Rosalie being insanely beautiful AND a car girl just makes me love her more because what do you she likes to work on cars????? And I FULLY believe that she’s the one who took the spark plug from Bella’s truck for Edward to stop Bella from going to see Jacob. THE TWILIGHT MOVIES BUTCHERED EVERYONE THEY ARE DO MUCH MORE INTERESTING IN THE BOOKS.
Just imagine
Edward: “Can you make sure Bella’s truck won’t start?”
Rosalie, already grabbing a wrench: “Give me thirty seconds.”
Edward: “…That’s concerningly fast.”
Rosalie: “It’s a twenty-year-old Chevy. It’s practically begging me to take it apart.”
Then Bella spends the rest of the night frustrated while Rosalie is somewhere in the garage pretending she has absolutely no idea why the truck suddenly won’t start.
can we expect something for elijah or klaus from you soon babe? 🫶🏻
YES!
I have two Elijah blurbs in the works along with a Klaus blurb I’ve been taking a little break from writing hopefully I’ll have everything down and posted soon 💜
It’s officially time for my Summer of Fear writing event! From now until the end of summer, my inbox will be open for requests from some of my favorite fandoms. Whether you want fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, horror, romance, or complete and utter chaos, this event is for you!
Fandoms:
🩺 The Pitt
👑 Animal Kingdom
🏝️ Outer Banks
🧛 The Vampire Diaries
🩸 The Originals
✨ Legacies
🦸 Marvel
🦇 DC
👻 Supernatural
🐉 Zodiac Academy
🐉 Fourth Wing
🏎️ Formula One
🧚♀️ fate the winx saga
🐺 teen wolf
And more …….
What you can request:
☀️ Summer adventures
🔪 Horror & thriller
❤️ Romance
🩹 Hurt/Comfort
💔 Angst
✨ Fantasy & supernatural
🏁 Formula One AUs
…and plenty more!
How to request:
Send me:
Character(s) + Fandom + Prompt + Genre
Example: Klaus Mikaelson + Bonfire + Fluff
Dean Winchester + Power Outage + Hurt/Comfort
Oscar Piastri + Summer Break + Romance
A few rules:
☀️ Please be patient! I’ll be writing these in between work and real life.
☀️ Anonymous requests are welcome.
☀️ Feel free to send multiple requests, but please send them in separate asks.
☀️ If I don’t feel comfortable writing a request, I’ll simply decline it.
So grab your sunscreen, watch your back, and send me your favorite prompts. Let's make this summer full of unforgettable stories, lovable idiots, found family, supernatural chaos, race weekends, beach trips, and maybe just a little bit of murder. 🔪🌊
is there anything you wished you saw more in x reader fics? like i'd love to see more private relationships that seem like secret relationships but really everyone is somewhat oblivious
Hi! Yes, definitely. One of the biggest things I’d love to see more of is inclusivity in x reader fics. Readers come from all different backgrounds, body types, abilities, and identities, and I think it’s wonderful when authors write in a way that allows as many people as possible to see themselves in the story.
I’d also love to see more relationships that feel real. Like you mentioned, couples who keep things relatively private not because they’re hiding their relationship, but because they’re naturally low-key. Everyone around them already knows they’re together because they’re so obvious without even trying. I think that dynamic is incredibly cute and doesn’t get written nearly enough.
I’d also love to see more platonic x reader fics, found family dynamics, established relationships, and stories that focus on comfort, everyday moments, and emotional intimacy rather than always building toward romance. Sometimes the soft, domestic moments are the ones that stick with me the most.
Overall, I just enjoy stories that feel authentic, cozy, and welcoming where lots of different readers can picture themselves in the world the author has created.
Hey,I have a request if you’re ok writing about triggering things. Can you please do a Jack abbot x a reader with an eating disorder preferable bulimia? If not I completely understand thank you for reading this.
Summary — After a long night shift at The Pitt, you think you’ve made it through unnoticed. But when exhaustion and weeks of hiding your eating disorder finally catch up to you, you collapse in the hallway of your apartment building and end up right back in the last place you wanted to be: the ER. Unfortunately for you, the doctor bringing day shift up to speed is the one person who already knows something is wrong Jack Abbott.
Warnings — bulimia/eating disorder retching/throwing up reader disordered eating behaviors, Body image struggles, Mentions of food anxiety and guilt around eating, Medical discussion of eating disorder symptoms, Emotional distress and shame related to eating disorders, Hospital setting and medical content.
Word count — 4.1k I will have to do a part two this kinda got too long for my liking but I don’t mind doing a part two.
If these topics are difficult for you, please prioritize your wellbeing and consider skipping this story. If you or someone you know is struggling with an eating disorder, you’re not alone. Support is available through medical professionals, trusted people in your life, or organizations that specialize in eating disorder recovery.
This wasn’t edited or proofread I don’t have a beta reader or editor so I apologize for mistakes I may have missed looking over this.
