dennis whitaker who gets on his knees in front of you to apologize. eyes glossed over with tears threatening to spill, his hands clutching your thighs as he begs for you to look at him.
“just look at me…” he huffed, “m’sorry, i didn’t mean it,” he hadn’t done anything. in fact, you pretended he did just to get him all like this. all nervous and whiny for you. “i don’t think you’re sorry, dennis,” his name slides right off your tongue, right into his ears. blood rushes to his cock as it plays back again and again.
his name’s never sounded that good. that tempting.
his cock pushed up against his scrub pants, they’re tighter around it. “my god…” his head fell before you, it feels so good. you’re too good to him. he raises his head, really slowly. his big, bagged eyes pleaded with you. i’m so sorry. i need you, god, i’m sorry.
your hands trail up his neck, goosebumps raising in their wake as you maintain eye contact. if he’s really sorry, he won’t look away. he’ll let you know with his eyes, like he always does.
he rolls his neck as your hand runs over the nape, only to land at the back of his head, twisting the short hairs into your fist. “you sure you’re sorry?” you push his head toward toward you, just a bit. “more than sure,” these words come out with a groan, he can’t hold back.
“show me you’re sorry, dennis.”
he nods up at you before you lie back on your elbows, making sure you can still see him. he lifts the oversized sweater you have on, it just barely covered your sopping cunt. he hooked his finger around the lace underwear he bought you, the pair he felt so guilty for buying, and pulled it aside, revealing your sticky warmth. he whispers a short prayer before looking back up at you with those eyes.
“tastes so good, m’so sorry,” he moaned between sucks and licks. one hand of his dips into his pants, finding his cock and pressing his warm, soft palm against it, just barely moving. “don’t stop. you’re sorry, right? there we go,” you place your hand on his shoulder and squeeze.
he eats your pussy like a madman, he always talks snot how sweet it is. how its the one thing he can truly be addicted to. his other hand sits atop your thigh, holding it away from his face, making sure you don’t push it closed, he knows you. “i’m—almost there, den,” you drop the act and feel it, his hot tongue against you.
his face is all red, and his hums of arousal send chills up your spine. “mmm,” the tips of his fingers dig into your plush thighs. your legs give out, weakening by the feeling of him. your stomach gets all warm, holding an ungodly knot that you need undone. you grind your cunt against his face, whispering a “thank you,” his tongue dips into your hole, so relaxed now and waiting for him to come inside.
“i’ll be good. god, i’m so sorry.” he groans. his pants have a dark stain on them, his cock throbs against his the wet fabric. cum drips down his thighs and length, it’s filthy. he’s filthy. your pussy restricts around nothing, your juices spill and dennis laps them up perversely, like he hasn’t eaten.
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Summary: when your resident catches another med student being rude to you, it ends much better than ever expected
Word count: 2.1k
Tags: ogilvie is an asshole, older!dennis, smut, neck kissing/biting, fingerfucking, Dennis calls reader ‘baby, hon, etc.’, soft dom Dennis
a/n: This was in very high demand, so who am I to deny the people. Tell me what you think!
The first time it happens, you tell yourself it’s nothing.
Because if you call it something, then it actually becomes something. And you don’t have time for that.
“Did you even read the chart?” Ogilvie scoffs, looking over your shoulder. “Because this note reads like a first-year’s lecture notes.”
You swallow.
“I–I did. I just—”
“Hmm.” he hums. “Could’ve fooled me.”
You stand there, heat creeping up your face.
You wait for him to elaborate. Correct you. Teach you. Literally anything useful.
Instead he just sighs, long and dramatic.
“You know” he starts, finally looking up at you, eyes flicking over your face like he’s actively looking for flaws “confidence is kind of a prerequisite for medicine. Patients don’t want someone who looks like they’re about to cry every time they’re asked a question.”
Your throat tightens.
“I’m not—”
“Are you sure? Because that face is…rough.”
He waves a hand. “Just try to keep up, yeah? We don’t have time to babysit.”
You murmur an apology and move away before he can see the tears building in the corner of your eyes.
You don’t tell anyone.
Because Ogilvie is…well, Ogilvie. Everyone knows he’s an asshole. You don’t want to be the med student who couldn’t handle a bit of constructive criticism. The one who needs special treatment. The sensitive one.
So you swallow it.
Dennis notices things though.
Not big things, just the small stuff.
Like how you stop asking questions.
How you hang behind instead of being hands on. How you cringe slightly at Ogilvie being mentioned.
“Hey, you good?” Dennis asks one shift, after you guys finish up with a patient. “You’ve been weird quiet lately.”
You shrug.
“Just tired.”
He smiles softly, sympathy bleeding out of his expression. “We’re all tired.”
“I’m just…extra tired.” You say with the best fake smile you can muster
He studies you for a second. Dennis does that sometimes, looks at you like he’s trying to solve you.
“…You sure?”
You nod.
“Promise.”
He lets it go. For now, at least.
But it keeps happening.
Ogilvie correcting you in front of others, but never in a teaching way. Always with a sigh, or a comment under his breath.
“Geez, did they lower admission standards or something?”
“Maybe emergency medicine just isn’t your strength.”
“Not everyone’s cut out for this.”
Each one lands like a punch. Tender. Bruising.
You start triple-checking everything. Staying late to write extra notes and study charts. Apologizing before you even speak.
Dennis notices that one especially.
“Why are you apologizing?” he asks one day as you hand him labs. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
You blink at him.
“I uhh–”
He raises an eyebrow. “You know you’re allowed to be here without saying sorry, right?”
You laugh weakly.
“Tell that to my brain.”
He smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
The worse part is when Ogilvie gets you alone.
Empty hallways. Break rooms.
“You’re really not improving” he says, leaning back in his chair. “Which is concerning.”
You stare at the floor as you try to focus on making your coffee.
“I’ve been trying—”
“I know.” he cuts in. “That’s kind of the problem.”
Your chest tightens.
“Can you tell me what I should do?”
He laughs. Actually laughs at you.
“Honestly? I don’t know. Some people just don’t have it.”
You feel stupid for how much that hurts.
You go home that night and cry in the shower so your roommate won’t hear.
You still don’t say anything.
Dennis hears it by accident.
He’s charting nearby, half-listening, when Ogilvie’s voice drifts down the hall.
“You’re too sensitive,” Ogilvie says. “That’s gonna get you killed in medicine.”
There’s a pause.
Your voice is small. Smaller than Dennis has ever heard it.
“I can handle feedback.”
Ogilvie scoffs.
“Then why do you look like you’re about to cry every time someone critiques you?”
Dennis’s fingers still on the keyboard.
Another pause.
“I’m sorry….” you say. “I’ll do better.”
Something cold settles in Dennis’s chest.
He stands, slow and deliberate, and steps into the doorway.
“Ogilvie.”
Ogilvie turns. “Oh. Hey.”
Dennis’s voice is calm. Too calm.
“What exactly are you giving them feedback on right now?”
Ogilvie shrugs. “Their performance.”
Dennis nods once.
“Ok. Because from where I’m standing it sounds like you’re just putting them down.”
You freeze.
“Dennis, it’s okay” you say quickly, panic spiking. “It’s not–”
Dennis glances at you. Just for a second. His expression softens.
He cuts you off, starting to lay into Ogilvie.
“You’re an MS4. Not an attending. Not a resident. If you have actual, constructive feedback, give it. Otherwise? You don’t get to comment on their personality.”
Ogilvie bristles. “I’m just being honest.”
Dennis nods.
“Ok. Then be honest without being cruel.”
The room is silent.
Dennis shifts slightly, planting his feet firmly on the floor, arms crossed.
“And just so we’re clear” he adds, voice low, “if I ever hear you talk like this again, I will report it.”
Ogilvie scoffs, but there’s worry there now.
“Whatever...”
He leaves.
Dennis lets out a breath slowly, like he’s been holding it in for days.
He turns to you.
“You okay?”
You shake your head. Tears spilling before you can stop them.
“I didn’t want to make it a thing…” you whisper. “I didn’t want people to think I couldn’t handle it.”
Dennis’s expression tightens. Not angry now, but something closer to heartbreak.
“Hey, hey” he says softly. “That wasn’t you being weak. That was him being a dick.”
You laugh shakily.
“He does it all the time.”
“…All the time?”
You nod.
He rubs a hand over his face, jaw clenched.
“Okay” he says. “You’re not doing this alone.”
You panic.
“Dennis, please. I don’t want–”
“I know.” he interrupts gently. “I’m not gonna blow it up. I promise.”
He meets your eyes.
“But you don’t deserve to feel like this. Ever.”
He hands you a tissue, awkward and gentle, like he’s afraid of startling you.
“You’re a good student” he says firmly. “Don’t let some cocky prick convince you otherwise, okay?”
Your chest aches at how sure his voice is.
You just nod. Trying desperately to believe his words, and not someone else’s.
After shift you and Dennis walk together like always. But neither of you stop or say anything when you guys walk past your apartment building.
By the time Dennis locks his apartment door, all thats left is exhaustion. The bone-deep kind.
