i’ve reached fucking flow state on this fic i’m writing, the ideas and words are just flowing out, my phone is about to die, haven’t ate yet, and i don’t want to stop writing cause i’m that locked in.
Writers have two modes and they are "i haven't written in three weeks and i am rotting from the inside and everything feels wrong and i don't know who i am anymore" and "i wrote for four hours straight and forgot to eat and it's dark outside and when did that happen and i feel like a god" and there is nothing in between. no chill. no medium setting. just famine or feast and a very confused nervous system.
“you cannot ship these two fictional characters because—” actually I can because they are not real people. they are just toys I play with. you cannot apply real-world morality to fiction or how strangers play with their imaginary toys in their imaginary sandboxes.
you can, however, curate your own internet experience by minding your own business, muting/blocking/scrolling past what upsets you but does not hurt anyone in real life in any way, shape or form.
“ship whatever you want except xyz. there is a limit” so you miss the entire point of what I just said 👌🏻
there is, in fact, no limit. I may be uncomfortable with it, I may even find it unpleasant/disturbing, but my personal feelings are not rules that can be applied to other people, and they absolutely do not justify shaming or harassing other people.
“you cannot ship these two fictional characters because—” actually I can because they are not real people. they are just toys I play with. you cannot apply real-world morality to fiction or how strangers play with their imaginary toys in their imaginary sandboxes.
you can, however, curate your own internet experience by minding your own business, muting/blocking/scrolling past what upsets you but does not hurt anyone in real life in any way, shape or form.
straight raw dogging it is the only way to go. i pull out my notes app and start typing away, no planning needed. if it doesn’t turn out the way i like i don’t even let it sit in my drafts i delete the whole thing in a fit of rage.
writers block is out to get me actually its already got to me. i swear i’ve been trying to write fics for the past week but every time i start i get not even half way through before thinking its not good enough and deleting everything. maybe im overthinking this but i genuinely hate the feeling of wanting to write and at the same time not knowing what to write. any tips for getting out of a writers block would be greatly appreciated…
In which Dennis Whitaker offers to help you fix something at your house, and oh, you must pay him back somehow.
Dennis Whitaker x femreader!
Readers a rad tech. City girl reader. NSW. Oral (m&f) unprotected P in V. A bit of rough Whitaker (i headcanon he doesn’t know he’s strength sometimes lol) bit of inexperience Whitaker. Feral reader. Bit of breeding if you squint. Dennis likes to bite.
word count: 6k
First time writing smut so please be nice
Morning filtered in through the blinds in thin, honeyed lines, striping the small apartment in soft gold.
The place had that that lived-in feel, trinity’s hoodie draped over a chair, Dennis’s boots abandoned by the door, maybe a sock somewhere in the living room. It was the quiet hum of a space that had seen a plenty of ordinary mornings just like this one.
Dennis was by the door, shrugging into his jacket, keys already looped around his fingers, halfway out before he’d even technically left.
From the kitchen, Trinity didn’t even pretend to be subtle as she watched him, leaning against the counter, in her robs, mug in hand.
“Oh, wow,” she drew out slowly, head tilting as her gaze dragged over him, amused and a little too pleased with herself. “Look at you.”
Dennis didn’t look up. “What.”
She took a slow sip of her coffee,“Nothing, nothing… just you actually made an effort today.”
That made him, slightly confused and smartly wary, glance at her and for her her grin to widened.
“God, you even put cologne on,” she added, like she’d just uncovered something incriminating. “Can smell it from here.”
Dennis frowned faintly, like he hadn’t even realized. “I always use it”
Trinity gave him a look so disbelieving it was almost theatrical.
“No, you wear whatever deodorant survived the week and call it a day. This…” she waved vaguely in his direction. “is effort.”
He looked down at himself like maybe his clothes had betrayed him somehow. “It’s not effort.”
“Right,” she said dryly. “And I’m the patron saint of minding my own business.”
Dennis let out a quiet breathy laugh through his nose and reached for the coffee mug he’d left on the counter, taking a swallow mostly so he wouldn’t say anything stupid.
Unfortunately for him, Trinity Santos loved silence for the reason being, that it gave her room.
She pushed off the counter and went to pour herself more coffee,“So what exactly is broken over there?”
He shrugged and set the mug down. “Her sink, I think, she said the water’s not coming out right.”
“And of course,” she said, voice laced with mock admiration, “you became Katniss Everdeen.”
Dennis rolled his eyes, catching the reference. “Don’t start.”
“‘Don’t start,’” she mocked, “You mean the super hot rad tech who just happened to need help and you just happened to volunteer?”
