I reblogged this last month, tagged it, and said “might as well see if it works.” I used this video as a reference to find all the forms that i needed (which is A LOT, especially if you’re a dependent) and sent them through the mail, not really allowing myself to hope.
dude.
$2,714 of medical debt from my top surgery - gone. im shaking this was such a weight on me for 2 years and it fucking worked. what the fuck.
Been thinking heavy of a psychic!reader and Nikto.
You grew up normal, your concerns boiled down to grades and the boy and girls you liked, but once you hit eighteen, that changed.
You always had an affinity for the spiritual, feeling things around you that you cannot see, but after becoming an adult, you began to realize all that is around you that the others can’t perceive. Your dreams became cryptic- scary even. Each night, when your conscious mind is gone, do you see the monsters and angels that reside over everyone. At first, you truly believed they were just nightmares, something your mind conjures up to deal with your past trauma.
Then, you see them when you’re awake.
A constant torture, a mental battle between you and the things you cannot see.
It all came to a head when Nikto walked into base. You were strong by now, your mental fortitude beyond anything anyone has ever seen. The U.S government needs you on their side, manipulating politicians and other world governments to suit their needs. Sent along the world without care for your stability, you find yourself in Germany. Your Colonel is a big mountain of a man, and he explains how other PMC’s will be brought to the base.
Spetznaz is another private militia that was hired to work alongside you and Kortac, their soldiers much more brutal and rugged than you’re used to. A fact that wouldn’t bother you- and it doesn’t- but what does.. Is the silent man that walks through the front gates.
Your knees almost give out, and you stand there for longer than what is normal. This man, one adjourned in black and secrecy, is a man you’ve seen before.
It was years ago, when you saw him for the first time. At that time- he was broken, more so than he is now. His face was bloodied beyond recognition, the skin on his body flayed and battered, the look in his eyes were vacant- scared.
You stood before him at that time, eyes and body rigid as you looked at the zombie.. He looked dead- the only evidence of him being alive were the short, shallow breaths he forces himself to take. His eyes were coated in blood, and only on past reflection do you register that he was looking at you.
Young and scared, you do what you believe is right- you try and loosen his restraints, tugging and pulling on the chains that keep him in place, only for your efforts to be futile.
You’re not there, not really.
Crouching in front of him, tears run down your face. The image of a man skinned and tortured lives freely in your mind.
You convince yourself it was a dream, that the blood and gore was a manifestation of your psyche. The man isn’t real. His pain isn’t real.
Until you see him.
His face is covered, his body adorned with black and secrecy, but you feel him. He feels the same as the man you found in your dreams all those years ago. That thought makes you feel sick. You believed it was a dream- that what you saw wasn’t real- but now, you know that it was.
``
Nikto felt you before he saw you. A perverted sense of safety melting in his mind, the same feeling he felt when the man he used to be was murdered. It felt safe. He knew it was you before he could deny the feeling, intrinsically he knew it was the girl that tried to pull him out- that tried to save him.
His eyes immediately snap to you- he doesn’t need time to think if it’s you or not. He knows it is.
You’re young- beautiful. You’re older, but it’s you. The same girl that saved him. Despite not being aware, your mind called for help. The day after you saw him, he was rescued- as much as he could be at that point. He knew it was you. You were his guardian angel. His reason for living. And now, knowing he wasn’t hallucinating you, he knows that you are meant for him. You are his angel, and he’ll spend the rest of his life showing you his gratitude.
You see him. But, he felt you long before your sight caught up.
A/N: I want to make this a series. If anyone likes the premise, please let me know!
Pairing: Dr. Jack Abbot x diabetic!nurse!reader
Warnings: medical emergency, severe hypoglycemia, muscle spasms, seizure activity, brief amnesia, disorientation, vomiting, needles, IV placement.
Summary: a rapid blood sugar crash catches you completely off guard, leading to a medical emergency in the middle of a patient procedure.