You kick your shoes off without being told. You’ve been here before. You hover for only half a second, before sinking down into his couch like it’s your own.
“You didn’t say anything the whole walk.” he says.
You shrug. “Didn’t trust myself to.”
He nods like that even makes sense.
Dennis crouches in front of you so you have to look at him.
“You did good today” he says quietly.
Your throat tightens.
“I didn’t do anything.”
“That” he says gently “is not true.”
You laugh humorlessly. “You don’t have to—”
“I know” he interrupts, still just as soft. “I want to.”
That does it.
Your shoulders slump like something inside you finally gave out.
“I hate that he made me feel so small…” you whisper. “I hate that I let it happen. I–I can’t even stand up for myself.”
Dennis’s jaw tightens. He’s upset, but not at you.
“He took advantage of the fact that you’re still learning.”
He reaches up, thumb brushing away a single tear, his other hand gently gripping at your hip, ground you in a sense.
“you’re allowed to need someone.” he adds, his tone almost sultry in a way. “Especially from someone who’s above you.”
The words feel feather soft, but they land heavily.
His words, his hands on you. Everything makes you wanna cry. Not because of him, but for him. Be exposed and vulnerable for him, so he can take care of you.
You swallow.
Dennis seems to notice something off in your demeanor, and immediately withdrawals his hands.
“Hey…” he says. “We–we don’t have to do anything tonight. I just didn’t want you being all by yourself tonight”
You look at him.
At the way he’s still crouched in front of you. At how careful he’s being. At the fact that he’s asking if this is something you want.
“I don’t want to be alone…” you mumble, leaning forward and wrapping your arms around his neck, as you bury your face into his shoulder.
And next thing you know, he’s gently pushing you down to lay on his bed.
He’s sitting next to you. Hovering above you. His hands warm as he rubs up and down your hips, like he’s checking in without actually saying anything.
“Tell me if you want me to stop” he says.
You shake your head.
“Use your words” he murmurs.
“Please don’t stop.” You practically whine.
That’s when his thumb tips your chin up.
“Good.” he says, quietly. “That’s what I needed to hear.”
The kiss isn’t frantic. It’s deep. Claiming in a way that doesn’t make you feel trapped. It makes you feel taken care of.
Dennis doesn’t rush either.
He takes his time
If feels like he’s puts you back together, slowly, pice by pice.
“You know how smart you are?” he murmurs against your mouth.
You exhale, shakily.
“Den–”
“Hey.” he says, voice a bit firmer now. “Let me.”
His hands run all over your body. His hands exploring. Memorizing. Tracing.
Every time you tense, Every time you relax, he feels it.
“That’s it” he murmurs. “That’s good, baby. You’re doing good. Can feel that your body trusts me.”
“It does…I do.”
His breath falters slightly.
“You keep talking like that, I’m not gonna be able to hide how much I want you anymore.”
“You don’t have to.” you whisper.
Dennis stills.
Then, quieter “You sure?”
You nod.
And that his green light.
His hands slides lower, slow pulling down your scrub pants and panties in one go.
He slides his fingers between your folds.
You’re dripping.
“Good lord…” he murmurs. “You’re so wet, and I haven’t even done anything.”
He smiles, dark, satisfied.
“You want me to take care of you.” he says quietly. “I can feel it. Is that right, baby?”
You nod, barely being able to not squirm.
“Words, please.”
“I want that” you whisper. A soft pout on your lips
That’s all it takes.
His middle and ringer easily slide into your aching heat. Your body responds immediately, betraying you in the best way.
You gasp, head tipping back into his pillows.
“That’s it.” He murmurs
He starts with two but quickly adds a third. His fingers are painfully slow in the way that makes you restless.
“Look at how well you’re opening up fer me already.”he murmurers. “You like this, hmm?”
Your fingers clutch at his shirt.
“Hey.” he says. “Don’t grab unless you mean it.”
“I mean it” you whisper.
“Ok” he says. “Because I’m gonna take you at your word.”
His pace quickens, a thumb coming up to rub tight circles on your clit. The whole time, he’s watching your eyes. Drinking in how fucked out she looks just by her fingers.
You whimper.
“Fuck” he mutters. “You sound perfect like this.”
You try to hide your face in the sheets.
He doesn’t let you.
“No, no.” he says firmly, grabbing your chin. “I wanna see you.”
Your eyes meet his.
“There you are” he murmurs. “So pretty, taking my fingers like a good girl.”
His head dips down to your neck as he begins bitting and sucking on your skin. Leaving a trail of purple bruises in his wake
“You have no idea” he says between kisses, voice rougher“how good you look like this. How good you feel under my hands.”
Your breath goes shallow.
“That’s it…” he sighs. “Let go for me. Come around my fingers, hon.”
Your thoughts are a blur, a mix of his voice and the obscenely wet sounds of your cunt as he pumps his fingers in and out of you.
It’s all too much for your brain, and just enough for the coil in your stomach to snap.
“That’s my girl” he says, satisfaction thick in his voice as he feels you soak his fingers.
“You did so fucking well.” He says. Gently removing his fingers, before licking them clean.
“You have any idea how long I’ve been waiting to take care of you?”
You shake your head.
“Yeah” he says. “That tracks.”
His hands travel to your face, as he lowers himself to lay next to you. You’re already leaning into his touch as soon as you feel his hands.
“I see how hard you work” he continues.
“You’re gorgeous. Thank you for letting me take care of you…” he murmurs.
pairing. roommate!dennis whitaker x ogilvies (ex) gf!reader
genre. smut. wc. 2.6k
warnings. mdni, munch!Dennis, roommate!Dennis, kind of cheating...., james ogilvie, smut, p in v, fingering, oral (f!recieving), slight exhibitionism (they fuck in the living room), reader has curly hair and meat on her bones bc I do, hint of perv Dennis, kind of proofread,
a/n. based on this request... loved it so much had to make it a fic
You'd come home after a bad ending date with your... kind of boyfriend? you don't know anymore after this. Trinity could immediately tell something was up.
"What's your problem?" she asked looking at you from the couch. "its nothing" you huffed taking your heels off, then padding over to the kitchen for a beer. Trinity patted the spot on the couch next to her and you brought her a beer and sat down in that same spot with a huff.
"You always have that look on your face when you're back from hanging out with James, pleeaseee tell me you're breaking up" she asked, going about her finally getting a chance.
"First of all, we are dating, we aren't official... it's just stupid and embarrassing" you sighed, slumping back into the couch feeling pathetic. Trinity made a face before replying "I mean dating him is embarrassing enough I'm sure it can't get any worse from there" she smirked at you
"Okay. rude" you both laughed when you gave her a gentle shove
You sighed again, taking a sip of the beer. "It's just, dates are boring. He's boring! and he's fucking rude! Like— I just. Oh my god!"
Trinity was giving you another look "and you.. never realized that... before... or....?" you looked at her annoyed "No! Because I never worked on anything with him, and you know what thank fucking god.
You sat up like a revelation "Oh my god, Trinity. You know, not once out of however many times we've... fucked" you shuddered “I never—”
"YOU MEAN YOU NEVER CAME??? LIKE.. NOT ON— mmph!" Trinity' s shock was silenced by your hand flying to shut her up by covering her mouth "hello?? shut the hell up Dennis is sleeping. Besides, I don't want him hearing about this." you huff "ugh its so embarrassing. I kept thinking 'he'll get it! he'll learn!' and guess fucking what? he. never. does"
"I just need to cum! It's making me loony. like holy shit I don't wanna have to come home and rub one out every time we hang out i'm starting to want to kill him" you huffed out a laugh
After some more chatting and laughing, you decided to go shower to wash off the disgust while formulating your text to James to cut ties.
You showered, washed your face, and took an extra time to decompress under the warm water. The warmth of the water hitting your skin works to help you relax. Once you got out you made sure to do your nightly skin care and work in some curl cream and gel before you made sure to diffuse it.
Finally, while you were brushing your teeth, you finally decided to text James. your fingers tapping on the granite sink counter staring at the screen. You held your toothbrush in your mouth and typed it out.
you: I think we should call it quits I don't think this is working out for us
You spat out the frothed toothpaste and gargled some mouth wash then rinsed out the sink — giving yourself one extra look in the mirror before turning the light off and going to grab your silk bonnet to just chill out in the living room and watch TV.
So here you are, watching your show, in your pajama shorts and tee shirt, drinking whatever tea you could find in the pantry. The apartment was quiet, aside from the TV audio and the ceiling fan spinning.
Then you heard a creak from the hard wood floor making your head flick to the sound. to find Dennis creeping out of his room "Sorry... didn't mean to scare you" he said moving to sit down by you
"God, no you're fine, sorry if I woke you." you smiled at him wondering if he heard the talk from earlier or if it was your hair dryer.
You cleared your throat offering tea which he politely declined. leaving the both of you feeling awkward. It shouldn't be, you two were friends. You were a bit fidgety and he kept glancing at you... it was quiet between you and you were hoping he hadn't heard your embarrassing story from earlier... but that awkwardness vanished after getting a notification on your phone.
