You're on a date. It is not going well.
You message Mateo to come rescue you from under the table. Or at least you think you do, because not even 15 minutes later, Jack Abbot is pushing into the restaurant, walking over to you, taking your hand and walking you out with him, without saying a word.
The date is bad in a way thatâs almost impressive.
Not catastrophically badâno spilled drinks, no shouting, no dramatic exitâbut the slow, grinding kind of bad that makes every second feel longer than it should. He talks too much about himself, laughs at his own jokes, keeps leaning in just a little too close like proximity might fix whatever is clearly not working.
Youâve smiled so much your face actually hurts.
Youâve checked the time three times.
Youâve run out of polite ways to redirect the conversation.
And now heâs talking about his âfive-year planâ like youâre already part of it.
You angle your phone under the table.
Open your messages.
Scroll.
Mateo.
please come rescue me this is actually painful
You hesitate for half a second, then addâ
bad date. emergency level bad
You hit send without double-checking.
Because you donât need to.
You know Mateo will understand.
Just fifteen minutes. Mateoâs good for that. Heâll come in, make up some excuse, drag you outâ
You can survive fifteen more minutes.
Probably.
Itâs maybe ten minutes laterâ
Maybe lessâ
When the energy in the room shifts.
Youâre mid-nod, mid-thatâs crazy, mid-I would rather be literally anywhere else, when something shifts.
You donât notice it at first.
Not consciously.
Just the way the noise dips slightly, the way a couple of people glance toward the entrance.
Then your date pauses mid-sentence.
Frowns slightly.
Looks past you.
You turn.
And your stomach drops.
Jack Abbot.
Heâs standing just inside the restaurant, eyes scanning the room onceâ
Then landing on you.
Thereâs no hesitation.
No uncertainty.
He moves.
Your heart starts pounding.
Because thisâ
This was not who you texted.
He doesnât look at your date.
Doesnât acknowledge him at all.
Doesnât acknowledge the confusion, the interruption, the fact that this is objectively insane behavior in a normal context.
Just walks straight up to the table, stopping right beside you.
Close.
Solid.
Certain.
âCâmon,â he says, low, like itâs already decided.
Your brain short-circuits for half a second.
âJackâ?â
His hand finds yours.
Warm. Firm.
Not roughâbut not asking either.
âWeâre goinâ,â he adds.
Your date blinks, clearly thrown. âUhâexcuse me? Weâre kind of in the middle ofââ
Jack doesnât even look at him.
Doesnât give him the courtesy of a response.
His attention stays on you.
Waiting.
And something in your chestâ
Something relievedâ
answers before your brain can catch up.
âYeah,â you say, already pushing your chair back.
Your date scoffs. âSeriously? Youâre just gonnaâwhat, leave?â
Jack finally glances at him.
Just once.
And something in his expressionâsomething flat, something finalâthat shuts the other man up immediately.
You stand immediately, your hand still in his, letting him pull you up like this is the most natural thing in the world.
Like youâve done this before.
Like you belong there.
He doesnât let go of your hand as he leads you out of the restaurant, weaving through tables like heâs done it a hundred times before.
Like this was always how it was going to end.
Past curious glances and quiet murmurs and whatever the hell just happenedâ
And then the door opens.
Cool air hits your face.
And suddenlyâ
You can breathe again.
Neither of you speak until youâre in the car.
The door shuts.
The world goes quiet.
You sit there for a second, staring straight ahead, your hand still tingling faintly where his had been.
Thenâ
âOh my God,â you say, turning to him. âJack, I am so sorry, I didnât mean toââ
âYou texted me.â
You blink.
ââŠWhat?â
He starts the car, expression calm in that way that usually means something else is happening underneath it.
âYou texted me,â he repeats.
âIâno, I texted Mateoââ
Jack reaches over, taps your phone where itâs sitting in your lap.
âCheck.â
You frown slightly, unlocking it.
And there it is.
Your last message.
Sent toâ
Jack.
You stare at it.
Then at him.
Then back at it.
âOh my God.â
Silence.
Thenâ
âI am so sorry,â you say again, faster now, heat rushing to your face. âI didnât mean to send that to you, I was trying to text Mateo and I mustâve justâhit the wrongââ
âStop.â
You blink.
Because his tone isnât sharp.
Itâs justâ
Firm.
Final.
You go quiet.
Jack glances at you briefly before pulling out onto the road, one hand on the wheel, the other resting loosely near the gear shift like heâs completely unaffected by the fact that he just walked into a restaurant and stole you from a date.
âDonât apologise,â he says.
You stare at him.
ââŠI literally made you come rescue me from a date.â
âYes.â
âThat is something I should apologise for.â
âNo.â
You huff out a quiet, disbelieving breath. âJackââ
He cuts you off.
âAlways text me.â
You go still.
Thereâs a pause.
Then he adds, quieterâ
âI want you to.â
Your chest tightens slightly.
ââŠEven if itâs not an emergency?â you ask.
He doesnât hesitate.
âEspecially then.â
You donât know what to do with that.
With the weight of it.
With the way he says it like itâs obvious, like itâs been sitting there waiting for you to notice.
âI thought youâd be annoyed,â you admit.
Jack glances at you again.
Thereâs something in his expression now.
Softer.
Still controlled.
But not distant.
âWhy.â
âBecause I interrupted your night? Because I dragged you into something that wasnât your problem?â
He exhales quietly.
Thenâ
âYou think youâre not my problem?â he asks.
The words land heavier than they should.
Not harsh.
Justâ
Honest.
You swallow.