The break room was quiet for once. which was strange because The Pitt was rarely silent, but the lull between patients had settled over the floor like a held breath. Jack Abbott sat at the small table with a chart in front of him, pen resting between his fingers.
He wasn’t reading it. His eyes kept drifting across the room to you.You were sitting across from him, hunched slightly over the table, slowly tearing apart a granola bar wrapper like it had personally offended you. The foil crinkled softly with every nervous movement of your hands.
Ten minutes and you’d taken two bites. Jack leaned back in his chair, studying you over the top of the chart.
“You gonna eat that,” he asked casually, “or pick apart at it first?”
You blinked up at him, startled out of whatever anxious spiral you’d been in.
“I’m eating it.”
Your voice was quick, defensive.
To prove your point, you broke off a tiny piece and put it in your mouth. Jack hummed and he was not convinced. He’d been noticing things lately. Little things: like the way you chewed gum constantly, always mint flavored, always right after meals.
The way you carried a small pack of mints in your scrub pocket like they were a lifeline. The way your voice was sometimes rough in the mornings, like your throat hurt. But the thing that really caught his attention was your hands.
You tapped your fingers nervously against the table, and when you reached for your water bottle Jack saw the faint redness along your swollen knuckles
But not subtle enough for someone who spent their life looking for physical symptoms. Jack’s gaze lingered for half a second too long.
You noticed and your hand immediately dropped into your lap.The room was filled with the soft buzz of the vending machine and you forced yourself to take another bite of the granola bar, chewing slowly like every movement required effort.
Jack watched the way your jaw tightened. The way your eyes kept flicking toward the clock on the wall. Like you were waiting for something or counting down to something.
“You look like someone forced you to eat drywall,” Jack said dryly.
You rolled your eyes.
“I’m just tired.”
Jack nodded slightly.
“Tired people usually eat their food.”
You swallowed hard. The bite seemed to stick in your throat, and you quickly grabbed your water bottle, taking a long drink. When you set it down your fingers trembled. Just a little and Jack noticed that too.
He noticed everything about you lately. The way you sometimes swayed slightly during long shifts like you were dizzy. The way you insisted on taking extra charts, extra patients, extra responsibilities like if you worked hard enough you could outrun whatever was gnawing at you.
Perfectionism.
Control.
Classic coping.
Jack didn’t say that part out loud. Instead he gestured toward the granola bar.
“You know,” he said casually, “they make those things smaller now.”
You frowned.
“What?”
“Yeah,” he continued with mock seriousness. “Used to be twice that size. Now they’re barely a snack.”
Your eyes narrowed.
“You’re making that up.”
“Maybe.”
A ghost of a smile tugged at your mouth.For a second, the tension in your shoulders loosened. Then you glanced at the clock again and the tension snapped right back. Jack followed your gaze to the clock 2:17 a.m. You stood up, the chair scraping softly against the tile.
“Gotta get back,I have a patient to check on” you said quickly.
The granola bar was still half untouched.
You tossed it into the trash like it was evidence. Jack’s jaw tightened slightly.
“Yeah,” he said slowly. “Sure.”
You were already halfway to the door.
Jack waited about thirty seconds.
Then he stood too.
Not obviously following.
Just walking the same direction.
The hallway outside the break room was dimmer, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. Nurses passed by in a blur of motion, voices echoing faintly from patient rooms.
Jack walked past the staff bathroom and then he stopped. The sound came from behind the door.
Quiet.
But unmistakable.
Retching.
Jack’s stomach dropped.
He stood there for a moment, staring at the door.
Doctors learned to identify sounds quickly. Coughs. Wheezes. Distress.
This one he recognized instantly.
The sink turned on a second later.
Water rushing loudly.
Jack rubbed a hand over his jaw.
He could leave.
Pretend he hadn’t heard it.
Everyone deserved privacy.
Jack leaned back against the wall outside the door, arms crossed loosely over his chest.
He didn’t knock.
Didn’t call your name.
He just waited.
About a minute later the water shut off.
The door opened.
You froze the second you saw him.
Your eyes widened like a deer caught in headlights.
“Jesus, Jack.”
Your voice sounded thin.
“You scared me.”
Jack looked at you carefully.
Your eyes were red.
Your lips looked irritated, like you’d been biting them too hard.
“Stomach bug?” Jack asked gently.
You nodded immediately.
“Yeah it must’ve been something I ate.”
Jack tilted his head slightly.
“Funny,” he said quietly. “That stomach bug seems to show up every time you eat.”
Your shoulders went rigid.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
Jack pushed himself off the wall and stepped a little closer, but his posture stayed relaxed and non-threatening.
“Kid,” he sighed softly.
You hated it when he called you that, especially when his voice sounded so gentle and knowing.
“I’m not accusing you of anything,” he said. “But I’m also not blind.”
You stared at the floor. Your fingers were twisting the gum wrapper into a tight little knot.
Jack’s gaze drifted to your hands again, your knuckles were red and slightly swollen.
He exhaled quietly.