James Ogilvie: I thought we had a great time together, I just don't understand where this is coming from...
James Ogilvie: I just wish you would've told me before I wasted so much money on you. Maybe we should go out and talk this over, your treat?
"ugh... what the fuck—" you mumble to yourself. Dennis looks at you curiously. He gets a bit closer, leaning in to ask softly, "what's wrong?" all you could think of was how sweet he was. How nice it was for him to be worried meanwhile his hand is already aching to touch you.
"Ogilvie is just an asshole, I should've never agreed to go out with him let alone go on multiple dates." you were already getting ready to text him something back, telling him off.
"Oh yeah I heard you earlier... is that really true? that he never made you cum?" he asked
You were shocked... 'So he did hear me' .... you thought to yourself, blinking a few too many times. You turned your head to look at him "you.. heard that?" you asked him.
"Yeah, these walls are really thin and I was up watching uhh.. something, and happened to hear." Dennis shrugged like it wasn't an embarrassing conversation
"Uh— yeah... it's true ... he's just... is weird... I don't know why I tried with him" you said taking a sip of your tea, fixing the satin on your head to sit better
Dennis nodded, brows scrunched like he's deep in thought "yeah he sucks... and he's rude"
"I know he treats people and patients like shit—" you began
"No, I mean it's rude of him to leave you unsatisfied. a real man would've had you fucked out and finished in no time... but... that too" Dennis said.
you brain was short circuiting "uh—"
Dennis looked at you with a warm calloused hand resting on your thigh, squeezing lightly. "I just think... if he was a better boyfriend... he should've made sure you came first... every time..." he paused for a moment staring into your eyes "that's what I would've done if I had you..."
"Dennis—" your breath hitched, his hand squeezed the fat of your thigh. he was so close you could feel his breath
he was almost on top of you now, his hands on either side of your hips "let me show you how a real man should treat a lady, hm?" you nodded, searching his eyes, seeing them sparkle from the moonlight. you were entranced by him, his sultry voice, you'd never heard him talk like this before
"mm-mm, I need to hear you say it, I've been waiting too long for just a nod..." he said in that same smooth voice,
"yes... yes, please show me..." your lips chased his and he immediately latched his lips to yours. one of his hands sliding up your waist you wrap your arms around his neck. One of your fingers threaded through his hair as your lips moved together with fervor.
you couldn't help yourself. You knew you should clarify that it was over with James but when one of your closest friends is on top of you grinding his hard-on onto your thigh... well you weren't worried about it.
Dennis' rough hands grabbed at your waist. He was eager and desperate to feel you. his hands pushing your shirt up, pulling it off of you, dragging the bonnet off with it. You didn't care, not when he started kissing down your body.
he sucked small bruises on your collar bone and his hands began to massage and grope your breasts before his kisses moved down you your nipples.
"fuck—" you gasped looking down at his eyes. they were almost like a predator the way he looked up at you licking over your hardened buds. he cracked a smile before latching to one, groaning against it — sending vibrations through you body " oh god... Dennis..." you whined, fingers tightening in his hair.
His wet kisses traveled down your navel — he stopped just above your pajama shorts to stop and look up at you for permission to go further. you looked down at him with dazed eyes and a nod, silently thankful that you'd gotten a wax. you moved to take your shorts off but he quickly stopped you taking them off throwing them behind him.
He hummed to himself as he got your thighs over his shoulders "do you usually wax?" he asked giving your sensitive bud a kiss
"Sometimes just to get it cleaned up... but James doesn't like hair... so I just get everything waxed" you confessed. James always said how much he hated body hair and was very particular about how you looked specifically.
Dennis huffed, dragging his tongue along your slit causing you to shudder. "y'know... a real man wouldn't care about that kind of stuff, I don't, you'd never have to do that if you didn't want to with me" he told you, rubbing your thigh. He turned his head to kiss and nip the plushness of thigh smiling when he felt your legs tense. "Relax, pretty... let me take care of you... just like I'm supposed to..." he mumbled, diving back in for a taste.
You let out a loud gasp. One hand flying up to cover your mouth and the other to his hair. Your leg jerked up trying to close but he quickly pinned it to his shoulders lapping up your sweet juices. “Fuck…!” your toes curled and pressing into his back as he worked you up. You'd never felt so good from just a tongue. He hummed against you, sending vibrations through your core.
Your eyes sewn together, mouth agape, your moans and gasps come out stuttered as his tongue drew vigorous circles against your tilt "oh my god... Dennis!" you bit down on a knuckle in hopes to shut yourself up but he was so fucking good at this. Thank god trinity slept like a rock.
You looked down to see his stupid smirk. you just shoved his head back down "mmph... eager... making you feel good? hm?" he mumbled against your skin, you gave him a nod as one of his hands slid up to grope your breast.
Dennis brought his other hand down slowly pressing his middle and ring finger into your cunt using his fingers to stretch you open. Your hips stuttered and eyes rolled back feeling his thick long fingers scissor gently inside you, gently curling to find your sweet spot "oh— god— den!" he smiled.
He started moving faster and more spirited with his licks and thrusts of his fingers. you gasped hitting the back of the couch as your face scrunched up. "fuck fuck fuckfuckfufck!" your legs locked up and your hips rolled, riding yourself through your orgasm ".... oh god..."
When he sat back on his heels, You laid there, on your back, panting, eyes half lidded as you looked up at him… your eyes followed his face, landing on his chin and parts of his shirt, noticing wet marks from him making you squirt. Your eyes traveled downward to his boxers seeing a wet stain on them, your breath hitching at the sight "mm see baby... real men get off on making their girls feel good" he smiled. “oh my god…” you mumbled in return.
“Nope, just me” Dennis leaned over your body to kiss you and grind his hard on between your soaked folds. You whined, still feeling sensitive but you didn't care…
Dennis left sloppy kisses and bites along your chest and collar bone, he moved his boxers down enough for his cock to spring out, you were shocked by his size, James wasn't that big. Dennis smirked rubbing his length along your slit to coax out whines from you “big huh? Think you can take it in your tight cunt?” he asked almost mockingly.
You nodded eagerly. “Words honey, tell me you can take my dick” Dennis commanded.
“I can take it…” you gave him another nod, lazier this time… he put a pillow under your hips and began to press his tip against your entrance. You bit our lip, eyebrows scrunching as he pushed in, sheathing himself inside you with a loud groan “fuck… you feel perfect… so tight n’ warm…” his big hands ran up your stomach groping your tits and hips. “Feels good huh?” he asked, giving you a minute to adjust. Your head jerked up and down.
Just as he was about to move your phone, you got a call...
Incoming Call: James Ogilvie ❤️
he smiled before slamming his hips in, bottoming out. "fuck—" you whined, toes curling. you told him to just let it ring when he picked it up "c'mon baby, don't wanna leave him hanging" he smiled, almost evilly, as he Bega rolling his hips.
"no... he'll find out... I cant—" you said between moans. Dennis didn't care "you don't want to be rude and send him to voicemail, isn't he your boyfriend?" Dennis asked.
"no! he's not!" you replied asking Dennis to slow down and all he answered with was "Then you better tell him that." before answering the phone for you and putting it to your ear.
"hiiii,... James....!" you gasped
"hey,,, is everyone alright? you don't sound too good?" Before you could reply he got right to the chase. Dennis didn't bother slowing down at all making you cover your mouth to muffle the whines
"We should go out just give me another shot, how about we go to that restaurant you've been asking me to take you too?" he suggested and when your eyes flicked to Dennis he just shook his head 'no' before burying his head in your neck biting and kissing at your soft skin as his hips kept a slow pace.
"n-nn-no ss- sorry...! uhm... den.. Dennis is taking me there nnext weekend!" you were able to get out before your teeth dug into your bottom lip
" then next time your free we could—" James began talking again and just before you could say no Dennis took the phone, "She's busy doin’ something but I don't think afterwards she'll want to go on another date with you ever." he said before hanging up and tossing your phone back on the coffee table
"Dennis!" you grabbed at his shirt, nails digging into the flesh of his bicep, as his hips moved erratically. His hands take a bruising grip on your love-handles. "Fuck... god you feel so good baby..." he groaned..
"C'mon... tell me the truth," he said, looking down at you.
"hhhuh?" you were confused, gasping for air.
"tell me who fucks you better, baby... me or him? c'mon..." he crooned
"yy... fuck! you!" you shout.
"fuck me? is that anyway to speak to me when I'm giving you what you've been craving?" he teased with a mocking frown, bringing his thumb down to circle your clit
"c'mon, admit I fuck you better, and you can cum"
your breath shudders again "no— I meant... you do!" you whined trying to catch your breath at the bruising pace he was going.
Dennis' mouth curved into a smug smile "good girl..." he purred "go on, let go, pretty girl... I got you"
your body tensed feeling that white hot ripple through your body before you finally release on his cock. "oh god! thank youu!"
