper into the flesh of your hips as he trails his kisses down your neck and every expanse of skin that was laid bare for him.

“I love you so much.” Bokuto whispers repeatedly against your skin between every kiss he puts on you. “So much.”

As you laid beside Bokuto, his arms wrapped around your waist and your face nuzzling into his bare chest, the thoughts of ever leaving slowly become more distant and fade away into oblivion. His chest rises and falls, and you find your breathing slowly matching his as you observe his sleeping face, peaceful, unbothered by all the troubles of the world beyond your bedroom.

You smile to yourself. All rational thought tells you to leave, but for Bokuto Koutarou...

It well may be. I do not think I would.

A/N: That’s two parts of the collection down, and three more to go! This one was supposed to be the lightest out of the five, but my finger slipped so... Whoops? HAHAHAGDHDHSJHS Anyway, I hope you guys like this one! 💖

[keouil]

some things never leave a person

“how does it feel knowing you got captain america wrapped around your finger?” rated t. 2k+. steve/nat. also on ao3 / twitter / cc

“You’re staring.”

Steve snapped his eyes back up, nearly giving himself whiplash. He sat up straighter. “No," he insists. "No, I’m not.”

Sam gave him a knowing look. The tips of his mouth curled upwards, an amused glint in his eye.

“Look, man,” he began casually, running his fingers over the rim of his beer. “I get it. Recovery ain’t easy and it’s a big new world you woke up to. If I was in your place, I’d probably take all my chances, too.”

“Uh-huh,” Steve drawled unsurely, taking a sip of his drink and regarding him. Asgardian mead pleasantly made its way down his body, warming him up to more liquid courage. “What do you mean by recovery?”

Sam opens his mouth to elaborate, when a loud clang from somewhere behind them interrupts their conversation. 

They look back and see Darcy with a mournful look on her face, holding on to the flute of an otherwise shattered champagne glass littered on the floor.

“I can, like, totally pay for that,” she mumbles sheepishly into the crowd. 

Pepper is by her side the next second, already picking up fragments of glass and disposing of it just as quickly. Tony just laughs it off, and just like that, the party continues. 

The overhead skylights from the makeshift bar he assembled in the Avengers Tower glistened under the wide sky. Pop music wafted all over the bustling partly, filled to the brim with a generous number of people enjoying themselves. Thor with his hand clasped on Jane’s waist, whispering something that made her laugh; Hill and Rhody on an animated conversation by the end of the bar. All of them, in a rare moment, loose. 

Steve locked eyes with Natasha from the corner of the room. 

His grin, then, comes just as embarrassingly easy. He waves. She gives him a small smile before turning her attention back to Barton. Steve frowns.

“Jesus,” he hears Sam hiss. “You got it bad, Cap.”

.

.

.

It’s not a gradual thing. 

Steve isn’t someone who minces his words or plays diplomatic charmer. His vitality burned, in a way foreign to a world that had long been too jaded of proper men and archaic chivalry. 

Captain America, back from the dead, yes: but also, and it was growing easier and easier to see, he himself ushered in a resurgence of basic morality stripped from ages of misuse and abuse. It was a basic thing, human decency, and he had simply reminded the world of exactly how easy it could be.

Steve came to carthage burning, but he flamed the embers of fire without ever having to wield a weapon. It was his nature to simply walk in the line of fire. And Natasha knows, if she is ever as sure of anything, that: he would no sooner rot in hell than let someone else walk over the flames for him, he had to be made to.

“Steve,” warns Natasha, a steady hand clamped over his shoulder against the fracturing landscape all around them. “Let me handle this.”

It was then he would turn to her, sometimes, and it scares her: the naked vulnerability he displays, the unyielding confidence in his frame, the complete and utter surrender of control. It is a ghastly little thing, the weight of his unburdening, but it only ever dawns on her when the ringing in her ears have stopped and the guns have mellowed: “Okay,” he nods once. “I trust you.”

.

.

.

Natasha should have seen it coming sooner.

It’s not that Steve hangs on her every word, is on her beck and call, or does whatever she tells him to do at the drop of a hat. He doesn’t tail after her like a lost puppy, because for all intents and purposes they were evenly matched at almost every pace; he was the commanding officer, she the shadow leader.

But maybe what tears at her conscience is that it also goes like this: hey nat,  he would say, thanks for having my back out there, or been awhile since i drank with someone, or i’m here if you need to talk too you know? or, and perhaps most damning, is: how about a friend?

Steve was acclimating slowly to the surface, in a way that he knows best and works for him. It is an intimate baring of his soul, and the stripping of her own to make sure it doesn’t totally push him over the edge just before he learns to plant himself on the ground again. It’s easy, then, to play a part: if only he didn’t blindside her with improvising the script every so often it leaves her breaking character more often than she likes.

Because Steve was not of the divine kind, the one measured up to the greatness of gods. He had such grounded faith; and Natasha, for all she deemed herself worthy, had already started carving herself a place six feet under. 

.

.

.

“It’s a transference thing,” Sam tells her one day in a low voice, when they’re waiting for transport and Steve is somewhere behind going over the mission details again with Fury. “But he means well. If it’s any help, this is actually an important breakthrough in the recovery process.”

Natasha feels herself ruminating over his words, because Sam would know about it best, working at the VA and all. He would probably know, too, then: “But,” she falters, her entire body in knots. “Why me?”

Sam doesn’t take a beat to answer. “Why not you?”

.

.

.

Steve loves so nakedly, both unforgivingly kind and passionately earnest: it is like fresh mildew unfurling from earth, dusk creeping at dawn; a silent but steady little thing. It is comforting, the rhythm of his heart: but oh, does it burden.

.

.

.

“How does it feel knowing you got Captain America wrapped around your finger?”

Natasha staggers a little, stopping the momentum of the sandbag just before it hits her square in the face. Her eyes flitter over the ring, making sure Steve was still busy testing the limits of Sam’s misery by boxing, before turning back to glare at Clint on the other side of the bag. So much for a sparring partner.  “What?”

“Come on, Nat,” Clint returns, sounding a little too cocky for her taste. He pushes the sandbag to her side a little. “He’s like a dog with a bone around you. It’s cute, really, if not a little stalker-ish.”

“That’s not—he’s—” Natasha stammers, trying to reign it in and getting her breathing under control. “Steve is just adjusting. Fury assigned me to make sure he does that as smoothly as he can.”

