#tw illness

tf141 x jack russel shifter reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: discrimination, violence, descriptions of illness and injuries, death and violence on the basis of descrimination

Summary: you never planned to reveal your identity to your team, however being trapped in a safe house with them for over a week may not allow you to keep your secrets hidden for much longer

A/N: you can thank my chronic pain flare for the end of this chapter, if i’m suffering reader gets to as well

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You can feel Soap’s stare burning into the side of your head the entire drive toward the motel, sharp and heated, unrelenting despite your distinct avoidance of his gaze. The car is quiet, no one having yet breached the tension that followed you and Soap out of that exam room. The team knows something is amiss, that would be stupid not to, but they all seem to sense the conversation isn’t one to be had in the middle of a doctors waiting room. Instead the five of you had piled into the car in silence, the medication at least allowing you to walk without assistance which you are grateful for. The last thing you need right now is Price and Gaz taking it upon themselves to carry you around. 

Every so often Price’s breath catches and you brace yourself for the questions brewing on his tongue, only for him to exhale heavily and drum his fingers upon the steering wheel once as the urge simmers back beneath the surface. Your head stays definitively turned out the side window, eyes unfocused as the surroundings pass by in a blur of snowy white, the brightness sending sharp jolts into your temples but the pain is nothing like it was prior so you find yourself gritting through it. 

You snap back to reality as the van slows, veering off the road onto a long driveway that leads to what you can assume is the motel. It’s clear it doesn’t get many visitors, the sign hung upon the side of the building weather worn and lopsided, the paint upon the building's trim faded with age. There is only one other car parked in front, all of the windows dark and unlit aside from the ones under a sign labeled ‘reception’.

Price pulls the car to a stop, stepping out of the car before trudging toward the office to check in. The slam of the car door has you jolting in your seat, hands tightening upon your thighs in a way that doesn’t go unnoticed. Three sets of eyes lock onto the movement, trained predators zeroing in on the display of weakness. It takes a lot of effort to force your hands to steady, releasing their grip as you slump further into your seat. Your eyes don’t move from the window, watching the shadow movement of Price through the half drawn curtains, silently counting down the minutes until you can escape into the privacy of a locked room. 

You find yourself releasing a breath you didn’t realise you were holding when Price steps back into the open, keys in hand as he gestures for the rest of you to offload. The wind outside is bitter when you step out of the car, shivering almost instantly as the air bites into the clammy sheen hanging on your skin. Price is quick to reach toward you, hand extended waiting should you falter. You shift away from the touch, crossing your arms over your chest in an effort to conserve some warmth. The captain allows his hand to fall back against his side, brows pinching as he takes in the stiffness to your stances. 

Once the other men have collected the bags from the boot, Price nods toward the room you have been allocated, “lets get you out of the cold.”

Nodding stiffly you fall in step behind him, the other men bringing up your rear which gives you the sudden sense of being surrounded. The room Price leads you all into looks like a time capsule from the 70’s. Shag carpet, brown yellow curtains and bedsheets to match, you only hope the mattresses are more updated that the rest of the furnishings. There’s a small kitchenette along with some worn armchairs tucked around a coffee table and an open doorway leading to a small bathroom. On one side of the room there are two closed doors leading to what you assume is the bedrooms. 

Then men drop the bags heavily on the floor, eyes sweeping over the room with analytical precision, sweeping the room as if still in the field, a force of habit ingrained into all of them. Price nods toward the first of the two doors, “double in there” then to the other, “should be some bunks in that one, enough space for everyone to get their own bed.”

The room falls quiet, all eyes suddenly one you. Shifting on your feet you nod toward the bedrooms, “I should probably get some rest.” 

Before you can so much as step toward on of the rooms Price is moving forward, blocking your escape route, “hang on a minute sergeant, we should know what the doctor-” 

“We had a deal.” 

Soap’s sharp voice cuts off the captain’s words. Everyone pauses, attention now on him, clearly waiting for an explanation.

