Wesker teaching a innocent lil patient about their own anatomy and being touchy with them to see how they function.
— CW: 18+, afab anatomy, unprofessional doctor/patient relationship, wesker being a creep and being touchy with reader, noncon, dacryphilia, dark themes, mention of pregnancy, gaslighting/manipulating, not intended for minors thank you
When you first made the appointment this isn't probably what you had in mind first you don't know how you got yourself in such a situation in the first place and wether you regret it or not is best left unanswered for now with wesker's gloved hands spreading your thighs apart fast with a fluid motion, the latex cool against your skin. "Look at this pretty little cunt," he mutters, no longer bothering with the clinical tone. His fingers drag through your wet folds, gathering your slick. "Already dripping and I haven't even touched your clit properly yet." He laughs, it's honestly pathetic to him that something so easy could make you wet, he finds the human body so fascinating and he's highly intelligent with how the female body works, he's gonna guide you through how each part of you functions
He circles your entrance with two gloved fingers, teasing but not pushing in. "Fuck, you're so wet. Have you been thinking about this since you made the appointment lil lamb?" His thumb finally presses against your swollen clit, rubbing in tight circles. "This greedy little cunt gets so hard for me. Look how it twitches." His hand forcing you to watch how it feels like being touched and it makes you so embarassed him using you when you are so vulnerable right now torturing you abit more with his rubbing before sliding his fingers into your sopping wet cunt.
Wesker slides two fingers deep inside you without warning, groaning at how easily they sink in. "Fuck, what a tight little cunt you're sucking me in so easily lil lamb." He curls them hard against your front wall, grinding against that spongy spot. "Feel that? That's your G-spot getting hit all over the place. I'm gonna make you squirt all over this table." Leaning into your neck kissing and biting into your neck harshly leaving hickies on it, explaining between kisses and bites the function of your pretty cunt
His free hand grabs your breast roughly, squeezing the flesh before pinching your hardned buds hard enough to make you gasp. "These breasts are fucking perfect. See how your nipples get so stiff when I touch them?" He twists the peak between his fingers while his other hand pumps into you faster, the wet erotic pornographic sounds and your moans fill the room, like he can't get enough of you, panting into your neck he'd be lying if he said he didn't fantasized about this, But would never admit to it this is all below him instead he'd blame you for making him do this a doctor shouldn't touch his own patient but who would believe a dumb lil patient like you when you have 0 evidence?
you almost forget what you even came here for in the first place being so brain dead on his touch"What a dumb puppy, here i am explaining to you what your pretty lil body can do and you are drooling on the table like a fucking whore." he growls, adding a third finger. The stretch burns it's almost so painful that you flinch he's picking you apart and you almost hate yourself for letting him take advantage of you in such a state yet it but feels so good. "Three fingers in this greedy cunt and you're still begging for more? Greedy lil lamb." Pumping in and out of your poor used cunt until you are nearing your orgasm with one more push you whine you squirt all over his table cum running down your thighs.
Wesker pulls his fingers out and gives a few slaps to your abused cunt, getting a shakey gasp out of you, the wet smack echoing in the room. "Such a messy girl. Your juices are running down to your rear end." He drags his soaked fingers lower, giving you a smirk behind his dumb sunglasses making his expression unreadable at times, pressing his fingers against your tight rim. "Maybe I should finger your ass too. Stretch both your holes at once." Before you could react, your eyes roll back throwing your head back as a enstrangled moan comes out of you weakly pushing at his chest to stop him but to no avail does it work as he's way stronger and bigger than you
He already pushes his thumb into your messy cunt while his index finger breaches your ass, working both holes simultaneously. "Fuck, you're taking it so well. Both holes clenching around my fingers, such a good fucking lamb." His movements become rougher, more demanding, he's anything but gentle and soft with it giving you more pleasure than any man could of have wesker knows what he's doing with his fingers he's highly experienced with such knowledge "Are you gonna cum lamb? being stuffed in both places? Maybe i should bend you over and fuck you properly to see how a cock feels inside of you, and what happens when i cum inside you fucking brat" you should be thankful that he's even giving his precious time to you breaking his own rules at work just to teach you.