“Right, of course,” Clint doesn’t drop the knowing look on his face, but the edges of his eyes soften a little. He ignores the way Steve glances at their direction none too subtly, a worried frown on his face. “It’s scary, isn’t it?”

That sobers her up instantly. 

Natasha nurses her features into steeled determination, squaring her shoulders and tightening her jaw: but just as telling, however, is the slight crack in her voice when she says: “I’m fucking terrified.”

[sapphic-yearning-lesbian]

A Modern AU

or

Namaari is randomly assigned a night shift in the ER where she meets a patient named Raya, who appears to be suffering from broken ribs. However, the shift takes a turn when Raya flatlines, and Namaari pushes herself to save the girl whose smile is engraved in her head.

Word Count: 2199

Warning’s: Major character injury, and a temporary death

--

Raya and Sisu are being walked into a patient room by an ER nurse called Atitaya. 

Sisu loudly states, “Stupid! All these injuries were caused by stupidness!” 

Raya glared at her as she held her sternum; she felt a lot of tenderness and trouble breathing. She couldn’t see, but she was sure that her rib cage would be bruised if she lifted her shirt. It’s just a few broken ribs, she thought before answering, “Tong was looking at me funny!”  

“He smiled at you…because you tripped,” Sisu replied, rubbing her face with her hands as they entered the patient room.

Once entering the room, Raya quickly jumps onto the patient’s bed, resulting in her groaning in pain. “The details on how the fight broke out don’t matter. I WON: I broke one of his front teeth, his nose, and made it nearly impossible for him to have children again”. She answered as she licked the inside of her left cheek, tasting iron. She must have bitten the inside of her lip when she received a punch to her face.

Both Raya and Sisu noticed the nurse was now nervous. Then again: Who could blame her after what she just heard. But no matter how scared Atitaya was internally, she still placed a pulse oximeter on Raya’s left index finger and a blood pressure cuff on her right arm. Before taking an oral temperature.

“Remember, I work here, Raya! Please don’t scare my coworkers,” Sisu pledges as she looks at Atitaya smiling before sitting down. “Tong should also be a patient of yours tonight. I know this sounds crazy, but we’re all great friends.” 

Suddenly Tong’s voice is echoing through the ER hallways. “ARE YOU OKAY, RAYA” Atitaya jumps as she finishes taking Raya’s temperature.

“I’M ALRIGHT! SORRY TONG, I HOPE YOUR MANLY HOOD WASN’T LOST,” Raya screams back, smiling, as his laughter is filling the hallway once again. She turns to look at Sisu, who is practically crying in the chair from embarrassment. 

“Ms. Hart. I’m going to have to ask you to not scream,” The nurse says in a calm voice, trying not to smile. 

Raya begins to nod in agreement before she starts clenching at her chest before gasping for air. The pain is excruciating. Yet, she is still hopeful it’s just broken ribs, and they haven’t punctured her lung; because that would hurt way more...right?

Atitaya was about to excuse herself from the room to locate Namaari, the nurse practitioner who can order an X-ray and medicine. Yet as she unbadged herself from the computer, she hears three knocks on the door. A tale sign that Namaari was about to enter the room. The three knocks are a secret signal she uses with all her nurses to know of her presence.

“Hello. My name is Namaari; I’m the nurse practitioner this night shift. I heard the screaming and your very muffled voice. Could I take a look at your injury?” 

Raya’s head jerks in the direction of the knocks spotting the new nurse, Namaari. She smiles widely. The new nurse is wearing a white coat over grey scrubs. Her scrubs were tightly fitted, showing that under, she had a muscular figure. Her skin was golden brown, with piercing brown eyes. She also had a very attractive undercut screaming, ‘Sapphic.’ 

Raya also notices a tattoo cuff on her left ear, probably because it’s a safety hazard to wear jewelry in hospitals: They can easily be pulled by angry or upset patients--She lightly bites on her bottom lip before answering, “Are you sure my voice was muffled? Maybe you were just attracted to my voice and needed a reason to come in here,” She felt pretty winded after that finishing her sentence, but she was still able to lift her left eyebrow. 

And yes, Raya was dam aware she shouldn’t be hitting on the hospital staff, but come one. She’s hot.

“RAYA” Sisu screamed from the corner of the room.

Namaari stood at the door frame with a gentle smile on her lips.

Raya assumed the flirting attempt went over Namaari’s head. She couldn’t bear to think the gorgeous nurse was choosing to ignore her. “I would have gotten myself injured sooner if I knew this godly woman would show up to rescue me,” Raya struggles to say as she winks. 

Seconds later, Raya’s body was overwashed with a painful sting “ah fuck” she states as she curls into herself, gripping at her right ribcage.

Namaari was used to patients flirting with her; It comes with the job. However, It’s usually easy for her to ignore flirtations. Yet Namaari wasn’t blind; this patient was gorgeous even in her physical state.

Raya was beaten, a purple bruise appearing on her left cheek, her clothes dirty from the struggle of her disagreement. 

Namaari cannot deny how Raya’s smile made her feel some weird sensation in the pit of her stomach: People call that feeling butterflies. 

This patient was trouble, but that somehow excited Namaari.

Suddenly Namaari remembered the other voice in the room and turned to see Sisu, jumping from her seat running over to Raya. She didn’t necessarily consider Sisu, a friend. Still, she often saw her in the ER because she is part of the psychiatry department. Sisu would often come and evaluate patients for hospitalization. “Quite ironic, how a trauma nurse is in the ER for a trauma injury,” Sisu hummed as she ran her hands through Raya’s hair. 

Namaari forced herself out of her thoughts and walked over to Raya. Looking up at the vital machine monitor. Her pulse was high, resting in the 110s, and her blood pressure was also abnormal. “Call for an X-ray and tell them I okayed it.” She finally says, looking straight at Antitya, who nods and exits the room.

Namaari walks over to the computer in the room, quickly badging in and ordering her some narcotics to give Raya once the broken or fractured ribs are conformed by the X-ray. 

Sisu is just smiling at Namaari from afar as she consoles Raya, who is cussing in pain with each of her breathe’s. 

“Can you please lay back on the bed so I can look at your injury” Raya hears the attractive nurse say. She hums as Sisu lets go of her stepping back, her place now replaced by Namaari smiling gently at her. Raya tried to shift her position to lay herself on the bed, but it hurt so much to do it. 