Dennis slows his thrusts before pulling out, his smile softens at you your scrunched face, head thrown back as you pant, body shaking "mm you really needed that, huh?" he said finishing himself off onto your tummy
You gave him a pouty nod and he responded with a chuckle before picking you up so you could pee and get cleaned up, knowing he got you all to himself now.
so to get back at garcia and santos’s absurdly loud sex. he invites you over saying they won’t be there tonight (they will) and fucking you through the mattress in the next room over.
you’re screaming and crying and running but he’s having absolutely none of it. tells you to tell him how good it feels and to borderline describe back to him what he’s doing to you.
then the next day garcia has told everyone and dennis knows but he really doesn’t care. and now it’s know that farmboy fucks.
(if you work in the ED everybody is giving u looks and ur like uhh whats goin on)
FLY MY SCARAB INFECT THEM.
oh shit i got infected…HERE WE GO! (there’s gonna be a shit ton was typos and grammar mistakes i think. i’ll make this cute tmr)
he invites you over while’s your both drinking at the bar across the street. you were both a bit tispy, but you have one more drink than he did. when he suggested going back to his place, you frowned, asking if santos would be there. everyone knew they lived together since that fact was brought up more than necessary, but it was very important information. “dont worry about that…she’s with garcia and i probably won’t see her until monday,” he said, but nothing that he said had an ounce of truth.
the alcohol in your system made you ignore it when whitaker put a single finger on his lips, signaling you to stay quiet even thought you were supposedly all alone and the hand on the small of back made all inhibitions fade away more and more as you walked to his room.
he didn’t waste anytime and pulling you in by your waist and placing a messy kiss on your alcohol bitter lips. you don’t remember hearing the door click when he shut it “closed”. your nose bump together as your lips moving together at a heated pace. handing flying everywhere just to have skin on skin contact, and whitakers hand finds its way under your shirt. fingers grabbing on your bra cup and yanking down so he could get a hold of your tit and squeezing it hard enough for you to let out a noise.
you try to muffle your shaky sound by bring down on your bottom lip, but he whispers in your ear. “you don’t to do that…be as loud as you want, baby,”
it was like with each word that he spoke, the more the wet spot in your panties got bigger. you nod and watch him as he reaches down to unbutton your jeans. his fingers brushing the skin about your waist line, and the bulk of his arm looking more biteable than usual, and it makes you want to squeeze your legs together to try and calm down the mess he was making, but you failed.
you bounce when you fall back on his bed, and lift your legs up so he can completely remove your pants. and he smirks down at you and calls you beautiful while slotting himself between your parted thighs. your heart skips and beat when he takes your chin in his fingers and looks down at your with a look in his eyes that made your skin crawl with anticipation. the new found confidence on his was incredible arousing. you could help but whimper into his mouth when he leaned down to kiss you.
he slides his hand down the waistband of your pink panties and drags a finger up your slit and smears your wetness all over your clit and it makes you let in a sharp exhale. you grasp onto his arm and use all the strength you to refrain from grind up against his hand. “that feels nice…” you whimper softly, but whitaker tells you to “say that a little louder for me,” and you do, but you words are cut off when he sticks a finger inside your, and you moan at the perfect volume. loud. he smiles confidently to himself when he finds that spongey part inside you, and you moan again, but letting his name roll off your tongue in pure pleasure.
“oh there is…” he says softly, but loudly enough to hear perfectly. “you like it when i do this with my fingers, yeah?” he asks, trailing kisses from you lips and down your neck, doing that same curling thrust that makes your pulse go wild. “yes—fuck. i do…”
but this? oh it would nothing compare to how he had you in the matter of ten minutes. after he done with cumming on his fingers twice, and had you on you stomach, ass up in the air as you took him from behind. the pace he was going at absolutely brutal. the shouts and yelps that quaked from your throat were uncontrollable, and the claps that you were producing together were bouncing off the walls and right back into your ears. “f-fast…s’fast—“ broke from your mouth and your eyes rolled back from the intense feeling of his cock going in and out, bruising your cervix and slide out just to slam it back in. your cunt is raw and tired, but the sounds it’s making only tells dennis that you more. so he snaps his hips again, whimpers out a “fucking, christ,” when you clench around him in desperation. and when you try to pull away, he just drags you right back and says, “nuh uh…c-come back. you can take it. you’re doing so good, baby. tell me how good it feels. i wanna hear you,”
“good. feels so good. so fucking good,” you moan out loudly, hands balled up into the sheet as you try to press you face into to the pillows to quiet yourself, but he twists your back to where it so he can hear everything.
when you cum, you cry out. so loud that his name would stained on the walls. your body goes still before you it starts twitching from the aftershocks of the very unexpected rough sex from a very unsuspecting whitaker. you didn’t know he had it in him. and so didn’t trinity and santos. that’s why they stayed up with looks of absolute horror while they listened to him wreck your shit.
the next day, you wanted to take the day off because of the soreness of your everything. and the looks and whistles you were getting from you colleagues was very unnerving. it was no surprise that santos told princess and garcia told everyone and princess told everyone and everyone told everyone. but not you of course. you had no clue, and when asked whitaker “what the hell is everyone looking at?” he just pressed a quick kiss on you cheeks and says he has no idea.
Pookie I request,, spit slut Dennis. I am gonna be vague because I know you will run with it.
NOW GO
im going im going!! Im on a bit of a spit kick..me thinks. I think this came out really well, you say slut? I deliver.
warnings: spit and lots of it, drooling, kissing, car make outs. idk man standard mari appropriate grossness.
kissing dennis before you both go up to your shared apartment. right after pulling into the nearly empty parking garage. it was innocent really you just wanted to feel the comforting weight of his mouth on yours. leaning over the scuffed center console to press a quick kiss to his soft pink lips.
“one more?” he requests looking at you, fluttering his lashes and puckering up his lips in question, with a hopeful glint shimmering in his eye. you smile lopsidedly at the cute display, leaning back in to plant another soft one on him.
the second you come back from it he’s already asking for more.
“another?” this time you unbuckle your seatbelt and scoot closer in the passenger seat. resting your elbow on the console to give him a kiss once more, holding it longer than before but not long enough to be salacious. as you go to move back though, he lightly grasps the neckline of your jacket. gripping the soft material before your lips can even fully leave his. fingers flexing down onto the fabric like it’s reflex, not forcing just asking you to stay.
with his lips skimming over yours he looks into your eyes, gaze full of need, holding a deep want that threads through his irises. eyes moving from yours to your mouth every few seconds. unable to focus on either for too long before he’s looking at the other.
“kiss me..again, please”
it’s breathy, desperate even, ghosting over your mouth in a small puff of warmth. wetting his lips he keeps his eyes locked on yours. his plead is granted, adjusting yourself, fingers splaying over the radio to your right. you move closer, lips slotting to his perfectly, they’re slick from his tongue but you don’t mind, you fight the urge to lick it into your mouth.
the minute you settle into it, he whines, lacing his fingers into the fabric of your zip up a little harder. tugging you into him with more force. moving against you with fervor each dip of your head causes him to release a moan. the disconnecting and reconnecting spreading heat from him to you transferring it with ever kiss. every time you or he himself pull away he’s bringing you closer chasing your lips with a groan. you feel it, the wetness from his mouth spreading into yours, the warmth dripping from the seams of your mouths. running down your chin.
his tongue darts out licking over the spit from your lips and taking it back into his. it makes him shudder, the raw heady taste of you on his soft palate. he suppresses a whimper.
coaxing you to open up for him, he tilts his head, pressing closer. the line of your mouth splits but not wide enough, not as much as he needs it to be.
so he moves his hand from your collar to skim up over your cheek. grazing the skin there with his thumb tenderly before he’s digging it into the side of your chin. squeezing your jaw open.
“open—open up for me baby.”
it’s barely audible under the wet noises between the two of you. almost a whisper, muffled as he pushes the words into your waiting mouth along with his tongue.
it’s almost slimy, the warm salvia covering it viscous immediately running from him to you. and you accept it gratefully jaw falling open while he has his way with you. nipping at your bottom lip, tugging it with his teeth until you wince. all the while panting letting little whimpers out into the quiet atmosphere of the car.
his free hand joins the other on your face. pulling you forward by your cheeks until you’re almost bent over the console— that’s doing nothing but getting in the way. it’s wet, all of it is. his mouth, yours, your panties. the way he’s basically feeding his spit to you messily. at one point his hand even dances over your neck, to feel the muscles contract while you swallow down what he gives you.
it’s a mess of desperation and saliva. with your mouth now cracked open he’s free to suck your tongue into his mouth. engulfing your mouth with his, spit slicked lips encasing the tip of the muscle pulling it deeper.
you break away every so often, just to see the webs of saliva branch between the two of you. the feverish kiss even creating bubbles of the liquid as you both gasp and moan pathetically into each other.
“y’taste so good, my god.” he rasps.
drool slips freely down the sides of each respective mouth. and you wouldn’t have it any other way. dennis feels it drip down onto his wrist soaking the material of his sleeve but he could care less. a thin trail making its way down his chin and seeping down his neck. the sloppy nature of it all doing wonders for him, arousal burning under his skin and he needs more. more of you, more of the mess. pulling sway for only a moment to speak.
