hi! i don’t know if you take requests but i have this idea and i love the way you write so i though i might give it a try!
so doctor!reader and jack have known each other a couple years now since the beginning of her residency and have been dating for a few months, but jack finds out reader and robby used to fuck around and how he reacts!
i hope you can make sense of what i’m saying!! x
(a/n: ahahaha yeah so i loved this! i need to write more jealous jack. loved this. ate it up. hope you like it! thank you for my first request!)
me? possessive?
word count: 750
You learn pretty early in residency that the ER has no concept of privacy.
Not just the obvious stuff. The thin curtains, the shouted vitals, the way everyone knows your business by your second shift.
It’s deeper than that.
The hospital holds onto your history like a sealed record it can crack open whenever it wants, usually right when you’re too tired to defend yourself.
You’re thinking about this at the end of a twelve hour shift, leaning against the nurses' station.
"She asked for you specifically." Robby says, stealing a sip of your coffee. The casual theft of someone who has seen you at your worst. "Said you explained the catheter in a way that didn't make her want to die."
"I used a garden hose analogy."
"Works every time."
He grins, and you grin back. Then you glance sideways.
Jack is standing six feet away, staring down at a clipboard.
You’ve spent enough time studying Jack Abbot’s face to know its rules. He doesn’t do big expressions, but he is legible if you know how to read him. And right now, he was annoyed. In that way that men get when they know they’re being stupid, but can’t help themselves.
Earlier Robby had complained about the third floor call room being cursed, you’d made a face and Robby had laughed and said “Yeah, you remember”. Jack had looked between the two of you with feigned mild curiosity.
“You two have history?” he’d asked. Flat and casual.
“Briefly, like three years ago. It was nothing.” Because it was nothing, just two exhausted doctors fumbling through a bleak winter. Then Robby got paged, wandered off, and left a bomb ticking in the middle of the department for you to diffuse.
That's how you got to now. Jack is still holding the clipboard and hasn't flipped the page. A tiny muscle in his jaw twitches.
You turn back to look at Robby, his knuckles tapping against the desk. "Goodnight, Jack!" He claps Jack on the shoulder as he passes.
"Robinavitch." Jack says, still pretending to work.
You watch him watch Robby walk away.
You gather your stethoscope and keys and Jack falls into step beside you as you head for the exit. It’s a familiar routine except the second the double doors click shut behind you, his hand finds the small of your back. You make it all the way to the elevator before you look at him. "You're acting very spicy this evening I must say."
"I'm not."
"Jack."
The elevator doors slide open with a dull chime. He waits for you to step in, then follows, crowding you into the corner of the empty car. He’s standing close enough that you can smell his cologne.
It’s your favorite.
And you just stand there. Close like this while the elevator beeps past the floors. He’s got his hands firmly on your hips. Just staring down at you. And you can’t help but feel it. The magnetic energy drawing you even closer to him.
The very thing that made you become what you were today. Intertwined.
The purest and most intense love you’d ever felt.
The elevator dings, opening into the concrete chill of the basement level. He steps out first, his hand immediately returning to your waist, pulling you just a little closer to his side than usual. You walk in silence through the echo of the garage until you reach the car.
Jack stops, turning to face you. He looks frustrated, like he knows how ridiculous he’s being.
"You're so important to me." he says.
Something warm expands behind your ribs. "I know. You’re important to me." you repeat, a little softer.
He stares down at you, his dark eyes scanning your face. You reach up, grab his lapel, and pull him down.
Jack lets out a low moan against your mouth. His hand moves from your waist to your jaw, his thumb anchoring you by the chin, and he kisses you with possessive hunger that tells you exactly how much you were his.
When he finally lets you go, his eyes are darker, his breathing a little shallow, but the tension in his shoulders has melted.
"You know. You’re kind of cute when you get like this." you breathe against his collarbone, laughing.