“I’m not here to lecture you,” he continued. “And I’m definitely not here to embarrass you in the hallway.”
Your throat bobbed when you swallowed.
“I’m fine.”
Jack studied your face for a long moment.
“You’re dizzy on shift,” he said calmly.
“You barely eat.”
“You carry enough mints and gum to supply a small convenience store.”
Your eyes snapped up to his.
“And you disappear every time you finish a meal.”
The silence between you turned heavy.
Jack softened his voice.
“You don’t have to lie to me.”
Your eyes burned.
“I’m not—”
Your voice cracked.
You quickly looked away.
Jack felt something twist painfully in his chest.
He stepped back slightly, giving you space.
“I’m not trying to corner you,” he said gently.
Your arms wrapped around yourself.
“You should go.”
Jack nodded slowly.
“Yeah.”
He started down the hallway.
Then paused.
Without turning around, he said quietly:
“Whatever’s going on with you…”
His voice softened.
“You don’t have to fight it alone.”
Your breathing hitched.
Jack waited a moment.
But you didn’t speak.
So he kept walking.
Behind him, he heard a quiet sound.
A shaky breath.
Like you were trying very hard not to cry.
And Jack knew one thing with absolute certainty.
This conversation wasn’t over.
A couple hours later Jack tried to focus on his chart. He really did but the numbers blurred together after a while. Blood pressure. Lab results. Medication adjustments. None of it stuck because his brain kept replaying the same things.
Your hands.
Your voice.
The sound behind that bathroom door.
Jack had been a doctor long enough to know what he heard. And long enough to know how carefully this kind of thing had to be handled. Push too hard, and people shut down. Ignore it, and it gets worse.
He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck and glanced down the hallway. You were at the nurses’ station now, standing over a chart working like nothing had happened. You were good at that. Jack had noticed that too. Always the first to volunteer for another patient.
Always the one double-checking medications. Always staying late.
Perfection.
Control.
He watched as you shifted your weight slightly.
Your hand braced against the counter for a second Just a second But it was enough to know that you were Dizzy. You straightened quickly when a nurse spoke to you, nodding like everything was normal.
Jack stood up and he grabbed his coffee and walked over casually.
“You’re about to put the rest of us out of a job,” he said, leaning against the counter.
You looked up.
“What?”
“All these charts done already?” he continued. “Overachiever.”
You shrugged, trying to look unaffected.
“Just staying on top of things.”
Jack’s gaze flicked to the pack of gum you’d placed next to the computer.
Half empty.
He tapped it lightly with his finger.
“Your dentist must love you.”
You immediately grabbed it.
“It helps with nausea.”
Jack hummed softly.
“Mhm.”
You slipped a piece into your mouth.
The mint smell hit the air almost immediately.
Jack didn’t comment.
Instead he reached over and slid one of the patient charts out to the way.
“Did you eat lunch today?” he asked casually.
You stiffened almost imperceptibly.
“Yeah.”
“What’d you have?”
Your brain stalled.
“A granola bar.”
Jack nodded slowly.
“That's it?”
You shrugged.
“I’m not that hungry.”
Jack studied your face for a moment there it was again that flicker of guilt. People who were simply “not hungry” didn’t look like that when they said it.
You quickly turned back to the computer.
“I’ve got to check the patient in room four,” you said.
Your voice had that rushed edge again.
Jack didn’t stop you.
But as you walked away, he noticed the way you pressed your arm briefly against the wall as you turned the corner like you needed the support.
Jack exhaled slowly.
Later that evening, the shift finally started to slow by bleeding into the morning.
You were back in the break room again. A different snack this time was a yogurt cup, sitting in front of you unopened. You were just staring at it so hard that you didn’t know that Jack was leaning against the doorway.
“You know it won’t explode if you open it.”
You jumped slightly.
“Do you ever knock?”
“This isn’t a bedroom.” You sighed out and peeled the lid open.
Jack stepped inside, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge.
He didn’t sit right away.
Instead he leaned against the counter, watching you take a small spoonful.
You swallowed it quickly.
Too quickly.
Your eyes immediately flicked toward the door.
Jack noticed.
“Relax,” he said gently. “Nobody’s timing you.”
Your grip tightened slightly around the spoon.
“I’m not—”
“You are.”
His voice wasn’t accusing Just calm and Matter-of-fact.
You stared down at the cup of yogurt.
Jack waited a moment he said quietly,
“Does it feel like if you stop paying attention, everything spins out of control?”
Your head snapped up.
You hadn’t expected that.
Jack shrugged lightly.
“Control’s a funny thing,” he said. “We grab onto whatever we can.”
You looked away again.
“I should get back to work.”
“You’ve got five minutes left of your break.”
Your leg bounced under the table.
Jack watched you carefully.
Then he noticed something else.
When you lifted the spoon to your mouth again, you winced slightly.
“Teeth bothering you?” he asked.
You froze.
“It’s nothing.”
Jack nodded slowly.
“Acid can do that it eats away at your tooth enamel.”