“It’s just a broken thing.” he waved a hand, already wishing he hadn’t said anything at all.
“A thing,” Trinity echoed, nodding like that explained everything. “Got it.”
“Yeah, her sink.” He turned away from her, moving to rinse out his mug with a little more focus than necessary.
Her expression softened into something far too sweet, dangerously sweet. “And tell me, Huckleberry, you heading over there to fix her plumbing… or are you planning to service her pipes?”
He grimaced, a faint flush creeping up his neck despite himself, at the thought. “Seriously?”
“What?” Trinity let out a quiet laugh,“You practically set that one up yourself, and don’t act like the thought hasn’t crossed your mind. Because it definitely would’ve crossed mine.”
Dennis didn’t reply, mostly because he couldn’t, there wasn’t much he could say without giving himself away. The truth was, it had crossed his mind, more than once, different scenarios, different angles… more than he’d ever admit out loud, but he shut it down just as quickly every time.
For one, he’d been raised better than that and for another… it wasn’t something that would ever, in this god green earth, actually happen.
You were friends, that was what mattered.
Sure, maybe he had an itty bitty crush on you, small enough that he could almost lie to himself about it, but then again, who didn’t? Half the people in the Pitt would’ve lined up for a chance, and with the amount of options you had, with the way you could pretty much take your pick of anyone there, there was no world where it’d be him.
He just turned away, opening the cupboard to put his mug back while behind him, Santos kept going, because of course she did.
“You know, I’ve gotta say… I’m a little surprised.”
He nudged the cupboard shut, the wood clicking softly. “Yeah? About what?”
“I just figured if you weren’t on shift, you’d be back at that widow’s farm.” She gave a small shrug as she reached for the loaf of bread.
That made him slightly pause.
“I go out there to help Amy,” he said, turning toward her, the explanation coming out smooth, rehearsed from overuse. “You know that.”
“Mm,” Trinity hummed, like she wasn’t entirely convinced. “And now you’re helping Y/N. At her place, on your day off. Bright and early.”
Dennis exhaled quietly through his nose, like he could already see where this was going.
“It’s just a favor.”
“Just nice to see you branching out beyond farmerettes, Huckleberry.” Trinity said easily, not even looking up as she dragged a knifefull of butter across her toast
He shot her a look. “What does that even mean?”
She kept spreading the butter, a small, knowing smirk tugging at her mouth. “Means you’re diversifying your… charitable efforts.”
Dennis huffed, shaking his head as he reached for his jacket, tugging it on like he could physically remove himself from the conversation faster.
“I’ll be there, like, twenty minutes.”
“Right, right…” Trinity nodded, finally glancing up at him. “So should I expect you back before lunch, or are you planning to vanish into some kind of rendezvous bliss?”
“…you’re disgusting. Goodbye.” He grabbed his keys, already backing toward the door.
“Drive safe!” she called after him, completely ignoring that. “And take your time, no need to rush quality work.”
The door shut a second later.
Trinity chuckled and took another bite of her toast, pleased as anything.
“Oh, that boy is so not coming back soon.”
And for once, it wasn’t just her running her mouth for the sake of it.
She knew you well enough to remember the way you’d sit next to her as she wrote up some charts, a few weeks back, arms crossed, trying to sound casual while bringing him up.
“He’s just… nice,” you’d gone on, almost against your own will now at where Whitaker was with a patient, eyes narrowing slightly in thought. “Bit quiet, doesn’t get in your business, and he’s got that whole… farm boy thing going on and, I mean have you seen his hands? Gawd almighty, Santos, they’re rough, but not in a bad way, like he could fix anything, or...” you cut yourself off, but not before your mouth curved just slightly, “yknow, hold you down without even trying.”
All Trinity could do was stare at you as if you’ve grown a third head and started speaking in tongues “Ew”
“Doesn’t talk too much, but he listens, like he’s actually paying attention to you, doesn’t need to be loud about anything.” You’d tilted your head slightly then, like you were studying something only you could see. “…and there’s something about that whole rural thing.”
You were circling an idea, turning it over, testing it, considering it, a predator deciding if something was worth the chase.
“Right,” Trinity said slowly. “So what I’m hearing is you want to climb him like a tree.”
Boy, did you.
And now he was in your house, which somehow made all of it worse or better, mostly worse but definitely better.
Dennis had shown up not with your coffee order already in hand, your coffee order, exactly right, because months back you’d mentioned it once in passing and apparently he was the sort of man who just… remembered things like that.
He’d stood there at your door looking unfairly good in a plain shirt and jeans, holding the cup tray, all casual like this was no big deal.