The thought of pregnancy was nowhere near on your mind fear was overtaking you, you felt like you were on fire already on the verge of tears, tears spilling down your face as he wipes them seeing you cry really turned him on more "oh you poor fragile thing can't even handle it, You are so fucking filthy do you think this is professional a doctor touching his own patient? How much have you fantasized about this greedy lamb fucking answer me." You can't even manage to pull out an answer from his intense finger work as his fingers work faster, thumb grinding against your clit with each thrust, and his constant berating helping you in reaching your end "Come on, fucking cum for me. Soak my fucking gloves. I want to see this cunt pulsing and squirting everywhere dumb lamb."
Imagine Conrad never leaving your side when you get admitted to Chastain
Gently raising your hand from the hospital bed, Conrad takes it into his own. Rubbing circles on the back of your hand, he stares at you, taking the sight of you in and he can't help but admonish himself as he realizes how much he took you for granted. Since the start of your relationship, Conrad had seen you as a constant presence in his life, someone whose life would become intertwined with his until the end of both of your days. But he never could have imagined that it could occur so soon.
It happened a few days ago but he could still remember how you looked like when you were first admitted to Chastain as if it was just a few seconds ago. He sees it every time he closes his eyes and the thought of how close he was to losing you pops up in his head each time he so much as blinks. How despite his best effort to keep you awake and alert as you were rolled into the hospital, hands pressing harshly to your abdomen as he tried to stem the bleeding, your eyes fluttered closed and you fell unconscious, head lolling to the side.
The beeping of the vital monitor breaks the silence of the room but Conrad can't bring himself to mind it. In fact, he welcomes the noise. The high-pitched beeps are one of the only things telling him that you're still here with him. As he watched your chest slowly rise and fall as the ventilator helps you breathe. Lowering his head, he meets the back of your hand and brings it up to his lips. Pressing a kiss to it though he doesn't pull away once he's done. His lips still brush your hand as he whispers into it. "Wake up, [Name]. Wake up and let me see those eyes I love so much. Don’t go where I can’t follow. Please."
A/N: Cross-posted from my AO3. I also edited it because it didn't seem as descriptive and understandable as I may have liked.
Summary: The buzz of a beautiful saw severs the tie to most relationships, but Wesker was determined to make sure it brings you closer to him. He loves you, after all. It's not the traditional type of love. But it is true and pure—and borderline unlawful.
Warnings: 3197 words, MDNI, kidnapping, amputation, obsessive behaviour, medical procedures, this is NOT romantic, unhealthy relationships, takes place during the Code Veronica era, wesker is insane
Drip...
Drip...
Drip...
"You're doing wonderful,"
You hear a gruff voice from a shadowy corner of your thoughts, the tone serene and comforting, a soft blanket of protection, "It's okay, this is what you wanted. You wanted this. To always be safe and protected," there is shifting, you feel someone shifting, alongside the sickening sound of rushing liquid. "Never trying to leave my side. No more struggling, just the way I intended. Nothing—no one—will ever hurt you again. You'll be home with me forever. You're doing incredible, I'm proud of you, dear." The person's words were beguiling. You knew that much. They sounded so familiar. A stern yet comforting voice.
More dripping. A silent roar of a device.
You were interrupted by a distant pause, causing a bitter buzzing sensation in your brain. White noise invaded your ears and pulsed painfully throughout your body. Yet the voice continued its gentle caress around your brain. "Do you want me to make the pain go away? You're doing so well. So obedient. Do you want me to make it go away?" Their voice was so honeyed and soothing, you couldn't help but feel a little better as your body grew listless, everything around you fading to black, the voice now sounding like it was in your ear, close enough to whisper charmingly to you. Weightless.
"Just say it, dear, just say you want me to make it go away."
The dull ache in your bones, the smouldering pain spreading throughout your body, made you want to say yes, yes, you wanted it to go away. Yes, it hurt. You weren't sure if you spoke, not even sure if you made a groan of acknowledgement to the person's voice who sounded like Wesker—was it Wesker? Sounded just like him—at least to your muddled brain. Maybe your head idled to the side. Maybe you did make a groaning noise. Though it felt like someone had laid your prone body on dozens, possibly hundreds, of the tips of nails. Did something happen? God, you couldn't remember anything.
Drip...
Drip...
A gasp was heard in response, the telltale sound of a medical instrument being carefully adjusted, meeting your hammering eardrums, your heart pounding in your throat. "Yes, yes—you want it to go away. You want me to make the pain go away. You trust me; well, of course, you do. You've no reason not to. I've got you, dearheart, I'll keep you safe now. Don't worry, I'll make it all go away soon, it'll be nothing more than a memory," The warmth in the voice grew as your consciousness began to fade away into dull static, your hearing giving way to bitter nothingness.