“shit— c’mere, climb across.”
then immediately dividing back in to capture your lips once more. listening you quickly clamber up over the seats and awkwardly fall into his lap narrowly avoiding hitting your head on the ceiling. his hands never leaving your cheeks, ass resting directly over his bulge, you grind down on him. eliciting a conjoined moan from the both of you.
he finally pulls away, face flushed in the low light overhead. head resting on the seats behind him, a picture of erotism painted across his features. eyes lidded, blinks slow, chin and cheeks smeared with a mixture of your spit and his glisten. chest heaving as he lays his head against his shoulder, blue eyes rolling over you.
licking his lips one of his hands come down gripping your hips to slide you closer. fingers breaching the line of your jacket going under to thumb at your skin. your hands flatten on his chest feeling the erratic pump of his heart beneath his ribcage.
saying nothing the other one reaches behind you to cut the power of the car. the lights going out the moment the key is turned, the low comforting hum of engine now dead. the space encased in an inky darkness. his once visible form now completely obscured in the night. even with your eyes wide open you see nothing, the only sound being the greedy intake of air you both take.
you feel him move closer, adjusting in his seat, arms wrapping around your body to pull you flush to him. noses brushing in the dark, it makes you shiver, every sense heightened as if an blindfold had been placed over your eyes.
suddenly his tongue comes out to lick over your closed lips. his hand moving from your back, over your breast and to the zipper of your hoodie. his words wisp over your now slick ones.
“I don’t think I’ll make it up to the apartment, sorry.”
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it’s a side effect of growing up in the nebraska plains— you find beauty in the mundane. the way wheat rolls in windstorms, the way clouds gather at the horizon, the way the water catches the sun in the water troughs. you have to find beauty in things that others don’t (to stay sane).
so, when he’s out of nebraska and in the world at large, maybe with a partner, that mentality definitely carries on.
if you wear makeup, dennis watches you in a trance. you’re doing your lipgloss and you’d think he was looking in the face of god as he tracks the little sparkles that cling to your lips. he thinks about how those sparkles would look smeared over his skin; over his stomach and his pelvis and his dick (of course). he can’t help but practically drool when you adjust your hair or your clothes or your jewelry, watching the way everything fits together.
god help him if you’re inclined towards skincare and the like. the man probably nearly has an aneurysm trying not to jump you as you’re layering lotions and serums or carefully cleaning up your skin. he thinks the care you put in is so beautiful; it’s like watching someone paint a portrait.
at some point, he’ll break. god only knows how hard it is for sweet farmboy to hold back now (he’s been doing it for so, so long). he’ll smudge your makeup and mess up your hair and rumple your clothes and then apologize profusely and try to fix it.
he’ll tuck your shirt back in and fix your jewelry to lay perfectly. he thinks the order is beautiful. he’ll adjust your hair to lay just how he knows you like it.
and if you’re away, it gets to the point where he looks at your handwriting and admires it; the way you dot the i in dennis or the way you loop together the n’s. he loves everything and finds it so important, because he loves you. ᯓ★
jo note: this is the first blurb i’ve written in three years…. be patient with me please
Summary- After a long 4th of July shift, Dennis and his Pediatric NP girlfriend need some stress relief.
First smuttish writing bare with me.
Warnings- porn w/ a plot, finger fucking, dennis is a munch, p in v, fluff in the end. 18+
The Fourth of July in the ER feels less like a holiday and more like a punishment.
The cyber attack has everything upside down. No trackers. No digital charting. No clean handoffs. Just paper charts slapped onto clipboards, half-legible vitals scribbled in the margins, and every single person in the department running on adrenaline, caffeine, and the kind of determination that starts to look a lot like delirium around hour ten.
Fireworks are still going off somewhere outside, muffled through ambulance bay doors that haven’t stopped opening all day. Burns, hand injuries, drunk trauma activations, terrified parents, screaming kids, chest pain, heat exhaustion. The waiting room is packed. Dana looks like she’s three seconds from personally fist-fighting the next person who asks how much longer it’ll be. Robby is moving from room to room with that locked-in expression that means no one better waste his time unless someone is actively dying. Trinity is trying to catch up on charts but is oddly quiet for her.
And Dennis Whitaker—first-year resident, hair falling over his forehead, damp with sweat at the temples, one glove half-peeled off as he flips through a paper chart at the nurses’ station—is somehow still upright.
Barely.
He’s got tired written all over him. Not just physically. The kind of tired that lives under the skin. He’s been snapped at twice by surgery, once by a patient’s drunk uncle, and he’s pretty sure someone handed him a coffee two hours ago that he never actually got to drink.
“Whitaker,” Dana barks, dropping another chart in front of him. “Baby Jane Doe in six. Peds consult finally called back.” Dennis catches the chart before it slides off the counter. “Finally?” Dana gives him a look. “Would you like me to say magically instead?” He mutters, “No, ma’am,” and flips it open.
Unidentified infant. Approximate age: six months. Fever, , possible neglect, after being found in the ER bathroom, no since of the mother. No confirmed history. No allergies. No records pulled because the entire hospital system is basically being held together by prayers and legal pads.
Dennis scrubs a hand down his face. Then somebody at the far end of the station goes quiet. Not completely. The ER is never completely quiet. But the kind of pause that ripples. Subtle. Noticed. He looks up. And there you are.
You move through the department like you don’t belong to the chaos, even though you clearly can handle it. No rush in your step, no panic in your expression. Just calm, focused efficiency in pediatric-blue scrubs, hair pulled back, badge clipped at your waist, penlight in one pocket. You’re not in the ER often—everyone knows that. Pediatric nurse practitioner upstairs. The one people talk about in that half-joking way when your name comes up.
She’s terrifying. She’s gorgeous. She never comes down here. No, seriously, have you seen her? Dennis has heard all of it. Usually in silence. Usually while pretending not to care. Because none of them know.
No one knows that you and Dennis have been dating for three months. That he knows what your laugh sounds like when you’re genuinely surprised. That he’s got one of your hair ties around his wrist half the time. That he’s slept in your apartment often enough to know exactly which cabinet your coffee mugs are in and which one sticks unless you shoulder-check it a little.
No one knows any of that.
And judging by the way Jesse nearly chokes on his gum when you step up to the nurses’ station, they definitely don’t know the rest. You take one look at the chart in Dennis’s hand and hold out your palm. “Baby Jane Doe?” Dennis blinks once, like the rest of the world has briefly gone out of focus.
Then he hands it over. “Room six.” Your fingers brush his. It is the smallest touch. Barely there. Nothing anyone should notice. Except Dennis has spent the entire day drowning, and that tiny point of contact lands like a shockwave. You glance up at him, all cool professionalism, but your mouth softens just slightly when you see his face. “You look awful.”
Across the station, Frank lets out a tiny strangled noise like he cannot believe someone just said that to Dennis Whitaker with such casual familiarity. Dennis huffs a laugh under his breath. “Thanks, sweetheart.”
The entire station goes silent. Not ER silent. Human silent. Your eyes flick up to his. There’s the faintest warning in them, the faintest amusement. “You wrote the weight in the wrong box.” Dennis leans in automatically, shoulder nearly brushing yours as you turn the chart so he can see it. “No, I didn’t.” “You absolutely did.” “I wrote it where they told me to.” “That’s respiratory rate.” He stares at the page. “...Okay, that one might be on me.”
And now you are smiling. Small, quick, and devastating. Frank looks between the two of you like he’s watching a live grenade with the pin halfway out. Dana, from two feet away, narrows her eyes. “Why are you standing like that?” Both of you look at her. Dennis, only then realizing just how close he is, straightens an inch. Not enough to matter. Not enough to help.
You close the chart and pass it back to him. “I’m going to assess the baby.” “I’ll come with you,” Dennis says immediately. You arch a brow. “Will you?” He hears it as what it is: not a challenge, not really. A private joke wrapped in professionalism. Because yes, he will. He absolutely will. He’s been orbiting this room for twenty minutes waiting on you without even admitting it to himself.
Robby comes around the corner just in time to catch the tail end of it. His gaze slides from you to Dennis to the strange expression on Dana’s face. Then he squints. “Why do you two look weird?” “No reason,” Dennis says too fast. You are already walking toward room six. “He’s been writing respiratory rates in the weight box.” Robby exhales through his nose. “That tracks.”
Dennis shoots you a betrayed look as he follows you into the room. The baby is small. Too small. Hot with fever, cheeks flushed, tiny ribs visible with every breath. A little oxygen tubing under her nose. One of those cases that quiets people down fast.
You become different at the bedside. Softer voice. Sure hands. Focused. You assess her with quick precision, talking low as you work, explaining things even though she’s too young to understand. Dennis has seen you do this exactly twice before, both times by accident, and it still gets him every time.
You listen to her lungs. Check cap refill. Gently palpate her belly. Murmur reassurances as the baby fusses. Dennis stands beside you, handing over supplies before you ask, already knowing what you need. You glance at him once. “Can you hold her hand steady?” He does. Your fingers brush again over the baby’s blanket. Again too brief. Again enough.