As though he hadn’t just arrived armed with caffeine, competence, and that quietly helpful thing he did that made you want to see him shirtless and pantless.
You had insisted, no, flat-out refused to let him touch anything, until he ate something first.
“Sit,” you’d told him, already pushing a plate toward him.
“I’m here to fix your—”
“And you will,” you cut in, already halfway to the counter, “after you eat. I didn’t wake up early and bake for it to just sit there looking pretty.”
He’d tried to protest again, of course, a quiet, half-hearted “I’m fine, really—” that didn’t stand a chance against the look you gave him.
So he sat, and when he took that first bite of the jam spread croissant, and the sound he made, something almost like a groan slipping out before he could stop it, hit you straight to your core.
“Jesus,” he’d muttered, more to himself than to you, glancing down at it like he didn’t quite trust it. “That’s—”
“Good?” you’d offered.
He looked up at you then, with those big, sad, oh so tempting blue eyes.
“Yeah, really good.”
You had to physically turn away under the excuse of grabbing a napkin because otherwise you might’ve jump him right there.
Now, he was on his back under your sink, which in hindsight, that had been the easy part, because now, he was on his back under your sink.
You leaned against the counter, arms loosely crossed, trying to look like you weren’t actively losing your mind.
He shifted slightly beneath the cabinet, one arm braced, the other working at something you couldn’t see.
“You’ve definitely got a clog in here,” he said, voice a little muffled. “Probably buildup.”
“Makes sense,” you replied automatically but had no idea what he was talking about because your attention was… elsewhere.
His shirt had ridden up to show a strip of skin at his stomach, the light dusting of hair, the way his jeans sat low on his hips as he shifted to reach further in, by the time you noticed the veins, you were shamelessly wet.
Your gaze traced details you absolutely had no business cataloguing, like the flex in his arm, the quiet strength in the way he worked.
Sooner rather than later, much to your disappointment, he was done.
There was a final twist of something under the sink, and then he shifted, sliding out from beneath the cabinet and pushing himself up in one smooth motion.
You had exactly half a second to compose yourself.
He turned the faucet on, letting the water run and watching it drain properly, then he glanced at you, a small, satisfied smile tugging at his mouth as he stepped back and gestured toward it.
“All good. You’re set, my lady.”
You couldn’t help it, you smiled back, a soft little laugh slipping out of you. What a geek.
“Thank you, Dennis…”
He shrugged it off like it was nothing, wiping his hands on a rag. “Yeah, no problem.” after a beat, he added, a little more earnest, “I mean it—if you need anything else, just let me know.”
That was the opening you needed.
You hesitated for half a second, just enough to make it seem natural and said, glancing toward the living room like the idea had just occurred to you. “Well… since you’re already here…”
He followed your gaze, brows lifting slightly. “Yeah?”
“Do you think you could help me set up my TV stand? I’ve been trying, but—” you let out a small breath, gesturing vaguely, “—it’s just not happening.”
Dennis huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head a little like he’d expected something like this.
“Yeah, I can take a look.”
“Thank you,” you said, already stepping back to give him space, gesturing for him to follow. “It’s in here.”
You led him into the living room, where the box and scattered parts sat waiting.
“Okay, I got… this far.”you said, pointing at the half-assembled stand.
Dennis took one look at it and huffed a quiet laugh under his breath.
“Yeah,” he said, setting his toolbox down, already crouching beside it. “I can see the problem.”
You crossed your arms, mock-offended, though there was a hint of embarrassment tucked into it. “Hey, I followed the instructions.”
“I’m sure you did,” he said, glancing up at you, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “They just didn’t do you any favors, huh?”
You huffed a small laugh despite yourself. “Not even a little.”
He shook his head, reaching for a piece, turning it over in his hands with that same easy focus he’d had in the kitchen.
“Alright, let’s fix it.” he said easy, looking over at you with a grin.
And God, you had to physically stop yourself from biting your lip.
It should not have been this attractive, the whole capable-man-putting-things-together thing, and yet here you were, standing in your own living room trying not to stare at his hands again.
He worked with this quiet, steady focus, the same one he has at the hospital, like everything else fell away when he was doing something with purpose.
You were faintly aware he was talking, something about which piece went where, or why you thought the instructions were “backwards” but it all blurred into background noise.
“Yeah,” you murmured at one point.
“Mhm,” at another.
Not a single coherent thought behind it because all you could really register was;
I'm going to fuck his brains out.
You gazed as he leaned forward slightly, muscles in his forearms tightening as he adjusted something into place, voice dropping as he muttered under his breath, focused.
