✰ Baron Zemo ✰ Bucky Barnes ✰ Steve Rogers ✰ Bruce Banner ✰ Peter Parker ✰ Wanda Maximoff ✰ Vision ✰ Robert Reynolds ✰ Steven Grant ✰ Loki ✰ John Walker ✰
Stranger Things
✰ Eddie Munson ✰ Steve Harrington ✰ Jonathan Byers ✰ Robin Buckely ✰ Mike Wheeler
TLOU
✰ Joel Miller ✰ Tommy Miller ✰ Ellie Williams ✰
Harry Potter
Harry Potter ✰ Neville Longbottom ✰Ron Weasley ✰ George Weasley ✰ Hermoine Granger ✰ Severus Snape ✰ Sirius Black ✰ Remus Lupin ✰ Bill Weasley ✰
X-men
✰ Peter Maximoff ✰ Kurt Wagner ✰ Storm ✰ James/Logan Howlett ✰ Scott Summers (older) ✰ Alex Summers ✰ Hank Mccoy ✰ Sean Cassidy ✰ Jean Grey ✰ Rouge ✰ Mystique/Raven ✰
Gotham/Batman
✰ Bruce Wayne ✰ Edward Nashton ✰ Jervis Tetch ✰ Jerome Valeska ✰ Ed Nygma (pre-riddler) ✰ Tabitha Galavan ✰ Victor Zsasz ✰ Jonathan Crane ✰
Peaky Blinders
✰ Arthur Shelby ✰ Alfie Solomon✰
Maze Runner
✰ Newt ✰ Thomas ✰ Minho ✰
AHS
✰ Tate Langdon ✰ Vivien Harmon ✰ Violet Harmon ✰
Twilight
✰ Edward Cullen ✰ Alice Cullen ✰ Bella Swan ✰ Jasper Hale ✰ Charlie Swan ✰ Sam Uley ✰ Seth Clearwater ✰
The 100
✰ John Murphy ✰ Finn Collins ✰ Monty Green ✰ Jasper Jordan ✰
TWD
✰ Daryl Dixion ✰ Rick Grimes ✰ Negan ✰ Michonne ✰ Carl Grimes ✰ Glenn Rhee ✰ Laura ✰ Ron Anderson ✰ Maggie Greene ✰
The Terror
✰ Henry Goodsir ✰ James Fitzjames ✰ Henry Foster Collins ✰ Thomas Terry ✰ Thomas Hartnell
Star Wars
✰ Ben Solo ✰ Finn (star wars) ✰ Poe Dameron
The Bear
✰ Richie Jerimovich
TopGun Maverick
✰ Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw ✰ Robert “Bob” Floyd
Game Of Thrones
✰ Brandon Stark ✰ Robb Stark ✰ Sandor "The Hound" Clegane ✰ Jon Snow ✰ Podrick Payne ✰ Arya Stark ✰ Brienne of Tarth ✰ Tormund ✰ Petyr Baelish ✰ Jaqen H'ghar
✰ Xavier Thorpe ✰ Tyler Galpin ✰ Bill S. Preston, Esq. ✰ Ted 'Theodore' Logan ✰ John Wick ✰ Charlie walker ✰ Maurizio Gucci (h.o.g) ✰ Luke Castellan ✰ Eric Draven ✰ any alex wolff/nat wolff character ✰ Eric Draven (1996 & 2024) ✰ Travis Hackett ✰ Max (The Quarry)
LET ME KNOW WHAT CHARACTERS, YOU WANT ME TO WRITE FOR IN MY INBOX
a/n: some nsfw dennis whitaker headcanons because i can’t get him out of my head!!! he lives in my mind rent free now <3
18+ MDNI!
𖥔 ݁ ˖ he adores your pussy. he doesn’t care how it looks or what color it is, he loves how soft and wet she gets for him, that being said, this man is an eater!!! even as a teen he would go behind the barn and pump his cock to the thought of eating a beautiful woman’s cunt.
𖥔 ݁ ˖ he’s a biiiiig talker! loves telling you how good you feel, how good you’re making him feel and vice versa. dirty talk is his thingggg!!! “f-fuck baby you’re so fucking perfect. she’s fucking sucking me in..holy shit, there’s my good girl.” he also has quite the potty mouth when he’s feeling euphoric, he can’t help it! :(
𖥔 ݁ ˖ dennis is a spit whore. he lovesssss it messy. especially when you’re making out as he’s fucking your brains out. it makes him so fucking horny and it has the same effect on you.
𖥔 ݁ ˖ i know a lot of people won’t agree with this, but in my professional opinion, dennis is a big dick boy! he’s a country boy, so in my mind, that man is hung. probably 7 inches when he’s soft and 8 when he’s hard. and he has a cute blonde curly bush at the base, circumcised, his cock is a pretty pink color and his tip is a very pale red. <3
𖥔 ݁ ˖ he’s a closeted freak/pervert. like i said, he grew up on a farm, he didn’t have pornhub but he did have his older brothers and fathers playboy magazines! because of the lack of pornography, it made him very imaginative.
𖥔 ݁ ˖ he’s a moaner and a whimperer for sure, like no doubt about it. especially when he’s close! he’ll keep pounding into you harder ‘n faster and moan in your ear as his hot, sticky load pumps inside of you.
𖥔 ݁ ˖ one of his favorite things to do is sit you on his face while he pumps his painfully hard and aching cock, his tip practically dripping with pre-cum. he’ll fuck his tongue in your hole as his nose catches on your clit perfectly. <3
𖥔 ݁ ˖ once you two are in a serious relationship and boundaries have been set, you let him use you in your sleep and he fucking adores it. he’ll wake up for his shift at 6:00 and the first thing he does is eat your cunt. there’s something about eating you out when you’re sleeping that drives him insane. you’re so soft, so sweet, so pliant in his hands. and then when you wake up he’ll fuck you while you’re on your side, his hands coming down to play with your cute nipples.
𖥔 ݁ ˖ i am a soft dom!dennis truther idc!! he loves to put you in your place every once in a while (only when you deserve it of course) he has some muscle, so he loves to throw you around and spank you when you’re being bratty. he only gives in because your pussy is weeping for him. she’s so well trained!
dry humping, face riding, spit kink, dom/sub undertones, grinding
a/n: started this at midnight its now 4 i am in whitaker and abbot hell rn
synopsis: the sudden changes of transferring to the day shift for a few months are overwhelming and painful at best. lucky for you, dennis is always happy to help.
w/c: 3,404
You fucking hated working the day shift.
No, it had nothing to do with the people or the hours. It just had everything to do with the terrible habits you spent years building up to work as a nocturnal being in a hospital.
“Holy shit,” you dug your head into your hands as you finished charting for one of your patients. After two weeks into your shift change, you still hadn’t become accustomed to the early mornings and the pounding headaches that came with them.
“You doing okay?” Dennis came to a brief halt as he spotted your hunched figure on his way to the restroom.
“Yeah, just a headache,” you waved him off.
Lifting your head, you saw the concerned look on his face, layering over his eternally pathetic appearance.