"Just a memory."
You weren't sure how much time passed before you woke up, but it had to have been a long time. You felt tired, almost numb as you slowly opened your eyes to feel a bright light on the ceiling above pulsating through your retinas. The room you woke up in was familiar in a way, of course, it was. It was a hospital room of sorts, you recall. You had spent many nights in places like these, and after a few minutes of trying in vain to move, you couldn't move your legs below the knees anymore, nor could you feel them, not even in the slightest. It was as if you were paralyzed.
That shadowy figure is in your peripheral again, just barely out of reach.
"Look at you—" A voice came from a corner near you, your name feeling like a cruel mockery. It seemed so similar to the voice you heard before, but you shelved that thought. Wesker and that person sounded so similar. "It seems like you had another little fright, hm? We can't let you move about too much. No, no, we can't," A comforting, gloved, yet rough hand laid itself right at the side of the bed you lie in, fingers curling at the thinly veiled blanket that covered your body. "You might tear your stitches. Your dressings."
At first, you strained to move, but you came to realise that you could not. The buzz inside your head and the hunger to escape was nothing more than a distant memory at this point. Yet, the voice was so comforting that you felt like you could lean into the touch. Was this heaven, were you dead? So many words rushed through your head, and even then, you couldn't even begin to vocalise them.
"I am aware, this is all so new to you. It’ll be okay, try not to worry yourself," the voice spoke soothingly as he came into view. You recognized him with a mix of terror and relief, as you saw that it was none other than Wesker, his hands moving towards you from the side of the bed, his sunglasses-clad eyes shining beneath the lenses, filled with gloom. He looked wary like he always did, but there was an underlying sense of excitement behind his amber eyes. As he felt lively. But you knew better. "I know, I know, you're never going to have to walk on those... legs of yours again. So much for walking away from conversations, no?"
You felt your breath begin to heave, the sound of your heart sinking into a pit in your stomach. "What," A sharp glance at Wesker left you breathless. You then prop yourself up on your elbows, beginning to peel the blanket off of your body. "Oh, my God." The words left your throat as quickly as they came, a shock sending a painful sense of dread and horror down your spine. Your legs. No wonder you couldn't feel them from the knee down. "I—I c... I can't..." The words caught themselves in your throat. Whichever feeling of relief was left inside was now substituted with the sickening sense of terror and aforementioned dread.
Your legs.
"It's okay, I told you it would all go away," he shrugged, his smile still showing excitement as he grinned wistfully at you, "Now I never have to worry about you running away. I shall rule with you by my side," he declares as he sat down beside you, his hand reaching out to tenderly stroke your hair, "I must say, you look simply stunning just like this. It's almost as if this is exactly how you were always meant to be." Wesker never followed human rules. Despite this, he spoke to you as an equal, and you felt comfortable confiding in him because he was an authority figure. A superior. He never spoke to you as if you were a child who had scraped their knees. As the dread sets in, Wesker pulls his shades from his face, exposing the snake-like eyes beneath, staring at you as if you were a prized jewel, though you cannot focus on that when there is a more important affair at hand.
They were chopped off.
"W...why—" You stare in horror, lifting one of your thighs, which you could thankfully do, staring at the bandage on your knees. "Why are they..." The words left you, the situation, the realisation sinking deep inside your chest. "I can't... they're gone," The shock and dismay spun around your heart and laid heavy upon your soul as you stared at what Wesker had done to your body. The mess he made of your perfectly capable limbs. The gentle woven pattern of the stitches that circled near what used to be your kneecaps, coated in the golden-brown substance of an antiseptic. The craftsmanship of the stitches and stables was spectacular—the pain was little to none, yet your brain was so foggy that you could barely even properly react to the situation at hand. Only muted gasps and short breaths.
"Hydromorphone," Wesker suddenly uttered, a surprisingly gentle hand resting on your upper thigh. "An opioid much stronger than morphine. Perfect for excruciating pain after limb amputation." The tight-lipped smile barely twitched, yet refused to leave his face. "However, mental fog is a symptom..."
