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summary: when you get injured at a renaissance faire, mel has the privilege of making your acquaintance… and breaking a little hospital code, too.
word count: 5k
contains: fluff. absolutely dumb jousting injury, plus size reader if you squint, mel being a good doctor and a prettier girl, mel showing her neurodivergence, reader being sooo easy. flirting and meet cute stuff. *no use of y/n
a/n: first mel post :,) oh how i love her…. HOW I LOVE HER… there’s not enough mel king x readers on this site for me so now i have to do it. look at what you did. look
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It was not originally in your plans to get mowed down by a horse, but things simply just got out of control.
You had been to many Renaissance faires, and the activities were not new to you. For years, you’ve trotted around campgrounds and county parks decked out with wooden stages, makeshift jousting arenas, unusual tents full of wares and magics, and stalls overflowing with trinkets and drinks. It was your favorite part of the year when the season came around. You never ceased putting thought into it; your very first year you started small with a bustled skirt and some faerie-like wings, and the confidence quickly evolved to a meter which tipped between bedazzled pirate princess, to medieval witch, to Shakespearean sweetheart. You had a box full of clothes saved especially for the weekends off work that you dragged your sister’s unlucky soul to a land far, far away.
All of this is to say that when it came to knowing how to enjoy a Renaissance faire, as well as how to keep your wits about you, you were well-prepared. But you cannot always account for anomalies. Nobody can. And so when you were standing around the edge of the fenced-in jousting event– this was the big money maker of the day– you expected to stand in this year’s Anne Boleyn-style dress and enjoy the show.
You were gravely mistaken.
All had been well up until this point. Your sister came with you, and together you got a head start, stepping foot on the fairgrounds the second the event opened. You had eaten your way around the perimeter and indulged in a handful of beers, and by the time the sun rose to noon, you were tipsy and spinning with random strangers in your dress during little dance circles. You took a slew of pictures around the grounds and even convinced your sister to try out the axe throwing stall, which was a terrible idea given your summed blood alcohol level, but somehow you two survived. It wasn’t too hot and it wasn’t too bright, and in the book of past times, this was likely the most fun you’d ever had at a faire.
When the jousting show was announced, your sister was adamant on joining the bet on the winner.
“We gotta go with the guy in the blue,” she giggled, “He’s hot.”
“He is not!” you snorted.
“That means nothing coming from you.”
“I still like men, dipshit,”
“Yeah, but not that much!”
You rolled your eyes in the moment, set on acquiring two more beers, and when you returned, she had put the money down. There was no going back now– you had to stay and watch, to see if she would make it or break it.
The joust was as clumsy as expected; it was two nerds on horses, which was more realism than you’d seen in the dinkier places you’d tried, but they seemed to circle each other and hurl old insults more than anything. It began to intensify the second the blue knight– your sister’s bet– swiped at his opponent’s ankle. The red knight parried, and suddenly they were close enough to engage in a battle of steel. You squealed and ducked with the crowd as the men sliced away, false swords swishing the air and feigning hard. The red knight, in the heat of the moment, miscalculated a swing, and that was when disaster struck. His sword might have been painted wood, but the end was still pointy. It prodded the ribcage of the blue knight’s horse, and the steed roared and kicked high, nearly throwing its rider off.
The crowd gasped and screamed with fear for the man as he clung on for dear life. The horse, a beautiful chestnut brown and absolutely enraged, pounded around the opponent in a circle, huffing hard and kicking his legs. Then, he neighed violently and made a break for the wooden fence. Right at you.
You felt the sting of your sister’s nails digging into your skin, vision a bit lagging as you realized the gravity of the situation. You yelped and jumped away into her tug, but the horse’s hooves hit the edge of the wooden fence as it jumped over, and he came crashing down with his knight in a rough tumble, catching your leg in the commotion. You cried out as the bottom half of your left leg, just below the knee, twisted at an irregular angle in the steed’s rush to right itself. The knight was ejected off its back in a final shake, and the horse ran off into the faire. A handful of people ran after it to try and catch the animal before it reached the road, but you were out of commission in the dirt, clutching your leg and gasping for air. The fall had knocked the wind from your lungs.
“Shit! Oh my god!” Your sister panicked, fishing through her purse anxiously to find her phone.
