wearing two cursed amulets to manipulate them into competing with each other for ownership of my soul and unintentionally improving my life in their attempts to seduce me
Pairing: Dr. Jack Abbot x diabetic!reader
Warning: glucose sensor change, minor bleeding.
Summary: Jack helps his girlfriend change her glucose sensor.
A/N this is so domestic I want to cry
Disclaimer: This story is pure fiction and written solely for entertainment purposes.
more diabetic!reader fics
The room was quiet until a persistent alarm on your phone started blaring. You were asleep, and, being a heavy sleeper, the alarm had already been ringing for almost two hours.
When your body finally decided to react, you groaned, burying your face in the pillow to escape the noise. Sleepily, you realized it was your glucose sensor, the "Sensor Expired" alert.
Before you could muster the strength to turn over and go change it, the bedroom door opened.
Jack came in, completely exhausted after a long shift, but his expression softened as soon as he saw you. He came to your side and silenced your phone alarm.
"Morning, beautiful" he leaned down to press a kiss to your jaw. "Sensor change?"
"Mhm," you mumbled, blinking open your sleep crusted eyes. "I forgot it was hitting the fifteen day mark today."
Jack chuckled softly, his thumb gently tracing your cheekbone. "Do you want me to do it?"
"Would you mind?"
"I’ll get your kit."
He knew the routine by heart now.
When he returned a moment later, he had the gray zippered pouch containing your supplies, along with a fresh alcohol wipe and the box of the new sensor.
You sat up half asleep in bed, pulling off expired sensor. He sat on the edge of the bed, took his shoes and prosthetic off and then climbed in behind you, leaning against the headboard and gently pulling you back until your body rested on his.
"Don't you have to change and take care of your leg?" you murmured and he kissed your shoulder.
"I'll do it later. I want to do this first."
"You don't have to."
"But I want to, love."
"Okay," you whispered, stroking your forehead as a slight discomfort from not having slept enough appeared.
"Which arm?" he asked, opening the alcohol wipe.
"Left," you muttered, shifting your weight so your upper arm was easily accessible to him.
"Alright. This may be cold." The cool sting of the alcohol wipe gave your skin goosebumps. He wiped the back of his hand across the area in circular motion, ensuring it was clean. "How did your numbers look overnight? Did you stay steady?"
"A little high around two, but it came back down," you murmured, your eyes drifting shut again.
"Good." He put down the wipe and turned to the bedside table, picked up the plastic applicator, and assembled it with a click that usually made you a little tense. When he turned back to you, Jack noticed a slight tension in your shoulders. He lowered his free hand to your waist and gently stroked it. "Relax for me."
Jack was no stranger to needles or medical devices, but he always handled your diabetes with an extra care. At home, with you, he was very gentle.
He positioned the applicator against the back of your left arm, finding the usual spot where you apply it.
"Deep breath in," he whispered against your hair.
You inhaled, and there was a sharp click.
You winced at the sting. Jack was already pressing his fingers over the fresh adhesive, holding it firmly against your skin to make sure it stuck, just like you always did.
He left the applicator on the nightstand and as he looked down to admire his handywork, his brow furrowed. A tiny bead of red was blooming right through the center of the sensor.
"Hold on, love," he murmured. "We’ve got a little bleeder."
You sighed, too exhausted. "It’s fine, it happens sometimes. Just let it sit."
"I know, I know," Jack said softly, but he was already moving. He reached over to the nightstand and grabbed a clean tissue from the box next to the bed.
He applied pressure over the center of the sensor with the tissue.
"Does it hurt?" he asked, you nodded as he kept the pressure steady. "Is it a sharp pain, or just the usual pinch?"
"Just the usual," you mumbled. "Probably just hit a little capillary."
"Yeah, looks like it," he agreed, his thumb rubbing comforting caresses on your skin. He held the pressure for a solid minute, waiting patiently until he was certain the bleeding had stopped. When he pulled the tissue away, it was clean. He wiped up the tiny smudge of red from the plastic rim. "There. All clean. Looks like it’s going to hold just fine."
He picked up your phone from the nightstand and opened the app, holding the phone over the new device on your arm until it notificated it was working.
