#whitakerxfem!reader

Previous

CW: blood, swearing, fluffy crush stuff

Word count: 979

In the chaos of transferring the patient into Trauma Room 2, Whitaker didn't notice the relative space in order to duck under one of the hanging examination lights and promptly smacked his forehead against its metal rim, sounding an immediate, “Shit!” His hand instinctively flew to the impacted region, and his gloved hand drew back blood on the heel of his hand.

Ever observant, Robby took note of the injury and blurted out, “Get him out of here.” He glanced at Whitaker's worried expression, knowing he would protest, and hissed, “Now. We can't risk blood contamination between the two of you,” he indicated the patient and his student doctor.

Y/N stepped in and guided Whitaker out by the shoulders, his own hand holding steady to the wound. “You really don't have to--” he began, but she ignored him and called out to Dana instead.

“Dana, any rooms open?”

Without looking up, she immediately responded, “Central six just got cleared and turned.” Her head lifted and she caught sight of Whitaker, “Shit, kid, what happened to you?” she asked Whitaker. He just numbly shook his head, almost imperceptibly, as if anything would escape Dana's gaze, but she chose not to pursue it.

Y/N led him to the designated room, hastily pushing back the curtain and indicating that he should take a seat. “You really have bad luck, huh? Let me see,” Y/N ordered, and Whitaker paused a moment before acquiescing.

He didn't really like to ask for help, and liked appearing weak even less so, despite having already been vulnerable with Y/N from day one. As soon as he let go, blood dribbled down his forehead and Y/N quickly put gauze underneath to catch it in order to make her assessment. “It luckily isn't deep, head wounds just bleed like a bitch. You know, vascular and all. But no stitches, so we don't need to grab anyone else.”

‘Thank God,’ Whitaker thought. This was already a big enough disaster without dragging one of the doctors into it. He just hoped that if Y/N didn’t sound the alarm, it would signal to the other staff that there was no need to check in on them. “One time, when we were like nine or ten, my cousin did a backflip off the side of our grandpa's pool, and she hit her head on the side of the pool and cracked it open.” She started to ramble, gathering disinfectant and bandages, “It started bleeding profusely, because, again, head wound--”

“--Head wound. Right,” Whitaker chimed in, in sync. He started to relax, which he half-suspected was the point of the story. He had been so worried in how the others would have perceived him, how this was just another one of his fuck-ups (which only seemed to grow exponentially in the ED), but now he was focusing in on what she was saying and began to let go of that anxiety.

“Of course, I don't need to tell you that,” she smiled. “But it didn't register for her that she had cut her head open. It hurt, sure, but she just couldn't figure out where the blood on her hand was coming from. She kept rinsing it off in the pool, but then would touch her head again after a moment and think ‘wow, my hand is bleeding again!’ right up until her mom ran over, freaking out.”

He honed in on the gentle tone of her voice and began to notice just how close she was. Fingertips gently pressing bandages across the cut, avoiding the eyebrow carefully but inconspicuously, that sweet scent of her perfume or whatever it was, encompassing him in comfort. “There,” she said softly, “I used the Steri-strips to try to hide it better. I'm sure you don't want everyone to ask about it all day.”

“Definitely,” he breathed out. He was much too entranced by her to answer more cohesively.

“You know what? Here, look more towards me.” And he did, gazing up at her with his big blue eyes and took in the soft curves of her face. She was haloed by the fluorescent lights up above them, looking like his angelic savior. She fluffed a couple pieces of his hair over the dressing, and he fixated on the purse of her concentrated lips. He wished he were braver, more suave; that he could just grasp her wrists and stand up, making her take a step back, then just grab her waist and pull her close to kiss those beautiful lips that he was staring at. But he knew he was anything but.

“Okay, I think that helps, too.” She said, catapulting him back to reality in that small room where it was just the two of them…and the deep chasm of unspoken feelings.

“Thank you,” he squeaked out, just before Robby pulled back the curtain.

“How ya doing in here, kid?” His countenance was serious. It was hard to tell if the case Whitaker had to depart went poorly, or if he was just concerned about him. Or worse, irritated by Whitaker messing up yet again. “All patched up?”

Y/N snapped off her gloves. “Yep! Just a dressing, all good.” Her nonchalance helped Whitaker also swallow his worry and play it off.

“Yeah, totally. I'm. I'm good to go.” He replied, suppressing the impulse to give Robby a thumbs-up.

“Good, I need your help,” the attending clapped him on the shoulder and waited for him to stand up, then started to lead him out of the room.

“Uh, thank you, “ he turned back to Y/N quickly, giving her an awkward, tight-lipped smile.

“Don't worry about it,” she was already putting away materials to open the room back up. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

Previous

CW: Language/Swearing, Urine (being urinated on, as is canonical), Whitaker being sexually harassed (by Myrna, also canonical), medical terminology, blood, tonsillectomy and its complications...basically anything you'd get from this episode of The Pitt.

Word Count: 2.5 k

"Let's go over the game plan one more time," Dana asserted. When Dana talked, you all listened anyway, but this was of grave importance: you had to "take down" one of your most infamous patients, Mr. Krakozia, aka "The Kraken." She'd rounded up enough bodies to split the work, because you all knew how he could be. Well, all of you except student Dr. Whitaker, who had no idea what he was getting himself into. "Donahue, right leg. Larry, left leg. Kim, right arm. Y/N, left arm. I take the head. And our young man here will inject. Clear?" There were murmurs of agreement. "Guy's got some energy. IM injection to the mid-anterior left thigh. Everybody ready?"

You vaguely heard Donnie ask Dennis if he'd ever played football and the latter replying, "Some peewee," at which, you tried not to laugh.

Dana cracked the door open gently and called to The Kraken kindly, but it was clear it was go-time. "One, two, three. Okay, Mr. Krakozhia, we're here to help you. We're here to help you…" She rushed in and you could already hear his frustrated grunts as you followed on her heels, rounding the room to grab his far arm.

"Fuck! Incoming!" You called out to the men, but it was already too late. The Kraken was already dick-in-hand and spraying urine into the air.