Silence filled the room. Your breathing got a little shakier. Jack immediately softened his tone.
“I’m not judging you,” he said quietly.
You blinked hard.
“I just…”
He paused, choosing his words carefully.
“I care about the people I work with.”
Your voice was barely above a whisper.
“You shouldn’t.”
Jack frowned.
“Why not?”
You stared at the yogurt like it personally offended you.
“Because it’s stupid,” you muttered.
Jack shook his head.
“No.”
Your eyes finally met his.
“It’s not stupid.”
His voice was gentle but firm.
“It’s something you’re dealing with.”
Your throat tightened.
Jack leaned back slightly, giving you space again.
“You don’t have to explain it today,” he said.
Your shoulders dropped a fraction.
“But if you ever want someone to sit with you while you eat…”
He gestured to the .
“I can do that.”
You stared at him like you didn’t quite believe what you were hearing.
Most people would’ve told you to “just eat.”
Or lectured you.
Or made a joke.
Jack just stood there. Calm. Patient. And Waiting.
After a long moment, you slowly took another spoonful.
Jack didn’t say anything but he stayed.
In the last hour of your shift The Pitt hummed monitors beeped somewhere down the hall. A nurse laughed softly at the desk.
The break room light buzzed overhead.
You were still sitting at the table with a banana in your hand halfway eaten which, for you, felt like running a marathon.
Your stomach twisted unpleasantly. Not from the banana but from the panic that came after eating.
It always came like a tight, crawling feeling under your ribs. Like your skin didn’t fit right. Like something inside you was screaming get it out get it out get it out.
You pressed your palm flat against your stomach.
Jack noticed immediately.
“You okay?”
You nodded too fast.
“Yeah.”
Your leg bounced harder under the table.
The voice in your head was getting louder.
Too much.
You shouldn’t have eaten that much.
You’re going to feel it all night.
Your fingers tightened around the banna until your knuckles turned pale.
Jack watched you carefully.
Doctors were trained to notice physical symptoms.
But Jack had also gotten very good at noticing you.
The way your breathing changed.
The way your eyes went distant when you started spiraling.
“You don’t have to finish it,” he said quietly.
Your head snapped up.
“I know that.”
Defensive again.
Jack raised his hands slightly.
“Hey. Easy.”
You hated how quickly your emotions jumped from zero to a hundred lately.
You forced yourself to take another bite.
Your throat burned slightly when you swallowed.
It has been doing that more lately.
Raw.
Like sandpaper.
Jack noticed you swallow carefully.
“Is your throat still bothering you?”
You shook your head.
“No.” You said lying.
Your throat hurts most mornings now. Sometimes your voice came out hoarse when you first started talking during rounds.
You told people it was allergies. Jack wasn’t convinced. He leaned against the counter, arms crossed loosely.
“You know what the worst part of working in a hospital is?”
You blinked.
“What?”
“We see the consequences of everything.”
You frowned slightly.
“Meaning?”
Jack shrugged.
“Smoking. Drinking. Stress.”
His eyes flicked toward you briefly.
“Not eating enough.”
Your chest tightened.
“And eating in ways that hurt your body.”
Your stomach dropped.
You stared at the banna again.
Your appetite has completely disappeared now.
Jack noticed that too.
He pushed away from the counter and sat across from you.
Not close.
Just present.
“You know something else?” he said gently.
You didn’t answer.
“You’re not as subtle as you think you are.”
Your jaw tightened.
“I’m not hiding anything.”
Jack gave you a look.
“The gum.”
Your fingers froze.
“The mints.”
Your heart started racing.
“The bathroom trips.”
Your stomach twisted.
“And the way you look like you’re about to pass out during hour twelve of a shift.”
You stared at the table.
Your eyes burned.
Jack’s voice softened.
“Kid.”
Your throat tightened.
“I hate that nickname.”
“I know.”
That made your chest hurt worse.
Because he remembered.
Jack leaned his elbows on the table slightly.
“Can I ask you something?”
You shrugged weakly.
“I guess.”
“How long?”
Your head jerked up.
“What?”
“How long has this been going on?”
You looked away.
Your fingers drifted toward your mouth automatically.
Chewing gum.
Always chewing gum.
It helped cover the taste.
Jack noticed.
He gently slid the gum pack a little farther away.
Not aggressively.
Just enough.
You stared at it.
Then at him.
Your eyes are glossy now.
“I don’t—”
Your voice cracked.
You swallowed hard.
Jack didn’t interrupt.
Didn’t rush you.
The silence stretched.
Finally you whispered,
“A while.”
Jack nodded slowly.
“Months?”
You shook your head.
Your voice was barely audible.
“Years.”
Something in Jack’s expression shifted; it wasn't shock or judgment just sadness.
“That’s a long time to carry something by yourself.”
Your hands were shaking now.
“You wouldn’t understand.”
Jack leaned back slightly.
“You’re right.”
You blinked.
“I probably don’t understand exactly what it feels like.”