The blue knight crawled over to you, groaning and wincing. His face had a deep gash in it, trailing from browbone to cheekbone, and he clutched at his right rib. “Are you alright, your highness?”
You shook your head violently and attempted a thick, shaky breath as the pain began to ripple like fire through your leg. You couldn’t get any air in, and you were pissed off beyond repair.
Tugging up the hem of your dress, you gazed down at the damage– your ankle was absolutely broken, already beginning to swell and discolor, and the bruise reached your shinbone. The whole foot seemed out of place, and it nearly made you sick. You did not do well with pain. The knight laid on the ground and wheezed beside you, and you choked as the world began to spin. The pain was growing, slow and hot, and nearly unbearable.
Your sister’s voice appeared again beside you. “I called the ambulance, okay? It’s gonna be okay, it’ll be fine, you’ll be fine!”
You sat like a trapped deer on the ground, dress soiled and clutching your sister’s hand, struggling to draw in any breath. The fair was a disorganized mess around you as people began to check around for any other injuries and repair the trail of damage that the horse left in its wake. You were so shocked and overwhelmed and your lungs were so strained that by the time you were close to regaining normal breathing ability, you passed out on the ground beside the knight.
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“What’ve we got?”
“Ren faire nightmare,” the medic, a young guy named Shepard, smirked. “Chart’s in her lap. 23 years old, dispatch sent a convoy to a fair off the county road after a slew of calls came in about an escaped horse. Sister said she was standing by the fence during a jousting accident and the thing mowed her down, stomped on her leg. No signs of trauma, but her ankle and foot are broken, shinbone probably fractured, there’s swelling and bleeding, throbbing pain. Passed out on scene from losing wind, she woke up on the ride in. Had a few drinks over the day but was lucid enough for morphine. Good BP, but pulse ox has been steadily lower– 93 on two liters, we put a line in.”
You blinked dizzily and glanced around. Bright fluorescent lights hypnotized you as a band of doctors in black scrubs wheeled you through motorized doors. You tried to focus on the things the paramedic was saying, but half of it sounded like gibberish, so instead you redirected your waning focus to the faces looming over you as the world passed you by.
A middle-aged man with big, soft eyes was peering at you and prodding you, brushing your hair back from your forehead to check your eyes. His beard had little salt-and-pepper patches by the cheeks and his glasses routinely slid down his nose. Just beside him was a younger doctor, shorter and a bit mousey, with brown hair and a nervous expression. He had his hands on the handle of the gurney. On the other side of the bed were two women– one with wild bangs objectively obscuring her vision, smiling crookedly and questioning the paramedics, and closer to you with her stethoscope on your chest was a blonde girl with little round glasses and a beauty mark by her nose. Her eyes were a glacial kind of blue, cheeks pin with exertion, eyes wide and scrutinizing as she seemed to take in everything about you and everything around her simultaneously. You felt her gentle fingers taking your pulse, and you drew a shaky breath and croaked, “Am I okay?”
The doctor nodded softly and took her stethoscope away. “Yeah, you’re gonna be just fine. I’m Dr. Melissa King. Do you know where you are?”
“My sister said she called an ambulance… looks like the hospital…”
“Mhm. Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. Don't worry, we’re gonna fix you right up, okay? Just focus on breathing,” Mel hummed and glanced across the gurney to her colleges. “Central 14 is open.”
The foxy doctor raised his hands in playful surrender and backed away with a knowing smile. “Hands off, everyone, Mel’s got it covered,” he joked, leaning over you. “Don’t worry, your majesty, you are in the best hands.”
You watched her face twist awkwardly as the mousy doctor helped her wheel you down a hall. Her eyebrows gathered so close, closer than you’d ever seen someone’s get. It was cute.
“Did I break my leg?”
“It sounds like a horse broke it, actually, but I’m gonna take a look at it to pinpoint where the breaks are.”
“That fucking horse,” you groaned, writhing a bit. “Ow. Fuck.”
“Hurts? Tell me on a scale of 10,”
“S-seven,” you grunted, feeling the burning, shooting pain in your left leg.
“Okay, okay, we’ll get you some more medicine once we set you up. You’re doing good. Keep breathing.”
