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Warnings: heavy angst, medical emergency, diabetic ketoacidosis (DKA), needles, medical neglect, emotional exhaustion.
Summary: Being a nurse on a 12-hour shift can be stressful, and consequently, ignoring your illness is something Jack is not happy about.
✨ Based on this request and being an "antonym" of this medical emergency ✨
Jack's mind was stuck on your interaction from hours ago. He’d found you slumped over a desk, your head resting on your arms. When he’d asked you if you were okay, concerned by the pallor of your skin, you’d barely offered him a lopsided smile.
"Just sleepy, Jack," you’d murmured, your voice was slow. "Hard shift. I’m fine."
He’d let it go. He’d let himself believe you.
"We need help!"
He was elbow deep in a chart, his mind already calculating the supply of stimpaks for the next shift when the shouting started. "She just dropped mid-sentence!"
Jack didn't look up immediately, distractions were a luxury he didn't permit himself, until he heard your name. His pen snapped.
He was over you in two seconds. Your head was lolled back, your skin a sickly pallid color that looked wrong under the fluorescents. Your breathing was what caught his clinical ear first: deep and labored, like your lungs were trying to run a marathon while you slept.
"Get her on a trauma 2! Now!" Jack screamed in a way that sent the junior medics scrambling.
He leaned over you, his fingers pressing into the side of your neck. Your pulse was frantic under his touch. "Talk to me, c'mon." he commanded, though he knew you couldn't. He peeled back an eyelid; your pupil was sluggish, staring vacantly at something you couldn't see.
Then, the smell hit him. A sweet chemical scent on your breath—like rotting fruit and acetone.
His stomach dropped into a cold, hollow pit.
Ketoacidosis.
"I need a finger stick," he snapped, his hands moving with a mechanical precision that masked the tremor in his chest. "And get me her bag. Someone find her kit."
He watched a nurse prick your finger. The small digital screen blinked for a moment before flashing a single word: HIGH.
Jack closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, anger lancing through his body. He knew you. He knew the meticulous care he’d taken to secure your insulin supply in a place where such things were worth more than gold.
He’d trusted you when you told him your numbers were stable. He’d trusted you when you said you’d taken your morning dose while working.
"The kit is unused," Santos murmured, tossing your bag at the foot of the bed.
Jack rifled through it. No used pen. No used finger sticks. The last log was four days ago.
"Damn it," he hissed, the sound more of a broken prayer than a curse.
"Start an IV. I need an insulin drip ready in ten seconds. Move!"
He looked at your body, searching for the tell-tale bruising of recent injections, but found nothing but unmarked skin.
You’d been lying to him.
The logs you showed him, the stable numbers you told him about over breakfast was all a ghost story. You’d been walking around with sugar thickened blood, your organs screaming for the insulin you’d forgotten to give them and you’d looked him in the eye and told him you were just sleepy.
"You idiot," he whispered as he adjusted the oxygen mask over your face. "You absolute idiot."
He was the best doctor at ER, a man who could stitch a soul back together with nothing but rusty tools. But as he watched you, he felt powerless.
He didn't leave your side. He didn't even take off his gloves. He just sat there, his eyes fixed on the monitor, waiting for the person he loved to wake up so he could tell her exactly how much he hated her for making him watch her almost die.
-
The steady sound of the heart monitor was the only thing keeping Jack from losing his mind. He hadn't moved away from you for hours.
When your eyelids finally flickered, you groaned and your hand drifted toward the oxygen mask over your face.
"Don't touch that," Jack’s voice cracked through the silence.
It wasn't gentle. It was like a whip.
You blinked. Your head felt like it was filled with wet sand and your tongue was a lead weight in your mouth. "Jack?" you croaked. "Where… what time is it?"
"It’s one in the morning," he said, standing up. He didn't lean in to kiss your forehead. He didn't squeeze your hand. He stood at the foot of the bed, his arms crossed over his chest, looking down at you with a gaze that could have melted steel. "You’ve been unconscious for hours."