Whitaker was left in the middle, trying hopelessly to shield himself, and screaming, "Oh, God! What do I do? Ahh! Shit," before seemingly remembering he was (almost) a doctor and knew to aim for a thick muscle before nearly collapsing onto the table with Krakozia, in order to stick the needle into the patient's thigh. With medications on board, The Kraken let go of his 'weapon' and faded off into sleep. Donnie cautiously helped Whitaker back up, careful to not touch anything wet.

"Congrats, kid," Dana complimented Whitaker, "You just earned your yellow wings. Okay, midazolam will take him down in a minute. We'll monitor him for 20. After that, the Haldol will have kicked in."

"Do I really need to be here for 20 minutes?" Whitaker asked in disbelief, his hands still up in either defense, or defeat; you couldn't tell. Donnie and Larry grinned at each other. This poor newbie had no idea what he was getting into, but at least they weren't the targets. Today, anyway.

"Why? You got a date?" Dana asked sarcastically. And just the thought of that made a blush creep up your cheeks and you were quick to look away, pretending to busy yourself.

"I mean, I'm covered in…"

"I'm kidding," Dana mercifully reassured him. "Thanks for your help. Go get cleaned up. Okay. Thanks, everyone. Good work. I know I don't need to say it, but let's try to stay on top of Mr. Krakozhia's med schedule--" Dana reminded you all as you exited the room and started to scatter, nodding and muttering promises to do just that.

"I'm sorry, we really should have prepared you better for what he's actually like. That uh-sadly wasn't a big surprise to the rest of us." You admitted to Whitaker, grimacing slightly.

"Yeah, I can see that now," he said a bit sarcastically.

Nurse Kim took pity on him, "Can I help you get new scrubs?" he interrupted her as she was about to lead him there.

"Oh, no, it's good. I'm gonna… Uh, thank you for the offer, though." He gave a sweet, shy smile of gratitude, and then was off with a curt nod.

"Talk about a rough first day," you muttered to yourself while watching him walk away.

--------------------------

"I like big butts and I cannot lie."

You overheard Myrna and wondered who she was harassing now. While she was a fixture in the ED and most of you had some kind of rapport with her, she took jabs at others, like Robby, and had absolutely no filter. It was reasonable to worry that she was talking to another patient. You started to walk over, planning on wheeling her away with an apology and heard a response.

"Whoa, you scared me there." Even from a distance, you could hear Whitaker as he spun around to face Myrna.

"Want a pony ride, big boy?" 'Oh, shit," you thought, and picked up the pace.

"Wh-what?" Poor Whitaker's eyes shifted back and forth, looking to see if this elderly woman really said that, and to him.

"Myrna!" you chided as you approached, "Kevin was looking everywhere for you! I think it's about time you made your way back to him, don't you think?" You tried to give her a meaningful look, but her hungry eyes were still fixed on Whitaker.

"Oh, no. He can wait another few minutes. I'm watching the show, here." She cocked an eyebrow at Whitaker and you swore you could see him squirm, just a bit. You grabbed the handles to the hospital wheelchair she was in and turned her half away from him. You then leaned down and tried to make your voice quiet, but with the proximity, you were sure he'd hear you anyway.

"Myrna, this one's mine. I already have dibs. Now scoot along and find someone else."

She cackled at the notion, but started to wheel herself away. She called back over her shoulder, "Let me know if you change your mind. I could teach him a thing or two!"

You grit your teeth and grimaced in her direction for a split-second before turning to Whitaker. "God, I'm so sorry about that!" You ran your hands down your face, as if trying to wipe away what you'd just said to Myrna. "That was so unprofessional and I fully apologize if it made you feel uncomfortable. It's just the only thing she responds to. For some reason, she doesn't mess with anyone she thinks is 'taken'." You shifted your weight from one foot to the other and crossed your arms.

"It-It's okay. I get it." he stammered. He was more surprised, than anything. Unbeknownst to you, he also liked the idea of your claim on him and was trying to shake the thought. As you had said, it would be 'unprofessional,' and he'd hate to be labeled as such.

"Oh, good." You breathed a sigh of relief. The last thing you would want to do is make him uncomfortable or feel harassed on his first day, or to think you were serious, especially since you had hugged him earlier. "Anyway, don't mind Myrna. She's harmless."

"She's handcuffed." He replied, eyebrows raising in disbelief.

"That's why she's harmless," you shrugged and gave him a teasing smile. "Sorry, I'll let you get to it," you gestured to the pile of clothes in his hand.

"Uh, yeah." He gave an uneasy throat clear, looking down and suddenly remembering he was in a patient gown. "Thanks."

---------------------'

"Oh. Oh, hon." You looked over Whitaker, who was now noticeably not in black scrubs as he should be, but rather in the blue scrubs of the morgue attendants and pathologists. You tried to suppress a smile or a laugh, even though the shade of blue really brought out the color of his eyes. 'It looks good on him,' you thought, and then immediately scolded yourself for doing so. You weren't supposed to have a crush on someone you'd worked with for four hours, but you could still feel your heartbeat picking up at the thought.

He shifted uncomfortably under your gaze and tried to adjust the pants, which were obviously too short and showing the ankle, "Yeah. I know. This is my fourth pair and I guess the others were out of my size," he admitted with a lopsided frown. You knew one pair was resting in piss from encountering Mr. Krakozia's unorthodox defense mechanism, but had no clue where the other two had gone. Though, you now remembered he had blood on him when you were dismissing Myrna...and it had only been about an hour between the pairs.

"Well, that sucks," you offered, and his bleak expression compelled you to add, "that's putting it mildly, I know."

"I'd say you don't know the half of it," he sighed, "but you probably do. How long have you worked here?" He asked as you two started to walk down the hall together to look for your next case.

"Four years," you responded and then smiled, "probably about the time you started med school. I was at a different hospital before that, but there was a ton of turnover after the peak of COVID, talk about trial by fire, right? And pretty much everyone I knew and was close with quit, so..." you shrugged, "I decided to get a fresh start instead of leave the profession or ED altogether. That's how I ended up here."

You were by the 'incoming' bay doors as a teenage boy was wheeled in, with the EMT calling out, "I need an assist here!" You both jumped in immediately, joining Robby.

"Travis Johnson, seventeen, had a tonsillectomy ten days ago at St. Michael's. Started spitting blood about an hour ago. Good vitals."

"Hey, Travis. I'm Dr. Robby. How much blood?"

"Couple mouthfuls," the poor kid replied.