“I-” your eyes flick again toward the bedroom door, “I don’t think now is the best-”

“What deal Johnny?” Gaz’s eyes flit between the two of you, nose scrunching briefly as he takes in the tension in each of your stances. 

Soap nods toward you once, voice firm “that either they’d tell ye’ what’s goin’ on or I would.” 

Price stares at Soap for a long moment, expression unwavering before slowly turning his head back toward you, voice growing firmer, “... what did the doctor say.” 

A soft uncomfortable laugh falls from your lips, one arm waving in dismissal, “nothing! It’s nothing serious, I just- just need some rest and I’ll be fine.”

“You have been resting, if that would help you’d be better by now,” he takes one step closer, you step back in response, “The truth. Now.”

Your jaw shuts in a tight clench, head shaking once. Before you can stop the movement your hand is shifting to your hip, searching for the reassurance of cold metal only to find an empty belt, a sharp realisation punching your gut as you remember you are unarmed. Each of your team does the same, a deep rooted instinct to the sight of someone reaching for a weapon, only for them all to again come up empty. The air in the room is heavy, all of you in a tense stand off, hands frozen on empty hips. The bags are closest to Ghost, you have that realisation at the same time as him, both of eyes flicking to the duffel before meeting in an unblinking stand off.

“Soap, explain,” Price orders, not turning away from you for even a millisecond. 

“Shiftin’ withdrawal. Tha’s what the doc said,” the sergeant's voice sends an icy dagger into your chest, “lucky they didnae fall into a coma apparently.”

Silence, aside from the blood roaring in your ears. Your vision tunnels toward the door back outside. With the little strength you have, you launch forward, shouldering Soap hard enough to send him tumbling into the wall as you beeline toward the escape route. 

“Door!”

Gaz is moving before Price finishes getting to order out, skidding in front of the only exit. And before you can redirect you are careening to the floor, Ghost’s firm hands forcing you downward. The impacts punching the air from your lungs, head spinning violently, unable to resist as the lieutenant pins you against the carpet. 

“Please- please don’t kill me,” the words stream out in a desperate slew, forcing through the tight resistance in your chest. 

“I’ve barely lived yet, I haven’t-” you swallow hard, losing the battle to your trembling voice, “please- I can be packed and gone by morning, you can say I- I got separated in the storm.”

The room is silent, and through your swimming vision you have no way to see what the other men are doing, but you can guess they are heading toward the weapons. 

“I’ll disappear, I promise. On paper you can mark me MIA. You’ll- you’ll never hear from me again. I’m sorry, please just-”

“Enough sergeant,” Price barks firmly. 

No one moves, not until the captain gives Ghost a stiff nod to let you up. The lieutenant shifts off of you, moving beside Gaz who continues to block the way out. When you make no attempt to stand, Price clears his throat firmly, “on your feet.”

Price waits until you find your way back to unsteady feet before he pushes the door open to one the adjacent bedroom, nodding his head toward it. Inside is a double bed, small sofa and some tried looking end tables topped with a lamp each.  

“You can have a room to yourself while you-” he pauses, seeming to mull over the right choice of words, “rest. We’ll take shifts watching the door.”

A bubble of laughter makes its way up your throat, the sound distant and detached, “you’re keeping me captive.”

“I’m doing what’s necessary to ensure you don’t make the impulsive decision to make a break for it,” he holds your stare until you take a shaky step into the other room, knowing there is little use arguing. 

“Shift. That’s an order sergeant,” he shuts the door firmly, the room turning from a sanctity to a prison cell. You can hear the soft talking outside, the four men doing little to hide the discussion though you find the words not resonating in your ears. With wavering steps you inch to the far back corner, slumping against the wall in the dark space beside the small couch. You know you can’t delay the inevitable, no matter how hard you may wish to, so with a defeated sigh you let your body sink toward the state it so desperately desires. 