Raya felt as she was being punched in the lungs if she moved even an ounce. To distract herself from her pain, she watched as Namaari, who looked over at the vital machine, and for a moment, panic showed on her face. Nevertheless, Namaari’s eyes meet hers again as she smiled, trying to comfort her, which she did. 

However, seconds later, Raya felt her brain becoming fuzzy with the pain radiating all over her body, her breathing very labored as she gasped for air. Raya knew she was about to pass out, but she never felt safer. She knew she was in Namaari’s hands, and something deep down within her knew she would be okay.

Namaari watched as Raya’s pulse shot up to 140, while her Oxygen dropped to 87. This wasn’t just a case of broken ribs anymore. 

Namaari quickly walked towards the wall and pulled on a red switch, the rapid code. Its unique alarm went off, and she knew that the call light was flashing red outside. Both these tools allow for the other medical staff to be informed the patient in that room is deteriorating, and further assistance is needed.

Raya’s vision was becoming blurred with speckles of black as she was consumed by her agony. All she wanted to do was scream or even cry, but the pain was so immense that her body forced her to stay silent. Raya felt like a prisoner in her body, unable to communicate what she was experiencing. 

Soon enough, Raya was overwashed with a need to close her eyes; it’s like her body was promising her that if she went to sleep, the pain would stop. She wanted to give in to this promise, but she fought it for now.

Raya couldn’t move, but she felt as the nurse slowly guided her down onto the bed as Sisu cried in the background. The rapid alarm echoed throughout the room, and she couldn’t help but laugh in her mind as this time it was pulled for her. Most times, Raya was running the rapid codes saving people’s lives, yet right now, her life rested in that beautiful nurse’s hands. 

Those were Raya’s last thoughts as her mind went blank, properly passing out.

Once Namaari guided Raya to lay on her back, she quickly placed an oxygen mask on her as the room was suddenly swimming with more staff members. Everyone trying to help in some way, taking blood pressures, starting an IV, calling for a portable X-ray machine, and calling for an OR in case of emergency surgery: as it seemed, Raya did have a punctured lung caused by her broken ribs.

Suddenly Atitaya was next to Namaari. “I told Sisu to wait in the waiting room; she didn’t want to go, but I showed her out” OHH, yea Raya’s girlfriend, Maari thought. 

Apparently, Sisu was screaming in the background, which she completely blocked from her head. Namaari’s excuse being that she was trying to save Raya’s life. “I should have known she was high on adrenaline, and It was muting her pain symptoms--” Atitaya whispered to Namaari.

 Namaari knew her nurse was blaming herself for something she didn’t think about either. She let the girl’s beautiful coffee eyes distract her. And now she’s watching her vitals plummet.

Suddenly a women’s voice screamed, “She decompensating. She’s about to flatline someone start compressions NOW.” Namaari didn’t look up to check who ordered that; she assumed the order was from a resident. Namaari quickly crouched and pressed on the CPR lever under the bed that laid the bed completely flat. She quickly placed her left hand over her right interlocking her fingers after standing up before placing her hands on Raya’s sternum. She began compressions, two inches deep each time. Simultaneously, Atitaya was bagging Raya so she could breathe for her. 

After the first round of 30 compressions; The resident speaks again, “Turn her onto her side Namaari” Namaari did as she was told, recognizing the voice to belong to Amba. Anyways, another staff member slipped a flat board under Raya’s back. Once it was in place, Namaari quickly laid her back down and continued compressions. Soon a tiny monitor was placed below Namaari’s hands, which actually told her if her compressions were deep enough.

After about 3 minutes of constant compressions, Namaari’s compressions weren’t deep enough. “Switch,” She states as Atitaya takes over compressions and Namaari begins to bag Raya. 

Only once Namaari stopped compressions did she notice the room was full of various staff members; the rapid code was now a code blue, a whole different sound echoing through the room. 

It’s crazy, but you don’t hear these changes during an emergency. You only listen to what’s essential to saving the patient’s life.

As Atitaya performed more compressions, the sound of one of Raya’s ribs breaking under her force was heard. Atitaya flinched, realizing she caused her recovery to be longer if she survives. But that sometimes happens; you hurt the person you’re trying to save. Most people don’t mind a broken rib if it means you saved their life.

Namaari was snapped back into the present when she heard “charge to 100” before “CLEAR.” That’s all it took. Raya’s pulse came back. Namaari felt so relieved: She’s always happy to save someone’s life, but today, right now, she’s overjoyed. 

Nevertheless, Namaari doesn’t understand how two sentences from this patient had her heart throbbing within her chest. 

She doesn’t know how or why the relief she’s currently experiencing is so overpowering.

With all these inner thoughts, Namaari still smiles as now she has the chance to get to know Raya. UGHHH, no, you cannot get to know her! She’s dating Sisu...

Stop overthinking Namaari. SNAP OUT OF IT!

“Thank’s, Namaari. We’ll take it from here,” Amba, the surgical resident, says; As a portable x-ray machine is brought into the room to scan Raya. 

Once a resident or doctor from a different unit takes over, Raya is no longer her patient, and she needs to let her go and help another patient. Even so, she left the room and waited outside it to listen in. “She’s punctured her left lung; we need to rush her into emergency surgery, page Pengu. He’s the best cardiothoracic surgeon!” 

Namaari exhaled as she watched nurses and doctors from the surgical unit transport, Raya, off the emergency unit to the operating room. 

Namaari had gotten Raya’s heart to pump again, but the surgery will decide whether she lives or dies. Knowing this, she rested her head on the wall regaining her posture, putting a smile on her face as she heard her name being called from another patient’s room. 

--

Let me know if you want me to continue it! :) 

[yongtxt]

hundred [johnny]

word count: 4.5k words

characters: boxer!johnny x doctor!reader

genre: fluff

warnings: blood/wound/stitches mentions, johnny hates hospitals but he likes the pretty doctor, [im not a doctor nor a boxer pls dont say that i have info wrong because I Know]

author’s note: i know this isnt long to some of u but to me it is and i havent written this much for so long im so proud of myself for finishing this:( it isnt that good but this is the first long fic ive written in a while and shhsdjk also i needed to get this out of my system ive thought about this au since that jcc came out where johnny and hyuck was doing muay thai plssss (i couldnt find a better gif tho) ok this is getting too long / feedback is appreciated tysm

Johnny Suh hated hospitals with a burning passion.