âI didnât mean it like that.â
âI know.â
A beat.
Thenâ
âBut youâre wrong.â
You look at him.
Really look this time.
At the set of his jaw, the steady focus, the way his grip tightens just slightly on the wheel like heâs choosing his words more carefully than usual.
âYou call,â he says, voice low now. âI answer.â
Something shifts in your chest.
Warm.
Unsettling.
Real.
âJackâŠâ
He shakes his head slightly.
Like heâs not done.
âDoesnât matter what itâs for,â he continues. âBad date, long shift, canât sleepâdoesnât matter.â
Your breath catches slightly.
âYou donât deal with things alone if you donât have to.â
Thereâs a pause.
Thenâ
âYou donât have to.â
Silence fills the car.
Not uncomfortable.
Just⊠full.
You look down at your phone.
At the message that wasnât meant for him.
That somehowâ
Ended up exactly where it needed to.
ââŠOkay,â you say softly.
Jack nods once.
Like thatâs enough.
But thenâ
His hand shifts slightly on the console.
Closer.
Not touching.
Justâ
There.
âYou hungry?â he asks after a second.
You blink. âWhat?â
âThat didnât look like dinner,â he says. âWe can get something else.â
synopsis: reader is ellis' best friend. she ends up meeting jack and shen, and her and jack immediately fall for each other.
warnings: reader is goth and wears makeup, reader has hair (styled big/teased), cursing, slight suggestive content
words: 1.28k
a/n: because goth girls deserve some fics. enjoy! there will be a part 2 with Jack reacting to reader's tattoos! let me know what else I should do.
The first time you meet Jack Abbot, itâs at 7:30 am in a poorly lit bar that reeks of piss. Your best friend, Parker Ellis, works as a doctor at âThe Pittâ, as she calls it, and apparently her and her coworkers go out for beers after their shifts. So, after days of badgering, you agree to meet her at the bar. You work nightshifts as well, so itâs not like this upset your schedule. If anything, it upset your stomach - because it took you a good hour and a half to decide what to wear. Is this too formal? Too casual? After acknowledging that they would likely all be in their scrubs or comfy clothes, you decide on a pair of black pants and a thrifted band tee. Adorned with your everyday jewelry and makeup, you throw on a jacket and head out.
The three of them are seated when you arrive, but not long you assume due to the lack of drinks on the table. Parker grins when she sees you and says some embarrassing shit that makes your face flush. You slide in next to her and introduce yourself to the others, who you soon learn are John Shen and Jack Abbot.Â
Shen is a trip, you learn early on, and the two of you immediately bond over TV shows, music, and other hobbies.Â
Now, Jack. Jack is something surreal you can only picture in a romance novel. A silver fox with a mischievous glint in his eyes and a soft, raspy tone that makes your toes curl, Jack Abbot is the kind of man you wish for on a star.
As you tell the guys more about yourself, Jackâs eyes travel over the sharpness of your eyeliner, the chunky rings on your fingers, the way your face lights up at the mention of horror movies. Youâre like someone out of a picture from the 80âs - big hair, dangly earrings, and all. Even in casual clothes, you make an impression.Â
You study the water marks on the table to hide your blush.
The first time Jack sees you with black lipstick and heavy eyeliner, he thinks heâs going to have a seizure. Itâs at the bar again, a few weeks later, and youâve gotten to know each other a little better. You and John even send each other TikTok videos every other day.Â
Youâre leaning against the seat with your arm perched on the top back nonchalantly when, in reality, there are butterflies bouncing around your stomach. Jack sits across from you, and your knees brush as he settles.Â
Ellis starts gossiping about some drama she learned from the nurses, but youâre only half listening. Itâs hard to focus when the dilf youâre falling in love with is sitting right next to you and hasnât taken his eyes off of you since he entered the building.Â
Jack crosses his arms and clears his throat, finally turning his attention to Parker as she continues.Â
After a good forty minutes, you all decide itâs time to head to your respective homes. Parker and John lead the way, and you and Jack linger outside the door as the other two hurry to their cars to get out of the cold.
You lean against the wall with a shiver, wrapping your arms around yourself.Â
âI should order an uber or something,â you say, half to yourself. âItâs way too cold to walk twenty minutes.â
Jack stares at you for a moment before taking off his jacket and handing it to you with an unreadable expression.
âThanks.â You take it gratefully-yet-hesitantly and nearly cuddle into the material.
Jack lingers. âI can drive you back.â His tone is confident, as if heâs simply stating this, but you can hear the question in it.
You smile warmly, and Jackâs eyes immediately fall to your dark, magnetic lips. âThat sounds great.â
You follow him into his car and sink into the seat as he turns on the heat.Â
Jack clears his throat awkwardly, flexing his hands on the wheel. Your skirt rides up to reveal the kneehigh boots underneath, and he almost swerves off the road.
âWhatâs your plan for the day?â he asks, keeping his attention on driving.
You shrug. âA nap sounds great right now. I could sleep for years.â
He laughs softly, and you continue to make conversation until heâs pulling up to your house.
âThanks for the ride.â You turn to him and make eye contact because youâve picked up on his obsession with it. âGenuinely.â
His hands strain on the wheel. âOf course.â
You think for a moment, and the courage wins as you burst out, âIâm going to this older bookstore tomorrow if you want in.â He just stares, and you begin to panic. âI mean, itâs fine if not, I just-â
âThe one by the statue with two heads?â
You freeze. â..Yeah.â
Jack smiles, and you can feel every muscle in your body relax. âIâve been meaning to check it out,â he says. âWhat time?â
âNoon?â
You continue to plan theâŠdate? Is it a date? And exchange phone numbers.Â
As you slide out of the car, Jack calls your name, and you almost get whiplash with how quickly you turn.