There was a faint sheen of sweat starting to gather at his temples, just enough to darken the edges of his hair where it curled slightly at the nape of his nec—
“Alright,” he said, giving the stand a small test push to make sure it was steady. “That should do it.”
You blinked, having been snapped out of your sightseeing.
“Oh—already?” you said, a little too quick.
He glanced at you, faintly amused. “Yeah. Wasn’t too bad.”
Course he made it look easy.
Then he stepped over toward the TV without hesitation, hands settling at either side like he’d done this a hundred times before and with one smooth motion, he lifted it and turned, placing it carefully onto the stand.
Your attention shifted to his back.
The stretch of his shirt across his shoulders, the way the fabric pulled just slightly with the movement, the subtle shift of muscle underneath as he adjusted the TV into place, making sure it sat just right.
You exhaled slowly, trying very hard to act like you were not noticing any of that.
“Good?” he asked, stepping back slightly, eyes flicking toward you.
You blinked again, dragging your gaze up to his face like you hadn’t just been staring.
“Yeah, yeah, that’s perfect,” you said, a small grin slipping through despite yourself as you gestured beside you. “Come take a look yourself.”
Dennis stepped closer, brushing past you just enough that you caught the faint scent of his cologne again. He leaned in slightly, eyes scanning the TV, checking the alignment, one hand coming up to adjust it just a fraction.
He nodded after a second, satisfied. “That should hold just fine.”
“Yeah… looks so good,” you nodded, though your attention wasn’t really on the TV anymore.
Neither of you moved right away, until he stepped back first, putting just enough space between you to make it noticeable. He cleared his throat lightly, like he was shaking something off.
You frowned a little, tilting your head as you looked up at him, something softer slipping into your expression. “Thank you, Dennis. Really, I don’t know what I would’ve done.”
He chuckled under his breath, one hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck, the other resting on his hip, just a little awkward now in a way he hadn’t been before.
“You would’ve figured it out,” he said easily, though there was a hint of something warmer in his tone. “Or called someone who charges way too much for it.”
You huffed a small laugh, but kept your eyes on him . “Yeah, well… I’m glad I didn’t.”
“Anytime." He nodded once, almost to himself.
You shifted your weight, turning to face him properly, a small smile playing on your lips. “I’ll have to repay you somehow.”
His brows lifted slightly, the corner of his mouth tugging just enough to make you wetter than ever. He still looked a little unaware of the full effect he was having on you, which, honestly, only made him more delicious.
“You already fed me,” he said with a grin, like that should settle it.
You shook your head slowly and took a small step toward him.“That doesn’t count.”
Dennis blinked, grin slowly fading, a little thrown now, like he hadn’t expected you to push back. “No?”
“No,” you repeated, holding his gaze now, a bit more seductively than before. “That was just me being a good host.”
For a second, he didn’t say anything and just looked at you.
It was subtle, but you saw the moment he processed what you were trying to do, the shift in his expression, the way his attention sharpened and he straightened, like he was finally catching up to something that had been there for a while now.
“Oh,” he said after a beat, quiet.
You smirked lightly at that and took another step, now in his personal space.
“How about dinner?” you said, voice easy but edged with something a little more deliberate now. “We can start with dessert, if you want.”
Dennis flushed and let out a soft breath through his nose, one hand settling at his hip while the other flexed once at his side, like he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with it.
“You— er you don’t gotta repay me,” he said, though his voice had gone lower now, less certain than before. “Wasn’t a big deal.”
You stepped in closer, up onto your tiptoes, just enough to close the space between you, your voice dropping to something lustful and meant only for him.
“Maybe not to you.”
He stilled and you shifted just slightly, your hand lifting, a single finger brushing under his chin, guiding his gaze back to yours, lips hovered just a breath away from his.
“So? Do you want dessert?” you murmured, barely above a whisper.
Dennis’s blue eyes dropped to your lips for a second, then back to your eyes. He swallowed, visibly, and when he answered it came out low and a little rougher than before.
“Yeah.”
A small, satisfied grin tugged at your mouth.
“Good,” you whispered, letting your lips barely brush his, enough to feel the warmth of him, enough to make him tremble. “I’d have felt terrible if I couldn’t show you just how appreciative I am.”
Your lips where on his.
A shudder ran through Dennis's entire body, a full-body tremor of pure shock and want. He was holding his breath, you realized, his whole body coiled with a tension that was equal parts nerves and raw arousal.
You took control instantly, your mouth moving against his with practiced ease, tongue tracing the seam of his lips, coaxing him to open up, to relax. He followed your lead blindly, a soft, choked sound escaping his throat as you deepened the kiss, teaching him with your tongue, showing him how to move, how to breathe and boy was he a fast learner, perhaps a bit too fast and eager.