You tried to sit up but the world tilted violently. "I… I was telling Dana about some kid with a rare cough. I must have fainted." You looked around, confusion clouding your eyes. "I just need some water. I’ll sleep it off."
"You aren't going anywhere," Jack snapped. He stepped forward, grabbing the medical chart from the foot of the bed. "You didn't faint because you were tired. You fainted because your blood was literally turning into acid. Your glucose was over 600. And I have no doubt that it has been like that for days. Do you have any idea how close you were to a coma? To your heart just… stopping?"
A sigh left your throat, the harshness of his tone hitting you harder than the physical illness. "I… I’ve been busy, Jack. You know how it gets here sometimes. I probably just missed a dose. I don't really remember."
Jack let out a cynical laugh that lacked any humor. "yeah? You told me you were just sleepy. I asked you to your face if your numbers were okay and you lied."
"I didn't mean to—"
"I found your kit." he roared. "Or rather, I found your unused kit. No logs for days. You weren't forgetting, you were stopping. You didn't track your numbers for days and just… what? Decided you are not diabetic anymore?"
The silence that followed was suffocating. You looked down at your hands, tears stinging your eyes. The truth was: work was exhausting. Managing a chronic illness in a place where stress was constant had finally broken you. You had stopped caring because it was easier than fighting.
"You are a nurse, for God's shake." Jack whispered.
"Jack, please—"
"The IV and insulin drip stays until your results are stable. You aren't leaving this bed without my signature," he said, regaining his cold professional mask. "And until you decide you actually want to stay alive, don't expect me to talk to you as anything other than your doctor."
He turned on his heel and walked out.
-
Jack tried to work. He’d spent the last hours attending his patients but his mind only focused on replaying the sight of your pale face.
When he came back, he didn't check the monitors first.
He looked at you.
You were curled on your side, as much as the IV would allow, your shoulders shaking in silent tremors. The pillow was wet and your eyes were swollen and bloodshot.
The sight of you, not as a patient, but as the woman who held his cold heart in her hands, broke him.
"Sweetheart..."
"Hi..." you whispered. "I’m sorry about this. I just... some days, I’m just so tired. The patients, the noise, the shifts... and then this. I just wanted to stop thinking about it for a second. I just wanted to live without the needles or having to track my numbers."
Jack didn’t say anything at first. He sat down and reached out, his hand settling over yours.
He let the weight of his palm anchor you to the present.
"This is a part of you. You know that. I know that. We can fight for every thing of normal we can get from this, but you can't survive it by ignoring it." he said.
"I know," you choked out, a tear trailing through your cheek. "But it's every single day, Jack. Every meal, every hour. Sometimes I just... I forget because I don't want to think about it."
Jack let out a breath. The anger was still there but it was being drowned out by your explanation of how much weight you had been carrying lately.
"If you're tired, tell me," he pleaded. "If you forget to check, I'll remind you. If you're too exhausted to think how many units are for a sandwich, I'll do the math. But don't ever hide from me again. Not this. Especially not this."
He reached up, his thumb brushing a tear from your cheek.
"I can't lose you," he muttered. "Let me help you."
You nodded, a sob catching in your throat as you reached out to catch his hand.
"Okay," you whispered. "I will tell you next time I forget."
-
Later, Jack set a tray on the rolling table and checked your vitals one last time.
"Your numbers are better," he murmured. "And you need to eat. Slowly."
He sat on the edge of the bed, pulling a new insulin pen from his pocket. He didn't hand it to you immediately; he held it between his fingers, looking at it as if it were both a weapon and a lifeline.
"We’re going to do this together," he said firmly. "I've brought you some freshly made applesauce."
He watched as you reached for the pen. He didn't intervene, he stayed close enough that his shoulder brushed yours. As you dialed the dose, he let out the breath he’d been holding.
You injected yourself with the required units and for the first time in weeks, it didn't feel like a chore you were too tired to finish. Jack waited, counting the seconds with you before you finished the injection.
"Good," he whispered. He picked up the spoon, dipping it into the applesauce and holding it out to you. "Now, eat. I’m not leaving until the bowl is empty."