âYeah?â You could panic all over again.
âThe..the makeup,â he says, pointing at his lips. âI like it.â
A grin breaks out on your face. âThanks.â
A month later, you found this badass leather choker at Spencers with skulls and chains and had to have it. The next day, youâre pacing your living room in a black dress thatâs just-so-you, makeup so vampiric Morticia Addams would be jealous, and the choker on your neck. You canât help but rethink your outfit: is the choker too much? It is, isnât it? You and Jack are about to go on your forth date, and the suspense is getting to you! You call Ellis.
âItâll be fine,â she coos. âHeâs, like, obsessed with you.â
âWhat if Iâm too much?â
âGirl, the goth look is hot. Just be yourself.â
After a few more minutes of pep-talking, you say bye and look in yourself in the mirror. Youâre about to pull off the choker when thereâs a knock at your door.
You freeze before panically patting your hair into shape and rushing to the door. When you pull it open, you see Jack leaning one hand against the wall, dressed in a button down and pants (both of which fit a little too perfectly).
His breath catches when he sees you.
âHey,â you say awkwardly.
âHey.â His voice is rough and low, and it sends a shiver down your spine. âYou look great.â
You flush and look away. âThanks.âÂ
The place is only a ten minute walk. As you walk, side by side, the two of you chat about simple things and serious ones as well. He tells you about a conflict at the Pitt, and you share something from your shift.
As you stand at a stoplight, the two of you just watch each other for a moment. Then Jackâs hand is reaching up before he realizes, and heâs tugging lightly at your choker. âNew?â God, not the bedroom voice again. That and the motion alone could drop you dead.
You gulp. âYeah.â Then, âI wasnât sure if it was too much.â
His eyes are too intimidating. Jack runs a finger over the metal skulls on the leather. âI like it.âÂ
âYeah?â Youâre smiling now, and the light is green, but neither of you want to move.
âYeah.â He grins that boyish grin of his. âItâs pretty hot.â
With an embarrassed-yet-flustered laugh, you slap his arm and pull him along.
a/n: My favorite trope is hidden injury, so I just had to write this! Here you go my loves!
When you clock into your shift, you pray that Jack isnât there, that he called off for once in his life. You canât handle his salt and pepper hair or those strong, freckled biceps of his, not right now. Not after last night.
After your shift yesterday, you and the other night crew went out for beers and gossip. Jack sat next to you the whole time, thigh pressed right against yours. Following a few shots, he insisted heâd walk you home, and who were you to deny him?! Your eyes met for too long when you reached your porch steps, and suddenly he was kissing you. Fleeting, but passionate, Jackâs lips caressed yours for no more than a second before he was running a hand through his hair and bidding you goodnight. You just stood there, stunned silent, until he was across the street and breaking you out of your trance.Â
Now, you slouch in your chair at the nurseâs station, glaring at Abbotâs back. His confident, muscular back. With a sigh, you stand and study the board of patientsâ names.Â
Heading down the hall to triage, youâre oblivious to the way Abbot turns, almost as if sensing your absence, and stares as you disappear from view.
âAlright, Mr. Jackson,â you say, pulling up the young manâs file. âI see youâre in to get your stitches out.â
âYeah.â Heâs bored, looking at his phone as you ask the basic questions. When you approach him with a pair of scissors, he finally looks up with a startle. âWait, youâre doing it?â
You squint. âOf course. Thisâll only take a few minutes.â
âI donât want a nurse touching me.â
You frown. âIâm actually not a nurse, so-â
âI donât want a woman using sharp objects around me.â
Great, Iâve got a misogynist. âI can assure you that Iâm an expert with these âsharp objectsâ.
âI said to get the fuck away!â He lunges forward, slamming into you and knocking you both to the floor. With the impact, the scissors plunge into your hip, and you gasp at the sudden pain. The patient freaks out at the sight of the blood, and he jumps to his feet, backing away.
âItâs okay,â you say through gritted teeth, pulling yourself to your feet. You raise your hands slowly like approaching a wild animal (which isnât that far off). âIâm going to get security to escort you out, and weâll pretend this never happened.â You study him. âOkay?â
He nods, settling back on the bed.Â
âAlright.â With a heavy breath, you press the button that signals for Ahmad. Heâs breaking through the curtain in less than ten seconds, sizing up the situation. You shield the blood and scissors by turning your side from view.Â
âHi Ahmad,â you greet, voice shaky but warm. âCan you escort Mr. Jackson out of the building for me?â
Ahmad frowns at you. âDid somethingâŠâ
âJust walk him out.â Your tone leaves no room for argument, and Ahmadâs leading the patient away as you take your first full breath since the attack.Â
Pulling back the curtain and scouting the area, you see a few nurses and patients watching Ahmad with curiosity. No Abbot in sight.
Deciding you can make a clean run for it, you tuck your shirt collar between your teeth and yank out the scissors with a hiss. You grab some bandages and tuck some in your pocket before half-hazardly wrapping the rest around the room for temporary coverage.Â
Your hand goes to hover over the wound as you speedwalk out of triage, snatching a spare scrub top and disappearing into the bathroom.
Once the door is locked behind you, you collapse against it with a pained exhale. You pull off the scrub top and study the wound in the mirror, inhaling sharply at the sight. While itâs not too deep, there is a steady amount of blood, and the site of the wound is starting to bruise.Â
You donât have time for stitches. Not when there are so many more patients to treat.