"Can you open up for me? Hey, Whitaker, Y/N. Got a post-tonsillectomy hemorrhage. Nebulized TXA, quick as you can." Robby instructed and you acted reflexively.

"I'm on it," you responded.

"Let's go, Trauma 2." Robby pulled Whitaker aside,"So, this can go south pretty quickly. You up for it?"

"Well, I can…"

"Of course you are." Robby gave him a clap on the shoulder and directed him to the Trauma room. With the EMTs' help, you drove the gurney up to the hospital bed. When it was perfectly parallel, you hit the brake with your foot. Robby was prepared for the callout. "Ready? Here we go. One, two, three." The team hoisted the patient up out of the gurney and onto the hospital bed in Trauma 2. You handed him the nebulizer, while Robby instructed him on how to use it. "Take long, slow, deep breaths on that. The TXA is gonna help your blood clot."

Robby and Whitaker confirmed that he had no other medical problems and asked if his parents already knew or were on their way. However, he said they were out of town for a wedding, and he didn't call them yet, as he didn't want to 'bother' or worry them. Robby insisted on calling them, and instructed you to do so.

You spoke to him softly, "Hey, Travis. Take it easy and respond as comfortable, or you can even write it down yourself, but what's a good phone number for your folks? And what are their names?" Meanwhile, Robby told Whitaker to call the Head and Neck department to come check the kid out, then to stay with the patient, just in case things 'went south,' as he previously indicated they could.

--------------------

"No, no, no. He… he had the surgery at St. Michael's, but he's here now. No, he doesn't have a car. His parents are out of town. Okay, okay, well, how am I to send him back to St. Michael's, call him an Uber? You can't… that doesn't make… hey, hello. Hello!"

"What's wrong?" Travis asked.

"Um… They said it is not their job to fix another hospital's problem. Don't worry about it, though. I'll talk to my attending…" He was interrupted by a gushing flood of blood from Travis' mouth. "Oh, shit! Uh, I need a little help here!" Whitaker yelled into the hallway as you readied the suction you knew you'd need.

"Okay, come on, open up. You're gonna be okay," you tried to reassure Travis while fighting against his surprised, flailing arms in order to get the suction tube into his mouth.

"It's a post-tonsillectomy hemorrhage." Whitaker told Langdon, Jesse, and the other staff who poured in.

"Uh, Yankauer and sponge stick," Langdon called out.

"He was stable. Then it just opened," Whitaker tried to explain, but he seemed at a loss.

"Call the blood bank. Two units, whole blood. Get a second line."

"Head and Neck wouldn't come down to see him."

"Assholes." Langdon said, dismissing the other department.

"Tachy to 120. His sats are down to 90 percent," Jesse read off the monitor while Langdon maneuvered the stick in the poor kid's mouth, and you manuevered the suction hose around him.

"Okay, get a high-flow nasal cannula, 100 of ketamine. Set up the Glide Scope. Hold suction. I'm gonna try for direct pressure. If Head and Neck still won't come down, call Garcia."

Whitaker glanced up at Travis' face and saw the tear-filled eyes. "You're good. You're good." It wasn't a complete lie, as you were all sure he'd eventually be fine, but you all also knew that it was time to call in Robby.

-------------------

Robby's harrowing mission of weaving a guide wire through Travis' larynx looked grim for several moments, but in the end, Langdon was able to pull it through and your collective efforts saved the kid from having a cut-and-crike from Garcia.

"You guys got lucky," she seemed almost disappointed and you could have sworn she gave a huff before taking off her gown.

"No, we got skills, baby. We got skills!" Langdon called after her in triumph, while the rest of you breathed a collective sigh of relief.

You glanced up at Whitaker and saw that he was smiling. An actual, full smile, filled with relief and something else...that rush that you all knew so well when everything turns out alright. It had no doubt been a tough day, but something in that smile told you that he knew it was worth it, that he was hooked just like the rest of you.

"Let's get him upstairs."

"Fresh sponge stick for you, Whitaker," Jesse said, handing it over.

Whitaker looked around in disbelief until his eyes found Robby. "You need me to stay with the…"

"Your patient. You did a good job." You saw Robby's eyes crinkle just the slightest. He was proud. As much as he complained about having student doctors, you were pretty sure they were actually his favorite part of the job. "It's only till the anesthesiologist takes over. You got it?"

"Yeah, I got it," Whitaker confirmed with a look of determination.

"Get yourself a fresh pair of scrubs on your way back down." Robby said, then went to another patient. No matter how many you saw, there were always more; like reverse dominoes, they stacked up.

"Scrubs number four, Whit?" You asked, smiling.

-----------------

"Hey, Pussycat."

"Oh, um, my name is Whitaker."

"Pussycat, I need to use the bathroom. Can you get a key for this?"

"I don't think I should."

"Don't be a pussy, pussycat. I only use this so no one steals my wheelchair." She was too busy scheming up lies to notice you creeping up on her.

"What did I tell you, Myrna?" You said sternly, making her do a little seated-jump.

"Jesus! You gonna add 'heart attack' to my chart?"

"No, but I can get you a bedpan." You offered sarcastically, but in a pleasant enough tone. She started muttering under her breath and scuttling away, using her toes to pull herself forward in her chair. You shook your head in her direction, then turned your attention to Whitaker, "You'll get used to her. Or, at least learn to ignore her."

Word Count: 5k

CW: Strong sexual language/dialogue, tension-building flirting/teasing, food play (cake/frosting specifically), breast/nipple action, p in v (protected) sex, use of the word "panties", Pet Names of baby, babe, and sweetheart

Premise: More or less none, only smut. You and Whitaker watch the fireworks with the rest of the crew and you tease him to go home for your own celebration. 👀

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You stood on the roof with your friends and other coworkers. It really was quite the view. You could see the twinkling city lights laid out across the horizon in front of you. As a bonus, from this vantage point, you could see multiple fireworks shows simultaneously.

Seeing other coworkers hold on to each other, albeit in a friendly way, emboldened Dennis to wrap his arms around your waist from behind and he rested his chin on your shoulder. You folded your hands over his arms and leaned back into him. Right now, you'd take any ridicule or teasing from the other members of The Pitt, as long as it meant you could share this moment with him.