“I could get you some water? Do you want me to check you out in one of the rooms? I mean, I can—“
“It’s fine, Whitaker.”
You chuckled at his overly helpful behavior.
Dennis Whitaker was too kind and too nice to look at. You wouldn’t dare have him go out of his way to help someone like you. At least, not after weeks of already doing just that.
“No—really. Let me get you something to drink, okay?” Before you could offer a rebuttal, he was off.
“Oooh, he’s got it bad,” Trinity stepped up to you now. Nosey woman…
“Oh, I’m sure you’d know all about that, right?” You raised a brow to her, watching her expression fold from one of content to something much more dismissive.
Yes, you knew how Dennis was around you, and unfortunately, how he was without you. Trinity didn’t like to leave out the details of what she may or may not have heard on quiet nights in their shared apartment.
There may have been a few times when he may or may not have helped you out a lot more than you needed here at the ER. Offering snacks he surely didn’t have the money for, keeping Robby off your back, even going so far as to take a few nasty priapisms off your hands at the start of your transition between shifts.
You were flattered, really, how much he liked talking about you even when you weren’t there. How much he seemed to think of you, even if you were miles away. It made you feel perceived in a way you hadn’t ever really felt before. Less forgotten, more admired in a sense.
“I’m just saying that Huckleberry over there wants you so bad it’s almost sad. Everyone sees it.”
You could see Princess and Perlah whispering between one another out of the corner of your eye.
“Coming from a walking HR violation, that’s not very reassuring.”
“Oh, c’mon,” she rolled her eyes. “Since when do you care about rules and regulations? I thought Abbot drilled all that stuff out of you before your residency?”
In your defence, your work under Abbot as a student and then intern had been some of the most thorough lessons of your life. It wasn’t his fault that a lot of his life-saving measures could sometimes be considered unorthodox in non-military settings.
“Uhhh, since—“ you whipped your head around quickly, making sure the coast was clear. “Since Dr. Robinabitch has been on my case since the moment I got here. I have no fucking clue why or how, but it’s driving me insane, and I’d really like to get through these next few months without getting fired.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” shit. “He wouldn’t fire you. Get mad, maybe throw you a nasty look, but never fire.”
Dana leaned in, taking over the conversation. “And between you and me, Abbot would never let him do something like that.”
She patted your shoulders for extra measure.
Yeah, great. Cool.
As if that wasn’t the problem in the first place.
“I’m just saying that I feel like I’m walking a tight rope here and I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t—“
“Got it!”
All three of your heads turned to see Dennis standing there, proud, with a fresh bottle of water in one hand and a sandwich in the other. He’d managed to nab you one from the cart.
“What an angel,” Dana raised a brow at you before heading back to her station.
“A real southern charmer,” you agreed, giving Trinity a look before taking the goods from Dennis.
“Really, thank you, Whitaker. You shouldn’t have.”
You took the food from his hands gently, allowing the tips of your fingers to trace along the edges of his own.
“No, it’s okay,” he stuffed his hands into his scrub pockets, seemingly shivering at the light touches between you. “I just…like taking care of you, I guess.”
“That’s sweet, Dennis,” you smiled at him, sickly and with a certain amount of saccharine allure that had the boy’s adam’s apple bobbing up and down his throat.
You were so pretty, so delightfully sweet in your loose scrubs and rolled up sleeves. It was hard to look at you sometimes, and how you’d so casually been able to assimilate into the lives of the day shifters. Him especially.
He remembers you from the Pitt Fest mass casualty event and how you’d worked like a machine that night. Where he felt that he was barely keeping up with the patient intake, you moved through the ER like a soldier. If Abbot or Dana or even Robby told you to do something and be somewhere, you’d do it with a precision he hadn’t seen from anyone his age. It was inspiring, immortalizing even.
Maybe even a little hot.
Maybe really super hot.
Dennis gulped again at the memory of the first night you’d met.
Clearing his throat, he asked, “Do you, maybe, need some help with anything else? I mean—“
Mohan called your name abruptly, motioning towards the triage.
You stood from your seat quickly, looking back at Dennis with a smile.
“Come find me when our shifts are over, and maybe we can finally talk about something that’s not work, alright?”
Without so much as another word from him, you were off.
So.
Here’s the thing.
You really like Dennis. He’s a sweet guy, really does have that southern charm that you melt for.
But god, did you like him desperate, too.
You liked his sad puppy dog eyes and how they begged for your attention. You liked how he had a hard time focusing on your face, trying to keep his gaze contained to the one part of your body that was socially acceptable to stare at the way that he did. You liked how he trembled a little when you grasped at his elbow or tapped his knee.
That being said, you weren’t sorry for what you were about to do.
“Can I touch you?” Dennis groaned out, bucking up and hoping that it was a signal enough of how much he wanted you. “I promise I won’t cum, I promise.”
You grinned, teeth baring down at him like some sort of predator savoring the catch of its prey.
You, washed and showered, out of your scrubs and in a loose-fitted lounge set. Dennis, wearing a set of sweats you’d had on hand that you knew would fit him and nothing else. Comfortable in the warmth of your home and your arms.
He had been resting against the headboard of your bed, back slumped against the surface as every part of you consumed his mind.
Without speaking, you brought your hands out to cup his face, supple and flushed red with desperation. With your ass resting pretty over his lap, you ground down, giving him what little he asked for. To touch you.
He huffed, hips stuttering in an effort to chase the feeling of your pussy through the thin layers of clothing each of you wore.
His hands, the ones he wished were groping at every inch of you, were bound tightly behind his back with an old t-shirt, the promise that he’d get all he wanted and more if he listened to you carefully.
Gently, you swiped your thumb over his lip, trailing down his neck, and resting the palm of your hand at the center of his chest. He was so, so warm, so shaky and soft, ready for you in every way.
“I’ll make it worth your while, baby, I promise.”
Swallowing his nerves, he nodded hastily.
Your smile returned as your hand traveled the length of his chest, ghosting over his nipples and following your own trail across the planes of his stomach. He wasn’t ripped by any means, but he was soft, pliable, even. The type of man you’d just love to get to know more of.
He twitched at that, motioning for his pelvis to knock into your own once again, earning a delicious moan from him as he finally got to feel the direct warmth of your most intimate body parts over his own.
You decided you’d take your time with him.
Raising yourself over his lap, you stood on your knees, looking down at him with a dangerous look in your eye.
Leaning over ever so slightly, you brought your lips to his for what felt like the millionth time that night.
Your tongues clashed, his savoring and sucking you further into him, hoping to bring you down to earth, down on him. You, who took his motivations in stride, leveled yourself back down on his aching cock and bit gently on his bottom lip.
The sounds of your lips smacking with the wet essence of your own saliva spurred him on, forcing his body to rut into your own, practically begging for more.
His clothed cock bumped hastily against your pussy, pumped full with blood and need. He wanted you so desperately, you could feel it with every hump and between every ridge of him.
Dennis broke away with a sputtering gasp. “I—I wanna feel it. Please.”
