synopsis: michael was always so sweet when making love to you, but you desired something a little more intense. in other words, you teach michael how to fuck you into the mattress!
tags: shy michael, sub! michael attempting to dom, you're a d1 dirty talker, choking, light spanking, hair pulling, you both down bad as hell.
notes: hey besties im back!! there's no plot here just had an itch for shy thriller era michael 😇
Moonlight peeked in through the cracks of the curtains gently swaying, casting a soft glow throughout the space of Michael's room.
The soft sounds of your moans and his whimpers fill the air as Michael gripped both of your hands within his own, held above your head. His face was buried into the crook of your neck as he rolled his hips, hitting your sensitive spot with each thrust.
You loved the way Michael always took his time with you as sex was something still new to him, actively cringing when you said fucking opposed to love making— which he preferred.
He had no problem at making you feel good and finishing every time and you loved the sweet, passionate, intimacy you shared but you were starting to crave more. You daydreamed earlier about Michael's big hands wrapped around your neck as your sweet boyfriend drilled into you, making you cross your legs as you act focused on Latoya and Randy's conversation around the table.
Your mind drifted to your thoughts from earlier, allowing them to creep into your mind as you clench around Michael, garnering a shaky moan from his lips.
A wicked smile crossed your face as you decided to act on your desire, gently tapping at his shoulder to gather his attention. "Michael."
"Yes, baby?" He detached from your neck finally, slowing his pace as he looked down at you with a hint of concern. He looked stunning under the shine of the moonlight, a bead of sweat trickling down the side of his temple, curls unruly, with a faint flush across his brown skin. You bit your lip in admiration, building up the courage to voice what was on your mind.
"Did I do something wrong just now? Tell me-"
"No, Mike. You're doing amazing baby," You cut him off mid ramble. "I just… was thinking about trying something new."
His eyes filtered across your face, gently squeezing your hands with a small nod. "Okay." He spoke simply.
You detached one of his hands from your own, dragging it towards the thickness of your neck. You placed his hand around your throat, making Michael gasp and retract his hand in shock.
"Baby… I don't want to hurt you!" His eyes were blown wide, looking down at you with concern.
"Michael, you could never hurt me, honey." You caressed the side of his face as he leaned into your touch. "I want you to try and be more… assertive… been daydreaming about it for days now." You shoot him a seductive glare, watching his chest rise and fall as he processed your words.
"I like giving you sweet love and— god— I don't ever want to degrade you." His sweet voice made you pulse around him, his jaw dropping slightly at the feel. You thought he was so caring, your cheeks going warm at how much your boyfriend worshiped you.
"You won't be degrading me, I'm telling you I want this, baby." You guide his hand back to your throat once more— Michael making no attempt to pull away this time as a shaky breath left his lips.
"Okay… You'll have to guide me through. Tell me what to do." He held your gaze intensely, waiting for your first command. You gently pushed at the small of his back, urging him to start moving his hips again.
"Gently squeeze the sides." Your hand was over his as you instructed him. He followed suit, squeezing the sides of your neck enough to make you release an airy moan. His hips found a slow rhythm, grinding his pelvic bone against your clit as his hand remained around you, watching you carefully.
"Yes Michael, so good." You moaned, wrapping your legs tighter around his waist while his thrusts sped up. The wet sound of your pussy was starting to fill the room, leaving Michael gasping above you every time you squeezed down on him, turned on from his grip on your neck.
"Talk to me, baby." You gripped his chin, making him look you directly in the eye.
"I'm… I'm not good at that kinda stuff." He huffed, strangled from the addictive feel of you around him.
"Tell me how good my pussy is, Michael."
He groaned your name, briefly shutting his eyes at your vulgar words.
"It's.. It's so good-"
"What is?" You purred, anticing him to get comfortable.
"You- You're.. pussy is so good." He spoke shyly, his skin growing hot.
"You're stuffing me so full with that perfect dick of yours." You quickly shot back, feeling Michael's thrusts falter for a moment.
"Oh fuck— You take me so well." He spoke more confidently this time, his thrusts growing rougher as you cried out, emerging yourself in the feel.
You fucked back, meeting his strokes with a sense of eagerness you were itching to execute, your shared moans tangling with each other as he squeezed your neck once more, your wetness gushing around him.
"So wet, just for me?" He mumbled more to himself, still trying to find his groove.
"All for you, Michael. It's all yours— fuck!" You cried out as his lips wrapped around your hardened nipple, sucking on the bud there.
He detached from you when you pulled him off, wanting to change positions. He pulled out of you with a whine, sitting back to wait for your direction.
When you flipped over and got on all fours, arching your back and allowing him a view of your glistening folds, he nearly came from the sight.
"We've never done this-"
"Exactly."
"But I like seeing your face-"
"Michael." You groaned, pushing back against his length pressed up on your ass, wanting to shut him up. He finally lined up with your entrance, sliding in easily from how soaked you were. You moaned at the new angle when he bottomed out, feeling him deeper than before.
He pulled back and gave a deep thrust, whimpering at the sensation. The jiggle of your ass against him had his head spinning, knowing he was doomed from this position.
"Michael, grab my hair."
"Are you sure?" He questioned, catching the serious look you shot back at him.
"I want you to put me through this mattress. Stop asking so much and just do."
Something about him loved when you were dominant with him and he wanted nothing more than to keep his lady satisfied.
His hand found purchasing within your hair, getting a good grip as he pulled back and thrusted deeply inside of you, pulling you back onto his dick with the leverage from your hair. You were fighting back a smile as he fucked you from behind, his shaky breaths and the sound of your pussy struggling to take him making you delirious.
You tried to keep your volume down by turning your face into the mattress, your moans muffled as you snapped back to met his every thrust. His hold in your hair slipped as he gripped your hips with both of his large hands, pounding into you with vigor he's never presented before.
He was in a trance watching the way his dick disappeared between your cheeks, coming out coated with your sheen all over him and trickling down your thighs.
"Spank me, please."
He was thrown off by your sudden omission, genuinely scared of hurting you now. "What if It's too much?"
"Just smack my ass around a little bit baby, I promise I'll feel good." You crane your neck back slightly, Michael catching the playful glint in your gaze.