It wasn't from a past trauma nor was he afraid of it, it wasn't that serious. He wasn't exactly sure what the cause of it really was. If he had to make a guess, it was probably from the accumulation of the little things, the insignificant factors people would usually dismiss but bothered him enough that it contributed to the big hatred he built for hospitals.

Maybe it was the distinct smell of hospitals, it reeked of death and old people. Maybe it was the atmosphere of the fluorescent-lit hallways, always gloomy and heavy. Maybe it was also the fact that the fees were so expensive and yet the food they provide tasted horrible, even the coffee was a hit or miss. The only upside he could think of was people get better in hospitals, but even that wasn't assured.

Despite how much Johnny despised hospitals, he always finds himself coming back. If he wanted to get better, he had no choice but to go. He would endure the gruesome process over and over again whether it be to treat his wounds or to stitch his cuts.

With his jaw littered with small bruises and his lips busted at the corner, he sat impatiently on the hospital bed as he waited for his doctor. He was fiddling with his fingers, knuckles bruised the same way his face was. He looked beaten up, he always did.

The clothes he wore contradicted the state he was in, they were fresh and laid back. He looked like a college student from the way he dressed. A delinquent more like, if one considered his cuts and bruises. Before heading to the hospital, he always makes it a point to shower and make himself appear presentable to the public. Although no one really bothers to take notice of his effort, only him.

The sliding door opened and Johnny's attention shot up from his phone, his gaze meeting with yours. Your head popped in, peaking through the small crack you made. Your eyes lit up in recognition as it always did whenever you see him.

"Youngho-ssi?" You spoke almost as if it was a question, voice barely above a whisper to make sure you were in the correct room, about to tend the correct patient.

Johnny didn't understand why you always did that, call out his name as if this was the first time you were seeing him. At that point, you've been already acquainted with him enough due to his numerous trips to the hospital. Either way, he nods every time.

You gave him a small smile, widening the door enough so you could enter. You wore a white lab coat, a name tag pinned to your chest and a stethoscope hung around your neck. You were small, although anyone compared to him was bound to be comparatively smaller – that wasn't the point, you looked young and that never fails to astound him every time you go through the door.

You had a clipboard in your hands, scanning through what he assumed to be his condition that a nurse had written earlier after a quick checkup and disinfection of his open wound. Your lips were formed on a tight line, eyebrows furrowed. He continued to stare at you with such amusement.

"You don't have to answer my question, Youngho-ssi, but why are you always here?" You finally broke the silence, startling him in the slightest. You never bothered to ask before, always just offering smiles and small talks while you did your work; maybe his sudden regularity of coming to the hospital recently made your curiosity peaked.

He couldn't blame you. Anybody would be curious why a 24-year-old man keeps coming back to the hospital with no clear explanation.

He cleared his suddenly dry throat, he never liked saying his job. He said, "I box for a living."

"Ah, that makes sense!" Your eyes visibly glimmered, absentmindedly jotting down notes on his medical records. "My coworkers and I thought you were in a gang or something."

"I don't think I would be allowed to be here if I was." He chuckled, making you giggle as well.

"Seo Youngho, 24, minor lip laceration in need of immediate suture." You read of his data from the clipboard, almost comically. It was medical terms he was unfortunately already too familiar with, to him, it basically meant that he had a busted lip that needs to be sewed shut.

"You can just call me Johnny. Youngho sounds too formal to me." He said nonchalantly. You nodded your head to his simple request; it probably was best if you got to know him better since he frequented the hospital so much.

"Alright, Johnny. We'll start the process now, okay?"

With keen eyes, he watched you slip on a pair of surgical gloves. You grabbed a tissue from the metal tray that sat beside him and began folding it into squares. He felt his heartbeat quicken, he hated getting stitches or any form of medical treatments for that matter, but as morbid as it was, he thought of it as punishment for his recklessness in the ring.

"Isn't boxing just, I don't know, senseless violence?" You asked, tone dripping with pure innocence and unadulterated interest as you gently dabbed away the remaining dried blood the nurse failed to clean earlier.

"It's a sport, it's how I bring money to the table." He pursed his lips, ignoring the twinge of pain that surged through his nerves. He visibly relaxed when you placed a hand onto his shoulder to reassure him.

Ever since the first time you got assigned to him, the first thing he took note of was the softness of your hands. You handled him as if he was fragile glass, despite how he easily towered over you. He felt pathetic as a 24-year-old but your gentle touches would greatly help put him at ease.

"I guess. I didn't mean to be rude." You were hesitant, Johnny could tell but he was glad you didn't push on any further. He couldn't handle explaining his occupation when you were about to pierce his skin. "Okay, Johnny, now that your lip is clean and the anesthesia had seeped in, we'll start. I think you know how it goes by now."

"Make it quick, please." He nodded, squinting his eyes shut at the mere contact of a surgical pen grazing over his gaped lips. You were relieved that his cut wasn't too big, you couldn't stomach the idea of putting him in too much pain for longer.

As you picked up the tweezers and string of nylon, you couldn't help but laugh at the six-foot boxer in front of you who was clearly petrified of getting stitches, "This will be done as soon as you know it. You won't really feel it because of the anesthesia, remember? Now count to a hundred backward for me."

Once the numb feeling of nylon dragged through his lips, he swore he saw white spots flicker in his vision. His eyes immediately watered and he tried his best not to squirm under your hold, beginning to count to a hundred backward like you had instructed him to. You admitted it to him the first time you stitched him that it was a trick that you learned from your pediatrician friend. Despite it being for children, it helped to get him distracted while you focused on your job.

Minutes felt like hours, Johnny had been fighting the urge to punch something, anything, to release tension and nerves. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he took a peak and tried to take his attention away from what was currently happening on his lip. His gaze landed on your pretty eyes, how it was narrowed in focus and how your lashes perfectly framed it.

This wasn't the first time he'd observe you up close, there had been many occasions in the past that you had been too close for comfort in order to tend his wounds. It had been too many that it was almost as if he was close to memorizing your features. You were not only beautiful but you were also a smart and capable doctor.

Eventually, you finished and started to rub ointment on his sore lip — the finishing line.