Wesker was your companion—a superior, yes, though, there was mutual trust. That was what you thought, anyway. Trust can only bring you so far, and it’s so easily misplaced. A quiet yet sharp man who held the weight of the world on his shoulders. Someone confident in his actions. A man that you knew little to nothing about, rather than his military experience—his words, not yours—and knowledge on all the things you did not. And yet here you were, dazed out of your mind with a dull sensation in what was left of your legs, that he stole from you for a reason that you would probably never know. Your ears began to buzz painfully, your eyes staring directly at the stubs that were now your kneecaps.
"Don't look at me like that. The only thing they were causing was problems, and problems need to be fixed, dear," he said as he pulled his hand from your thigh, allowing it to gently pat your head, but there was a firmness to it, "I told you I'd fix it, and I did." he buzzes with that same thin-lipped smile, "You look so much better like this. I don't know what you think you're going to miss. Your friends, you say? Family? Why, you have me. You’ll do just fine, I assure you."
Wesker spoke as if this was a completely normal thing to do. Was he trying to convince you, or rather, himself?
Shakily, the words escaped your mouth before you could stop them, "Did you do this? Did—did you remove my legs? Did..." Your voice trailed off as the awful truth began to resonate deep within your brain, spewing out its painful reality and forcing you to take hold of the situation in full force. There was no way around it. Wesker forcibly removed your legs.
"There, there," he shushes, leaning forward to whisper into your ear, "No need for tears. As much as I adore you in all your emotions, you were always just so theatrical..." His voice was frigid, but his eyes seemed much gentler, "You don't need your legs," he tuts, moving his hand to gently caress your cheek, "You don't need anything else, you just need me."
You weren't sure if you were crying or not, but your vision was suddenly blurry with the telltale sign of tears. At this revelation, the cold tone washes over Wesker’s voice again. "You know it pains me to see you cry," a pout. "Don't you remember?" The words in which he spoke were followed by a short gasp, his voice soft and satisfied as he gently caressed your cheek. Wesker stayed quiet for a couple of moments as if to let his words sink in.
But the fact remained, you didn't remember a thing. Not a single comprehensible thought pierced through your head like a bullet. The only thought that stayed was the fact that a bed you would’ve once felt comforted by now lay beneath you like a tomb, like a coffin, dragging you down into the cushions. It was suffocating you, and yet you felt consoled by it despite your brain screaming at you not to feel soothed. Without much of a second thought, your fingers trailed down your thighs, the muscles tensing up as you drew closer to the site of amputation, the skin becoming dense and tingly, no doubt from whatever pain meds—Hydromorphone, or whatever he called it—Wesker had you on.
Had you been stupid, you’d genuinely believe that he was a doctor.
As if reading your mind, Wesker spoke up. "I already told you, I'll take your misery, I'll preserve you, and you won't ever need to feel anything sinful. Just you and me—once I have the world in my hands, of course," he said as his hand slowly travelled down to meet your chin, the corners of his eyes wrinkled, filling with an unnerving smile, "You will adjust accordingly. I know that you will—you’re smart. It’s why I chose you, after all." His soft caresses continued despite his morbid words that sank into your spine. It made you want to get up and run, and yet, you knew you no longer had the luxury to do such a thing anymore.
You just wanted this to be over already, to fall asleep and wake up and discover that this was all nothing more than a nightmare. You were impatient, but Wesker adored this part—the anticipation, the teasing. Yes, he wanted to make you feel happy and protected, yet the fear was something he relished. This was something that was meant to happen; you were always meant to be like this. Wesker set his hand right above the stitches on your kneecaps, the corners of his eyes wrinkling to form crow's feet. He seemed proud of his work, circling the deep incisions and the fragile skin being pressed together. The silence was deafening as he wrapped gauze around the numb flesh.
So gentle in his ministrations, aware that one wrong move could burst apart your healing wounds.
As you two stood—clever choice of words for you, wasn't it?—there in silence, staring into each other's eyes, an unspoken battle of wills took place. You were the first to realise you were at a standstill, the silent acceptance washing over your curved spine. Slow resignation settled in the air, and a tense silence took over. The tension in the air was so thick that not even the strongest of military-grade combat knives could slice it in half. Ironic.