It took a few minutes for them to help you off the gurney and into the bed, because they had to call over the closest two people they could find– it seemed the hospital was stretched thin for hands. You had never been in one before, not for yourself, and the whole thing was making you incredibly nervous. You were also painfully aware of the ridiculously obnoxious dress on your body– the blue velvet, the petticoat, the headband and veil spilling over the side of the bed. You looked like a freak in comparison to all these clean-cut doctors and robed patients behind the dividing curtains.
Mel noticed the way your eyes darted around awkwardly, and she tapped a new line for you, upping your dose a bit. Then she pulled up a stool and glanced at her colleague.
“I’ll take her history. You’re good, Whitaker. Go finish charting.”
“You sure? It’s past–”
“It’s fine. Becca is with Adam tonight. I’ll finish her up.”
“Okay. Beep me if you need anything.”
You watched the doctor– Whitaker– duck behind the curtain, and you glanced back at Mel. Her golden braid was half untucked as it felt down her shoulder, like it had lived its own life throughout a shift in the ER and was just as disheveled and sleepy as she was. When she glanced back up at you, cradling an iPad and prepared to write down all your symptoms, she smirked.
“So. what exactly happened?”
You flushed a bit. The pain in your ankle was a dull throb now– the medicine she adjusted was helping. The buzz in your head was mournfully fading. “I was at the Renaissance faire with my sister. She bet on the jousting tournament… the horse went crazy or something. Ran right at me. I– I didn’t get out of the way in time, I was a little drunk…”
“Don’t be embarrassed,” Mel encouraged, typing on the tablet. “Even a fully lucid person would struggle to move out of the way. Did you know spooked horses usually break off into a run between 25 and 35 miles an hour? Sometimes they even reach as high as 55 miles an hour, depending on the breed. Anybody would get hurt.”
You tilted your head, listening to the lilt of her low voice as she tried to offer what were seemingly comforting words to you, and you laughed a little. You couldn’t help it. It was so… unusual.
Mel looked up. “What?”
“How do you know that?”
Mel tinted pink and shrugged, staring down at her tablet. “I watched a documentary with my sister once.”
“You have a sister too?”
“Yeah. Becca. We’re twins.”
“Two of you,” you said, “Lucky stroke.” It slipped out. Must have been the morphine.
Mel’s eyes flicked up to yours and she smiled sheepishly. Placing her tablet down on the bed, she leaned over your leg and gently tugged the dress up. “I’m just gonna take a quick look, okay?”
Her hands were warm on your skin. You nodded.
“Any history of medical issues?”
“Mm-mm.”
“Are you on any medication?”
“I–I just take some allergy medicine now and again. I probably need Xanax, but I’m not on anything.”
Mel smirked at the joke. “Any allergies, surgical history?”
“Nope and nope.”
Mel freed up your leg to the knee, revealing the soft skin of your leg. With careful fingers she began to assess your foot and ankle first, testing the limits of its mobility, catching each time you hissed and feeling the inflamed spots. As she worked, she offered, “I love ren faires.”
“Huh?”
“Renaissance faires,” she repeated, dragging her gloved hand up to your shin and applying pressure to the swollen area. “I love them. I used to go a lot more, but the hospital keeps me busy.”
“Really?”
“Mhm,” she grinned, tugging your dress back down. For a second, she felt the fabric reverently. “I usually dress a bit more medieval. I like your dress, though. It’s very… Anne Boleyn.”
You smiled wider. “That’s exactly what it is.”
Mel’s eyes crinkled, and she picked up the tablet again. “Well, I think I know what your issue is.”
“Is it bad?”
“It’s not ideal, but it could be worse. It looks like you have a few broken metatarsals– those are the bones in your foot that connect it to your ankle. You also have a fractured tibia. I am going to order a few scans for your leg to identify the exact spots of the breaks, and from there I can set you up for a care plan. You’re going to need a cast and crutches.”
You whined softly and rubbed your temples. “Jesus…”
“Don’t worry. I’ll keep you comfortable and I’ll come back to check on you while we wait to get you x-rayed, okay?”
“Okay,” you sighed softly. “Where’s my sister?”
“She came in with you, but she was drunker than you were. We set her up on an IV to help sober her up.”