That surprised you.
Most people argued that point.
“But I do understand addiction.”
Your eyes flicked up.
“And I understand coping mechanisms,” he continued.
“And I understand people hurting themselves because it feels like the only way to stay in control.”
Your breathing got uneven.
Your stomach twisted again.
You pushed your chair back slightly.
“I need to go.”
Jack’s voice stayed calm.
“To the bathroom?”
You froze.
Your face burned with humiliation.
“I feel sick.”
Jack didn’t move.
“Yeah.”
Your chest heaved once.
You hated that he knew.
You hated that someone finally saw through it.
You hated that a small part of you felt relieved.
Jack spoke carefully.
“Does it ever stop feeling urgent?”
You didn’t answer.
“Like if you don’t get rid of it immediately something terrible will happen?”
Your breathing hitched.
You stared at the floor.
Jack nodded softly.
“Thought so.”
You pressed your hands against the table.
Your knuckles hurt.
The skin there had been splitting lately.
Tiny scabs that never quite healed.
Jack had noticed those too.
“Your hands must hurt,” he said gently.
You instinctively pulled them into your sleeves.
“I burned them while cooking.”
Jack didn’t call you out.
Instead he said quietly,
“Stomach acid is brutal on skin.”
The room went silent again. Your vision blurred. You hated crying. Especially at work. Especially in front of him.
Jack leaned back slightly, giving you space again.
“You’re not weak for this,” he said.
Your laugh came out shaky.
“You don’t know that.”
Jack’s voice was firm now.
“Yes I do.”
You wiped quickly at your eyes.
“You should be focusing on patients instead of psychoanalyzing me.”
Jack tilted his head.
“You are one of my people.”
Your heart skipped.
“My people?”
“The people I work with.”
His voice softened again.
“The people I care about.”
Your throat tightened painfully.
No one had ever said that to you about this.
Usually it was anger.
Or frustration.
Or why can’t you just stop.
Jack watched you carefully.
“You know what scares me the most?”
You looked up weakly.
“What?”
“The dizziness.”
Your stomach dropped.
“And the exhaustion.”
He paused.
“And the fact that you’re trying to function in one of the most stressful jobs possible while your body’s basically running on fumes.”
Your hands started shaking again.
Jack noticed.
“You deserve help,” he said quietly.
Your immediate reaction was a sharp shake of your head.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m fine.”
Jack sighed softly.
“That word again.”
You stared at him.
Your voice cracked.
“I can handle it.”
Jack held your gaze.
“Maybe.”
He paused.
“But you shouldn’t have to.”
The words hit you harder than anything else he’d said.
Your chest rose and fell unevenly.
The bathroom urge was still clawing at you.
But now something else sat in your chest too.
Fear.
And something unfamiliar.
Hope.
Jack stood slowly.
“Finish your banana if you want but if you don’t, that’s okay too.”
You stared at the cup.
Jack grabbed his water bottle.
Then he paused at the doorway.
“You know where to find me.”
Your voice was small.
“Why do you care so much?”
Jack looked back at you.
For a second his usual sarcastic mask dropped completely.
“Because you matter, you are my friend and I care about you.
The words stayed with you longer than you wanted them to.
You didn’t know what to do with that kind of honesty. Jack was usually sarcastic and dry humor, not quiet confessions in the break room at four in the morning.
So you did the only thing you could.
You left.
The end of the shift blurred together after that. Charts. Discharges. A few last patients trickled in before the day shift arrived.
You avoided Jack as much as possible.
Not obviously.
Just enough.
By the time the morning staff began filling the floor, exhaustion was settling deep in your bones. The kind that made your thoughts feel slow and heavy.
You signed out, grabbed your bag, and slipped out of The Pitt without saying goodbye.
Your apartment building hallway smelled faintly like old carpet and someone’s burnt toast. You fumbled with your keys, your brain still half stuck in hospital mode. Vitals. Labs. Medication doses.
Your stomach twisted. The banana from earlier felt like it was still sitting wrong inside you. The familiar anxiety crept up again.
Too much.
You leaned against the hallway wall for a second.
Just to breathe.
The lights overhead flickered slightly.
Your vision blurred around the edges.
You blinked hard.
“Okay,” you muttered to yourself. “Just tired.”
You pushed off the wall and took another step toward your door.
The hallway tilted.
Your stomach dropped.
You reached for the wall again but this time your hand missed.
The last thing you saw was the ugly beige carpet rushing toward you.
————
Jack Abbott stood at the nurses’ station, arms crossed loosely while the day shift gathered around.
Morning light spilled through the high windows, turning the usual chaos into something almost calm.
Almost.
“Room four is stable,” Jack said, glancing down at the chart in his hands. “A kid with appendicitis is heading to surgery. Labs are already—”
The ambulance bay doors burst open.
The sound cut through the station like a knife.
Paramedics rolled a stretcher inside quickly.
“Female, mid-twenties,” one of them was saying. “Found unconscious in her apartment hallway. Possible syncope. Blood sugar was sixty-two in the field.”