For a moment, Wesker’s facial expression began to darken, and he seemed bitter, but it changed so quickly that you admittedly thought that your brain was just playing tricks on you. His brows knit together, the wrinkle between them collecting a drop of sweat that dripped down his nose. The eyebags that hung below his blonde lashes hid a life that you would never be able to comprehend. "I did it for you," his voice is laced with a growl. "Yes. I love you. I always have. Did you know that? Hmm, I don't think you did. I don't think you ever cared to notice." Wesker’s eyes stared—the thin, narrow pupils that were reminiscent of a viper, or relatively, a feline, intermixed with the amber hues of his irises that blended into a deeper shade of red and yellow—at you with the utmost of love and adoration as if he hadn't just robbed you of something you held dear.
His words held little to no truth to them and showed nothing but the grotesque being that shone beneath the fragile and scarred layers of his skin. "I put you here because I'm selfish, and I'm scared I'm going to lose you." He seemed to be holding back, the words unspoken but heavy on his tongue. And yet, instead, his next comments threw you through a loop.
"This is just the beginning, dear," Wesker’s bare thumb gently caressed your cheekbone as he shuddered, a sneering smile overtaking his stern features. If this were a different situation, you would've leaned into his touch and offered him your very own smile. "There is more awaiting you. And I believe," He pauses, averting his gaze, his lips parting as his wet tongue darts between them to wet his cracked skin. "I believe you're going to adore what I’ll do next. I will let you heal, of course, but—" Wesker’s fingers fall from your cheek to your coxae, his other hand joining as he grasps at your hips gently. "You will only know me. Everything will be me—us. It sounds magnificent, wouldn't you agree?"
It was almost like an unspoken admission of your place. Your very humanity is being stripped away and discarded like some sort of animal, a prized possession—cattle. Wesker drilled you this hole, a cavity barely deep enough to reach your abdomen, and yet you can't see the light at the top, so you drown in the shallow water that pools around you.
"What are you—" The words come out so shakily, quivering breaths and tensed muscles. "What are you going to do to me, Albert?" Some tears threatened to fall but no matter how hard you tried, they just refused to come. You still felt drowsy, your limbs heavy on both body and heart. Nothing but worry and disgust flowed through every limb—or lack thereof—like an unforgiving rush of water. You never truly know how good things are until they're gone.
In response to your words, however, Wesker grins while the corners of his eyes barely wrinkle. He looked like he was about to burst into fits of laughter, which was rare for such a stoic man. Wesker seldom had profound bouts of mirth. It was as if what you said was incomprehensible and not what one would consider English. Wesker was mocking you even if he thought he wasn't, the shift of his legs was a cruel mockery of something that you now lacked. Despite Wesker’s smile, it soon fell to a slight frown, the flare of his nostrils being an undeniable show of aggression. A couple of moments pass, and he looks away with a sigh, wetting his lips with his tongue.
The dull static in the back of your head returned once more. Everything screamed in you to escape the comfortable prison of bed. Time is not on your side nor is the universe. The world around you melts like wax in a furnace, everything slowly becoming twisted and corrupted. The tingling is almost blinding in what's left of your legs.
You can't escape.
It seemed as though he could sense the trepidation emanating from every pore of your body, and so Wesker’s caress on your cheek became even more temperate, it made you feel as if something was going to happen. Something that would permanently rewrite your brain chemistry. "Don't fret," he silences, "Please, my dear. You'll feel so much better once you just accept me." A rough hand reaches down to the bandages around your thighs. "Trust me. Don't you trust me?" His grip was comforting, but you knew better than to be comforted by this sad excuse for a man.
His eyes search yours for any hint of disobedience, sealing in your fate with a gentle caress.
"I will make you perfect. Only then will you be able to fit faultlessly into my vision of a utopia." His voice comes with a mischievous lilt. With an assertive tilt of his head and a determined quirk of his brow, he began to lean in even closer, further invading your personal space.
"Don't, please don't do this—" Your pleas fell upon deaf ears as all he did to soothe you was rub his calloused thumb against your cheekbone while he gently whispered words of encouragement. Was he trying to comfort you, or was he trying to comfort himself, you wonder. This entire situation was sick and twisted. His comforting words would once be something that you'd find solace in, but now it's something that made you feel sick to your stomach. “Just let me go—”
Request: Hi! I loved that resident fic, could there maybe be a part 3 where they can get the kid treatment, or the gang fights the ‘evil’ doctors to get the kid actual treatment?
Fandom: The Resident (FOX)
Warnings: Surgery reference, fight reference
1 // 2 // 3
*******
“Good morning,” Conrad greeted cheerily.
Opening your eyes, the first thing you saw was Dr. Hawkins. You responded by saying his name and repeating “Good morning to you, too.”