After washing out the wound to the best of your current ability, you wrap bandages around it again and pull on the new scrub top with a groan.Â
Thereâs a knock at the door as youâre stuffing the bloody top into the trash, and you nearly stagger into the sink.
âDr. L/n?â Itâs Mel. âCan I get your opinion on a patient?â
You clench your jaw at the pain that comes from walking over to the door, but you pry it open with a smile. âOf course.â
Abbot watches as you move around the ER, checking in on triages and filing paperwork. You donât seem to stop moving, almost as if youâre trying to distract yourself.
He saw Ahmad lead the patient out. He also saw the bloody scissors discarded on a table in one of the triage rooms. His suspicions raise when you nearly stumble into the nurseâs station, dismissing Ellisâ worries with a laugh and a wave.
He corners you in the break room. Youâre stirring a cup of coffee, staring at it like it personally offended you. Jack leans against the door, arms crossed and mouth etched into a straight line.
âWhat happened?â
You donât look up. âWhat do you mean?â
âWith Ahmad.â
You shrug, but the movement costs you. You grind your teeth. âJust an argument with a patient.â
He steps forward slowly, tension radiating off him in tsunamis. âHe hurt you?â His voice is deep and rough, his expression almost vulnerable.
You finally look up at him, and he notices how pale your face is. âNope.â You pop the p.Â
âY/n.â He says it softly, but thereâs a possessive fire behind his eyes.
You stand abruptly, steadying yourself against the table for a moment before moving to the door. âIâve got a burn patient to send home.â
He grabs your wrist as you pass, and you freeze.Â
âYou would tell me if someone hurt you.â Itâs not a question; it almost comes across as a demand.Â
You turn then, pulling a small smirk as deflection. âYou donât have to worry about me, Dr. Abbot.â
Then youâre out the door, and Jackâs even more worried than he was before.Â
Youâre walking across the ER when it happens. A small slip, nothing more than a stumble, but youâre suddenly flying through the arm and slamming onto your hands and knees. With a curse, your arms shake as you pry yourself up, and your breath catches at the sight of more blood seeping through your shirt.
Planning to run off to the bathroom again, you wobble to your feet. But thereâs an unmovable object in your path.
Abbotâs jaw ticks as he takes you in. The blood, the way your hands shake, the hazy look in your eyes.
He pulls open the curtain to the nearest room. âIn.â
You huff out a laugh. âIâm not a dog. You canât just tell me to sit and expect me to stay.â
His expression darkens. âInside. Now.â
With a shiver, you slip into the room, sinking down on the triage bed as Jack slides the curtain shut. You stare at each other for a minute, just watching and breathing.Â
Jack moves first, sliding open a drawer and pulling out disinfectant. âShow me.â
Too tired for another sarcastic comment, you pull up your shirt. More blood has soaked through the bandage, and itâs beginning to stain your skin.
Jack curses under his breath. âThe fuck happened?â
Your hands shake as you pull the top off completely, throwing it somewhere in the room. Jack gulps.Â
âMisogynist vs woman with scissors. You can guess the outcome.â
His eyes flare, but he reaches for the bandages with care. After gently pulling them away, he finally sees the full injury. He has to turn away for a moment to collect himself, arms flexing as he runs a hand over his face.Â
âYou didnât think to tell me?âÂ
You shrug as he turns back to you, dabbing at the wound. You flinch, and he stares at the cotton swab like he wants to punch it. âI could handle it.â
Jack curses. âNext time you bleed out in my ER, you tell me immediately.â
You nod and watch as she begins to sew the injury shut. âIâm sorry.â
He sighs. âDonât be. Iâm not angry at you. Iâm just scared.â
Your heart races.Â
âI saw the blood, andâŠâ he canât finish the sentence. He focuses on the stitches instead.
After a moment, he pulls back to look at you. âI want you to spend the rest of the day in bed. And donât even plan on coming in tomorrow.â
âYou gape. âI canât justâŠI have bills to pay.â
He wonât budge. âI want you resting.â
You scoff, distressed. âYeah, well, my landlord wants me to pay my bills on time. If I donât work all my shifts, who would help me pay the rest of it?â
His voice is rough but gentle. Steady. âIâll pay for it.â
You can hear your heartbeat. âJack.â
He sets the needle aside. âSave it.â
âI canât ask you to just-â
Suddenly, heâs surging forward, stealing your lips with a kiss. Itâs longer than the first time, and it conveys everything heâs been trying to hide. The fear, the dedication, the love. When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours.
âJack,â you repeat, voice no louder than a whisper.
âIâll drive you home.âÂ
You nod, dazed, lips swollen.Â
Heâs lifting his arm up to check his watch. âIâve got two hours left to my shift. I can stop by afterâŠthat is, if you want me to.â
You nod again, unable to find any words. Your cheeks are tinted a vibrant pink.
Jack smirks and pecks your lips again. âCome on, sleepy head. Letâs get you home.â
synopsis: reader is flaring and doesn't want anyone (specifically Sawyer) to know
warnings: reader might be gender neutral?! language, reader has small fiber neuropathy, pots, etc. that cause muscle spasms, pain, and lightheadedness. negative self-thoughts surrounding chronic illness. hurt-comfort.
words: 1.6k
a/n: I know this is for a very niche audience, but I needed this right now. Maybe you did too <3
You knew it was going to be a shitty day the second you woke up. Your limbs felt out of body, and pains were already building throughout your bones, muscles, and nerves. Great.