"Alright, it's scanning," Jack murmured. "Sixty minutes until it activates. I'll keep an eye on it."
He set the phone back down, face up so he could see the countdown. Then pulled you into his arms, sinking deep into the pillows and drawing the heavy duvet back over both of you. His arms wrapping securely around you.
"Baby, your leg."
"Ignore it, I will do it later." he whispered as he kissed the skin just beneath your ear.
"You should get comfortable. You know it's going to bother you later."
"I am comfortable with you against me." He followed it with another kiss to your neck. "Sleep, beautiful. Don't worry about me."
With the comforting rise and fall of Jack's chest against your back, you let yourself drift off, completely safe in his arms for the hour ahead.
there are few experiences more disappointing and embarrassing to be had than when you manage to convince yourself that something was loaded with erotic subtext and feel like the most intelligent sensitive pervert on earth, only to realise that was only the case because you misread or misunderstood an essential element of context which completely transforms if not outright removes any hint of eroticism
ohhhh okay so i just straight up hallucinated it like a desert mirage. i AM too horny and it IS making me stupid. the 1890s called; there's someone named sigmund freud on the phone who'd like to talk to you about these dreams you've been having.
SUMMARY: You wake up feeling your absolute worst when Trinity is at work. In the absence of your personal doctor, you decide that a hot shower must be the best thing for you. The steam gets to you, and your relaxing shower takes a turn for the worse, ending up in an ambulance ride and a hospital visit that you hate every second of despite Trinity’s unwavering presence.
NOTES: Illness + injury, dehydration, fainting, medical anxiety, medical settings, implied non-sexual nudity, established relationship, reader doesn’t know med terms but she’s trying her best.
REQUESTED BY: Anonymous.
NAVIGATION | PITT MASTERLIST | KO-FI
The scratch in your throat had been warning you since this morning, but you had brushed it off. By midday, however, the scratch had blossomed into a full-bodied ache, and your stomach had joined the rebellion. You had spent the better part of the afternoon shivering under three blankets, too exhausted to make the trek to the kitchen for water.
When evening finally came, your skin felt dry and hot. Your head pounded with a dull, rhythmic thud that made the setting sun filtering through the blinds feel like a physical assault. You knew you needed to do something to break the feverish haze. A shower, you reasoned, would help. The steam would clear your heavy head, and the water would wash away the cold sweat that made you feel so utterly miserable.
Getting out of bed was a clumsy, agonising process, the floorboards feeling ice-cold beneath your bare feet. You braced your hand against the corridor wall, slowly guiding yourself toward the bathroom, your breathing already shallow and ragged. Once inside, you turned the brass handle of the shower, waiting a few moments until the steam began to fog the mirror. Undressing felt like a monumental chore, your hands shaking violently.
When you finally stepped into the spray, the heat was an instant, overwhelming shock to your system. For a few seconds, it felt like heaven, washing over your aching shoulders and easing the chill in your bones. But your blood pressure, already dangerously low from lack of fluids, reacted poorly to the sudden heat. The blood rushed away from your brain.
A sudden, terrifying wave of dizziness hit you, far worse than any of the wobbles you had experienced in the bedroom. The bathroom began to tilt. The steady hum of the running water grew distant and muffled, replaced by a loud, high-pitched ringing that filled your ears. You reached out blindly for the tiled wall, your wet fingers slipping uselessly against the slick surface.
Your knees buckled beneath you, losing their strength entirely. As you fell, your temple clipped the edge of the heavy ceramic soap dish mounted on the wall before your shoulder slammed into the edge of the tub, and your head bounced hard against the cold porcelain floor.
Above you, the shower continued to spray, washing over your limp form. But as the minutes ticked by, the apartment building's old water heater began to lose its struggle. The soothing steam slowly dissipated, and the water transitioned from a comforting, hot stream to a lukewarm drizzle, and finally to a freezing, relentless downpour.
When the front door of the apartment finally clicked open fifteen minutes later, Trinity was practically vibrating with the residual adrenaline of a grueling twelve-hour shift. She toed her trainers off by the entryway with a heavy sigh, her shoulders dropping as she finally let her professional guard down, looking forward to curling up next to you.