Disclaimer: This story is pure fiction and written solely for entertainment purposes.
🎀 based on this request 🎀
more diabetic!reader fics
The shift was relatively calm for a friday night, but the air still carried that distinct heavy exhaustion. You blinked hard, trying to clear the sudden fuzziness around the edges of your vision. Just a few more hours, you told yourself, leaning against the nurses' station.
"Hey." Dr. Abbot stepped up beside you. "I need you in Bed 6. I need a large bore IV started immediately. Can you handle it?"
"On it," you murmured. Your voice sounded a little distant, even to your own ears, but you forced a reassuring nod and grabbed an IV kit.
Inside Bed 6, you prepped the tourniquet and tore open the alcohol wipe. Your hands were usually rock solid, it was why Jack always asked for you on difficult sticks. But as you brought the needle down toward the patient's arm, your fingers violently jerked.
The needle slipped from your hand. Panic, cold and sharp, spiked through your chest.
You gripped your right wrist with your left hand, trying to steady it, but an involuntary spasm rippled through your forearm. Your muscles tightened up, rigid and uncooperative.
No, no, no. Not right now.
You knew the signs. You lived with this reality every day. The entire shift knew it, too. But the velocity with which your blood sugar was crashing caught you entirely off guard.
"Sarah," you choked out, catching the eye of another nurse who was checking the monitor. Your voice was barely a whisper. "Can you... can you take over? I c-can't... I can't get the angle."
Sarah looked at you, confused. "Yeah, sure. I got it."
You stumbled backward out of the cubicle, your right arm tight against your chest as another spasm wracked the muscles.
You needed glucose. Now. Urgently.
You had a strange sensation, a tingling, in your legs, although you could still walk to the break room only because of muscle memory.
From across the floor, Jack catched you exit Bed 6. He frowned. It wasn't like you to hand off a procedure, especially not an urgent one. He stepped away from the central desk, his eyes tracking your swaying stride as you turned the corner into the staff breakroom.
"Hey," Jack called out softly, following you in and closing the door behind him. "Are you alright? Did you—"
You turned to face him, intending to tell him you just needed a fast acting carb, but your body betrayed you. Your neck stiffened slightly, and a small tic appeared, convulsing into a series of uncontrollable muscle spasms. You tried to reach for the cupboards, but your hand was shaking too much.
Jack froze, his medical instincts kicking in instantly.
He knew your diagnosis. He knew what a rapid drop looked like.
"Jesus, baby," he breathed, lunging forward just as your knees buckled.
He caught you before you hit the floor, guiding your trembling body down until you were sitting in one of the breakroom chairs.
"Hey," Jack commanded, cupping your face with his hands. "Look at me, doll."
You were awake. Your eyes were wide open, your gaze still fixed on him, your tics still twitching, but you weren't there. Your gaze was completely lost, glassy and unfocused. An involuntary whimper escaping your lips as another spasm gripped your hand.
"Hey, stay with me. Keep your eyes open," Jack pleaded, his fingers gripping your jaw firmly. He searched into his pocket, grabbing a tube of oral glucose gel he kept strictly for you.
"I'm going to put this in your mouth, okay? Don't swallow. Don't waste energy. Just let it absorb," he muttered, his hands shaking slightly, a rarity for Dr. Abbot. He gently parted your lips and squeezed the gel into your mouth, his eyes locked on yours, desperately searching for a flicker of recognition.
Your eyes remained swimming in an unfocused void, your head still twitching rhythmically against his hand.
The oral glucose gel was in, but your body wasn't responding. Jack knew the gel would take too long to turn this around.
He couldn't risk waiting.
"I need help in here!" Jack shouted toward the door, his voice cracking with urgency. Within seconds, the door burst open. Sarah and a resident rushed in, pausing for a fraction of a second in shock at the sight of the lead attending holding you tightly.
"She's crashing. Severe hypoglycemia, early seizure activity," Jack ordered. "Get a gurney. I need an IV kit and a bag of D50, now!""
