𐔌՞. .՞𐦯 Characters I’m currently open for (aka send in some requests for these guys!):
Frank Langdon - The Pitt
Dennis Whitaker - The Pitt
Peter Parker - MCU and TASM
Matt Murdock - MCU
Frank Castle - MCU
Series 𓏲ּ𝄢
Dennis Whitaker ↴
- In Good Hands♡
smau/written fic where reader is an emergency veterinarian
Imagines ꒰ঌ ໒꒱
MCU! Peter Parker ↴
Bed Chem ✵
TASM! Peter Parker ↴
How You Get the Girl ♡/☽
Blurbs
Mike Schmidt ↴
Needy ✵
Imagines
Series
Mike Schmidt ↴
Broken Promises☽
Feel free to request a song for me to write about! Send an ask with the character, song, and possibly short description of plot (or you can leave it up to me).
Dennis Whitaker x Veterinarian! Reader slow burn romance, like soooo slow, one sided pining/yearning (I fully believe Dennis Whitaker is a man who YEARNS okay)
Part five!
synopsis: Dennis helps wrap your injured wrist.
a/n just a written part this time! also a POV solely from the reader?? whaaat??
pls comment if you would like to be a part of the taglist!
see the masterlist here!
There’s a dull ache in your wrist that’s been subsiding for the past thirty minutes, but you’re painfully aware of the situation that landed you in this position.
Your back leans against the bed, the disposable sheet beneath you crinkles in an inhospitable way. Reminding you of the nature that is the ER.
One second you’re restraining an anxious dog, your arms wrapped loosely around his neck and torso in an attempt to keep him under control, while not smothering him against you. Within your years of practice, you found that some patients simply do better with a less-is-more hold. However, much to your displeasure, your patient seemed to think otherwise.
You barely even remember seeing him go after your hand, or any of the warning signs leading up to that, in fact the most vivid memory is only that of his teeth in your flesh.
You outwardly frown as you recount it, surely looking a little out of it to any passersby who happens to glance over at you.
There’s a knock at your door that pulls you out of your head, and you quickly straighten your composure, taking in a breath as you do so.
“Hi.” The intruder greets, and your gaze flickers towards him with recognition.
His smile is timid, as is the rest of his nature, and he looks reluctant to approach you. His black scrubs inform you that he must be a doctor, and you scan him quickly for a badge that confirms it.
His name is what sparks your memory.
You gasp, a small one, and light up with excitement, “how is your puppy doing?”
He seems taken aback by your question, as if he was expecting the opposite of your reaction. Like you were to scoff and discount his presence near you. You tilt your head at him, watching as he stumbles to reply.
His mouth awkwardly opens and shuts a few times, and you let out a soft chuckle at his dumbfounded expression.
“Sorry,” you responded for him, “that was probably a lot. I’m sure you understand it working here, but I don’t usually get to hear follow ups about my patients.”
You pause for a brief moment, brows twisting downward, “not unless they end up back in the ER again.”
He nods, looking like he understands your sentiment. His fingers absentmindedly mess with the cast padding he carried in.
“I do get that,” he responds finally, voice tender and dripped in an emotional coating of melancholy that you understand well.
He takes a few steps closer, bringing along a tray with him to set his bandage material down on. Once he’s close enough, you catch a note of him - something soft and tropical, his shampoo perhaps.
“She’s good,” he starts and settles down next to you on a stool, “she slept for most of the next day. But overall pretty much back to normal.”
You take in his words, imagining the small golden retriever sleeping happily next to him. Her tiny frame curled gently against him, probably snoozing off the cocktail you gave her while she was in your care.
“It’s always nice to see a puppy get to go home happy and relatively healthy.” You say, glancing down at your uninjured hand in your lap that’s now picking fur off your scrub pants.
He nods, and quietly begins to open up his supplies. You recognize most of the material laid out next to you, albeit different brands, but it’s all relatively familiar. The soft tearing of the packaging fills the space between you, with the hum of the busy background hanging steady. Fluid pumps beep incessantly, nurses shout orders over the noise, and patients groan, cry out, and shift restlessly in their beds.
“It’s weird,” you admit as he finishes laying everything out. “I’m used to my own department, but something about having actual people as patients makes this feel completely different.”
He smiles at you, a small one. A smile that makes his eyes soften as he gazes into your own, with his shoulders dropping not even an inch, but it’s enough to make him feel like he took a step closer.
“That’s how I felt when I brought Rose in to you.” He tells you, now breaking eye contact, attention focused back down at the tray that separates you.
The silence is a little more warm now, something less awkward than when he first walked in.
“Alright,” he says, breaking it after a moment, “I’m going to take a look first, is that alright?”
You nod at him, your eyes focused on your arm as he takes it into his own gloved hands.
Despite the barrier that the gloves pose, you can feel the warmth of his hands as he peels back the temporary wrap given to you previously. Your frown returns immediately when the wrap is disposed of and your skin is bare, on display for both of you to see.