“She’s okay, though?”
“She’s fine. Worry about you for now, okay? Can I get you anything? You should eat. I’ll get you a snack. And something to drink.”
You swallowed as she rambled over you, heart thumping a bit. This doctor really could talk. But her eyes glowed as she did, like taking care of you was the one and only thing she cared about doing in the moment. It made you feel warm all over.
“U-um…”
“What is it? Something else?”
You flushed down your neck. “Maybe just… something else to wear. This dress is hot.”
Mel glanced over you again. The puffy velvet number clung to the soft pudge of your stomach, the expense of your arms. It cradled your chest like a perfect fit. Her stomach flipped and she nodded, tearing her eyes away. “Sure. Um, I’ll get you a gown. I’d offer scrubs, but we gotta keep that leg free.”
“Okay.”
“Alright. Sit tight, then. I’ll be right back– if you need anything, press the call button and tell them to come get me.”
“Thank you, Dr. King,” you smoothed over your dress, feeling so awkward, so flustered.
Mel’s face heated at the name. “Sure. Don’t move, your majesty,” she teased. With a dorky little bow and a visible wince, she ducked behind the curtain and tugged it shut to give you privacy.
The hospital buzzed around you, the sounds of beeping monitors and kibitzing doctors echoing in your spacey head, but you just stared at the space Mel had sat. She seemed young– young like you. And soft. And pretty. Very, very pretty, and very smart, and very good at her job. Soon enough, you were thinking about Mel and Mel only, and found yourself in quite the precarious position.
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It took a while for the young doctor to return– the hospital was backed up in every department, no surprise, and with the pass-offs to night shift, she had gotten dragged away on her way back to you ten separate times. But she did come back, and when she did, she had a gown bag around her wrist, along with a plethora of treats in her arms and a can of ginger ale. You smiled curiously as she drew her stool up and sat down before you.
“That’s a lot of stuff.”
“Yeah, well, our cafeteria sucks, so I got some stuff from the lounge.”
You giggled as she spread out an unusual smorgasbord– two different kinds of potato chips, some mini muffins, a pre-packaged cookie, a baggie of apples, and a Hostess cupcake. “This is doctor food?”
“Don't tell them I took it.”
You laughed again, and Mel’s eye strained softly on your rising and falling chest. Good breath sounds, she thought, and a pretty laugh. She laid the gown across your velveteen lap. “With your leg, it might be hard to change. Do you want me to get a nurse?”
You blinked and glanced down. You forgot about that part. “Right. Um… n-no, no, that’s not necessary, I can just… maybe if you could unzip the back of my dress, I can definitely get my arms out and pull this thing on. You could just… tug it down my legs after.”
Mel nodded curtly, schooling her expression. This never happened to her. She was a great professional, always clinical with her patients, never distracted by them; but you were so blushy, so soft and copious, so smiley and grateful for her help that she couldn't help herself. And you wanted her to take off your Renaissance dress. She could melt into the floor.
When you leant forward, she carefully unzipped the joint of your dress and expertly avoided looking at the smooth skin of your back. With her eyes averted, you shrugged it down your tummy and pulled the gown over yourself. When you were ready, you glanced back at her, but she was zoned out in a staring match against the curtain. You reached out and brushed her arm without thinking, and her attention snapped back to yours.
“Um… help,” you chuckled awkwardly.
“Right. Yes. Sorry,” she fussed, coming around the edge of the bed and supporting your leg as you used your good weight-bearing foot to lift your hips and shimmy the dress over your hips. Mel pulled it the rest of the way, conscious of the injury, and her fingertips dragged down the length of your legs as she did. You felt butterflies in your gut as she folded the dress up meticulously and tucked it into a belongings bag. You detangled the headband from your hair and passed it off, too.
Mel watched your painstakingly curled hair settle in tangles over your shoulders, and she set the bag down on her stool. “Do you… want me to brush your hair? It looks like it’s bothering you.”
You felt the stiff ends, sticky with hairspray and dirt. That didn’t even occur to you as an option. The thought of this gorgeous doctor passing her hands through your hair… oh, man. It made you incredibly selfish. “Sure.”