He had his doubts but he wanted to fulfill your desires to the fullest— the perfectionist in him not allowing anything less. His hand winded back slightly before coming down hard on your flesh, your pussy instantly clenching around him.
He brought his hand down once more in time with a sharp thrust, making you cry out in pleasure, practically drooling from the feeling. Michael was shocked discovering how nasty you were during sex, and the fact you hid it from him this whole time.
His hand snaked down to rub your clit, sending a jolt through you. If not for his arm wrapped around you, your body would've gave out, overwhelmed in pleasure.
It was impossible to keep his gaze off of where you connected, the clap of your ass on him was addictive and the way you were creaming around his dick had his orgasm approaching fastly.
You were a babbling mess underneath of him, desperate to reach your climax as you felt it creep up on you. The duel feeling of Michael's dick fucking into your sensitive spot deeply and his thumb swirling around your clit was too much, and your peak hit you suddenly.
You cried out as you trembled around him, squeezing his dick so tight he was moaning with you as you rode out your orgasm, slumping slightly as you sighed in bliss. Michael only had a few desperate and uneven strokes in him before he barely had time to pull out, groaning as his hot seed spilled down your back and thighs.
He took a moment to catch his breath before kissing your shoulder and shuffling around to grab a warm rag to clean you off.
"Y'know, I think I learned a lot about you tonight." His soft spoken voice flowed from behind you, a teasing tone laced in as he dragged the cloth down your back and thighs.
"Oh yeah? What did you learn?" You teased back, moving your hair around to look back at him. He met your gaze with a faint smirk.
"How you really like to get down."
You laughed at him, his own bubbly laugh following suit.
"What can I say? My man is sexy and I got the hots for him!" He chuckled at you, leaning down to plant a kiss on your lips.
"C'mon, let's go shower, baby." He wrapped a hand into yours and helped you get up on wobbly knees.
"Perfect, now we can fulfill another dream of mine in the shower." You smirked at him as he ducked his head down, shaking it with laughter.
"You're going to ruin me, girl."
note 2: ignore that this was written at 3am and proofread only once sowwyyy
A/n: literally a total of 4 texts (two at the top two and the bottom) most of this is written and a little moment between dennis nd reader!!
The emergency department doors slid open with their familiar hiss, closing just as quickly behind the boy you’ve learned to— appreciate.
You’d been Robby's daughter long enough to recognize the rhythm of shift change.
Residents shuffled toward their cars with backpacks slung over one shoulder, nurses sighing about something that had happened just before clocking out, a worry for the next day, and every so often someone honked to say bye to a co-worker who was also heading home.
Your gaze drifted toward the entrance again.
Dennis looked exactly how you imagined someone should after a twelve hour shift.
His black scrub top had bunched up beneath the straps of his backpack, the sleeves pushed to his forearms from earlier in the day. The shift had essentially become his workout, his sleeves stretched just enough around his arms to make you stare a second longer than you probably should’ve.
His curls were combed out in odd places, like he’d run his hands through them one too many times, and his eye bags were even darker than when he started his day.
He looked tired. And you felt a little ashamed of how hard you thought about “other things” when he looked so exhausted.
The kind of exhaustion that only came from spending all day taking care of everyone except yourself. You would know, spending 10 hours at a time not worried about a lunch break because there’s a puppy who only eats from your hand, and you know no one else would take the time to really give him the care he needed.
Dennis looked up, and you suppress a giggle, your brain comparing him to that same puppy.
The second his eyes landed on you, something changed.
Just enough that the tension left his shoulders and his backpack lowered with it, the tiredness in his face softened beneath an unmistakable smile.
“Hi.”
You smiled before you even realized you were doing it. Maybe waiting those extra twenty minutes parked down the street so your dad wouldn’t notice were worth it, big time
“I was starting to think one of the fireworks might’ve blown you up in there.”
“It tried.”
His laugh came out quieter than usual, rough around the edges from a full day of talking and reassuring patients that they could in fact— leave with their fingers re-attached. He let his backpack fall to the pavement beside him with a dull thud before stretching, one hand disappearing behind his neck as he rolled the stiffness from his shoulders.
You winced.
“…That bad?” Yours was pretty bad too, and you’re sure you reek of burnt hair and…well, animal.
“I’ve forgotten what sitting feels like.”
“Good thing we’re about to spend two hours in a car. I’ve even got the heated seats, big money.” he laughs a bit.
“I honestly think that’s the best thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
You laughed, shaking your head as you turned and reached through the passenger window for the red bull you’d bought on the way over.
“I had a feeling you’d need this.”
Dennis stared at the can for a second before taking it from your hand.
“You might actually be my favorite person.”
“I would’ve been offended if a red bull beat me.”
“I don’t know…” He glanced down at the can dramatically. “It’s close.”
“You know those are bad for you right? Thought you were a doctor”
“So is literally talking to you knowing who your father is.”
“Touché”
He shoved his thumb under the tab, pulling it back, the sound of the can cracking open was oddly satisfying. He smiled into the top before taking a sip, closing his eyes for a brief second.
“Oh, thank God.”
“Better?”
“So much.”
The warm July air settled comfortably around the two of you, carrying the distant smell of charcoal and someone’s backyard barbecue from somewhere beyond the hospital. Every now and then the automatic doors slid open behind Dennis, releasing another wave of gross antiseptic-scented air before closing again.
It mixed strangely with the scent clinging to him. Something unmistakably Dennis.
His attention drifted back to you.
Only then did you notice he wasn’t looking at your face anymore.
His eyes lingered for a second on the glitter on your cheeks before dropping to your scrub top, a pattern of weiner dogs in hotdog buns with fireworks all over it .
A nervous laugh escaped him.
“Wow.”
Immediately, your eyes followed his.
“What? Am I turning you off or do you have a raging boner?”
He rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks beginning to color.
“Nothing.”
“Denny.”
“No, I just…”
He laughed at himself before trying again.
“You know that Jennifer Coolidge quote?”
Your grin widened immediately.
“‘You look like the Fourth of July. Makes me want a hot dog real bad’?” You do your best Jennifer voice, it sucks by the way.
Relief washed over his face.