Conrad smirked as he leaned back in his chair and kicked his feet up onto your bed. “I get to watch you today, so what do you want to do?”
“There’s not much to do, Dr. Hawkins. I’m stuck in this room, remember? No one’s allowed to see me or else I could be sent back to those evil doctors.” Your disappointment in your confined situation was shown clearly on your face, so you turned it away from the resident.
He brought his legs down, and leaned closer to comfort you. “Hey, don’t be so upset.” Conrad took a breath, and it looked as if he was using it to deliberate his next inquiry. “...Do you want to go for a ride?”
At first, his question puzzled you. Your concerns were put to rest, however, when Conrad helped you into a wheelchair and began pushing you down the hallways of the hospital.
“But what about the evil doctors?” you wondered.
Conrad laughed, “Stop calling them ‘evil.’ We’re not in some story where we’re heroes fighting villains. And as for the ev...idiotic doctors who are after you...Well, looks like we’ll just have to be careful with avoiding them.”
The day spent by Conrad wheeling you to visit all of your friends throughout the hospital. Your first stop was the ER. Thankfully, it was a slow day. Devon and Irving showed you around the department, and you even helped diagnose a patient. Irving, who found out about the secret that was you later than everyone else, was impressed. He said that after you got better, and maybe completed some odd years of medical school, then a job would possibly be available for you in the ER at Chastain.
Next, Conrad took you to Mina. She was preparing for a surgery with Dr. Austin. AJ was an interesting doctor. Apparently, Mina had told him of you, and AJ was in full support of Conrad’s deceptiveness toward Bell. Another thing about Dr. Austin was his clear-as-day egotistic personality. You didn’t mind it. In fact, you found AJ entertaining. You happily called him by his self-dubbed nickname, “The Raptor.”
To return your kindness, Dr. Austin invited you to sit in on his surgery. It was a routine procedure, so it was likely you wouldn’t see anyone die; and AJ also promised that the observation gallery would be empty except for you and Conrad, so no one would find out about you. Although there was a small complication during the procedure, the patient turned out fine. The only cost was the concern on your and Conrad’s end. Ultimately, you were glad you were able to watch the ordeal.
Your time with Conrad was winding to an end for the day, so Conrad started taking you back to your room. The person watching you for the night was going to be Nic.
“Hey! What are you doing with them?!” A burly man yelled at Conrad from the end of a hallway. He was one of the doctors that favored racking up your medical bill over giving you actual help.
Conrad wheeled you behind himself. “My job, Dr. Stevenson,” the resident firmly notified the approaching agitated man. “This is my patient.”
Dr. Stevenson angrily corrected, “No, this is my patient that you stole from me!”
“That doesn’t matter,” Conrad’s voice suddenly got very low. “What matters is you would rather watch a child get sicker over ending up with less money in your pocket.”
Hawkins didn’t get a verbal response. Instead, Stevenson wound up his fist and went to take a shot at your friend.
“No!” you shouted out of fear.
Conrad easily dodged the punch. He twisted Dr. Stevenson’s arm around the offender’s back and pushed Stevenson against a wall.
“Wait!” You called out to the resident. “Conrad, stop!”
He didn’t respond, Conrad was seeing red.
The commotion was drawing the attention of other personnel. You could tell that they were all viewing Conrad as the bad guy.
“Alright, everybody! Back it up!” came a high-pitched but authoritative voice out of no where. “I’m Dr. Bell’s personal assistant and I say that there is nothing to see here!” A boy appeared. He seemed to be in his very early twenties. Despite that, he was putting on the best show of power that he could. However, he wasn’t very good at it.
You had to hide a smile at how out of place he looked.
He tapped Dr. Stevenson’s shoulder. “Bell needs you right away.”
Stevenson rolled his eyes. “Can’t you see I’m in the middle of something?”
Conrad let him go. “If Bell needs you, then Bell needs you.”
“No way I’m leaving you with the child,” scoffed Stevenson. “You’ll just hide them away again!”
Dr. Hawkins shrugged, “I don’t know, man. It sounds like Bell really needs you.”
“He’s by OR-3,” the boy informed.
Dr. Stevenson glared darkly at the boy, then the resident, then you. He stalked off toward OR-3.
“Dr. Hawkins, you better get going now, because Dr. Bell definitely isn’t looking for that guy,” the boy chuckled.