And only because he was so pretty like this, his lips swollen and eyes beading with tears, did you oblige.
You raked your fingers across his torso once more, though this time, you went much further south.
Your hand cupped over his bulge, rocking against it gently to feel the hot outline he’d left in his wake. Hard as a rock, you felt along the tip, gauging just how pretty you’d know it be. The reveal was taunting you at this point.
In the sweats, he was already twitching, leaving behind a wet spot you knew was a mix of your wetness with his own. The perfect combination of want and desire. Of you and him.
Fuck, you couldn’t take it anymore, and you were sure he couldn’t either.
“You wanna feel it, Dennis?” Your eyes, half lidded and glazed over with arousal, peered at him.
He nodded, sweat beading down his neck.
“Alright then.”
You shimmied out of your bottoms, leaving only your thin cotton panties on.
Before settling down on his lap once more, you pulled at the drawstrings of his sweats.
The reveal of his cock was just as you’d imagined it. It was pretty, flushed pink at the tip, a long shaft on the thinner side with curly blonde hair neatly trimmed at the base.
Fuck, this guy was picture perfect.
You let him indulge in your hand for the time being, wanting to get a feel for yourself.
“Feel better?” You asked, smiling coyly.
Dennis let out only a breathy sigh as a reply, finally relishing in the feeling of your delicate skin rubbing against his own, even if it was just your hand.
You jerked him off, precum coating your palm just enough to earn a few egregious moans from him. He was leaning into you now, forehead pressed against your shoulder, lips nipping at the connection between your neck and shoulder. His tongue soothed over the snippier bites he took.
Gently, you pulled yourself over him, lowering your still clothed cunt over his cock, and started rolling your hips.
“fuhh—feels so good.”
Dennis met your movements with his own, rocking against your soaked panties with a renewed vigor from having finally been let loose of his bottoms.
His arms strained against the t-shirt latched behind his back. He wanted to touch you, to feel your skin, to get rid of your panties, and hope and pray that you’d let him go where he’d never thought to go before.
For now, he could feel his cock slipping between the slit of your cunt, dragging against the sensitive nub at the top before making it all the way down to your hole. All through the near translucent cloth that shielded you from his heat.
He rolled his hips in sync with your own, meeting you halfway as your own moans and breathy sighs began matching his.
Sooner than he would have liked, he began feeling that familiar tug in his gut, forcing him to begin the erratic movement of his hips, losing its perfect sync with your own.
He was close. So close.
“Can I…?” He trailed off.
You thought about it for a moment, feeling his pulsing cock grind against your clit in ecstasy. It was perfect, warm, and wet all in one. You could feel him, smell him even.
Your hands moved to push your panties to the side, leaving his bare cock to finally, finally rub against your silken skin.
“Want you to finish like this,” you whispered into his ear, letting your teeth drag along the shell as you went.
He shivered under your touch.
Like nothing he’d ever seen before, you began moving as though you had perfected the craft.
Lying your pussy flat on his dick, he could finally feel the direct warmth of your core alongside the pooling slick that collected between the folds in his brief absence.
As you began to drag yourself along his length, you all but milked the orgasm out of him.
For what you were sure were the few final moments of your shared pleasures, you gripped his shoulders and moved vigorously. So much so that the tip of his cock began catching at the lip of your opening. He was so close, he could feel it, taste it even.
So close. So so—
His body convulsed violently as he came, hips rocking into yours as warm cum splattered across his belly and your thighs.
His eyes were rolled to the back of his head, your hands gripping his shoulders, pulling him into your chest to suckle on the exposed skin from your top, which you realized now that you’ve yet to shed.
“Feel so good, Dennis…” you breathed out with a longing sigh, inching your hands behind his back and to the knotted shirt.
“Want more…”
He looked up at you, out of breath and spent.
You hadn’t cum yet.
At this realization, he nodded his head as fast as he could. Unable to form the words, especially after what was the most intense orgasm of his life, he made his devotion to you as clear as day.
He’d do anything for you, to you, with you. Whatever it took, he’d be there.
“I think,” you took a breath, releasing the shirt from his wrists. “You can finally touch me now.”
Like a bat out of hell, his hands sprang to pull your body even closer to his. His aching cock, begging for the release of any and all sensations, had been spent. Even so, he slipped his hands down the length of your back, gripping your ass and hauling you directly over his length once more.
At the risk of feeling overstimulated, he groaned in frustration.
“I think you have to give me a few minutes.”
He tucked his head by the collar of your shirt, leaving his hands to trail up from your ass and under the cusp of your bust. He was cupping your tits now, gently massaging the tender flesh of your torso.
Your eyes shone with a sick sense of anticipation. He seemed to be getting a sense of confidence in himself now.
“I got another idea.”
Dennis looked up to you with your words, his natural expression taking over with those shiny puppy dog eyes and natural tiredness all over again.
Dennis. Your Dennis.
You urged him to scoot further down the bed so that his head was just below the headboard and so that your core rested prettily over his chest.
On his way down, you couldn’t help but sneak a peek at what you’d left in your wake. His cock, though not entirely soft, was clearly spent and flushed from all the rubbing. His torso gleamed with his own cum, and his face, well, his face was now resting comfortably between your thighs.
With the new inclusion of his hands, he was finally able to get a grip on the softer parts of your body. Roaming over the expanse of your thighs and ass, pulling at the lips of your slit to get a better look at what he’d been pushing up into just moments before. He wasn’t examining you with some latent sense of curiosity, no, he was analyzing the most sensitive parts of you. Locking the formation away in his mind so that only he would ever know just how precious you were under all those layers.
“Having fun?” You chuckled at his surprise. So cute.
With your head, you motioned him to continue.
Apprehensively, he nodded and continued to poke and prod at the finer parts of you.
It only took a few moments before you got impatient.
“Look up here for me, Dennis,” you ran a hand through his curls, bringing his face to look up at your own.
“Huh?”
“Open up, yeah?”
You could see him gulp before carefully opening up his mouth. You tilted your head down ever so slightly before letting a glob of spit fall between the plush skin of his lips and directly onto his tongue.
He whined at the contact before finally, finally bringing himself to face your cunt and licking a thick strip from your hole to your clit. Your saliva meshing with his, all draped across your pussy in one long pleasurable movement.
Your back arched, feeling his tongue probe at your hole while your clit nudged against his nose deliciously.
You began rocking your hips back and forth, not so much unlike what he had done earlier. With as much energy as you could muster, you met his sloppy muscle just as he had previously met your wet pussy.
At your movements, he hastened his pace, devouring your cunt rather than simply eating or licking at it. He was going in with something to prove.
Pulling another hearty moan from you, he enveloped his lips around your pretty button and sucked harshly.
“Fuhckk,” you ran a hand up your shirt, pulling it off and gripping your own tit.
Dennis, with enough mind to finally look up at you, was blessed with the prettiest sight of all. You, in all your blissed-out glory, groping at your own tits, rubbing your fingers around your nipple, and pulling.