Jack barely registered the words.
Because he’d already looked up.
And his brain had stopped processing anything else.
You were on the stretcher.
Your hair was a mess.
Your face is pale.
One arm draped loosely off the side where an IV line had been started.
For a split second, Jack didn’t move.
Then every instinct he had kicked in at once.
“Hey”
One of the residents noticed his expression.
“Dr. Abbott?”
Jack was already walking.
Fast.
The stretcher rolled past the nurses’ station.
Your eyes were half open now, unfocused and glassy.
You looked disoriented.
Embarrassed.
Then your gaze drifted sideways and landed on him.
Your stomach dropped.
“Oh no.”
Your voice was hoarse.
The paramedic glanced between the two of you.
“You know her?”
Jack’s jaw tightened.
“Yeah,” he said quietly.
He stepped alongside the stretcher as they pushed it toward an open bay.
“What happened?”
“The neighbor found her on the floor,” the paramedic said. “Said she passed out in the hallway.”
Jack’s eyes flicked to your face.
Your skin still looked too pale.
You refused to meet his gaze.
“I’m fine,” you muttered weakly.
Jack let out a breath through his nose.
He’d heard that sentence from you about twenty times in the last twelve hours.
“You’re on a stretcher,” he said dryly.
You groaned softly.
“Jack, please don’t make this a thing.”
The paramedic raised an eyebrow.
Jack ignored that.
Instead he focused on the monitor as they rolled into the bay.
Heart rate elevated.
Blood pressure is a little low.
Not catastrophic.
But not great either.
“What’s her glucose now?” Jack asked.
“Sixty-two in the field,” the paramedic repeated. “Haven’t rechecked yet.”
Jack nodded.
“Let’s get another reading and start fluids.”
You squeezed your eyes shut.
“I hate this.”
Jack leaned slightly closer to the stretcher.
“I warned you,” he said quietly.
Your eyes opened again.
Guilt flashed across your face.
“I know.”
Jack studied you for a long moment.
The dizziness.
The purging.
barely eating.
The way you’d almost passed out on shift earlier.
And now this.
His jaw clenched.
“You scared the hell out of me,” he said softly.
You looked away.
“I didn’t mean to.”
“I know.”
A nurse slipped the blood glucose monitor onto your finger.
The machine beeped.
“Fifty-eight.”
Jack exhaled slowly.
Too low again.
He grabbed a chair and pulled it next to the bed while the nurse started another IV bag.
“You’re staying here for a bit,” he said.
You shook your head weakly.
“I have to sleep. I’ve been up all night.”
Jack gave you a look.
“You passed out in your apartment hallway.”
You sighed miserably.
“Can we pretend this didn’t happen?”
Jack leaned back in the chair.
“Not a chance.”
You covered your face with your hands.
Mortified.
Outside the bay, the rest of the ER buzzed with activity.
New patients arriving.
Phones ringing.
Monitors beeping.
But Jack didn’t move.
Not even when another doctor walked by and asked if he was taking the case.
He just gestured toward the chart.
“I’ve got it.”
You peeked at him through your fingers.
“Why?”
Jack didn’t hesitate.
“Because you’re not going through this alone.”
Your chest tightened again.
And despite the embarrassment
Despite the fear
Something in your shoulders loosened slightly.
Because Jack Abbott wasn’t going anywhere.
A/N — Oh wow this was a lot I haven’t written this much since high school English class but here we are!
I will be doing a second part if you want to be tagged leave a comment below.
Friendly Twilight PSA because this one drives me a little crazy: Werewolves DO, in fact, exist in the Twilight universe!!!!!
Jacob Black and the Quileute pack are NOT werewolves. They’re shape-shifters who just happen to take the form of giant wolves.
it’s confirmed in Breaking Dawn (the book) during the confrontation with the Volturi. When Aro sees the Quileute wolves, Edward explains that they aren’t true werewolves. Aro even acknowledges the distinction, noting that true Children of the Moon (the actual werewolves) are an entirely different species and were nearly wiped out by the Volturi because they were so difficult to control.
The Quileute wolves shift because of their tribal magic and the presence of vampires.
They don’t transform because of the full moon.
They keep their human minds while shifted.
They’re not “Children of the Moon.”
Meanwhile, true werewolves (Children of the Moon) are a completely separate supernatural species that does exist in the Twilight universe.
So yes, Jacob may get called a “werewolf” throughout the series, but canonically he’s a wolf shape-shifter, not a true werewolf.
I’m re-listening to breaking dawn and I can’t believe they sent jasper to pick up Bella’s mom and stepdad the one vampire who struggles with blood lust 😭😭😭.
Summary— yes your boyfriend purs but that one of the many bear things you love about him.
Word count 440
A/n — do I smell shifter aus coming???? Probably.