You watch him as he assesses the injury, his expression almost imperceptible.
His hand gently grasps your own, and he leans in just a little more to get a better angle on it. He dips his head to examine it once again, and you can’t stop yourself from looking at him. With the proximity, you’re able to see every line and freckle, close enough to count each one if you sat there for long enough.
He pauses once the first layer of padding is in place, glancing back up at you without moving away. You watch as his face heats up with the recognition of how close he is to you.
“Can you, uhm- can you relax your hand for me?” he asks.
You do, letting your fingers lay softly against his own.
His grip shifts slightly as he begins to test the reflexes of your hand.
You watch without commentating as your fingers respond to each test.
“That’s good,” he murmurs.
He nods, satisfied with his results, then places your hand gently back down. The lack of contact makes you feel a little less warm.
“Any numbness or tingling?” He questions, glancing back at you.
You shake your head, “No.”
“Alright,” he says after a second, more certain this time.
He reaches back for the padding, picking up where he left off. The material wraps around your wrist in even passes, each layer overlapping the last with careful precision.
Once he’s satisfied, he leans back on his stool, hands resting against each of his thighs.
You observe the work he’s done, twisting your arm to take in the detail of his wrapping. You smile at the color, a soft baby pink.
He notices your smile and scratches the back of his head in a bashful manner.
“I thought you might like something other than the standard issue.” He tells you.
You bring your other hand closer, fingers brushing over the surface lightly. It’s snug, but not uncomfortable. You appreciate the care he took in setting it.
“How could you tell?” You ask, smiling at him again.
For a moment his cheeks flush pink, body tense as he winces at your question.
“Okay - please don’t take me for an obsessive weirdo,” he starts, and he flinches just slightly like he already regrets his opening statement, “but I remember your stethoscope being pink, same as your pen too. So I just took a chance that maybe you happened to like the color.”
You laugh, taken aback once again at his thoughtfulness, “and what happens if I say I actually hate that color? And that day I just so happened to borrow both of those items from a coworker?”
His face pales and drops immediately.
You shake your head quickly, dismissing your statement, “I’m just kidding. You’re right, I do really like it.”
He lets out a quiet, relieved laugh, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction.
“Good,” he mutters, glancing down at your wrist before meeting your eyes again. “Because I was already picturing you hating me for eternity now.”
You smile, watching him relax into the moment, the faintest warmth settling between you as the busy hum of the ER continues outside the curtain.
Bed Chem - BND! Peter Parker x Reader smut + text messages!!
Warnings: SMUT, like seriously porn with little plot, unprotected sex, female reader, slight breeding kink if you squint, unsafe sex, sad Peter who is using sex to hide from his feelings, creampie
Summary: inspired by Bed Chem by Sabrina Carpenter, reader meets Peter at the community college they both go to. When tasked to work on a group project together, they get distracted with other things.
WC 3.9k
MDNI 18+!
Masterlist💋
You chose to go to community college for a variety of reasons, the biggest one being the fact that you live in New York City and don’t own a trust fund.
And you’re smart, you know you’re smart. Despite what anyone has made you feel in the past, and because of that reason it’s why you made the easy choice of saving yourself two years of debt from a state school.
However, when you met Peter, he struck you as the kind of person who didn’t belong at a community college. Not in the way of being too good for it, but more so in the way he poured himself so heavily into his class work.
He buzzed in a way that others didn’t, giving all of his effort for an assignment that would have otherwise been scoffed at by someone else.
It’s part of what drew you in.
And the fact that he’s not bad to look at either.
So when you got partnered with him for a group project in your biology class you had no qualms about giving him your number.
He’s just a little awkward.
—
It didn’t take Peter long to find your apartment.
Which you were glad about, after the last few texts you had exchanged with him it got you a little excited.
Not that you were expecting anything from him, but it would be a bonus. You had been a little…out of practice in the dating game. After you graduated high school you took a gap year to work and save up some money to help put you through school. During that time, you swore off men, choosing to focus on solely learning and bettering yourself.
But once you got the text stating he was at your front door, you couldn’t stop the butterflies from forming in your stomach. Each passing step made you crave the potential intimacy more.
You open your front door with a smile, leaning into the frame for support.
Peter met your gaze with a smile of his own.
He looked so good too. His hair damp, like he’d showered before coming over, a few curls sticking to his neck. His white tee shirt clung nicely against his abdomen, leaving your eyes to wonder for a bit longer than necessary.
You caught the subtle clench in his jaw the moment he took you in.
You’d be lying if you said you didn’t put some extra effort into picking out your outfit for him.
A lacy pink babydoll top with a pair of matching pajama shorts that hug your hips snuggly. It was just casual enough to be passed off as loungewear.
There was a tense silence between you, thin and charged, before he exhaled under his breath.
“Fuck it.”
He closed the distance in two quick steps, his hands coming up to cradle the sides of your face.
You let out a soft squeak, surprised by his eager gesture, it was quickly drowned by his warm lips on yours. He kissed you with reverence, lips moving hard and steady while he stroked your cheeks with his thumbs.
You reciprocated the kiss fervently. The nails of one of your hands scraping gently against his scalp, the other settling against the crook of his neck.
When he was finally able to pull himself away, he let out a breathy sigh. His amber eyes shimmered with excitement when you met his gaze, smiling softly at him.
You laughed, pulling your hand from his hair and placing it around one of his wrists. His hands still found home on your face, cupping it softly now.
“That's a hell of a way to ask if you can come inside.” You quip.
A corner of his mouth quirks up immediately, a smirk forming at your statement.
He cocks his head, something hungry flickering in his gaze.
“Bold of to assume I’d come inside without asking first.” He answers.
Your brows shoot up in response and you smile at the innuendo.
“I didn’t peg you to be so…bold.”
He swallows hard, Adam’s apple bobbing as he does so. His eyes flash with an emotion that you can’t quit pin down.
“I’ve gone through a lot of changes lately,” his voice going soft, one of his hands move to tuck a stray hair behind your ear.
You shiver under his touch, breath hot against his cheek when you lean up and whisper.
“Wanna take your mind off it?”
His pupils blow wide, and his arms quickly scoop you up and over his shoulder. You let out a light giggle, doing your best to turn around and look at him.
“Tell me where to go.” He instructs, a hand coming up and cupping the curve of your ass, steadying your body against him.
He doesn’t struggle to find your bedroom, walking towards it with a feverish pace.
Once he sets you down his warm hands find their way under your top, gripping your waist in a tight embrace. He spins you around, pulling your back into his chest. You make a point to lean forward ever so slightly, letting your hips rub against his own.
He makes a noise halfway between a groan and throaty laugh. His lips find their way to your neck while his hands work to pull down your shorts, exposing the matching lace panties under them.
“You look beautiful,” he whispers against your skin.
You shutter against him, heat pooling between your legs. You already know the thin fabric is soaked from your arousal.
He returns to kissing your neck, brushing your hair over your shoulder for better access. You feel his hands drift lower, pinning your back closer against him. He kneads slow, deliberate circles into your hips as his kiss brushes against your shoulder.
It takes great effort to not fold immediately.
Instead, you turn around and return the favor by unbuckling his belt.
He quirks a brow, a smile splaying across the pretty features of his face.
“Wanna ditch these?” You ask, thumb hooking the waistband of his jeans.
He glances down at your hand, then back up, visibly flustered. “I feel like if I say yes too fast I’d lose credibility.”
You grin at his response, biting down on the flesh of your bottom lip.
“I wouldn’t mind,” you respond, still toying with the waistband.
He hesitates, just for a second, watching as your fingers toy with the button of his jeans. Your lips are still swollen from his kiss, and the sight alone draws a slow breath from him.
With a soft exhale, he nods, and you take that as your signal to start working your magic.
You give him a wicked grin, and his hands are warm against your own as he helps you undo his jeans. In a swift motion, he discards them with little after thought.
His boxers hug his hips nicely, leaving an outline detailed enough to make your eyes widen. Your stomach flips at the sight of him, furthering your excitement.
“Shirt too?” You glance back up at him, catching the way his face is tinged a subtle pink, soft enough to miss if you weren’t so close.
With a quiet, “yes ma’am,” his arms flex as he rolls the shirt off his torso.
Just when you thought he couldn’t get hotter.
The sight of him almost completely bare, except the pair of boxers he still adorns, was one you could bask in forever. His toned upper body wasn’t subtle like most guys you’d seen before, he looked like a true athlete. You briefly wondered how often he needed to workout to get to this point.
Your thoughts are quickly forgotten when you feel him hook his fingers underneath the strap of your shirt, his eyes begging you to let him see more.
You satiate his desire by slowly pulling the shirt off, now matching him, bare except for your clad panties.
Quickly, your nipples harden at being exposed to the change in temperature, and you watch as he drinks in the sight of you.
He runs his hands over your arms, leaving a trail of goosebumps with them.
He murmurs your name, his heart pounding.
“You’re perfect.” He tells you.
Instead of answering, you move backwards onto the bed, enticing him to follow.
He complies without question, crawling on top of you as you lay back against your sheets.
He leans his weight onto his right arm, using his other to wrap under and around your waist. He kisses you feverishly now, more intense than earlier.
Your lips clash against each other, hungrily drinking in the other. You feel him tug at your bottom lip, asking for further entrance. You comply eagerly, and let out a moan once his tongue slips into your mouth.
It’s a lewd sound and you can feel the effect it has on him, his boxers growing wet with precum.
“Peter,” you hum as he trails kisses down your neck, “I don’t think I can handle not having you inside of me for much longer.”
He stills for a moment against your skin, his breath warm at your throat. Then his hand tightens its grip around your waist, rough but not painful.
His forehead dips to meet yours, grounding himself for a half second. He inhales, wanting to make the most of this moment. You beneath him, bare chest pressing up into his own.
“Yeah?” He whispers, voice low, edged with deep need.
Suddenly he moves, slotting himself between your legs. Your hips buck at the sensation of his thumb rubbing slow circles against your clothed folds.
You whine at the contact, yearning for more. His pace quickens briefly, eyes never leaving yours.
You feel as if he were never going to give in, like he could stay here all night teasing you. Your breathing coming in rugged pants, mouth forming that soft “Oh,” shape.
He leans in, keeping steady pressure on your clit, as his free hand comes to cup the side of your face. His thumb brushes along your lower lip, and when you part for him he lingers there. He watches the way you take it in your mouth, your own eyes never breaking contact.
You catch the quiet change in his breathing, knowing the effect you had over him, just as he had over you.
“Please,” he speaks up again, “tell me if it’s too much, okay?”
You nod, and he watches you for a beat before easing back. His hand slips down to your hips, guiding the fabric down slowly.
He lets out a breathless sigh at the sight of you under him, completely bare.
He dips his head lower, lips meeting the soft skin of your chest. He leaves a trail of wet kisses down your torso, slowly working his way to your thighs.
You yelp when his teeth make contact with your inner thigh, biting ever so softly. He smooths it over with a kiss, smiling up at you devilishly.
In one quick motion his mouth is now between your legs, tongue making contact with your sensitive bud. You gasp as he begins to lick and suck at the area, with your noises only getting him more worked up.
Your hands tangle in his hair, tugging at it as he works you over.
He doesn’t slow down, instead he laps at your slick folds like a deserted man dying of thirst. He’s deliberate in the way he moves, paying attention to every reaction you give him.
Your grip tightens in his hair, and he lets out a quiet, breathy laugh against your skin. The sound sends a shiver up your spine. One of his hands slides along your thigh, fingers pressing in just enough to ground you, wanting to keep you right there with him.
His hand slides higher, thumb tracing slow, careful patterns that make your back arch. Finally you tug him forward, catching the way his chin shines with your wetness. He meets you halfway, hovering over your naval, hands gripping the sides of your hips.
“Please,” you pant, body feeling like it’s been set ablaze, “Peter please.”
It’s all you can manage to get out between breaths, your mind scrambled from the previous sensations.
The second you beg, your words hit his name like a plea, something in his expression shifts. His eyes laser focused onto you, blown wide with need.
“Please… Peter-”
“Yeah,” he cuts in, voice lower now, rougher.
His hand slides up to your cheek, gripping your jaw just enough to tilt your face up, forcing your eyes to meet his. There’s nothing soft about the way he looks at you now.
“Got it,” he mutters.
Your breath stutters, the heat in your body coiling tighter as he moves. His boxers are gone before you can even think about it, the tip of his cock twitching against you.
He hesitates, just briefly, with the lack of protection. His eyes search your face, scanning for any minuscule signs of doubt. But when he comes back empty, he drops his head, letting out a sharp exhale as he grabs his dick, lining it up with your entrance.
The feeling of him pushing into you makes your stomach coil, and you both let out breathy moans. He’s slow, making sure to let you stretch around him. Your cunt is tight as it takes the length of his cock, and Peter dips down closer to take your mouth in his as he bottoms out.
Once he’s sure that you’re adjusted to him, he takes a chance to slowly pull back out.
The moment he presses forward again, your breath catches hard, and your body reacts before your mind can even catch up. It pulls a strained sound from both of you, low and unsteady.
There’s a controlled tension in the way he moves, like he’s holding himself back by a thread. His forehead brushes yours, his breath warm against your lips as he pauses there. He lets you feel all of it, all of him.
Your fingers tighten against him, and that’s what does it.
A sharp exhale leaves him, and he leans in, capturing your mouth in yet another kiss that’s anything but gentle this time.
He’s not soft in the way he begins to drill his cock into you. It’s sharp and hungry, his body starving to feel you squeeze around him as his hips roll into your own.
You can feel every last bit of it all, the way his dick slides feverishly in and out of you, pulling waves of pleasure from you.
Whatever restraint he had has snapped, and his rhythm stays sharp, with each motion purposeful. It’s like he’s chasing something he can’t quite get enough of. The shift pulls a broken sound from you, your body reacting instinctively, matching him without thought.
“Fuck-” he breathes, the word rough, almost strained, like he’s right on the edge of losing control.
Your hands drag down his back, nails leaving their trail downwards, but it only seems to push him further. He moves down, teeth grazing your jaw for a second before he presses his mouth against your skin, breath uneven, every exhale hot and heavy.
He doesn’t let up on his pace.
It builds instead, faster, harder, the tension coiling tight between you. Every movement feels as if it causes another wave of pleasure to build, like he’s memorizing the way you react, the way you cling to him, and the way your breath stutters with each thrust.
“Don’t-” he starts, then cuts himself off with a low sound. One hand slides up, gripping tighter, anchoring himself against you.
Your eyes search for him, unfocused at first with the waves of pleasure that keep building in your body. They lock onto him, wide and blown out, desperate for more.
He stops, pulling out of you entirely, and you let out a shallow whine, body missing the feeling of him inside of you.
“Not done,” he mutters, breath uneven, like he’s barely able to hold himself back.
Before you can fully process it, he’s turning you over with a sharp, controlled kind of urgency. The shift knocks the air from your lungs and your hands catch yourself just in time as everything reorients.
His grip on your hips tightens, fingers digging in just enough to keep you right where he wants you.
He gently pushes your face into the pillow, your ass bucking up as he does so, he’s got you flipped around with your stomach facing the bed.
You whine into the pillow, hands gripping the sides of it as he lines himself back up. Your pussy is sopping wet, stretched perfectly to take him again.
His hands settle against your lower back, thumbs pressing in to massage slow circles. As if he’s taking a second to steady the pace he clearly doesn’t want to keep slow.
You can feel the heat of him, close enough now that it sends a shiver up your spine, your breath turning uneven against the pillow.
“Just like that,” he moans as his cock pushes back inside of you again, “you feel so good, pretty girl.”
The words catch in his throat, but he doesn’t stop. He brings his fingers to your clit, rubbing deliciously as he quickens the pace.
Your breath starts to break before you even realize what’s happening, coming out in uneven, shaky pulls against the pillow as the feeling builds faster than you can keep up with.
Your fingers clutch at the fabric beneath you, tightening, your whole body going tense as the pressure coils low in your stomach.
“Peter,” his name comes out strained, barely there.
His pace is relentless, pounding into you with force.
“Hey… yeah, I know,” he breathes, voice softer but threaded with urgency. He quickens the pace on your clit just slightly, enough to pull you even closer to the edge.
“Stay with me, just like that, don’t fight it.” His voice is tooth achingly sweet, contrasting sharply against the way he’s fucking you.
Your back arches, a sharp inhale catching in your chest as the sensation spikes. Your thoughts are scattering completely now. There’s no control left to grab onto, no way to slow it down.
It’s too much in the best way possible.
Your body reacts on instinct, tightening, chasing the feeling as your orgasm begins to form, your voice slipping out in a broken sound that you can’t hold back anymore. His name comes out of your mouth like a string of prayers, begging him not to stop.
And once it hits, your whole body shudders through it, every nerve lit up at once, like the tension finally snapped all at once instead of easing off.
Peter exhales sharply behind you, almost like he felt it too.
“Yeah… there you go,” he murmurs, breath unsteady, his touch light instead of pushing now. “That’s it, good girl, I’ve got you.”
Your strength gives out after that.
You sink forward into the bed, your body going soft and heavy. Your chest lifts in uneven breaths as everything slowly comes back into focus. For a second, you can’t do anything but feel the aftermath of your orgasm. Every lingering pulse, the sensation still rolling through you quietly as he continues to keep his pace.
He stays close behind you, hips stuttering as he continues to push inside of you.
Peter’s hands tighten slightly on your hips as he leans over you, his forehead dipping toward your shoulder. His breath is warm and unsteady against your skin. You can feel how close his orgasm is approaching by the sloppy pace.
“I’m gonna…,” he pants, unable to get it out. But you know exactly what he’s trying to say.
His movements lose that careful restraint, turning rougher around the edges. One hand slides up your back, gripping, like he needs something to hold onto.
You mewl his name, arching your back once more, pressing yourself closer into him. Your cunt is so slick and he slides easily against it, the motion making your second orgasm start to approach.
A low sound slips from him, unfiltered this time, his composure finally cracking as he starts to feel his own release.
You quickly bend around to lock eyes as he continues to chase his orgasm.
And the sight of him hits harder than you expect, he’s a mess.
His hair is damp and clinging in uneven strands across his forehead. There’s a sheen of sweat along his skin, catching the light in a way that makes you swoon. His chest rises and falls quickly, breath coming in uneven.
And his face. It’s enough to make you orgasm again.
His eyes squeeze shut for a second, brows pulling together as the feeling catches up to him. When they open again, they’re heavy-lidded, barely tracking anything but the way his dick slides in and out of your tight cunt.
He mutters your name like a warning and exhales, breaking apart as it leaves him.
His head tips back slightly, throat working as he tries to breathe through it, control slipping in a way that feels completely unguarded.
“Can you cum inside of me?” You ask him, feigning an innocent look.
Your eyes are wide and glossy, lashes fluttering up at him. Your question was anything but innocent, but the way you clench around him makes it hard to not give in to your request.
He bites hard onto his lip, pausing for the briefest moment to reflect on his decision.
With the way you’re looking at him, and how great your ass looks pressed up needily against him as you beg for it, he all but gives in completely.
“Anything for you pretty girl,” he says, and you gasp as he relentlessly slams his cock into your pussy. “Is that what you want? Me to cum inside of you? Fill you up?”
It’s so rough, the way he handles you, but his words are so sweet that you can’t help but let him.
And finally, he lets out a loud string of curses, hips stuttering and stilling against your ass.
You feel it, the warmth of him becomes apparent inside your cunt. He doesn’t pull out immediately, relishing in the feeling of how full he made you.
His semen fills you completely, and you bring a shaky hand to touch the beginnings of it leaking outside of you. With a groan, he pulls his cock out slowly, watching the sensual way his cum drips out.
The tension ebbs eventually, and he drops down next to you, exhausted.
For a long moment, neither of you speak. It’s not a bad silence either, more so one filled with a tired pleasure that comes after sex.
You stare at your ceiling, chest moving up and down in slow, peaceful breaths
“…we didn’t do a single thing,” you mumble after a while, voice still a little rough.
He laughs besides you.
“Not one,” Peter agrees, turning his head toward you. “I mean, I thought about it, you know, before I kissed you. That counts for something, right?”
You snort, glancing over at him. “Oh yeah, super productive. Gold star.”
“Hey,” he nudges your arm lightly with his elbow, a lazy grin spreading across his face, “you were the one who distracted me.”
You raise a brow. “Me? That’s crazy. I was just standing there.”
“Uh-huh.” He lets out another quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, okay. That’s your story?”
A smile tugs at your lips as you look back up at the ceiling.
“…we’re so screwed,” you say.
Peter exhales through his nose, but there’s no real worry in it. Just that same easy warmth lingering between you.
“Yeah,” he replies, shifting a little closer anyway, his shoulder brushing yours. “Worth it, though.”
Dennis Whitaker x Veterinarian! Reader
slow burn romance, like soooo slow, one sided pining/yearning (I fully believe Dennis Whitaker is a man who YEARNS okay)
Part four!
Synopsis: Whitaker dealing with the aftermath of finding out you know Langdon personally
a/n no written part for today :) enjoy just some fun texts!
pls comment if you would like to join the taglist!
PSA to fic readers, it is so hard to freak a fic writer out with your comments. we are just as crazy about the fic as you are.
tell me you love it. tell me it made you slam your laptop shut. tell me you brought it up at your college lecture about kink. key smash in all caps. quote the passage that made you think. i promise, we’ll love it.
we spend hours thinking about it, writing it, editing it. there is no such thing as over enthusiasm when you’re talking about our fics to us. we are sooooo weird about them, i assure you. you are just matching my freak. the freak bar is already set so high. feel no anxiety about enjoying something and letting the creator know.
Whitaker is easily liked because he’s compliant. Santos isn’t easily liked because she’s defiant. The most well liked person in the room caring about the most “difficult” person to like as if it’s the easiest thing in the world to do. Everyone looking at him as if he were a saint for withstanding her, when to him she is his savior. Literally the most important platonic relationship on screen right now for me. Don’t look at me.
Vitals, repeat labs, read x-rays, check south 19. He reiterates to himself.
A busy mind can’t wonder, and that’s exactly what he’s trying not to do right now. He keeps himself tucked away neatly to his corner of the ED.
Conveniently located directly opposite of wherever Langdon is currently treating you.
He hadn’t meant to look, but when you rushed in with a surgical towel draped over your arm, soaked through with what he could only assume was your own blood, he couldn’t look away.
Then he saw the way your eyes scanned for Langdon, and he caught the glimmer of relief that spread across them once he caught up to you.
There’s a pit in the center of his stomach that twisted uncomfortably at the sight of it.
He breathed deeply through his nose, his current task on hand left completely in the wind at this point.
Does he know that he’s being completely ridiculous for being so concerned for your wellbeing? Yes.
And does he know that he doesn’t have the right to be so upset that you have some sort of connection to Dr. Langdon? Also yes.
He spoke with you very briefly yesterday, over something that happened at your job. He was just another client, and you probably didn’t even remember him.
He should let it go.
Logically, there’s nothing here for him to hold onto.
You’re allowed to know people. To trust them. To look relieved when you see someone familiar in a situation like this.
It has nothing to do with him.
Still, his gaze drifts back before he can stop it.
Langdon is saying something to you, voice low, calm in that way Dennis has heard a hundred times before. It's reassuring.
You nod along, shoulders slightly less tense now, like the worst of it has already passed simply because he’s there.
Dennis exhales sharply through his nose, dragging a hand down the front of his scrub top.
Get it together.
“Whitaker.”
He barely registers being called the first time.
“Whitaker.”
This time it lands and he straightens immediately, turning toward the voice like he hasn’t just been completely elsewhere.
“Yeah,” he answers, feet already moving. “Sorry, what’ve we got?”
Oh my god I’m the biggest idiot ever I’m so sorry to anyone who previously submitted any asks about my old fics I DIDNT REALIZE THERE WAS A TAB I HAD TO LOOK AT TO CHECK MY INBOX YALL IM SO DUMB
a/n characters may be a little OOC but hopefully not too much?
Part two!
Series link
Dennis shifts uncomfortably against the plastic cushion of his seat, letting his phone screen go dark.
He’s been here for a little over four hours now.
Long enough for the waiting to settle into something dull and heavy in his chest, enough that even the steady scent of antiseptic has faded into nothingness.
The same receptionist from earlier was kind enough to check in on him a few times, offering water here and there.
To say he’s overwhelmed is an understatement, but he pulls himself together because he has to.
Laundry, he reminds himself distantly. Put your laundry away when you get home.
His heart stutters, only mildly this time, when you walk back in.
Your gaze lands on him immediately, soft despite what had to have been a long few hours on your end.
“Hey,” you offer and lean against the door. It shuts with a quiet click.
It takes everything in him not to flounder completely in front of you.
He tries to straighten up, hoping to appear less disheveled than what he felt, running a hand through his hair at a weak attempt to seem more out together.
“Hi, is she - is she okay?” He asks, fingers grasping tightly around his phone.
You nod, your eyes flicker down to the tablet in your hands.
“I wanted to show you her radiographs. We took some before and afters.”
His body goes rigid when you take another step closer.
You angle yourself next to him, your arm hovering next to his. He can’t stop himself from leaning in automatically, shoulder brushing yours.
“So this is the initial image,” you start, fingers hovering above the screen, “and this is after we intervened…”
He tries to pay attention, honestly, but it’s hard when he catches the faintest scent of your shampoo. Something warm and sweet, subtle enough to throw him off all over again.
Dennis digs the heels of his palms against his eyes like that might reset him.
It has little effect.
He drops his hands quickly, forcing himself back into the nature of a medical professional, or he tries to, at least.
“Right, so it didn’t, uhm, pass the stomach then?” His voice hints at the feeling of weariness that’s been creeping up on him.
And because you happen to be the sweetest person on earth, you smile again at him, nodding your head in return.
“Correct!” Your voice is buttery soft, encouraging even, “she did so well for us. Because you brought her in so early I think it’s safe to say we’re out of the woods now.”
Before Dennis could form another coherent thought, you spoke up again.
“You did a great job by bringing her in so early. I don’t usually see owners be so proactive about these foreign body situations…”
For a moment, you pause, silently reflecting on your thoughts as your eyes run over his figure.
He tries not to shiver under your gaze.
“I wanted to ask earlier, but you don’t happen to work in the medical field, right?”
It catches him off guard. Something about the way you were addressing him, asking about him, causes his face to get a little too warm.
Dennis hesitates for half a second too long, thumb dragging absently along the edge of his phone.
“Uh -yeah,” he admits, glancing back at the tablet like it might save him. “Yeah, I do.”
There’s a silence that lingers a half second too long, and he kicks himself once he realizes you’re waiting for another answer.
“Sorry,” he laughs awkwardly, “uh, human side. Emergency at PTMC.”
Your expression shifts, something like recognition flickering behind your eyes as you take him in again, a little more carefully this time.
“Emergency?” you echo, tilting your head slightly. “That makes sense.”
Dennis lets out a quiet breath, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. “Yeah?”
You nod, a small smile pulling at your lips. “You ask the same kinds of questions. And you haven’t once panicked out loud.”
He huffs at that, glancing down at the floor. “Give it time.”
That earns him a soft laugh, quick, but real. It does something strange to his chest.
“You’d be surprised,” you say, shifting the tablet in your hands. “Most people come in here already convinced it’s the worst-case scenario.”
He nods slowly. “Yeah. I’ve seen that.”
A pause settles between you again, quieter this time. His gaze lingers on the radiographs in your hands.
“What about you?” he asks, the question slipping out before he can overthink it. “How long have you been doing this?”
You take a quick breath, opting to think for a moment before speaking.
“A while,” you say. “Long enough to know that dogs will eat just about anything if you give them the chance.”
Dennis huffs out another quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah. I’m starting to figure that out.”
You step away now, putting a little distance between the two of you. Luckily he catches himself before he can visibly frown.
“We’ll keep her for a little longer,” you say, easing back into it. “Just to monitor. But she did really well.”
He nods, more grounded now. “I’m glad she’s okay.”
You slip back out of the room, taking the air out of his lungs with you.
In Good Hands ✰ Dennis Whitaker x Veterinarian! Reader SMAU/Written
yearning
Yearning is an intense, often painful, and tender longing or deep emotional craving for someone or something, frequently born from absence, separation, or impossibility. It is a persistent desire, described as a "sweet wound" that connects deeply to the soul rather than just immediate desire.
Synopsis: Dennis Whitaker is a man who yearns.
Aka, you’re an emergency veterinarian and Whitaker agreed to watch a patient’s golden retriever puppy while they were recovering in the ICU.
Warnings: mentions of veterinary and medical terminology/procedures
pt. 1 - read all the texts before the written part!