He knew then when it was finally over, when he could taste the essence of your desire on his tongue in tandem with the harsh bucking of your hips.
His hands, though trembling with excitement and adrenaline, eased you off of his face as you had finally come down from your high. He had enough mind to lick you clean before finally pulling away at your sudden gasps of overstimulation.
You took the spot next to him on your bed, both of you out of breath and covered with enough bodily fluids that it warranted another shower.
“You know,” Dennis spoke through a few heavy puffs of breath. “I’d do anything for you.”
“I know.”
“And…I really, really like you. A lot.”
“I know.”
“And I don’t do this often, but I want you to know it meant a lot to me and…and I don’t know where I’m going with this.” He let his palm fall over his reddening face.
“How about,” you turned on your side to face him, head resting heavy in your right hand as your left began rubbing circles on his chest. “I get you a water bottle and a snack this time.”
He's a farm boy. He grew up roughhousing and can definitely take more than it looks on first glance.
Because he grew up on a farm, he was around strong people who knew how to work with their hands (wink wink, nudge nudge).
So, he's always sought out what was familiar to him. That's when he met you.
You knew just how to be rough with him.
Pin him down, pull his hair, make him work for his rewards and earn his punishments...
You had his arm twist behind him and his face smashed into the mattress. A playful wrestling match gone wrong, smack talk went a little too far which landed Dennis in this uncomfortable position.
"What did you say? Hm? Wanna repeat it?"
"No, no! I'm sorry- ah!"
"That's what I thought." You let him go and he immediately flops down into the mattress, his hips dug into the blanket. You try to flip him over but, he won't budge.
"Babbeee... roll over, I wanna lay down." You try to move him but he fights back with more force.
"Just- just give me a second..."
"Dennis, are you hard?"
"No... Maybe..."
He just loves those raw, passionate moments and he's not great at hiding it.
You kiss him on his neck and maybe your teeth graze him skin, instant goosebumps and ten times more flustered than he was before.
It's not long before you notice.
You give him a little nibble on his neck and he's whimpering. His brain shuts off and all he can ask is, "Harder?"
It comes out like a question too, like he doesn't know you would give him the world. How could you say no?
You bite down and he moans so sluttily. His breath picks up and he's just gone.
It goes both ways, though. He likes biting almost as much he like being bitten.
Imagine he's between your legs, his back against your chest as you stroking him. It's loud, wet, and messy. He loves it.
His cock is glistening with lube and precum. He looks down at his poor abused tip and just how swollen it is. His head falls back with a long whine.
"I don't know if I can last much longer."
"Just be patient, Dennis." He knows the rules.
His head is in your neck and the skin just looks so tempting. He can't help but sink his teeth in.
You're taken by surprise, but it's a pleasant surprise. He leaves a little mark can and once he sees it, his hips buck as he cums without warning.
"Biting and cumming without permission? That's very bad, Den. We're gonna have to start all over again until you learn some manners!"
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
Request: “This request is for sandor of course!! I am all for angsty, yearning sandor clegane!! My train of thought is all over the place but heres a list of something I hope you could include in the one shot: •hozier level yearning •unrequited love/want •perhaps stark!reader or baratheon!reader •fleeting interactions like something small but it sticks with sandor •“im not a religious man but ill follow her” kinda vibe if that makes any sense!!"
CW: MDNI, ANGST, afab reader, alcohol consumption, unrequited love, yearning, misogyny, arranged marriage, violence, joffrey being joffrey, mention of death.
A/N: He’s pathetic and I love it
Word Count: 5K
꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱
The girl was born a Baratheon, born to Robert Baratheon during a previous marriage. Her mother, born to some wealthy house. But her memory would be lost in time after she died in childbirth. Robert did not speak of her. Cersei despised the mention of her name. So not much was known of her. Though she must’ve been pretty, as the girl born to Robert Baratheon was a girl of beauty. And soon after her mother’s death, Robert married Cersei Lannister.
Either due to jealousy or embarrassment Cersei would treat the girl with malice, and hostility. But unlike the King's eldest son, the girl was kind and good.
The boy was born to a man who wanted nothing more than for his sons to be knights of the Seven Kingdoms. His ambitions blinded him, allowing his eldest son Gregor to commit horrid acts. So long as the boy was a knight, none else mattered. The man's youngest son was kind. He was just a boy, no more than six years old.
The little boy dreamed of being a knight just as his father did. Dreamed on the good deeds he would do in the name of his king and the Seven Kingdoms. Though those dreams would be dashed and discarded once the boy's older brother showed him the cruelty the world is capable of. The cruelty he was capable of. The cruelty the world rewarded him for.
The boy grew into The Hound, Sandor Clegane the second most feared man in the Seven Kingdoms. The girl grew into a princess, one hated by her stepmother and eldest half brother. But loved by her father, her half siblings, the realm, and by a Hound.
꒰ ୨୧ ─
The Hound and the princess grew alongside one another most of his life. He could remember when he and she were much younger. The Lannisters and the Baratheons were traveling across the Stormlands. It was a hard journey, soon food became scarce. Naturally the scraps of whatever the royals did not eat were left to the guards and any other member of the traveling crew. But the princess would offer a young hound the meat from her plate every night. He always hesitated, but was too hungry to deny her charity. She never held her charitable act over him, never even mentioned it.
He was not one to appreciate beauty, nor was he one to indulge himself in fantasies of love. But the princess’s beauty was one that haunted Sandor. His whole life he looked at her as though she were the maiden herself. And the princess did not look upon the Hound with grotesque curiosity. Nor did she flaunt his presence to others in a manner of threatening them. No, the princess was kind towards him, kind when she did not have to be. He often found kindness a weakness in people, but in her kindness he found a comfort.
The girl was different from her father, different from her brother. She was kind, she was honest, and he would follow her as if she was a God.
He could also remember the first time she bestowed her favor onto him.
Sandor never feared the tourneys he fought in. He did not fear the joust, he did not fear the competitors. What he did not like was the tradition of asking a noble lady for her favor.
Sandor never liked this tradition. Never liked having to speak to noble ladies much less ask them to favor him. Not only was it ridiculous to him, the ladies often grimaced at his gesture. But at this tourney, and every tourney after it, he would pick the lady he wished to have picked each time before.
As he rode his intimidatingly large black ill tempered stallion around the tournament pit. He looked up at all the noble ladies above him, looking down at him. They all sneered at his gaze, wishing not to be picked. The noble men all snickered amongst one another. But there was one person who looked upon him with indifferent eyes. The Baratheon girl’s eyes were not filled with pity, disgust, nor anticipation for the violence he was about to insight for the high lord's entertainment. She simply watched him with her same kind eyes.
He did not think much of it, it came naturally to him as he stopped his horse in front of the royal family's seating. “I ask the favor of the Princess.” He said begrudgingly.
