Devour [yandere! harem! Dandy's world x f! Reader]

1-The Unknown

"hear those bells ring deep in the soul
chiming away for a moment
feel your breath course frankly below
and see life as a worthy opponent" ~gang of youths
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Sirens blared piercingly as an ambulance sped by cars, the driver focused and making the ride easily. He calls out to his partner, who sits in the back, holding gauze to an open wound of a barely conscious patient. "What's the status?" He yells, tension apparent in his shoulders as he grips the wheel with anxiety. No matter how many years he's been a paramedic, high-intensity situations that come with the job always weigh heavy on him.

You’re in the back, crouched over the patient, pressing gauze against the rapidly bleeding wound. The man’s barely conscious, his breaths shallow, and each second feels like it could tip the balance. Your hands are steady despite the urgency in your voice.

"B.P. is still falling," you respond, eyes darting to the monitor as you give him the numbers, "100 over 65."

The driver clenches the wheel tighter before reaching for the radio, relaying the status to the hospital. You know the signs—he’s nearing critical, and shock is just around the corner. Your hands remain steady as you reach for more gauze, continuing to pack the large wound in your patient's abdomen in an attempt to slow the bleeding. It doesn't take long for the new gauze to be stained red as you curse under your breath. Hugo needs to hurry up because this man is not going tomake it if greater medical intervention doesn't happen.

"Come on, come on," you mutter under your breath without realizing it, focusing on the situation at hand. Suddenly, the ambulance is harshly turned, causing you to be pressed up against the wall of the vehicle. Your body leans forward as much as possible, your arms outstretched to keep holding the wound. Then, the ambulance screeches to a halt. Shouts sound out outside while Hugo jumps out of the front seat, running around to the back. Two doctors and three nurses wait upon the ambulance, all of which stare back at you when the doors swing open. People are jumping in the ambulance as they move the stretcher to be raised and moved onto the ground. You keep your hands on the wound, moving with them as your feet are able to keep up with ease.

"Male, late 30s, found in a park with deep lacerations on his left lateral abdomen," your voice carries out over the chaos, all the time you recently spent training to pay off in real-time. "B.P. was 100/60." The hospital staff shout out to each other as you all run into the building, a resident doctor running over and taking your place. As you step back, your eyes trail the patient when he disappears into the chaos of the trauma room, and a part of you clings to hope. You’ve done everything you could, but a voice in the back of your mind still whispers—was it enough?

Hugo is beside you in an instant, wiping sweat from his brow as he reaches for the radio clipped to his vest. "We need a full trauma team for this one," he mutters, glancing over at you before nodding toward the nurse station. "Let's finish the handoff." Together, you walk briskly to the nurse's desk, pulling up the patient care report on your tablet. Hugo's fingers fly over the screen as he enters the details—age, vital signs, injuries, treatments that you administered en route. When the attending nurse appears, you quickly relay the patient's condition, your voice steady despite the rush.

"Male, late 30s, deep lacerations to the left lateral abdomen. BP dropped to 100/60 during transport. Gauze applied but he’s in danger of hypovolemic shock. Administered oxygen and elevated his legs to maintain circulation."

The nurse nods as she takes the tablet from Hugo, scanning the report. “Got it. We’ll update you if there are any changes,” she says, already turning to relay the information to the trauma team.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding as the adrenaline started to fade. You look down at your hands as they are stained with quickly drying blood. The sensation is sticky and very unpleasant as the blood cracks with each minuscule movement. Without having to say anything, you turn to a sanitization sink that personnel can use to clean up. Your shoes squeak against the white tile while you quickly move, your hair tied snugly in a bun at the back of your neck. After some scrubbing, the blood of your patient runs off into the clear water, swirling down the drain.