“Okay, thank God.”
“You really thought I wasn’t gonna get a Legally Blonde reference?”
“I wasn’t sure.”
“I’ve seen it, like, twenty times, Robby hates it.”
“That makes this significantly less embarrassing.”
“It was already embarrassing.”
“I know.”
You folded your arms, waiting patiently.
“…Well?”
He looked at you again.
Really looked at you and his ears turned pink.
“You just…” He smiled sheepishly. “…You look like the Fourth of July.”
You couldn’t help laughing.
“Does that make you want a hot dog real bad?”
Dennis groaned, covering his face with one hand.
“I walked right into that.”
“You absolutely did. They’ve got hotdogs at the drive in theater, nachos too, but I did buy snacks”
“You didn’t have to do that, you worked just as much as me today.”
“I know.”
The words settled between the two of you, quieter than everything else around you.
Dennis’s smile lingered, but it changed. It wasn’t the same sheepish grin that had followed after nearly embarrassing himself for the fifth time that evening. This one was smaller. Softer.
He looked at you like he’d finally run out of reasons not to.
You weren’t sure who closed the distance first..
Maybe it was you, unconsciously leaning toward him the same way you always found yourself doing whenever he spoke. Like he constantly had you under a weird-ass hypnotic spell.
Either way, there was suddenly barely enough room between the two of you for the warm July air to pass through.
His red bull rested forgotten on the roof of your car.
“…You smell faintly like mint and dog.”
You barked out a laugh, ducking your head.
“Kennel-sol. I just worked ten hours. It’s a half-ass attempt of trying to smell like i took a shower”
“I get it.”
“You’ve got glitter.”
You frowned.
“I dressed up for work today and you’re the only one who noticed the glitter… Do I smell bad? seriously, I’ve got clothes in my tr-”
“No.”
“Then what do I smell like?”
He looked back up at you.
“You.”
Your heart did something incredibly embarrassing and inconvenient, but you can’t let him know that.
“You are so bad at flirting.”
“Damn.”
You laughed, shaking your head. “Somehow…it’s working.”
He smiled.
“I was kinda hoping it was.”
For a second, neither of you moved.
A warm breeze lifted a few curls away from his forehead before they settled back into place.
Dennis’s eyes searched yours for a moment before dropping, almost absentmindedly, to your lips.
When he looked back up, he let out the smallest, most nervous laugh.
“I’ve been trying not to do that since I walked outside.”
You raised an eyebrow.
“Do what?”
You didn’t notice, so, he didn’t answer.
Instead, one hand found your waist with a hesitancy that made you smile.
You slid your hand around the back of his neck, your fingers disappearing into the curls at the nape that had escaped him sometime during his shift.
“They’re so soft,” you murmured before you could stop yourself.
He laughed.
“Focus,” you laughed “We’re trying to be romantic”
“You focus.” he quipped back
“I’m trying.”
“No, you’re giggling.”
“And you’re blushing.” Arguing like a love-drunk couple already.
“I’ve been outside for five minutes and it’s hot”
“Dennis.”
He rolled his eyes with a smile that never quite reached teasing territory.
“I’m choosing to ignore that observation.”
He looked at you for another heartbeat, like he was giving you every opportunity to change your mind.
You didn’t.
Instead, you moved just enough to meet him halfway.
His lips found yours slowly, almost cautiously at first, and for someone who talked as much as he did when he was nervous, he kissed with surprising confidence. Warm and unhurried, one hand settling a little more firmly against your waist as he smiled into it after only a few seconds.
You smiled right back.
When you finally pulled away, it wasn’t because either of you wanted to. It was because you were both smiling too hard to keep kissing.
You laughed, and he couldn’t help but to follow
“I’m so fucked, that- this is it for me. Your dad might actually kill me”
“Dennis?” You can’t even pay attention to his rambling.
“You’ve got glitter too.”
His hand immediately went to his face to rub at his cheek, bringing his hand to eye level to see the sparse red, silver, and blue glitter on his fingertips.
“Oh my God.”
You smiled, brushing your thumb over his cheek and the faint mark the N95 mask had left across the bridge of his nose.
“I think I like you speechless.” You tease.
“I don’t.”
“No?”
“No.”
He leaned in, stealing one more quick kiss.
“I like you kissing me a lot better.”
You laughed, nudging his chest.
“Oh, so now you wanna have game?”
“I had one good line.”
“It wasn’t even a line. It was a Jennifer Coolidge quote!”
“I know.”
He sighed dramatically.
“That was like..so dreamy, I feel like a teenage girl”
“Grown man by the way”
A loud pop goes off that makes you both jump and your hearts drop to your ass. A split second later you hear a car alarm start blaring, and then another. Both of you scramble to grab your things
“Let’s go before we get called in”
He reached down, picking up his backpack with one hand before opening your passenger door with the other. He quickly confesses in the panic
“I didn’t wanna kiss you at the theater, that's too cliche, glad I got my kiss now.”
“It won’t be the last kiss, you know, you can still kiss me at the theater”
“Absolutely not. I’m ruined now”
You rolled your eyes, trying—and failing—to hide your smile as you climbed into the driver’s seat.
You whine at his slowness, fuck that shift. “Hurry, we’re gonna miss all the trailers for the upcoming movies!”
By the time Dennis settled into the passenger seat beside you, still smelling faintly of hospital soap and slightly burnt paper, you realized the movie had somehow become the least exciting part of the night.
summary: it’s finally dennis’s birthday and reader is way too nervous to run into him. reader and dennis are being awfully awkward so trinity locks them in a room and forces them to talk…
contents: blackfemreader but anyone can read it of course! reader uses sheher pronouns. cursing. suggestiveness. make out. fluff. crack.
writing below!
wc: 1,5k
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“oh, hi.” you say as you run into dennis while walking out of the bathroom.
“hey.” he smiles at you.
it’s a little awkward, none of you really know what to say.
“so, uh. happy birthday.” you say awkwardly.
“thank you.” he scratches his neck.
“I actually can’t stand you guys.” trinity says as she pushes you guys into his bedroom.
you glare at her and open your mouth to say something. she cuts you off before you even get a word out.