"Try not to eat anything spicy or hard. You know the drill." You grinned at his suddenly pale features, ripping off your gloves as his eyes adjusted to the bright lights of the room. "You're good to go. Be careful next time."

He let out a shaky breath, clearly still winded up from the procedure, "I'll try. Thanks again, doc."

-

The punching bag felt great against Johnny's fists. There wasn't a feeling in the world that could compare to the impact of leather slamming against his skin. He could last hours mindlessly pummeling the bag if his stamina just allowed him to.

Hyunsik, Johnny's manager and personal trainer, drew away from the punching bag he held in between his arms. He let out a breath and held out a hand to motion that Johnny has done enough.

Johnny was hurting, Hyunsik could see that much. The bandages he had wrapped for the boxer's fingers were turning into a shade of red that they were all too familiar with.

Hyunsik clicked his tongue, "You should've used your gloves."

"How can I grow stronger if I keep relying on them?" Johnny rolled his eyes. His muscles needed a boost and this seemed to be the only logical way to strengthen them — a little blood never hurt anybody.

"Someday you're gonna fracture your hand and you'll be forced out of the ring. Remember that." Hyunsik huffed, his voice stern. "Take them off, I'll clean the blood off."

Johnny reluctantly did as told, unfurling the bandages wrapped around his fingers. The pain was excruciating when the fabric grazed along his tender skin, he winced at the unsightly view of his reopened wounds.

Hyunsik led him back outside of the ring to the benches where the first aid kit was. He made the boxer sit down so he could start cleaning off his wounds. It looked horrific, more so than it usually did and he had no choice but to break the news to Johnny.

"It looks really bad. You need to go get that checked in the hospital and have it sewed back." Hyunsik said, taking a wet towel and carefully dabbing it across Johnny's bloodied knuckles.

He didn't want to go to the hospital. Going to the hospital to have his wounds treated meant that Johnny would be medically required to take days off work to let his hand heal. Johnny frowned, "Don't you have an ointment or something that could help? I can't afford to lose a day of practice."

"Don't you think I know that?" Hyunsik rolled his eyes. "As your manager, I want you to be in top shape for your match next week, even if it means sacrificing a day or two for you to heal."

Johnny could only nod. He sat through Hyunsik's lecture on the changes he should make to his dietary plan and the exercises he should do during his temporary break. It infuriated him that he couldn't do anything about it but nod along.

The incoming match that was set next week would make or break his career as an underground boxer. He didn't have the option of missing it because of some measly reopened wounds. If he had to rest to get better, he had no choice but to suck it up. This was his fault anyway for pushing himself too much.

Johnny showered in the locker rooms and changed into nicer clothes that didn't reek of blood and sweat. His hands were stinging but he shook it off.

He ignored the concerned looks other boxers were giving him and begrudgingly made his way to the hospital to get himself checked in. You wouldn't be happy to see him all bloodied again, he thought.

-

Much to Johnny's surprise, it wasn't you who was assigned to him. It was a much older doctor with graying hair and a nose stuck too far up in the air. She was rude and condescending, her lack of politeness to her patients was quite appalling. If Johnny wasn't in such a bad mood, he might've complained already.

God, this day couldn't get any worse.

With a meek voice, Johnny asked where you were and at the mention of your name, his doctor gave him a narrowed look. She sneered, "She's handling much more important cases. Does she know you?"

"I think so." Johnny gulped, unsure of the answer himself.

The doctor's grip was tight and she was hasty. It was as if she was trying to speed through the process to just get it over with. Johnny wanted to cry because he was starting to get traumatized by this doctor's procedure, he didn't want to hate the hospital more than he already did.

He internally screamed for your name as he watched the doctor pull on the gloves. The sliding door harshly whipped open and there you were in all your glory, like an angel sent from above to save him from the devil incarnate who was about to pierce his skin.

You were panting and the sheen on your forehead made it obvious that you ran your way to his room. Johnny's heart leaped with glee.

"Unnie, I'll handle him." You said, unable to catch your breath as you made your way inside. "I think the ER needs you more than me."

The doctor seemed hesitant at first but you tried to convince her otherwise. She eventually agreed and left you with Johnny who had a cheesy smile on his face the entire time since you've arrived.

"So Johnny, what happened this time?" You asked, picking up the clipboard that sat next to him on the bed.

"I overdid the punching during training and it reopened some old wounds on my knuckles. It hurts like a bitch."

You pulled a face, "That's a bit intense."

He chuckled, "It's normal."

"Can I please see it?" You opened your palm so he could place his hand on yours. You observed his cuts and the scabs that were beginning to form around it, it was too deep to let it heal on its own so you made the verdict that he needed to get it sewed back together ⁠— as unfortunate as it was since he was a boxer and he needed his hands to box.

You tugged on a new pair of gloves and began the painful procedure, Johnny started counting down even without you instructing him to. You quickly got to work and stitched back his wounds with your lip in between your teeth

Johnny felt squeamish, he could never get used to the feeling of stitches. His eyes were glued shut and he mumbled numbers like it was mantra.

Once you were done, you smiled fondly at your work. You managed to get by with fewer stitches and you felt pride swell up in your chest. Johnny noticed and, as lightheaded as he was, couldn't help but smile as well.

"You're pretty good."

"At stitching?"

Johnny nodded with his cheeks flushed, he made a mental reminder to smack himself in the head later for such a crude comment. You probably thought he was an idiot now.

"I sure hope so." You chuckled, making him blush even deeper if that was even possible. "It's part of my job."

Johnny shook his head in embarrassment, his dark hair bouncing from how vigorously he did it. He mumbled, "That sounded really lame and not smooth, I'm sorry. Please forget I opened my mouth."

You could only chuckle as you apply the ointment around his knuckles. He wanted the ground to open up and just swallow him whole.

"Please let this heal completely, Johnny. Don't apply any strain on your injuries for a couple of days and refrain yourself from carrying anything heavy so that the stitches won't rip." You said, carefully placing down his hand back on his knee. You were gentle as ever, Johnny swooned. "Absolutely no punching for a while."

"I have an important match at the end of next week. Is there any way to speed up the healing process?" Johnny asked, his eyes were almost pleading at you and you blinked at him in surprise.