Sawyerâs arm was wrapped around your torso, his face pressed into your hair. You let yourself relish in the feel and warmth of him for a moment before slowly sliding away. His grip tightens, but you manage to maneuver around and sneak out of the tent.
Settling against a tree in a shadowy section of the island, you curse as your body twitches. Just small jumps and tremors: your foot bounces uncontrollably, and your shoulders jerk. Your fingers are made up of pins and needles.
Down the shore, you can make out voices as the others start to wake and figure out breakfast. Sawyer hunches out of your tent, shirtless and hair all over his face. He sees you and smiles that lazy, assessing smile of his as he saunters over.
He plops next to you. âYou didnât ask if I wanted morning cuddles.â
You chuckle and shove your hands under your thighs, wrapping your feet so to lessen the shake. âYou were snoring.â
He runs a hand through his hair, and God, is it hot. âMmm.âÂ
Jack yells for Sawyer from his tent, and the rugged redneck groans. âDuty calls.â
You smile up at him as he stands, and he takes a minute to study you. âYou okay?â
âMhm.â You adjust your position. âGo help the doc. Iâll be here.â
After a kiss to the top of your head, heâs heading down the beach to see what Jack wants. You let out a breath once heâs gone.
Youâre sitting at the campfire peeling fish when your hands start to lose feeling again. You drop the knife, and your ears buzz so loudly you donât hear it hit the sand. Youâre silent for a moment, staring at nothing as your hands begin to shake.
Heâs there suddenly, picking up the knife and taking the fish from your limp fingers. Sawyer sets them aside and sighs worriedly.
âHow long?â
You shrug. âItâs fine. Itâll go away in a few minutes."
âY/n.â He breathes your name like it's a blessing and a curse, staring at your hands like they personally offended him. âBeen since this morning?â
âSawyer, I said itâs fine.â You stand, adjusting your weight to support the sudden pain in your hip. âJust tired.â
âBull.â He says it softly, but his eyes are slants. He takes a breath. âYou can handle it.â Itâs almost as if heâs saying it to comfort himself. You depart silently, aware that his eyes never leave until youâre out of view.
You fall an hour later. Youâre alone in the forest, wandering aimlessly to get some air and privacy. The pains havenât stopped. If anything, theyâre so much worse. Your arms and legs itch as the nerves misfire.
Maybe itâs the pain that blurs your vision. Maybe itâs the fact you havenât eaten in several hours. Maybe itâs the POTS. Regardless, your vision goes black for a few seconds, five max, but itâs enough time for you to stumble and trip over a root. You go flying, palms and knees scraping the forest floor and knocking the air out of your chest.
You lay there for a good ten minutes before dragging yourself to your feet. Itâs a slow, painful process, but eventually you're standing (albeit stiffly). You wipe the dirt off your clothes and curse at the sight of blood.Â
Heâs going to kill me.
You stumble to a semi-secluded section of river and slowly, awkwardly crouch in front of the water, dipping your hands in. It cleans and refreshes as you breathe in the calm as a wind caresses your shoulders. You donât hear the footsteps until heâs behind you.
âFuck.â
His exclamation startles you, and you would have fallen into the river if he didnât race forward and grab your shoulders, setting you back down into a sitting position.
âGoddammit, Sawyer,â you curse, hiding your hands. âWhat are you, the Terminator?â
His lips twitch, but heâs focused on the blood on your hands and knees. âThe hell happened, Sunshine?â
âItâs nothing.â Deny, deny, deny. You learned this at an early age. Donât be a burden; donât overcomplicate things.Â
âSure donât look like nothinâ.â He takes your hands gently, flipping them over to study the scrapes. âYou fall?â
âI tripped.â Your voice is soft, and you canât meet his eyes.
âMmm.â You hear a ripping sound as he tears off some of his shirt and dips it into the river. When he dabs at the scrapes, you startle with a hiss, and he apologizes immediately.
âAre you gonna talk to me yet?â He asks after a moment of silently taking care of you.Â
âI am talking to you.â
He scoffs. âAlright, smart ass. Donât deflect the question.â
You shrug, and the motion sends a sharp wave of pain through your entire body. You bite your cheek. âJust a rough day.â
âYeah.â His voice is still soft. âI see that.â
You turn to look at him now, and the hurt on his face almost kills you. Heâs not pained himself, but it destroys him that youâre suffering and wonât let him in. He shifts to start cleaning your knees. âAfter this, youâre gonna lay in the tent and get some sleep.â
âIâm not-â
âI know, I know,â he says quickly. âYouâre not fragile. Trust me, Sweetheart, I know that more than anyone else. I just need to see you getting some rest. You havenât slept past sunrise for the past week.â
Your breath hitches. He noticed.
Sawyer sets the cloth down. âCan you walk? Or do you need it bridal style?â
You laugh. âI donât need all that attention.â
âFuck the attention.â Itâs the harshest heâs spoken all afternoon.
âJustâŠâ You put a hand on his shoulder, and he helps lift you up. âLet me lean on you for a bit.â
He adjusts so youâre steady enough and begins to lead you back to the beach.
You laid down like Sawyer ordered. You even fell asleep. But rest doesnât come easy when your bodyâs giving up on you, so you wake not long after entering REM.Â
Itâs the pain that wakes you, sharp and burning all throughout your body, so intense you can hardly breathe. Your legs kick in discomfort, and your hands cramp as you try to clench them. Youâre alone in the tent, but you can hear noise outside.