It was like a desperate, clumsy energy took over, making him kiss you back with a force that was more enthusiasm than skill, his mouth moving against yours with an almost frantic need.
It was all tongue and teeth and pressure, a messy, hungry kiss that sent a thrill straight through you.
One hand flew up to cup the back of your head, pressing you to him, and the other hand, after a moment of awkward hovering, landed flat and awkward against your ribs.
You grinned against his lips, a silent, wicked acknowledgment of his fumbling earnestness.
Your own hand, which had been resting at the nape of his neck, slid down to find his, were they were still stiff against your ribs, radiating a nervous heat. You wrapped your fingers around his wrist, feeling the frantic pulse beating just beneath his skin.
He let out a sharp, shaky breath against your mouth as you began to move his hand slowly and deliberately, guiding his palm down the curve of your side, over the dip of your waist.
His touch was light, hesitant, but he didn't resist, and you pressed his hand lower, over the swell of your hip, until his fingers were splayed across the flesh of your ass.
A choked sound, half-gasp, half-groan, rumbled in his chest.
His fingers, which had been so uncertain moments before, suddenly dug in, gripping you with a desperate, possessive force that sent a jolt of electricity straight through you.
He pulled you even harder against him, and you could feel the thick, hard ridge of his cock straining against his jeans. The awkwardness was gone, replaced by a pure, instinctual need to claim.
You broke the kiss, pulling back just enough to see his face.
His eyes were blown wide, dark and glassy with lust, his mouth slightly pink and parted as he stared down at you. He looked utterly wrecked, and you'd barely even started.
"Breathe, Dennis," you murmured, a small, satisfied smirk playing on your mouth.
"Right," he breathed, the word barely audible. "Sorry."
"Don't be," you purred, nipping at his lower lip.
Your hand moved with a slow, deliberate confidence, sliding down the firm plane of his stomach and your fingers pressing directly against the hard ridge straining against the denim of his jeans.
Dennis's entire body went rigid, and a sharp, choked gasp was torn from his throat, his eyes squeezing shut, his mouth falling open in a silent 'o' of pure shock.
You smirked, your thumb pressing down, rubbing a slow, firm circle right over the head of his cock through the fabric, but this is not what you want to do now.
You gave him a chaste kiss before gently pushing against his chest making him stumbled back a step, eyes widening slightly in surprise before he caught himself, his legs hitting the edge of the couch.
He sat down heavily, his gaze locked on you, looking up with an expression that was a mixture of awe and pure, unadulterated hunger.
You stood looking at him like a predator admiring its prey, a slow, deliberate smirk spread across your hands moved as you slipped the dress off your shoulders.
The same dress you had absolutely not chosen with this exact outcome in mind. Not at all.
It fell away easily, pooling at your feet, and for a second you just stood there, letting him look.
His mouth fell slightly agape as he took you in, standing before him in nothing but your pretty lace panties. The flush on his neck and cheeks deepened to a dark red, his gaze roaming over your body like he was trying to memorize every single inch.
He shifted on the couch, his hands gripping his own thighs, knuckles white.
You took a step forward until you were standing directly between his spread knees and looked down at him.
"Comfortable?" you asked, your voice a low purr.
He could only manage a shaky nod, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.
"Good," you murmured, placing your hands on his shoulders and leaning down, bringing your face close to his, your breath ghosting over his lips. "Because the real dessert is about to be served."
In one fluid, graceful motion, you sank to your knees on the floor between his legs, which made his breath catch in his throat. He stared down at you, his eyes wide with a mixture of disbelief and raw, unfiltered lust.
With your eyes on him, your hands moved to his belt, the buckle clinking softly in the charged silence, you made quick work of it, then popped the button of his jeans.
His hips lifted instinctively, a desperate, needy motion, and you hooked your fingers into the waistband of his jeans and his boxers, pulling them both down in one smooth tug.
His cock sprang free, thick and hard and already leaking at the tip.
It was a beautiful thing, and the low, guttural groan that escaped Dennis's lips as the cool air hit him was music to your ears.
You looked up at him again, holding his gaze as you wrapped your hand around his hard, leaking cock. His eyes widened, his breath hitching in his throat as you began to stroke him slowly, your thumb smearing the bead of pre-come over the sensitive head. His hips jerked, a helpless, needy motion, and a low groan rumbled in his chest.
"This okay?" you asked, your voice a low, husky murmur.
He stared down at you with his mouth slightly parted and for a moment he seemed incapable of forming words, his mind completely consumed by the slow, deliberate movements of your hand.