The princess rose from her seat with a smile. She grabbed a ring of florals and silk. The flowers were yellow and the silk ribbon was black, the colors of both her house and his. As she approached him, she smiled upon him and placed the favor upon his joust. “I wish you good fortune, Sandor Clegane.” Sandor, he did not know she knew his name. Her voice itself was gentle and hushed, only for him to hear. Her smile was gentle and warm, one that he would have killed to see each night. One that he won the tourney for.
꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈
Once, Joffrey had decided that a servant boy had shot him a momentary disrespectful glance. If he had, it would not have been unwarranted, though who is to say if he even did. Joffrey, sometimes bored, would pretend small disrespectful gestures were made against him. Allowing him to justify any horrid act he found amusement in subjecting any poor soul to.
“I am sorry, my prince! Please if you would give me another chance-” The servant boy pleaded on his hands and knees. His cheek red from the blow Ser Meryn had given him moments before.
Sandor never liked being Joffrey's sworn shield. Never liked that blonde cunt at all. Whenever he wanted to feel powerful, wanted to hurt someone weaker than him for no good reason, it bored and irritated him.
Though it hardly ever embarrassed him, until she stepped into that room.
“Brother stop this!” The Baratheon princess commanded with a look of disgust. Sandor, though he’d not laid a hand on the boy, swallowed hard and stood straighter at her sudden presence. He worried how she’d look at him now, would her kind eyes fade for him?
“Why should I?” Joffrey asked her back with a raised brow.
The girl, bravely scoffed and took a few steps closer to her younger ‘brother’, “Because I commanded you to.” She said with angry eyes, an expression Sandor rarely saw from her. She looked beautiful even when she was angry.
Joffrey narrowed his eyes at her, “Who are you to command anything of me?” he stifled a laugh which only enraged her more. And only enraged Sandor more.
She took another step closer to him. Her hand gently trailed along the extravagantly dressed wooden table. “Your elder sister, the Kings first born-”
“First born daughter.” Joffrey finished her words for her. “Daughter. You are not heir to anything. I’ll be king one day and you, a princess for a lifetime.” He said laughing as if he were amused by some great jest. “And as your king, I could have anything done to you that I like.” He walked closer to her, with a threatening gaze. “In fact, as heir to the throne, I could do anything I like. I could have Ser Meryn hold you down and-” And with that the girl's temper got the better of her. She grasped a glass goblet from the table she stood by, and threw it with great force at her brother’s feet. The goblet shattered into a hundred pieces. Bits of it flew and cut Joffrey’s right hand. And some other bits cut Sandor’s cheek, not deeply but enough to bleed. “You cannot do that!” His shrill voice cracked as he grasped hold of bleeding palm.
“Clearly I can.” The girl said with little emotion. It would have made Sandor laugh if he didn’t have to worry about the other royal guards. He worried that they would put their filthy hands on you, or would be foolish enough to draw their swords.
Though none would. The guards were shocked by the scene. This princess had never done so much as raised her voice, and now she was assaulting their future kind. They had to think of defending one of the King’s children from the other. They stood, unsure of how to act.
Furiously Joffrey shouted, “I’ll tell my mother!” Knowing his father would do nothing but ridicule him.
The princess raised her hand, and slapped the boy across the cheek, “Tell her I did that as well.” She added.
Her slap was enough to leave a red imprint across the boy's face.
In a fit of anger, the young prince grabbed hold of his sword. Prepared to draw its blade and point it at the princess. Just before Sandor could grab the prince, a different Kingsgaurd stepped between the two royals. “Stop this!” the man commanded. Joffrey let go of the sword's hilt and the girl began to walk away, ready to face whatever punishment her step mother desired.
With her back turned, and the guards' attentions divided. Joffrey ceased his moment, and drew the thin blade of his sword and readied himself to strike the princess.
“Boy!” The princess turned back as the Hound’s loud voice boomed out through the dining hall. She was stunned by the sight before her. The prince’s attack was stopped by the Hound ceasing the blade with his bare hand. Blood from his hand trickled down the blade of the sword.
꒰ ୨୧ ─
Soon the two royal children were brought before their father the King.
“How the fuck did any of this happen? You are meant to protect my blood!” King Robert questioned the KingsGuard furiously.
“Never had to protect a princess from a prince.” Ser Meryn attempted to explain, “Or a prince from a princess.” He said in a lower tone that angered Joffrey.
“Shut up!” King Robert angrily shouted, sick of hearing whatever excuse they had. He sat back in his chair, and huffed loudly. He looked between his two children. “Well done, my girl.” He said in a gruff low tone.
Joffrey looked surprised his father would congratulate her on striking her brother. “But look what she-“ Joffrey began, holding up his cut palm.
Though Robert interrupted him, “How could you ever be a king if you cannot win a fight against a woman?”
“Father!” Joffrey’s shrill voice shouted,
“Leave!” Robert shouted back. With an infuriated huff, Joffrey left accompanied with two guards by his side. Though Sandor stayed in the room. “Girl, come ‘ere.” Robert commanded much softer to his daughter, waving his hand, beckoning her to come closer.
She did as her king commanded. Stepped closer to him with her head lowered. Robert stood before her, and held her chin up with his fingers. “You’re more of a man than your brother.” He said proudly. He meant it as a complement, it was a rare thing to receive as a child of Roberts. With a sigh he patted the girl on the back, “Go on then.” He said softly dismissing her.
She nodded and took her leave as her father requested.
As the girl left, Sandor turned to follow her out. Though the King’s voice beckoned out, stopping him in his steps. “Dog.” Sandor stopped, and turned towards the King, “If that yellow haired shit lays a hand on my girl you beat him.” The King commanded. Sandor needed no other instruction. He was quite content to do so. “Understood?” The King pressed.
Sandor nodded, “Aye.”
꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈
As the Hound walked down the Halls of the keep, he saw the princess walking in the opposite direction. He tried to keep his eyes ahead, not looking at her at all.
Though his illusion of disinterest did not deter the girl, “I beg pardon, ser.” Her serene voice called out gently. It felt like a cool breeze on a hot day, a relief.
Sandor looked up at her, hoping she was not speaking to him. If she was, he knew whatever words she spoke to him would haunt his thoughts. As he looked at her, he knew she was speaking to him. He swallowed and then croaked out, “I’m no ser.”
The Baratheon princess shook her head, “No. You are more true than any knight.” He knew her words would haunt him, but now they would torture him. The girl stepped forward, making him almost flinch, “All the knights in that room were content to let my brother kill me. What you did today-“
The girl began but the Hound interrupted her, knowing if she thanked him, his stomach might turn. “It’s my duty to protect you.” He grumbled, attempting to not look the girl in the eyes. Her beautiful eyes.
“I’d call it brave.” She chimed, making him stop and turn to face her once again. He was about to tell her it was not brave but she continued, “But I know you’d not. You are a hard man with many scars. You needn’t courage, nor praise. But I thank you for what you've done.”
Fuck.
He was never thanked for doing his duty. Never thanked for anything. He was commanded and he did as he was told.
Her eyes wandered over the Hound’s face. It made him feel weak, for the first time in a very long time. “I am sorry-” She said, her voice sickeningly sweet. Sandor looked at her with confusion, “Are you hurt?” She asked as she reached her hand towards the cut on his cheek. Her sudden movement made him flinch.