"Hey, babe? You will not believe what shit Langdon tried to pull today," she called out, her voice echoing in the quiet space. She walked further into the flat, her brow furrowing when no one answered. "Babe? Are you asleep?"
The absolute silence of the apartment stopped her short. She noticed your shoes by the door and your keys on the counter. A subtle, instinctual knot tightened in her stomach, the kind of gut feeling she had learned to trust in the trauma bays of the Pitt. As she walked down the hall, she heard the faint, hollow hiss of the shower.
She knocked lightly on the bathroom door, her tone carrying a slightly impatient but fond edge. "Babe, come on, are you planning on saving any hot water for your tired girlfriend?"
There was no response. She knocked again, harder this time, the wood rattling in its frame. "Hey, answer me. You're starting to scare me a bit."
The lack of an answer made her chest tighten. She turned the doorknob, finding it was unlocked. Pushing the door open, she was met not with a wave of warm, comforting steam, but with a damp, frigid draft that made her shiver. What she saw inside made her ER-hardened heart completely stop.
You were lying crumpled on the floor of the tub, your body awkwardly twisted, with the freezing cold shower head mercilessly drenching you. Trinity didn’t even hesitate. She lunged forward, completely ignoring the spray of cold water that immediately soaked through her clothes as she shut the faucet off with a harsh, metallic jerk.
"Fuck! No, no, no," she breathed, dropping to her knees on the wet bathmat. Her hands trembled violently as she reached into the tub to pull your upper body into her lap, cradling you against her chest. "Hey, hey, look at me. Open your eyes for me, sweetheart, please."
Your skin was shockingly cold to the touch, goosebumps covering your arms. She pressed two fingers firmly against the side of your neck, holding her breath until she felt a pulse, but it was rapid, weak, and thready. It was then that she noticed the dark, oozing gash near your hairline.
"Come on, baby, wake up for me," she pleaded, her voice cracking as she gently patted your cheek. She rubbed her warm hands up and down your freezing arms, trying to friction some heat back into your skin. "Please, just open your eyes. You're okay, I've got you. I'm right here."
You groaned, a low, pathetic sound that vibrated in your chest, and your eyelids fluttered weakly. They opened just a crack, unfocused and glazed over, staring blankly past her. Trinity let out a shaky breath, her thumb gently wiping a mixture of water and blood away from your eye so she could get a clear look.
"There you are," she whispered, her voice incredibly tender as she pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your uninjured cheek, her tears mixing with the water on your skin. "Stay with me, okay? Keep those pretty eyes open for me."
She leaned in close, her fingers gently prying your eyelids a little wider to inspect your pupils. Even without her penlight, the bathroom light was enough to show her what she feared. Your left pupil was noticeably wider than the right, sluggishly responding to the light, while the other remained constricted.
"Hey, look at my nose, sweetheart. Try to focus on me," she coaxed softly. When your gaze just drifted aimlessly, her clinical brain forced its way through her panic. "Okay, shit... okay, you've hit your head really hard, and you're freezing. I’m calling an ambulance."
"No..." you mumbled, your voice incredibly thick and slurred as you tried to shake your head, only for a sharp spike of agony to make you wince. You clawed weakly at her soaked sleeve, your wet fingers barely holding onto the fabric. "No hospital... Trin, please. No doctors."
"Baby, you have a concussion, and you're severely dehydrated," she explained, her voice a mix of fierce medical authority and deep, aching affection as she pulled you tighter against her warmth. "Your pupils are totally unequal. I can't treat this here. I need to get you to the ER."
"Hate it... hate the lights," you whispered, a tear slipping down your pale face as you buried your nose into the crook of her neck, seeking shelter. "Don't make me go. Just let me stay here with you. Just let me sleep it off, please."
"I know you hate it, I know," she murmured into your wet hair, rocking you gently while her shaking fingers dialled 911 on her phone. "But you're bleeding, and you're in shock. I love you too much to let you stay here like this. I promise I won't leave your side. Not for a single second."