The bursting colors flashed against his skin: the enchanting blues, the sparkling, falling golds, rays of electric reds. He was somehow even more beautiful than you'd ever seen him; you didn't think that was possible. You craved his touch, and even with his arms wrapped around you, he didn't feel close enough. You needed him...especially his skin pressed against yours.

Each section of the sky showed its grand finale, bit by bit. There were some cheers from the others and you were sure people passing by wondered what the hell was going on from the top of a hospital, but the night air was abuzz with the energy of everyone present. You all had survived another holiday shift, and now night shift could deal with the guaranteed firework and drunken (or even drunken fireworks, God help them) catastrophes. You all were free.

"I think the party has just begun!" Santos crowed.

"Hell yeah!" Princess agreed.

There were some other positive murmurs and Whitaker asked you, "Do you want to go along with them? It's only like 9:30." It was nice enough for him to offer, as it wasn't really 'his scene,' but you had something else in mind. You turned around in his loose grasp and placed your hands against his collarbones. Standing on tiptoe, you got close enough to his ear so only he would hear you.

"Hmm...instead, why don't we go home and I can fuck your brains out?" Your tone started out sweet and innocent enough, and your expression never showed otherwise, even when your voice turned into the gravelly whisper.

You could see him gulp, and even in the darkness, you knew his face had turned pink. "Yep. Yeah, let's do that." He nodded vigorously.

"Hey, nasty lovebirds!" Trinity called to get your attention. She wasn't off-base, you were standing awfully close in each other's embrace. You finally parted, slightly embrassed by the call-out. "Are you coming?"

"No!" He blurted out. "N-no, we'll just miss the next train if we don't go soon," his eyes darted to you, "Like, right now."

"Hmm, he's got a point. And it will only get more crowded the longer we wait."

"Boo," Trinity said sarcastically.

"Are you sure? Trinity is taking me to karaoke! I've never been," Mel's countenance switched from disappointment to excitement in a blink. You could hear the anticipation in her voice and would love to support her...

"Oh man, normally I wouldn't miss it for the world, Mel. But... I'm just beat."

"Yeah, pretty much home and straight to bed," Whitaker said, not very convincingly...even though it wasn't entirely a lie. He tugged your hand again to goad you into leaving right this second.

"Next time, though! Promise!" You followed him and waved goodbye with your free hand.

As the two of you walked hand-in-hand toward the subway platform, you casually peppered in what you were planning to do to him.

"I'm going to pin you down to the bed," you'd start, and he'd stare straight ahead as if he hadn't heard you, but his pace quickened each time you mentioned another dirty little fantasy. You smiled up at him as he continued to pull you steadfastly along the path.

You sat as close as possible on the train, without being gross about it. That is, you restrained yourselves from being on top of each other. You were right that it wouldn't be too crowded yet. While there were other people aboard, there wasn't anyone within earshot, which emboldened Dennis enough to put his arm around you and lean in to tell you, "Can't wait for more fireworks. The noise will cover up how loud you're going to say my name." He saw your posture stiffen up and your legs clench unwittingly together at the thighs, before adding, "Over and over and over." As far as he was concerned, this was fair payback to everything you'd said to him in the last half hour, even though it now made the ten-minute train ride unbearably slow.

---------------------

As you reached your street, you noticed a block party out front of your apartment complex. You both recognized your neighbor who had brought her kids by on Halloween, where your cat tried to make his grand escape. Somehow, the little girl was asleep in a foldable canvas chair, but the boy was awake and lighting simple fireworks with his dad. Your neighbor noticed you coming home, both in scrubs. "Must have been a long day today," she remarked, "Care to join us?"

You were both dying to get upstairs and make good on your filthy promises to each other, but you both hated being impolite. "Oh, that's so nice of you! But like you said, long day."

"Long day," Whitaker chimed in, "Just...gonna crash." He looked up towards the building with a longing expression.

"Oh, we won't keep you, then. But you have to take some cake. For all you do."

"That's so kind of you! Thank you," you accepted the plate and both smiled and nodded and waved as you crept towards the front door. Now, just the grueling travel time up the floors to your apartment. Since you were alone, Dennis stood behind you and put his hands on your hips, leaning good and close. "You drive me crazy, you know that?" He grumbled against your hair and squeezed the flesh beneath his fingers. "In a good way, I mean," he corrected and you laughed.

"I'm glad it's not the bad way."

"No, no. You're just a tease," he was now tracing your hip bones with his fingertips.

"Look who's talking," you scoffed. "Besides, it's only a tease if I don't follow through. And I will."

The elevator dinged as you smirked, before you both departed it. It was hard for you to focus on getting your keys into the lock with him so near. You fumbled them twice just thinking about all of the things he'd said to you tonight. You finally popped the lock and opened the door. You strode to the fridge.

"What are you doing?" He asked incredulously. You were finally home and he was shocked that you weren't already on him, or at least headed to the bedroom.

You sighed with weary impatience. "I have to put this cake away or Steve is going to get into it and make a mess. Just...Shut up and go get naked," you demanded. He didn't need to be told twice and immediately made his way to your bedroom. "God, he's hot," you mumbled to yourself, hurriedly shoving the slice of cake in so you could join him. As you were walking out of the kitchen though, you debated going back for it so you could lick it off his body.

"Whyyy do you still have the cake?" Whitaker asked you as you walked into the bedroom and set it on your dresser. You could see that he took your direction and was already stripped and on your bed. That made things a whole lot easier for you.

You didn't answer him at first, electing to take your clothes off instead. You shimmied out of the scrubs pants first, then hastily took off your socks, and lastly the scrubs top with your undershirt too, bunched up inside it. You saw his cock twitch at the sight of you in just your bra and underwear. You took your hair tie out and put it on the dresser before picking up the cake plate.

"Well," you finally addressed him, "I thought we could enjoy it. In more ways than one." You climbed up onto the bed and knelt beside him, collecting some of the red and blue frosting onto your finger. You held it up to his slightly-opened mouth and he sucked it off your finger with zero hesitation. "See? Just like that. That's what it's for." Your finger swirled back through the frosting, but instead of offering it to him, this time you ran it down his stomach right through the middle crease of his abs. You licked the last remnants off your finger while your eyes burned into his. You withdrew your finger slowly, noticing how his gaze lingered on every movement and anticipating what would come next.