“No.” He rasped quickly.
The girl however was scared of the Hound. She continued forward and placed a hand on the Hounds shoulder. Even though her hand was separated from his skin by his thick armor, he still felt a chill run over his body. “Oh but you are-” She began, concerned for him. A feeling that was new for him.
“It’s a scratch.” Sandor interrupted the girl.
She shook her head, “Still, I caused it.” The girl reached into the neckline of her gown, making Sandor almost blush. Such a strange thing, a man who had seen every part of a woman, and every sexual act no matter how deviant in almost every brothel in KingsLanding would blush at such a thing. She pulled out a handkerchief embroidered with her name, “Take this.” She said holding it out to him.
He could not take it. He could not, no matter how badly he wanted to. “Don’t need it-”
“I command you to take it, as your princess.” The girl said without hesitation. Reluctantly Sandor grabbed the cloth, “I am sorry.” She said once more before continuing on and walking past Sandor.
She did not know that he would worship that cloth. Keep it in his armor, and keep it in his rooms when he slept.
꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈
When Robert mixed drinking and hunting too often, a boar attacked him. Leaving him so injured he was on a deathbed.
The princess visited her father each day, morning, noon, and night. And when he died, she stayed confined to her chambers. Her only company she’d allow was her Septa. Though the girl was grown enough to be without a Septa, hers was closer to a mother. Since the girl never had one, her septa was there for all her girlhood. So she insisted on keeping around.
Sandor often checked on the girl, though of course she was not wise to this.
He would open her door, just a crack. He would listen in just to be sure she was alright. One day when he decided to open her door he heard her and her Septa speaking plainly.
“Do you think the boar was the Gods doing?” The girl asked as she stared out her window with a stoic and dazed expression.
“Hm?” Her septa responded, looking up from the needlepoint she mindlessly toyed at.
The girl did not look at her septa. Simply continued to stare out her window into nothingness. She paused for a moment, not speaking, “I’d a dream the Stranger came to those woods. He changed into a boar and killed my father for his deviance.” She spoke of such morbid dreams with no emotion attached to it at all.
“How awful.” Her septa gasped, throwing her needle point down onto the table in front of her. “No dear girl I don’t think it was.” She said more gently, “You dream too much.”
The girl shrugged, still not looking at the old woman. “I suppose I’m trying to find the Gods in everything I do.”
“Prayer is best for that. Not such morbid dreams.” The old Septa said, picking her needle point back up.
The girl did not respond for a moment, still simply staring out into nothing. “Do you think they’re real?” She asked softly and without shame. “Do you truly believe it? Never did you doubt it?” She asked, finally looking at the Old Septa.
“They are real.” She asserted sternly, “You believe they aren’t?”
The girl sighed, not wanting for a lecture, “I know the Gods are a necessity for people. Like food, water. I know they must exist. But I also know they don’t.” She said calmly. Her words stuck with Sandor like a knife driven into his back.
“What a terrible thing to say.” Her septa said shocked.
“Is it?” The girl's eyes narrowed in confusion, “It’s just my thoughts.”
The septa shook her head looking back to her needle point. “You think too much, dear girl.”
The girl sighed and went back to looking out her window, “Seems I do too much and not enough.”
Without many words at all, this lonely girl would consume Sandor’s every thought. She was smart and kind. Two things Sandor did not think of himself.
He did not believe in the Gods, because if there were Gods, why did they punish this girl? Perhaps she was his punishment. Perhaps he was hers. Perhaps it was the world that was their punishment.
This girl should be queen. She’d be a good one, a better one then her cunt brother. She’d be loved by the small folk and no doubt able to keep some kind of peace, even with the war. She’d not let her pride keep the seventh kingdom. If they wanted independence they’d have it. Clearly they could fight well enough on their own. But she was not queen. But she was his.
How her hair laid against the delicate fabric of her pillow. She was all too precious for his affections. He couldn’t help it really, he felt drawn towards her. Felt a stronger pull towards her than he felt towards anything, even food or water. But he’d never subject her to his presence.
He simply needed to see her, needed to know she was safe.
She slept sweetly, her breathing though loud was the calmest noise he’d heard. It was like the sounds of waves meeting the sands.
Sometimes, not often, but sometimes he would fantasize about what it would feel like to sleep beside her. For her to invite him into her bed. To sleep in his arms. He’d feel her heartbeat against his own. He’d smell her scent, and feel her chest rise and fall with each breath. He never slept well, but he believed if she was in his arms, perhaps he could.
꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈
As time went by, the royal family debated what to do with the girl. She was not a Baratheon Lannister, she was the reminder of Robert's first marriage, a reminder that Joffrey was not the true king.
Sandor stood guard by the small council’s chamber door as he heard the girl’s step mother Cersei say, “She’s as wild as the boar that killed her father. No man would want her, she is too difficult. So give her to the Tyrell’s, a poisoned gift.”
Overcome with a myriad of emotions, anger, sadness, and grief, Sandor rushed to the girl's chambers.
Sandor stood behind her door. His hand firmly grasped the door handle, and his forehead rested against the wood of the door.
He stood there for what felt like an eternity.
He wanted to open the door, ask- no beg you to run away with him. He wanted to tell you all the things he felt for you. Wanted to protect you.
But he was a second son, a kingsguard, he had no land, and no money. He had nothing to offer you, he didn’t even have a handsome face to bargain with.
And so, he let the handle of the door go, and he walked down the hall. He considered it mercy.
꒰ ୨୧ ─
Instead of subjecting that poor girl to his company he decided to subject tavern dwellers to him instead. That night, as her marriage was announced, Sandor sank into his cups.
Though even there he was not protected from talks of her betroval.
Beside Sandor at another table were four men,
“Say what you will, I think it’s a perfect match! Loras Tyrell loves a Baratheon!” Some oaf shouted as he slammed his cup onto the table laughing.
“Aye but she’s missin’ a cock now isn’t she!” A shorter guard shouted out.
Sandor wanted to break the fool's jaws for speaking of her situation with such amusement. “Too bad for Loras, and too bad for all the other men in the realm!” A bald guard added,
The shorter guard raised his cup, “Hear hear. I’ll miss seeing that girl… Miss seeing her bend over to pick flowers.”
The bald guard nodded in a facade of sadness, “Aye that ass will be missed-”
“No, her pair of tits will be missed!” The fatter guard spoke up.
“Nay her cunt! Ah and what a waste she’ll be giving it to a boy whore.” One of the men said, it was enough for Sandor to slam his cup onto the table in anger. He was trying with all his might to hold onto his restraint.
Though this did not go unnoticed by the men at the table. The oafish one spoke up again, “What of you Clegane?” He said getting closer to the Hound, “You guard that sweet stag so loyally. Surely you’ve thought of what her cunt tastes like-”
Without another thought, Sandor took the man by the back of his head and slammed it into the table. His nose broke and his teeth cracked. Sandor took his dagger out and stabbed it through the man's hand. His blade took one of the man’s fingers.