"Apart from what I just said, there's really nothing else you could do." You pursed your lips, watching his expression visibly deflate. "If you want to have even a sliver of a chance at winning your match, I suggest you do as I say. Your stitches won't take too long to heal, I promise."

If Hyunsik was there with him, he would've probably already scolded him but the point would be the same. He had always prioritized Johnny's health above winning.

"Okay, doc. I'll do my best." Johnny said, defeated.

"You know, I always see the aftermath of your matches and your training. I want to see you in the ring next time when you're not bloody and beaten up yet." You smiled at him and you swore that all the color that was previously drained from Johnny's face came rushing back. "If it's okay."

"Are you serious?" Johnny asked, almost dumbfounded. Did the pretty doctor he'd been crushing on for months really just asked if she could watch his match?

You nodded with the same hue of red now tainting your cheeks.

"O-Of course! It's on Saturday next week! Please come and cheer me on!" Like a little kid, he excitedly rambled on about the details about the upcoming match and you nodded with the same enthusiast as you wrapped bandages around his hands.

You weren't from his world so everything he said sounded foreign to you. The terms he said, the infamy of his opponents, the prominence of it all — you were eager to learn it if it meant seeing him this happy.

You've always known that he hated hospitals. It was clear from the way he acted during your first meeting. He was stiff and tense, the body language he exuded just screamed that he wanted nothing more than to get the hell out of there. As he visited the hospital more and more, you noticed the hatred never faltered. He only became better at hiding it from you.

To see him so relaxed and carefree within the four walls he hated with all his being, it was a breath of fresh air and the feeling you had in your chest grew stronger.

"You're good to go. I promise to see you in your match." You were jotting some last-minute details on the clipboard and you missed the way Johnny kept grinning like an idiot. "As much as I love seeing you here, I hate that you keep getting yourself injured. Keep out of trouble for me, Johnny."

You left the room without letting Johnny say another word.

Fuck, Johnny realized he hadn't asked for your number.

-

Johnny's match started in ten minutes. His heart was pounding in his ears, he almost couldn't hear what Hyunsik was shouting to him.

The underground stadium was filled to the brim with people, he felt more nervous than he did during his first boxing match. A lot was at stake for this win, he needed the belt. He was desperate for it.

"Johnny, are you listening to me?" Hyunsik raised his voice, aggressively slapping Johnny's cheeks together in his hands so he could focus on him. The boxer's mind was fleeting and it was his job to pull him back to reality now.

He hadn't seen you since last week and as much as he wanted to go back to the hospital to see you, he refused to badly hurt himself in the days that led up to the match. Johnny scanned the crowd for your face but he couldn't see it. You weren't there.

At the lack of your turnout, he failed to mask his disappointment. Hyunsik let out an aggravated groan and pulled the boxer on his feet to berate him further.

"Johnny, please for the love of all things holy, look me in the eye."

"I'm sorry. I'm okay now. I'm listening."

"Good because your match is starting soon and I need you to win this. All your hardships and sacrifices boils down to this match, you hear me?" Hyunsik bellowed, trying his best to keep his voice louder than the cries and chants of the audience. "Show them what Johnny Suh is capable of!"

Johnny nodded fervently, forcing himself into a state of serenity of peacefulness. He let out heavy breaths to even out his breathing as his team surrounded him, prepping him for what was about to come.

Hyunsik raised his hand at Johnny. He had five minutes left until his match started and he wasn't calming down.

"Can I please have some water?" Johnny asked and his medic stumbled on his feet to fetch him a bottle from the nearby cooler. He couldn't help but let out a shaky chuckle, his team seemed tenser than he was.

He downed the bottle as soon as it reached his hand. His hand was shaky. Goddammit, why was he so nervous?

At the corner of his eye, he saw Hyunsik making his way over to the barricade that separated his corner to the rest of the stadium. He arched his neck in a way that would let him take a peek what was so important that Hyunsik had to leave his side when the match was starting in a few minutes.

It seemed like Hyunsik was trying to stop a girl who was forcing her way in through the barricade. His stomach lurched at the sight of her familiar face.

As if he was acting purely on instinct, Johnny shot up from his seat and ran towards you. Hyunsik held up his arm to stop him from going any closer to you. You could've been a deranged fan, for all Hyunsik knows.

"Johnny-"

"I know her."

Hyunsik was startled at his response and started to profusely apologize to you. You looked nothing but smug and Johnny let out a breathy laugh that helped unravel the knots in his stomach. The boxer quietly motioned for him to take his leave and Hyunsik hesitantly did as told only after tapping his wrist as a sign that time was ticking.

You bowed at him apologetically, "I'm so sorry I'm late! There was this damn patient-"

"It's okay. You're here now." He cut you off, a cheesy smile on his face. You easily reciprocated it back.

"I just came down here to wish you good luck." You said with the usual confidence in your tone gone and now replaced with a sudden timidness and bashfulness. "Not like you need it or anything."

"Where are you sitting?" Johnny asked, noticing that you were struggling to keep your attention on his eyes. He peered down and realized that he didn't have a shirt on, he chuckled.

You pointed near the walls of the stadium and he strained his vision to see so far away. He pursed his lips and let out a noise of discontent. You said that it was the only seats available because you were so late.

"Why don't you sit here with them? They wouldn't mind." Johnny said, jutting his thumb over to his team who was furtively watching his interaction.

"Oh no, it's okay."

"I insist. I want you to see me win up close."

You blushed a deep shade of scarlet and Johnny grinned at his successful attempt at a flirt. Was it even a flirt or was it an ego stroke? Either way, it didn't matter because you were smiling at him. You were easing his nerves and you didn't even know.

"I got out of my shift early so I wouldn't be in the hospital later to stitch you up." You teased, softly prodding his shoulder blade.

Johnny playfully puffed out his chest, "I don't plan on getting too injured today, I wanna look cool in front of you."

"Whatever you say, Johnny."

"But I'm nervous. I'm actually really nervous today." Johnny mumbled as if he didn't want anyone else in on your conversation, gone all traces of his cockiness as his heart thudded erratically against his chest when he heard Hyunsik's call of the last minute until he has to go inside the ring.

You gingerly reached for his taped hands and gave it a gentle squeeze, "Just count back from a hundred like I always tell you to. You'll do fine."

"Wait for me after the match, okay?" And so you did.