Donât let him hear.Â
Biting down hard on your lip, you taste blood as your shoulders convulse. The pain is white hot and blinding, and you roll onto your stomach to try to ease theâŠeverything. You let out a near-silent moan.
Something clangs outside.Â
You fight back the tears as your breathing things. Your vision begins to fade, and you either feel all of the pain in your limbs or nothing at all.Â
Itâs terrifying.
You canât take it anymore.
âJames.â Itâs soft, nothing more than a whisper, but you canât manage much else.
Heâs inside in an instant, crouching down in front of you with a hardly concealed, terrified look on his face.
âWhatâs goinâ on?â
âCrash,â is all you can manage.
His heart sinks. Heâs heard you talk about them before, and heâs experienced some bad nights, but never like this. âWhat do you need?â
âLay on me?â
He canât hide the way his brows raise.
âI need compression,â you explain. Your legs kick out again. âJust..hold me down or something.â
He nods, clenching his jaw and settling on top of you. His weight is immediate relief, and he wraps one arm around your torso and cups your head with the other.
You stifle a cry into his shoulder, and his grip tightens.
âYou should have told me,â he whispers. You can hear the anger in his tone. Not at you, never at you, but at the situation youâre in. This is something he canât punch or shoot. All he can do is hold you and make sure youâve taken enough salt.
Your leg twitches again, but Sawyer helps hold it down. One of your hands starts slamming against the ground, and he immediately puts a hand under it so you donât hurt yourself.
It breaks your heart. âSorry.âÂ
His voice is right in your ear as he holds you impossibly tighter. âDonât say that. Donât you dare say that.â
âIâm a fucking mess.â Your hand continues to come down on his. âIâm fucking hurting you.â
His mouth brushes your forehead. âSweetheart, you couldnât hurt me if you punched me with your whole weight. Just breathe for me. Okay? Breathe.â
You follow the command, working to steady your breaths as he gently takes your twitching hand and wraps his fingers around your own. The feeling grounds you, and your body starts to sink into a tired calm.
Once the tremors stop, you feel heavy and light all at once. The pain is still there as a fatigued echo, and your head throbs like a bitch, but you can finally breathe again.
On your que, Sawyer slides off of and lays in front of you. He traces your cheek with his hand, soft as ever despite all of the things itâs done. âWater?â
You know not to shake your head; your vision would go swimming again. âDonât leave.â
He nods and wraps an arm around your waist. âGet some sleep. Wake me up this time if you start to flare.â
You hum in acknowledgement and let him pull you closer.Â
I want to write a hurt-comfort fic about reader being one-upped by "friends" when it comes to chronic illnesses and not feeling well. Who should her bf be? I wanna try some BTVS works, but if you guys are feeling Abbot, who am I to deny you?!
Jack takes off his shirt in front of you during a shift. Needed for his wounds, obviously.
fluff, shirtless jack, teasing jack, reader's called sleepy and is childish in this. To be fair, she and Jack have 27 years between them.
Jack gets injured by an intoxicated, combative patient while heâs holding a scalpel. The IV pole catches him across the ribs before security can restrain the guy, and he nicks his shoulder with the metallic thud.Â
He canât care to flinch in the pain.Â
âSit him upââ
âJack, you need to sit downââ
He presses a hand to the small of your back, and maybe heâll call it a selfish reassurance for both of you when heâs not feeling his chest caving in on his lungs.Â
He steps forward.
âIâm fine, kid. Justâget me a pressureââ
Jack pauses.Â
âŠFuck. Fuck me to hell.
He's glad he can only feel the burn of the bruise and cold sting of the nick when your arms end up catching him by the waist as he falls back into your chest.
"Nice try, cowboy."
Letting you drag him into the next room is as selfish as it is needed for his health. Which, somehow, each is the same thing when it comes to the thought of you. Filthy fuck.
âTake it off.â
âThis is unnecessary.â
âTake. It. Off.â
You think itâs your intensity in the demand that gets Jack furrowed browed in surprise. You swear, itâs not because youâre desperate to see him shirtless.Â
âŠYou see enough of him like that in your dreams. Youâre just not going to let him finish this shift if heâs got a cracked rib, and youâre certainly not going to let him stitch himself up.Â
âPretty please, Dr. Abbot. For your most favorite nurse in the world.â
Jack blinks, eyes flickering down before finding yours with a low âmmâ noise coming from his stubbled, decorated mouth.Â
âYouâre ridiculous.â
He grips the collar of his scrub top. You watch as he pulls the whole shirt over his headâ
And Jesus Christ. Oh God.Â
You swallow.Â
âThere. Happy now? You get free admission to scars and liver spots.â
Jackâs not looking at you as he folds his scrub top next to him, and thank god for that, because you feel like youâre a codfish in the way you canât look away or keep your mouth closed.Â
âŠYouâve seen him in tight tops before. In layers. You could imagine the outline and get away with the warmth it brought between your legs with flirtations or avoidance.Â
You were prepared for the dreams the outline of Jack conjured and the cheeky flirtations to make him blush to come along, but you were not prepared for this.Â
The inside of your thighs wasnât, anyway.Â
Itâs old scars carved against pale skin, and the heavy muscle of his shoulders that match the thick of his biceps, that you always think to chew on and feel like filth afterward. His chest is broad and solid and real and not just the gruff silhouette youâve built in your head.