Sandor stood, taking his drink with him, “You speak to me like that again, I’ll take more than a finger.” He warned as he left the tavern in a huff.
꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈
Against his better judgment, that night Sandor checked in on that girl.
She was with her Septa again. He hoped that she were alone, if she were perhaps in his drunken state he’d have actually begged her to run off with him.
“My father would never have allowed this.” The girl said with a scared and sorrowful waiver of her voice, “Though I suppose it will be a relief to be gone from this place.” She sniffled, “I just don’t want to be forgotten.”
“You’ll not be forgotten, dear girl.” Her Septa said petting her hair.
“I suppose if I were to marry anyone in this city it would be him.” She shrugged, “But, I am unsure of how I could please him. You know of his nature. Know of his relationship with my uncle. I care not for any moral righteousness and I hold no judgment of it. But how could I ever make him happy?” She asked desperately, frightened by the prospects of her future.
Her Septa grasped the girl by her shoulders tightly, “You will make him happy by giving his children royal blood.”
“And how can I even do that?” The girl put her face into her hands,
“You are familiar with the act, I have explained it-”
The girl interrupted, “I won’t want it.”
Her Septa sighed, “A dreadful duty for some wives. Just lay there. Look at the ceiling and memorize the pattern of the trim. Count the seconds. Anything to let your mind wander away from your body.” She tried her best to comfort the girl, but clearly was doing nothing to help the girl’s fear.
꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈
As Sandor took leave of his duties. He threw off his armor without caution, and nearly ripped his clothing off himself. He was angry, no, he was enraged.
This girl did not deserve this. She deserved none of the shit those blonde shits put her through. And the words of ‘advice’ given to her by her septa only enraged him more. She should have told her to slip poison in his wine.
Sandor sat down on his bed in his small clothes with a huff. His weight made the bed creek and bow. He drank from a wineskin as he thought of it all. Soon his anger subsided, replaced with a defeated sorrow.
Naught could be done for her. This much he knew for certain.
So, after his wineskin ran dry he laid down. Finally allowing his body to rest even though his mind could not.
As he laid there, stripped of his armor and steel. As his sensitive skin laid against the rough material of his bedding he was reminded once more that he, and his body were punished. Punished by both too much, and not enough.
Too much combat, too much drinking, too many tourneys, too many cuts and bruises. So much he endured, and his body was punished for it. He ached and felt pains all over his body all the time. His scars were sensitive and hurt in warm bath water.
But as he laid there he was again reminded how he had not enough. Not enough gentle touches, enough love and care. Though of course he’d never admit it to anyone. His body felt truly alone in his bed. He wished he could have felt her around him. He’d fucked before, that would not shock anyone. But he’d never made love to anyone. And Gods did he need to.
He thought of it often, kissing her. He’d do it gently. He’d be gentle with her. She deserved gentleness. He’d kiss her while he held her face in his palms. Kiss her neck, press his lips against her skin and lick where she was most sensitive- wherever those spots were. Gods he wanted to know where they were.
He felt shameful for thinking this way, he really did. He was no better than those men in that tavern. But, he’d be good to her.
He’d make her his wife, in the eyes of The Seven. He’d build her a home. It wouldn’t be like the one she’d been brought up in. Not a castle, but a house made of stone and wood. He’d give her safety, love. And as his hand began to wonder his punished body he thought of how he’d give her children.
He wished to know how her body would feel in hands. How it would feel to have his hands caress her breasts, the curves of her body, the soft plumpness of her belly. He wondered how it would feel to be inside of her. How his cock would feel to slide in and out of her slick, warm, inviting cunt. He did not know, but he did know it would have felt oh so much better than his calassed hand that was wrapped around his length now.
Though his actions were vulgar and sexual, he did not think of it as that. He couldn’t think of her for long without feeling the need to have her. To be close to her. To please her. To hold her close and make her feel safe under his touch, to make her feel loved and desired with his body, his hands, and his mouth.
He thought of what her septa told her. That she’d have to lay down and take it. If she was with him she’d want it, she’d never be forced. Bedding would be a pleasure not a duty.
His groans loudened, and his breathing quickened as he thought of how she’d ask him for it. How gentle her touch would feel on his ruined skin.
Soon he was awoken from his day dream as the hot splash of his release jolted his mind back to reality.
He did not have her, and she for all he knew, did not want him.
꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈
And so the Hound was left with nothing to do but sit and watch as the love of his life was preparing to leave his life forever.
He felt his heart breaking as he escorted the royals to the docks with the rest of the Kingsguard. He felt his eyes water as she began to step onto the dock, and approach the boat that would take her away from him.
Naught could be done for her.
So without a word the Hound offered the girl his hand. She took it, gently. He helped her into the boat. Her gaze fell onto him, and Gods it felt warm. He wanted to cut through them all. Wanted to take her off that boat and ride her away on Stranger. He’d do all the things he thought of the night before. Build her a home, keep her safe, and he’d love her. But they didn’t live in that world.
The princess would marry that Tyrell. She’d have his sons, whether she wanted it or not. And she would never know how much her dog loved her.
The Hound watched as the boat sailed away with the girl he had loved all his life.
It’s the world that’s awful.
Thank you so much for your request! It was so much fun to write!!
Summary: With Madame Sylvi indisposed on the evening Prince Aemond comes to visit, he requests someone different | Word Count: 1.7k~ | Warnings: sex work, smut, hair pulling, biting, titty sucking, darkish Aemond
A/N: saw ep 3 and felt silly 😁 not proofread an inch
“The Prince has asked for you.”
She could not help the wide-eyed look and the familiar flipping of her stomach, now feeling entirely different with the words that had come from her fellow woman’s lips. The Prince. Well, it could have meant either of them only weeks before, but no longer. They frequented this establishment quite often, as an upper-class brothel, with only the finest whores and service, it was only natural, and they had the coin to pay for it.
Suddenly, she felt quite cold in the sheer dress she had chosen that evening, doing very little to conceal the flesh that hid beneath, her nipples having formed peaks against the satin. What could she possibly say to that? There was no possibility of refusing.
“Very well,” she responded, knowing it was not her place to question. There was no question as to which now, it was most certainly the very same who frequented for the warm embrace and soothing voice of Madame Sylvi, who spent hours in her company and paid her a hefty price for it. For secrecy. But she knew just as well that the only reason Aemond had requested her instead, was because on this night, his usual appointment was indisposed.
Her heart raced as she slalomed through the scantily clad crowd, each step bringing her closer to the corner where the prince awaited. The halls were dimly lit, the soft glow of candlelight casting flickering shadows that danced along the walls, alongside those of curved figures, twisted with pleasure. She could hear the muted sounds of such from the other rooms, but they did little to quell the nervousness that gripped her.
When she reached the curtain, she paused for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady herself. The Prince. Aemond Targaryen. Known for his fierce demeanour and sharp intellect, he was not a man to be trifled with. Yet, beneath that cold exterior, she had heard whispers of a man burdened by the weight of his family.