Mel smiled a little and wandered towards a cart across the hall, and you watched her search the drawers until she came up with a wiry brush. She helped you sit up a bit and perched herself on the side of the bed. “It’s not the best, but I’ll be gentle. Let me know if I tug on anything.”
You felt all the blood in your body bubble as her warm hands gathered your hair behind your neck and began brushing at the ends. You barely even felt it, her strokes were feather light. With Mel this close you could smell her– it was subtle, something clean, like cucumber or something, and the sweet sting of hand sanitizer. It was more intoxicating than the beers at that faire.
“You’re good at this,” you murmured.
“I’ve been practicing on my sister all my life.”
“I bet you’re a great sister.”
Mel flushed and passed the paddle over your scalp, tucking some hair behind your ear. “I bet you are, too.”
You locked eyes with her for a moment, and her hands stilled in your hair. You asked softly, “How old are you, Dr. King?”
“27,”
“Wow,” you hummed, “Young.”
“Like you,” she tilted her head, studying your expression.
“Do you like being a doctor?”
Mel pulled the brush from your hair, letting the revived locks fall loosely. They framed your face like a painting. It made her head spin. “Yeah. I love it. It can be stressful, but I meet amazing people, and I help them feel better. There’s nothing more rewarding to me.”
Your eyes softened. “It must be exhausting.”
“Oh, sure. I mean, I’m sixteen hours into my shift that was supposed to end four hours ago.”
You furrowed your brows and asked, “Wait, what? Why aren’t you home?”
Mel thought, Because I took your case. Because I wanted to be the one who made you feel better. Because I saw you in that stupid dress and wanted to know you. But she didn’t say any of that. Instead, she responded, “I just haven’t finished up yet.”
“What do you have left?”
“Feeding you,” she grinned, “and clocking out.”
A smile overtook your face as you grabbed one of the bags of chips. “Well, that’s done. Go home.”
“You sound like my boss,” Mel joked.
“Maybe your boss should try harder to get you out on time!”
Mel laughed softly as you popped a chip past your soft lips, and she had to rip her gaze away. “Fine. I’ll make sure that Dr. Abbot takes over your care until I come back tomorrow. Imaging is backed up, so we have to keep you overnight. You won’t get those scans until the morning.”
You nodded softly, heart sinking just a bit at the thought of her really leaving, but you could sense the weight on her shoulders. She was just a good faker.
Mel stood up and flicked your hair over your shoulder playfully. “I suggest you get some sleep. I’ll be back in a few hours.”
“Okay.”
“Okay,” she said softly, smiling down at you. “Remember, call if–”
“If I need any help,” you cut her off. “Thank you, Dr. King.”
“Mhm. Goodnight.”
“Yeah, night,” you hummed.
Mel left you once again, her tight little black jacket moving with every sway of her body as she disappeared behind the curtains, and you watched her walk away until the sea of workers swallowed her. You wouldn’t be happy about the bill, but you would be glad to see her again in the morning. As you looked upon your feast of crappy, hand-picked snacks, you felt a flutter in the back of your throat. She did that for you. It made you wonder what else she would do for someone, given the chance.
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The morphine knocked you out overnight, and when you saw Mel again, Dr. Jack Abbot was wheeling you back from imaging. You knew this man would be your sister’s type– the (undeniably sexy) arms poking from under his scrub sleeves, his frosted hair, his sarcastic way. You liked him, too, but you missed your primary. You caught her eye as she walked in the double doors, and her expression lit up.
“Abbot! Wait up!” She called, rushing in with her bag and all, halting before you. “How’s she doing? Hey, you.”
You waved a little, heart in your throat. Behind you, Abbot grinned like the wolf he was. “Oh, this one? She’s a trooper. Second and third metatarsal have a clean break, and she’s got a tibia fracture halfway up, but she could probably walk on that leg– couldn’t you, kiddo?”
You chuckled sheepishly up at him. He had a good grip on you since he came to see you after Mel clocked out. “Give me a little more morphine, then yeah.”
“How about we just get you back to your room so I can set you up with a cast, huh?”
You smiled up at her, and she ruffled your hair. Abbot swatted her hand away jokingly and popped a wheelie with your chair, making you yelp. He maneuvered you away and you giggled as Mel disappeared down a hallway.