What a perfect, old man. Be mine for a minute and let me beg you to be mine for the rest of my life. Perfect, thick old doctor.Â
âThis is where you grab the saline, Sleepy.â
How do I get rid of the feeling in my cunt right nowâ
âSleepy.â
âOhâye-yeah. Sorry.â
You nearly collide with the tray. The saline bottle clinks. Your cheeks burn immediately.Â
Youâre hoping to God Jack doesnât notice the mess you are at the sight of him shirtless, which he does, but he keeps his face impassive, jaw tight, eyes deliberately forward.Â
If you had a flirt or tease ready, heâd have a natural jab to challenge that, but right now, since youâre a little fumbling kid-mess, he canât look at you for too long.
He canât burden kiddo with a flirt. Heâll smirk if he does. If he smirks, heâs sure kiddo will melt. If kiddo melts, heâll feel on top of the fucking world.Â
He doesnât trust himself with that right now.Â
âUmâŠit looks like a contusion, nothing but some bad bruises, weâll get Shen or one of the residents to confirm that. Iâll justâŠhold still.â
You canât even do more than stutter and mutter as you step close enough to clean the slice on his pec.Â
Trembling hands would be a bad look for you for multiple reasons, idiot. Breathe. Think of his torso, thick bones, and broad, pale, aged bodyâŠplatonically. Not forever. Lordy, like you could trust yourself with that bet. Just now. Until your hands are off his wounded skin.Â
âYou okay?âÂ
Jack asks you the question quietly. You smile pathetically.
âMm-hm.â
You are not as good a liar as you are a nurse. You know that much.Â
God, thereâs a world where youâd be able to flirt through this. Tease. Make a joke about his abs, or hazard pay. Youâd be able to call him Dr. Pecs and celebrate that youâve finally got him shirtless.
Right now, though, you think youâll collapse if you meet his eyes. That means keeping yours below the neck, focus seeping into his broad way of existing. Tight stomach, but you think itâd soften if heâd slouch.Â
Perfect, tight belly. Oh god, Iâm awful.
You swallow as you dab the antiseptic.Â
âHurts?â
âNo. Youâre fine.â
You nod. He shifts.
âAt least I think you are. Youâre not subtle.â
âŠOh God.
âIâm notâIâm fine. Youâre the one with a slicing and bruises blooming across yourââ
âYou canât even look me in the eye, kid.âÂ
You watch his chest enlarge with the deep, low breath he takes in. You think heâs tilting his head.Â
âYou saw Dr. Abbotâs skin and pecs, and now youâreâŠI donât know, short-circuiting?â
Jack says his professional name the way you do, high and coy. Playful in the gravel of his voice. The whole sentence is meant to burn you with embarrassment. And guess what? JackâŠheâs succeeding, alright.Â
I miss when you used to call me that all the time, Kiddo.
Heâs very much succeeding because youâre mortified, and thatâs not helping you try to make eye contact with him.Â
âI am not.â
You thinkâno. You know Jackâs studying you in the quiet, almost unnerving way he does. Except you donât call it unnerving, not when it only makes your stomach flip.Â
âYou couldnât even flirt.â Jackâs almost amused with his statement. âThatâs how I know.â
Damn this man! Why is he so warm? Why does he smell like this?
You try to recover.Â
âWell, you shouldâyou shouldâve stretched before wrestling patients, old guy. Maybe we wouldnât be in this situation in the first place.â
You look up, finally, at your throwback. Itâs given you a slight bravery, that maybe itâs enough to get him to shut up or soften with his nasty, nasty teasesâ
âŠFuck. Oh, fuck. Jack.
Heâs smirking. You donât know how long he has been, but heâs smirking.
You have to keep your knees from buckling.Â
âLost your mouth, Sleepy?â
What an awful old man. Be mine, pretty please, even if I whine or get as mean as you. If thatâs even possible.
â...Whatever.â
Jack snorts. That burns you a little more.
âOh, câmon. Dr. Abbot canât make a singular observationââ
âWhatever.âÂ
You glare at the bruises as if theyâve personally offended you. They have, in a way. Jackâs offended you, and their his bruises. You continue to dab his wound without looking at him.Â
âSleepy. Hey. Look at me.âÂ
You only stop when his hand comes over your wrist, squeezing. Itâs his demand, you think. Finally, something gentle.Â
âWhat did I do wrong now?â
You shrug.Â
âNothing.â
You catch him nodding. In the seconds after, you catch his nose flaring. He lets go of your wrist, leaning back with his head tilting to the other side.Â
âThing is, Iâm always doing something wrong, so itâs not nothing most of the time. In this case, thoughâŠâ
Jack leans forward, bringing forth this faded scars and aged, heavy muscle built from hard work.Â
He picks lint off your scrub sleeve.Â
âI think this is you being a sore loser.â
You look up, the anxious want somehow being soothed by your whiny, childish anger. Itâs the only reason why youâre able to find Jackâs eyes still on you, you think they never left. And you think thatâs only to make you burn to the point of stuttering and overwhelmed horniness even more.Â
Jackâs smirk thins out.Â
âI think I need to buy you a lint rollerâah! Shit.â
Youâve pressed your newly opened gauze a little too firmly.Â
âSorry.â
Youâre able to find your own smirk when Jackâs neck jolts his head from left to right, a grunted mumbling finding him perfectly peeved.Â
warnings: takes place during season 1, swearing, some scandalous references, reader gets hit, some violence
words: 883
notes: in love with this prompt! I'm sorry for the wait!
You walk in three minutes apart. No one would suspect that you spent the night in his bed, or that you officially have your stuff shoved into his spare drawer. You and Michael Robinavitch have been dating for three months now, and your team is none-the-wiser.