Counting down the numbers, Johnny clambered inside the ring and the bell rang to signal the start of the match. Being in the medical field meant that you were against all forms of violence so you couldn't really watch the entirety of the match without feeling sick to your stomach. Johnny didn't care, he was just happy that you kept your promise and was cheering him on.

It was hectic and everything was happening all at once. It was loud and everybody was screaming. This wasn't your world, it was Johnny's and your heart fluttered at the thought that he was willing to let you in it.

Eventually, the match ended in Johnny's favor and the next thing you knew, you were being hoisted up in the air. You had the biggest smile on your face, similar to Johnny's who now had a shiny belt slung over his shoulder. All his hard work and all his trips to the hospital paid off.

"Congrats on your win!" You exclaimed, placing your palms on his chest to steady yourself.

"I wanted you to see me get the belt." He admittedly sheepishly, reaching out to hold your wrists in his bruised hands.

"Aren't you hurt in any way? We can drop by the hospital if you want." You asked, checking to see if he had any major injuries but true to his word, Johnny was inflicted little to no injuries during the match, exclude the few bruises on his jaw and a busted lip

"Actually, I'd rather we get some coffee instead." Johnny said, the small smile on his lips making you chuckle.

"I'm sorry, I don't date my patients." You smirked at Johnny's crestfallen expression, softly shoving his side to make it known that you were only joking.

Johnny pulled a face, releasing a breath he didn't realize he was holding once he realized your joke. He played along, "I think you can make me an exception, I don't usually invite people to my matches."

"So this is about getting even, huh?" You were teasing him and now your faces were merely inches apart but before Johnny could even think of leaning in, you spun around and grabbed his hand once more. "C'mon then, my treat!"

Johnny let out a laugh. A boxer and a doctor, who would've thought?

[lostcoves]

ft. taishiro toyomitsu (fatgum) x gn!reader

genre: angst with a bittersweet ending 

wc & warnings: 1.7k | hospitals, blood, bus crash, alcohol, drunk!(y/n)

premise: your first day in university of tokyo hospital’s emergency room is surely a day to remember.

note: my contribution to @instantnuma​’s love hospital collab! i had a blast writing this piece as someone who comes from generations of medical personnel! hope you all enjoy!

university of tokyo hospital, home to some of the most renowned minds in the medical profession.

and somehow you ended up here as an intern in their emergency department.

why the emergency room of all places? couldn’t they have assigned you to pediatrics?! you loved kids! kids were cute! why did it have to be the emergency room?

you panicked easily, ironic for someone who just graduated medical school to pursue a career in medicine. at least, you weren’t a surgeon. you knew your limits.

you hovered by the nurse’s station, unsure what to do. you were supposed to meet your attending, dr. toyomitsu. yet, they were nowhere to be seen.

damnit, did my attending really flake on my first day? you thought to yourself, shuffling a bit by the nurse station.

BAM! the doors of the emergency room swung open, revealing a large blond handsome man performing cpr on the person attached to the stretcher. the paramedics wheeled the wounded in and the handsome man began shouting orders.

“kirishima, i need fifteen milligrams of morphine, stat! get me some wrap for this sucking chest wound, too!” the man commanded the room with an iron fist.

you couldn’t help but watch in all, as the handsome man treated the patient’s wound. a spiky redhead- you assumed to be kirishima- appeared behind you with morphine and wrap, securing the patient’s wound while nurses hooked the patient up to the machines.

“page the OR, amajiki. this man is gonna need major surgery,” the handsome man directed an indigo haired man. the other man- amajiki- got on the phone and informed the operating room of the patient.

you could only stand in awe, as the patient was whisked away into surgery. you slowly clapped at the heroism of the man before you, “sir, that was—”

“all in a day’s work,” he answered with a lopsided grin.

“your clothes, though..” you pointed out the man’s blood soaked shirt and pants. he shrugged it off and commented, “i’ll be changing into my scrubs anyway.”

“scrubs? you’re a doctor?” well, duh he was a doctor. why else would the medical personnel listen to him?

“yup! i’m doctor taishiro toyomitsu! but everyone calls me dr. fats!” he exclaimed, extending a hand to you.

your eyes widened at his name, “you- you’re my boss! i’m doctor (l/n), (y/n) (l/n). i just graduated form medical school.”

“ah! my new intern, great!” he was such a positive ball of energy. you just realized that he towered over you, now that he was off the stretcher. what a big fellow! he then added to you, “lemme introduce you to my residents. they’ll be here to help you out, as well.”

dr. toyomitsu gestured to the redhead and indigo haired duo from earlier, “this is doctor eijiro kirishima, second year resident, and doctor tamaki amajiki, fourth year resident.”

the redhead- kirishima- waved excitedly at you, “it’s good to meet you, dr. (l/n)! welcome to the team!”

the indigo haired man- amajiki- hung his head low, “uh huh.. good to have you on- on the team.”

“now that introductions are out of the way!” dr. toyomitsu grabbed a white coat off the coat rack, “let’s get to work, folks.”

─────────────────

you collapsed in the on call room, exhausted and sweaty from the past eleven hours of your first shift. suture after suture, panicky parent after panicky parent.. god, why did you make emergency medicine your second choice after pediatrics?

“hey,” dr. toyomitsu took a seat next to you in the on call room, “sucks that your first day was a twelve hour shift, huh?”

“i haven’t been this exhausted since last year’s finals,” you grumbled.

dr. toyomitsu laughed, “you’re funny.”

“i am?” you questioned.

“you are,” he paused, “what made you decide to choose emergency medicine as your speciality?”

“they ran out of openings for internships with pediatrics,” you replied honestly.

“okay so what made emergency medicine your second choice?” dr. toyomitsu reframed the question.

you pondered on it– you didn’t think you had a really good answer– so you decided to speak from the heart.

“emergency medicine is crucial for saving lives and i wanna save as many lives as possible,” you answered. dr. toyomistu sensed your sincerity and gave you a smile, “and i’m sure you will achieve just that but be aware.. sometimes you can’t save everyone.”

you opened your mouth to respond when dr. toyomistu’s pager went off. he checked the device and leapt to his feet, “bus crash. all hands on deck! you wanna save as many lives as possible? now it’s time for you to prove it.”

you sat up and ran after dr. toyomitsu into the emergency room, horrified by the scene before you. so many injured, some strapped to stretchers and others dragging themselves inside. 