“you two need to talk, you’re making all of us miserable.” she says as she closes the door.
he sits down on the foot of his bed. he pats the spot next to him for you to sit.
“I’m sorry.” dennis says, looking directly at you.
“you don’t have to keep apologizing, dennis. I’m over it now.” you say softly and tilt your head.
you can see his face drop, the color draining from his face.
“oh, okay.” he says, disappointed. he looks down and plays with his fingers
you grab his hand to get him to stop fidgeting.
“I never said I was over you, dennis.” you say, emphasizing the “you”.
“oh!” he says, shocked and relieved.
“I thought-“
“I know.” you smile at him.
“I hate how awkward things are between us.” he says.
“yeah, me too.” you agree.
“that won’t be happening now, okay?” you reassure him.
“I missed you, a lot.” he squeezes your hand.
“I missed you a lot, too.” you can’t help but smile brightly at him.
“I really like the flowers. I never really told you how much I appreciate them.” you add.
“yeah? I’m glad you like them. just because we’re talking again doesn’t mean I’ll stop sending them.” he was really excited about you liking them.
“we’re talking again?” you tease him.
“oh- no, that’s not what I meant-“ he starts rambling.
his face starts heating up and he turns red. you got him to blush again.
“I’m just messing with you, denny.” you let out a small laugh.
“oh.” he smiles, a little embarrassed.
“so do you wanna try again?” you ask looking at him with sparkles in your eyes.
“you’d want that?” he asks, in genuine disbelief.
“okay, look. what you did really hurt me, but you’ve shown me a new side of you. you’ve shown me how much you prioritize me, even when it wasn’t benefiting you or even when we weren’t communicating. I’ve noticed all the times you’d try to discreetly get me something to eat when you realized I hadn’t eaten all day. also all the times you’d get the girls to check on me when I was overwhelmed. even though you thought I didn’t realize that you were the one who sent them.” you let out a small laugh.
he looks at you with shock written all over his face, he really thought you didn’t know about that.
“those might be small things, but they show that you care. that’s really all I’ve wanted.” you continue while playing with his hands. telling him all this makes you nervous.
“I also really appreciate the letters you’ve sent. they were all really sweet.” you finish off and look up at him.
he’s feeling a mix of emotions. he’s thrilled that you’ve noticed all those things. the fact that he’s making you feel prioritized is really all he’s wanted. you are his priority. he’s also extremely relieved that you want to give him a second chance. he’s so happy that he could cry.
he’s looking at you with both shock and admiration. he’s so taken aback that you wanna give him another chance. it leaves him speechless.
“dennis, say something please.” you look at him, getting more nervous with his silence.
“can i kiss you?” are the first words to leave his mouth.
“what?” that’s not the answer you were anticipating.
“can i kiss you?” he asks again, looking at you like you’re the most beautiful thing in the world.
“yes, you can kiss me.” you giggle and lean forward.
dennis leans in and captures your lips in a sweet kiss. the kiss was gentle at first, he let you take the led, but after sometime he grew impatient. the kiss became passionate and hungry. he groans into the kiss which makes you let out a breathy moan. he bites your bottom lip, which causes a whimper to escape your mouth. the sounds you’re making are driving him crazy.
he grabs ahold of your hips and sets you down on his lap to straddle him. you let out a surprised squeal as he lifts you and places you down. you both separate for air. he lays his forehead on yours.
“I missed you.” he whispers with a big smile. his eyes are glossy and his breathing is labored.
“I missed you, too.” you whisper back while smiling down at him, lipgloss smeared all over your mouth.
“you got something here.” you as you try wiping off your lip combo from his lips.
“leave it.” he says.
“yeah?” you let out a small laugh.
“want everyone to know your my girl.” he states, proudly.
“everyone or a particular person?” you ask, hinting at something.
“what are you hinting at?” he asks with a smirk on his lips.
“don’t act dumb, I saw the way you were glaring at me and frank earlier.” you say playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” he fake gasps and acts surprised.
“you’re stupid.” you laugh and kiss his cheek.
“I have a question though.” he asks a little more serious.
“what is it?”
“did you and frank ever, you know… I don’t know, were you like a thing or something?” he asks hesitantly.
“no, we were never a thing.”
“oh, good.”
“but-“
“oh, god.” he closes his eyes dramatically and puts his head down so it lays on your chest. his actions cause you to let out a small laugh.
“come on, let me explain.” you hold his chin and lightly push his face up.
“after our date, I went to the bar that everyone was at because, well you know what happened. anyways, I got really drunk and he drove me home.”
“yeah the girls said that.”
“yeah, well when he dropped me off, we kind of almost kissed.” you continue, hesitantly.
“almost?”
“well I was really drunk so he didn’t do it. which was good, because I regretted it as soon as I woke up.”
“so if you were sober, he would’ve kissed you?” he asks as he draws circles on your hip with his thumb.
“yeah.” you answer simply.
“but I only really did it because I was sad.. and drunk. I apologized to him the next day and told him that I didn’t actually want to kiss him. he understood and nothing happened after that.” you say playing with his hair.
“he had this thing for me but he always knew how much I liked you, and I also told him about it. so he never tried anything.” you continue.
“does he still have a thing for you?” dennis asks.
“no, no, he got over me a while ago. he’s actually seeing someone right now. me and him are just friends.” you reassure him.
“okay, good.” he smiles at you.
“I’m sorry about all this.” you say as you caress his cheek.
“there’s nothing to be sorry for, my love. you didn’t do anything wrong. I’m the one at fault.” he says and kisses the corner of your mouth.
“I know, it just makes me feel guilty.”
“stop that, you didn’t do anything wrong. I don’t care about what happened with you and frank. all I care about is you, and that I have you here with me now. okay?” he squeezes your hip.
“okay.” you say, a little flustered.
it takes a lot for you to get flustered so this feeling is new to you.
“wait.” you say, realizing something.
“what?” he furrows his eyebrows.
“did you just call me “my love”?” you ask all giddy.
“I guess I did, it just slipped out.” dennis chuckles, turning a bit red.
“that’s such a cute pet name. don’t ever stop calling me that.” you smile down at him.
“okay, my love. I won’t.” he holds his pinky up for a pinky promise. you accept it.