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Dr Brendon Park is a man of science. A practitioner of medicine. A surgeon, and a good one at that.
Psychology, however, has always been above his pay grade.
This, this leaves him truly out of his element. He doesn’t like feeling out of his element, fish out of water. It goes against everything he is.
This problem of yours, the thing he doesn’t like to name exactly what it is, it’s a lot to him. It scares him, he knows the kill count it’s racked up, he’s seen it in broken bones that showed through skin long before, bones weakened by malnutrition to a bird like state. He knows what this is capable of. It terrifies him.
But if he feels out of control by it, he can only imagine how you feel? Living with this 24 hours a day 7 days a week for years.
If there’s one thing Brendon knows how to do well besides fix bones, however, it’s Dom. He’s a man of great pride. He needs to be the best at everything he does, an sex is just another thing.
If he lacks the medical training to take this burden off your shoulders, he can treat the symptoms other wise. Palliative approach.
Brendon knows when you need a firm hand, a soft hand, and hands off when it comes to this plague. He knows how to Dom you, so he’ll do that as good as he can.
He can order you around only so much until you’re reduced to a stressed ball of tears and hyperventilation. This is a slow battle. And he’ll stick around and fight it as long as it takes. But he knows when to push and when to stop.
Knows how to give you what you need when you need it.
Curled up to Brendon’s side on the couch watching TV, his tee shirt and your sweats on, it’s your usual home uniform. He’s very well behaved, every home your bra free tits press to his arm he keeps the knowledge to himself. Ignores how it drives him wild. He behaves. When you start to rub on his chest and stomach, kiss on his neck, he knows what you want. What you need. And that’s him. He doesn’t procrastinate to take you to bed. He’d never make his sweet bit do something so debasing as beg. Even if that’s just ask. (Sweet little girls don’t have to use their words. Daddy knows.)
When you get there, as he pulls off your panties with his teeth like the desperate creature he is, you ask him shyly if you can keep his shirt on tonight. Adding a shy please. As if he has any right to stop you. It’s not an unusual ask unfortunately. He accepts easily. “Of corse you can” he says in the gentlest voice he can muster. “But you know I think every inch of you is breathtaking, right?” He confirms. He knows on night like this you need a soft hand. Need him to rut into you slow and deep, mating press or prone bone. Hands sneaking up your shirt to carefully fondle those tits, kiss you deep and passionate and show you his love.
And he knows on other nights, when your glossy eyed from the torment in your head you need him to be hard. You need him to strip you bare with no room for disagreement or protest, tie you up, and make you listen to his endless praise of your perfect form as he fucks you to tears. Weather that’s from his cock or his words, he doesn’t ask. Maybe he’ll even write all the ways he loves you on your skin so you really learn.
“Can you make me dinner?” You asked with sweet doe eyes. “Of corse baby” he cooed. He was always happy when you let him cook. Let him take care of it. Turned off the voices in your head and let him make sure your body got what it needs.
Other times, he’ll see you go quiet and focused over a snack or a meal. Calculating in your head what you’d eaten that day. “Stop it.” He’ll say firmly. But he knows it’s not that easy. You can’t. Not just like that. You’re stuck in it now.
So he’ll grab you by the hair, kissing you hard and mean enough to totally push you off your train of thought, leave you gasping and mindless and confused as to how you got here after he pulls away. That’s okay.
You don’t even know what you were thinking about now, dazed and love sick.
“Finish your snack, baby.” He insisted sweetly.
Scales. Measuring tapes. All gone from your house.
Like they disappeared overnight.
And you’re not dumb enough to argue.
You’re out for a coffee.
An at first, when you order, he worries.
Becuase you like lattes.
But you order drips. Because they’re less calories.
But. You’ve been doing better. Not even ordering half sweet as much.
So he frowns when you order. A large drip.
He won’t tell you that you can’t have something. That would be counter productive. But why do you want that?
But then. Oh, then.
You walk to the counter, and not only do you use full fat cream, but for the first time in your relationship he sees you put in sugar.