You give your recommendations to Robby when he steps in—transfer upstairs if they can get a bed, social work, keep close watch on hydration and oxygen demand. Calm, clipped, confident. Everyone listens. Of course they do.
By the time you step back into the nurses’ station, the gossip has mutated into something electric. Trinity appears from trauma two, takes one look at Dennis hovering at your shoulder, and stops dead. “Oh,” she says. Dennis freezes. “Don’t.” “Oh, my God,” Trinity says, delighted. “Oh, no way.” “Trinity,” you warn.
Her eyes go wide. “You’re the secret?” Dana slaps a chart against the counter. “The secret what?”
Trinity points at Dennis like she’s cracking a federal case. “That’s why he disappears on Thursdays.” Dennis looks horrified. “I do not disappear on Thursdays.” “You absolutely disappear on Thursdays,” Trinity says.
Robby folds his arms. “Whitaker.” Dennis closes his eyes briefly. “Please don’t make this a thing.” Robby looks at you. Then at Dennis. Then back at you. “How long?” You answer before Dennis can. “Three months.” Dana actually drops her pen. Trinity makes a sound like she’s won something. “I knew he was acting suspicious.”
“You accused me of being on drugs,” Dennis says. “You were smiling at your phone.” “That is not suspicious.” “For you?” Trinity says. “Extremely.” The whole station breaks.
Not loudly—there’s still too much happening, too many patients, too much real emergency stacked on top of revelation—but the energy shifts. Shock, amusement, the kind of delight people cling to in the middle of a disaster because it gives them something human to hold onto.
You shake your head, trying not to laugh, and reach for another chart. Dennis reaches for it at the same time. Your hands overlap. And for one suspended second, in the middle of the noise and paper and fluorescent lights and exhaustion, he looks at you like the rest of the room has disappeared.
Not subtle. Not even a little.
Robby sees it and mutters, “Jesus.” Dana points a pen between the two of you. “Absolutely not at my nurses’ station.” That gets a real laugh out of you, and Dennis feels it somewhere low in his chest.
The shift keeps moving because it has to. More patients. More alarms. More pages. At one point a trauma rolls in from a fireworks accident and everyone scatters back to their corners of the storm. You get pulled back upstairs after arranging the baby’s admission and following up with social work. Dennis barely gets thirty seconds to catch your eye before you’re gone again.
But not before you stop beside him long enough to murmur, “You good?” He looks at you—really looks at you—for the first time in what feels like hours. “No.” Your expression softens, private and immediate. “Come over after the shift.” His breath catches. You adjust his wrinkled collar like it’s the most natural thing in the world, even with Dana pretending not to stare from across the station. “I mean it, Dennis.”
Then you’re gone. And he has to survive the rest of the worst shift of his week knowing your apartment is waiting for him at the end of it. It is cruel, actually. By the time the department finally starts to loosen its grip on the night, Dennis is wrecked. His back aches. His head is pounding. He smells faintly like antiseptic, sweat, and stress. He finishes his last note on a paper chart with handwriting so bad it should probably count as a cry for help.
Robby claps him once on the shoulder on the way out. “Go home.” Dennis gives him a tired look. “That’s the plan.” Trinity, gathering her bag, grins without mercy. “Tell your girlfriend we all took the news very normally.” He points at her without energy. “You’re the worst.” “Yeah,” she says cheerfully. “But I was right.”
Outside, the city still smells faintly like smoke from fireworks. Dennis climbs the stairs to your apartment with the kind of exhaustion that turns his bones to sand. He barely has time to knock once before the door opens. You’re there in soft clothes now, hair down, face scrubbed clean of the hospital. The sight of you after a day like this nearly undoes him.
For a second neither of you says anything. Then you take one look at him and your whole expression changes. Not pity. Not concern exactly.
Something deeper. Something warm. Something that says come here without speaking. Dennis steps inside. The door clicks shut behind him. And the quiet in your apartment feels more dangerous than the chaos ever did.
“You had a bad day, doctor?” you ask softly.
He lets out one tired laugh, dropping his bag by the door. “That obvious?” You move closer, slow enough to give him room, close enough that his hands twitch at his sides. “A little.” His voice drops. “You told me to come over.” “I did.” “And now?”
Now your fingers catch lightly in the front of his shirt, eyes lifting to his, all that steady professionalism from the ER burned away into something intimate and charged. “Now,” you murmur, “you stop thinking about the hospital.” Dennis exhales shakily, one hand settling at your waist.
And when he kisses you, it feels like the first deep breath either of you has taken all day. He kisses you like he’s starving.
Not rushed—not at first—but deep and tired and aching, like he’s been holding himself together by threads all day and the second your hand fisted in his shirt, something in him finally gave. His palm spreads against your waist, warm and solid, and you feel the way he exhales against your mouth, like this—you—is the first safe place he’s had in twelve hours.
You let him kiss you until he starts to forget the shape of the day.
The fireworks outside still crackle faintly through the windows, distant now, more like background noise than celebration. In here it’s just the soft lamp light from your living room, the smell of clean laundry and whatever candle you must’ve lit hours ago, and Dennis pressed close enough that the tension in his body starts to tell on him.
You pull back just enough to look at him.
His hair is a mess. His scrubs are wrinkled. There’s a faint red mark along the bridge of his nose from where a mask sat too long, and his eyes—usually bright, usually easy to tease something out of—look dark with exhaustion.
And still locked on you. Your thumb brushes lightly over his cheek. “You look wrecked.” A tired smile tugs at his mouth. “You said that earlier.” “I meant it affectionately this time.”That gets a breath of a laugh out of him, the kind that barely makes it out before his forehead drops to yours. “Today sucked,” he says quietly. You nod once. “I know.” “No, like—” He shakes his head, one hand sliding around to your lower back. “I know every day in the ER is bad in some way, but today was…” He blows out a breath. “Paper charts. No system. People screaming. That baby—” He cuts himself off, jaw tightening. “I’m so tired.”
Your hand moves to the back of his neck, fingers slipping into his hair. “Then let me take care of you for a minute.” His eyes lift to yours at that. Something in his expression shifts. Not softer exactly—worse, maybe. Hungrier. Like the words land somewhere deep and private and dangerous.
“Careful,” he murmurs. You tilt your head. “Or what?” His mouth twitches, but there’s no real humor in it. Just heat. “I’ve had about fourteen terrible hours and you’re standing here looking like that.” You glance down at yourself, all fake innocence. “Like what? Sweatpants?” “Don’t start.”
That finally makes you smile.
You tug him farther into the apartment by the front of his scrub top, slow and deliberate, until the backs of his legs hit the couch. He looks at you like he’s trying very hard to behave and failing in real time.
“Sit,” you say softly. Dennis actually blinks. “You’re bossy off the clock too, huh?” “You like me bossy.” His eyebrows lift, just slightly. “That so?” You lean in, lips brushing the corner of his mouth instead of kissing him properly. “I know it is.” The sound he makes is low and rough and gone almost as soon as it appears. He sits.
You stand between his knees, one of your hands still resting at the nape of his neck while the other slides down the front of his chest, smoothing over the wrinkled fabric of his scrubs. He watches every inch of it, his hands settling on your hips like he can’t help himself.
For a moment, neither of you says anything. You just look at him. At the man everyone in the ER sees as sweet and a little earnest and perpetually one bad shift away from losing his mind. At the man who had been trying to keep up with chaos all day, who still held that baby’s tiny hand steady when you asked him to, who looked at you across the nurses’ station like he’d forgotten anyone else existed.
Your fingers trace lightly over his jaw. “They were all so shocked.” Dennis groans, head tipping back against the couch cushion. “Don’t remind me.” You laugh quietly. “Dana was offended.” “She was personally offended.” “Trinity looked thrilled.” “She’s going to be unbearable.” “She already texted me.” His eyes snap back to yours. “What?” You grin. “She said, and here I thought Whitaker just had a secret drug problem.”
Dennis drags a hand over his face. “I’m moving.” “With what money?” you ask sweetly. He points at you. “Don’t be mean to me in my fragile state.” “You came here for stress relief and now suddenly you’re delicate?” “Very.” You hum like you’re considering it, then lean down and kiss him again.
This time it’s slower. Meaner. A little more intentional.
Dennis’s hands tighten on your hips immediately, fingertips pressing in through the soft fabric of your shirt as you kiss him until he’s looking up at you glassy-eyed and breathing through his nose like that’s taking effort.
When you pull back, his voice is lower. “You’re enjoying this.” “Maybe a little.” His thumbs drag along your sides. “I had to finish the worst shift of my life knowing you wanted me to come over.” “I did want you to come over.” “That was evil.” You smile against his mouth. “And yet you still came.”
He looks at you then—really looks—and something hot and exhausted and affectionate passes through his expression so fast it nearly hurts. “Of course I came,” he says. The simplicity of it lands heavier than you expect.
Your teasing softens. Your hand cups his face again, gentler now, and his eyes half-close into the touch. You kiss his forehead. Then the corner of his mouth. Then the line of his jaw, where his pulse jumps under your lips.
His hands slide from your hips to your waist, then around your back, pulling you closer until there’s no room left between you.