“you’re the best birthday present I could’ve ever imagined.” he says and kisses you all over face.
“yeah?” you giggle trying to push him away.
“you’re the sweetest, cutest and prettiest present I’ve ever gotten. do you know that?” he says as he continues peppering kisses all over your face.
“I have a different present in mind.” you say teasingly.
“yeah? what’s that?” he says, leaning back on his hands.
“it’s a secret, you’ll just have to wait till everyone goes home.” you end the sentence with a fake pout.
“you’re such a tease.” he lets out a laugh.
“the sweetest, cutest and prettiest tease, though. right?” you say sarcastically.
“of course.” he laughs and kisses your cheek.
“come on, let’s go enjoy your birthday party, birthday boy.” you say getting off of his lap.
“no, I just wanna stay here with you. it’s my birthday, don’t I get to decide?” dennis whines, still sitting on the bed.
“you’ll get me all to yourself later. okay?” you say trying to convince him.
“you make quite the convincing case.” he says, taking your hand and standing up.
“yeah, im quite good at that.” you say giving him one last kiss before opening the door.
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a/n: dennis and reader are finally back!!! EVERYONE CHEERSSSS 🤭😁💗💗🌷
summary: the girls talk about what they’re wearing and what gifts reader is giving dennis. dennis starts overthinking inviting reader and talks to trinity…
contents: black!fem!reader but anyone can read it of course! reader uses she/her pronouns. cursing. suggestiveness. use of y/n. three months after the date.
summary: reader and dennis have their first conversation in months. she freaks out to the girls about it, but then comes to a realization about something…
contents: black!fem!reader but anyone can read it of course! reader uses she/her pronouns. cursing. suggestiveness. crack.
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a/n: reader and dennis are finally gonna hang out after forever!!!!
summary: It’s been three months since reader and Dennis decided to take some time apart. Dennis has been sending flowers and little notes to readers door step everyday in an attempt to show how much he cares about her. Work has been awkward but he looks after her in quiet ways. He brings her coffee every morning, puts a sandwich at her desk when he notices she hasn’t eaten all day, he tells the girls to check up on her when he notices that she’s overwhelmed. These are all small things but he tries his best knowing that you want space.
contents: black!fem!reader but anyone can read it of course! reader uses she/her pronouns. cursing. suggestiveness. crack.
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𓂃 𓈒𓏸🪷
⋆˚꩜｡ Doe eyes ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪
a/n: I’m back!!!!! 😛 sorry for disappearing on u guys!!this is more of a filler but yeah I won’t disappear again I’m sry 😞🌷
Summary: You die, you meet death, and he offers you a chance to change the fate of anyone he chooses. It's just your luck he chose Michael Jackson. Good luck.
Chapter 6: Violence, Resilience, and Friendship
Warnings: Aftermath of child abuse. I'm so sorry, Michael
Word Count: 2.3k
A/N: Some rather harsh truths here, folks...but we're getting to Motown and Los Angeles where things begin to pick up :)
Death was staring at Makaria as she stared out at nothing. He could see the thoughts in her head; her eyes told him everything he needed to know. She was angry.
Angry at him.
Angry at herself.
But most of all. She was angry at Joseph. Death sighed at the thought of the man.
Joseph wasn't the worst man in the world. Not by a long shot.
But he wasn't the best. Death couldn't call him good either.
He was a man. A deeply flawed and violent man.
And yesterday, Makaria witnessed that violence in person.
Joe was surprisingly okay with them watching the boys rehearse. He decided to treat it like another performance.
Makaria was ecstatic, and so was Michael, if not a little nervous.
They had gotten everything set up. Death leaned against the wall as Michael explained everything to Makaria, eager and pleased and fully content with ignoring his brothers' poking fun at his excitement.
The first problem arose when Joseph re-entered the room.
The shift was automatic. Smiles faded. Laughter stopped. Spines stiffened. Children became shadows of themselves, and their home transformed into a place where laughter would be criminalized if done out of turn.
He watched everything with an outward impassive expression, and he watched Makaria try to do the same, but her eyes were locked on Joseph's hand or, rather, the belt he held.
She looked back at him once, her eyes not pleading, but it was something very close to it. Too close for what she already knew he couldn't do. Still, the minute he shook his head, her face shut down before she forced a smile and turned back to the boys.
Death sighed and looked up at the ceiling as he hoped that Joseph would show restraint in front of what were practically strangers to him, but he knew it was a hope that invited disappointment.
"Would you like some coffee?" Katherine's voice came from behind him. Turning around, Death smiled, looked back at Makaria, but found her attention solely on Michael, and then followed Katherine into the kitchen.
"She's well-behaved," Katherine praised.
Death's lip curled. "She is. Her parents taught her well."
Katherine's smile faded a bit at that.
"She's strong. Much stronger than me."
Death tilted his head as he thought about what Makaria had been through. More specifically, what he had put her through, and he tried his best to hide the snort he wanted to release. He wouldn't say she was strong. She gave up far too early for that.
Resilient? Yes. Willful? Definitely. But strong? He didn't think that was a title she had earned yet.
"She's resilient," Death amended.
Katherine looked at him, an admonishment already written on her face. He raised a single eyebrow at her before turning his gaze to the living room and back to her.
"She hasn't had to be strong yet,” he explained. “She had a wonderful childhood. All things considered, she still does. She was cared for and shielded as much as her parents could. She's not naive, but there wasn't a problem she's had to struggle through, including her parents' deaths. It's hard for her, but she isn't alone. Until she's ready, I've been strong enough for the both of us."
Katherine's eyes gentled, and her body relaxed, tension bleeding out of her shoulders.
"You lost a brother," she apologized. "Being a mother often causes me to forget that it's not just children that need lookin after."
At that, Death chuckled, shaking his head.
"Looking after is not what I need."
It was Katherine's turn to raise her eyebrow, not believing a single word he said.
"What is it that you need then?"
Death looked at her and thought about what he brought Makaria here for and what she had to accomplish. Then, without his permission, he thought back to her past life, who she was before.
What she did to get here.
"I need her to live."
Katherine paused, her eyes flickering with some emotion he couldn't quite pin down. She nodded once, understanding what he said even if she didn't know the context. He knew she simply understood the tone in which he said it.