He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat.
"Y-yeah," he finally managed to choke out, the word a strangled, breathless sound. "Fuck, yes, more than okay."
A small, satisfied smirk tugged at your lips, your hand never ceasing its slow, torturous movements as you purred, "I'm just getting started."
You then leaned in, your breath ghosting over the head of his cock, and his entire body tensed, one of his hands gripping the edge of the couch so tightly his knuckles turned white, and the other was in your hair. You held his gaze, your eyes dark and full of promise, as you slowly, deliberately, swirled your tongue around the tip.
A choked sob of pleasure escaped his lips, his head falling back against the couch, his eyes squeezing shut. He was completely at your mercy.
"Fuck!" The word was torn from Dennis's throat, his entire body arching off the couch.
You set a punishing rhythm, your head bobbing, your tongue swirling around the sensitive underside of his shaft. You took him deep, the head of his cock hitting the back of your throat, and you swallowed around him.
The sound he made was pure, unadulterated ecstasy, a choked sob of pleasure that vibrated through his entire body.
He was completely at your mercy, his experience no match for your expertise. You were in control, and you were going to make sure he never forgot this.
You gave him a few pumps with your hand while you suck on the tip, could feel him getting closer, the frantic twitching of his hips, the way his fingers tightened in your hair, his breaths were coming in short, sharp pants, and then he started begging, his voice a ragged, desperate mess.
"Wait— fuck... I need... I need—" he gasped, his hips bucking wildly. "Please..."
You pulled back, just enough to let him breathe, but your hand never stopped its firm, rhythmic stroking. You looked up at him, a wicked smirk on your face, a thin string of saliva connecting your swollen lips to the head of his cock.
"Yeah, baby? What do you need?" you purred, your voice husky.
He groaned, his head thrown back against the couch as he fought for coherence. His eyes, dark and wild, found yours, and he gritted out the one word he could manage. "You."
Your smirk widened because that was the answer you wanted.
You leaned in and gave him one last, hard suck, a final, teasing taste that made his whole body jolt, before you rose gracefully to your feet.
You stood over him like a goddess of sex and satisfaction, and looked down at the disheveled, beautiful man you had just unraveled.
"Pull them down for me," you commanded softly, your gaze dropping to the scrap of lace covering your pussy.
He nodded, his movements clumsy with renewed urgency. He leaned forward, his hands shaking slightly as they hooked into the waistband of your panties, but instead of just pulling them down, he surprised you as he pressed his lips to your stomach, then lower, trailing open-mouthed kisses down your hipbone, down your thigh, as he slowly, reverently, peeled the lace from your body.
Once they were down around your ankles, you expected to take control again, to push him back and show him what came next, but you didn't get the chance because to your utter shock, Dennis took charge.
A raw, primal instinct seemed to take over.
He grabbed one of your legs, his grip firm and swung it over his shoulder, and before you could even process the sudden shift in power, he dipped his head and buried his face between your thighs.
The first swipe of his tongue was clumsy, but it was electric. A sharp gasp escaped your lips, your hands flying to his shoulders to steady yourself.
Dennis was a man possessed, licking and sucking with a desperate, hungry enthusiasm that was both messy and utterly divine. He was plainly inexperienced, yes, but he was an eager participant, his movements becoming more confident, more targeted, as he listened to the sounds you made, as he felt the way your body responded.
Your fingers tangled in the messy strands of his hair to hold him closer, nails scraping lightly against his scalp as a soft, breathless whimper slipped past your lips when he found a spot that made your knees shake.
His grip on your hips tightened, knuckles white with the effort of keeping you steady as he lost himself in the taste of you, his low moans vibrating against your skin in a way that sent shivers down your spine made your head fall back.
Dennis pulled back for a split second, lips glistening, eyes dark with hunger and a flicker of uncertainty.
"Am doing this right… right?" He panted, voice rough with need as he turned his face to kiss your leg.
You nodded quickly, thumb brushing over his flushed cheek.
"Yes, just keep going, baby," you whispered, voice thick with desire.
That was all he needed to hear. Dennis dove back in, his movements got bolder, he licked a slow stripe up your slit, then pushed his tongue inside you, making you cry out and for your free leg to wobble beneath you.
You could feel the heat coiling in your lower stomach, building faster now.
Your free leg started to shake again as his fingers dug into the meat of your thigh draped over his shoulder and his other hand splayed across your lower back to yank you closer, holding you firmly in place as he worked you toward the edge.
When you finally tipped over the edge, right after another deep, rumbling moan of his vibrated up through your core, spurred on by your desperate whimpers and the way you fisted his hair to yank him closer, your body seized tight.