The team moved fast. They wheeled a gurney right to the breakroom door, and Jack insisted on lifting you himself, his arms straining as he carefully laid you onto the mattress. They rushed you into an empty trauma bay, pulling the curtains shut to give you whatever dignity they could save.
"Starting IV," Sarah said, her fingers flying as she prepped your arm.
Jack didn't step back. "Baby, can you hear me?" he muttered, holding your head so you wouldn't hurt yourself. He didn't care about who listened to him calling you nicknames in a moment like this. "Are you with me?"
As Sarah successfully flashed the vein and pushed the concentrated dextrose into your IV, the violent twitching in your muscles finally began to subside. Your jaw relaxed and your eyelids grew incredibly heavy.
Your eyes closed completely. Your head rolled slightly to the side against the pillow.
"Hey, hey, no. Stay awake," Jack said sharply. He tapped your cheek, his pulse skyrocketing. "Goddammit, doll."
Jack felt nervous but he felt your breathing deep and even, your body completely limp.
"Fuck, her blood sugar is going to take a few minutes to register a rise in her brain. She’s just exhausted," Jack said gently, he didint know if he was trying to ground Sarah or himself. A patient losing consciousness after a neurological event was never just sleeping. His mind raced through every worst-case scenario: prolonged cerebral hypoglycemia, a postictal coma, a secondary head injury he hadn't seen.
"Get a fingerstick. Check her glucose levels," Jack demanded. He grabbed a penlight from his pocket, peeling back your eyelid to check your pupils. They were reactive, but you didn't even stir from the light. "Come on. Wake up. You can't sleep right now."
Seeing you completely unresponsive was tearing him apart.
"Don't do this," he whispered. "Please, wake up."
Long minutes later, the first thing that roused you from your deep sleep was the sound of the door closing. Your head felt as if it were being pressed tightly between two hands; you felt a great pressure on your temple.
"Hey..." a rough voice made you open your eyes, but the harsh lights of the trauma bay made your vision blur. Before you could even formulate a word, a violent wave of nausea surged from the pit of your stomach.
You gagged, instinctively trying to sit up.
Jack moved fast, grabbing an emesis basin from the bedside table and sliding his arm behind your back to support your weight as you threw up. He held you firmly, his hand rubbing your back as you retched, your body trembling from the sheer exhaustion of it all.
"I've got you," Jack murmured. "Breathe through it."
When it finally stopped, you sank heavily back against the pillows, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.
You felt entirely disconnected from your own body.
Jack quickly set the basin aside, grabbed a damp washcloth, and gently wiped your mouth. Then, he picked up his blood glucose meter from the bedside. "I need to check your sugar again, okay?"
You nodded as he pricked your finger, and a moment later, the machine beeped. Jack sighed, a mix of relief and frustration washing over his face. "Two hundred and eighty four. It's high. The D50 overcorrected you, but we can manage that. We'll give you a small correction dose of insulin in a bit."
You blinked at him, the numbers not quite registering. Your brain felt like it was swimming in confussion. You looked around the trauma bay, the familiar sights of The Pitt looking completely foreign to you.
"Jack?" your voice was barely audible.
"Mh? I'm right here," he said, taking your hand and squeezing it tightly. "How do you feel?"
"Tired..." You said, sighing. "Did... did I miss my shift? What time is it? Do I need to clock in?"
Jack’s brow furrowed. He leaned closer. "Doll, you were already working. You collapsed in the breakroom."
You shook your head slightly, confusion hitting your chest. "No… no, it's… it's Thursday. We had the day off yesterday and had a date. I need to clock in."
Jack froze, his eyes scanning yours. Postictal disorientation was common after a severe hypoglycemic episode, but hearing you sound so lost cut right through him.
"It's not Thursday," Jack said softly, his voice was tending as he tried to reason with you. He raised his hand to gently cup your cheek. "It's Friday, love. Well, technically Saturday morning now. It's 5 AM."