Hawkins looked confused, “How do you know my name?”
“Oh, I’ve heard stories about you. It’s how I knew you were trying to do the right thing in that fight that just happened. You’re always trying to do the right thing.” The boy introduced himself upon seeing Conrad’s still-weary eyes. “I’m Grayson. Grayson Betournay.”
Conrad seemed to be put at ease. “So, you actually are Bell’s assistant.”
Grayson was nearly jumping up and down with excitement. “You’ve heard of me?”
“I’ve heard the name of Bell’s assistant,” Conrad clarified, a little amusement in his voice.
You giggled.
Grayson nodded. Realization that he may have been acting like a fanboy was hitting him. “Right. I’ll-uh-just let you two get on with your day.”
“Thank you. Oh, and Mr. Betournay?” you called as he was walking away.
“I’ve never been called a “Mr.” before. It sounds so official,” he noted childishly.
You laughed again at the boy’s antics. Then, your mood changed, and you nervously asked, “Could you keep me a secret?”
Hawkins continued for you, “We’re trying to get Y/n better, and the only way to do that is for no one to know we have Y/n, especially Bell.”
“You have my word, sir.” Grayson saluted.
The resident chuckled, “Conrad’s just fine.”
As you started to be wheeled away, Grayson looked as if he had just been bestowed the highest honor. “Thank you, Conrad.”
You and Hawkins were both holding back laughter as you rolled away.
“So, eventful day, huh?” commented Conrad once you were settled back in your makeshift hospital room.
Nodding, you admitted, “I want to see The Raptor again, and Grayson was really funny.”
Conrad agreed, “He was. Maybe I could bring them to visit you some time.”
“Dr. Feldman, too?” you wondered.
Conrad smiled, “Feldman, too.”
“Great!” you celebrated. “Maybe he could teach me more about the ER.”
“Maybe,” Conrad chuckled.
There was a knock at the door. It was Nic. “Hey. I heard the two of you had quite the eventful day.”
Conrad nodded, “We did. Y/n, how about you tell Nic about the new friends you made. I’m going to head out and start my rounds.”
“Okay,” you smiled. “Oh! Conrad?”
Hearing you say his name turned him around.
“Thank you so much for today. I really needed to get out of here.”
He smirked, “Any time, kid. Anytime.”
*******
Author’s Note: Thank you so much for reading! Fill up that heart and reblog if you liked it. I would also really appreciate a comment, if you have the time. If you would like to read more, I have more fics on The Resident over on my page. You should check it out. Also, REQUESTS ARE OPEN. I take requests for preferences, headcannons, drabbles, and one-shots. No smut requests, please. If you’re wondering if I write for a specific fandom, feel free to ask me. Have a nice day, night, or whatever time it is for you! <3 <3 <3
Imagine Conrad waiting for you to get out of surgery
"You're going to be okay," Conrads says, his hand gripping the end of the hospital bed so tightly that his knuckles are turning white, as he stares at your unconscious body being wheeled to the O.R. He can feel the others' eyes on him - AJ, Kitt, Bell, Devin - but he doesn't look at them. He can't tear his eyes away from you because he's afraid that the moment he does, you might disappear. He has to stay alert. If your condition worsens, he has to be ready to diagnose so they could get to a solution as quickly as possible. Every moment counts especially with your life on the line.
They reach the O.R. and Conrad is about to follow the team into the O.R. when he feels a hand on his chest, stopping him in his tracks. His eyes follow the arm back to who it belongs to and he sees Devin,. "Conrad, you can't."
He shakes his head. "Devin, I can't just stay here. I need to be with her." He paces around his friend, running a hand over his face. The anguish on Conrad's face is clear as day, tears forming in his eyes. "I can help. I need to help."
Devin can only give him a sympathetic look, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You aren't in a rational state right now. You're anxious and worried which is understandable but if you were in there operating on her, that could affect your judgment." Devin takes a deep breath. "You know we'll do everything we can to save her. It's hard but you have to let us work."
He knows Devin is right but that doesn't mean it didn't hurt. Leaning against the wall, Conrad lets himself slide down the wall until he's sitting on the floor. He hears his friend walk into the O.R. but he doesn't watch him go. Instead, all Conrad can do is stare at his hands. They're stained red with blood, your blood, from when he had to put pressure on your wound in an effort to stop you from bleeding out. He could go and clean up, scrub his hands until the reminder of your life-threatening wound is gone but he can't. He doesn't want to stray too far. What if things took a turn for the worse while he was gone. No, he has to stay here so he could get any updates as soon as they're available.