The cabin was quiet except for the crackling fire and the soft patter of rain against the roof. You looked up from your book when Ollie wandered back into the living room wearing nothing but a pair of gray sweatpants, his hair still damp from the shower. He flopped dramatically onto the couch beside you, immediately seeking you out the way he always did.
For a six-foot-something bear shifter, he was unbelievably clingy. Without a word, he tucked himself against your side, one arm wrapping around your waist while he rested his head in your lap.
You smiled, setting your book aside.“Comfortable?”
“Mhm.”
“You’ve stolen the blanket.”
“Mhm.”
“And you’re squishing me.”
A pause.
“Mhm.”
You laughed, threading your fingers through his soft curls. The second your nails lightly scratched behind his ear, his entire body melted. A deep, rumbling sound filled the room making you freeze then grin.
“Ollie.”
“Hm?”
“You’re purring again.” The rumbling stopped instantly. “…No, I’m not.”
“You absolutely are.”
“I don’t purr.”
“You are literally vibrating.”
His cheeks turned a brilliant shade of pink as he refused to look at you. “It’s a bear thing.”
“So purring.”
“It is not purring.”
You scratched behind his ear again. The rumble came back even louder this time, so deep you could feel it through your body. You burst into laughter. “Oh my gosh, that’s adorable!”
He groaned dramatically, burying his face against your stomach. “Please don’t call it adorable.”
“You sound like an oversized teddy bear.”
“I am a very intimidating grizzly.” Ollie grumbled.
“You nearly cried watching that video of baby ducks yesterday.”
“They found their mom!”
You laughed so hard your eyes watered. Still hiding his face, Ollie tightened his arms around your waist.
“You can’t tell anyone.”
“I won’t.”
“You swear?”
“I swear.”
“Not even Kimi?”
“Especially not Kimi.”
“Or Charles?”
“Definitely not Charles.” He mumbled into your lap knowing that if this got out then the others would never let him live it down. You leaned down to kiss the top of his head. “I do love your happy bear noises, though.” The rumbling started again despite himself. You couldn’t resist another scratch through his curls.
“There it is.” He let out an exaggerated groan. “I have never regretted falling in love with someone more.”
You laughed, wrapping both arms around him. “Liar.”
“Yeah.” His purr never stopped for the rest of the evening. And although he’d deny it with his dying breath, every time you played with his hair or held him close, the cabin filled with the unmistakable sound of one very happy bear.
Warnings— mentions of the devil/demons smut unprotected sex (wrap it up) fingering WAX PLAY and dirty talk and possibly praise kink.
Max's crimson eyes narrow with hunger as he looms over you on the cold obsidian altar. His clawed fingers trace the hardening wax on your chest before he grips your jaw, forcing your gaze up to meet his.
"Look at you, trembling already," he rasps, voice dripping with dark amusement. "You want more, don't you? Say it."
You nod, breath shaky. "Yes... please."
A low chuckle rumbles from his chest. "Good. Now spread wider for your demon." he commands, voice low and rough like gravel underfoot. You part your thighs obediently. He tips the candle. Hot wax splashes across your chest first, then lower, dripping in thick rivulets over your nipples. The sting blooms into heat that makes your back arch. He watches every twitch, every gasp, drinking it in.
"Good little mortal," he growls, stepping closer. His clawed hand grips your hip while the other keeps pouring. Wax trails down your stomach, pooling just above your mound before he lets it drip directly onto your clit. You cry out; the burn is sharp, immediate, followed by a throbbing pulse of pleasure.
Max sets the candle aside and drags two thick fingers through the cooling wax on your skin, smearing it. He pushes those same fingers inside you without warning, stretching you around the intrusion. Your walls clench around him as he pumps slowly, deliberately, coating your inner walls with the residue of wax and your own slick.
Max sets the candle aside and shoves two clawed fingers deep inside you, pumping hard and fast. Your slick mixes with the smeared wax as he stretches you open. "So fucking wet already. This pussy was made to take demonic cock."
He withdraws his fingers and replaces them with his cock thick, ridged, hotter than any human flesh. He thrusts in one smooth motion, burying himself to the hilt. The stretch burns deliciously. He fucks you hard against the altar, each snap of his hips driving you up the stone. More wax rains down across your breasts while he pounds into you, the hot droplets landing in time with his thrusts.
You moan his name Max over and over as he leans down, tongue flicking over a wax-covered nipple before he sucks it clean. His wings flare wide, casting shadows across the chamber. He angles deeper, hitting that spot inside you that makes your vision white out.
"Come for your devil," he snarls, pouring another stream of wax across your lower belly as he slams in again and again. Your orgasm crashes through you, walls pulsing around his cock. He follows with a guttural roar, flooding you with molten heat that feels like liquid sin.
He stays buried inside you, wings folding around your bodies like a cage of leather and shadow. The wax cools on your skin in intricate patterns while his cum leaks out around his still-hard length. “Such a good little mortal.” His clawed fingers trace the marks he left, possessive and satisfied.
Steve had insisted it would be “light training.” You should have known better. The sharp clang of your training knife echoed through the Avengers facility as Steve effortlessly dodged another one of your attacks, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips.