“He opens the passenger door and nudges you in. “Oh yeah, get in and let me drive us home so I can show you just how cute I can get.”
hi again!! this is the same anon who requested soft dom r x s1 whitaker ahdhdhsjdjsh ,,,,,
can i req enemies w benefits whitaker x fem r sharing a bath together but it’s all comfort fluff with close to no nsfw that shows a big moment of vulnerability and intimacy :’))
(a/n:) AHHH SO SORRY THIS TOOK ME A MINUTE. I hope you like it. I've found i LOVE writing a beauitful lil lover boy Dennis. chefs kisssssss. thank you for the request!
Dennis Whitaker x fem!reader | ~1k words | enemies w/ benefits | comfort/fluff | bath scene | no nsfw
The thing about Dennis Whitaker is that he is relentlessly and infuriatingly gentle.
You'd figured that out sometime around week three of whatever this is.
The situationship with no name and no rules except the unspoken one: don't make it weird. You'd figured it out and then spent the next forever pretending you hadn't, because the alternative was acknowledging that gentleness like his was dangerous. That it got under your skin. That you were, in some deeply inconvenient and significant way, screwed.
You're thinking about this when he finds you on the bathroom floor.
You're just sitting back against the tub, still in your jacket, because you got home from a double shift and made it as far as the bathroom before your legs decided they were done participating for the day. Reasonable, honestly. You've been awake for twenty two hours. Your legs were well within their rights.
Dennis, who had apparently let himself in with the spare key you gave him for emergencies and had deeply different opinions about what constituted an emergency, crouches in front of you. He's still in his scrubs.
"Hi." he says.
"I'm fine."
"You're slumped on the tile."
"It's cool. I like it."
He looks at you for a moment with those eyes that you refuse to find endearing. "Okay then." he says, and stands up and starts running the bath.
This is the part where you should say something cutting.
I didn't ask for this. You're not my boyfriend. This isn't what we do.
You have a whole arsenal. You've used it on him before, watched him absorb it with that patient face that made you want to either apologize or fight harder, depending on the day.
Instead you watch him test the water temperature with his wrist. Old habit, probably. He adds something from the cabinet. Your eucalyptus thing, without asking.
"Whitaker."
"Hmm?"
"You don't have to.."
"I know." He sits on the edge of the tub and looks at you, not unkindly. "I want to."
Which is the problem, isn't it.
You get in the bath. He sits on the floor beside it, back against the tile, legs stretched out in front of him, and hands you the eucalyptus cap to smell while the steam rises and the world gets a little softer around the edges.
"Bad one?" he asks.
"Twelve year old." You close your eyes. "Bike accident. He was fine, ultimately, but for about forty minutes he wasn't, and I just..I need a second before I can talk about it."
The water is very warm. At some point his hand comes up to rest on the edge of the tub near your shoulder, not touching, just near.
An offering, not a demand. You close your eyes and sink into the tub a little deeper.
"I still think about the first patient I lost." he says. "I keep thinking I'm going to get better at it and I'm just. Not. Getting better at it."
You open your eyes and he's looking at his hands. He's picking at the hem of his scrub top. A nervous thing.
"You're not supposed to get better at it." you say and he looks up.
"Getting better at it means you stopped caring." You've given this speech and It lands differently when you mean it. When you're giving to someone who means something. "You're supposed to get better at going home. At leaving it at the door. That's what we're all trying to learn. Not to care less. Just to carry it differently."
Dennis looks at you with something unguarded moving across his face, something you've only seen in moments between whatever performance the two of you have agreed to give. Something that looks, uncomfortably, like relief. Like he's been waiting for someone to say that.
And anyhow wasn't he the one that was supposed to be comforting you? But when you looked at him, you couldn't help yourself. Couldn't help the softening of your heart.
You close your eyes again and scoff. "You're so annoying."
"I know."
"You're not allowed to be this.." You gesture vaguely at all of him. "While I'm trying to be unpleasant."
The corner of his mouth lifts. "Sorry. I'll be worse."
"You literally cannot be worse. That's the issue."
He doesn't say anything. He moves his hand a half inch closer and you look at it for a moment and then put your wet fingers over his, the smallest possible concession, and he lets you pretend that's all it is.
It's not nothing.
You suspect, and this is the most dangerous thing you've thought all day, that it might be quite a lot.