You leaned over him and ran your tongue over the sweetness you'd glazed his skin with. You alternated between a flat and pointed tongue in order to collect everything. You left no frosted inch still covered. His breath hitched as you moved along. It was an interesting sensation: the warm wet of your tongue and how that muscle faced off against the creamy frosting that felt like a thick lotion.

You sat up and straddled his middle, the soft fabric of your underwear gliding against his belly button. You moved in closer towards his lips, but waited for him to close the gap. As always, he did not disappoint. His left hand grasped the back of your neck and he placed his open mouth against yours, sliding his tongue in expertly in one fell swoop. You both tasted of frosting. He flexed his tongue against yours while he used his right hand to unhook your bra. He was quicker and more deft with his hands now that he had confidence and practice and was able to remove it with ease. He yanked it off of you, showing his impatient desire.

He dipped his fingers into the side of the cake, procuring frosting himself and gave you a jolt of both surprise and intrigue as he painted your nipples with it. He noticed your slight jump and raised an eyebrow, looking up at you. "You ok?"

"Yeah, just wasn't expecting that. You're sneaky," you chuckled. Then you arched your back to give him better access to your breasts and to let him know that you wanted what he had in store.

"Fuck," he whispered, more to himself than to you. He could never belive you were real and that anything like this was happening to him. Particularly, this: swirling his tongue around your hardened nipple, swallowing the frosting as he sucked against your skin.

"Oh, Dennis," you groaned, your head dropping back. He switched to the other side, cleaning up your temporary pastry pastie, but grasped the first breast firmly. He kneaded the soft, voluminous skin and then ran his thumb over the bud, making you shiver. He then used the same hand to travel down your stomach, as the other hand held firmly to your hip and upper thigh to give you stability on top of him. He flicked his tongue against your nipple as he slid his hand past the waistband of your underwear. He teased you with a gentle touch, lightly running his fingertips along the outer labia, then up the center, gathering your fluids on the pads of his fingers.

"So wet, baby," he murdered against the supple skin between your tits, his head almost buried betwixt them.

"Uh huh," you said, a bit dazed. "Dennis, baby, please?" You questioned and he knew what you were asking, but made you hold out longer. He kissed up your chest and along your collarbone as he now delicately pressed against your clit, sending a sensational buzz through your body. He didn't move his hand just yet; he only pressed firmly but tenderly against the bundle of nerves. You groaned in frustration. "I told you that you were the tease," you pouted.

"You also said that it's only a tease if you don't deliver." He smirked and then dove towards your breasts again, and as he gingerly bit your nipple, just hard enough to cause a pleasant sensation and not pain, he also slipped his fingers inside you.

"Oh, fuck!" You called out. The mix of the two zones hitting with pressure took you over instantaneously. He worked you with expert precision, fingers flowing in and out of you at just the right pace. He moved his head and pulled your face back close to his, crashing his lips against yours. He just wanted to kiss you again and again. Forever. Hearing the slick sounds of his pre-cum coated fingers was just an added bonus. As he pulled them out of your wanting, tight pussy, he used the wetness as lube against your clit. It was sensitive and swollen, so he minded the pace and heft of his touch. He just wanted to make you happy, to make you feel good. Always.

And boy, was he. You tangled your fingers in the curls of his hair as you kissed him and your hips unwittingly rocked against his hand. It felt amazing and you were lost in it for a few minutes before you realized: you had promised to fuck his brains out. Right now you were failing at that task. You reached for his hand and pulled it away.

"Are-are you okay?" He looked up at you with a worried expression. But you nodded and gave him a small smile. You raised his fingers to his lips and he raised an eyebrow.

"Suck me off your fingers, baby." You commanded and he did so promptly. "That's a good boy," you cooed and saw his ears turn pink. You sat up and slid your panties down past your hips and moved on the bed to pull them off. You then reached for something on the nightstand before sitting back, your bare bottom half pressing against his skin. It was almost unbearable and he tried not to squirm in frustrated anticipation.

You entertwined his fingers with yours and pushed his hand back against the pillow. "Now, if you recall," you purred, "I told you that I was going to fuck your brains out. And I don't want to be a tease, even though you were so good with your fingers and your mouth just now." You picked up what you'd grabbed from the nightstand: a condom. You bit the foil and ripped it open animalistically with your teeth. "Are you ready for that, baby? Are you ready for me to pin you down like I said I would?"

He took the condom from your hand and unrolled it down his aching, dripping, and wanting cock. "Yes, babe. Fuck me," he invited. He held his cock steady for you and you lined up. You circled your hips so just the tip was inside at first. An agonizing appetizer of what was to come. Whitaker was transfixed by you. He didn't care that it was slow right now. He watched how your body moved: the swivel of your hips, the flex and fold of your stomach, your forearm holding is hand down. And then how you grabbed his other hand and pinned it beside his head, too. The hidden strength that you had, and his unspoken desire to be dominated by it right now.

You dropped down gently and smoothly, taking in his girth inch by inch in one fluid motion and you both moaned when he bottomed out. He filled it up completely and you loved the way you two fit together. You rocked your hips against him, thrusting back and forth, throttling him against the bed. "Holy shit," he whispered, both impressed and turned on. You kept his cock fully inside you and ground against him, the friction building you up and making your walls clench pleasantly around him.

"Uhn, uhn," little sounds escaped your lips from both exertion and satisfaction. He felt so good inside you. You switched your movements to lifting yourself up and dropping back down on his cock. You used his hands to brace yourself and build momentum, driving him further into the mattress with every bounce and thrust. His tip would tantalize your entrance for a split-second before you engulfed his shaft entirely. He moaned your name and you thought you were going to lose it. You picked up the pace and the harshness of your thrusts.

He looked up at you with admiration, watching your tits bounce and your stomach bend just a bit each time you took him back in, slamming his cock into yourself with an impressive speed and might. He tilted his head back against the pillow and closed his eyes, just for a moment, so he could picture himself sliding in and out. "God, you feel so good," he muttered.

"Yeah, baby?" You asked. You were a little self-conscious about whether you were actually doing well on top.