"You're a father now."
It was Death's time to pause, his hand tightening on the mug so hard he could hear the glass beginning to crack underneath the pressure. Flashes flew past his sight; his eyes fluttered with every image. He had to shake his head, shaking loose those memories. Taking a deep breath, he loosened his grip, but his body remained frozen.
"I'm her uncle," he replied, his voice steady despite the faint tremors running through his body.
Katherine considered him and his words and decided to leave it at that. Death was grateful she dropped the conversation, but her words still repeated themselves in his head.
The conversation stalled after that, both of them content to listen to the boys rehearsing in the background when a smack followed by a yelp broke the comfortable atmosphere.
Katherine was out of her seat faster than Death expected her to be, and he was right behind her.
Coming into the living room, he stopped in his tracks at the sight of Michael holding the low of his back, hiding behind Jermaine. Tears had gathered in his eyes, but he didn't let them fall. Even though he was hiding behind his brother, Death saw the sparks, the flickers of defiance taking root. He was abruptly reminded that Michael fought back, and regardless of how he felt about the situation, a swell of pride grew in his chest.
"I told you to hit that note, boy!" Joe stood there with a finger pointed at Michael, his belt hanging limply in his hand. His voice echoed in the house; an uneasy silence permeated the room in response.
Katherine took a tentative step into the room, and Michael locked eyes with his mother, hope shining in his eyes. Death had to watch it slowly fade as Katherine's attention remained on Joseph.
"Joseph!"
Joseph turned to look at her, his mouth opening to say something when he remembered that they had guests. He looked at Death before his gaze turned to Makaria, who was currently seated on the couch, her eyes wide with fear. Her body was shaking, and yet she wasn't breathing as if the situation stole the air right out of her lungs.
Death went and kneeled before her, blocking her from view. He placed a single hand on her knee and caught her when her lungs finally decided to keep up in her chest, her body lunging forward as if she could stop the belt from landing, an aborted no on her lips.
"It's okay," he whispered to her, letting her hide her head in his neck. He was surprised when he felt her hands twist themselves in his shirt and made the decision right then to remove her from the room. He picked her up, arms wrapped lightly around her body, holding her steady as her body became wracked with sobs.
He turned around and met Katherine's eyes for the briefest moments before she turned her head away. Death slid his gaze toward Joseph, who had already turned his attention back to his boys.
"I think it's best if I get her back home," he said quietly, giving a single nod in Katherine's direction, not bothering to look at Joseph again, and made his way to the front door. He paused for just a moment and looked back at Michael, who, despite still hiding behind Jermaine, had his eyes locked on Makaria, concern replacing whatever fear he may have felt.
"She'll want to see you tomorrow."
"You knew he hit them." He finally spoke after letting the silence sit for too long.
Makaria nodded, her eyes still wet with tears and distant.
"Knowing is one thing," she replied. Her voice took on a detached tone.
"I knew because of what I read in books and leaked private phone calls, but there was a wall between everything. His suffering, their suffering, and fear…It's one thing to hear about it happening and another to see the violence play out right in front of you."
Makaria stopped talking and closed her eyes… Death watched her take a couple of breaths in, her hands curling into tight fists.
"Objectively," she licked her lips. "Objectively, I knew what I would witness, but I didn't prepare myself for that. I didn't prepare myself for being at an age where all I can do is react."
Death sighed, a glass of whiskey appearing in his hand. He swallowed the whole thing back in one gulp and waved the glass away. He looked at her, took a good look at her, and reluctantly agreed. She didn't prepare, but he didn't do much to prepare her either.
That's the reality they have to deal with.
"So react better tomorrow," he replied. Makaria raised her head to face him, a confused look on her face.
"Saving someone doesn't always mean preventing the bad," he said gently, lip curling at her grimace.
"Sometimes, it means minimizing the damage."
Death was glad to see that Makaria took his words to heart. The next day, she marched up to the house and hugged Michael the moment she saw him. Her grip was fierce and tight, and she refused to let him go until he hugged her back just as tightly.
She didn't mention what happened. She simply hugged him and then invited him over to play more games.
Death watched them play. Michael would occasionally stare at her, trying to figure her out with the few pieces of her puzzle she gave him.
He did wonder if she was going to bring up yesterday, and he didn't have to wait very long.
"I heard about parents that hit their kids," she said quite bluntly, to his and Michael's surprise.
She slowly lifted her head and met his gaze.
"I can't protect you from it even though I wish I could, but I can be there for you afterward."
Michael said nothing but nodded after a few seconds. The atmosphere wasn't awkward or uncomfortable, but it was heavy. It carried a weight that neither one was ready to place down, despite it being too much for two kids to handle, regardless of whether one had the mind of an adult.
Over the course of the next few weeks, Michael would come over. He never did invite us back to his home, and despite Death knowing that Makaria wanted to go over, he also knew that another part of her was relieved, and truthfully, so was he.
Some days, Michael would come, and he was bright and happy. With others, he was quiet and solemn. Every once in a while, he'd look at her. Sometimes in confusion. Sometimes in anger. Sometimes in embarrassment. He worked through his feelings, she worked through hers, and they grew closer.
Eventually, Michael opened up to her. It happened in increments. Pieces of his childhood, given like a present you try to pretend doesn't matter. Death watched as she took every piece and kept it, guarded it, and then gave pieces of herself away, and he watched as Michael did the same.
Death found it fascinating the way they began to gravitate towards each other. Even when they began to watch the boys perform, Michael instinctively found her in the crowd, regardless of where she stood. After the performances, he found where they stood waiting for him. Every time he spotted her, he lit up and would run to grab her into a quick hug before he was rushed off. Makaria would wrap him in her arms, sweat and all, a matching grin on her face.
Come July, they were inseparable.
To Death's surprise, it wasn't just her and Michael's relationship that improved. It was often that he would stay up with her, regaling her with stories of various universes he's experienced. She listened with such attention; it was as if he were telling her the secret to life. He took to homeschooling her, giving her every advantage she could need until she decided what she wanted to do.
The side effect of this, unfortunately, was that she became entirely too comfortable.