Sliding the curtain across, met with the Prince, eyepatch already discarded and down only to his breeches, sat with cup in hand on the plush settee, his lone eye raising to her as she dipped for a curtsy. She felt her throat close at the sight of the sapphire, somewhat mirroring what was happening between her thighs.
"Madame Sylvi sends her apologies, my prince. She is unable to attend to you this evening."
Aemond's gaze lingered on her for a moment, and she felt her cheeks flush under his scrutiny. "I did not call for Sylvi tonight," he said finally, his tone giving nothing away. "I called for you."
Her lips parted to question. But she dare not let the words free. She was not one to ask about his intentions, a mere whore.
“Undress.”
The Prince’s eye never wavered as he watched, flesh revealed as she bared herself to him. He stood as if uncurling himself, finishing what was left in his cup before moving his hands to unlace his breeches, his head gesturing to the settee.
“Get on your hands and knees.”
His commanding tone made those flutters awaken once more. She had been employed at this establishment for so long, of course being naked and bared to an abundance of men was second nature. But there was something about the way he wanted her, the way it seemed not spurred by desire of any kind, but a need, like air, that ignited her nerves that she had not felt since her first few days in this line of work.
Still, bare arsed and exposed to a Prince, was a different matter entirely.
She felt his presence behind her, knowing he was naked as his thighs brushed against hers. He nudged her knees apart and pushed gently on her spine, encouraging her to arch her back. Though she could not see his face, the rippled design of the copper in front of her reflected enough for her to sense the detachment in his actions. So, she remained silent.
Prince Aemond guided himself to her centre, barely wet, and pushed his cockhead inside. He had barely breached her when his hands gripped the flesh of her buttocks, watching intently as his cock slowly slid deeper into her cunt, being swallowed by her body. She closed her eyes, the lack of preparation making the act more uncomfortable than pleasurable, but she hoped that with time, her arousal would ease the discomfort.
As Prince Aemond continued to push himself inside her, she focused on her breathing, trying to relax her body and ease the discomfort. The room was silent except for their breaths, the flickering candlelight casting shadows that danced on the walls. Each inch he gained felt like a stretch, a challenge to her body's readiness, but she bit her lip, determined to endure.
His hands, firm on her buttocks, began to knead her flesh, his grip alternating between gentle caresses and possessive squeezes. The friction built steadily, her body slowly acclimating to his presence. The initial pain started to fade, replaced by a growing warmth and the stirrings of pleasure.
Aemond moved with a deliberate pace, his thrusts measured and controlled. He seemed intent on watching every inch of his cock as it disappeared inside her, his breathing heavy and laboured. She could feel his intensity, the way he held back his own urges to maintain that slow, torturous rhythm.
Despite the initial discomfort, her arousal began to build. Her body responded to his movements, her inner walls slickening and accommodating his length with increasing ease. Soft moans escaped her lips, unbidden but honest, as pleasure began to mix with the remnants of pain.
Aemond's hands slid from her buttocks to her hips, pulling her back against him with each thrust. The new angle allowed him to go deeper, hitting spots inside her that sent jolts of pleasure through her body. Her fingers clenched the sheets beneath her, seeking some anchor as the sensations intensified.
He leaned forward, his breath hot against her ear. "Do you feel that?" he murmured, his voice husky and edged with restraint. "Do you feel how you take me in?"
"Yes, my prince," she gasped, her voice trembling with the effort to maintain composure. "I feel it."
Aemond's pace quickened slightly, his control slipping as his own desire took precedence. The sound of their bodies meeting filled the room, a rhythmic, primal music that spoke of need and release. Her moans grew louder, her body arching and pushing to meet his thrusts, seeking the pleasure that now consumed her.
With a sudden, possessive grip, Aemond's hand tangled in her hair, pulling her head back to expose her neck. His lips found her skin, teeth grazing lightly before he bit down, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to claim. The sensation sent a shiver down her spine, her body responding with an involuntary clench around his cock.
He groaned against her neck, the sound vibrating through her. "Take me, all of me," he whispered, his voice filled with approval and satisfaction.
She surrendered to the sensations, her body melting into his as pleasure overwhelmed her. Every thrust, every touch, every whispered word from Aemond drove her closer to the edge. The discomfort was a distant memory now, replaced by a wave of ecstasy that built with each passing second. His movements so erratic, his stones clapped against her womanhood with every harsh push, slapping against her bud in a steady, unyielding rhythm.
The sensation pushed her over the edge, her own climax washing over her in a powerful, all-consuming wave. She cried out, her body convulsing around him, every nerve ending alight with pleasure. Finally, with a deep, guttural moan, Aemond drove himself to the hilt inside her once more, his body shuddering and then withdrawing quickly as he found his release and coated her buttocks and thighs with his pearly spend.
They stayed like that for a moment, both catching their breath, their bodies still joined. Slowly, Aemond released his grip on her hair and hips, his hands soothing over the marks he'd left. He pulled out of her velvety walls gently, leaving her feeling both spent and fulfilled.
She expected him to leave, to gather his clothes and slip away into the night, as most men often do with a flick of their coin into her lap. But instead, Aemond surprised her. He curled into her body, his head resting against her chest. His lips found her breast, mouthing at her skin with a tenderness that contrasted sharply with the intensity of their earlier encounter. His hand moved to her other breast, caressing it with a gentle, almost reverent touch.
She looked down at him, her fingers threading through his silver, moonlit hair. He seemed to take more pleasure in this simple intimacy than she did, as if seeking comfort rather than mere satisfaction. His eyes were closed, his breathing steadying as he continued to nuzzle her chest.
"I hate it," he murmured after a long silence, his voice muffled against her skin.
She blinked, unsure of his meaning. "Hate what, my prince?"
Aemond shifted slightly, his hand stilling on her breast. "Sometimes, I think Madame Sylvi just says anything to appease me. She tells me what she thinks I want to hear, not what she truly believes."
There was a bitterness in his tone that caught her off guard. "Why do you think that?" she asked softly, her thumb stroking the back of his neck.
Aemond's grip on her breast tightened slightly, and she felt a shiver of unease. His lips brushed against her nipple, then his teeth grazed it, sending a jolt through her body. "Because it's easier for her," he said, his voice lower, more dangerous. "Because I'm a prince, and she fears offending me."
She gasped softly at the sensation, the mix of pleasure and pain reminding her of the precarious balance between comfort and control. "But you deserve honesty, my prince," she managed to say, her voice trembling.
He bit down a little harder, enough to make her wince. "Do I?" he asked, his tone a warning. "Or do I deserve the truth, no matter how it feels?"
Her heart raced, the threat in his words unmistakable. "The truth, my prince," she whispered, trying to maintain her composure. "Always the truth."
Aemond's teeth released her nipple, his tongue soothing the sting. He looked up at her, his eye fierce and unyielding. The sapphire lodged in the other piercing and dark.
"Good," he said, his voice a soft growl. "Because I have no patience for lies, no matter how pretty they are."
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