The change feels… wrong. The typically simple process suddenly feels as though your body is resisting. Each of your joints shift and twist, popping out of place with loud cracks, sharp pain exploding across your limbs. Your knees buckle without warning, your body hitting the floor with a heavy thump that sends a jolt of white hot lightening up your spine. Metallic tang fills your mouth as your teeth grow sharper, ripping through your gums with ease. Every muscle pulls taunts, like an elastic band ready to snap, tightening and tightening until you form shakes in protest. You can’t move, you can’t even scream. Mouth hanging open in a silent cry as darkness begins to consume your vision. With a sudden violent shudder your entire body collapses in on itself, and all you can do is fall into the abyss.

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Summary: Jack Abbot x F!nurse reader. You're sick and you've been hiding it from Jack. When it all catches up to you, you're both forced to process feelings long buried.

A/N: This was requested by the lovely @pear-1206! I'm so sorry it took me so long! I'm getting over Covid and it's left me with such bad brain fog and fatigue, it's insane.

Warnings: Talk of cancer, hospitals, illness, blood

Jack Abbot is a bloodhound. He can sniff out illness or injury before anyone realizes how bad it actually is. He hovers and gives hard stares until care is accepted. He is impossible to hide things from.

You were hiding from him.

You had been feeling terrible for weeks. You could barely keep your eyes open in the middle of the day because you were so exhausted. The pain that would occasionally stab you was less than ideal. You had gone to your GP, hoping they would say it was just a cold or dehydration or something easy. But when you rattled off the symptoms you had been so cleverly hiding from Jack, she had given you a solemn look.

Blood was drawn and sent off and she gave you pamphlets. A caring hand on the shoulder and a promise to call as soon as she had the results concluded the worst doctor’s visit of your life.

inspired by @lilla-flo

I love the concept because it’s so wholesome and cute. also I added Caine into the chess family, because how could I leave out my boy!!

TW ahead. Grief, Parent loss, Infant neglect (incidental but still), child neglect (incidental), childbirth, death, suicidal thoughts, disease

I promise this is mostly fluff. But Queenie does die, and it does affect Kinger.

Also don’t ask me how the babies are conceived between 2 literal chess pieces. It’s up to your imagination and we’ll leave it at that. Thankyou 🙃

The year 2020 in this world saw the rise of a horrifying disease known as abstraction. Abstraction was a degenerative disease that attacked the nervous system. If you were to contract It, there is a high possibility it will never leave you. People did end up beating it and surviving but those were rare cases. It caused countless deaths. It was a plague on the population.

Kinger was beyond terrified when his wife Queenie contracted it. They’d followed the rules to a tee, and still she was suffering. For almost 3 years she battled this horrible disease, with the fear of dying hanging over the family’s heads, she was determined to beat it. By her 4th pregnancy, she was Abstraction free. It was currently dormant in her system. They received the news that they were expecting twins, it was a higher risk than a single baby. They chose to continue the pregnancy and thankfully she delivered once again via C-section 2 healthy baby’s. Now with 5 kids, they were done. Until Queenie became pregnant for a 5th time. An accident, but not a completely unwanted accident. The both of them had always wanted a big family.

And then Queenie got sick after the Abstraction started attacking her system again, during her pregnancy. It was once again considered high risk, and they had a long chat about the options. Queenie was stubborn and determined to see things through. It didn’t feel right to terminate, she'd already survived one high risk and that was with twins. She convinced Kinger and they decided to continue. One of the high risks was the baby being born premature. They’d already gone through this with Gangle and were prepared if it were to happen again.

Everything was going pretty smoothly all things considered. The family was preparing for the new addition, the girls were ecstatic, Jax didn’t want a new baby to take all the attention.

It was a quiet day, Kinger was at work, and the contractions started. Queenie was shocked and terrified because she was almost 10 weeks short of her due date. She called kinger and he hurried home. They got Kinger’s brother Scratch to look after the kids. They headed to the hospital in a panic. Queenie was admitted and taken for a C-section. Their baby boy was delivered and taken to the NICU. Kinger waited patiently to see Queenie.

She didn’t come out. The doctor pulled him aside and told him that she hadn’t made it. Queenie was gone.