"Saturday?" you whispered, your eyes filling with sudden tears as you realized just how blank your memory was. "I don't... I don't remember."
"Hey, it's okay," Jack rushed to soothe you. "It's completely normal to be confused right now. Your brain just went through a war. We're gonna run some studies to check your brain."
After your blood sugar began to stabilize, he ordered a full workup. He personally walked your labs down to the desk, demanded a priority read on your chem panel, and stood over the monitor while you were monitored for any residual cardiac ectopy.
Two hours later, the results were back.
"Good news," Jack said. He sat on the edge of your mattress, taking your hand back into his, intertwining her fingers with yours. "Physically, you’re completely cleared. Your body handled the crash beautifully, all things considered."
You looked down at your lap. "I still can't remember it, Jack. I remember walking into Bed 4 with an IV kit, and then... nothing. Just waking up and throwing up on you."
"You didn't throw up on me," he corrected gently, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "And the amnesia is normal. The neurologist on call confirmed it’s just localized retrograde amnesia from the seizure activity. It happens when the brain is deprived of glucose so quickly. It might come back in pieces, or it might not. But you are okay. That’s all that matters."
You let out a sigh, leaning your head forward until it rested against his shoulder. He immediately wrapped his arms around you, burying his face in your hair, holding you with protective tightness that spoke volumes about how terrified he had actually been.
"You scared the hell out of me, you know?" he whispered into your hair, his voice cracking slightly. "Don't do that to me again."
"I'll try not to, baby," you murmured against his shoulder. "Thanks for catching me."
"Always," Jack said, pressing a warm kiss to the side of your head. "You're my favorite, I always be there to catch you."
-
Jack entered the room later as the distant sounds of the early morning shift change began to filter through the curtains.
"Alright," he said, his voice was in authoritative tone. "I’m pulling you off the schedule for the rest of the weekend, and you are going home to sleep."
You groaned slightly. "You know I have a double scheduled for Sunday. The floor is already short handed."
"I don't care if the entire hospital is short handed," he countered. "I'm the attending here, and I'm putting my best nurse, my girl, on mandatory medical leave. Arguments denied."
You couldn't help the smile that tugged at your lips. "You're very bossy when you're worried, Jack."
"I am your supervisor, and your soon to be boyfriend. It’s my job to be bossy," he murmured as you blushed.
He reached over, placing a small paper bag carefully in your hands.
"Here. Open it."
You frowned, peering into the bag. You pulled out a brand new glucose monitor sensor box, along with a pack of pink patches meant to secure it.
You blinked, memory suddenly sparking. "Wait... my old sensor..."
"When we were cutting your sleeve to line you, the shears caught your sensor," Jack explained. He rubbed the back of his neck. "It completely ripped it off. I had pharmacy pull a replacement from the emergency stash immediately, and I grabbed these extra-strength overlays from the supply closet so it doesn't budge during your next shift."
You looked from the box up to him, your heart swelling. Even in the middle of an emergency, he was anticipating exactly what you would need to recover.
"Thank you," you whispered, running a finger over the smooth box. "Though I'm pretty sure using hospital supply overlays for personal use is a protocol violation, Abbot."
"Consider it an attending-approved override for an exceptional nurse," Jack smoothly replied, a smirk playing on his lips. "Once we are officially off, I am taking you to my house. I'll help you with the new sensor, and then you are going to rest. I'll even cuddle you to sleep. Deal?"
You looked at him, the perfect blend of your demanding mentor and your devoted partner, and nodded. "Deal. But only if you promise not to critique my sensor placement technique."
Jack chuckled softly, leaning down to give you a warm kiss on yur cheek. "I'm not promising anything. I know you're not exactly… delicate with that."
so exhausted by how fundamentally anti-human the capitalist world has become. like ageing, getting fat, being slightly inefficient, and making mediocre art are all extremely normal and extremely human activities, why is every corporation trying to convince us to spend all our money fighting that
Mafia boss smoking a cigar: Why’d you gotta squeal, Squealin’ Stephen? I trusted you. Now I gotta send my best goons to show you what happens when you cross the Big Boss…
Guy tied up in chair: uh…theres just one guy over there.