“doctor! we got a red!” a paramedic hollered to you. you rushed over to the stretcher and yelled, “what do we got?!”

“female, age seven! possible internal bleeding and multiple fractures!” the second paramedic exclaimed. you stared down at the little girl and froze. she was so small, caked in blood and her dress in ruins. god, no. she was too young, too young and innocent.

“doctor, we need to act fast!” the first paramedic shouted.

“yes!” tears stained the little girl’s dress, “get me an iv and a cocktail of vitamin k, plasma, blood, and platelets! stat!”

a trio of nurses ran over with the supplies and hooked the girl up to an iv, administering the cocktail into her body. you checked her vitals and sighed in relief, she was stable.

“we gotta find her parents, what’s her name?” you asked the paramedics.

“only form of id was on her backpack,” the second paramedic handed you the girl’s belongings. the name ‘yuki’ was sewn on with purple thread. you frowned, “get the cops and child protective services. we need to find her family.”

“i’ll do that,” one of nurses spoke up.

“thank you,” you turned your attention back to the unconscious girl. you gently stroked her fine black hair, “we’re gonna find your family, kiddo. i promise.”

─────────────────

all the living injured were treated after three hours. your heart hardened from the sight of doctors having to inform family members that their loved ones didn’t make it. but your mind kept wandering to little yuki. you had to find her family.

“any word on your kid’s missing family?” dr. toyomitsu took you aside, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. you shook your head and answered, “i’m scared that they were on the bus with her and.. and..” you sniffled, you couldn’t finish your sentence.

“come here,” you and dr. toyomitsu embraced, tears flowing freely from your (e/c) eyes. you wanted yuki to return home safe, that was all you wanted for her. you and dr. toyomitsu ended the hug, you staring up at the attending with sad eyes, “thank you.”

“of course,” he answered before checking his watch, “looks like we’re off the clock. wanna grab a drink?”

“sure, i could use one after day,” you sighed. the two of you went your separate ways to change clothes before meeting outside the hospital’s entrance. dr. toyomitsu looked good in a fresh change of clothes.

“i wanna praise you for surviving your first day on the job,” dr. toyomitsu mused aloud when you both arrived at the bar, “most interns don’t make it to hour ten, much less the whole shift. plus, the way you handled the bus crash cases, i applaud you.”

“well, don’t,” you grumbled, “i froze up when it came to yuki.”

“but she didn’t die,” he countered.

“she almost did,” you fired back with a glare.

dr. toyomitsu’s expression softened, “okay. maybe you did freeze up but what’s important is that you didn’t freeze up for too long.”

“i guess..” you waved down the bartender and ordered a rum and cola. 

“you’ll have a better day tomorrow. i can already sense it,” the handsome doctor commented to you. you laughed bitterly and exhaled, “one can only hope so,” before downing your rum and cola.

“i wish- i wish i could be like you,” you hiccuped, three rum and colas in. dr. toyomitsu, on the other hand, was five drinks in and holding it well. he raised an eyebrow at you and asked, “what do you mean?”

“you.. you’re so confident and cool!” you giggled, “like a superhero! and you’re hot, sooooo hot!”

dr. toyomitsu blushed at your words but he chalked it up to you being drunk, “thank you, dr. (l/n). that makes a lot to me.”

“of course!” you playfully nudged him, “but we’re off- off the clock! call me (y/n)! okie dokie? i’m (y/n)!”

“okay, (y/n). only if you call me taishiro.”

“okayyyyy, taishirooooo!”

time seemed to fly, as you drunkenly interacted with your boss. you weren’t sure if it was the alcohol or the atmosphere but you felt your inhibitions slip away. taishiro had to cut you off after drink number five, not wanting you to get sick from the alcohol. 

“lemme get you a cab,” taishiro took you outside the bar and called you a cab.

“i don’t wanna leave you!” you whined. 

“you’ll see me tomorrow,” he chuckled.

loopy, you grabbed onto taishiro for stability and slammed your lips sloppily against his. taishiro tensed up from the kiss and pulled away.

“i’m sorry,” you hiccuped, tears in your eyes, “i’m drunk.”

“that you are,” he agreed.

“i’m so scared for yuki.

“i know. i am, too.”

a long pause.

“i wanna kiss you again.”

another pause.

“i wanna kiss you, too.”

so the two of you kissed, logic and reason out the window. taishiro’s lips tasted like candy, oh how you loved the taste. you pulled away from the kiss for air and smiled.

“see you tomorrow.”

“see yah, (y/n).”

maybe you two could kiss again when neither of you were drunk.

[ask-a-vetblr]

I'm currently a vet tech/nurse student & although I know it's not the same as vet school, I wanted to see if any of you had any tips for being able to really grasp material & or good study habits. Going to college during this pandemic has changed up our learning a bit (they've provided some great online sources to help) & labs are still on campus but I'm having a bit of difficulty adjusting to this change. I understand there's a lot of asks so please disregard if you want/need to. Thank you!

vet-and-wild here.

For me, group studying helps a lot. I retain things by quizzing people/having people quiz me. I also would make flashcards and go through information that way. I honestly struggled a lot with information retention in vet school. l’m a use it or lose it person. The random biochem facts I learned first year totally jumped out of my brain by the time 3rd year came around and I got asked a question about drug mechanisms. Also focus on the objectives of your lectures. That’s where questions tend to get pulled from, and don’t be afraid to ask for clarification if you need it.

Sueanoi here,

I passed third year because I have a group of friends that I trust. Group study works really amazingly well trust me on this. We would assign lesson topics to each of our member group, then each of us would prepare to “re-teach” the assigned topics to the group. Needless to say, that topic becomes the friend’s specialty.

Another way to study, if alone, is making a mind mapping chart. The study subject can be humongous and dividing them into smaller chunks can really help. I used to make huge scrolls 📜 (like in ancient times) of charts full of drawings and short descriptions. Mapping the info makes you able to arrange the information into something small enough that you can chew on. I really like scrolls because everything is in one page. Information is less fractured in my head.

My group of friends each make a scroll, then it became popular so we photocopy the entire set for the rest of the class. Now can you imagine my class waiting for the exam room to open, every single one of us are reading scrolls instead of books or notebooks. Then a teacher walked in on us, did a double take, and asked us for a copy of our scroll.

That was great. xD