Abbot got you back in bed, and Mel popped up out of thin air with the makings of a cast and boot for you. You beamed when she placed a coffee in your hands.
“Oh, thank god,” you groaned, sipping it gratefully. Somehow, it was just right. Freakishly right. “How did you know I’d want this?”
“I stopped to see your sister before I clocked in. She’s feeling much better after a night of sleep and fluids. She told me how you took it.”
You fell quiet for a moment as she got settled in, heart pounding. “That was sweet of you,”
Mel burned up. “Yeah, well… um, how’s your pain?”
“Fine. The medicine works.”
“Good.” Mel began to wrap your leg, and between snips, she said, “You’ll be able to go home after this. I’ll get you crutches and we can discharge you. You’ll have to come back every few weeks for a checkup, it’ll all be on the paper I’ll give you.”
The idea of leaving this sterile, white place should’ve been a relief, but it made your stomach twist. You didn’t want to. In the most stupid and childish way possible, you wanted to lay there and let Mel tend to you forever. She was so warm, so soft, so careful when she touched you. She thought of you, she made things easy when they were most embarrassing. In those few hours, she had completely overtaken you, and now you had to go home not knowing if you’d ever see her again.
“Oh,” was all you managed.
Mel’s hands paused and she looked up. “What’s the matter?”
You sipped your coffee. “Nothing. S’fine. Sounds good.”
In all honesty, Mel didn’t want you to go either. She wanted to find a reason to give you every test, to run up your bill, just so she could see the way you smiled when she walked into your bay again. But that would be insane. As she slipped your leg into the boot, she imagined coming home to you, helping you itch that stupid thing, giving you medicine, making sure you stayed off it.
You watched her for a moment before saying, “I really appreciate everything you’ve done to take care of me. I wish I knew how to make it up to you.”
Mel swallowed before blurting, “We could get coffee.”
Your eyes widened. Did she just…
“Coffee?”
Oh, no. Oh, God, Mel panicked. That was completely inappropriate, a complete breach of doctor-paient ethics, but you looked so dejected and she was so completely into you–
“Y-yeah. Um, sure. If– if you wanted to. I could buy you coffee.”
You flushed profusely. “Wouldn’t it make more sense for me to buy you the coffee?”
Mel’s head lifted when she didn’t hear an immediate rebuke or rejection of what should’ve been an unprofessional slip up. Instead, she saw your gorgeous face, still streaked with yesterday’s makeup, smiling and blushing and gazing at her like she personally made your leg magically heal with the snap of her fingers.
“I guess it would, yeah,” she breathed out.
“I can bring it here. To you.”
“I work five shifts a week,” she added on, the two of you talking so fast it couldn’t be stopped. “I’m on days until Monday.”
“I can come back tomorrow.”
“You have to stay off this leg,”
“I’ll make my sister drop me off.”
“You are very eager,” she beamed.
“You have no idea.”
Mel helped you swing your leg over the bed, watching you test the weight of the boot, and she laughed at your silly little leg kicks. “I’ll get you scrubs to go home in.”
“Dr. King?”
“Yeah?” she asked, adjusting one of the straps on your boot.
Her cheek was close enough, and so you made the stupid decision to kiss it. Right over her beauty mark. Mel froze, and she glanced around quickly to be sure no one saw. And then she looked right at you, her blue eyes dark and wide as windows, and she said, “Save those for when you’re not my patient anymore.” And then, she leaned in and kissed your cheek right back– a dubious kiss, one that was close enough to catch the corner of your lips. Her mouth was the warmest thing about her.
You chewed your lip and nodded, fighting back a smirk at her flustered, smiley face.
“I’ll go get you those scrubs.”
“Ah ah ah,” you heeled her, quirking an eyebrow. “You forgot to address me.”
Mel glanced at your forgotten outfit that she had helped you out of the day before, and back at you. It was then that she knew that she was going to like you for a very, very long time. “I’ll go get you those scrubs, your majesty."
You fluttered and teased a tiny curtsy with your gown. “I’ll be waiting.”
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Searching for Adonis and Aphrodite renascence paintings is hilarious because you'll either find a lovelly couple, a tragic death or an "ew don't touch me"