"Fuck yeah," he exhaled. "Riding me like this, I'm not sure how much longer I'm gonna last. You're taking all of my cock so well," he said, trying to get you closer to the edge. He thrust up into you as you dropped down and you screamed in delight. You didn't think he could possibly go deeper, but he proved you wrong. He pushed your hands up and you took the hint, now placing them on his chest as you ground against him. He grabbed your ass and placed his feet against the bed so that he could buck up into you and match your movements. "I want to fuck you just half as good as you've been fucking me, Y/N." Your name on his lips make you quake.

"God, yes, Whit. Talk dirty to me."

"You know I'd do anything for you. I want you to cum with me inside you, but if you don't, I'll shove my tongue deep into your pussy and just lap you up."

"Oh, fuck," you whimpered in response and he could feel your walls clench tighter around him.

"You like that, baby? The thought of me making you cum with my tongue?"

"Y-yes."

"I just might have to, but it feels like fucking you might just be enough. I can feel you around me. I think you want to." He slammed up into you again.

"I do. I'm almost there, Dennis."

"I love you so fucking much. More than anything," he thrust even deeper and then pulled you down to growl in your ear, "cum for me, sweetheart."

Your legs trembled around his waist as you did as he commanded. Your back arched as you sat back up and your lips parted in silent rapture as you came together.

Previous

Word Count: 1,982

CW: blood, emergency medicine, mass casualty event/incident, guns/shooters, death and the morgue, language. Just anything that would be present in the actual episode.

The annual Pittfest music festival has succumbed to a mass casualty incident and The Pitt must band together to help their community and the victims. --------------------------

"Code Triage, Emergency Department now. Code Triage, Emergency Department, now," rang out overhead.

The unthinkable happened and time stood still.

"There's an active shooter at Pittfest." You heard the words but did not process them consciously at first, but your subconscious did: a chill ran down your spine and your heart started racing.

"Ok, everybody listen up. There is an active shooter at PittFest," you tried your best to tune back into what Robby was saying, as it was of the utmost importance. "As the nearest trauma center, we are going to be getting the majority of the victims. We don't know yet how many we are getting, but we are instituting hospital-wide emergency protocols. We need to move every patient out of here. They either go home, they go upstairs, or they go to Family Medicine. Call your loved ones now if you need to. I can guarantee you cell service will soon be overwhelmed. Eat something. Stay hydrated. Use the bathroom while there's time and meet back here for a full briefing in five minutes," Robby commanded.

You scrambled to make a list of your current patients and sort them into one of those three categories. You also knew you'd have to get your regulars upstairs as well. Most of them did not have a home to go to. You saw Dana and Perlah start to make calls to arrange patients, and your transporters wheeled in the disaster bins.

You began to pull Earl out of the waiting room, "Sorry to cut the social hour short, Earl. But we're taking you upstairs."

"I don't think I've ever been up there..." he looked like he was thinking about it, filtering through years of visits.

"Yep, well now you get the grand tour."

"This is stupid!" One of the patients exiting the lobby yelled back, as Matteo tried to usher them out.

"Sorry for any inconvenience, sir, but this is an emergency," Matteo responded.

"This is an emergency department," the patient spat back, "It's fucking stupid!"

Matteo sighed and you wheeled Earl past him, muttering in solidarity, "Tell them if they don't have a gunshot wound, they can consider themselves lucky and can get the fuck out."

"Ms. Y/N!" Earl exclaimed, "I don't think I ever heard you swear before!"

"Yeah, well, here's to new experiences, Earl," you said, pushing him along to the ED doors.

Once Earl was settled (with a sandwich, of course), you headed back down and started to gown and glove up.

"We had disposable gowns the whole time?" Whitaker asked, on behalf of all four pairs of his scrubs.

"Sorry, we save them for special occasions," you told him and offered a weak smile as you handed him a pair of goggles.

You heard Robby clap his hands and attention was pulled to him immediately. "OK, everybody listen up. This is how it's going to work..." He and Abbott seemed to ping-pong off each other with information, the latter was clearly in his element. You learned the color-coded system for slap bracelets and how to use wrist charts, which ended up being particularly pertinent to you, as you were assigned to triage...and to running black-and-white bracelets, the DOAs, to the temporary morgue in Pedes.

"Shit, ok." You nodded your acceptance of the assignment to Dana.

"You know I wouldn't put ya there if I didn't think ya could handle it, kid," she said. While you were positive it was meant to be reassuring and a point of pride, you couldn't feel either of those emotions right now.

"Myrna. Where the hell did Myrna go?" Dana asked.

You looked over at the now-empty wheelchair and shrugged. "Last time I saw her, I was offering her a bedpan so she'd stop harassing Whitaker and she scooted away." You could hear Dana muttering profanities and calling out to Antoine, but you were already hustling outside to triage.

Your first patient to take back came almost instantly. He was in the second vehicle to pull up. You maneuvered him around the red zone gurneys with your partner and silently prayed that there wouldn't be too many more like him to arrive.

Divine luck gave you a handful of greens and yellows...but many more reds and pinks, the most critical cases. At least, it felt that way. You tried to reason that the most critical were also the most likely to show up or be transported by ambulance than minor injuries that would warrant green bands. But more yellows, gunshots on extremities and not in the most dire need, would be nice. Less than fifteen minutes, you had another black-and-white to take back. The red zone had exploded into controlled chaos and hell on earth since the last time you rolled through. You passed through every zone on your way to Pedes and it felt like it didn't get much better in the other sections. You saw the 'newbies,' Santos, King, and Whitaker, as you went through Yellow. Poor things, there couldn't possibly be a worse first day, you thought. You gave them a small nod of acknowledgement as you passed, and they gave you a collective pitying look.

---------------------

A pick-up truck pulled up to the bay roughly, with several people in the bed. You began to head over, but Robby's voice made you pick up the pace.

"Jake!"

The emergency department had essentially raised Jake. You met him when he was a twelve-year-old scrawny little kid and now he was edging toward adulthood. But he was still a kid, just as much now as ever. You'd even seen him in a chair-spinning contest with Langdon this morning. Your heart dropped to your knees when you saw him covered in blood and teary-eyed.

"Robby! Leah got shot! It's really bad! I've been putting pressure on the wound the whole time."

"Yeah, that's good. That's good. Are you shot?"

"I don't… maybe my leg. Most of this is her blood."

"Somebody you know, boss?" Dr. Ellis asked.

"Yeah." Robby was too focused on Jake and essentially waved her off.