You can feel how done he is. How much of his control has been held together by obligation and fluorescent lights and the fact that he couldn’t fall apart in front of anyone at work. Here, in your apartment, with the door shut and the whole miserable day finally behind him, it starts to show.
You press one more kiss just under his ear.
Dennis inhales sharply. Your lips brush his skin as you murmur, “Still thinking about the hospital, doctor?” “No,” he says, too quickly. You pull back enough to meet his eyes. “Liar.” He gives you a look that’s almost helpless. “You’re making it really hard to be good.”
You let your fingers trail down the center of his chest again, slower this time, and watch his throat move when he swallows. “I didn’t ask you to be good.”
That does something to him. You see it happen. His jaw flexes. His hands slide more firmly around you. His gaze drops to your mouth and stays there long enough that your own pulse starts to stutter.
Outside, another burst of fireworks cracks across the night. Colored light flickers faintly through the blinds.
Inside, Dennis stands in one smooth motion, crowding you back a step until your spine meets the wall beside the couch. Not rough. Never rough. Just certain now, one forearm braced beside your head, the other hand at your waist like he’s finally done pretending he has any restraint left.
And then he drops to his knees, looking up at you with those normally tired baby blue eyes, now dark, pupils blown with lust. “I need to taste you baby.” You just hum rubbing your thighs together. “Need that pretty little pussy dripping for my lips.” The next thing you know, your sweats and panties are pulled down and Dennis has one of your legs slinged over his shoulder. Once second he’s pepper light kissed on your inner thigh the next he’s devouring you like he’s been starved. “Taste so good for me.” he says in between sucks and licks.
“Denny don’t stop.” “So needy baby, what do you want” he says while apply pressure to your clit with the pad of his thumb. His other hand is holding onto your thigh rubbing little circles on your soft flesh. Your hands are holding on to his hair, holding him so close, but also wanting to push him away from the stimulation. “Mmm want your fingers Denny.” He groans running a finger through your slick folds. Sliding one finger into your clenching hole, then two. He’s scissoring his fingers to stretch you out, mouth still latched to your clit. He’s whispering things in between kisses to your sensitive bud, “mmm taking it so good baby, such a little whore for my fingers.”
You’re so close and Dennis can tell. The scrunched up nose and your head thrown back with your eyes closed. So he stops and removes himself between your thighs. “nooo denny, mmh was so close.” “I know sweetheart,” he says peppering kisses to you neck hands roaming up to your breasts rolling your nipples between his fingers other hand holding you steady. “mmmh Denny please,” You whine.
Then Dennis flips you around so your face is towards the wall snapping you at the waist before slipping off his scrubs. He runs one finger through you folds, then aligning his tip up with your dripping hole. “Need you to be a good girl and cum on my cock. Think you can do that pretty hmm.” You hum, “Yes denny I’ll be a good girl”
Your hands are splayed against the wall, Dennis has one hand around your waist as he’s thrusting into you. “Den, fuck..” “Such a tight little pussy baby, just for me hmm.” You are practically incoherent with the pace hes fucking you at right now, balls slapping against you. “Hmm baby who’s pussy is this.” you let a soft, “yours.” out. “Hmm I didn’t hear that baby, wanna try again,” hand sneaking around to rub your clit. “Ah fuck, mmh Denny, yours all yours.” you say feeling your release building up. Dennis can tell by how your cunt is clenching around him. “Come on baby, let it out hmmm… you wanna cum all over my cock do you?” and that does it. The knot in your stomach finally comes loose.
Dennis continues at his pace, through your high feeling his own organism coming soon. “mmh baby so close.” “ inside, wanna feel you denny,” you say inbetween moans. Your cunt is squeezing deliciously around his cock, and after a few more sloppy thrusts he spills inside you with a sinful groan. He pulls out watching his seed drip down your thighs, scooping some up on his finger and tapping it on your lips. You wrap your lips around his finger giving it a light suck.
Dennis looks at you, you look blissfully in the fucked out state, staring at him with tired eyes. “Come on baby, lets get you cleaned up and in bed hmm.” You nod taking one step before your legs threaten to give out.
“Easy,” he murmurs, breath still a little uneven, voice rough in that way that makes heat creep back up your neck. “Easy, sweetheart.” You laugh, except it comes out shaky and thin and completely unconvincing. “I’m trying.” “Yeah?” His mouth twitches like he’s fighting a grin. “Could’ve fooled me.”
You shoot him a look, leaning more of your weight into him because, honestly, there’s not much dignity left to preserve at this point. “You are literally the reason my legs forgot how to work.” That gets a real reaction out of him.
Dennis dips his head, pressing his forehead briefly against yours, and you can feel the smile he’s trying to hide. It’s not smug exactly—too soft for that. Too fond. Too wrecked himself to really pull off smug. “C’mere,” he says quietly. Before you can ask what he means, he bends and scoops you up. A startled sound leaves you as your arms automatically loop around his neck. “Dennis.”
“What?” “You can put me down.” “Nope.” “I can walk.” He looks down at you as he carries you toward the shower, eyebrows lifting. “You absolutely cannot.”
You want to argue. You really do. But then he shifts you a little higher against his chest, all warm skin and steady arms and that impossible, grounding solidness that always seems to live inside him no matter how tired he is, and suddenly arguing feels like a waste of energy. So instead you mutter, “Rude.”
Dennis smiles properly then. Small. Tired. Devastating. “You’ll survive.”He sets you down carefully on the closed toilet lid first instead of straight into the shower, like he knows better than to trust your balance right now. Then he crouches in front of you, one hand still resting on your knee like he has no intention of letting you tip over.
The bathroom light is softer than the ER, softer than everything from today. It makes him look younger and more exhausted all at once. His hair is a mess from your fingers. There’s a flush still high in his cheeks, and his eyes are dark and heavy-lidded, fixed on your face like he’s checking for something.
“You okay?” he asks. The question lands so gently it almost hurts. You nod once, then again because the first one feels too quick. “Yeah.” Dennis studies you for another second anyway, like he’s taking inventory. Not because he doubts you. Just because he’s Dennis. Because somewhere under the teasing and the heat and the way he looked at you tonight like he might lose his mind, there’s still that careful, attentive part of him that notices everything.
“You sure?” he asks again, softer now. You let your hand slide into his hair, brushing it back from his forehead. “I’m sure.” His shoulders loosen just a little. Then his expression shifts, some of the concern melting into something warmer, more private. “Baby deer legs, huh?” He grins. “That’s what this is.” “You are never saying that again.” “Oh, I think I am.”
You point at him weakly. “I hate you.” “Liar.” He stands, turns the shower on, and tests the water with one hand until the temperature’s right. It gives you a second to just look at him—at the line of his back, the lingering tension still there even now, the exhaustion sitting heavy in his shoulders.
The day catches up all at once in strange pieces. The noise of the ER. The paper charts. The little Jane Doe baby. The way he looked at you at the nurses’ station like he’d almost forgotten where he was. The way he knocked on your door afterward looking like he had nothing left. Maybe he didn’t.
Dennis glances back at you. “You drifting off on me?” You blink. “No.” “You were making that face.” “What face?” “The one where you disappear into your own head and pretend you’re not.” You tilt your head. “It’s cute that you think you know my faces.” He huffs a laugh and steps back toward you, holding out both hands. “C’mon.” You take them, and he helps you up slowly, steadying you when your knees immediately threaten betrayal.
His hands slide around your waist before you can fully topple into him, and now he is laughing softly, forehead dropping to your temple for a second while you hide your face against his shoulder out of pure humiliation. “This is so embarrassing,” you mumble. “No, it’s not.” “It is to me.” “Well, lucky for you, I’m the only one here.” You pull back enough to look at him. “And you’re never allowed to mention it again.”
He gives you a look that says he is absolutely going to mention it again. “Dennis.” “Okay,” he says, still smiling. “Not tonight.” He guides you into the shower carefully, one hand braced at your lower back, the other holding yours until you’re steady under the warm spray. The water hits your skin and you both go quiet for a moment.
It feels like coming back to earth.
The noise in your head softens. The tightness in your muscles starts to unravel. Dennis stands close, rinsing water through your hair, hands gentle now, all the urgency from earlier burned down into something calmer. He keeps checking the temperature. Keeps making sure you’re balanced. Keeps touching you like he can’t quite help it—not in a hungry way anymore, but in a grounding one.
You tilt your head back, eyes closing. “That feels nice.” “Yeah? “Mm-hm.” His hand smooths down your back. “You still with me?” You crack one eye open. “Are you doing a neuro check?” “Maybe.” “In the shower?” “You’re the one who can’t stand up.” You splash a little water at him for that, and Dennis laughs, ducking his head.
There it is again—that bright little piece of him that always feels hard-won after a terrible shift. You swear sometimes making Dennis laugh when he’s tired is better than sleep.
He reaches for shampoo, works it gently through your hair, careful not to tug. The intimacy of it catches you off guard a little. Not because it’s dramatic. Because it’s not. Because it’s simple and domestic and sweet in a way that makes your chest ache.