âHey Mel,â you say as you approach the nurseâs station, settling against it.Â
âHey Y/n.â She greets you warmly, oblivious of the hickies you have hiding under your scrub collar.Â
You stifle a yawn. âWhatâve you got for me today?â
She glances at some charts before handing you a clipboard. âA man in his fifties was brought in. They found him on the street, seizing.â
âOof.â You take the file and flip through it, pretending not to notice Robbyâs stare as he leans against a nearby wall. âExactly what I need at seven in the morning.â
Mel nods, not noticing your sarcastic tone, and you smile goodbye before heading down to see the patient.Â
Pulling back the curtain, you introduce yourself and hesitantly sit near the bed. The patient seems erratic, and you donât take your eyes off of him even as you reference his chart.Â
âI donât wanna be here,â he says roughly.
âSir, I understand that, but-â
âDid you not hear me?!â
âSir,â you try again. âI understand that this is inconvenient for you-â
âInconvenient?!â he huffs. âIâll tell you whatâs inconvenient. Fucking female nursesâŠâ he mutters the last part, but you catch it.Â
You roll your shoulders. âSir, I just need to check your vitals. You had a seizure not long ago, and we need to make sure that-â
He grunts and throws his arm in the air. It whacks your chin, and your head jerks to the side. You gasp in surprise and jump to your feet, but you donât run out.
âSir.â Your voice is sharp, and you keep your eyes locked as you rub the spot he hit. âIf you canât calm down, Iâm going to have to get security.â
âGet them then!â he shouts, and you do flinch at this. Youâre about to cuss him out, but the curtain flies open.
Robby stands behind you, arms crossed and expression cold and unreadable. You glance back, and your eyes meet. His trail down to your chin, which is already starting to bruise. You open your mouth to explain, but he explodes before you can.
âWhat. the fuck. happened in here?â
âItâs nothing,â you excuse quickly. You donât look back at the patient even as he mutters cruelly.
Robby steps closer until you can feel his breath on his face. He studies your expression, your chin. âHe hit you?â His voice is unbelievably calm, but you can see the fire behind his eyes.
âItâs nothing,â you repeat.
He lifts a hand to brush the bruise, and you flinch. His teeth grind, and then heâs barreling towards the patient.
âOut,â he barks, throwing the man up and shoving him out of the room. âGet the fuck out.â
âRobby-â you try, racing behind. He ignores you and continues to usher the man out of the building, making sure to smack his back in the process.
âRobby, itâs fine-â Youâre frantic, especially when you notice that all eyes are on the three of you.
âHe hit you.â Robby pushes the man again.
The patient grunted. âFucking bitch deserved it.â
Robby pauses. You could feel the tension radiating off of him. âExcuse me?â
âI said-â the man started, but Robby threw a punch before he could finish.
âFuck!â Dana shouts from the nurseâs station.
âRobby, seriously!â you exclaim, grabbing him by the shoulder and yanking him back as Ahmad throws the patient out of the building. Robbyâs shoulders are tense, but he lets you lead him to a private room. Once inside, he takes control and makes you sit on the bed.
âIâm fine,â you say as he gets out an icepack. âSeriously.â
Robbyâs silent. He gently presses the pack against your chin, and you slide your hand over his as you take it. âYou made a bit of a scene out there,â you say softly, cheekily.
Robby shakes his head at you. âYou got hurt under my watch.â
âItâs only a bruise,â you say softly. âAnd I wasnât under your watch. I was hidden behind a curtain.â
His mouth curls up.
You blush. âThat was totally hot, by the way.â
He scoffs. âIâm protective of my doctors.â
âOnly your doctors?â you blink up at him.
An eyeroll. âAnd my doctor girlfriend.â
You smile. âBetter.â
Robby sighs. âGloriaâs going to kill me. If Dana doesnât get to me first.â
You bite your cheek. âDo you think they know?â
His head falls back, and he stares at the ceiling for a moment. âI think theyâre probably hiding behind the curtain listening to us right now.â
You chuckle and pull him closer so he stands between your legs. âGood. Catâs out of the bag. We donât have to be so careful anymore.â
Robby blushes, settling his hands on your thighs. âNo sexy talk when youâre hurt.â
You huff. âBut-â
âNope.â Man, is he bossy.Â
âSeriously, though.â You run your hand over his. âThanks for saving my ass.â
âHoney, I would do anything for your ass.â
You giggle, oblivious of the âewâs coming from behind the curtain.Â
I'm back!!! I'm sorry for being gone, but college has been a lot omg! Also lots of updates surrounding my chronic illnesses. I've finally been diagnosed with Small Fiber Neuropathy! Which sucks and hurts like hell, but I'm glad it finally has a name. I've started getting lots of motor control issues in hands as well as (full body) tremors due to pain, fatigue, and adrenaline rushes and was wondering if anyone else has any ways of coping through this? I don't like being around people when I'm twitching, but I can't just skip class.
Also, if I make a fic about tremor comfort, who would you like to see as the comforter?
Anyways.... I'm going to get to all of your requests as soon as I can. If you still really want what you sent me, just respond to this message and I can do you first. <3
hi! i hope youâre well. just wanted to say that I really really love your writing. your fic featuring chronically ill characters is such a needed blessing in fandom spaces. when the chronic illness demons come out to get me your fics feel like a safe space and make me feel like I can be loved even with chronic illness. it just feels like a warm hug from a friend. i hope you know how much you mean to fandom and what an impact your writing has made. i hope that college has gone well and that it continues to. take care of yourself <3
This is absolutely the sweetest, and I'm so unbelievably happy that I'm helping others through my writing. I might be back for a while!!!