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Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
can i get “you dont think i can pick you up” with matsukawa where the reader always pushes matsukawa away when he tries to pick them up and one day he finally asks why and they tell him they dont think he can pick them up fluff with a happy ending please 🥺🥺 thank u 💕
Matsukawa with s/o who thinks he can’t lift them
prompt : “you don’t think i can lift you up”
a/n: i love matsukawa, also i hope i interpreted this right ! thank you for the request <3
wc: 800
-You’d always hated the idea of someone trying to pick you up, no matter how much taller than your or musclier, it just led you to overthink and want to escape.
-In the past you even felt uncomfortably nervous sitting on your ex’s or friends laps, your thighs always ended up burning from trying to keep your weight off of them. There was no way it wouldn’t hurt them.
-Whenever you’d cuddle, you only lay half your body on them, hoping to avoid crushing them with your body even if they were stronger, taller. It was drilled into your head that you simply couldn’t do those things.
-You were fine with this, you never needed to do those things to be happy in a relationship and you never felt the need to. Your boyfriend Matssun, however, always tried to get you to let him pick you up. He would sneak up behind you, wrapping his arms around your middle while you relaxed back into him, however, the second you felt his muscles tense, preparing to try lift you off the ground, you ripped yourself from his hold, turning to poke your tongue out at his disappointed face.
-It became a regular occurrence, a challenge for him to try and catch you off guard enough so he could throw you over his shoulder, trying to make you laugh. He never succeeded though, you already sensed when he was up to something, catching the smirk on his face or the flex of his muscles while he hugged you.
“y/n, hi baby” your giant boyfriend came into the kitchen, walking towards you, a lazy grin plastered on his face as you stood by the kitchen island, buttering some toast. “goodmorning sleepyhead” you smiled up at him as he came and hugged you, breathing in deeply against the top of your head “how long ago did you wake up?” he rested his chin on your shoulder, “around 20 minutes ago, i didn’t want to wake you, you looked tired” “hmmm” he hummed in return, turning you to face him. He grabbed your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting your head up to press a lingering kiss on your lips. You hummed into the kiss before you felt him smirk against your mouth, trailing his hands down to your thighs. Your eyes shot open before he could grip under them and hoist you up, pushing him back you smiled at him.
“Damn you almost got me there baby” you chuckled as he frowned at you “c’monn, how come you never let me pick you up? this game is dumb >:(“ you laughed at his pout, leaning up to kiss it away. “hey, c’mon” he rested his hands on your hips, waiting for you to answer. You sighed knowing he wasn’t going to let this go “You can’t lift me issei, i’m too heavy” you shrugged and turned back around to continue making your breakfast. He was silent behind you and you started to worry, you turned around to see him staring at you dumbfounded “you don’t think i can lift you up?” you weren’t sure but he almost looked offended. “Oh so you think i’m weak, wowww i’m hurt y/n, you think these are just for show?” he flexed his arms at you and you laughed, he feigned a hurt expression before continuing “i have dragged a struggling iwaizumi off of Oikawa on numerous occasions and you think i can’t haul your short ass?” you gasped “i’m not short” “you are compared to me pipsqueak” he was smiling at you with that signature lazy grin again and you couldn’t help but wrap your arms around him. “i’m sorry tough guy but i still think you’ll strain yourself so give up” he rolled his eyes, trapping you in his arms as you struggled against his hold. Your eyes filled with panic as he lifted you up effortlessly, throwing you over his shoulder as you pounded your fists against his back. Eventually you gave up and just lay there as he chuckled “this is what you were freaking out about?” he slapped your butt, earning a yelp and punch from you before he took you into the bedroom, throwing you onto the bed. “Issei what the hell” you smiled up at him and he laughed before flopping down next to you, pulling you on top of him.
He tucked your head into his chest, pulling you fully on top of him, “i’ve wanted to hold you for so long, and i deserve this since you left me to wake up alone this morning” you chuckled, nodding into him, cuddling for the rest of the morning.
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