Resting his head on the wall, he stares at the ceiling. His arms resting on his legs as the tears fall down his eyes. All he could do is wait and hope for the best. "You have to be okay."
Tongue poking out in concentration, you take a deep breath as you lean closer to your hand which is laid flat against the coffee table, eyes narrowing in the process to get a better look. As much as you love having painted nails, you hated the process you had to go through to get them. No matter how many tips you followed or trinkets you bought - the peelable liquid latex polish barrier which was $8 down the drain - you could never get your nails to come out good.
Which seemed to be the case now as you raised your hand higher to the light once you finished the last coat to get a look at how they turned out. The nail was smudged and the coating was uneven as some sides were darker than the others. Letting out a sigh of frustration, you picked up one of the round cotton swabs and put some nail polish remover on it before beginning to wipe your nails with it.
"Conrad!"
It only takes a few minutes for your boyfriend to appear as he rounds the corner to the living room where you were. "What happened?" He asked you, taking a seat on the floor next to you.
Giving him the best pleading face you could muster, you lean to be close to him as you gesture to the array of nail polish bottles on the coffee table. "Can you help me paint my nails?"
Nodding, he kisses your forehead before shifting to a more comfortable position as he takes a look at the bottles. "So we have Passionate Peach, Baby-Oh-Baby Pink, and Redder than Red. I'm sensing a theme here." He teases with a smile.
"Thought I should do something festive since Valentine's Day is almost here." You tell him, pointing at the third bottle.
Rolling the bottle between his hands for a few seconds, he uncaps it as he pulls out the brush. "Well then let's give you some Valentine's Day-worthy nails."
Walking into the house, the emptiness of it did nothing to lessen the excitement you and Conrad felt as you both looked around the room. It had taken a few months for the signing on the house to close. With lots of back and forth between the previous owners and your real estate agent, not to mention the piles of paperwork you had to complete, it was a miracle that the deal was finally able to close. But now that all the t's were crossed and the i's were dotted, you and Conrad were ready to begin the phase of your life and relationship.
There's not much to look at now as the house was empty of everything except for the big appliances the seller decided to leave for you both. Plus you would probably have to do some deep cleaning before you officially moved in just to make sure that everything was spotless but the possibilities were endless.
"I can already see it," Conrad tells you, coming up from behind you to wrap his arms around your waist, head resting on your shoulder. Moving his left arm, he points to the area before you. "We can put the coffee table here." Pointing to the wall next to you guys, he continues: "and then hang the tv there and put the tv stand underneath to avoid the glare."
Leaning back to rest against his chest, you nod. "Then we can put the couches here. My loveseat would look good there."
"You sure you don't want to get a new one? It's getting up there."
Gasping at his statement you turn around to face him. "I love that couch. It's still good. It's been with me since my college days."
"My point exactly."
"Maybe I should rethink this whole house business with you. The couch and I are a package deal, you know." Though you shake your head as if you're serious, the smile on your face lets Conrad know that you're only joking.
He laughs at this. Moving his head closer, Conrad cups a hand to your face and pulls you in for a kiss which you are happy to return. When he pulls away, he doesn't move too far as he opts to rest his forehead on yours. "If that's what it takes to live with you then bring in the couch. The furniture we have doesn't matter as long as I get to wake up next to you."
"I'm starting to regret agreeing to go ice skating with you," You told Conrad as the two of you skated alongside each other. Well as Conrad skated and as you tried not falling on your butt. Ever since the two of you stepped onto the ice, you have not left the rink's walls, gripping it with your hands as you move carefully on the ice. "The movies make it seem so easy."
Your boyfriend laughs at your statement. "You're the one who suggested it in the first place."
You open your mouth to respond back when you feel yourself begin to slip on the ice. Eyed widening in shock, your grip tightens on the walls, nails probably leaving an indentation as you try to catch yourself. Conrad does the same, reaching an arm out to grab your arm and hold you up.
You lean against the wall and shake your head. "I can't do this anymore. There have been too many close calls." Grabbing his hands, you give him a pout and gesture to the outside of the rink. "Can we go buy some hot chocolate? I need a break from the ice."
Leaning closer to you, he kisses your forehead as he nods. "Of course."