Within minutes, the distant, wailing siren began to echo down the street, growing louder until the flashing lights began to dance across the frosted glass of the bathroom window. You cringed at the noise, the high-pitched squeal feeling like a physical drill boring straight into your damaged brain.
"Shh, I've got you," Trinity whispered, wrapping her arms securely around your head and pressing your face into her chest to muffle the sound. "You're safe. I’ve got you."
When the paramedics finally entered the apartment, the bathroom suddenly felt suffocatingly crowded. Trinity took charge immediately, her voice crisp and authoritative as she rattled off your presentation, her medical shorthand flowing naturally while she still held you tightly against her.
"Syncopal episode, likely from dehydration. Patient was exposed to a cold shower for a short period of time. Visible head trauma with a laceration to the left temple, and they have positive signs of anisocoria," she told them, her hand never ceasing its soothing strokes through your hair.
The paramedics moved efficiently, wrapping you in dry, heavy blankets to combat the hypothermia. The transition from the bathroom floor to the stretcher was a chaotic blur of movement that made your stomach violently heave. You let out a soft, miserable whimper as the motion sent a fresh wave of vertigo spinning through your head.
"I'm right here, sweetheart, squeeze my hand," Trinity insisted, her voice a steady anchor in the chaos as her warm, solid fingers slipped into yours, locking tight. "Don't open your eyes, just listen to my voice. I'm not going anywhere."
She walked alongside the stretcher as they wheeled you out of the apartment and down the hallway. The cold outdoor air hit your face, making you shiver violently under the layers of blankets. The paramedics lifted the stretcher into the back of the ambulance, the loud clinking of the metal tracks scraping against your raw nerves.
The interior of the vehicle was blindingly bright, the harsh fluorescent tubes overhead sending a sharp, stabbing pain directly behind your eyes. You groaned, squeezing your eyes shut and trying to turn away from the glare. Trinity climbed in right after you, quickly taking her seat on the bench beside the gurney.
"Turn those overheads down, please," Trinity requested of the paramedic in the back, her tone sharp but polite. She immediately leaned over you, using her own body to shield your face from the remaining light. "There we go, baby. Close your eyes. I've got you, you're doing so well for me."
The ambulance ride was a miserable, jarring blur. Every time the vehicle hit a bump in the road, the motion sent a sickening wave of vertigo through your head, making you squeeze Trinity’s hand with everything you had left.
"I know, baby, I know," Trinity whispered, leaning down so her breath brushed against your ear. She kept her free hand firmly over your eyes, creating a dark, safe cocoon against the harsh, vibrating environment. "We’re nearly there. Just breathe through it. You're doing so brilliantly."
When the ambulance finally screeched to a halt, the rear doors flew open, letting in a rush of cool air and the overwhelming, sterile smell of bleach and alcohol. The sound of shouting voices, rolling wheels, and high-pitched monitors hit you like a physical blow. You groaned, trying to shrink away from the noise.
"Keep your eyes shut, sweetheart," Trinity murmured, her voice a steady anchor as the paramedics wheeled you out. She kept pace with the stretcher, refusing to let go of your hand as they pushed through the double doors of the Pitt. "I'm right here. I'm not leaving you."
The transition into the assessment bay was chaotic. Nurses and doctors swarmed the stretcher, their voices overlapping as they took the handover from the paramedics. The bright overhead fluorescent lights pierced straight through your eyelids, causing a sharp, blinding spike of pain that made you wince and try to turn your head away.
"Can we dim these lights, please? Patient has a significant concussion and severe photophobia," Trinity commanded, her sharp, authoritative doctor voice cutting through the room's chatter. The nurses instantly complied, clicking off the harshest of the overhead rows, plunging the bay into a much softer, shadowed glow.
"Thanks, Trin," one of the attending doctors, Jack Abbot, muttered, recognising her immediately. He stepped forward to look at your unequal pupils. "Let's get an IV started and get a head CT booked just to be safe. We'll get that gash cleaned up and stitched too."
At the mention of needles and scans, panic flared in your chest again. You weakly tried to pull your arm away, your breathing turning shallow and frantic. "No... Trinity, please. No needles. Let's just go home. Please, I want to go home."