"I am not your chauffeur," he said one day as he drove her down to Chicago.
She looked at him from the passenger side, one eyebrow cocked. "You decided to hitch along for the ride. I'm just getting my money's worth."
Death snorted but shook his head. "You didn't spend anything on me."
"My sanity then," came her prompt reply.
The moment Michael spotted her, his entire demeanor changed.
"You're here!" He ran up to her, arms already spread, and she huffed the moment their bodies connected.
"I told you I would be," she replied as her arms wrapped around his body.
He took a couple of steps back but didn't remove his hands from her arms, excitedly whispering, "We're opening for Bobby Taylor!"
She laughed, amused by his excitement.
"I know that too."
Before either of them could say another word, Joseph appeared behind Michael, the atmosphere plunging immediately.
"I thought I told you to stay with your brothers, boy?"
Michael dipped his head, mumbling out a sorry before he scurried over to his brothers, giving her one last look.
Death took a step forward, placing a single hand on Makaria's shoulder and bringing her closer to him. He ignored the brief look of offense on Joseph's face, deciding to ignore his presence and guide Makaria to the entrance.
"I hate how small he gets," Makaria murmured, her shoulders stiff with tension and anger. Death hummed and squeezed her shoulders.
"He'll learn how to remember he's only as small as he allows people to make him."
Death smiled when she snorted, her curls bouncing as she shook her head. Even without looking at her, Death knew she rolled her eyes.
tw|| fighting, reader is unhinged and WILL put her hands on men if she deems it necessary, j*e mention🤢, disassociation, alluding to child abuse, reader gives big sis vibes in this ngl
this was supposed to be funny but i lowkey triggered a memory from my own damn childhood…now how tf i do that?!
Protecting this man is going to be harder than you originally thought. It’s like he’s a danger or evil person magnet and it doesn’t help how trusting he can be at times.
Keeping your secret an actual secret failed within the first month of you being his ‘assistant’ when Marlon and Latoya came up to you with curious eyes asking if you were really from the future or if their little brother was going crazy. Oddly enough the family took it as well as he did. Saying it made sense in the way you spoke and how you didn’t carry yourself like most women. Joe even made a snide comment saying women must not have any respect in the future but you quickly shot that down by informing him that women in the future also put hands on men and you don’t fight fair. You even showed proof with Snapchat videos you had saved.
˚₊‧ⴵ ‧₊˚
“Oh this one was when I was still in high school! This dude on the basketball team thought he was gonna call my homegirl a bitch...” You explained with a gleeful smile, “and I thought he was gonna have a concussion and miss that nights game!”
The Jackson men stared at you cautiously as the video showed a younger you running down a school hall and hitting a tall boy upside the head with a thick textbook.
“He was taller than me so I had to get him on my level ya know?” Janet nodded with a tilted head as she seemed to be taking mental notes. Matter fact all the Jackson ladies were. A small ‘Nice grip. You’re so strong!’ leaving Latoya when it got to you pulling the boy’s hair and swinging despite a resource officer and teacher trying to pull you off.
˚₊‧ⴵ ‧₊˚
Today though the issue wasn’t danger or people with hidden agendas or even his family unconsciously smothering his flame.
Nope.
Today’s issue was his weird little perfectionist brain and its ability to point out even the smallest and slightest differences in takes. You’ve been in the studio with him since 10:00 in the morning and now the sun was beginning to dip out of sight. You respected his craft and work ethic as an artist but you thought you were going to start pulling your hair out when you had to wrangle him like a cat to take a break and eat. He was like a toddler who didn’t want to leave the playground.
You were curled up on a small couch under a blanket. Looking over with heavy eyes as he worked with the small group. Another take that sounded identical to the one before, in your opinion, playing. In all honesty you’d began to tune it all out, scared you might lose your mind if you kept listening to the repetitive music. So imagine your surprise when you blink and Michael is no longer sitting next to Quincy with a focused expression but instead he’s practically curling into himself while Quincy fussed loudly at him.
The blanket was quickly tossed aside as you walked over. Head tilted and your eyes bouncing between Michael and Quincy. “What’s the problem? Why you yellin’ at him though?”
Quincy pulled a face. A quick up and down at you as if he were sizing you up, “Yelling?” Confusion in his tone.
“Yelling!” You snapped and moved to stand between him and Michael whose eyes were glassy and focused on the ground.
“Girl I don’t know who you think you’re talking to-”
“Are you not Quincy Jones and were you not just yelling at him?” You interrupted him. He stared you down wrongly thinking you’d bend. The other men in the room shifted uncomfortably. “Take a damn break…” you reached back without looking finding Michael’s hand. “Everybody!” They scurried out the door. Quincy taking his sweet time still irritated, “You don’t come back till you cool again…done lost yo damn mind…” you muttered as he finally walked out. You turned to Michael who flinched as the door slammed. His eyes clearing and his lip trembling before he let out a breath.
“S-Sorry. I’m sorry I-…” his hand was shaking in your grasp and you know the other is too so you hold that one as well. You steal the seat next to him. “I-I shouldn’t have said that. I-…I pushed too much! I didn’t mean it! He’s so angry I-”.
He’s cut off by you hugging him.
“Calm down. It’s okay, you’re not in trouble, everyone is fine.”
He quickly hugged you back. You ignored to hot wet feeling on your shoulder and rubbed his back. Holding him until you felt the trembling stop.
When you pull back you grab a tissue from a nearby box and gently pat the tears from his face and eyes. You noticed the look on his face. Nervous. Ashamed. “You don’t have to look like that. Fix your face.” You poked his cheek before tossing the tissue away.
He sniffled and gave a wet half assed version of a laugh, “Sorry…I-I don’t like crying in front of people.”
“You’re fine…” you waved him off and shared an embarrassing emotional moment of your own, “I once cried before a presentation in middle school because my partner skipped and I didn’t know their part…the gag is all I had to do was read the slides!”
He let out a real laugh.
“Look…you’re a perfectionist. I get that, it’s what’s gonna make you the best there ever was.” You started. Looking at with a serious but fond expression, “But you need to remember that the people helping you aren’t machines and neither are you. They’re going to get frustrated.”
He nods, his eyes drifting down.
“That’s doesn’t mean they’re right to yell at you though okay? You just need to take more breaks. Not just for them but for you too! I had to practically drag you away to eat you schmuck.” You mocked him as you flicked his forehead making him playfully pout.
“Don’t say that! Sounds weird when you say it.”
“Oh sorry!” You held up your hands in defense, “I’ll leave it to you and the other old men.”
“You’re older than me!”
“My birth year starts with a two!”
Michael made a face, “I’m uncomfortable with that information.”
You shrugged, “and I’m uncomfortable with your inability to take care of yourself.” You quirked a brow and smirked.
He stared at you for a few seconds before scoffing and smiling. He nodded, “Touché.”
Then men started to come back in. Quincy immediately made his way over to Michael. You standing between the two as they made amends.
You clapped, “Awww! Look at that, apologizing works!” Michael lightly nudged you and went back to work. As Quincy moved you grabbed his arm making him look at you confused. You held a strained smile.
“I talked to him about more breaks but if I see or hear that you ever and I mean EVER yell at him again…” you looked into the man’s eyes, “I’m stomping a mud hole in you. Deadass…”
Quincy swallowed.
You patted his chest, “Well get to work! Got some hits to make!”
𑣲₍ ᐢ. .ᐢ₎
Hi!!! I’m new to tag list so I’m assuming everyone that liked my post about the tag list wanted to be added! If that’s not the case just lemme know and I’ll take you off! Also if you wanna be added let me know! The more the merrier!
content: 18+, SMUT, MINORS DNI, DUBCON, alcohol consumption, sexual acts under the influence, explicit language, oral sex (male receiving), Jack Abbot catches you in the act (kind of), guys I am addicted to writing drunk Dennis lmk if you want more
summary: Alcohol makes you horny. Good thing your boyfriend, Dennis Whitaker, is here to help!
The music sounds muffled in the refuge of Jack Abbot’s guest bathroom. You've been hiding in here for around twenty minutes now, sitting on the counter and staring at yourself in the mirror. Even with all the alcohol in your system, mingling with Dennis’s coworkers feels overwhelming.
This isn't the first work-related party he’s dragged you to, so you've met them all a number of times. It’s just that your social battery has run out completely.
The only person you can even fathom being around right now is Dennis, who’s somewhere downstairs.
The thought of your boyfriend drifts drunkenly through your mind, and a smile creeps across your face as you pull out your phone to text him.
You: Denny
Dennis: Yeah baby?
You: where r u
Dennis: In thekitchen
Dennis: Trinity spilled wine on me :(
Dennis: I smell like wine
You: not on the new shirt I got u
You: duck
You: fuck
You: you looked so good in it
You: I'm in the bathroom upstairs
You: need ur help
Dennis: oh shit
Dennis: Do u need a tampon or something?
You: No lol. Just get up here
You: I can help u clean ur shirt
A few minutes pass before there’s a knock at the door, and you open it to see him barely standing outside. To be honest, you’re surprised he even made his way upstairs. When you’d left him earlier, he was really, really drunk.
“Hi, baby,” he coos, stumbling through the door and wrapping his arms around you. He squeezes a little too tightly, but you know he means well. You kick the door shut behind him.
“Denny,” you murmur, feeling something wet seep into the front of your shirt, and you pull back just enough to look down at it.
His eyes follow yours and land on the wet spot on your chest, exposing the lace bra hidden beneath your white shirt.
“Fuck. I'm sorry.” His hands hover before your chest like he wants to help, but he’s far too panicked to do anything.
“It's okay, really. It's just a stupid shirt.”
“No, it's not.” He begins to tug off his own shirt to give to you. “Here—”
“Dennis!” you exclaim, pulling it back down. “Don't you remember? Your shirt is stained too.”
“Oh, right.”
When you pull his shirt back down over his head, his hair is mussed and his cheeks are flushed pink.
He returns his attention to the stain blooming across your breasts. “My eyes are up here.” Your fingers snap wildly in front of his face. “Do you even know why I called you up here?”
He blinks, trying to focus. “No. I mean—should I know?”
“I told you to come up here because I want you to fuck me.”
His mouth goes dry—opening as if to speak, but nothing comes out. He stands rigid with his fingers clawing at the inside of his pockets.
“I mean… unless you don't want to.” The tone of voice in which you speak is teasing and coated with devilish mirth.
“No,” he says—too quickly, saucer-eyed from your words. “I mean yes. Fuck. Yes, I want to.”
You waste no time, undoing the buttons of his jeans at an impressive rate. You slam his back against the door, eliciting a low grunt to escape his lips. His neck strains upon the wood as soon as you kneel down in front of him.
His jeans pool at his ankles. His eyes wire shut at the feeling of you palming him over his underwear. The alcohol in his system gives him a wonderfully heady feeling, intensifying the pleasure that rushes to his hard cock.
He thinks he might've died and went to heaven as he feels he’s on the cusp of an orgasm, and he snaps back to his senses before it's too late.
“Wait, wait, wait,” he shrills, reaching out to stop the movement of your hands. “If you don't stop that, I'm gonna come—”
“Can't have that,” you say, clicking your tongue as you pull his underwear down, freeing his reddened cock. “I think I’d rather have it in my mouth.”
“But—I thought you wanted to—”
He stops mid-sentence when he feels the warmth of your mouth envelop the pink tip of his cock. His body jerks at the sensation, his head thumping against the wooden door. His fingers tremble in your hair, trying not to pull at it as you throat his dick.
He looks down at you—looking up at him with wide, watery eyes. “Holy shit,” he rasps, hot static traveling rapidly from his lower belly to his pelvis. When his tip hits the back of your throat just right—causing you to choke—pathetic whimpers come spilling from his mouth.
Your fingers explore upward his body, running through the blonde tuft of hair on his pelvis and underneath his shirt, feeling the coiled plane of his stomach. His breath catches when you apply light pressure just above his pubic bone, sending him over the edge.
“Holy fuck. Oh my God. I'm gonna—” He moans, high and faltering, unintentionally tugging at your hair. “I'm gonna come. Fuck, I'm gonna come."
He does just as he says, hips shuddering against the door as he spills his load deep into your throat. