m

multifandom. reqs are appreciated.

[maebyi]

hi guys ik i’ve been inactive, i just wanted to say that it’ll likely be that way until june. finals r coming up and i’ve been struggling a little bit so pls bear with me! u are all free to send requests just be aware that i won’t get to them until i come back.

be back soon <3

[maebyi]

dennis whitaker x fem!reader

cw. dom!dennis, squirting, some praise, not proofread

“been waitin’ to taste you all day,” dennis mutters, sliding your panties down your legs and letting them fall to the floor.

“my shift went on longer than expected,” you say, your voice quiet.

“i don’t care about any of that… jus’ want you,” he replies, parting your thighs.

dennis settles himself between you, his soft curls grazing your flesh as he leans in.

his tongue meets your folds and he licks a stripe along your soaked cunt, his nose nudging your sensitive bud.

he lets himself lap at your pussy a little longer before shifting his attention to your aching clit. he wraps his lips around it, swirling his tongue across the bundle of nerves and applying light pressure.

a soft moan leaves your mouth before you bite down on your bottom lip, not wanting to be too loud.

meanwhile, dennis’ hand inches closer to your core, and before you know it, a finger is slowly inserted inside you.

that elicits a gasp from you.

dennis still has his mouth on your clit when he curls his finger, your body immediately reacting to the action.

“dennis… ‘s so good,” you tell him, your back arching off the bed.

“yeah?” he murmurs, finally letting your swollen bud rest a bit.

he looks up, reveling in the view before him—you, brows furrowed, jaw agape, and eyes sewn shut in pleasure.

“‘m close…!” you whimper.

he adds a second finger in, doing the same thing as before and curling it so it hits your sweet spot.

“let go for me baby,” he says.

at his words, your grip on his hair tightens and your body trembles with ecstasy. you feel an unknown liquid gush out of you, but you’re too caught up in the satisfaction to even realize it.

dennis watches in awe as you completely drench the bedsheets beneath you.

“fuckin’ hell,” he whispers. “that was the hottest thing i’ve ever seen.”

heavy breaths leave your chest as you come down from your high and you prop yourself up on your elbow, gazing down at him. “i’ve… never done that before,” you mutter, almost shy.

“oh baby, you just boosted my ego with that sentence.” he gives your thigh a squeeze.

his thumb finds your clit, rubbing lazy circles onto the sensitive skin. you jerk at his touch.

“you think you can go one more for me?”

“denny…”

dennis doesn’t let you respond before he’s already convincing you. “come on… just one more. you’re my good girl, right?”

you nod.

“atta girl,” he presses a light kiss to your inner thigh.

his thumb stays on your bud while he gently enters a finger into your cunt.

“you’re so beautiful like this, you know that?” he whispers, his eyes never leaving your face.

you’re still sensitive from earlier, so the pleasure almost immediately comes back to you.

“f…fuck—i’m already so close,” you stammer.

dennis doesn’t respond, instead continuing with his motions while watching your expression.

“keep doing that, just like that,” you tell him.

he nods in acknowledgment and does as you say.

it doesn’t take long for you to finish.

you throw your head back as an absolutely pornographic moan escapes your lips. dennis retracts his hands from you as you squirt for the second time, already feeling himself get hard at the sole sight of it.

he swallows thickly. “jesus, honey. you gotta do that more often,” he murmurs, a slight teasing tone in his voice.

“shut up…” you mumble.

note. somebody requested this but my dumbass accidentally answered it when i meant to make it a draft so i lost the request… regardless here it is! hopefully that person sees this lol. fyi i am not familiar with the topic of squirting so pls spare me😭

divider is not mine! likes and reblogs are appreciated!

[sapiensecrets]

destabilize - dennis whitaker x f!reader

summary: dennis puts his frustrations on you during a mass casualty, after seeing how people seem to drop everything to make your life easier.

pairings: dennis whitaker x RT!reader (respiratory therapist) cw/tags: the pitt warnings (depictions of car crash victims and their treatment, including intubations, fractures, embolisms, various breathing apparatuses). established relationship. swearing. angst but reader and dennis are pretty normal so it’s nothing crazy. park flirting with reader (i dont think this is a warning based on how much tumblr has loved him since his brief appearance LMFAO but just in case), jealous!dennis and some misogyny from him as well i guess. swearing. ooc!dennis in my opinion but hey. the people yearn for the angst and so do i. minor implications that dennis has a past regarding people abandoning him. word count: 4.9k dennis x RT!reader masterlist general masterlist series taglist (will be closing soon!!!) this was requested and inspired by many many messages and people that i combined into one thing, enjoy :)))

“Hey, are you able to cover the ED today?” Your coworker asks. “I’m still getting over that flu I had last week, and I think running between here and there might just kill me.”

“Of course, yeah, no problem,” You say, accepting the trauma pager from her, tucking it onto your scrub pocket. “Did you test?”

“Yeah, flu A,” She says, and you grimace. 

“Rough,” You say. “I’ve got it covered, let me know if you need anything else, yeah?”

The first trauma that requires respiratory assistance rolls in around nine. 

“Eighteen-year-old male, motorcycle versus SUV at approximately sixty MPH,” The paramedic says, wheeling the gurney through the doors as people begin to crowd around. “Helmeted, significant damage to the bike.”

They push him through the trauma bay doors, still listening intently as the paramedic continues. 

“Airway intact, alert and oriented times four, awake and talking on scene,” She adds. “GCS fourteen—confused, repeating questions. Obvious deformity to the left femur, no open wound noted, distal pulses weak but present.”

“Heart rate one twenty-eight, BP ninety-eight over sixty-two, resps at twenty-six,” The secondary paramedic says, just as Samira counts down from three, everyone lifting the sheet up and transferring the patient onto the hospital bed. “Two large bore IV’s, fifty of fent, femur splinted in traction.”

“Great, thank you,” Robby says, letting them leave. 

Princess cuts the rest of the patient’s clothes off while Donnie hooks him up to the monitors, the screens coming to life and showing the mildly concerning vitals. Dennis is already examining the chest, stethoscope in as he listens to his lungs. 

“Sir, can you tell me your name?” Samira says, getting a confused groan in response. 

“My fucking leg,” He mumbles. “Where—what happened?”

“You were in an accident,” She explains. “You’re at PTMC now, we’re gonna’ take care of you, okay?”

She looks at Dennis, asking what his next steps are. 

“Uhm, trauma labs, chest and pelvis ultrasound,” He says, glancing towards the monitors, watching his sats come down a few points. “Let’s get him started on high flow, page RT and ortho.”

“Okay, let’s do it,” Samira says. “Who’s here for respiratory?”

“Adams,” Robby says, having already asked Dana earlier that morning. 

Samira frowns. “She’s not here?”

The question is directed at Dennis, who stutters for a second. “Oh, no, she is. She’s just in the ICU today.”

“Too bad,” She says. 

When the door opens to reveal you everyone reacts a little more enthusiastically than they usually would, happy to have you instead of anyone else. 

“Dana said Adams was here today,” Robby says, watching you pull on gloves. 

“Yeah, she had the flu last week, still struggling with some SOB with exertion,” You explain. “Is it okay that it’s me?”

“Definitely,” Samira says. “Motorcycle versus car, GCS fourteen but his sats keep dropping, eighty-seven on a hundred percent.”

“That’s not great,” You say, making your way to the head of the bed. Dennis’ hand comes back as you move behind him, gripping the front of your thigh for a second, making you smile. You introduce yourself to the patient. “I’m with respiratory. Can you tell me your name?”

“My…leg,” He says, taking an obvious breath between the two words. 

“We’re gonna’ get it fixed up for you, okay?” You say. “Your chest hurt at all?”

He doesn’t respond. 

“Can I grab an ABG?” You ask, and Samira nods. “How was the eFAST?”

“Negative,” Dennis says. “No pneumo, no fluid.”

“Femur fracture?” You question, making the assumption from the splint that’s wrapped around his thigh as you grab the syringe, positioning it over his wrist. 

“Yeah, a bad one,” Samira says. “Why, what’re you thinking?”

“FES?” You suggest, drawing his blood up, capping the needle and passing it to Princess. 

“Definitely a concern,” Samira says. 

“Non-rebreather?” You ask. “He’s too agitated for BiPAP.”

“Yep, do it,” She says. “Let’s prep an intubation tray, just to be safe.”

You slip the mask onto his face, assuring him that everything is going to be just fine, then you start collecting the supplies you would need to intubate. Robby leaves at some point, his attention being pulled by another trauma, putting Samira completely in charge. 

“Did you tell ortho this was urgent?” She asks, and Donnie nods. 

“Sure did.”

“Who’s on for ortho?” You ask, mindlessly adjusting the tube you’ve chosen, lining everything up perfectly. 

“Shark,” Donnie says. Dennis rolls his eyes at the mention of the name, shaking his head a little to try and focus on the patient again. 

“Oh, I’ll call,” You say, making everyone raise an eyebrow, not sure why that would change anything, but they don’t stop you. You pick up the phone on the wall, putting in the right number and bringing it to your ear, waiting for a few seconds before someone picks up. “Hey, is Park still up there?”

The room stills, especially Dennis, his hands coming to a complete stop over the patient’s abdomen that he’s about to palpate again. 

“Great, can you let him know that we need an urgent ortho consult down in trauma three?” You ask. You ask for the person on the other end to tell Park that it’s you asking, and Princess smirks. “Thank you so much.”

The door opens four minutes later, Park coming through, his eyes immediately finding you—then the patient. 

“What’ve you got?” He asks, and Samira gestures for Dennis to go ahead. 

“Motorcycle versus car, closed femur fracture, concerned about FES,” He explains. Park nods, leaning over the patient, gloved hand raising to touch the area. 

“You calling me personally now?” He asks, looking at you again. 

“When the situation calls for it,” You say, a small smile on your face, one Dennis does not miss. “Wouldn’t be necessary if you guys would actually answer pages at a reasonable pace for once.”

“I like to make an entrance,” He says, crouching a little to get a better look at the injury. “Especially when you’re here.”

“Okay, relax,” You say, but you’re laughing through the words. “Just fix his fucking thigh, Brendon.”

“For you?” He asks. “Anything.”

That was when things started going downhill for you and Dennis. 

Had that happened any other day? It wouldn’t have been an issue. People flirt with you all the time, not just at work, but everywhere. It’s a constant that he’s grown used to, and up until today he thought that he could handle any amount of people throwing themselves at you. 

But, apparently he can’t. 

The mass casualty happens at three-fifty-nine. 

A multi-vehicle pile up on the highway with twenty of the thirty-two victims arriving by ambulance and helicopter fifteen minutes later. 

You spend the first hour floating from room to room, assisting with oxygenation and administering medications when the nurses are already stretched thin. You start a few arterial lines, intubate two patients, and do six rounds of chest compressions all within sixty minutes. 

Your name is called from one of the rooms, making you quickly tape an arterial line in place, asking Mel if she needs anything else before making your way over to Dana. You dodge people as you move, following her through the curtain, revealing Dennis standing at the head of the bed, preparing to intubate. 

“Where do you want me?” You ask, looking at Frank, who’s squeezing a bag of blood. 

“You can assist Whitaker,” He says, and you nod, taking the spot beside your boyfriend and accepting the bag mask from Sophie, placing it over the patient’s mouth. 

The ED is loud. 

That’s all Dennis can think about until you’re standing next to him, and then he starts thinking about you and Park earlier. Someone asks what size tube he wants just as he puts the laryngoscope into place, turning the light on and glancing towards the monitor that’s been wheeled in, revealing the patient’s throat. He doesn’t realize that the question was for him, clearly, so you answer.

“Seven, probably,” You say, turning around and opening the drawer, grabbing the correct tube.

Dennis inches farther into the mouth.

The cords still aren’t visible. 

“That’s super anterior,” You say, already reaching towards the patient’s neck, pressing your hand against it. You watch the screen, adjusting to try and bring the cords into view, but the visualization still isn’t great. “Lift the blade slowly, that might help.”

“Yeah, I know,” He says, his tone a little firmer than usual, but you quickly brush it off as the pressure of the mass casualty. 

Her airway is swollen, and even when the cords come into view he doesn’t feel good about the landmarks. He keeps looking down into her throat and back up at the screen, and then Sophie speaks up. 

“Sats down to seventy-one.”

Dennis shakes his head, pulling back in a swift motion. 

“Switch?” You ask, and he nods, passing you the tools. You take his place, and he sets his hand where yours was moments prior, mimicking the pressure that you were doing for him. 

You get the same view that he had, but you’re much more confident as you adjust the blade, sliding the tube into place without even looking at the monitor. Dennis puts his stethoscope in to confirm breathsounds. 

“Waveform looks good,” Frank says. “Yellow on end-tidal.”

“Good breath sounds bilaterally,” Dennis adds. 

“Thank you,” Frank says, and you nod, your hand landing on Dennis’ side as you walk past him, a slight action of reassurance. 

“Call if you need anything else,” You say, then you slip through the doors, off to the next critical patient. 

He’s rattled after that, and he can’t help but notice the difference in how you’re doing compared to him. People call for you specifically, anticipating your next move and passing you whatever you need before you can even ask, thanking you or even congratulating you once you finish up with patients. You move through the chaos in a way that he can’t, and it seems like everyone does their best to make it easy for you. 

He ends up in one of the back hallways between crises after Robby tells him to take a breather. 

He lost the patient that you intubated, and he can’t stop wondering if maybe he wouldn’t have if he had been able to get the tube in. You eventually come into the hallway, sliding down the wall beside him, tucking your knees up to your chest, a small amount of dried blood on your scrubs. 

“You okay?” You ask, nudging his leg with your own. 

He nods. “Yeah. You?”

“Yeah,” You say. “Heard you lost a patient.”

He inhales sharply, shifting his legs away from you ever so slightly. “I did, yeah.”

He pauses for a second before continuing. 

“I should’ve let you intubate from the get-go,” He says, but it’s not proud like usual—it’s bitter. “Maybe that extra minute of oxygen would’ve saved her.”

“Don’t do that,” You say. “Don’t blame yourself, you did everything right.”

He scoffs. “Not as right as you.”

“I’ve been doing this a lot longer than you have, Denny,” You counter. “You’ll get used to it, I promise. And, I’ve got your back. Always.”

He nods, his frustration finally coming to the surface, spilling out with his words. “Would be a lot easier if the entire department wanted to sleep with me.”

You stiffen, and he doesn’t see the way your face drops. 

“What?” You ask, incredulously. 

“Surgeons don’t come quickly when I page,” He continues. “People aren’t lining up to make my life easier because they think I’m attractive.”

You don’t speak for a minute, but you push yourself away from him on the floor, hurt rising in your chest. 

“And if they were? I at least wouldn’t be entertaining it in front of you,” He adds. “Is that why you always want to look nice at work? So people will trip over themselves to try and impress you?”

You blink a few times. 

“Is that really what you think?” You ask, already standing up, wanting to put as much distance between you and him as possible. “Cool, good to know.”

You’re gone before he can say anything else. 

Somehow, because the universe hates you, you end up in a trauma together during the last thirty minutes of your shift. 

Your entire demeanor changes the second you see that he’s in there, silently adjusting oxygen settings and doing whatever you’re asked as everyone works around you. Dennis keeps trying to catch your eye, but you barely look in his direction, keeping all your focus on staying fucking professional. 

Jack, who showed up shortly after the pile-up was on the news, notices the tension between the two of you right away.

“Everything okay?” He asks, mostly to you. 

“Yep,” You say. “You want BiPAP?”

“Yeah, and let’s page ortho for that arm,” He says, raising an eyebrow, watching closely as you set the mask up. “Then you can get out of here, pass this off to the nightshift.”

“Great,” You say. “Thanks, Jack.”

“Anytime, kiddo.”

“You wanna’ give them a call, let Park flirt with you again?” Princess asks, to which you shake your head. 

“Not this time, sorry,” You say, a tight smile on your face. “Can’t pull that card too often, people might start questioning my clinical abilities.”

Dennis goes completely still over the chest, one hand holding the diaphragm of his stethoscope mid-air. Jack raises an eyebrow, barely looking up from his task.

“Why would that make someone question your clinical abilities?” He asks, to which you shrug, reaching for the BiPAP settings. 

“Beats me,” You say. “Eight over four?”

“Whitaker?” Jack asks. 

“Yeah, eight over four, please,” He says, giving you a quick nod. 

You adjust them accordingly. “Anything else I can do for you, Dr. Whitaker?”

He glances up at you, shaking his head. “No, uh, thank you.”

Your last name stumbles awkwardly out of his mouth at the end of the sentence, and Jack watches as you leave before turning back to Dennis.

“That was fun,” Jack says. “You wanna’ tell me what happened?”

“Not really,” Dennis mumbles. 

You’re standing by the central hub when Park comes back down into the department, pivoting away from the room and instead heading towards you, calling your name to get your attention. 

“Hey,” You greet, giving him a small smile. “Here for two?”

“Yeah, the broken arm,” He says. “You intubate?”

“Nope, just BiPAP,” You answer. “They’re A&O times four.”

“Great,” He says. “You still somehow look amazing, even after that mass cas.”

Your response is foreign to him. He’s been harmlessly flirting with you for years, and both of you would go as far as saying the other is a friend, and you’ve always joked back or at least smiled. Now, you take a half step away from him, eyes flitting towards the trauma room, your expression neutral.

“Hey, don’t,” You say, making him chuckle a little. 

“Okay, sorry,” He says. “Didn’t realize I couldn’t compliment my favourite RT anymore.”

“Yeah, you know, we’re at work,” You say. 

“When are we not?”

Your eyes land on Dennis when he comes out of the room, only for a second, but Park turns around, seeing your boyfriend. 

“Did Whitaker say something?” He asks. 

“No, no, I just think we should keep it professional, okay?” You say, wanting today to end. “I’m sorry.”

“He said something,” He says. “After he choked in that trauma and lost his patient?”

“Don’t fucking say that,” You counter. 

“Did he take that out on you?” He questions. “Couldn’t handle the fact that you had to swoop in and save his ass?”

“I didn’t—I didn’t ‘save his ass,’” You argue. “I’m an airway specialist, I’ve had to step in for practically every doctor in this department at least once. I lost that patient just as much as he did, and he didn’t do anything wrong.”

The nurses at the hub go completely silent, quickly acting as though they weren’t listening to the conversation. Jack smirks, reminding himself to never get on your bad side. You look to Dennis again, who heard the majority of the exchange, before pushing off the desk. 

“I have handover,” You say. “See you later.”

Dennis reaches for you as you walk by. “Hey-”

You twist your body away, avoiding him entirely as you make it to the door, heading back up to the ICU without another word. Trinity lets out a low whistle, waiting until you’re gone before speaking. 

“You fucked up, Huckleberry,” She says. 

Dennis grits his teeth. “Yeah, I know.”

He’s actually shocked to see you waiting for him outside the ER once he’s finished. 

You’re leaning against a pillar, headphones in, a grim look on your face. Trinity widens her eyes at Dennis, the look saying something along the lines of ‘fix this, you fucking idiot.’

She says bye to you as she walks past.

“Night, Santos,” You say, tugging your headphones out and putting them in your jacket pocket. Dennis approaches slowly, holding the straps of his backpack, head slightly tilted towards the floor. 

“I-”

“Can we stop and pick something up for dinner?” You ask, reaching for his hand, intertwining your fingers with his. “We don’t have any leftovers and I don’t feel like cooking.”

His fingers are frozen around yours for a second, then he curls them over your hand, falling in step beside you. 

“We can do whatever you want,” He says. “Do you want me to take you home first? Then I can go-”

“No, I wanna’ come with you,” You interrupt, swinging your arm a little, leaning into him like you usually do. He’s warm, protecting you from the wind as you step outside. 

He doesn’t say anything as you walk to the car, just opening your door for you, shutting it as gently as he can before hopping in the driver’s seat. 

“You can pick what we eat,” You say. “My brain hurts.”

He nods. “Fair enough.”

You’re almost at your favourite restaurant when he speaks again. 

“You waited for me,” He says, quiet, a little nervous. 

“Of course I did,” You say. “Me being mad doesn’t mean we don’t go home together.”

You pause for a second. 

“You had a shitty day,” You add. “Let’s talk about it later, yeah?”

Later comes after you’ve both eaten, showered, and sat in silence for awhile, you tucked into his side on the couch and your cat curled up beside you. 

“Okay,” You say, making him jump a little. You shift away, turning so you’re facing him. He spins too, anxiety written all over his face. 

You take a deep breath. 

“You can’t talk to me like that,” You say, getting straight to the point. “Or even think about me like that.”

He nods, slowly, not wanting to sound remotely defensive. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t know,” You insist, keeping your tone from dipping into anything close to anger. “Because if you did you wouldn’t have said it.”

“I don’t think that about you,” He says. “Not at all.”

His voice wobbles a little. 

You inch a little closer, touching your knees to his, looping a finger into the bottom of his sweatpants, toying with the hem. 

“You’re so good at…everything,” He continues, swallowing roughly, clearing his throat. “I don’t know why seeing you so…fine in the middle of it all made me so upset.”

You shrug. “You had just lost a patient and felt like it was your fault.”

“Yeah, but that happens everyday,” He counters. “And you come and fix my mistakes everyday. I don’t usually react like that.”

“Are you looking for help psychoanalyzing yourself?” You ask, the tone a bit teasing. 

He smiles. “A little, yeah.”

You purse your lips, shifting closer again. 

“Park was flirting with me in front of you,” You start. “I didn’t think anything of it because that’s the relationship we’ve always had. You felt...bad about that.”

You stop, realizing that sounded better in your head. 

“Tell me if I’m wrong, please,” You add, and he nods, gesturing for you to continue. “You lost a patient after having to pass the intubation to me, and I don’t think it being me had anything to do with it. You would’ve been upset no matter who took over, because you felt like you should’ve been able to get that airway.”

His face flickers, and you can tell that you’ve said something that doesn’t completely resonate. 

“It did matter that it was you,” He corrects, gently. “I…I always wanted to impress you when we worked at the clinic, and I still do. Even five years later.”

“You do impress me,” You promise. “Every single day. Do you have any idea how proud I am of you?”

You don’t give him the chance to answer. 

“I tell literally anyone who will listen that my boyfriend is the most caring, patient, amazing doctor every chance I get,” You continue. “I’ve seen so many interns in that emergency room and you’re better than all of them. And I’m not just saying that because I’m in love with you.”

“Wait, you’re in love with me?” He asks, smiling, the joke making you grin, the tension genuinely starting to loosen now. 

“Extremely,” You say.

He clenches his jaw, on the verge of tears. 

“I love you so much,” He says. “And I know that your job is just as hard as mine, and that people finding you attractive doesn’t make it any easier.”

You squint, tilting your head to the side. “Well…”

He wipes a tear off his cheek, chuckling. “Yeah, the thing with Park was pretty helpful.”

“Sometimes people listen more,” You say. “Sometimes they don’t take me seriously. It balances out.”

He nods. “Right.”

His hand moves towards you, but he hesitates, placing it back in his lap. 

“I had no right to say that to you,” He says. “Not during a mass cas, not ever. I’m so sorry, angel.”

“I know you are,” You say, reaching for his hand, taking it in your own. “I’m still upset, but-”

You feel him stiffen, eyes dropping to your lap, more tears pooling on his lashline. 

“Hey, I’m not going anywhere,” You say. 

He squeezes his eyes shut, nodding. “Okay.”

“I’m still upset, but I just need time,” You continue. “And I need you to not do that again.”

“I won’t,” He says, opening his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

An hour later you’re curled up on the couch, a blanket over you, the light from the TV flickering over your face. You’re not really paying attention, but it’s nice to have in the background as you process the day while Dennis busies himself in the kitchen, putting your leftovers away and making some tea. 

He sets a mug in front of you on the coffee table, earning a tired smile from you. He looks towards the couch, then back to you. 

“Can I—”

You sit up a little, nodding. 

“You don’t have to ask,” You say. 

He sits beside you, leaving a few inches of space, not wanting to overstep. You lean over, setting your head in his lap, pulling the blanket up to your jaw and putting your hand on his thigh. He exhales with relief, slipping a hand under the blanket and resting his arm across your chest. 

Trinity barely gives him a second to put his bag in his locker before she’s on him the next day, her arms folded over her chest as she squints slightly. 

“What?” Dennis asks, his actions slowing when he notices her. 

“Did you apologize?” She questions, and he sighs. 

“Yes, of course I did,” He says. 

“So, you guys are good?”

“Why are you so invested?” He asks, holding the door open for her as they both walk out of the locker room. 

Trinity hesitates on the answer for a second. 

“She’s Garcia’s best friend,” She says. “That means I give a fuck about her, too.”

“Oh, yeah?” Dennis says, smiling a bit. “You’re that serious now, huh?”

“Shut up,” Trinity counters. “I’m glad you didn’t fuck anything up too badly.”

He exhales sharply. “Me too.”

Gossip spread fast about you and Dennis acting ‘weird’ towards eachother yesterday, so all eyes are on the two of you when you’re paged to help with a conscious nasotracheal intubation. You join the small group of people outside the patient’s room, already having been briefed on the situation by Dana. 

“Just in time,” Cassie says, making room for you in the circle. “We were just going over the plan.”

“Great, keep going,” You say, glancing towards Dennis for a second, who’s already looking at you, giving him a small smile. He returns it, along with a nod, then both of you focus on Cassie again. 

“We’ll topicalize, that’ll be you,” She says, setting her hand on your shoulder for a moment. 

“Got it,” You say. “Who’s doing first pass?”

“Uh, me,” Dennis says, raising his hand up a fraction. “Never done one outside the cadaver lab, so…”

You smile again. “Cool, sounds good.”

“We want to work quickly to avoid any complications,” Cassie emphasizes. “We need all meds ready, and second pass is you, too. What meds do you prefer?”

The reliance that she shows on you makes Dennis’ heart race, and not in a bad way this time.

You don’t hesitate—because you never do. Not because people make your job easier, but because you know your shit. 

“Atomized lidocaine, four percent for MAD,” You say. “Viscous lidocaine for the passageway and a little phenylephrine is what I’d start with.”

“Nasal spray or pledgets?” Cassie asks. 

“Pledgets,” You answer. “Let it sit for sixty seconds.”

“Okay, perfect,” Cassie says. “Whitaker, can you walk us through the plan step by step, please?”

“Oh, uh, Princess and Jesse will prep meds, I’ll insert the pledgets with…point two-five PE?” 

He looks to you after asking, and you nod. 

“Let those sit for a minute, set up suction, administer viscous lido,” He continues. “Start numbing the airway with MAD, give fent as needed for comfort while keeping her awake. Then I’ll do first pass.”

“You want me to set up your tray?” You ask. 

He nods. “That would help, yeah, thank you.”

“You got it.”

Everyone can see that you’re slightly different with eachother, but not in the way they thought you might be. They expected a day filled with awkward tension, maybe even wished for it, but the two of you are just…softer. Leaving less unspoken than you usually would, making sure you communicate everything you need. 

“Okay, let’s get in there,” Cassie says, and the five of you step inside the room. 

You introduce yourself to the patient before Cassie can do it for you, saying your first name and walking over to the side of her bed. 

“I’m a respiratory therapist,” You say, smiling, reassuring the patient with ease. “We’re gonna’ get you breathing better, yeah?”

“Yeah, right,” She says, smiling back, but her voice is laced with anxiety. 

“You’re gonna’ do great,” You say. “You’ve got a really good team here.”

Dennis feels his chest and neck start to heat up when you look directly at him as you say it. 

You move towards the cart, opening drawers and setting up the intubation tray for Dennis, placing two tubes down incase the larger one doesn’t fit. He walks her through what he’s doing as he moves, inserting the cotton and explaining what she’ll feel once it starts to kick in. You set up the MAD, coming back to the side of the bed once you’re done, viscous lidocaine in hand.

“I’m gonna’ put some of this in both nostrils, okay?” You say, showing her the syringe. “It’s like a jelly, it’ll be a little cold. Ready?”

She nods, leaning her head back. You apply the medication, handing the empty syringe to Princess. You pick up the MAD again.

“This’ll slowly go down your throat so I can numb your airway,” You explain. “It might not feel super nice, but there shouldn’t be any pain. If it hurts just grab my arm and I’ll stop.”

You advance the tube into her nose, the pacing muscle memory, keeping an eye on her to make sure she’s okay as you work. 

“Push the fent,” Cassie says. Princess does. 

“Almost there,” You say, eyes on the monitor. “You’re doing great, almost done.”

You pull out once you’re finished. “Dr. Whitaker’s gonna’ put the tube in now, okay?”

“Same thing, goes in slow,” He says. “Let me know if it hurts.”

You shift to stand beside him, not too close, just wanting him to know that you’re there. He takes the tube in his hand, gently inserting it into her nostril. 

She coughs at one point, her sats dipping for a second, making him look at the monitor. 

“Feels awful even with the numbing, I know,” You say. “Slow, deep breaths.”

She listens, the coughing fading out, her chest rising and falling more rhythmically now. You give Dennis a nod. 

You set up the vent once the tube is in place, then you step outside, finding a computer to start charting at. He comes out a few minutes later, landing beside you, making you look over. 

“Thank you,” He says. “You were amazing in there.”

“I try,” You say, teasingly. “You did great too, you didn’t even need me.”

“I did,” He counters. “I always do.”

Robby calling his name cuts the moment short, and he glances over his shoulder before looking at you again, quickly. 

“See you later?” He says.

You nod. “Yeah, I’ll be around.”

tags:

@libbyqypu @lulusa27 @futuremrscameron @esposadomd @findingjaxx @scouser-villanelle @filthgf @kysosa @lilyyexe @mythology-dragon @abbotafterhours @superlegend216 @maebyi @sephiexlove @realizemandi97 @yixo3 @friendly-neighborhood-boricua @maytuscany @chickencrispers-666 @teenwolfbitches28 @vastscoutweapon @random-movie @milflover-72 @jocrice30 @goldfishenthusiast67 @xebiuzaograndao @darkhorrorutopia @flowerburner666 @massivecomfortable20 @thevoid-fics @p1asstri @davaga06 @kathylvr @paigewouldloveamilkshake @tswanie @lapizluuuz @abzidabzy @xreader1989 @knicoleworld @op81got @echosprite @veilmylife @lunadi1una @ilooksocute @bborra @nataliagianna01 @justarandomflowerchildofthenight @cvvtiinaa @amandjslpz @w1theredr0se @escapi3m

[sapiensecrets]

i've got you - dennis whitaker x f!reader

summary: you get a concussion while at work, courtesy of a med student panicking over a bit of blood.

pairings: dennis whitaker x RT!reader (respiratory therapist) cw/tags: head injuries (obviously) including a concussion and a scalp laceration. established relationship, no use of y/n. emetophobes BEWARE! includes nausea and vomiting (twice), dizziness, headaches, etc etc. ct scans, staples, medications (zofran, compazine, lorazepam aka ativan), ivs/needles. typical pitt warnings (blood and medical procedures). fluff, hurt/comfort, swearing, yes evil whitaker is responsible for your injury but it's accidental okay! everyone being extremely worried about you including dennis obviously. garcia calls you 'hot shot' like once i think! one tiny mention that you and dennis have a cat but can be ignored if you...don't want that lol word count: 4.7k dennis x RT!reader masterlist general masterlist taglist sort of requested here (I did not write exactly that sorry!) and there's a lot of messages in my inbox regarding hot shot and dennis angst so shout out to all of u as well!!

“Hey, can you get a VBG for fifteen?” Samira asks. “I wanna’ see if it’s come up since he’s been intubated.”

“Definitely,” You say, already pulling up the chart on your tablet, nodding. “I’ll go right now.”

“Could I observe?” Ogilvie questions, perking up from where he’s standing, having heard the brief exchange. 

You look at Samira, who shrugs. “Your call.”

“Sure, come on,” You say, already walking towards the patient’s room. “You ever done one?”

“A VBG?” He clarifies. “A couple.”

“Great, you can get more practice,” You say, pushing the door open. 

He smiles. “Seriously?”

“Yep,” You confirm, already grabbing the syringe he needs from one of the drawers, setting up a tray. “The less work for me the better.”

You ask him a few questions as he sets himself up, leaning over his shoulder to watch what he’s doing—how deep he needs to go, what angle, which vein. He answers without hesitation, unsurprisingly, and you nod for him to go ahead. The blood fills quickly, and he pulls the needle out once he’s done, capping it and setting it on the tray beside him. 

His eyes widen when he turns back to the patient, seeing blood dripping off his arm and onto the floor. 

“Oh, shit,” He says, not realizing that you’re right behind him, already holding a wad of gauze. He pushes back on the stool, reaching for the drawers, knocking you off balance when it collides with your knee. 

You step back to try and catch yourself, not realizing that the suction canister is sitting farther from the bed than usual, making you fully trip. You try to grab something, but it’s futile, and you feel something sharp thack against the back of your head before you’re on the ground. White spots flash across your vision. 

“Oh my god, are you okay?” Ogilvie asks, eyes leaving the patient, who’s still bleeding. 

You blink, embarrassment washing over you. “Yeah, I’m good—hold pressure.”

“Right, right,” He says, finally grabbing gauze and pressing it to the wound. “Did you hit your head on the monitor?”

Ah. That’s what it was.

“Possibly,” You say, carefully pushing yourself to your feet and setting a hand against the back of your head. It’s warm, and you already know that there’s going to be blood on your fingers when you pull away. You grab more gauze for yourself, moving your hair out of the way to get it as close to your scalp as possible.

“Are you bleeding?” Ogilvie asks, a small amount of horror in his voice. 

“I’m fine, you know scalp lacs bleed like crazy,” You insist. “Keep holding pressure, it’s just because he’s on anti-coags.”

You continue to watch him for a few minutes, until the bleeding slows enough to put a dressing over the wound, all while trying to keep your own under control. By the time Ogilvie’s finished you’re starting to feel a bit nauseous, dizzy, and your head throbs with your movements. 

“You need a CT,” Ogilvie says, holding the door open for you. “Again, I am so sorry-”

“Hey, it was an accident, you’re alright,” You promise. “You can make it up to me by finding some dermabond.”

“What happened to you?” Dana calls, speedwalking towards you, setting a hand on your shoulder as she looks you over. 

“I tripped on the suction canister,” You explain. “I’m okay, seriously, Ogilvie’s already grabbing dermabond.”

Dana ignores you, spinning you around to look at the injury. She pulls the gauze away, despite your protests, shaking her head. 

“This is not a dermabond situation, sweetheart,” She says. “Let me see what’s open.”

“There’s no need for that,” You counter, but it’s no use, because she’s already looking up at the board. 

She steers you towards an open room, holding the door for you, keeping her hand up to guide you inside. You sigh, stepping in, sitting on the bed when she gestures for you to. She lifts the head up so you can stay upright, then passes you a new piece of gauze, throwing the old one in the biohazard bin. 

“I’ll be right back,” She says. “Don’t go anywhere.”

Frank opens the door thirty seconds later, Dana hot on his heels. He smiles a bit, raising his eyebrows. 

“You better not be out for the day,” He jokes. “I don’t want to spend the rest of my shift without an RT.”

You roll your eyes, the action sending a shot of pain through your head. “Just put some staples back there, or whatever, then I’ll be fine.”

He leans over, already pulling his penlight out. “Can you tell me your name and where you are?”

“Seriously?” You ask, but he doesn’t let up. You say your name, first and last. “I’m at PTMC.”

“Great,” He says, flicking the light away and taking your hands in his. “Squeeze my fingers.”

You do, satisfactorily. Frank steps back as the door opens again, revealing Robby. 

“What happened here?” He asks. 

“She fell and hit her head on a monitor,” Dana explains, clearly having gotten the full story from Ogilvie while she was gone. “Occipital laceration, bleeding pretty badly, about three centimetres long.”

“Neuro exam okay,” Frank adds. “Do you have any pain, nausea, or dizziness?”

“My head hurts a little,” You admit. “But other than that it’s fine.”

Robby watches as Frank leans you forward, examining the cut himself. You stop yourself from grimacing when he palpates the surrounding area. 

“Yeah, sorry, that’s gonna’ need a couple staples,” He decides, letting you sit back again as he stands up. “You want a CT to be safe?”

Robby thinks for a second. “Let’s hold off for now, but you’re staying down here for the time being.”

“As long as I don’t have to be the one to break that news,” You say. Everyone chuckles, and Dana volunteers to let the ICU know what’s going on. Robby steps closer, arms over his chest, face comforting. 

“You want me to give Whitaker a call?” He asks. You shake your head, immediately regretting the action. 

“He’s probably still sleeping,” You say, seeing that it’s only nine on the clock hanging on the wall. “I’ll talk to him later.”

He nods. “Okay, come find me if anything changes.”

“Will do,” Frank says, already logging on to the computer, making a chart for you and filling it in. He asks you about allergies, prior injuries, and a handful of other things before Dana comes back. She sets up a tray for the staples, then draws up lidocaine. Frank puts on a new pair of gloves, taking his place beside you. 

“Lean forward, hon,” Dana says, and you listen, giving them access to the wound. Frank picks up the syringe, adjusting his grip on it and placing the other hand on the back of your head. 

“Small pinch,” He says, inserting it. You clench your teeth for a second, but then the worst of it is over. He pulls back, passing the empty syringe to Dana, who disposes of it. “Some pressure as the staples go in, doing okay?”

“Yep, all good,” You say, feeling the tool press against your head. A resounding ‘snap’ echoes in the room when he puts the first one in, making you flinch. 

“Still okay?” He asks, moving higher up the laceration. 

“Mhm,” You hum. The next few are easier, and he’s finished in a few minutes. Dana disinfects the area as he updates your chart. 

“Alright, just hangout for a bit, yeah?” He says. “Let us know if anything changes.”

“Okay, I will,” You say. “Thank you.”

You’re only alone for about twenty minutes before Dana comes back. 

“How’s it going?” She asks, and you give her a smile. 

“Good, no changes,” You say. “My head still hurts, but nothing crazy.”

She does another neuro check, making sure everything’s functioning the way it should be. Your vision starts to swim a little as she’s finishing up, making you blink a few times, trying to clear it. She frowns at the action, ducking so she’s in your line of sight. 

“You alright?” 

You swallow, still blinking, trying to quell the nausea that’s building in your chest. 

“Uh, I’m a little nauseous,” You admit. “Dizzy, too.”

“Okay, that’s alright,” She promises, setting a hand on your knee, squeezing it. “Lean back, close your eyes if you need to.”

You listen, screwing them shut, taking a few deep breaths. 

“I’m gonna’ go grab Langdon,” She says.

You start to get anxious when the feelings don’t subside after a couple minutes. Your head is still throbbing, you feel like the room is spinning, and the nausea is unlike any you’ve experienced before. 

“Litre of LR, four of zofran?” Frank suggests, and Robby nods. Princess has taken Dana’s spot, setting up your IV. Robby watches as your heart and respiratory rate tick upwards on the monitor, and he can see the nerves creeping in on your face. He sits beside your bed, wheeling the stool close, resting his arms on the guardrail. 

You don’t look at him. You’re avoiding moving your head as much as possible, and you don’t think you can take his casually disapproving gaze right now. 

“We’ve got you,” He promises. 

“I know,” You insist, trying to keep your breathing even. Princess hangs the requested fluids and medication on the IV pole, adjusting the pump settings. 

“I think we should get a CT,” Frank says. 

“Agreed,” Robby confirms, and your heart rate jumps as you close your eyes again. The three of them exchange a look, but no one gets the chance to say anything before you speak. 

“Can you call Dennis, please?” 

“Absolutely,” Robby says. “I’ll do it right now.”

“You might have to call twice to get it to go through,” You say, eyes still closed.

“Okay,” Robby says. “I’ll get a hold of him, don’t worry.”

He steps out, already unlocking his phone and clicking on Dennis’ contact. He heads towards the central hub as the line rings, leaning against the desk. 

“Calling Whitaker?” Dana asks. Robby nods, hearing the intern’s voicemail. He calls again, just like you said he might have to, putting the phone to his ear.

“Hello?” Dennis’ voice comes through, slower than usual, a byproduct of the phonecall pulling him out of a deep sleep. 

“Hey, it’s Robby,” He says. “Sorry to wake you.”

“All good,” Dennis says. “You need some extra hands?”

“Actually, no,” Robby clarifies, then he says your name. “She hit her head earlier, gave herself a pretty decent head lac. She’s probably got a concussion, and we’re sending her to CT to be safe.”

There’s rustling on the other end. 

“What’s going on?” He asks, the phone clearly now on speaker as he gets himself together. 

“Neuro exam is normal, but she’s not feeling great,” Robby explains. “Dizziness, nausea, headache. She’s getting some fluids and Zofran right now.”

“Okay, uh, I’ll be right there,” He says. “Thanks for calling, Robby.”

“Yep, ‘course,” Robby says. “See you soon.”

Frank watches as Princess takes your hand in her’s, patting it a few times, trying to reassure you. You haven’t opened your eyes since Robby left, and you keep shifting as your anxiety continues to rise. You feel as though you're on a boat, even with your eyes closed, and the Zofran has barely touched the nausea. 

Robby comes back in. 

“You talked to him?” You ask. 

“He’s on his way,” He says, looking at your monitor. “Do you want some lorazepam?”

You think for a moment, wondering if you can make it until Dennis gets here, but the tachycardia is starting to get uncomfortable. 

“Yeah, please,” You say. 

“Dr. Langdon?” 

“One milligram,” Frank says, and Princess goes to grab the medication. “Any estimate on when CT will be ready?”

“Hopefully soon,” Robby says. 

Keeping your eyes closed is starting to not be enough to keep the nausea manageable, but you do not want to throw up right now. You focus on your breathing, fingers curling into the sheets. 

“How’s the Zofran feel?” Frank asks. You don’t dare open your mouth, simply giving him a thumbs down in response. “Alright, you think you could swallow a pill?”

You shake your head. 

“Okay, we’ll get you some more through your IV,” He says, trying to reassure you as best he can. “I’ll go find Princess.”

Robby silently grabs a bin, placing it beside you on the bed before reaching over and dimming the lights. You place the bin on your lap, relishing in the sensation of the cold metal against your fingertips. 

“You’re doing great,” He says. 

Princess and Frank come back a few minutes later, and she administers the medications. He does a repeat neuro check, which makes you feel even worse, but at least there’s still nothing suggesting it’s anything more than a concussion. 

Trinity sees Dennis first, making her brows furrow. He’s wearing jeans and a sweater, his curls more chaotic than usual as he walks through the doors, looking around as though he’s trying to find something. 

“Hey, what are you doing here?” She asks, stepping away from the trauma room that she just finished up in. “Missed me too much?”

He barely reacts, he just says your name. “She hit her head earlier, Robby called me.”

“Oh, shit,” Trinity says. “She okay?”

“Sounds like she’s got a concussion,” He says, walking further into the department, Trinity beside him. Dana sees him coming closer, and she calls his name. 

“She’s in fifteen,” She says. He nods, pivoting towards the room. Trinity follows, at least wanting to lay eyes on you before she gets back to work. Dennis pushes the door open, slowly, seeing that the lights are dimmed. Trinity steps in after him, closing it behind her to keep as much noise out as possible. 

Robby’s been pulled away, but Frank’s still in there with you, his hands on the railing as he watches your vitals. You’re clammy and visibly shaking now that the adrenaline has fully worn off, leaving you with nothing to work with. Your hands are clutching the emesis bin like your life depends on it, breathing slow and uneven as you try to keep it together. You don’t open your eyes when he walks in, assuming that it’s Princess or Robby coming back to check on you. 

“Hey, he’s here,” Frank says, softly, and you squint. Relief crashes over you at the sight of your boyfriend, and tears start to pool along your lower lash line. He’s by your side in a second, setting a comforting hand on your thigh, squeezing it softly. 

“Hey, sweet girl,” He says, keeping his voice down, not wanting to make your headache worse. “How’s-”

You lean forward, throwing up, cutting him off. He jumps into action, steadying the bin with one hand and putting the other on your upper back, rubbing softly. 

“Okay, it’s okay, I’ve got you,” Dennis murmurs, taking the tissues that Trinity’s holding out once you’re seemingly finished. Frank takes the bin wordlessly, passing you a bag instead. Dennis keeps his hand on you, but he looks towards your monitor, then to Frank. 

“First episode,” He says. Dennis nods, helping you lean back, letting you take the tissues from him and wipe your mouth. 

You slump against the bed, curling into yourself slightly, tears starting to drip down your cheeks. 

“Den,” You whisper, reaching for his hand. He takes it, coming closer, kissing your hairline before taking a seat on the stool. 

“I’m here,” He says. “Do you feel any better?”

“No,” You say, voice trembling. Your heart rate has come down with the lorazepam on board, and the nausea has eased a touch, but your head hurts worse now. “Not really.”

“I’m gonna’ call CT, see how much longer,” Frank says, leaving the room. Trinity leaves too, not wanting to hover. 

He doesn’t talk for a minute, instead lifting his hand, pushing some hair off your forehead. He rubs his thumb over your cheek a few times, closely listening to your shaky inhales, making sure you’re okay. 

“What’s the prognosis?” You mumble, leaning into him. He smiles. 

“Probably a concussion,” He says. “You’re alert and oriented, tracking well—some vomiting’s expected.”

You nod, fingers curling into the sleeve of his sweater, moving to play with the ring that he wears whenever he isn’t at work, spinning it. He flattens his hand out, letting you focus on the movement, not saying anything. 

“Knock knock,” Princess says. “Antoine’s gonna’ get you up to CT.”

Antoine waves as he steps into your room. “How’s it going, kid?”

“Okay,” You say, begrudgingly letting go of Dennis’ ring, letting him put his hand in his lap. Antoine makes sure your bed is ready to move, then he sets his hands on the guardrail as Princess takes the other side. 

“I’ll be here when you get back,” Dennis says. “You’re gonna’ be fine, promise.”

You nod, keeping your eyes on him for as long as you can, then shutting them the second the bright overhead lights hit. You cover your face with your arm, making Dennis frown as he steps out behind you, trailing off once you’re past the nurses station. He can’t go with you, despite how badly he wants to. Robby comes out of a room as you’re wheeled by. 

“CT?” He asks. Princess nods, pushing you towards the elevators. 

Frank catches Robby before he can make it to Dennis, gesturing in your direction. “She had a single episode of vomiting, but seemed a bit better after that.”

Robby nods, humming. “Probably had more to do with him showing up than anything else.”

Dana smiles when she overhears that, glancing over at Dennis, who has both hands in his pockets as he watches you go.

“How you doing, Whitaker?” She asks, coming over to him, setting her tablet down on the counter. 

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine,” He insists, then pauses, hesitating. “She looked…worse than I expected, I guess.”

Dana hums. “The nausea came on pretty fast, before that she was insisting that she just needed a little dermabond.”

He laughs a little, shifting his weight between his feet. “Sounds about right.”

“She stubborn?” Dana asks, smiling. 

“No, well, a little,” He admits. “Doesn’t really like to be ‘babied.’”

The quotes around the last word make Dana chuckle.

“She must’ve been feeling pretty crappy then, hey?” She says, and Dennis nods. 

“Yeah,” He says, frowning.

Dana rests her hand on his arm for a second. “Why don’t we go get you some water?”

He watches the clock tick while he waits, allowing himself to feel anxious when it hits thirty minutes since you left. It should’ve only taken ten to get the image, maybe twenty total. Everyone else in the vicinity keeps glancing over too, awaiting your return. Frank’s moments away from calling to figure out where you are when the elevator dings, and Princess and Antoine wheel your bed back into the department. 

Dennis stands, wiping his hands on his jeans. You look worse, somehow, and Princess taps Frank on the shoulder as she walks by. She leans in, saying something to him before pushing you back into your room. Dennis waits for a second, letting them get you back in place. 

Frank slips past Antoine as he’s leaving, standing beside your bed. “Status?”

“Neuro’s still good,” Princess says. “Another vomiting episode before we got upstairs, but the nausea’s better now, right?”

“Yeah, mostly,” You say, already closing your eyes, fatigue starting to take over. 

“How’s the pain?” He asks. 

“Not…great.”

“Yeah, I bet,” He says. “As soon as your CT comes back we’ll talk about pain meds, okay?”

“Okay,” You say. “Where’s Den?”

“Right here,” Dennis says, stepping fully into the room, letting the door close behind him. “How you doing?”

You smile when he sits on the stool, putting his hand back where it was, letting you fiddle with his ring again. “A bit better.”

“Good,” He breathes. 

“Let’s do two more of Zofran,” Frank says, quietly, and Princess nods. “I’ll be back once we get results.”

You’re falling asleep when you’re left alone again, Dennis watching your chest rise and fall, holding your hand. You grimace when the dizziness returning with a vengeance. He notices immediately. 

“What’s going on?” He asks, shifting closer. 

“Dizzy,” You answer. 

“Okay, just keep your eyes closed,” He says, checking your vitals quickly. “I’ve got you, angel.”

He lowers the guardrail, his knees touching the edge of the mattress, letting you hold both his hands tightly until it passes. Your grip relaxes, and you slowly open your eyes, exhaling with relief when you confirm that it’s over. 

“Better?” He asks, and you nod. 

He eventually puts his arms on your bed, resting his head on them, keeping his eyes on you while you sleep. 

Robby knocks half an hour later, and Dennis stands up, moving quietly. He blinks, trying to adjust to the chaos of the rest of the department once he’s out of your room. 

“How’s she doing?” Robby asks, and he nods. 

“Okay, yeah,” He says. “CT back yet?”

Robby hands him the tablet, showing your scan. He lets go of a breath when he realizes that it looks completely normal, scrolling to read the radiologist’s comments, which confirm exactly that. 

“All clear,” Robby says. “We’ll monitor her for a few hours, make sure she can keep things down, then you can take her home.”

Dennis passes the tablet back. “Thanks, Robby.”

“Of course,” He says. “Get back in there.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. 

A few people come and go over the next few hours, but they mostly leave the two of you alone, trusting Dennis to come find someone if anything changes while you rest. Dana brings another blanket by at one point, draping it over his shoulders without a word. One of the ICU nurses comes down with your belongings, quickly asking him how you’re doing before leaving too. He notices the way people keep poking their heads over the frosted glass, which makes his chest warm with how much everyone cares about you. 

You wake up around one, eyes fluttering open, and Dennis immediately lifts his head up. 

“Hi,” He says. 

“Hi,” You repeat, quiet, squinting a little despite the lights being off. “My CT come back?”

“Yeah, yeah,” He says. “Everything looks great, but you’ve got a pretty bad concussion.”

You nod. “Could be worse, I guess.”

“Definitely,” He agrees, moving closer, picking your hand up and intertwining your fingers. “I’m really glad you’re okay.”

“I’m sorry if I scared you, Denny,” You whisper. “I didn’t think it was that bad.”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for,” He insists. “But you did scare me a little.”

The door opens slowly, making both of you look over. Frank steps inside, smiling when he sees that you’re up.

“You’re awake,” He says. “How’s it going?”

You shrug. “Bad. But better.”

“I’ll take it,” He says. “How’s the pain?”

“Not the worst,” You answer. 

“Nausea? Dizziness?”

“Yes and yes,” You say. “Not as bad as before, though.”

“Okay, I'll get you some Compazine, and then maybe you can try to eat something?” He suggests. “If that helps then I’ll send you home. Usually, I’d keep you overnight, but I think Whitaker’s got you covered.”

You laugh a little. “Sounds good, Langdon, thank you.”

He gives the okay for you to go home a few hours later, once you’ve perked up a bit and your headache and nausea is under control. Dennis helps you off the bed, holding your discharge papers, letting you lean against him once you’re on your feet. He takes your hand in his own, holding the door open. 

“Hey, heading home?” Robby asks, stopping in front of the two of you. 

“Yeah, good to go,” Dennis says, holding the discharge papers up. 

“Good, I’m glad you’re okay,” He says, looking at you, giving you a soft smile and setting his hand on your shoulder for a second. “Would hate to lose my favourite respiratory therapist.”

You smile. “You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried, Robby.”

He points at Dennis. “I better not see you in this hospital for at least a week.”

“Yes sir,” Dennis says, definitely not wanting to argue that. He’d stay home with you for months if he had to to make sure you were okay. “See you next week, boss.”

Other people tell you to feel better as you go, letting you know that they’re happy it wasn’t anything serious, then you finally make it through the front doors. The bright, summer sun beams down on you, making your head spin. Your grip on Dennis’ hand tightens, and he stops, turning to look at you. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks. 

You exhale. “Dizzy. Again. One second.”

He adjusts his grip, holding your lower back, keeping you upright. You try to breathe through it, but that doesn’t work—the dizziness just gets worse.

“Let’s sit down for a minute,” He says, guiding you over to a bench. “Deep breaths.”

He positions himself so the sun isn’t hitting your face, keeping a hand on your shoulder until you open your eyes again. 

“I’m gonna’ go grab the car,” He says. “I’ll be right back.”

You’ve never been happier to be home in your entire life. 

Dennis sets you up on the couch, propping your head up with a few pillows and tucking a blanket around you once you’ve changed out of your scrubs. You sit in silence as he moves, closing blinds and turning on a few lamps that won’t be too hard on your eyes. 

“What am I supposed to do?” You ask, dramatically. “I can’t read, I can’t go on my phone, I can’t watch TV.”

He laughs a little, poking his head over the back of the couch. “I’ll keep you entertained.”

“Really?” You ask, grinning. 

“Absolutely,” He says, going over to the bookshelf, scanning the several options that you’ve collected over the years. He pulls your favourite off, then sits in one of the chairs. You whine, extending your hands towards him, making him smile. 

You lift your head up, pushing the pillows onto the ground and letting him take their place. He smoothes your hair back once your head is on his lap, before opening the book and reading aloud. You fall asleep within minutes, and he just watches, scratching your scalp gently, making sure to avoid your staples. 

He moves you into the bedroom at one point, putting your cat in there with you, smiling when he curls up on the bed beside you. He opens the fridge just after six, frowning at the lack of food, already thinking about what he could order you for dinner. Then, there’s a knock on the door, making him raise an eyebrow. 

Garcia’s standing on the other side, holding a bag of takeout, along with a few plastic bags. 

“Dr. Garcia,” Dennis says. “What’re you doing here?”

“Santos texted me, said Hot Shot lost a fight with a monitor today,” She says. “I brought dinner and some groceries for the next few days so you don’t have to leave the house.”

She thrusts them towards him, and he’s stuck for a moment, but then he takes them in his arms. 

“Oh, uhm, thank you,” He says, setting everything on the bench by the door. “That’s…really nice.”

She nods, moving on from his gratitude quickly. “How’s she doing?” 

“Her head hurts, and she’s still pretty nauseous,” He explains. “I can give her some more Zofran in a bit.”

“CT was fine?”

“Yeah, totally clean,” He says. “She should be back to normal in a couple weeks.”

Garcia exhales, and Dennis thinks it’s the most emotion he’s ever seen her show. “Good, I’m glad she’s alright.”

“Me too.”

“Take care of her,” She continues. “Let me know if you need anything else, okay? I can come babysit if you’ve got anywhere to be tomorrow, and people are already fighting over who gets to bring dinner for the next few days.”

“Okay, yeah, will do,” He says, slightly shocked by the amount of support. “Thanks again.”

“Have a good night, Huckleberry.”

A/N - love u currently working on a little part two to self explanatory and also poly!garsantos x reader 🤩🤩🤩

tags:

@libbyqypu @lulusa27 @futuremrscameron @esposadomd @findingjaxx @scouser-villanelle @snoopysnote @kysosa @lilyyexe @mythology-dragon @abbotafterhours @superlegend216 @maebyi @sephiexlove @realizemandi97 @yixo3 @friendly-neighborhood-boricua @maytuscany @chickencrispers-666 @teenwolfbitches28 @vastscoutweapon @random-movie @milflover-72 @jocrice30 @goldfishenthusiast67 @xebiuzaograndao @darkhorrorutopia @flowerburner666 @massivecomfortable20 @thevoid-fics @p1asstri @davaga06 @kathylvr @paigewouldloveamilkshake @tswanie @lapizluuuz @abzidabzy @xreader1989 @knicoleworld @op81got @echosprite @veilmylife @lunadi1una @ilooksocute @bborra @nataliagianna01 @justarandomflowerchildofthenight @cvvtiinaa @amandjslpz @w1theredr0se @escapi3m

[sapiensecrets]

cold compress - dennis whitaker x f!reader

summary: you and dennis get interrupted while you're...messing around in a call room.

pairings: dennis whitaker x RT!reader (respiratory therapist)

cw/tags: no use of y/n, established relationship, smut (mdni) with afab!reader, fingering, unprotected piv, hickeys, bruising (obviously), biting, typical pitt warnings (depiction of car crash victims and their treatment, involving needle decomps, intubations, medications, compressions, etc etc), inappropriate workplace conduct (fucking in a call room, teasing from your coworkers during an ongoing trauma AND after, sexually suggestive remarks, flirting), dennis' muscles being hot and distracting, you have hair long enough to be tied back in a nondescript way, mentions of you having cleavage and nipples and you’re given visible hickeys. the colour of said hickeys is NOT described so you can picture whatever shade they would be on your skin! other than that no descriptions of you!! swearing. also idk if dennis' chain is a cross but...i made it one in this....so if you would find biting religious paraphernalia offensive then do not read this... word count: 4k dennis x RT!reader masterlist general masterlist taglist

inspired by this ask from my lovely lotus flower 🪷 anon, @libbyqypu and 2 hands by tate mcrae, particularly the line 'cause I want them all to see, you look good on top of me' because he looks exceptional on top of you your honour

Today’s shift has been brutal. 

Dennis has barely gotten a second to breathe all day, let alone chart or just sit down. Seven o’clock doesn’t come with the relief of finally getting to go home, no—it comes with the dread that he’ll be spending at least the next two hours catching up on notes, and he isn’t the only one. Trinity, Mel, and Frank are all scattered around at various computers, eyes half-closed and voices quiet as they dictate. Robby’s doing the same, minus the dictating—since he refuses to chart out loud for whatever reason. 

You come downstairs, hoodie on over your scrubs and backpack on your shoulders, swinging your hospital-issued lanyard around your hand. Your eyes pick over the central hub until you find him, approaching quietly, not wanting to interrupt the sentence he’s in the middle of. He gives you a quick smile as he finishes up, then sets the device on the desk. 

“Hey, you got my text, right?” He asks, pushing off his chair, standing up. 

“Mhm,” You hum, thrusting an iced coffee in his direction, one you had run out to get when he told you he’d be staying late. “Thought this might help.”

His eyes light up, more than they already had at the sight of you, taking it and setting it on his workstation. 

“It definitely will, thanks,” He says. “I’ll go grab the keys-”

“I’ll just hangout upstairs until you’re done,” You interrupt. “I already found a call room.”

He frowns. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” You insist. “Any chance you can spare fifteen minutes? I got dinner.”

Robby answers for him, sensing the way he’s about to decline and push through, even though he’s on his last legs. 

“Go have dinner with your girlfriend, we’ll be here when you get back,” He says. You raise your eyebrows at Dennis expectantly, gesturing in Robby’s direction.

“Boss says it’s okay,” You add. 

Dennis smiles, nodding. “Yeah, let’s go.”

He follows you upstairs, coffee in hand, rubbing his eyes a few times, trying to wake himself up. You push the call room door open, dropping your backpack on the desk, unzipping it and pulling out a few containers. It’s nothing too fancy, just some decent things from the cafeteria, but neither of you mind. You lay everything out while Dennis watches, eyes fond and chest warm. 

Your hands grab the bottom of your hoodie, pulling it over your head, revealing the black long-sleeve underneath. You don’t think twice as you toss it onto the bed, still focused on setting things up. Meanwhile, Dennis’ eyes fall, landing on the sliver of your waist that’s exposed between your waistband and shirt. He swallows, blinking quickly, already feeling heat spreading over his neck and cheeks. 

He’s almost gotten himself together by the time you’re done, but then you turn around. 

The long-sleeve is a v-neck, one that would be wildly inappropriate if you hadn’t been wearing a scrub shirt on top for your shift. Your necklace, the one he had saved so hard to get for your first birthday after you started dating, glints against your skin. Your chest is exposed, curves of your cleavage on display. Your pants hang low on your hips, and he knows every inch of you so well by now that he can practically see them through the fabric.

“I didn’t have much to work with,” You admit. “Figured it was better than nothing.”

Dennis nods, stepping towards you. “Yeah, no, this is really sweet, angel.”

You smile when he grabs your waist, pulling you close, kissing you quickly. 

“How mad would you be if I didn’t eat any of it?” He asks, voice just above a whisper, forehead resting against yours. You frown, face shifting with confusion, about to ask what’s wrong, he’s sure. He doesn’t let you. 

“There are…other things I’d rather do with my time,” He adds, tightening his grip on you, both thumbs dipping under your waistband. “But it’s completely fine if you don’t want-”

You take a second to recover, the proposition shocking, but then you’re all in, cutting him off. 

“Fuck the food,” You say lowly, looking over his shoulder towards the bed, the thrum of desire already settling in your stomach. He exhales, mouth tugging up into a small smile. He stares at you for a few seconds, then his lips are on yours again. It starts soft, but it spirals fast, your arms wrapping around his neck, lips locked. He slides his hands under your shirt, cold fingertips digging into your sides, sending a shiver down your spine. 

He pulls back for a moment, lifting your shirt over your head, tossing it off to the side. Your heart pumps against your sternum, blood rushing to your chest as you reconnect. You grab either side of his face, trying to get impossibly close, lips haphazard and frantic. Dennis’ movements aren’t any more precise, guiding you away from the table until you feel the wall against your back, both of you almost tripping over your own feet. He reaches towards your spine, unclasping your bra, letting it fall to the floor. 

He ducks his head down towards your chest, lips closing around your skin, nipping softly. You gasp, fingers threading through his hair as he leaves small bruises, barely leaving any skin unaffected. He eventually takes your nipple in his mouth, sucking hard.  

“Ah, Den,” You sigh, tilting your head back, eyes closing. He unties your scrub pants, shuffling them down your thighs along with your thong. He comes back up, kissing you again, chest heaving. You whimper against him when he drops a hand down, pushing two fingers inside of you. 

He doesn’t break the kiss as he pumps them up and down, feeling how you tighten momentarily, thighs clenching and legs already starting to quiver. You rock your hips in time with his fingers, needing more. 

“What do you want from me, angel?” He asks, the question murmured against your lips. 

You shake your head. “Anything you want.”

He lets out a breathy laugh, licking his lips. “Yeah, okay.”

You can still remember when you first started dating, when he would’ve asked if you were sure. Now he knows that you’re more than sure. 

He pulls his scrub top off, along with the t-shirt he was wearing underneath. You watch his chain fall back against his chest, his muscles rippling as he throws his clothes aside. His collarbones catch your eye, and you kiss the left one, then the right. You nip at the bone, knowing how sensitive he is there, then you give him a bruise to match the myriad he’s given you. It throws his focus for a second, his breath catching with a soft groan. 

He grabs the back of your thighs, setting you on the bed, climbing on top of you. He puts his lips back on you, starting just below your ribcage, leaving bruises and kisses all over your stomach. He continues down to your thighs, occasionally biting into your skin. You admire the gradient of hickeys he’s left, the ones on your chest already dark. You bite back a comment about him ‘marking his territory.’ 

He lifts his head, panting, one hand holding himself up on the mattress while he raises the other, turning his watch towards his face. The action is so unreasonably hot you have to bite the inside of your cheek to avoid moaning. 

“Eight minutes,” He comments, looking at you. His eyes are dark, matching your own. “I can get you off-”

“Don’t worry about me,” You breathe, eyes flicking between his face and his chain, which is hanging off his neck, swinging back and forth lightly. “Just fuck me, please.”

He raises an eyebrow, but he doesn’t object, especially when you reach out, fingers curling around the silver necklace. You tug on it, pulling him close. He fumbles with his own scrub pants, untying them and pushing them down, keeping them around his thighs. His muscles press against the elastic waistband, visibly flexing. 

“Jesus fuck,” You say, making him look at you, eyes wide. 

“Something wrong?” He asks, concern flashing on his features. 

“No, no, fuck, you’re just-” You pause, his thigh muscles still commanding your attention. “I love you so much, and you’re so hot.”

He smiles, all worry washing away. “I love you too, baby.”

You gesture to his watch. “Eight minutes, Denny.”

“Right, right,” He says, shifting so he’s in line with you. You arch your back as he slides a hand underneath you, bracing your pelvis as he slowly pushes in. The lack of foreplay makes it hurts a bit more than usual, your face scrunching up, grip on his chain tightening. He watches you closely as he moves, making sure he’s not going too fast. 

You wince at one point, and he freezes. 

“You want me to stop?” He asks. 

“No, please don’t,” You say, visibly relaxing a touch. “Keep going.”

Your eyes rolls back once he’s in, reaching for him. He lowers himself onto his elbow beside your head, his other hand coming up to your cheek. The feeling of cold metal on your chest makes you flinch, looking down to see where the bottom of the cross grazes your bruised skin. 

“Jesus,” He murmurs, hitting your cervix easily. The cross moves with each thrust, occasionally hitting your jaw. “You feel amazing, angel.”

You moan in response. 

“Shh, don’t want anyone hearing you,” He murmurs, adjusting so the pendant hangs above your mouth. You take it between your teeth. 

He rolls his hips again, making your eyes flutter closed as you whine. Dennis looks you up and down, realizing that you’ll definitely be sensitive for the next few days while your bruises heal. He’s about to speak again when there’s a knock on the door. 

You both go still, listening closely, not entirely sure if it was really a knock or just someone out in the hallway. Dennis turns his head towards the door, squinting. 

“Was that-”

There’s another knock followed by his last name, then yours. It’s Lena, undoubtedly. Dennis is off you in a second, already pulling his pants back up. He scoops his t-shirt off the floor, yanking it over his torso while you do the same with your long-sleeve, pulling the thin blanket at the end of the bed over your exposed legs after. You reach your arms up, acting as though you’re tying your hair back when he turns around, making sure you’re decent before opening the door. 

“Hey, Lena,” He greets. “Everything okay?”

“We’ve got a pileup,” She explains. “Four victims, five minutes out. We need all hands on deck.”

“Shit, okay,” Dennis says. “Yeah, we’ll be right down.”

She gives him an apologetic smile, looking past him towards you. “Sorry to interrupt.”

“Oh, uhm, you didn’t,” He says, stuttering, face heating up quickly. “We weren’t-”

“See you downstairs!” She calls, walking away from the door. Dennis let’s it close, leaning against it when he faces you again. 

“You think she knew?” He asks. You laugh, swinging your legs out from under the blanket and standing up, stepping into your pants and shimmeying into them. You press a quick kiss to his lips and pass him his scrub top. 

“I think she definitely assumed,” You say, pulling your own scrub top out of your hoodie and back on. “You played it off nicely, though.”

“Really?” He questions, voice slightly muffled from behind his shirt, his head poking out the top a second later. 

You grin, patting his shoulder as you step into the hallway. 

“No, not at all.”

He huffs, following you out. You take the stairs down, stopping at the bottom, moments away from shouldering the door open. You stop, reaching out for him. He takes your hand in his, bringing it up, lips grazing your knuckles. 

“Ready?” He asks. 

“Lets do it.”

Jack spots you immediately, calling your last name. 

“Need you in here,” He says. “Whitaker, help Ellis in trauma three.”

“On it,” Dennis says, dropping your hand as you go your separate ways, both already focused on the task at hand. 

You follow Jack into the trauma room, the number of people half what you’re used to. You aren’t sure how many dayshift doctors are still around, but Mel’s already there when you walk in. The patient is tugging against restraints, ones EMS must’ve put on, as she tries to finish up her primary exam. 

“Ready for RSI,” Bridget says. Jack nods. 

“On her,” He says, nodding his head towards you. “Findings, Mel?”

“GCS nine, confused, unresponsive to questions or commands,” She explains. “Decreased breath sounds on the left, gurgling. GCS is right on the brink, but I think we should intubate.”

“Do it,” He says, already halfway out the door. “Come to trauma three when you’re finished!”

“Wait, where are you going?” Mel asks, worry edging into her tone. 

Jack pauses, watching as you move to the head of the bed. “You’re good, she’s got you.”

The door closes behind him, and she looks at you. You give her a reassuring nod. 

“We’ve got this, Dr. King,” You say. “Let’s push paralytics?”

She nods. “Yes, please.”

Bridget administers the meds, and you open the patient’s mouth, positioning the blade correctly and turning the light on. 

“Do you, uhm, do you want the monitor?” Mel asks. 

“Nah,” You say. “Seven-five.”

You’re finished in under thirty seconds. 

The patient’s sats come up, but they plateau in the high-eighties. Mel listens to the chest again, frowning. 

“eFAST,” She says, lifting his shirt up and placing the tool against his chest. “No lung sliding on the left.”

“Tension pneumo,” You agree, also looking at the screen. 

“Decompression needle,” She orders, putting the wand back and pushing the screen off to the side. She takes the needle in her hand, positioning it above the correct intercostal space. You’re squeezing the bag attached to the patient’s tube, watching as she inserts it, hearing the telltale rush of air escape. 

“Sats improving,” You say, seeing them climb into the mid-nineties. “Nice work, Dr. King.”

Someone yelling your last name makes you look away from the monitor, passing the bag off to Bridget and running out of the room. You pull your gloves off, throwing them out, seeing Parker standing in the doorway of trauma three. 

“What’s going on?” You ask, skidding past her. She takes her place beside the bed again, where Dennis is already doing compressions, each push showing up as a wave on the screen. “Shit.”

“We need an airway, now,” She says, despite it being obvious. 

You grab new gloves. “Mac blade with video scope.”

“Rhythm check,” Parker says, making Dennis stop, raising his hands. The line flattens, the hallmark ‘beep’ ringing out. He leans back over the patient, one knee resting on the edge of the bed, not noticing when his shirt gets caught underneath. 

“Do you want a pause?” Parker asks, looking at you, rolling her sleeves up in preparation to take over compressions if needed. You shoot her a glare, one that makes her smirk.

“Need me to teach you how to intubate through compressions, Dr. Ellis?” You counter, already visualizing the chords on the screen. “Don’t stop, Whitaker.”

He doesn’t, but his mind drifts for a moment, seeing countless times you’ve said those two words to him in a vastly different context. The door swings open, revealing Trinity and Robby. 

“How long has she been down?” Robby asks. 

“Four minutes,” Parker says. “Rhythm check.”

Dennis leans back again, his knee still up, pulling his shirt down even farther. He’s panting, and he takes the opportunity to wipe his forehead with the back of his hand. 

“Push another epi,” Parker directs, looking up at Dennis, her eyes landing right on his collarbone, where a dark bruise is forming. “Uh, compression swap.”

He steps back, his shirt springing back into place as someone else takes over, but it’s far too late. Robby’s obviously averting his eyes, Trinity is nodding, swallowing whatever comment she wants to make, and Parker’s trying to stay professional. 

You place the tube, letting one of the nurses put the bag on. Parker slips her stethoscope in, placing it against the patient’s chest, nodding. 

“Good breath sounds,” She says. 

“Want some ice for that bruise, Huckleberry?” Trinity asks, tone completely serious. 

Robby closes his eyes, shaking his head. 

“What?” Dennis asks, confusion obvious, but you know exactly what she’s referring to. You take over compressions, desperate to be doing something in this moment, knowing that the two of you will never live this down. 

“On your collarbone,” She says. “Looks painful.”

You can’t see his face, but you can picture how red he is as he starts to stutter. 

“I, uh, no, I’m fine-”

He stops, not wanting to dig himself any deeper. 

“Rhythm,” Parker says. “Keep it together, everyone.”

You lift up, identifying the waves quickly, placing two fingers against the patient’s carotid. “Pulseless.”

“PVT, let’s charge to two-hundred,” Parker says, taking the defibrillator pads in her hands. “Clear.”

You’re back on the chest the second you realize that she hasn’t gone back into sinus, sweat starting to drip down your neck from the exertion. 

“Walk me through reversible causes,” Robby says. 

“Uh, hypovolemia, but her BP’s okay and we’ve already given two units,” Dennis starts. “Hypoxia, but her sats have come up. Acidosis?”

“I can grab an ABG if someone can switch,” You say, breathless. 

“I’ve got it,” Santos says, stepping up beside you, taking your place once you come off. 

“Keep going, Whitaker,” Robby instructs. 

“Pneumothorax, good breath sounds though,” He adds. “Tamponade.”

You’ve moved towards the patient’s thigh, heparinized syringe in hand, palpating before inserting it. The tube fills slowly with blood, the colour deep red, a result of her low perfusion. You cap the tube, passing it off to a nurse, then you return your focus to the airway. You set your own stethoscope to the patient’s chest. Air is moving, but it’s not sufficient. 

“I’m adding a PEEP valve,” You say, grabbing the piece from the drawer, attaching it to the exhalation port, setting it correctly. 

Trinity takes her hands off the patient. 

“Charge again, two hundred,” Parker says. “Clear.”

The phone rings, and you rip a glove off, grabbing it off the wall, saying your last name once it’s against your ear. Robby and Dennis wait for you to say something, ready to take action based on whatever the lab says. 

“Potassium seven-point-three,” You say. “pH is the same.”

“What next?” Robby asks. 

“Calcium glutonate, three gram IV push over two minutes,” Trinity says, letting someone else take over compressions. “Ten of insulin, one amp D50.”

There’s only two nurses in there, and both of them already have their hands full, so you step in. 

“I can do calcium,” You say, grabbing three syringes and three bottles. You draw the medication up, setting each down on the tray beside you. “Going in.”

You push each syringe over fourty seconds while the insulin and dextrose are set up, everyone moving in sync, compressions still ongoing under Parker’s lead. The third shock finally gives sinus rhythm, and you sigh in relief, tossing the used syringes and vials into the correct bins, then adjust the vent settings to avoid hyperventilation. 

“ET looks good, fourty-two,” You say. 

“Whitaker, place an arterial line,” Parker instructs. “Let’s give norepi.”

“Got any beds upstairs?” Robby asks, and you laugh. 

“For you? I’ll make it work,” You say. “Give ‘em a call once she’s back from CT, tell them I’ll bring coffee on Monday.”

You walk out of the room, stretching your arms above your head, tilting to one side to try and ease the ache that’s starting in your muscles. 

“Jesus, what happened to you?” Jack asks, stopping mid-stride, looking down at your slightly exposed stomach. You drop your arms once he gets closer, but he’s already seen enough, one eyebrow raised as he gives you a stern look. “I’m gonna’ kill him.”

“What?” You ask, laughing through the word. “Relax, I was a willing participant.”

“Oh my god, I did not need to hear that,” He mumbles, reaching out towards your shirt, patting it down. 

He sighs, closing his eyes. “Those things can give you a stroke, you know.”

“They’re not on my carotid, Jack.”

“Doesn’t matter,” He counters. “You should ice them.”

You roll your eyes as you walk away, wanting to get your charting over with so you can go home. 

Back in the trauma room things have settled down. Dennis finishes with the arterial line, repeat labs are drawn, and the patient is taken up to CT. Trinity reaches towards his shirt, tugging the collar down, exposing the bruise again. He swats her hand away, yanking it back up, cheeks burning again.

“Had some fun in that call room, hey?” She asks. 

Dennis shrugs, knowing he can’t defend himself. “Maybe. Whatever.”

“I knew I was interrupting,” Lena adds, holding the door as people start to file out. Trinity calls your name, pointing to his collarbone with her thumb. 

“You trying to kill him or something?”

You glance over, shrugging. “He bruises easily.”

“Hang on, he has them too?” Jack asks. “This is a hospital, people.”

“Too?” Trinity echoes. “Oh my god, this is the best day of my life.”

“Leave them alone,” Parker says. “If my girlfriend looked like her I’d be marking her up all the time.”

Dennis’ face scrunches up. Robby pats him on the shoulder. 

“You good?” He asks, genuinely curious, not trying to embarrass him any further. 

“Uh, yeah, all good,” He says. “You wanna’ finish the charts at home?”

You’re already turning the computer off. “Yes, definitely.”

“Need to finish what you started?” Trinity asks, but Dennis is half-way to the locker room. 

“It'll help him get the charting done,” You say, face completely blank. "Positive reinforcement, or whatever."

Trinity’s jaw drops, Robby rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands, Parker loses it. Jack raises his arms, walking away from the hub, calling over his shoulder.

“I expect no errors in those charts!”

“You know I’m very thorough!” You call back, not able to stop yourself from smiling when he groans from across the department. Trinity’s typing quickly on her computer, too fast to be updating a chart. Parker snorts from where she’s working, and you determine that they’re almost certainly sending messages back and forth. 

Dennis comes back down a few minutes later with your belongings, having gone upstairs to grab them while everyone was distracted. He passes you your hoodie, and you tug it over your head. You bid them goodnight, getting some waves and ‘night’s in response, along with a very pointed look from Trinity. Dennis’ hand hovers over your lower back as you leave the department. 

You wait until you’re in the car to bring it up. 

“Sorry, baby,” You say, tugging his shirt down, exposing the injury. “I didn’t mean to do it so hard. Does it hurt?”

“No, no, it’s fine,” He promises, laughing a bit. “That was…something.”

“That’s what they get for interrupting,” You say, softly running your thumb over it. “You do bruise easily, hey?”

He jokingly pushes your hand away. “I’m…pale!”

“Right,” You say, smiling. “Seriously, we should ice it when we get home. Might as well ice your arms while we’re at it.”

“Why would you ice my arms?” He asks, face showing that he knows your answer is going to be far from serious. 

You shrug, leaning over to him, rolling his sleeve up a few centimetres. Then, you bite his fucking bicep, just for a second. It’s light, but Dennis still flinches, despite the fact that you do this constantly. 

“Every time,” He murmurs. You kiss his arm after, laughing when he flexes it, kissing it again. 

“Let’s go home,” You say, tilting your chin up. He looks at you for a moment, face soft and eyes loving in the way that makes your stomach fill with butterflies.

"Yeah, lets go."

tags:

@lulusa27 @futuremrscameron @esposadomd @findingjaxx @scouser-villanelle @snoopysnote @kysosa @lilyyexe @mythology-dragon @abbotafterhours @superlegend216 @maebyi @sephiexlove @realizemandi97 @yixo3 @friendly-neighborhood-boricua @maytuscany @chickencrispers-666 @teenwolfbitches28 @vastscoutweapon @random-movie @milflover-72 @jocrice30 @goldfishenthusiast67 @xebiuzaograndao @darkhorrorutopia @flowerburner666 @massivecomfortable20 @thevoid-fics @p1asstri @davaga06 @kathylvr @paigewouldloveamilkshake @tswanie @lapizluuuz @abzidabzy @xreader1989 @knicoleworld @op81got @echosprite @veilmylife @lunadi1una @ilooksocute @bborra @nataliagianna01 @justarandomflowerchildofthenight @cvvtiinaa @amandjslpz @w1theredr0se @escapi3m  @superlegend216

[sapiensecrets]

punching above his weight...or is he? - dennis whitaker x f!reader

summary: once your relationship is no longer a secret, the emergency department starts to see just how perfect you and dennis are for each other, and they realize that you may not be as far out of his league as they initially thought.

aka dennis can fucking PULL okay.

pairings: dennis whitaker x RT!reader (respiratory therapist) word count: 4.2k cw/tags: swearing, no use of y/n, typical pitt warnings (blood, intubation, depictions of a motorcycle crash victim), you're (affectionately) nicknamed 'hot shot' by most of the department, dennis is obsessed with you, you're obsessed with him, what more could you ask. you have hair long enough for the top half to be tied back in a nondescript way. light inappropriate conduct in the workplace but it's all in good fun and no one's feelings are hurt!

more dennis x hot shot guys i told you i couldn't be stopped! inspired by this ask and @libbyqypu :)

secure chat for anyone who doesn’t know is basically a messenger system that is patient privacy compliant and integrated into the charting platform!!

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TAGLIST(S)

Victoria’s killing a bit of time in the main foyer before her shift starts one day when the two of you arrive. 

Dennis pulls the door open for you, as usual, holding it while you walk inside. He does the same with the inner door, despite having to speedwalk in order to get there before you. She notices that he’s carrying your backpack, the strap slung over the opposite shoulder from his own. He reaches out as you walk towards the elevators, fingers pinching the side of your shirt, gently pulling you closer to him. It’s subtle, and Victoria’s certain she’s the only one who notices that your hands now brush against eachother’s as you move. 

“You coming up?” You ask, reaching forwards, hitting the button. 

He checks his watch, then nods. “Still got time.”

You bite back a smile as you step into the elevator, doors closing behind you, blocking you from Victoria’s probing eyes. The ICU floor is much quieter than the ED, especially since it’s still early, most of the patients still sleeping as the hospital starts to wake up. You swipe your badge against the sensor, and then step through the double door together, like you always do. 

Dana’s standing at the central desk when you come in, talking to the charge nurse there, trying to get some boarders moved before dayshift officially takes over. She clocks both of you immediately, her sentence coming to a stop when she hears your soft laughter. She turns around, watching as you approach, smiling at her. 

“Dana,” You greet. “Are you finally leaving the ER to join us up here?”

“You wish,” She says, looking past your shoulder, where Dennis is waiting a half-step behind you. “Whitaker, fancy seeing you here.”

The ICU charge scoffs, laughing a bit. “What do you mean? He’s up here every morning.”

Dana raises an eyebrow, a tiny smirk on her face. “That so?”

He shrugs, cheeks flushing a light shade of pink, both bags on his back lifting with the motion. “Pretty much, yeah.”

You, wanting to save him from any further embarrassment, turn around and give him an opening. “I can take my bag, you can head downstairs.”

He frowns, shaking his head. “I got it, I’ll be right back.”

He walks over to the locker room, his figure disappearing through the door. One of the nightshift RT’s comes out of a room, and Dana doesn’t miss the way his eyes light up at the sight of you. He ignores everyone else at the desk as he approaches, saying your last name with way too much enthusiasm for six-thirty in the morning. 

“You should’ve seen this patient last night,” He starts, diving into the story as soon as your eyes are on him, a small smile on your face as you genuinely listen. 

Dennis comes back out of the locker room just as he takes your wrist in his hand, turning your arm so your palm faces the ceiling, gesturing to your forearm as he explains the IV situation the patient had. He mimes the action of fluids spewing, retelling the moment it came loose as he was in the middle of intubating. 

Your face scrunches, but you’re still smiling, and he’s pretty sure you say ‘oh, gross!” before slowly pulling your arm away, tucking both hands into your pockets. He comes up behind you, setting your stethoscope and water bottle on the desk. The other RT loses all steam at the sight of him, and he immediately takes a step back, stuttering over his words for a second. You feel a single finger twist into your waistband, making you look over your shoulder, seeing Dennis and your belongings. 

“Thank you,” You say, fully spinning around. He drops his hand back to his side, nodding. 

“Yeah, uh, no problem,” He says. “I’ll see you later?”

“Hopefully,” You say. “Good luck down there.”

“You too,” He says, then he heads back through the doors and down the hallway. You loop your stethoscope over your shoulders and put your water bottle by your workstation before returning to the nightshifter, a tablet in hand now. 

“Catch me up,” You say, the rest of his story long forgotten. 

Dana follows Dennis out, still smirking, putting both hands on his shoulders as she comes up beside him. 

“You’re a sweet kid, you know that?"

Around eleven that morning, the higher-ups send donuts down to the ED as a ‘thank you’ for all their hardwork. Robby’s in the breakroom when Dennis walks in, admiring the spread, trying to decide if he actually wants one or not. 

“Anything good, boss?” He asks, stepping closer to the tables, looking for something specific. 

Robby shrugs. “Would be nicer if they could just pay my staff what they deserve.”

“Oh, definitely,” Dennis says, spotting what he’s looking for, grabbing one of the napkins nearby. “Gotta’ take advantage though, right?”

He picks up a donut, setting it neatly on top of the napkin and putting it down on the table. He opens the fridge, pulling out his lunch and unzipping the bag. Robby watches as he places it on top of whatever’s in there, then puts it back in the fridge, brushing his hands off and closing the door. 

“Worthy of saving for later?” Robby asks, slightly teasing. Dennis lets out a small laugh, already halfway out the door. 

“Yeah, uhm, trying to be optimistic about getting a break today,” He jokes, stumbling over the words. He’s still getting used to joking around with his boss.

Robby shakes his head, following him back outside. “Oh, you know better than that by now, Whitaker.”

They step out just as the ambulance bay doors open, revealing two paramedics wheeling a gurney in. They both rush over as Dana directs them to an open trauma room, examining the patient while one of the paramedics gives handover. 

“Twenty-three year old male, motorcycle versus guardrail,” She says. “Helmet off at the scene, significant facial trauma, breathing on his own for now, but it’s not pretty.”

They swing the door to the trauma room open. Nurses flood in behind them, taking their usual spots around the room, clicking monitors on and hooking them up to the patient. 

“Hey, can you open your eyes for me?” Dennis asks, shining his penlight into them when he gets no response. “Pupils equal and reactive, GCS six.”

“Sats eighty-seven and falling,” Mateo says. 

“Bag him,” Dennis instructs, setting his stethoscope against his chest, moving it around. “Decreased breath sounds bilaterally.”

“This is gonna’ be a complex airway,” Frank says, having come in a moment after them. “Let’s get respiratory down here.”

You’re adjusting some vent settings for one of your patients when your pager goes off, making you pluck it off your scrub pocket, glancing down at the tiny screen. 

EMERG. DEPT. TRAUMA #3 - STAT PAGE

You shove the pager back into place, already running out of the room, calling for the other RT on shift to finish with your patient as you fly by. You take the stairs down to the ED, shoving the door open at the bottom, gripping your stethoscope in your hand so it doesn’t fall. You grab a pair of gloves before opening the trauma room door, trying to assess the situation as best you can in a few seconds. You can’t even see the patient from how many people are in there, crowding around the bed. 

“Sats down to seventy-nine,” Perlah says. Garcia already has sterile gloves on, holding her hands up and shaking her head as she looks over Dennis’ shoulder. He’s holding the laryngoscope, watching the monitor, trying to get a good view of the anatomy. 

“We need to crike,” She says. 

“Woah, hey, I’m here, what’s going on?” You say, grabbing a gown, shifting towards the head of the bed. You look towards the patient’s face, or what’s fucking left of it, exhaling sharply. “Jesus.”

“Motorcycle versus guardrail,” Frank says. “His jaw’s completely unstable, we couldn’t get a seal with the mask, he’s bleeding like crazy.”

“Move, please,” You say, kind but firm, needing to get a closer look. Dennis pulls the tool out, stepping back, his hands up so they don’t get caught on any of the IV lines. Mateo holds the suction as you do your exam, running through options in your head. He’s already using the biggest suction that he can, and the patient's sats are still falling. 

The room seems frozen around you as you think, everyone waiting on your next move. You nod to yourself when you decide on the best course of action, a small way to hype yourself up. 

“I’m going in through the nasal passage,” You say.

“Blind?” Frank asks. “That’s-”

“No, not blind,” You correct. “I need a lubricated three-point-five.”

The tube is placed into your hand five seconds later. “I’m gonna’ try and advance just past the tongue, see if I can use it as a guide.”

You glance up, making eye contact with Frank, then Robby, waiting to see if either will object to your plan. Robby gives you an affirmative nod. 

“Do it.”

You look to Dennis, who’s already watching you. “Could you listen for breath sounds please, Dr. Whitaker?”

“Oh, Dr. Whitaker,” Garcia repeats. “Is that what you call him in the bedroom?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” You shoot back, smirking. 

“Behave,” Robby says, but you don’t need to look at him to know that he’s fighting a smile. Dennis gets into place as you use your free hand to put your own stethoscope in, settling the diaphragm against the patient’s neck, moving it around until you hear what you’re looking for. Then, you slowly advance the tube through the nostril, eyes flicking towards the chest every few seconds to check for rise. 

You start to get some resistance at fourteen centimetres, and the chest twitches. You hear a small amount of air pass.

“Minimal movement,” Dennis says, focusing on what he’s hearing. 

“Bag it,” You instruct, and Jesse does, squeezing. The patient’s chest rises again, and Dennis looks back at you, nodding, confirming that he can hear at least some remnants of breath sounds. 

“Sats up to eighty-five,” Perlah announces. 

You shine your penlight into his mouth, studying the passage that the nasal tube is barely revealing, committing the location of his tracheal opening to memory each time the suction clears enough blood for you to see it. 

“I can intubate now,” You say.

“Are you sure?” Frank asks, taking a look himself, seeing nothing but blood and a small clearing where the tube sits. “You still can’t visualize most of the landmarks.”

“I don’t need all the landmarks,” You counter. “Do you want a real airway or not, Dr. Langdon?”

Dennis’ breath catches in his throat, eyes wide. You’re looking at Frank expectantly, waiting for a decision. He steps back, nodding. Garcia smirks, speaking before he can. 

“Blade to hot shot, please.” You take the tool in your hand, turning on the light and sliding it into place. You don’t bother looking towards the monitor, knowing that you won’t be able to see where you’re going. 

“Seven tube,” You say, reaching for it once it’s passed over, positioning it where the nasal tube already sits. You wait for the suction to expose the clearing again, not hesitating when it does, sliding the tube into the airway. You’re almost certain that it’s in the right place based on how it feels as it clears the epiglottis. “I’m in.”

The cuff is inflated, and Jesse moves the bag from the nasal tube onto the new one, nodding. “Yellow on end-tidal.”

“Good breath sounds bilaterally,” Dennis adds. 

“Sats up to ninety-four,” Perlah says. The tension in the room fades as you look at Dennis, failing to contain a grin when you make eye-contact. He gives you a tiny, proud smile and a subtle nod, silently saying ‘nice work.’

You don’t realize that everyone else catches it, too. 

“I’ll get him up to CT,” Garcia announces. “Glad you were here, hot shot.”

“Excellent work,” Robby says, followed by your last name. The patient is wheeled out of the room, and you’re all left behind, pulling off gowns and gloves. 

“Thanks,” You say. “It’s what I’m good for.”

Dennis holds the door for you as you leave, exhaling once you’re out. Frank holds his fist up. 

“Sorry for doubting you,” He says. You smile, tapping your knuckles against his. 

“No harm, no foul,” You insist, waving him off. The adrenaline of the trauma starts to wear off as you move towards one of the computers, wanting to get the charting out of the way before you go back to the ICU—as long as none of your patients crash. Goosebumps splinter over your arms, despite the long-sleeve you’re wearing under your scrub top, making you shiver. 

Dennis is shrugging his fleece off before you even sit down, handing it to you, already focused on the board to figure out where he should head first. He’s about to walk away when he remembers, spinning back around and leaning towards you over the desk. 

“Oh, hey, there’s something for you in my lunch,” He says, voice quiet, but everyone in the vicinity hears him. They started watching the second he passed you his jacket without a single word. “You can grab it before you head back up, if you want.”

You close your hand around his fleece, trying to get your brain to function again. All work is abandoned by the people around when, for the first time possibly ever, you’re speechless. Not because this is unusual behaviour, just because he’s never done it so…publicly before. 

“Okay,” You finally say, the single word breathy and faint. “Thank you.”

Everyone is staring at the two of you like it’s their favourite TV show. 

“Yeah, ‘course,” He says.

He walks off, you take a seat, pulling the fleece over your head and sticking your badge to the front pocket before logging on to the computer. Your heart is racing, but you do your best to hide it from your colleagues.

“You ever wonder how they ended up together?” Frank asks, watching the interaction from afar, the question aimed at Mel, who has no idea what he’s referring to.

“Who?” She asks, barely looking up from her tablet. 

“Whitaker and Hot Shot,” He clarifies. Mel looks up now, still confused. 

She says your real name like it’s a question. Frank nods. 

“Yeah, Hot Shot,” He emphasizes. 

Mel shrugs. “I didn’t know everyone called her that, I thought it was just Garcia.”

“Doesn’t matter,” He says, moving on. “Labs back for twelve yet?”

Trinity comes back into the department twenty minutes later, having gone outside for a breather, stopping just behind your chair as she walks by. She squints, realizing that you’re definitely wearing Whitaker’s quarter-zip, the one he wears pretty much every single day once it starts getting colder. She goes straight to Victoria, who’s talking to Cassie while they wait for one of their patients to get back from CT. 

“He gave her his fucking fleece,” She says, eyes drifting towards you. Victoria and Cassie look over. 

“Oh my god, that’s so cute,” Victoria says, pouting slightly. “He’s so sweet to her.”

“Have you seen her?” Trinity asks, rhetorical. “He’s got to be in order to keep her around.”

Cassie raises an eyebrow. “I think it’s probably just because he loves her.”

“Or he knows he’s punching above his weight,” Trinity counters. “I love the kid, but she’s practically a supermodel.”

“Well, maybe that’s what drew her to him,” Victoria suggests. “You know, she’s so used to people tripping over themselves to impress her, maybe she liked the fact that he doesn’t make a fool out of himself to get her attention.”

Trinity thinks about that for a second, cocking her head slightly as she looks at you. “Huh. Never thought about it like that.”

“Has no one considered the idea that she just thought he was attractive?” Cassie asks. “He’s a good looking guy!”

Victoria shrugs. “Doesn’t matter either way, they clearly love eachother.”

You barely even realize that your head’s starting to hurt before a pill cup and your favourite donut are placed on your desk. You tug your eyes away from the screen, almost done with your charting, blinking a few times to clear your fuzzy vision. There’s two ibuprofen tablets in the cup, and you see Dennis standing beside you, holding his water bottle out. Robby watches from his workstation a few feet away, smiling, remembering how he watched Dennis set that donut aside a couple hours ago. It wasn’t for him, it was for you. 

"Headache?" He asks.

“How…?” You ask, taking the bottle from him and opening the lid. 

“You’re blinking more than usual,” He says, as though anyone would’ve picked up on it.

“Oh,” You say. “Yeah, it's not too bad, though. Thank you.”

You take the pills and a few extra sips of water before passing it back to him. He sets it on the counter, folding his arms over his chest as he leans back. 

“You should eat something,” He suggests. 

You nod. “I’ll eat this in one second, thank you so much, Denny.”

Robby looks towards Dana, mouthing ‘Denny?’ to her, and she mouths ‘I know!’ back. 

Dennis nods, taking a seat at one of the computers across the hub. You finish your own charting a few minutes later, standing up and walking over to one of the nearby sinks, washing your hands thoroughly. You pick up the donut when you get back to the desk, tearing it in half, holding one side out towards him. 

He’s so wrapped up in his work that he barely glances up when he takes it, then he does a double take, brows furrowing before he looks at you. He’s about to protest when you give him a look, one that let’s him know that you’re well aware he hasn’t eaten since his shift started. He keeps his half raised up, tilting it towards you, and you tap your own portion against his. You both take a bite at the same time, and Princess raises an eyebrow. 

“Did they just…cheers with a donut?” She asks. 

“You haven’t seen ‘em do that before?” Dana asks. “They do it with everything—granola bars, apple slices, sandwiches. It’s sweet.”

“I saw them do it with goldfish once,” Mateo says, spinning around in his chair to face them. “Pretty sure they made them kiss.”

You stretch your arms above your head a few minutes later, leaning against the back of your chair. A few people glance over, hoping to get a glimpse of something, but Dennis’ fleece keeps everything covered. You gather a portion of your hair in your hands, reaching towards your wrist for a hair tie. 

It snaps when you go to loop it around, making you frown.

“Ow,” You murmur, dropping your hair. Victoria goes to offer you a new one, but she’s cut off by Dennis pulling one off his own arm, slingshotting it across the hub, a solid twenty feet or so. You catch it in your palm like it’s second nature, sticking it between your teeth, smoothing your hair back again. 

She malfunctions for a second, trying to see if anyone else witnessed that. Most people have gone back to work, eyes focused on screens or notepads, including Dennis. 

“I…how did you do that?” She asks. 

Dennis doesn’t even look over. “Do what?”

“The—the hair tie thing,” She stutters. He shrugs. 

“She’s always losing them,” He says, as if that remotely answers her question. She’s close enough to see his screen, catching a new secure chat rise to the top of the list that he’s working through answering. It’s your first and last name followed by ‘RRT,’ the profile photo you in scrubs, standing against a white wall.  

heading back up

She glances over at you, still sitting across the hub. You’re looking at your computer, scanning some new orders for your ICU patients, face neutral as you mess with your necklace. She looks back at Dennis’ screen. 

He signs the note he's working on before opening the conversation. 

Come here a second

You log off of the computer, pick up your stethoscope and walk over to him. It’s casual—comfortable. His hand lifts from the keyboard once you’re close enough, reaching over and flipping the collar of his fleece out from where it’s folded in on itself. You raise an eyebrow as he pats it twice, the simple touch of his palm to your collarbone intoxicating. 

“How long has that been bothering you?” You ask, teasing and quiet. The volume has picked back up in the department, so Victoria shuffles a bit closer to try and hear the conversation. 

He pretends to think, glancing at his watch. “How long ago did you put it on?”

You laugh under your breath. “I didn’t realize I was causing you such distress.”

“Yeah, you should probably be more careful,” He says, the corner of his mouth twitching up, but his eyes are wide with concern. “Are you warm enough? I think I have a long sleeve in my bag if you want it.”

You do want it, but not because you’re still cold. 

“No, I’m okay, thank you,” You say, trying to get your feet to move, but his presence is sucking you in. You’re tempted to wedge yourself into his side, knowing that he’d probably respond automatically, arms wrapping around you and his lips brushing your temple like they would at home. 

“Okay, just come grab it if you change your mind,” He says. Your pager beeps from your pocket, and you grimace, face scrunching up in disappointment. 

“I will,” You say, checking it quickly before putting it back. You’re still hesitating, not taking a step away from him. He smiles. 

“Go,” He insists, softly. “They need you.”

You look at him for another second, pursing your lips. “Yeah, alright, going now, Dr. Whitaker.”

Victoria’s eyes widen as she rereads the same line on her tablet for the millionth time. A blush blooms on Dennis’ neck, and he brings a hand up to try and cover it immediately, his blue eyes following you as you get closer to the doors, filled with adoration. 

He gets another secure chat five minutes later. Victoria squints to see what it says. 

made it :) don’t work too hard while im gone

He types back right away. 

Yes ma’am

Victoria gasps. Dennis glances back at her. 

She brings her elbow up to her face, pretending to cough a few times, clearing her throat once she’s done with the performance. 

“Sorry, dry in here today,” She says, trying to give him a reassuring smile. He nods once, unconvinced, but he doesn’t press her on it. 

Her own secure chat lights up. 

TRINITY SANTOS, MD smooth, crash

Seven finally rolls around, signalling the end of your shift. You go back downstairs, waiting outside the ER, like usual, backpack on and changed out of your scrubs. Dennis comes out ten minutes later with Trinity and Victoria trailing behind, his eyes softening when he sees you. 

“Hey, ready to go?” He asks, making you look up from your phone. You nod, greeting his friends before falling in step beside him, bumping your shoulder against his. 

“Oh, gross,” Trinity says, frowning at the heavy rain that’s pouring outside. “You want a ride, Crash?”

“Yes, please,” Victoria says, already bracing herself as Trinity opens the door, turning back to you and Dennis for a second. “Goodnight.”

“Night,” You both say, giving her a tiny wave as they step out into the rain, running to Trinity’s car. 

Dennis pulls his keys out of his backpack, squeezing your wrist quickly. “Stay here.”

You smile. “I know.”

He goes outside, rounding the corner and speedwalking away from the doors. You stay inside, waiting, until you feel someone stop beside you. 

“Waiting for Whitaker?” Robby asks. “I swore he left a few minutes ago.”

“Oh, yeah, he did,” You confirm. “He went to grab the car.”

Robby hums, chuckling. “Of course he did.”

You laugh. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs, hands in his pockets. “He just really loves you, is all.”

Your chest and neck start to heat up, making you look towards the ground, scuffing your shoes against the floor. “Yeah, he does.”

“Well, have a good night,” He says. 

You smile. “Goodnight, Robby.”

He walks off just as Dennis pulls the car in front of the doors, shifting it into park as he leans over, gripping the inside handle of the passenger side door. You tense up the moment you’re outside, rain pelting against you, thankful that you still have his fleece on as you run to the car. He opens the door right before you make it so you can just jump inside, slamming it shut behind you, wiping some water off your face. 

You’re both soaked, him more than you, obviously—but he doesn’t care. He leans over the centre console, hand looping around the back of your neck and pulling you close, kissing you. You kiss him back, smiling into it, wrapping your fingers around his wrist. He kisses your forehead after, then pecks your lips again for good measure. 

“Love you,” He says. 

“I love you,” You echo, still smiling. 

A/N - i love that u guys love dennis and hot shot bc i think about them constantly

tags:

@libbyqypu @thenormreedus @sinoxima @serrendiipty @celiaisacaterpillar @xoxoloverb @lulusa27 @navs-bhat @momdancingtomcr

[sapiensecrets]

wet t-shirt contest - dennis whitaker x f!reader

summary: there are two things that everyone in the ER knows about you—you're incredible at your job and extremely hot. the thing that they don't know is that you're dating one of their newest residents and have been for years.

pairings: dennis whitaker x RT!reader (respiratory therapist) cw/tags: female reader (she/her pronouns used), described as having breasts and wearing a thong and bralette, mentions of cleavage and nipples, hair long enough for the top half to be tied back in a nondescript way. established relationship, typical pitt warnings (hospitals, intubations, chest compressions, sedation drugs, etc etc), swearing, ogilvie being a freak lowkey, very very minor and casual inappropriate conduct i guess (everyone wants you badly okay is it such a crime??), garcia calls you 'hot shot,' HPV in this context stands for 'hot potato voice,' not human papillomavirus lmfao, no smut but a few sexually explicit references

takes place on the fourth of july but absolutely zero reference to any real events of season 2 so no spoilers! the pitt needs to introduce some respiratory therapists okay or else

Dennis knows you’re hot, obviously. Everyone with eyes knows that you’re hot. He still sometimes can’t believe the fact that he gets to date someone like you, even though you’ve been together for years at this point. You were working in a clinic that he did one of his first medical school rotations at, and for whatever reason, you had liked him. 

You got a job at PTMC a year later, and you absolutely loved the fast-paced chaos that was the ER and ICU. 

When it came time for Dennis to spend a few months at the trauma centre he decided to set some ground rules, not wanting anyone to give him special treatment because they knew he was dating one of their best respiratory therapists. No, he wanted to establish himself as a good student on his own, and he didn’t want to risk anyone making fun of you for being with him, not that he told you about that reason. 

You had agreed, hesitantly, but ultimately thought that it made sense to keep things at work strictly professional. 

At first, that had been fine. You actually spent the vast majority of your time in the ICU, since the patients up there typically needed more oversight regarding ventilation settings, and most of the doctors in the ER were more than capable of handling emergent intubations on their own. The two of you didn’t even cross paths for the first couple weeks that he was working in the ER, which was different from when he was doing internal medicine and admitting patients to the ICU frequently. 

October 30th, 2024

“Fifty-eight year old male, severe SOB and throat swelling, sats eighty-eight on non-rebreather,” The paramedic says, wheeling a gurney thorough the ambulance bay doors. 

“Whitaker!” Samira calls, and he races over, holding his stethoscope so it doesn’t fall as he moves. 

“Temp thirty-nine, difficulty swallowing, HPV,” The paramedic continues. “History of type two diabetes, hypertension, and obstructive sleep apnea.”

The patient is propped up on the gurney, not laying fully back, likely because he wouldn’t be able to breathe if he did so. Samira counts down when they make it to the trauma room, hands moving the patient onto the hospital bed. She asks the patient for his name as Whitaker starts his exam, shifting between nurses as they try to figure out what’s going on. He shines his penlight into the man’s mouth, swallows some mild panic, then speaks. 

“Drooling, significant submandibular swelling, limited mouth opening,” He says. “Unable to visualize the posterior pharynx, reduced neck extension.”

Mel has her stethoscope to the man’s back, listening carefully. “Lungs sound clear, but we’ve got significant stridor.”

Dennis takes a piece of gauze to wipe away some drool from the patient’s mouth. “Unable to handle secretions.”

“Sats decreasing,” Princess says. “Down to eighty-two.”

“Okay, we’re gonna’ need to intubate, and fast,” Samira says. “Mel, you’re up.”

Mel orders ketamine and rocuronium, then positions herself by the patient’s head. It becomes extremely obvious that this intubation won’t be easy, but Mel attempts it anyway. 

“There’s a lot of swelling,” She says. 

“Where’s Robby?” Samira asks, and one of the nurses leaves to go find him. The video laryngoscope is inserted, but Mel genuinely can’t see anything on the screen. Sedation starts to kick in, and the patient goes limp. 

“I can’t visualize the epiglottis,” Mel says, her voice still calm, but Dennis can see a small amount of panic in her expression as she attempts to insert the tube. “I can’t get it in.”

“Okay, first pass failed,” Samira adds, keeping everyone in the room up to speed. She takes a closer look at the screen, shaking her head. “Page respiratory and surgery, stat.”

Samira gives the intubation a try, but she can’t pass the tube either, and the patient is desatting quickly. “Where the hell is Robby?”

“Stuck with another patient,” Mateo says, replacing the bag over the patient’s face, squeezing it every few seconds. 

