Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Au: Regular
Requested
Tags/Warnings: GN! Reader, injuries
Word Count: 3.3k+
•──────⋅☼⋅──────•
"So, you come around here often?"
Futakuchi, for what you could say about him, definitely tried. You knew he was trying out to be on the volleyball team, and likely enjoyed playing (why else would he play?). He stood out among his peers as much as any lackadaisical junior did. Teachers would huff and whine about him and others for not paying attention or disrupting class despite it only being one week into the year. In a class of students, one would likely find him at the back, legs kicked on into his desk while twirling a pencil between his fingers. The general conclusion they reached was that he was uninterested in going to university, and preferred the idea of picking up a trade job after graduating.
When teachers did react to his attitude, the volleyball player just smirked, content, and went back to minding his own business, at the expense of those around him.
He tried, but not in the things that really mattered.
"Well, think of this as my club. While you are playing your sport, I'm in here treating injuries."
"Oh, so I get a sexy nurse to tend to my wounds. Living the dream."
You weren't quite sure what to do about him. The school nurse, who had been kind enough to take you in for one on one training instead of you joining a club, was an old man who was married for years before he came to work at your school. He never had to deal with students flirting with him on the job. Or you hoped he didn't.
"Please, just let me do my work."
"Sure thing, Gorgeous." Futakuchi smirked, lifting his arms to rest behind his head while you examined his knee.
Two years your junior, fifteen (maybe sixteen) years of age, and considered a nuisance at best and a delinquent at worst; this boy seemed to be under the impression that flirting with a medical trainee while being treated was acceptable.
You pressed your thumbs into the flesh beneath his knee-cap. He yipped, recoiling from your touch and giving you an annoyed pout with puffed cheeks. As much as you hated to admit, it was endearing, in a puppy sort of way.
"Ice, compression," you said, pulling a bandage wrap from the cupboard against the wall, "And rest. No activity for a week that isn't walking. If you still want to practice volleyball, get off your feet."
"Hey, that's no fair! My whole job is about jumping! My team needs me! We got tryout games next week!"
"Maybe you should have thought about that before you over-exerted yourself. Rest until the game, and you'll be okay to play. Now." You grabbed a small ice-pack, bringing it and the wrap to the whining teenager. "You alternate between ice and compression and slowly bend your knee to stretch the muscles and tendons. Can you do that for me?"