Mafia boss: Yeah. That’s Lil’ Tony. He’s got one of dem conditions where he’s got multiple mooks n’ his head. But when Big Tony fronts you’re gonna be in big trouble.
Lil’ Tony: We actually all agree we’re gonna kick your ass.
being too warm during the day: well, this sucks, but this temperature makes sense because the sun is up, and the sun is making me warm. i am unhappy but logically i can deal with it for now.
being too warm at night: what if i kill everybody.
I was going to say “if you’re a child” but remembered when I turned 18 and realised I was still stuck at home and nothing was going to change if my parents didn’t want it to
(Leon comes home late to find you sleeping on the couch)
Leon's body felt sore, his muscles ached as he stepped out of the car. It had been a long night, his eyes were tired, and he was just happy to be home. As drops of rain fell lightly from the sky, Leon made his way up to the front door. Through the window, he could see a light on. A small, almost unnoticeable smile found it's way onto his face. You had stayed up waiting for him again. You always did so, no matter how many times he told you to just get some sleep. You still insisted on being awake when he got home. It made him feel worse for being home so late, Leon opened the door, the dim light greeting him. He stepped inside, shrugging off his jacket as he did so.
The sight that greeted him made him feel warm, you were sprawled out on the couch, your eyes closed as you slept peacefully. The lamp sitting on the side table was still on, you had been doing your best to stay awake until he came back. For a few moments, Leon stood there, admiring how cute you looked. It reminded him just how lucky he was to have you. After some time, he approached the couch and leaned down in front of you. Careful not to wake you up, he lifted you off of the couch, one arm supporting your back, the other under your legs. Holding you bridal style, Leon brought your upstairs and laid you in the bed. After making sure you were comfortable, he went to change.
By the time he was done, he walked back into your shared bedroom. You were still fast asleep, head resting against the pillow, your hair sprawled out. Leon carefully crawled into bed next to you, wrapping one arm firmly around you. He pulled you close, and with a content smile on his face, Leon fell asleep.
More of clicker trained reader please! I beg I'm literally obsessed
Will do! I decided that he deserved some sweet revenge lol.
Summary: Weeks ago, your now boyfriend accidentally clicker trained you. You decide to return the favor.
Masterlist | Part 1
Reverse Pavlov - Leon Kennedy x Reader
It starts innocently.
That’s the worst part. You don’t wake up one morning and decide to psychologically condition your boyfriend. That would be weird.
God, it still sounds weird calling him that. ‘Boyfriend’. Weeks ago, when you both were fighting for your damn lives in China, he was still just your mission partner. At some point, that had changed. You couldn’t say when. One day, he had just held your hand and said he didn’t want to be just friends anymore. That was that.
But, even then, there was the issue that he had fucking clicker trained you. No Pavlov needed. Just a click of his tongue, and you were jolting to correct yourself.
The revenge starts because you’re petty. Which Leon frankly deserves. The first time it happens, he doesn’t question it too much.
Leon’s sitting on the couch, flipping through mission paperwork and nursing his third cup of coffee of the day. When you walk by, his eyes flick up automatically. “Hey.”
You pause. His water bottle is sitting untouched on the coffee table. You point at it.
“…You should drink some water.”
His face immediately twists, eyes rolling. “Don’t start.”
A sweet smile comes to your face. The kind that you know gets him to do whatever you want. “Drink your water.”
He sighs dramatically and reaches over, taking a few obedient sips.
Your face lights up. “Good job.”
Leon blinks. “…What?”
“Good hydration.”
“…Are you making fun of me?” His eyes narrow.
You smile wider. “No.”
You absolutely are.
.
.
.
The second time, he notices.