Rushed footsteps echo across the linoleum floors from outside, and Dennis looks up just in time to see you push the door to the room open, the badge that reads your name and ‘RT’ over a purple background swinging back and forth from your sprint to the department. Dennis sees the way the room relaxes, thanking god that you’re the responding respiratory therapist.

He also sees how good you look. 

You don’t have an undershirt on for once, and the slight v-neck of your scrubs shows off a bit more skin than usual. You somehow manage to make hospital issued scrub pants look amazing, and if he didn’t know any better he would think that they had been tailored to your body. The fabric shows off the curve of your ass perfectly. 

“What’s up?” You ask, grabbing a pair of gloves, slipping into them as you move to the head of the bed. 

“Fifty-eight year old male, severe mouth and neck swelling, two failed intubation attempts,” Mel explains. “Sats down to seventy.”

You do a brief exam, hands feeling up the sides of his neck and jaw, then you look inside his mouth, nodding. 

“Okay, I need more pillows under his head, prop him up more,” You say. “Ears to sternal notch alignment, please.”

You take hold of the mask that Mateo was keeping pressure on, using both hands to seal it around the patient’s face as he continues to squeeze the bag. Garcia opens the door to the room, taking in the situation. 

“What’s up, party people?” She asks, looking at the patient’s face. “Yikes, we should crike.”

“You know me better than that,” You counter, shifting your arms out of the way as Jesse packs pillows and blankets underneath the patients head. “Can’t let you surgeons have all the fun.”

“What’s your plan here, hot shot?” She asks, an emphasis on hot that makes Dennis look up. 

“Let’s add a PEEP valve, ten centimetres,” You say, and Mel jumps into action, grabbing the piece that you’ve asked for and fitting it to the mask. “I need someone on suction, too.”

“Yep, got it,” Dennis says, scrambling a bit with the tube, his hands shaking ever-so-slightly. You’re calmer than everyone else in the room. 

“Sats up to ninety-two,” Princess says, eyes flicking over the monitor. 

He doesn’t miss the way you look at Garcia, a small smirk on your face as she holds her hands up, letting you work. 

“Okay, let’s try intubation again with a bougie,” You say. “Don’t stop with that suction, Whitaker. Princess, can you take over for me?”

The nurse takes your place, positioning her hands over the mask exactly how yours had been. Jesse hands you the laryngoscope, which you toy with for a second, turning the light on and making sure you can see the monitor. Princess pulls the mask off once you’re in place, and you slide it into the patient's mouth. 

“Dr. Mohan, can you put some pressure right here.” You put your free hand on the patient’s neck, and Samira moves to copy the action. “Good, right against the thyroid cartilage. Press towards the spine.”

Samira follows the instructions with ease, doing exactly what you’ve asked. 

“Up and to the patient’s right a bit,” You add, keeping your eyes on the monitor as you hold steady. Samira adjusts. “Okay, perfect, hold it there. Bougie.”

You take the bougie in hand, and Dennis keeps the suction going, trying to keep the field clear of fluids. You don’t look at the screen for a moment, sliding it past the tracheal rings on feel alone, and then you glance back over, confirming the placement. Jesse hands you the tube when you reach your hand out, and you slip it over the bougie, inserting it into the airway. Dennis watches it on the monitor, a rush of pride swelling over him. 

“I’m in,” You say, pulling the bougie out. Mateo attaches the bag to the end of the tube, and the monitor’s beeping comes to a stop as his sats hold steady. "Yellow on end-tidal."

“Sats up to ninety-eight,” Mel says, turning to look at you. “That was awesome.”

She raises her hand, giving you a high-five, which makes you grin. 

“Thanks for the assist,” Samira adds, the sentence punctuated by your last name. The door between the trauma rooms open, revealing Robby, who’s eyes instantly land on you. 

“Robby,” You greet. 

“Oh, good,” He says. “She got your airway, I assume?”

“Sure did,” Samira says. 

“She always does,” Robby says. “What’s going on?”

Dennis doesn’t miss the way his eyes trail up and down over your figure. Mel can’t look away from you either, eyes snapping between Robby and your chest. He watches her squeeze them shut for a moment, shaking her head lightly to bring herself back to the case. You pull your gloves off as you walk over to the door, turning to Garcia before you leave. 

“When will you learn to stop underestimating me?” You ask, teasingly. 

“Never,” Garcia shoots back, a flirtatious smile on her lips. “Keeps you sharp.”

You roll your eyes, then leave the room without a second thought, tossing your gloves into the garbage outside. Dennis stares at the doorway until he hears Robby ask Samira what she plans on doing next. 

After that it became extremely clear that everyone in the ER thought you were hot, which Dennis couldn’t blame them for, but it still bugged him. Peoples eyes lingered on you a little too long whenever you were around, movements a second delayed because they were too busy thinking about you. It didn’t matter if you were just checking on a ventilated patient or trying to intubate a critical case, people were always watching. 

They also talked about you. 

Like, a lot.

It was driving Dennis insane. 

And after ten months he just couldn’t take it anymore. 

You were elated when he landed an emergency medicine residency at PTMC, as was he, but it also meant that he had to keep watching people pine after you. 

The Fourth of July—a dreaded day in the emergency room, one that both of you were working. One of the boarders who had been waiting for an ICU bed desatted an hour into the day, resulting in your subsequent page and arrival to the department. Dennis comes out of a patient’s room, Ogilvie and Joy behind him, to you leaning against the nurses desk, laughing at something Dana had said. 

He almost stops walking at the sight. 

Your hair isn’t fully pulled back, the lower half out and styled perfectly around your jaw and shoulders. The top half is tied up, slightly frizzed. You’re wearing the typical navy blue scrubs with a white long-sleeve underneath, sleeves rolled up to your elbows, your forearms tensed as you brace yourself against the desk. 

“Oh, Whitaker and friends,” Dana says, gesturing for him to come over, then she says your name. “These are some of our new med students.”

Ogilvie moves so fast it makes Dennis’ head spin. 

“Hi, James Ogilvie,” He says, outstretching his hand for you to shake, an obviously flirtatious smile on his face. “MS4.”

You raise an eyebrow, shaking his hand as you say your name. “Respiratory. Nice to meet you.”

“Uh, this is Joy,” Dennis says, and she gives you a wave. It might be the most enthusiastic thing she’s done all morning. 

“She’s one of our best RT’s,” Dana adds. “Can intubate pretty much anyone.”

“Very good to know,” Ogilvie says, still smiling. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

You smile back, completely friendly, no undertones. “Our entire team is great, don’t ever hesitate to page. We’re happy to help out. I have a patient, but again, nice meeting you.”

You turn away from them, your badge colliding with the desk, unclipping from your shirt and clattering to the floor. You huff in annoyance, bending over to pick it up. You’re flexible enough to not have to bend your knees much at all, a fact that Dennis knows very well, but the back of your shirt rides up just as your scrub pants shift, and he catches a glimpse of your hot pink thong. 

Yolanda emerges from one of the rooms behind Dennis, a low whistle leaving her lips when she sees you, not hesitating to walk over as you stand back up. 

“Nice thong, hot shot,” She says, and your hand collides with her shoulder in a playful push. You pull the waistband of your pants up, tug your shirt down, clip your badge back on and walk away. Trinity appears in Dennis' peripheral, a smirk on her face and arms folded over her chest as she looks to where you just were. Even Dana’s eyes are wide, and she takes a second before speaking. 

“Show’s over,” She says, referring to the handful of people who look like they just saw a ghost, frozen in place. 

“Holy shit,” Ogilvie mumbles, and Dennis can finally move again, hands reaching for a tablet so he can pull up a patient’s chart—any chart. “Please tell me she’s single.”

Dennis isn’t sure if the question is directed at him, but Dana answers before he can open his mouth. 

“Unfortunately not, Ogilvie,” She says, eyes now focused on her computer, glasses on. 

Trinity pipes up. “Yeah, you’d probably be the five hundredth med student she’s rejected if you asked her out, trust me.”

“That doesn’t mean she isn’t single,” James insists. “Maybe she just wasn’t interested in those other med students.”

Trinity clicks her tongue behind her teeth. “Nah, she’s in a relationship, trust me. No one turns down that many people without so much as a stutter unless they’re already spoken for.”

A trauma comes in a few hours later, a smoke inhalation patient. They’re coding upon arrival, one of the paramedics straddling the gurney as they’re wheeled in, instantly gaining Robby’s attention. 

“Whitaker, with me,” He says, which means Ogilvie and Joy follow as well. “Page respiratory.”

“We don’t mess around with smoke inhalation,” Dennis says. “Always get RT down here as soon as you can, those airways swell like crazy.”

“As long as it’s that RT from earlier,” Ogilvie says. 

Dennis says your name, followed by “and listen when they introduce themselves.”

“How was I suppose to listen when she looks like that?” He asks. Dennis wants to punch him. 

“You’re disgusting,” Joy says. 

“What?” Ogilvie asks. “You thought she was hot, too.”

“Yeah, but you don’t hear me talking about it.”

The trauma room fills up quickly, and you arrive just as they move the patient onto the mattress, still doing compressions. Dennis doesn’t miss the way Ogilvie looks at Joy when you walk in, completely oblivious to the small interaction. 

“Talk to me,” You say, gloving up. 

Robby gives you the summary, finishing up just as Dennis takes over on compressions. Your mouth goes dry at the sight, your breath catching in your throat for half a second. His biceps push against his scrubs, his chain dangling in front of him, the way it does when he’s fucking you. 

“We—we should intubate right away,” You say, turning back to Robby. 

“You read my mind,” He says, and you move quickly. The intubation goes relatively smoothly, all things considered, but the patient remains in asystole. 

Robby says your last name, making you look at him. “Switch with Ogilvie.”

You nod, letting Donnie take over with the bag, positioning yourself over the patient and pushing into their chest hard. The arterial waveform spikes sharply on the monitor, dipping as you allow the chest to recoil, then peaks again when you push back down. 

“Now that is how you do chest compressions,” Robby says. “Ogilvie, Joy, take notes.”

“Gladly,” Ogilvie whispers, happy to have an opportunity to stare at you. 

“Rhythm check,” Dennis says, glancing at his watch. You stop, lifting your hands off the patient’s chest, looking towards the monitor. 

“V-fib,” You say, at the same time Dennis does, too. You don’t look at him, but a small smile forms on your face, which makes his heart jump. 

“Charge to two-hundred,” He says, picking up the paddles and placing them on the chest. “Clear!”

Normal sinus returns after the shock, making the room collectively exhale. Dennis steps back, putting the paddles away, just as you try to squeeze past him to get to the exit, your services no longer needed. He finds himself taking a small step forward, leaving you with a smaller gap than anticipated, resulting in your ass brushing against his crotch. 

“Sorry, ‘scuse me,” You murmur, but you don’t really mean it. Dennis has to stop himself from grabbing your hips. “Page if you need me.”

“Oh, we will,” Robby says. 

By the time the patient is stabilized you’re back in the department, just to check on something, but you’ve been roped into a conversation with Samira and Victoria by the water fountain. You’re playing with the cap on your water bottle, fingers flicking it open and closed repeatedly as Dennis walks out of the trauma room. 

He’s sanitizing his hands when your water bottle decides to protest the action, a stream of water shooting up and out of the straw as you pull it open again, landing all over the front of your top. Victoria and Samira gasp, as do you. 

“Shit, are you okay?” Ogilvie asks, and Dennis feels like he’s rooted to his spot as the med student steps closer to you, assessing the damage. Your entire shirt is soaked.

You let out a slightly humiliated laugh, waving him off. “Yeah, I’m totally fine. Just…cold.”

Your fingers grip the bottom of the shirt, yanking it over your head, revealing your almost equally wet undershirt. You frown when you look down, accepting a handful of tissues from Samira and starting to blot at the fabric. 

Everyone in the immediate vicinity comes to a halt, eyes landing on you, his girlfriend, who’s standing in the middle of the room with your nipples on full display. Dennis is pretty sure you’re not wearing a bra, or at least not one of much substance, and that fact is obvious to those around him, too. Robby and Dr. Al-Hashimi stop mid conversation, both of them craning their necks to see what’s going on. Mel drops the pen she’s holding to the ground, the clattering sound ringing in his ears. The patients that line the walls are watching, unable to look away as you scrub the front of your shirt with tissues, completely unaware of what you’ve just done. 

The nurses go silent. Cassie comes out of a patient’s room, feet stopping instantly, and Frank almost runs into her. 

Something between possession and protection override his jealousy, forcing him to move towards you, stepping directly in front of your chest as he puts his hands on your biceps. You look up at him, then you glance over his shoulder, noticing how quiet everything has gotten. 

“Come on,” He says, plucking a few more tissues from the box and holding them against your barely exposed cleavage and chest. You don’t react at all, as though his hand has been there a million times—because it has. 

He pushes you towards the bathroom, locking the door behind the both of you. Trinity is the first to speak. 

“She’s dating Huckleberry?”

This seems to snap everyone else out of their daze, and people scramble to get back to work, acting as though they didn’t all just collectively lose their minds over a wet t-shirt like a bunch of twelve year olds. 

Your cheeks are hot, but you still find yourself making a joke. 

“Guess they know we’re dating now,” You say, smiling. He exhales, a tiny laugh escaping. 

“Or they think I’m a creep,” He counters, and you laugh this time. He takes his own scrub top off, revealing the tan t-shirt he has underneath and his silver chain, the one that you bought for him on his most recent birthday. “Arms up.”

You listen, raising your arms and letting him pull your shirt off, revealing your lace bralette. He swallows, passing you his scrub top before moving towards the hand dryer that sits on the opposite wall, sticking your shirt underneath it. 

You grab a few paper towels, dabbing at the spots on your pants. Dennis frowns at the practically non-existent flow of air from the dryer, shaking his head. 

“Pass me your scrub top,” He says, hand outstretched. You do, dropping the ball of fabric into his palm. “I’ll be right back.”

He unlocks the door, pushing it open, stepping back out into the department. Things have mostly returned to normal, but Dennis doesn’t miss the way the small group of people at central go quiet when he reappears, quickly trying to act as though they’ve been working this whole time. He sighs, walking over to the scrubs machine, unclipping your badge and tapping it to the sensor. 

He inserts your old top, then dispenses a new one. He raps his knuckles against the bathroom door, smiling when you pull it open, letting him back inside. You, begrudgingly, give him his own shirt back, sliding the navy blue top on while he does the same with the black one. 

“Thank you,” You say. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it would…”

You trail off, exhaling sharply, your lips curving up in a disbelieving smile. “Be such an issue.”

Dennis shakes his head, grabbing you by your waist, pressing a quick kiss to your lips. 

“Not your fault,” He says. “But…maybe wear a better bra from now on, hey?”

“Yeah, yeah, definitely a good idea,” You agree. 

Everyone has moved on by the time you open the door, and you walk towards the exit, pager already going off again. Dennis watches you go, so do a few others. 

“See you at home!” You call over your shoulder, and Dennis’ cheeks turn pink. 

A/N - wow she writes for people other than robby??? it's a miracle

[maebyi]

heated rivalry but instead of hockey it’s tennis and the opponents are tashi and reader. . .

tashi duncan x fem!reader

you and tashi play a long and brutal game at the US open, one that ultimately ends with her as the winner. not surprising.

when tashi gets her trophy, the paparazzi urge you to take a photo with her, and you do—but only because your publicist was in your ear about how it’ll help your image.

you stand next to her, her large silver cup outshining your smaller replica.

tashi keeps a humble smile plastered on her lips while you don’t bother to flash the cameras the slightest hint of enthusiasm.

“ladies, over here!”

“can we get a smile for the picture?”

“do you ladies think this was a fair match?”

“let us see the trophies!”

“will there be a rematch?”

both of you ignore the questions and comments and continue to pose for the photos, before it’s finally time to head out.

in the public eye, you two can barely acknowledge the other’s presence.

but behind closed doors…

a sequence of curses leave your mouth as tashi moves her hips back and forth, her slick cunt grinding against yours.

“someone mad they didn’t win today?” she remarks, the bed creaking faintly with every action.

“i… i wasn’t—i’m not,” you breathe out, your hands tightening around the bedsheets.

“didn’t seem like it.”

tashi straddles one of your legs, her knees on either side of you, while your other is perched up against her chest, her slender fingers surrounding your calf.

she angles her hips a bit more to the right, causing her clit to rub right on yours.

“oh fuck… i’m gonna come if you keep doing that,” you tell her, a moan escaping your throat.

“let me feel your pussy come on mine.” she presses a light kiss to your ankle and increases the speed in her pace.

“oh my god, oh my god, oh my god… shit!” it isn’t long before you’re squirming beneath tashi’s touch, feeling your stomach tense up as you ride out your orgasm.

tashi experiences the same thing as you, a small gasp leaving her lips at the pleasure.

her chest heaves up and down as she slowly comes down from her climax. “holy fuck,” she mutters.

she stays straddling your leg for a quick moment, letting herself regain her composure, before gently putting your leg down and climbing off.

she slumps down next to you, raising her forearm to rest atop her forehead. “seriously though—you mad?” she asks, turning to look at you.

a sigh leaves your lips. “alright, maybe a little. i mean, it’s the us open—anybody would be annoyed about losing,” you murmur.

tashi’s lips quirk up at your response. “fine.” she shifts her body so that she’s propped up on her side.

she presses a slow kiss to your lips. “let me make it up to you.” her hand finds its way to your thigh, giving the supple flesh a soft squeeze.

thought of this randomly and just had to write it out

likes and reblogs are appreciated!

[maebyi]

pathetic whimpery sub dennis eating you out like a starved man and accidentally cumming himself just from pleasuring you 🫠🫠🫠😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 perhaps

dennis whitaker x fem!reader

dennis drops to his knees and wraps his hands around your ankles, pulling you forward as you let out a small squeal.

you prop yourself up on your elbows. “someone’s impatient,” you say, biting back a smile.

“not impatient. just eager,” dennis replies.

he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties and carefully slides them off, leaving them on the floor.

“missed you,” he murmurs, scooting closer so that his chest is flush against the bed—throwing your legs over his shoulders in the process.

“missed this.” he pushes the hem of your dress up until it’s bunched up at your hips.

“‘s been too long without your sweetness,” dennis adds, gazing up at you with his sad blue eyes.

you hum at his words, your hand finding its way into his hair. “you always look so good like this.”

dennis feels his pants tighten at that.

“jus’ want you…” he mumbles, beginning to leave light kisses along your inner thigh.

he trails a path up your skin before reaching your glistening cunt, his breath finding it before his lips do.

you swallow thickly, your eyes glued to dennis’s head between your thighs.

he presses a gentle kiss to your center and wastes no time running his tongue over your folds, his nose nudging your aching clit. his hands squeeze your soft flesh—eyes drowsily shut like he’s intoxicated by the taste of you.

dennis can feel his erection pressing against the fabric of his pants, practically begging to be let out.

a moan escapes your mouth and you throw your head back in pleasure, running your fingers down his mullet.

“oh my god, dennis…” you mutter.

he whimpers against you, the vibrations causing you to jump slightly.

“love this pussy so much,” dennis mumbles before wrapping his lips around your pretty little clit, swirling his tongue around the bundle of nerves as if it were a lollipop he’d just thrown in his mouth.

“holy fuck,” you breathe out.

his mouth leaves your swollen bud with a faint ‘pop’ and immediately goes back to thrusting his tongue into your slick hole.

subconsciously, his hips grind into the edge of the bed, the friction between his pants and his throbbing cock as they shift against each other only adding to the satisfaction of having your taste on his tongue.

dennis devours your cunt like a starved man—the world around him disappearing.

you feel your stomach tighten, a small gasp leaving your lips. “dennis, i’m—shit—i’m coming!”

his jaw doesn’t stop moving, too busy lapping up at your oozing slit.

you throw your head back as you let out another moan, allowing him to help you ride out your high.

eventually the overstimulation gets to you, but dennis does his best to keep your thighs from closing in on him—needing every last drop of you in his mouth.

you proceed to feel the bed shake and hear a loud moan come out of your boyfriend.

dennis pulls away from your pussy—his head lolling back against your thigh as his chest heaves up and down.

“‘s too good,” he mutters, your arousal evident on his lips and chin.

“wha…” the words get lost in your throat as dennis stands up—a dark patch staining the crotch area of his pants.

“did… did you come?”

dennis feels his face heat up. “yeah… couldn’t help it. ‘m sorry baby,” he murmurs. “you’re too addicting.”

you feel yourself grow wet again as dennis reveals to finishing just from pleasuring you.

you stand up and flatten your dress out.

“just… get on the bed.”

you have no choice but to return the favor now.

i loved writing this sm, i’m such a fan of pathetic sub dennis hehe. divider by @/fae-and-wolf

likes and reblogs are appreciated!