"Hey, hey, look at me, baby. Just look at me," she coaxed softly, stepping into your line of sight so her face was the only thing you could see. She gently cupped your face with both hands, her thumbs wiping away a fresh tear. "I know it's scary. But you're severely dehydrated, and your body needs this fluid to help your head stop pounding."
"I hate it," you whimpered, your slurred voice cracking as you stared into her dark, fiercely protective eyes.
"I know you do, sweetheart, and I hate seeing you in pain," Trinity whispered, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead, avoiding the bleeding cut. "But I'm going to stay right here. Hold onto me as tight as you need to. Dr. Abbot is amazing, and I won't let him do anything without telling you first."
You slowly nodded, completely exhausted and unable to fight any longer. Trinity shifted to your side, wrapping her fingers tightly around yours as the nurse stepped up with the IV line. When the sharp prick of the needle pierced your skin, you hissed out a breath and squeezed Trinity's hand so hard her knuckles turned white.
"You're okay, you're doing so well for me," Trinity murmured, using her free hand to gently smooth the damp hair back from your forehead. "The worst part is over. Now we just get you warmed up and sorted out."
The next few hours passed in a quiet, hazy rhythm. The warm saline fluids slowly dripping into your vein began to lift the heavy, suffocating fog in your brain, though your head still thudded with a dull, persistent ache. Trinity never left your side, sitting on a plastic chair right next to your gurney.
She carefully cleaned the gash on your temple herself, her movements incredibly gentle and precise as she applied a few stitches to close the wound. Every time you winced, she paused, whispering sweet, quiet praises until you relaxed enough for her to finish.
After your head CT came back clear of any internal bleeding, Jack finally signed off on your discharge papers, agreeing that you could recover at home under Trinity's strict supervision. The taxi ride back to the apartment was infinitely quieter than the ambulance journey, your head resting heavily against Trinity’s shoulder as she kept her arm securely wrapped around you.
When the front door of the apartment finally clicked shut behind you, the familiar, quiet warmth of your own home felt like a massive relief. The bathroom had been entirely cleaned up, Trinity must have done it quickly while the paramedics were loading you into the ambulance, and everything was blissfully dark and silent.
"Come on, let's get you into some proper clothes," Trinity said softly, guiding your shuffling, unsteady steps toward the bedroom.
She helped you sit on the edge of the mattress, carefully pulling a soft, oversized jumper over your head and helping you slide into a pair of thick, comfortable sweatpants. Every movement was slow and deliberate, Trinity constantly checking your face to make sure the dizziness wasn't returning.
Once you were changed, she gently peeled back the heavy duvet, helping you settle down into the pillows. She climbed into the bed right after you, pulling the covers up over both of your shoulders and carefully drawing you back against her chest.
"How's the head feeling now, sweetheart?" she whispered into the dark room, her fingers lightly combing through your hair, avoiding the neat row of stitches at your temple.
"Still hurts," you mumbled, your voice small and muffled against her shirt. You shifted closer, hooking your arm over her waist, soaking in the comforting, familiar scent of her skin. "But it's better. Thank you for coming home when you did. And for... everything."
"You don't ever have to thank me for that," Trinity murmured, her voice thick with sudden emotion as she tightened her grip around you, pressing a soft kiss to the back of your neck. "When I saw you on that floor, my heart completely stopped. I was so terrified, baby."
"I'm sorry I scared you," you whispered, closing your eyes as the warmth of the bed and the safety of her arms finally began to pull you under.
"Just promise me you won't try to be a hero next time you're ill," she replied, a tiny, familiar hint of her usual sarcasm returning to her tone, though it was drenched in absolute affection. "If you feel faint, you call me. No matter what time it is. Deal?"
"Deal," you breathed, your eyelids growing too heavy to keep open.
"Good. Now go to sleep, sweetheart," Trinity whispered, closing her own eyes and resting her chin gently on top of your head. "I’ve got you. I'll be right here when you wake up."
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God sometimes I'm writing smut and I'll like, delete a sentence because I'm like, no, I can't write that. It's too indulgent. And then it's like. Girl, what the fuck are you even going to the candy store for if you're just going to buy raisins. Get real.