He’s in the kitchen making dinner. You lean against the counter, eyeing him up and down. His shoulders are tight. There’s heavy dark circles under his eyes. You know for a fact he slept four hours, if that. Probably even less.
“…Did you nap today?”
“No.” He’s in the middle of chopping some vegetables, eyes still trained on the knife in front of him.
You lay your hand over his, pausing his work. “Go sit down for twenty minutes.”
He gives you an offended look. “No? I don’t need to.”
Your hand doesn’t stray. He simply stares at you for a second, like it’s a challenge. Three minutes later he’s on the couch, you throwing a blanket over him.
You pat his shoulder, kissing the top of his head. “Good job.”
“…Are you rewarding me?” His head tilts up at you. His eyes look heavy with exhaustion.
You blink. “…No.”
.
.
.
Third time. He’s stretching after training.
Not because he wants to, no. But because his back hurt and you threatened violence. When he finishes, a bead of sweat tracing down his hairline, he looks over to you.
You look up from your phone, face softening. “That’s my guy.”
His ears turn pink. He immediately scowls. “…Stop.”
You smile. “Good stretching. I’m happy you’re taking care of yourself.”
His face changes. Just slightly. Like his brain did something weird. You make sure to file that away.
Interesting.
.
.
.
A week later, you’re making tea.
Leon walks into the kitchen. Opens the fridge. Pulls out water. He takes a long pull from the bottle, swallowing it and turning to look at you. Almost expectantly, even.
You blink. “…What?”
“…Nothing.” His head shakes a little, eyes downturning to the floor.
He leaves.
… Huh.
.
.
.
Three days later, you’re folding laundry.
You don’t bother looking up when Leon steps into the room, an empty plate in hand. It makes you smile. The man never eats a full meal, and when he does, it’s never at what could be considered a good time. Today is different, apparently.
“…You ate lunch?”
His shoulders shift, chest puffing out a little. Is that… pride on his face? Has to be. “…Yeah.”
You smile automatically. “Good job, sweetheart.”
His expression changes a little. His posture relaxes a touch, the briefest of smiles flickering on his face. Then he immediately leaves, face flushing.
Good. Your plan has been working. Now, it’s just time to test it more.
.
.
.
That evening, Leon comes home after a meeting. He’s quick to kick his shoes off, jacket already hanging up next to the door.
Your arms envelop him before he can do anything else. “Good job, dear!”
His eyebrows lift. “…For what?”
You shrug. “General maintenance.”
.
.
.
The next day, he takes his vitamins. You’re quick to kiss his cheek. “Excellent work.”
He rolls his eyes. But, he smiles.
.
.
.
Next, he goes to bed before midnight. He makes sure to roll over to face you, a dumb smile on his face.
You kiss his forehead. “That’s my boy.”
His entire face goes red.
.
.
.
He realizes what you’ve been doing two weeks later.
You’re cooking. Leon wanders into the kitchen, clad in clean pajamas. He opens the fridge, and instead of pulling out booze, he goes for water instead. He drinks. Looks at you. Waits.
You slowly lower the spoon, smirking. “…Leon.”
His eyes widen immediately. He has that big, dumb smile on his face again. “…What?”
“…Were you waiting for me to say good job?”
“No.”
The word comes out too fast. You look up from the stove. The man’s face has gone beet red, hands clutching the water bottle close to himself.
He looks away from your face as he speaks, blue eyes downturning. “…Maybe.”
You lose your fucking mind. The man looks sheepish as you double over in laughter, almost falling back into the chair next to you.
A flash of emotion comes to his face as he realizes what you’ve done. “Did you- Did you fucking condition me?!”
You’re wheezing. “You trained me first! It’s only fair!”
His eyes widen. “EXCUSE ME?”
“YOU CLICKED AT ME LIKE A DOG!”
His hand gestures wildly. “YOU SAID GOOD JOB WHEN I DRANK WATER!”
You stare at him for a second, before smirking again. “…Good job communicating.”