[maebyi]

oh my godddd 🤤 your new whitaker blurb was sooo good!!! i'd love if you wrote more for him!! maybe something about him going down on you and studying up on anatomy to become some kind of sex god?

hi anon, tysm for requesting! you can read it here <3 hope u enjoyyy

[maebyi]

notes. slight sub!dennis, oral (f receiving), 950 words, not proofread

dennis knew the human anatomy—of course he did. he’s a doctor after all.

but perhaps… he examined the woman’s a bit more upon entering a relationship with you.

you two have been going strong for two months now and each day was just a day closer to seeing that beautiful body he always fantasizes about laid bare beneath him.

after multiple heated makeout sessions and dry humping occurrences—dennis knew he couldn’t go in blind.

sure, he’s had one or two hookups in the past, but he never really put the effort into it, or had a clue of what to even do.

but, he really likes you.

and the last thing dennis wants is to scare you off.

so he did what any other man would.

he studied.

dennis spent countless nights researching about whatever came to mind—a woman’s key sweet spots, where they’re located, the best way to stimulate her, how to know if she finished… or not.

even watching porn videos here and there for the extra help.

although that usually just ends with his bottom lip stuck between his teeth, hand around his leaking cock, palm moving up and down as he follows the way the guy in the recording moves his hips against the girl’s ass—imagining it’s his dick thrusting into your sweet cunt.

at some point, he also asked trinity for advice.

she simply told him, “you’ll figure it out soon enough,” before walking off and leaving him to his thoughts.

and dennis was confident he would.

but now, being here with you… it’s like he’s forgotten everything about a woman. literally everything.

you two lay in his bed, lips moving against each other feverishly.

dennis’s hands are on your waist while yours cup his face—chests flush against one another.

he can tell tonight’s the night.

with the way you’re moaning into his mouth, running your fingers through his curls, and pressing yourself against him—it has to be.

he swiftly flips you guys around, his body hovering yours now.

reluctantly, his lips leave yours.

instead, dennis begins to trail a path of wet kisses along your jaw down to your throat, already feeling himself grow semi-hard at the sound of your heavy breathing.

he reaches your cleavage and glances up at you with those big blue eyes of his that makes you fold every time.

“is this okay?” he asks.

you prop yourself up on your elbows and give him a nod of approval.

“‘s more than okay, denny,” you tell him.

dennis feels his knees weaken at the nickname and goes back to kissing your skin—his soft lips brushing against the valley between your breasts—before he makes the bold decision to move to your stomach.

his hands are holding your hips in place as he slowly inches closer to where you want him.

when he reaches the waistband of your jeans, he glances at you once more, wanting to make sure that he isn’t reading you wrong.

you give him a look that says ‘i want this’.

dennis unbuttons your jeans and carefully slides them off you before discarding them on the floor.

he leans down, settling between your legs.

he wraps his arms around your thighs, fingers squeezing the supple flesh.

he presses his cheek against your soft skin—eyes closed as he savors this moment.

slowly, dennis starts to leave gentle kisses along your inner thigh, reveling in the way your breath hitches.

your hand finds his hair and you run your fingers through his dark locks.

finally, dennis gets to where the both of you so desperately want him.

he presses a light kiss to your heat through the fabric of your panties before delicately pulling them to the side to expose your glistening cunt.

if he wasn’t hard before, he definitely is now.

he folds his tongue against your slit and licks a stripe along your pussy, eliciting a quiet moan out of you that only motivates him more.

god, you’re sweeter than he imagined.

dennis wraps his lips around your clit, swirling his tongue around the bundle of nerves, before pulling away with a faint pop.

you throw your head back against the bed—eyes fluttered shut and mouth agape as a soft whimper escapes your throat.

“you taste fuckin’ heavenly,” dennis mutters.

he continues his actions, switching between sucking on your sensitive bud and licking at your wetness.

you curse under your breath, already feeling yourself grow close.

“s…shit, dennis—i’m so close,” you breathe out.

dennis simply puts ten times more effort, determined to make you finished.

“wanna… make you… feel good…” he murmurs.

his thumb finds your aching clit, rubbing lazy circles onto it as he proceeds to wallow in your slick cunt.

that’s all it takes for you to break.

it hits you faster than you can process, and before you know it, a strangled gasp leaves your mouth and your grip on dennis’s hair tightens.

dennis only focuses on lapping up your leaking sex, almost like a man starved.

it’s when your thighs start to close in on his head that you tug him away.

he gazes up at you, your arousal evident on his chin and lips.

“did… i do good?”

your chest heaves up and down as you catch your breath and all you can do is give him a nod.

“if that’s how you eat a girl out then i have to know how you fuck her.”

you pull him back up for a kiss, tasting yourself on his lips.

dennis wastes no time reaching for his belt, fumbling with the buckle, but getting it off eventually.

it’s a miracle trinity’s out because dennis doesn’t think he’s gonna be able to stay quiet tonight.

based on this req. divider by @/bhavihelps

likes and reblogs are appreciated!

[maebyi]

(the pitt s2 e1 when it’s implied that garcia can’t keep quiet during sex, except in this scenario you’re garcia.)

dennis whitaker x fem!reader

cw: pure filth, slight sub!dennis, and garsantos crumbs

“what do we got?” you enter the room, adjusting the glove on your hand to your liking.

dr. robby gives a brief introduction of you to the new attending physician.

“meet dr. baran al-hashimi, new ed attending. she’s going to be covering for me while i’m gone.”

“so nice to meet you.”

“likewise. i was getting sick of the old man,” you reply, putting on the procedure gown.

“oh, i’ll miss you too,” robby says. “she has a hard time expressing her feelings,” he tells dr. al-hashimi.

santos chimes in, “not all of them, apparently.” she raises her brows before returning her attention to the patient.

the night before. . .

your nails run down dennis’s chest as you keep a steady pace, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing throughout the entire room.

“oh fuck,” dennis mutters, a whimper leaving his throat as your warm walls clench around him. “baby, ‘m so close,” he tells you, his fingers giving your hips a squeeze.

“right there with you,” you breathe out, continuing your movements. you lift yourself up, letting almost all of his size leave your cunt, before sinking right back down—feeling the way the tip of his dick hits your sweet spot every time.

dennis does his best to follow your pace, thrusting his hips up to meet you, but quickly faltering in his actions and eventually giving up.

“jesus, dennis—you won’t even help a girl out, will you?” you told him as you ultimately took over the hard work.

not that he’s complaining. he loves it when you take over.

“you feel so good,” he moans out, his eyes fluttering at the sensation of you riding him.

you trail a hand up his chest before running your index finger over his bottom lip and slowly sliding it into his mouth.

dennis wastes no time wrapping his pretty pink lips around it, swirling his tongue around your digit. all while holding eye contact—something he knows sends you over the edge.

your breathing quickens at the sight and you can feel the knot in your stomach tighten. “you’re dangerous.”

he hums as you slowly retract your finger from his mouth. “yeah?” he murmurs.

“oh my god, i’m almost there,” you mutter, using your last bit of strength to guide dennis’s hand towards your clit.

he rubs his thumb against your sensitive bud once, twice, then three times, until you’re finally seeing stars.

a soft moan escapes your mouth and you clench around his cock once more, causing dennis to follow in your footsteps.

he throws his head back against the pillow—mouth agape and eyes sewn shut—a loud groan leaving his lips. “fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…” he whispers under his breath.

you two were so caught up in the pleasure of it all that you completely forgot there was company.

in the next room, santos stares at the ceiling frozen in place. she just had to listen (not willingly) to an hour of two of her closest coworkers getting it on.

“never even thought i’d hear the day,” she mutters.

garcia, next to her in bed, lets out a sigh and flips over to rest on her side. “let’s just hope they don’t go multiple rounds.”

“are we ever that bad?”

“go to sleep.”

so obsessed with him rn it’s unhealthy.

divider not by me. likes and reblogs are appreciated!

[maebyi]

just finished watching jacksepticeye play episode 5 and 6 of dispatch lowkey nobody talk to me

[maebyi]

adrian chase and his hispanic gf...

absolutely loves it when u speak spanish

secretly, it gets him hard

has u make playlists full of spanish songs for him to listen to whenever

devours the fuck out of a good bowl of pozole

will and does learn the language for u

"tengo la mas mejor novia del mundo!"

u smother him with kisses after

eventually he meets your family

not nervous about it at all. considers himself a likable person so he's confident they'll love him

and they do

your little sister thinks he's an ultimate genius bc of his animal facts (that are mostly wrong but she doesn't need to know that)

obviously, your siblings take this as an opportunity to embarrass you

a little offended when u shut them down, eager to know what exactly u find "embarrassing" when it comes to him

surprisingly your dad likes him, assigning adrian as his new drinking buddy

does his best to speak some spanish with your parents

doesn't miss a chance to boost your mom's ego with compliments about her cooking

even asks her to give him lessons

to which your mom whispers to u that he should be invited around more often

so u do exactly that

u begin dragging him to a bunch of the family gatherings and parties

where he gets interrogated by all your tías and tíos

at some point during a conversation he brings up his knowledge of the hispanic culture and history

gets along amazingly with your cousins

they all call him gringo (affectionately of course) and he just goes along with it like "hell yeah!"

bf'd so hard he got drunk with your dad at a quince once

they wouldn't stop talking for the rest of the night

did i mainly base this off what i thought my family would think of him? maybe. anyways, adrian chase deserves a hispanic gf and it needs to be me.

please like and reblog!

[milesick]

easy lovers. . .

pairing: dick grayson x fem!reader

summary: falling in love with each other was easy—a little too easy. after a series of dates and getting to know the other better, it was only a matter of time, right? no longer able to hold it in, dick finds himself desperate and decides that tonight will not end until he gets to walk home with a kiss, from you.

notes: 4.1k words…. fluff!! with a side of nasty kissing, dick is absolutely fed up and DESPERATE, reader has never had a boyfriend before so dick is the very first guy you’ve ever been with. so many feelings and love and yearning you guys are so obsessed with each other its genuinely DISGUSTING. but dick is like way worse because at least half of this is him yearning for you,,,, also a lot of making out...dick literally eats ur face. all the dialogue is later in gomenasorry. written with black reader in mind >0<

Dick Grayson was on a mission. Tonight’s date, he decided, was going to be extra special than usual. Why, you ask? Because tonight, he was going to secure his kiss from you—poor, unsuspecting, you.

Tonight marked the 8th date you guys have gone on ever since your first meeting at a late-night convenience store around the corner of his apartment, where the once peaceful environment was interrupted by a measly burglar waving his gun around with arrogance and the demand of money.

It was the one night when Dick wasn’t in costume and was nursing a severely bruised body from a villain he had encountered two days earlier. The situation irritated him even more than he already was—Bruce was still chewing his ass out over a case that he was working on; he still needed to go to work with his bruised body because he can’t exactly let them know what violent activities he’s up to at night and his injuries—now this.

So it’s an understatement when saying the burglar was dealt with easily and quickly, as Dick was able to disarm him before the man could even take another step towards another innocent customer—someone Dick learned later was you.

The anticlimactic moment ended with the man scrambling out of the store with much less confidence than before, the store clerk shakily thanking Dick with the promise of free items of his choice tonight and the next time he comes in. Accepting the gratitude, Dick was ready to go home with the multitude of free items in his grocery bag--until he spotted you.

Standing near the entrance, dressed in sweatpants about twice your actual size with a hoodie you were equally drowned in, Dick found you absolutely radiant. He wasn’t someone who believed in love at first sight beforehand, but now? Certainly, this is what it means.

It took him a few seconds of silence and staring at you with an open mouth, like a goldfish for him to realize that you were speaking to him, and just like the store clerk. you were thanking him profusely for saving you from the gun that was previously pointed to you. Dick can't remember what happened after that. But he does remember walking out of the store a happy man, your phone number having found its way into his phone.

Back in the present, Dick knew that maybe 8 dates was a little too much to come to this decision; after all, for him it was only on date number 2 that he knew he wanted you, badly. But he knew he had to be patient, especially after you revealed that you’ve never been in a relationship—or on a date at all. It was for this reason that he decided to take things slow and wait for a sign that you wanted him too.

By now, he’s reached his limit.

Every other date you’ve had prior to this had been more casual: going out for coffee, the arcade, movie nights at his place (more often yours because he absolutely adores your cat, mocha), grocery shopping together, and going for a stroll in Melville Park to walk Haley, his adorable pitbull you fell in love with.

Tonight, Dick took you to a nice restaurant with tables reserved on its rooftop. He knew you weren’t someone who frequented fancy restaurants too often, so he found a solid one just in between fancy and casual.

Dinner was going well, and you were absolutely perfect. He’d told you beforehand to come wearing a blue outfit, and the dress you wore had surpassed his expectations so much that he considered dropping down on one knee right then and there before ever asking you to be his girlfriend, if it wasnt apparent just how much it affected him seeing that colour on you with his lovesick gaze the entire night.

The dress you’re wearing is dark blue silk, the kind of colour that shifts like midnight water under the lighting of the restaurant's stringed lights. It drapes across your frame in a way that seems deliberate, highlighting your curves, and Dick feels his mouth dry at how it complements your brown skin—like the colour was meant to be worn by you, and you alone.

The glow of your upper body lets him know of the shea butter you’d rubbed on yourself, your legs that slip through the slit sharing the same glow.

The matching gold jewelry you wear and the updo you’ve done with your curls make him fight demons he never even knew he had, wanting to jump over the table to show you how much he loves you.

It truly doesn’t help how much he’s reminded of his Nightwing costume every time he looks at you.

He finds himself murmuring more compliments than usual because he can’t contain how much it moves him. The blue that once belonged only to his suit now belongs to you too, and he adores it—adores you—in a way he can’t keep from showing.

Dick finds himself craving dessert earlier than usual.

But he knows he has to act accordingly; he can’t afford to scare you away. So he does what he’s best at and eyes you with a disgustingly lovesick, yearning look as if he’s some schoolboy with his very first crush for the entire night as you guys chat over dinner.

He pays even closer attention to you than ever (if that’s even possible), maintaining intense eye contact with every word delivered in the air, squeezing your manicured hand (that has the nails he paid for) while you excitedly share the plot of the most recent book you read last weekend, and feeding you some of the food he’s ordered (you protested against stealing his food, but he insisted, claiming, “It’s my duty to feed you.” how do you even respond to that?).

Overall, dinner was perfect. He thinks this is the best date you guys have been on so far, as after dinner he surprises you with tickets to the movie he remembers you wanted to see when it came out.

What a coincidence that today happens to be its release date, and the happy squeal it pulled from you once he revealed the surprise made the rest of his year, he thinks. It’s something he could listen to on repeat for hours and never get sick of.

As the night got darker and you got tired, Dick knew it was time to take you home. As much as he’d love for this night to continue, he doesn’t want to keep you up later than you’re used to.

It brings you both to his car, pulling up into the neighbourhood of your apartment complex, the car filled with a comfortable silence as you gaze out to the passing buildings. His jacket covers your previously bare shoulders during the car ride after he’d noticed the goosebumps rising on your skin (he wouldn’t quit sulking at the fact that you didn’t tell him anything about you being cold and forced you inside his jacket desite your protests).

Parked in front of your building, you unbuckled your seatbelt and grabbed your purse, ready to thank him for tonight once again and wish him a goodnight—before you were surprised with him unbuckling himself and turning off the engine. He paused his actions when he spotted your questioning stare.

“What? You thought I was gonna let you walk up there alone? Absolutely not,” Dick huffed, quickly circling around the car to open your door and making space for you as you stepped out. “What kind of gentleman would I be if I didn’t walk you to your door? I need to make sure you make it inside safely, you know.”

Normally you would’ve been your own ride home (he’s never liked it but agreed if it made you happy), but Dick insisted that he’s the one who drives you home this time.

Dick walks you into your building, already knowing his way around from past visits, and unlocks the lobby’s door with his own copy of your keys, then leads you further into the elevators with a hand on your back that’s still covered by his jacket.

It’s almost pathetic how during the entire elevator ride, the two of you are stealing glances at each other—oblivious of the other person’s nervous shifting. Dick knows that it’s tonight that he gets that kiss from you.

At last, when having reached your door, it’s as though the once simmering tension has announced its presence, and settles in the air between the two of you. As you turn to face him with your back to your door, he gives you a soft smile that lets butterflies rise in your stomach, the warm orange lighting that complements his tanned skin doing nothing to help.

If anything, it makes whatever you’re feeling worse, and you don’t know if you can keep acting oblivious to your true feelings.

“I had a really great time,” his voice snaps you out of your thoughts, your full attention back on him, “And I really loved our conversations tonight. I'd love to do something like this again, with you.” His tone at the end has a hopeful implication. He hopes he doesn’t come off as too desperate, but part of him can’t get himself to care.

He thinks now would be the perfect time for that kiss, but he doesn’t want to pressure you. Dick knows it would kill him to ruin what you guys have, and this might be the most nervous he’s ever been in his entire life.

“Yeah?” You ask with a hint of shyness, holding your hands behind your back. “Thank you, Dick. I had a really great time with you tonight, too. The movie made me really happy and...I’m glad you remembered that small detail.”

Dick feels his heart practically melting at the sound of your voice. Your obvious nervousness only boosts his confidence in what he plans on doing, and he can’t get over how much he loves your voice. You’re so adorable. He thinks to himself.

His next smile is a lot more dorky, cheeks warm with his dimples coming out to reveal themselves. It’s your favourite feature on him, right after his blue, blue eyes, you think. You both feel like high schoolers again with a pathetic crush. “Nothing you tell me is ever small.”

He’s taken aback by how fond he let that come out of his mouth, but he decides it’s worth it when your eyes avert down to your feet—flustered. It’s his favourite look on you.

But he knows just like this isn’t enough. This thought leads him to slowly reach for your arms behind your back, gently uncrossing them while his hands trail down to hold your own. He searches your eyes for any discomfort before intertwining them, when having found none, his calloused palms swallow your smaller, softer ones. The contrast does nothing but make his heart beat faster.

It’s when you look up at him with wide, glimmering dark eyes filled with hope and a drop of insecurity that it clicks—you are the woman he wishes to share his life with.

You’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t have a crush on him. It was impossible not to, with his easygoing grin that you’ve observed goes toe to toe with the sun itself. With each action done with careful consideration of you, with each compliment given, with each laugh he’s pulled out of you, with each dinner cooked together, with each night spent on his fire escape with shoulders touching– each day learning about what makes you, you.

It was too easy falling in love with Dick Grayson.

And that scared you.

Similarly to Dick, it was around the third date that you knew you wanted something blooming between you.

Love. What a strange concept for a girl who’s never fallen in love.

You find that the only reason why you hadn’t initiated anything further with him is because you’re unsure if this is how the process goes. Along with the slight insecurity of slipping up if you did, with Dick having more experience than you did. Soon those worries disappeared, because Dick had done nothing but soothe them.

Every moment where you felt as though you needed to initiate anything physical beyond what you were used to, he noticed, and every anxious thought was blown away with a simple reassuring smile.

He never said more than a quiet, “It’s okay,” because to him it was always about your comfort before anything.

He’s never made you feel forced to do anything, content to lead you through each encounter until you found the moment you were ready.

You realize as soon as he holds your hands in his—he’s the one for you.

Dick chuckles softly at the look in your eye and squeezes your hands gently. His blue eyes, nearly swallowed up by his dilated pupils, are fixed on yours, studying your reaction with an intensity that makes you want to squirm. He can feel how warm your skin is and his heart feels like it could pop out of his chest.

With a deep breath, Dick takes another step closer, now only inches apart. He lifts a hand to lift your chin ever-so-slightly, making you tilt your head up to meet his gaze. Dark eyes meet blue.

You swallow thickly as your eyes remain locked on each other, feeling his other hand move down to your waist. His expression is so vulnerable and raw as he looks down at you, and you think you might throw up from nerves alone. Your eyes water as these thoughts circle through your mind.

It doesn’t take detective skills to read you like a book. He can tell what you’re thinking. He knows the reason you’re unsure as you begin shaking in his arms. His thumb traces slow circles against your jaw, coaxing you to relax. He hopes you can’t hear how fast his heart is beating, how he’s memorizing the sound of your soft breaths.

The two of you are the only ones in the hallway at the risk of being seen by neighbours, but neither of you can find it in you to care.

"You okay?" He murmurs softly, searching your face with those impossibly blue eyes. There's no teasing now–just genuine care and something achingly tender beneath it all. "I can... we can stop if—"

(But the way he lingers shows he really doesn’t want to stop.)

"No!" you interject louder than intended to, freezing when you realized ust how loud that came out. A surprised laugh bubbles out of him at your sudden outburst, the sound warm and so fond. That adorable reaction just makes him squeeze you a tiny bit closer.

"N—no, I... this is okay. I'm okay." You finish softly, heart aching for more. You’re incredibly greedy when it comes to his touch, and you don’t feel a drop of shame for it.

"Good," he murmurs, leaning in until his forehead brushes yours—so close you can feel his breath against your lips. His free hand lifts to cradle your cheek now, thumb sweeping beneath your eye to catch that traitorous wetness before it falls.

"Because I really wanna kiss you right now," he admits in a whisper, grinning that stupid lopsided grin that makes your stomach flip. "But only if you really want me to."

Your heart almost stutters to a stop, and your gaze is consumed by nothing but want. Your pupils were almost as blown as his, and the way the wind blows, tussling at his wavy hair, drives you crazy. You melt against him as your foreheads touch, letting out a shaky breath.

It’s as you lose yourself in the pool of his impossibly blue eyes that you realize death doesn't scare you if it's by drowning in his eyes.

You lean into his warm palm, memorizing the sweet scent of his cologne. You give your answer in a hushed tone, as though sharing a secret that's to remain between the two of you alone. "I really wanna kiss you, too."