Series link
Dennis Whitaker felt like he had a grip when it came to working under pressure. The man undergoes some of the most intense, mentally and physically, stressful situations a person could witness on a daily basis while working at the PTMC.
And he grew up on a farm, veterinary emergencies are not unfamiliar to him. He can recount multiple instances of having to stay calm during some stressful situations.
However, as he sits in the nearest emergency vet clinic, he can feel his palms start to sweat.
They had rushed the sweet puppy back almost immediately after telling the front desk what he was here for. From his experience in a human ER, he knew that wasn’t a good sign.
And he ignored the way his phone lit up every few minutes, only feeling a little guilty for leaving his friends on delivered.
He just didn’t have the mental energy to answer them right now.
“Dennis Whitaker?” A voice called from the front desk.
He shot up out of his chair immediately, pushing down any doubt or feeling of fear that threatened to flood his nervous system.
One of the receptionists walked around the front desk, offering him an emphatic smile.
“I’m going to bring you into room eleven, the doctor just got done looking at the radiographs.” She explained, weaving them through the stuffy lobby.
He didn’t realize just how loud the waiting room was until she closed the door behind them.
The anxious whining and sharp, irritated meows dulled into a low hum, slipping into the background of the exam room.
Things started feeling a little familiar now, the box of blue gloves hanging on the wall, even the smell of antiseptic that clung to the air.
The receptionist explained the process of a rush back case to him - going into detail about the first necessary steps taken to help maintain stable vitals on “his” pet.
God, he thought, I’ve really got to learn to say no more often.
“The doctor will be in shortly,” she finally said, backing out of the room.
The door clicks shut behind her, and the room settles into a kind of sterile stillness.
Dennis exhales slowly, dragging a hand down his face before bracing both palms against the edge of the exam table. The metal is cool under his skin, a familiar feeling that helps ground him briefly.
He’s been on the other side of this. He knows the rhythm, knows what the pause before the doctor comes in usually means.
Still, his gaze drifts to the empty corner of the room where the puppy should be.
“Stupid dog,” he mutters under his breath, though there’s no heat behind it. “Stupid… sock.”
His phone buzzes again in his pocket but he refuses to check it, because now the door handle is turning and his stomach starts to drop.
Dennis straightens instinctively, his back cracking as he does so, spine pulling taut.
When the door opens he forgets how to think.
You step in already speaking, voice clear and steady, “Hi, sorry for the wait. I wanted to take a closer look at the radiographs before coming in.”
You don’t look at him right away. You’re focused on the chart in your hands, flipping a page, scanning something quickly.
Some stray hairs fall messily onto your face. A small signal of how long you must have been working before he got here.
Dennis swallows.
“Uhm, yeah. Of course.”
God, he sounds like an idiot.
He’s faced trauma codes with less hesitation than it takes for him to form a coherent sentence right now.
You glance up then, finally meeting his eyes, and…
Something in his chest tightens, sharp and unexpected, like a suture pulled too tightly.
Professional, his brain supplies immediately. She’s just being professional.
You offer him a small, reassuring smile. “You’re Dennis, right?”
“Yeah,” he answers, a beat too quick. He clears his throat. “Yeah. That’s - me.”
Smooth. Real smooth.
You don’t seem to notice. Or if you do, you’re kind enough not to call it out.
“I’m going to walk you through what we found,” you say, stepping closer, setting the chart down. “She’s stable right now, which is good. The radiographs show a foreign object in the stomach, consistent with what you told us.”
Dennis nods automatically, latching onto the information, grateful for something he understands.
“Right. Yeah. Sock.”
You huff out a quiet breath that might almost be a laugh.
“Yeah, most likely, it looks fabricy.”
And there’s something about that, about the shared absurdity of it, that settles him more than anything else has since he walked in.
Until you reach for your tablet behind him.
When his brain, traitorous thing that it is, decides to fixate on the way you angle your body around his own.
He shouldn’t be so aware of the proximity between you. His heart shouldn’t flutter when you match his gaze again.
He was raised to be kind, and to be respectful. It’s not like him for his brain to immediately melt the second a beautiful woman walks into the room.
But there’s just something about you that ticks so perfectly.
“Best case,” you continue, pulling him back in, “we can induce vomiting and get it up without needing to go further. Worst case, we’re looking at endoscopic retrieval. Surgery would be a last resort.”
He nods again, the words sounding familiar, but in a completely different context to what he’s learned.
“Okay,” he says slowly. “What do you need from me?”
You glance at him again, and for a second, something softer slips into your expression. “Just consent to start treatment.”
He lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. The way you’ve described everything so softly has eased his frazzled nerves.
“Yeah,” he says, quieter this time. “Yeah, you’ve got it.”
He pauses and tries not to think of what the bill is going to look like after all of this.
Then, because apparently his brain has completely abandoned him tonight, he adds, “Thank you.”
It comes out more earnest than he intended and he can feel his face getting warmer.
Your expression shifts again, unreadable to him.
“Of course,” you say. “We’re going to take good care of her.”