"You got this?" She asked, trying to get confirmation.

"Yeah. Okay, come on, let's go. Let's go. I got you." He helped Jake hop off the bed of the truck and went back for Leah. You got the gurney ready. "Come on. Ready? Pull!"

The group of you that had accumulated yanked and lifted this poor, young girl up and onto the gurney. Robby hopped down and called out your name, followed with, "you're with me."

"Of course, anything you need."

Jake hobbled alongside you as you wheeled his girlfriend in. "Jake, you can't stay with her," Robby said in the warning tone of a parental figure.

"I have to."

"There's no room, and we need to work on Leah right now, and you need to get your leg checked, so please go sit down."

"Please come tell me how she's doing, okay?" He begged, "Please?"

"I will," frustration crept up in Robby's voice and you suddenly realized why he asked for you, specifically. Out of all the available hands, you knew Jake best.

"Come on, sweetie. We need to have you get looked at so your leg doesn't get any worse." You led him by the shoulders and turned him away from Leah as they began cutting down her shirt to see the extent of her injuries.

"I'm okay. It doesn't hurt that bad."

"Wait until the adrenaline wears off. Now, sit." You suddenly flashed back to the handful of times you had babysat him so that Robby and Janey could go out, even though he insisted he was too old for one. And just like back then, he listened.

You wheeled him to the yellow zone and parked him along the station desk. You bent down to his level, more so he could hear you, but it still harkened back to when he was little. "Let me take a quick look so I can tell them what we're dealing with here, okay?" He nodded numbly and started to pull up the pant cuff to the affected leg.

Santos was calling for help on a patient, and Whitaker was torn between two. "Jake, I will be right back," you promised. You jumped in to apply pressure to the female patient's uppermost thigh area, along with Mel.

"Santos, go find an attending," Mel said, and Santos left to her best. In the meantime, Whitaker readied to swap back to the female patient but you heard him behind you.

"Hey, what happened to the kid in a wheelchair, bloody right leg?"

You spun around as Bridget answered, "No idea."

"Oh shit!" You hissed. "Whitaker, trade me. I'm pretty sure I know where he's headed."

"What's going on?" He asked as he put his hand over yours on the patient's thigh to take over.

"He came in with his girlfriend and didn't want to leave her. She's in red." You ducked under his other arm and muttered, "That little shit," before starting to jog in Jake's presumed direction.

"Jake," you said when you caught up with him, irritation coating the one syllable. "What the hell do you think you're doing? I can't leave you for two fucking seconds to help someone else?!"

"That's my girlfriend, I have to be with her!" He yelled back. Neither of you had spoken to the other like this before. "Leave me alone!"

"Jake!" Robby barked back, hands never leaving Leah as he administered compressions, "Get in the damn wheelchair and go with Y/N! Now! Go!"

Jake finally acquiesced and you wheeled him away, even as he looked back. You found an available bed in the hall of the Yellow Zone and called out to Donnie to help get Jake into it.

"You guys are overreacting, I'll be fine."

"You're losing a lot of blood," Donnie pointed out and helped him to scoot up further into the bed.

"It's not that bad. Just put me back in the wheelchair."

"So you can bail again? I don't think so." You shook your head.

"You should stay in bed with your leg up. We don't want you oozing to death," Santos told him.

"See? Dr.'s orders," you said as she left. "And you'd better listen, because she's a mean one." Jake, meanwhile, rolled his eyes.

"Look, Jake," you sighed and plopped down at the very foot of his bed, "I'm sorry. For...all of this." You gestured around. "But right now, you and Leah are like any other patients. We're all here to do the best we can. You think Robby and Dana aren't going to try their hardest? Now, I can't guarantee Leah's outcome, but we both know that they will give her the best possible chance." He gave a small nod. You weren't sure if he agreed with you, or was just acknowledging your statement, but you'd take it either way. "Now I want you to look around. Really look. How many people there are. You know they're separated from their loved ones, too. You're not alone in this. But, to do the best for everyone here, we have to follow protocol and they need space to work on everyone by Leah and including her. And you do not need to be there. Now, I need to get back to my job. Can I trust you to stay here and listen to staff, or do I need a security guard to sit with you?"

"I'll stay. I'll be fine." He mumbled.

"Tell you what, I'll go check on her right now and come back and tell you what's up, ok?"

He looked up at you with wet eyes, the old puppy dog look. "You promise?"

"Promise."

Previous

CW: Mass-casualty event of Pittfest and processing the trauma that comes with that.

Word Count: 1.7k words

A/N: This ended up heavier than I thought it would. Sorry!

At the end of his first shift, you gave Whitaker your phone number, but you didnt expect him to call you that same night. Together, you discuss the day and your lives. --------------------------------

Bzz bzz

The phone ‘rang’ with an ID but no photo. ‘Rang’ in quotation marks because honestly, Y/N's phone probably hasn't had a ringer on since 2008. The screen was black, save for the accept and decline icons, because the number was new and she hadn't associated a picture with it. The name was bold, though, and made her answer immediately. “Whit, is everything okay?” her voice was strained with panic.

“Uh. Um, yeah.” He paused, wondering why she had asked that, and so hurriedly. Then he remembered: they'd exchanged numbers by saying ‘if you need anything, don't hesitate to call me.’ He fumbled for a moment, trying to calm her and make up for the blunder; mentally, he kicked himself for thinking he should call her outside an emergency anyway and especially only after knowing Y/N for half a day. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean--I just thought I'd call and talk but. I'm sorry. I'll see you tomorrow.”

“Wait!” She blurted out, hoping to keep him on the line. “I just wanted to make sure, after the day that you've had--we had,” she corrected, “but you can call for anything. It doesn't have to be a catastrophe.”

“Oh, okay. Thanks,” he breathed out in relief. “It's just…I don't really know anyone here yet, in the city I mean. And I don't really want to tell my family how my first day went yet. I don't even know what to tell them.”

“I'm sure they saw the news,” she said, softly and grimly.

“They did,” he confirmed just as solemnly. “I let them know that I was alright and would talk to them later, but, fuck. What do I even say?!”