It sends a shiver down his spine. Holy smokes, he thinks to himself. You look like a dream.

The world seems to melt away as he gazes down at you with an intensity that is both gentle and smoldering. Dick can feel your breath on his lips, and it drives him insane.

"Damn," he mutters roughly, his voice suddenly raw with emotion, "you're going to be the death of me."

It's the only time he'll use the Lord's name in vain.

Just like that, he can't hold back any longer. The dam breaks, and he closes the last meager distance between the two of you, capturing your mouth in a deep, starved kiss.

A cut off gasp is swallowed by his lips, your eyes tightly shutting closed as your lips lock with his— and you feel alive. This is your very first kiss, and it's one you will never forget.

Dick’s arms circle your waist completely, pulling you flush against his body as his one hand slides up your spine until his fingers thread into your hair, tilting your head back as he kisses you with everything he has.

If it weren't for his arms holding you up, your knees would have buckled. He can feel how your body shakes with nerves and anticipation against his lips, and he can’t resist brushing his tongue over your bottom lip, groaning at the rewarding whimper he gets.

The smack of your lips is nasty; after each smack comes the sound of a deep groan which then triggers a breathy whine. Your blood is rushing to your head, and you think you might die. You’re suddenly immensely grateful for living on a nearly empty floor.

DIck groans low in his throat when he feels your grip tighten on his dress shirt, like you’re terrified he might pull away. As if he would ever want to. His tongue teases along your bottom lip again—asking without words.

His other hand drops from your chin to squeeze your hip possessively, fingers digging in just enough to make you gasp against his mouth.

"Sweetheart," he murmurs between feverish kisses, voice wrecked already, "c'mon, open up for me."

That tone—half praise and half demand—sends a bolt of heat straight through you. Holy shit. You’re embarrassed at the mewl that escapes you at the pet name. Please call me that again, please, please—

It's almost instantaneous that you open your mouth, giving his tongue access. The pleased chuckle that escapes him makes your entire body flare up in warmth. It felt good, getting his approval.

Dick takes full advantage of your obedience, the kiss turning downright filthy as he explores your mouth, his tongue coaxing against yours in the most distracting way. He groans again, a hungry, guttural sound that reverberates through his chest. He has to have more of you.

"Dick—" you whine against his lips as the smacking of lips circles around the small, dark quiet hallway. You find out just how easy it is to forget your surroundings when Dick Grayson is all-consuming in your mind, and on your lips.

The sound of his name on your lips grows his greed, wanting to own every gasp and whine and whimper you make. When your tongue brushes against his, something ignites in him, some feral, possessive feeling that makes his skin burn. You're so cute; he feels like a starved animal.

He pulls away with a wet sound, breathing heavily against your lips and resting his forehead against yours. He can feel your heart racing. He presses one last desperate peck to your lips.

"God," he mumbles raggedly, "you're doing things to me, sweetheart."

"I d-didn't do anything," you pant quietly, catching your breath as a string of drool remains between the two of you—your eyes half-lidded.

Dick stares at your face, taking in your flushed cheeks, the way you pant, and that adorable little strand of drool—God, he is so obsessed with you it isn't even funny.

His hands roam your body, one still gripping your hip and the other sliding up to cup your cheek, his calloused thumb tracing your kiss-swollen bottom lip, wiping away the wetness. You resist the urge to take his thumb in your mouth where it sits against your lip.

"Baby, look at you," he murmurs, gaze darkening as he looks down at you. "I could eat you alive right now." His comment makes you squawk. "Please don't," you sigh weakly, a protesting frown on your lips.

"I won't," he murmurs between nips and pecks along your jaw, "not unless you ask very nicely." He punctuates it with a slow drag of his teeth against your pulse point before pulling away just enough to see the reaction on your face.

His fingers tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear as his expression softens into something warmer—something more like home. "But I should probably get going before I actually do something reckless."

Oh. Yeah.

"You should..." You realize sadly that as much as you wanted to stay out longer with him, you couldn't risk getting in trouble with your roommate. "I wish you didn't have to," you murmur sadly, looking down at your heels.

His face falls for a second, reading the disappointment in your tone instantly. Dick pulls you back into a tight hug, pressing his lips to the top of your head before sighing dramatically.

"Ugh, don't look at me like that," he whines, squeezing you lightly as he rests his chin on your head. "You're gonna make me stay. And then I'll have to explain to your roommate why I'm camped out on your doorstep like some lovesick stray."

You couldn’t resist the giggle at his comment, equally wrapping your arms around him. You’re overwhelmed and also not whelmed (heh, yj ref) enough by his scent. “I would've let you stay the night like usual, but she just came back from vacation. Sorry, Dick.”

He only sulks above you, letting out one last dramatic sigh. He’s as dramatic as ever. “It’d be easier if I could just bring you back to mine,” Dick huffs enviously. “If only life were so easy.”

“You talk like I won’t just see you soon, silly. I promised Haley treats.”

“So you only like me for my dog?”

“Crap, you caught me...” you grin, unbothered

He lets out an undignified squawk, your laughther following up with the dramatics.

“To be fair, she’s super adorable. I can’t resist her eyes; she’s just a baby!”

“I’ll have you know, I was the one who trained her. Her cuteness is a direct reflection of me.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Fine, fine. Maybe I like you a little too.

Dick beams instantly, smug as ever. “I knew it.”

He pulls back just enough to cup your face again—and this time, there's no joking in those stupidly blue eyes. Just something painfully sincere.

"But I’ll see you soon? Like… really soon?" His thumb traces the apple of your cheek hopefully.

You nod eagerly, returning his hopeful smile with a tender one of your own. “Yeah...I’d like that.” You confess quietly, holding his hand against your cheek.

His smile brightens immediately, boyish and so unfairly charming. You hate him. "Good," he murmurs, pressing one last lingering kiss to your forehead before finally—reluctantly—stepping back.

Dick walks backwards to the elevator like an idiot, unable to tear his eyes away from you. "And hey," he adds with a grin that promises trouble, fingers tapping against his chest where his heart is still racing. "You did this to me."

You can’t resist a laugh at his antics, pulling out your keys from your purse as he gets closer to the elevator. You grin like a lovesick teenager—you both do. “I sure did, Golden Boy. Call me when you get home?”

“Always,” he promises, taking a moment to admire your glowing figure under the warm lighting. He stuffs his hands in his pockets to keep himself from walking back over and hauling you into his arms again.

It’s when you unlock your door and give him one last smile that he dramatically blows you a kiss, his heart warming even further when you playfully catch it.

Dick’s grin softens one last time, pausing as the elevator doors open. “Goodnight, baby.” He tells you, you parrot after him. “Goodnight, Dickie.” Only you know how much that nickname makes his heart flutter.

And then— just like that—you disappear into your apartment.

(you only realize minutes later—thanks to your roommate— that you completely forgot to hand back his jacket. when mentioning this to dick he only laughs and tells you to keep it as a souvenir.)

@chifuyukisser @sweets3rial @belongstomel

[maebyi]

my man on willpower

pairing: clark kent x fem!reader

summary: clark suddenly begins to distance himself—afraid he’s being too clingy, and it’s your job to remind him that he should be obsessed with you.

ib: @lovingyoulovinme

warnings/tags: not proofread so i apologize for any spelling mistakes, all in lowercase, established relationship, written in both reader and clark’s pov, fluff if u squint, clark is absolutely head over heels for reader, reader knows he’s superman, sub!clark, the term good boy is used once, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v (wrap it b4 u tap it ppl), based off sabrina’s new song my man on willpower

word count: 2.9k

note: this is my first time writing smth like this... i’ve dabbled in a few imagines here and there wayyy back then, but never anything like this so pls. bear with me. also tried to integrate some of her lyrics in there so lmk if u catch them hehe

it’s been three months since you and clark started dating. and he’s the best boyfriend you could have ever asked for. he’s clingy, he’s loving, and he always initiates calling and touching.

exactly what you desired in a man.

what’s there to complain about when you have a man who’s completely and utterly obsessed with you?

turns out there’s a few things, actually.

clark sat at his desk, the document in front of him waiting to be written on. he stares blankly at the computer screen, his fingers resting on the keyboard but not moving whatsoever.

jimmy slaps a hand down onto clark’s desk, causing the taller man to jump. “wha—what was that for?”

“you’ve been staring at a white screen for five minutes now.”

clark feels a hint of embarrassment upon hearing jimmy’s words and clears his throat. “it’s just writer’s block,” he murmurs.

“didn’t you finish that article on superman the other day?” jimmy raises a brow, resting his hip against the edge of clark’s desk as he looks down at the dark haired.

clark sighs and turns his chair around to face jimmy. “alright, can i be honest?” he doesn’t give the other time to respond before he’s already adding on, “i had the best night last night.”

jimmy is immediately intrigued. “well, go on.”

clark begins to tell him that yesterday was your guys three month anniversary—explaining how he went to your apartment and surprised you with dinner after you got off work.

“so you snuck into her apartment while she wasn’t there and started cooking some stuff up?”

clark rolls his eyes. “you’re making it sound like i’m some sort of stalker. she consented to giving me a spare key, by the way.”

“i’m just sayin’ man. some girls hate that stuff.”

“hate what exactly?”

“the clinginess.”

clark’s face falters, slowly taking in what jimmy is saying.

“i know a ton of girls who hate it when guys are too clingy. sometimes, the ladies just need their space.” jimmy shrugs.

you picked up your phone and checked the time for what felt like the tenth time. it was already six o’clock, meaning clark got off work an hour ago.

but he hasn’t called. which is very unusual for him.

you decide to take it upon yourself to initiate the call, pressing on his contact before bringing the phone up to your ear.

it rings twice before he finally answers.

“clark?”

“hey dear.”

“you didn’t call after you got off work, i got worried," you say, slouching back against the couch.

“i’m sorry, it must’ve slipped my mind,” he answers, his voice low.

“are you still coming over for movie night?”

“uh… unfortunately, i don’t think i can make it this time sweetheart. perry assigned me a really hard article and i can’t miss the deadline.”

a small frown forms on your lips but you understand. “okay. maybe next time.”

“yeah, sure. have a good night baby.”

he hangs up before you can say it back, catching you off guard, but you simply brush it off.

throughout the rest of the week, you began noticing how distant clark was.

it was always, “i’m busy” or “i’m working”, like he didn’t have time for you anymore.

he only visited your apartment once that week. and when he did, the slutty pajamas you wore didn’t even get a single glance out of him.

it’s like something inside him had switched after celebrating your three month anniversary. it’s the first time you’ve ever seen him be this reserved.

he didn’t bother to call as often, always seemed tense when walking you home, barely invited you over to his apartment, rarely even stayed over at yours anymore, and overall… just seemed off.

something was definitely wrong.

you were currently getting ready to go out with clark and his friends. they’re your friends too. kinda.

you’ve met lois and jimmy a handful of times, but both were very sweet and you all seemed to get along well.

lois had invited you to come with her and the boys to the new bar that just opened down the street from the daily planet.

you gladly accepted.

you finish getting ready, quickly fixing your hair with a glance at the mirror before making your way to the living room, where clark sat, having been ready for the past ten minutes.

“sorry for taking so long—my hair wouldn’t cooperate, but i’m ready now,” you tell him.

clark stands up off the couch, pushing his glasses up with his finger before shaking his head dismissively. “don’t worry about it. let’s go,” clark says, his hand resting lightly on the lower of your back as he guides you to the front door.

by the time the two of you arrive, lois and jimmy have already sat down in a booth. jimmy is the first to speak up. “kent! over here!” a wide grin on his face as he waves the both of you over.

“took you two long enough,” lois adds, her finger running over the rim of her drink.

“to be fair, it was all me. clark was ready way before i was,” you reply, a soft chuckle leaving your mouth as you slide into the booth, clark sitting down next to you.

clark opened his mouth to say something—it was second nature for him to throw compliments your way—but quickly closed it shut, worried it’ll just ick you out. especially in front of your friends.

“well, that doesn’t matter anymore. new bar means an excuse to drink, so let’s get on with it!” jimmy exclaims.

as the night got darker, the four of you continued to chat amongst yourselves—mainly clark, lois and jimmy. you couldn’t find it in yourself to chime in all the time, most of the time not even knowing what the three were talking about.

they were currently in the middle of a conversation about… you have no idea what.

you’ve been zoning out for the past twenty minutes, wanting nothing more than to go back home and have clark all to yourself.

your hand goes to hold his under the table, fingers interlacing with his. you’d hoped he would’ve at least spared you a glance—but no.

you squeeze his hand in an attempt to grab his attention.

still nothing.

you watch as he continues to talk to his coworkers, not even seeming remotely interested in looking at you.

you huff in annoyance, removing your hand from his. he doesn’t even seem to notice that.

you prop your elbow up on the table, resting your temple against your knuckles as you keep your gaze fixated on him, waiting for him to say something.

but he doesn’t.

“what the hell is going on?” you blurt out, cutting him off from whatever he was saying.

the entire table’s eyes are on you now, but you don’t pay mind to jimmy and lois—solely focused on figuring out where your boyfriend went.

“uh… sweetheart? is everything okay?” clark asks tentatively, tilting his head slightly.

you sigh heavily, your shoulders slumping as you fight the urge to roll your eyes. “no, clark, everything is not okay. you’ve been acting weird ever since we celebrated our anniversary. suddenly you’ve given up on calling me daily, you barely visit my place, it’s been over a week since we had our last movie night—jesus, clark, you used to be literally obsessed with me.“

clark is taken aback, not expecting such a reaction from you about his recent distance.

before he can say anything, jimmy clears his throat and hesitantly speaks up. “i may or may not have told him he was being too clingy…”

you turn to shoot jimmy a glare. “seriously?”

“i’m so sorry honey, i never meant to make you feel like i was pulling away from our relationship. i know i can get too needy sometimes and i also know that can be a dealbreaker for some and well… i didn’t want to scare you off,” clark explains, his hand immediately going to envelop yours.

a sense of relief takes over you upon hearing clark’s words. to know that he was just holding back in fear of losing you made your heart skip a beat.

your gaze softens, admiring his selflessness. “clark… that is the absolute last thing you have to worry about,” you reassure him.

you turn back towards jimmy. “never get into my boyfriend’s head again.” you point a threatening finger at him, to which he simply nods.

“the hardest thing to believe here is clark actually being able to restrain himself,” lois remarks.

“honestly yeah. i didn’t even think you had the ability to stay away from her for more than five minutes,” jimmy says.

“trust me, it was torture,” clark tells him.

“well,” you start, guiding you and clark out of the booth. “me and clark have some catching up to do. don’t bother contacting him for the rest of the night.” before the other two can get a word in, you’re already leading him back to his car.

your stumble back against the door, clark shutting it closed with his foot before guiding you to your bedroom.

you shrug your jacket off and let it drop to the ground, his joining almost immediately after.

clark’s glasses fog up as the two of you continue your heated make out session and he ultimately decides to throw them off, the sound of them hitting the floor catching neither of your attention.

clark’s hands find their way to the back of your thighs and swiftly pick you up off the floor, his chest flush against yours. you let out a muffled moan against his lips and loop your arms around his neck, your legs automatically encircling his waist.

he gently places you on the bed, his body hovering over you. his mouth leaves yours and instead goes to press open-mouthed kisses along your neck.

you instinctively arch your neck to allow him more space, a sigh of satisfaction leaving your lips. “i want nothing more than for you to be obsessed with me, clark,” you whisper.

the words go straight to his groin—his cock already straining against the fabric of his pants.

“and i want nothing more than to continue being obsessed with you, baby,” he murmurs against your skin.

he slowly makes his way down your body, his lips leaving kisses anywhere they can—your collarbone, the valley between your breasts, your stomach—absolutely anywhere.

eventually, he reaches the waistband of your jeans and silently asks for permission. once you nod your head yes, he wastes zero time pulling them down your legs.

he eyes your damp panties as he begins to leave a trail of kisses along your inner thigh, his big hands wrapping around the supple flesh.

“gonna make you feel so good, sweetheart,” he mumbles before reaching where you want him most.

his thumb goes to press against your clit through the fabric of your underwear, making your breath hitch.

clark throws your thighs over his shoulders before delicately pushing your panties to the side, letting him get the perfect view of your glistening cunt.

his tongue is flat against your folds as he licks a stripe along your pussy, eliciting a low moan out of you. he takes your clit into his mouth, wrapping his lips around the bundle of nerves and swirling his tongue around it before moving back with a pop.

your hand finds its way to his hair, your fingers tangling themselves in his dark strands. “just like that baby.”

“missed this sweet pussy,” he murmurs, his voice sending vibrations through your body.

he gives up on teasing and decides to give all his attention on where it matters most. his lips stay attached to your clit—tongue flicking across your sensitive bud and causing you to gasp out.

“clark, ‘m so close,” you breathe out. “yeah?” he continues his ministrations. “let go for me, baby. wanna taste you on my tongue,” clark says.

and that’s all it takes. you feel the knot in your stomach snap—your orgasm taking over you.

your grip on his hair tightens just a bit as you ride out your high, before finally loosening up.

your chest heaves up and down as you catch your breath, clark immediately coming up and pressing a light kiss to your shoulder. “you okay?” he asks you.

you don’t respond, his lips colliding with yours before you can even think.

your hands claw at the collar of his shirt before clumsily unbuttoning it open and throwing it off his shoulders. he shrugs it off, letting it join the growing pile of discarded clothes on your bedroom floor.

you flip the both of you over—clark now laying on his back while you straddled his lap.

you take your blouse off and anything else you have on before moving your focus to clark’s belt. you fumble with it for a few seconds before eventually getting it off. clark lifts his hips, shimmying his pants down, along with his boxers, before kicking them off completely.

a week. a whole week since you’ve had clark inside you.

it was time to change that.

he was already leaking with pre-cum, his pretty pink tip waiting to enter you. you swipe your thumb across the slit—a whimper leaving his mouth.

you line the tip of his cock with your entrance and hover above it, no intention to sink down just yet.

your eyes meet his.

“you want this? you want to feel my wet cunt all around you?” you say, gliding your soaking folds across his fat tip.

“yes, please baby—gosh, i need you so bad,” clark pleas, his hands squeezing your thighs.

“beg for it,” you deadpan.

clark doesn’t hesitate. “please, sweetheart. i’m sorry for distancing myself from you—i shouldn’t have ever done that. i love you so much, please baby—wanna feel your pretty pussy all over my cock,” he babbles, his voice cracking slightly in desperation.

the corners of your lips quirk up in a faint smile. “good boy,” you coo.

you finally give in and carefully sink yourself down onto his thick cock—feeling him stretch you out in the most pleasant way possible.

your eyes flutter shut for a moment as your mouth falls agape, having missed the feeling of the way he fills you up so good. “god, i almost forgot how big you are,” you mutter, letting yourself adjust to the size for a quick moment.

clark on the other hand, was already lost in a state of bliss. he knew he wasn’t gonna be able to last long with the way your walls clenched around him.

“oh gosh… you’re so tight sweetheart,” clark groans, his hands moving to grip your hips.

your hands rest on his chest as you lift yourself up, letting his cock almost leave, before dropping right back down.

a moan leaves clark’s lips, his head thrown back in pleasure. your finger taps his chin. “eyes on me.”

he does as you say and lifts his head, watching as you begin to form a steady pace.

your breathing quickens as you start to bounce up and down on clark’s lap—the tip of his dick hitting your sweet spot with every move.

one of your hands go to run through his hair, causing a whine to escape his throat. “you’re gonna continue being obsessed with me… and i’m gonna love every second of it,” you state, rolling your hips against his.

clark nods eagerly, his hands giving your hip a squeeze. “i’m so infatuated with you, dear—good gosh i love you so much, you don’t even know.”

you start to move up and down once again, this time increasing the pace just a bit. a soft moan leaves your mouth as you feel yourself nearing your second orgasm.

clark notices the way you stutter in your movements and thrusts his hips up to meet your bouncing. “wanna make you come again—wanna feel it all over my cock, beautiful,” clark mumbles, one hand leaving your hip to cup your breast.

he palms the soft flesh and runs his thumb over your nipple, noticing the way you shudder under his touch.

“oh god, don’t stop,” you moan.

“i have no intentions to, baby.”

it isn’t long before you reach your second climax of the night, clark’s eyes never leaving your face.

he watches the way your teeth tug at your bottom lip while your eyes stay shut. your hair lays perfectly along your shoulders, some strands falling across your face.

he thinks it’s you’re the most beautiful thing ever.

“i’m close sweetheart—where do you want it?” clark asks, his breathing quickening.

“inside—just do it inside me,” you tell him.

clark does exactly as you say and gives one final thrust of his hips before letting his cock fully sit inside you—letting out a strangled moan as he comes, his hot seed filling up your gummy walls.

after a few moments, you slump down onto his chest, the both of you worn out from tonight’s activities.

clark wraps an arm around your waist, his nose nuzzling the top of your head. “do you seriously mean it when you say you don’t care how clingy i am?” clark murmurs.

you lift your head up to meet his gaze, a tired chuckle leaving your lips. “yes, i mean it. i could never get sick of you.”

clark smiles sheepishly. “then i have no choice but to continue to bother you 24/7.“

“please do.”

dividers by @enchanthings-a

@sweets3rial @shoyofart