“You’re being predictable with your left hook,” he teased.
“Oh? Am I?” you shot back, immediately switching directions and sweeping his legs.
For a split second, genuine surprise flashed across his face before he caught himself with that infuriating super-soldier balance.
“You planned that.”
“I’ve been training with you for months, Rogers. I know your habits.”
His blue eyes sparkled with pride more than competition. “Then show me.”
The next few minutes became a blur of punches, blocks, and laughter. Steve never went easy on you not because he wanted to win, but because he respected your abilities enough to treat you like an equal. You managed to land a clean hit against his shoulder.
He shrugged it off. “You got me.”
“I did.”
“You absolutely got me.”
The smug smile on your face only grew wider. Steve chuckled, shaking his head before lunging again. This time he caught your wrist, gently twisting until your practice knife clattered harmlessly onto the mat. The momentum carried you forward, straight into his chest.
His arms instinctively wrapped around your waist to keep you from falling. Neither of you moved. Your breathing was heavy from the spar, your foreheads nearly touching as the room suddenly felt much quieter than before.
“So…” you murmured, trying and failing to ignore how close he was.
“So…” he echoed, his cheeks just the slightest shade of pink.
“You gonna pin me to the floor, Captain?”
A laugh escaped him. “I’m pretty sure I’ve already won.”
“You're distracted.”
“Am I?”
“You’ve been staring at me for at least ten seconds.”
Steve’s blush deepened, giving him away instantly.
“I wasn’t distracted,” he said, though the smile on his face ruined any attempt at sounding convincing.
“Oh?”
“I was admiring my favorite training partner.”
Your heart skipped.
“Careful,” you whispered, looping your arms around his neck. “Compliments like that are going to make me challenge you to another round.”
His grin widened.
“I was hoping you would.”
Instead of resetting the match, Steve leaned down just enough to steal a quick kiss before stepping back into a fighting stance.
“Loser buys dinner?” he asked.
You smirked, raising your fists once more.
“Hope you’ve got your wallet, Rogers, because I’m gonna kick your ass.”
klaus mikaelson + 'patch me up' and he's the one who patches you up? <3
Patch me up
Klaus mikealson x reader
Word count - 479
Summary — Klaus mikealson patches you up
A/n — thank you for requesting!
be sure to check out my writing event
The front door slammed behind you hard enough to rattle the windows. You barely made it three steps into the compound before the adrenaline wore off.
A sharp hiss escaped your lips as you pressed a trembling hand against the cut running along your side, crimson already soaking through your shirt.
“You are bleeding on my floor.”
Klaus’s voice was calm.
You looked up with a weak smile. “Hi to you too.”
His blue eyes landed on the blood staining your fingers, and every trace of amusement disappeared.
“Who did this?”
“I’m okay.”
“You are answering the wrong question, love.”
You opened your mouth to argue, but the room tilted slightly. Klaus was beside you before you could blink, one arm wrapping around your waist with surprising gentleness as he guided you to sit on the kitchen counter.
“You always did have dreadful timing,” he muttered, already disappearing to grab the first aid kit.
“It’s just a scratch.”
He shot you a look.
“It is six inches long.”
“…A long scratch then.”
A reluctant huff escaped him, though it carried no real humor. He peeled your blood-soaked shirt away with careful fingers, his touch featherlight despite the tension rolling off him in waves.
“You know,” you winced as antiseptic touched the wound, “I was actually going to ask you to patch me up.”
“I gathered as much.”
“It sounded more romantic in my head.”
“It would have been, had you not arrived looking as though you’d wrestled a pack of werewolves.”
You laughed, immediately regretting it.
“Ouch.”
“Stop moving.”
“Yes, sir.”
His hands paused for the briefest second before continuing to clean the wound.
“You mock me now,” he murmured, “but had that blade been an inch deeper…”
His voice trailed off.
That frightened you more than the injury.
You reached for his wrist.
“Klaus.”
He didn’t look at you.
“I was terrified.”
Those three words were barely louder than a whisper. Finally, he met your eyes. For someone feared by kingdoms, his expression was heartbreakingly vulnerable.
“I have lived a thousand years,” he said quietly, securing the bandage around your waist. “Do you know what that teaches a man?”
You shook your head. “That everyone leaves eventually.” His thumb brushed gently over the fresh bandage.
“I find I rather dislike the thought of you joining that list.”
Your chest tightened. “You’d miss having someone to boss around.”
“I would.” A beat passed.
“And I would miss you for countless other reasons.”
You smiled softly, lifting your hand to cup his cheek.
“Thanks for patching me up.”
Klaus leaned into your touch just enough for you to notice.
“Always.”
Then, as though realizing he’d become far too sentimental, he pressed a kiss to your forehead and smirked.
“Now,” he said, “tell me the name of the fool responsible.”
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
amandla
theartofmadeline
gummygunk
yousharknotpass
tangentwithtanner