A ragged, broken cry tore from your throat, but he didn’t let up, no, Dennis kept licking and sucking, relentless, until you were weakly pushing at his shoulders, overstimulated to the point of trembling but still aching for more of him.
Only when you finally pleaded his name did he pull back. His lips were slick, his breath hot, and when he looked up at you his eyes were dark, and still hungry.
“You taste so good,” Dennis murmured, voice rough. He pressed a kiss to the inside of your thigh, then nipped gently, making you shiver. “Can I do that again?”
You let out a weak, breathless laugh and shifted forward to straddle him, his hard dick was grazing your slick folds as you leaned down to kiss him, tasting yourself on his mouth while your fingers threaded into his hair.
After a beat, his hands found your ass again, gripping like he couldn’t help himself.
You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze and whispered, “Maybe on round two. Right now, I need you inside me.”
You rose a few inches, guided him to your entrance, and then dropped down on him in one smooth motion. Dennis hands tightening on your hips as the stretch made you both brake at once, his guttural groan mixing with your breathless moan as pleasure lit up your whole body.
"Fuck, Dennis," you breathed, rolling your hips experimentally, feeling him throb inside you. "You feel so good, so… fucking… big."
His eyes fluttered shut for a second, his grip on your ass tightening almost painfully.
"God, you're perfect," he groaned, his voice wrecked.
You leaned forward, lips brushing his ear as you started to move, slow, deliberate grinds that had him panting beneath you.
"You like that, baby?" you whispered, nipping at his earlobe. "You like feeling how wet I am for you? How perfectly you fill me up?”
He nodded frantically, his hips bucking up to meet yours. "Yes—fuck, yes,"
You picked up the pace, riding him harder now,
"I've been thinking about this all day," you moaned, head falling back as pleasure coiled tight in your belly. "Thinking about how good your cock would feel inside me, how you'd stretch me open and make me scream your name."
"Please," he whimpered, and the sound of him begging made you clench around him. "Please don't stop."
"I'm not stopping until you fill me up, Dennis," you purred, grinding down hard. "Not until I feel you come inside me."
Dennis moaned loudly, his head falling back against the couch, and the sight of him, completely undone beneath you, drove you absolutely crazy.
"Look at you," you gasped, rolling your hips harder, chasing that delicious friction. "Bet you’ve never… you’ve never been with a girl like me, huh?”
His fingers dug into your hips, his breathing ragged, and you could feel him twitching inside you, close, but not quite there yet.
Then, to your surprise, he suddenly shifted.
His hands gripped your waist and he hoisted you up as if you weighed nothing, making you yelp as he maneuvered you both. In one smooth motion he had you on your back on the couch, your legs falling open as he settled between them.
He pulled back just long enough to yank his shirt over his head and toss it aside, and the sight of him, chest heaving, muscles taut, eyes dark with need, made your mouth go dry.
"My turn," he growled, and then he was pushing back inside you, deeper this time, the new angle making you cry out.
"Oh fuck—Dennis!" you moaned, your hands flying to his shoulders, nails digging in as he started to move. "Yes, just like that! don't stop, please don't stop."
He set a relentless pace, each thrust hitting that perfect spot inside you as he panted against your neck. "You feel so fuck-ing good, honey… S-so perfect."
You moaned, your legs wrapping tight around his waist, pulling him deeper.
"God, yes, fuck me harder, Dennis, I want to feel you for days." Your back was arching off the couch.
He groaned at your words, and you felt his rhythm falter for just a second before he found it again, harder this time, more desperate. His grip on your hips tightened like he was holding on for dear life, and the intensity in his eyes was almost overwhelming.
"You're so—fuck," he panted, the words breaking apart as he thrust into you.
He wasn't smooth about it, but god, the raw need in every movement made it even hotter.
"You feel so good inside me," you whimpered, nails dragging down his back. "So fucking good, Dennis, please don't stop, baby.”
His breath hitched and he buried his face in your neck, his hips snapping forward again and again. You could feel him trembling slightly, like he was barely holding himself together.
Your hand slipped between your bodies to touch yourself, and the moment your fingers found your clit, you clenched hard around him.
"Oh—oh fuck," he gasped against your skin, his whole body shuddering. "You're—I can feel—"
"I'm so close, keep going, just like that—" you moaned which only intensified when he bit you.
It took three more thrusts for you to come, and when you did, it hit you like a tidal wave.
You went silent but your whole body was seizing up as pleasure crashed through you, your walls clenching tight around him.