“You could always lie and say the cops have vowed you to silence,” she replied with a slight smile, “but I don't know. You can't ever really tell someone what it's like. They have to be in it to get it, y'know? And really, that goes for working in the ED as a whole. Everyone says they want to hear your stories. But they mean the funny ones, the gross ones, or like the fist-fight out in Chairs. They don't mean like what we saw today.” Her throat felt tight with emotion and it was hard to swallow. The saliva went down thickly.

There was silence on the other end for a moment, and then, “How do you deal with it?” He picked at the outside seam of his sweatpants, as if avoiding eye contact, even though he couldn't see her over the phone. “I know not every day is this big, but even before Pittfest…” he trailed off and then sighed, “even before, it was a lot.”

“Well, I guess part of it's like a ‘numbers game.’ You always have to keep in mind that more people are living than are dying. In the grand scope of things, far more people survived Pittfest. Like, out of everyone who went. And then there's the people we saved, that couldn't have made it otherwise. When you're the difference, it can be as rewarding as it is horrifying. I…I feel the relief that it isn't the kid Cassie thought it was and that he's getting the help he needs so he will never do something like this.

“And then, there's everyone we work with, relying on each other. That's how you make it through. Like how you were there for me after. And like how we're talking it through now. That's how I cope. If you keep it in, it'll destroy you.” She considered Abbot and Robby, aging ten years in just under five, because they kept it bottled up and it simmered just below an unsteady surface.

Meanwhile, Dennis digested everything she said and asked, “Ok, I guess part of what I mean is why do you do it? How did you end up in ED of all places? I kind of have to be there, since we have to explore all areas to find a potential specialty. Why did you choose it?”

Couldn't you feel the electricity of working there, Whit? she wanted to ask him. Instead, she gave him the more boring and rational answer: “I think it all started when I took a CPR and First Aid class when I first became a babysitter when I was like, twelve.” She heard him chuckle a bit at the response and grinned back into her phone, “No, seriously! It was so exciting! At the time, I never got to use that knowledge, but then I decided to become a lifeguard in high school. Similar reasons, I guess. And one time I did--I had to do CPR on someone. I never found out the ultimate outcome, but I bought him time. I also had to administer an Epi for a bee-sting once. And it just--it felt right. Like a calm in the storm,” on the other end, Whitaker smiled warmly, wishing he could see her face light up telling this story. He could hear it in her voice and he knew she was meant for this line of work, in a way he probably wasn't nor ever would be.

“I found out that I do well in emergencies,” she continued, “and I wanted to pursue that. That feeling, and to help people. I didn't have the money or the patience to put behind a whole MD, which, bless you and kudos to you for doing so--and just to leave everything up to fate on Match Day? I don't think so! That's part of why I chose nursing instead.”

“And because we all know who really runs the hospital anyway, right?” He mused.

She laughed, “right. Dana.” And they shared a laugh over her answer. She went on with her explanation, “I've also always been fascinated by like, science fiction experiments or body horror movies. That sort of thing never bothered me or grossed me out. So, I figured it was either use that to help people or become a serial killer... That's a joke, Whit.” She clarified after a short beat.

He laughed, “sorry, that's not why I didn’t say anything right away. I was just taking it all in. Considering everything.” After a moment of agonizing silence, he finally said, “but that all makes sense. Uh, thank you. Ya know, for answering so truthfully.”

“Of course. Always.” She paused as well, not a hundred percent sure she should ask a follow-up, but did anyway, “You don't see a future in the ED?”

“I…I don't know, honestly. It was hard,” ‘hard doesn't even begin to cover it,’ he thought, “and I know it's not always like that, to that degree, but it kind of is always like that, you know? And I'm not sure if I can do that.”

“You did do it, though. You really rose to the occasion today, Whit. I don't think anyone has had such a hellish first day as you, Javadi, King, and Santos, but you all did so well.”

On his end, a blush crept up the back of his neck to the tips of his ears, knowing she held him in that regard, but he pushed it down. It felt like false confidence, something he didn't earn, “I made so many mistakes, though.”

“We all do, and you're still learning. That's the whole point of your rotations. But you can't keep beating yourself up over it. No one has a hundred percent success rate. Not just in the ED, not just doctors, anyone anywhere. You're doing great, really. Anyway, enough with the morose stuff. Why don't you tell me about your family. You said you have brothers and a bunch of nieces and nephews?”

Whitaker let out a little relieved breath. The conversation had become so heavy, and that's not what he called for. He didn't want to bring her down, he just wanted to hear her voice and have some company. “Yeah, I have three older brothers and seven nieces and nephews. I really miss them.”

“I bet. You're a long way from home and that must be tough.”

“Ahhh... It is and it isn't. I've always wanted to be out on my own and not the safeguarded baby or to take over the farm. But in a small town and with a big family, I guess you could say we were close. Are close,” he corrected, “I was almost like a nanny for my brothers’ kids.”

“That sounds really nice,” she said, “oh. Hang on a sec,” she paused and he could hear her shifting and her voice seemed further away, but he distinctly heard her say: “Hi, Steve, sweetheart. I know, dinner will be soon.”

His heart sank. Although he couldn't hear the other voice in the background, it was clear that she had a boyfriend or maybe even a husband. He hadn't noticed a ring, but it was possible that she just didn't wear one at work, what with the constant switching of gloves and possibility for a patient to steal it, or for it to get caught on something. It's not like he could have or would have asked her about it outright at work, but he had been hoping against hope that she was single. She had, of course, caught his eye immediately and he found that he really liked her and her kindness, especially after all they went through today. It felt like a gut punch to know that he didn't even have a chance. “I'm sorry, I should let you go,” he said when Y/N returned to the phone. “Thank you for talking me through everything but I shouldn't keep you from dinner with your boyfriend or husband or--” he was trying to sound casual and not bitter (as he wasn't, he knew he shouldn't have any expectations of her) or sad (which he was, at least a little), but she butt in.

“What? Oh, no. Steve's my cat!” She explained and then chuckled, “he came into my room to yell at me to feed him, but it's not quite his dinnertime yet. I try to keep him on a schedule, he's just demanding. I'm surprised you didn't hear him.” They both broke down in laughter over the confusion. “No, please, continue.”

They talked for a little while longer until Dennis acquiesced that he probably should call his parents, and Y/N admitted that Steve was right to complain about dinnertime and that she should feed him, but neither one really wanted to get off the line as they said hesitant goodbyes.