You look at him through wet lashes. “You don’t have to do all this.” His hands pause briefly in your hair. “I know.” The answer is immediate. Easy. Like that was never the point. Your throat tightens a little. Dennis rinses the shampoo out, then tips your chin up with two fingers when he notices how quiet you’ve gotten. “Hey.” “Hey.” He searches your face. “What happened?”
You almost say nothing. You almost make a joke out of it. But the day has been too long, and he knows your faces, apparently, and standing here with him taking care of you in the warm quiet after all that chaos feels too honest for deflecting.
So you shrug one shoulder. “Just… today was awful.” His expression softens immediately. “Yeah,” he says. “And then you came over looking like you were held together with duct tape.” That gets the faintest smile. “Medical-grade duct tape.” You snort softly. Your fingers drift to the back of his neck, resting there. “I hated seeing you like that.” Dennis leans into your touch without even thinking about it. “I hated feeling like that.”
For a second it’s just the water and the two of you breathing.
Then you say, quieter, “You don’t have to hold all of it by yourself, you know.” His eyes lift to yours. Something passes over his face then. Small. Fleeting. But real. The kind of look a person gets when they’ve been trying not to need anything and someone sees through them anyway.
“I know,” he says, and this time it sounds like he means it more because it’s you saying it. You brush your thumb lightly along his jaw. “Good.” Dennis bends and kisses you then. Slow. Warm. Nothing like earlier except for the feeling under it. The certainty. The relief.
When he pulls back, he rests his forehead to yours, water running down both of you. “You still mad I carried you?” he asks. You sigh. “A little.” “Liar.” “A lot, actually. I’ll be thinking about it for weeks.” His mouth curves. “You liked it.” You try to glare. It would probably work better if you weren’t half-melted against him under hot water. “Don’t get cocky.” “Too late.” You make an offended noise, and he laughs again, quieter this time, then reaches for the soap. The rest of it is gentle.
He washes your back while you lean against the tile and tries not to smile when you nearly doze standing up. You rinse his hair for him in return, dragging your fingers through it slowly until he closes his eyes. There’s no rush anymore. No frantic edge. Just the two of you coming down together, piece by piece, until the day finally starts to let go.
And when the shower’s over, Dennis wraps you in a towel like you might break apart if he doesn’t do it carefully, then tucks another around your shoulders after. You laugh softly. “That’s excessive.” “You’re shivering.” “I’m not.” He raises his brows. You shiver immediately. “Traitor,” you mutter to your own body. Dennis smiles and presses a kiss to your damp forehead. “C’mon, baby deer.” You groan so loudly it echoes.
He only laughs harder, hooks an arm around your waist, and guides you back down the hall toward bed—slow, warm, and careful—like the night has narrowed down to just this: keeping each other steady after the worst day in the world.
summary: sick of your boyfriends shit, you head to the bar, where you meet Dennis Whitaker.
warning: this includes cheating! I don't condone cheating, it is bad. just wanted to be a bit evil I guess. smut kinda, hooking up in a bar bathroom.
Tonight is the third night in a row your worthless boyfriend cancelled your date. He promised, like always but of course about fifteen minutes before he was supposed to pick you up he texts with a stupid excuse. It’s not even surprising at this point, just another day. But the thought of crawling into bed and being sad made you nauseous, so you said fuck it and went to the bar. A couple friends were there and you had already gotten ready to go out. A small hidden part of you hoped to find someone, maybe just a body to get past the attachment from your boyfriend. Or maybe someone that actually cared, but that was a bit ambitious.
Dennis Whitaker wasn’t much of a drinker, he was a rule follower and kept to himself. But his best friend and roommate trinity santos had been shoving him out of his shell over time, so he finally agreed to go to the bar. City life was still a bit of a foreign concept to Dennis, but he wanted to try to adapt, so he let Trinity style him and drag him out.
Bouncing between friends you feel the fruity cocktail buzzing in you, gradually letting your eyes stray further and further to the strangers around. You weren’t a cheater, you knew better but things have been messy. You felt abandoned and betrayed by your boyfriend, a label that felt untrue. You’ve caught him cheating once, stupidly forgave him and tried to make things work. But they weren't working, he wasn't trying. It had gotten to the point you started to forget your morals, looking people up and down and considering the possibilities. As you sipped your drink your shame was drowned out, giddyness building at the excitement of maybe finally being appreciated.
Dennis, being the people pleaser he was, he drank the sour drinks Trinity handed him, choked back the shots they shared and tried his best to do something that resembled dancing. As time went on, Dennis got more comfortable, letting the alcohol and music guide him as he jumped and shook his head, trinity laughing at the way he kinda flailed, yet still trying.
In the wave of people, you and Dennis had slowly been drawn to each other, eventually bumping into each other more than once. Dennis was overly apologetic, gesturing a hand out to you and repeating ‘im sorry’ over and over, which you found endearing. You assured him it was okay the first, then second time. And yeah maybe the third time you bumped shoulders was intentional, finding something about his apologies cute. But the fourth time, the two of you had basically been shoved into each other in the crowd, Dennis's drink spilling all over you. A small yelp came out your lips, the shock of the cold drink dripping down your collar bones right onto your nipples sending icy electricity through you. The mixed drink soaked through your tube top, causing the white fabric to turn translucent, exposing the contours of your chest and nipples. Dennis stares in disbelief, words jumbled on his tongue, only mustering stuttered ‘im sorry’s’. The shock of cold stunned any anger, and watching this cute stranger turn red and repeat apologies over and over made you smile a bit.
Once Dennis gets his apologies out, he offers to help you clean up the drink he spilled all over you, which had dripped all the way down your body onto the floor. Sticky alcohol dries on your goose-bump covered body, making you want to jump out of your skin, and clothes. You take him up on his offer, not yet knowing his name. You grab his hand and tug him towards the gender neutral bathroom, Dennis behind you trying to keep his excited smile subtle.
“Whats your name?” You ask as Dennis hands you damp paper towels.
“Dennis. How about you?”
You tell him your name, catching on to how his eyes dart back and forth from your eyes, wet chest, and lips, nipples hardening even more from the attention. Just this situation alone is probably wrong, alone in a bar bathroom with a stranger, nipples exposed, butterflies in your stomach. The places your mind was going were even worse, if your boyfriend found out he would be livid. But all you knew in that moment was fuck him, and also fuck dennis, in a different way. Dennis steps closer, wet paper towel in his own hand gently dabbing your chest, right above your cleavage, smirk telling you he knew exactly what he was doing. There was hardly any space left between you two. Dennis was giving off a totally different vibe then before, no longer apologetic and a bit shy. Now, he bravely patted down your chest, thin sheet between his finger tips and your boobs. You look up at him, watching him enthralled in your chest as he lightly squeezed, no longer trying to clean you up. You reach your hand to his and pull the paper towel away, allowing his hand to roam freely.
“I'm still a bit sticky, could you help?” You say leading his hand right to where your shirt starts.
“Under here?” He asks, dipping a finger under the hem. You just nod, breathing him in. Dennis darts his eyes between your eyes and chest, gently tugging at your top, pulling it down. He leans in, the heat of his face radiating onto you, and he takes his tongue and licks at the residue of alcohol. You smile at the light tingles, him softly kissing and licking all around. He makes his way down your chest, circling your nipples. You grab a fistfull of his light brown hair and push his face into you, holding him for a few seconds, Dennis unable to breathe. You let go and he barely pulls back, taking a breath and then putting his mouth onto your nipple. You play with his curls as he sucks and nibbles, tickling sensation making you giggle into his ear. He then brings his head up to your face, suddenly kissing you hard, hands wandering from your chest to waist, to skirt, under your skirt. Your hands are finding their way to his belt when loud banging on the door starts, scaring you both. Someone must have gotten tired of waiting, pounding on the door, yelling about “hurry up please!” You and Dennis fumble at your clothes. He mumbles ‘ohmygod’ and you bite your lip, trying not to laugh. Right as Dennis goes to fix his hair you grab his hand, pulling him out of the bathroom trying not to look at whoever was at the door.
“Dennis!?” You look behind, realizing whoever was at the door actually knew Dennis, a look of utter shock on her face.
“Uh, Trin, I er, I was- helping her!” Dennis tries to explain as his face grows even redder, making you laugh out loud.
Trinity just stands there, hand on the door and jaw completely dropped, a mix of horror and amusement on her face. The silence is painful, so you yank Dennis away once more, waving bye to his friend, still shocked. You make your way out of the bar, Dennis in hand, wallowing in his embarrassment and just following where you take him. Once you're outside you look back and ask him, ‘is my place ok?’ to which he just nobs and smiles stupidly. The outside air brings you back to reality, and you grab your phone. While you were, busy, your boyfriend texted, called. Apparently he had plans cancelled last minute and wanted to see you. The over use of hearts, and him saying i love you, i miss you, im sorry made you want to puke in your mouth. Maybe on another day you’d feel bad, but with Dennis following close behind you really couldn't care less. Sure, you just met the guy, but the stark difference between him and your boyfriend was that final push you needed, and you send a simple ‘I'm breaking up with you, goodbye’ and tug Dennis into your apartment.