The second you did, you felt his teeth sink into your shoulder, not hard enough to really hurt, but enough to make you gasp, as he came with a muffled, desperate groan against your skin. His hips stuttered, grinding deep as he spilled inside you, his whole body shaking with the force of it.
"Oh shii—oh fuck," he panted against your neck, his grip on you bruising as he rode out the last waves of his orgasm.
You were both trembling, breathless, tangled together on the couch. Your legs were still wrapped around him, holding him close as the aftershocks rolled through you both.
"Holy shit," you breathed, your fingers threading through his hair, still trying to catch your breath.
He lifted his head just enough to look at you, his face flushed and his eyes still glazed with pleasure.
"Yeah, that was... fucking incredible," he breathed.
He leaned down to kiss you, soft at first, then deeper, and you returned it eagerly, a breathless laugh escaping against his lips as you pulled him closer, letting his weight settle onto you.
"Damn right," you murmured, fingers tracing lazy patterns down his spine. "How am I supposed to go to work tomorrow and face everyone when I know exactly how you feel inside me?"
His eyes widened slightly, a flush creeping up his neck that had nothing to do with the exertion.
Dennis groaned, half-laughing as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. "Oh, don't—I'm never going to be able to focus during rounds now."
"Wonderful," you teased, nipping at his earlobe. "Every time you see me at work, I want you to think about this. About how good you felt buried inside me."
He shuddered against you, his arms tightening around your waist. "You're going to kill me, I'll be trying to read X-rays, and all I'll be able to think about is—"
"Me riding you on my couch?" you finished with a wicked grin.
"Exactly that," he admitted, lifting his head to meet your eyes. The flush on his cheeks deepened. "I'm so screwed."
You laughed, reaching up to kiss the tip of his nose. "Yeah well, at least you'll be able to walk normally tomorrow. I'm pretty sure I'm going to be feeling this for the next week."
Dennis's eyes widened slightly, a mix of pride and concern flickering across his face. "Is that—I mean, are you okay? I didn't—"
"I'm okay," you assured him, brushing your thumb along his jaw.
"I.. uh, I might've... left a mark," he mumbled, glancing at your shoulder.
You turned your head to look, catching a glimpse of the reddened impression of his teeth on your skin and a slow smile spread across your face.
"I don’t mind," you said, meeting his gaze again. "Now I'll really have something to remember this by."
His breath caught, and you watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed hard. "You're not mad?"
"Mad?" You laughed softly, tracing your fingers down his back. "Dennis, that was hot as hell. Who would've thought you're a biter?"
He huffed a laugh and buried his face against your neck again, carefully avoiding the bite mark this time. "I can't believe we just did that."
You shrugged, a satisfied smirk playing on your lips. "I didn't see today ending any other way. I knew I was going to fuck you since you gave me your last Reese’s pieces."
Dennis lifted his head to stare at you, his eyes wide with disbelief. "Seriously? But that was months ago!"
"Yep," you grinned, running your hands through his hair. "You gave me your last piece of candy without even hesitating. I knew right then I was going to end up in bed with you eventually.
He laughed, shaking his head in amazement. "All this time... over chocolate?"
"Believe it," you said, stretching slightly beneath him and wincing at the pleasant ache. "Now, I don't know about you, but I could really use a shower. Want to join me? Maybe after, I can actually make us some lunch.”
"That sounds perfect actually," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your palm.
"Good," you smiled at him before reluctantly starting to shift. "But fair warning, I might need help standing up."
Extra:
By the time Dennis walked into the apartment, it was pushing 9pm.
He tried to be quiet about it, keys set down gently, door eased shut instead of slammed, but he really should’ve known better.
Trinity was in the living room, curled up on the couch with takeout spread out in front of her, TV flickering lazily in the background. Her eyes slid over to him the second he stepped in.
She didn’t say anything at first, just looked at him, taking in the slightly rumpled clothes, the faint flush still clinging to his neck, the general vibe of a man who had not, in fact, spent “twenty minutes fixing a sink.”
She hummed, deeply smug. “Must’ve been one hell of a sink.”
“Oh, shut up.”
A/N:
Hello, hello, hope you enjoyed my attempt to create smut <3<3<3
the fact that FEMALE FRIENDSHIP is what loosened Mel up...Mel's braid came undone at the hands of a friend, she let loose thanks to the invitation of a friend, she was able to be free in the company of a friend--
no like i feel he would genuinely be so turned on during his shift and reader would NEVER make things easier, like they be talking about the craziest smut on their books and jack is just reading their fantasies with a boner
my most recent fic is flopping but.. i don’t want to just delete or abandon it cause i’ve already posted two parts so i feel like i have to at least finish it off💔
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