The hospital cared for the baby and gave Kinger therapy options. He had a chance to say goodbye to her and broke down sobbing. The baby would have to stay in the NICU for almost 2 months and Kinger would go home. Alone. To his 5 children. To explain that their mum was gone. That their mum wasn’t coming back.

For the moment, Kinger pushed his grief aside to care for his children, explain to them and plan the funeral. Not giving himself this crucial time to grieve led him to experience a breakdown when the baby was discharged. His days felt repetitive and empty. Take Ragatha and Gangle to School. Take Pomni to kindergarten. Care for the twins and the new born. The new born who hadn’t received a name yet. A name was supposed to be decided by both of them, at the hospital while Queenie would be doing skin-to-skin contact. But that didn’t happen and Kinger didn’t know how to move forward with his newborn son.

There was a part of Kinger that blamed Queenie’s death on his son. A tiny part that he pushed away. It was getting harder to function. Neglecting his own needs to tend to his children. This cycle continued. Just him going through the motions. Doing the bare minimum. He fed them, took them to school and put them to bed. It was neglectful to only cater to their needs for survival. He was so tired. Maybe he could just go to sleep and never wake up. So he laid down on his double bed and drifted, he dreamed of his wife. Time moved and his children were left to fend for Ragatha tried her best, but she was only 8 and was supposed to be at school. The normally quiet baby cried and screamed. No one came. Jax was left to his own devices and decided to climb a tree, too thin a branch and the wrong footing and he fell. His knee bulged and any movement made him scream. Ragatha ran around looking for Scratch’s phone number. She called him on the old phone in the kitchen. He rushed over, grabbed the five kids and the baby and rushed to the hospital. Jax ended up needing surgery to repair his knee. Scratch signed off on it after explaining the situation. He returned back to Kinger’s place and spent the rest of the day caring for the hungry, scared kids.

after everyone was tucked in bed or a crib (Jax needed to stay at the hospital) Scratch confronted Kinger. All the buildup over the months caused Kinger to completely breakdown. With the new revelation on Kinger’s fractured mind and his deteriorating physical state, Scratch decided to step in and help Kinger find a place to receive care. Kinger needed up explaining to the children that he was going away for awhile to get some help. Of course the kids immediately thought he was going away forever like mum had. He hurriedly shut that idea down. He kissed them all goodbye, promised he’d call every day and drove away. (He made a quick stop to explain to Jax what was happening)

It took several months, but Kinger did return. He was grieving, but in a much healthier way. He rejoined his family and was determined to make amends. The first step toward acceptance was finally coming up with a name for his son. He named him Caine, and held him close.

Scratch came around more often to help out on particularly heavy grief days. Those became less and less and Kinger was once again finding joy in the little moments.

if you have any questions, send me an ask or write a comment. I’ve got lots to talk about for this AU :D

Tw: illness, flu, cold, sickness.

Sniffles, tissues, blankets and forehead kisses. 🤧🤒

"Aw little one, you feeling icky? Lets get you bundled up. I'll make you some tea. Can you blow your nose for me? Good job baby. Don't you worry about a thing. I got you, I'll take care of you"

Inspired by @kitmother always being the sweetest mother hen to me when I'm sick.

"I hate this body." Hearing you speak that, Pierrot looks at you in confusion. Concern was also evident in his demeanor.

"My dear, may I know why?" He asks, wanting to understand and help in anyway he can. The red clown knows that simply telling you you're perfect will not fix the issue at least.

"It feels like it's dying, all the time... it hurts, im tired of being constantly sick, constantly in pain. I hate it." You replied, looking back at him with a weary gaze. Dark circles under your eyes, your skin tone paler than usual under the influence of illness once again.

It was the second time in two weeks, getting sick again.

"I know my dear, and if I could take away your pain... I would. Is there any way I could help, even if its something small?" Pierrot gently cupped your cheeks, looking down at you.

"Just stay with me... please?"

"Of course my dear, I'm not going anywhere."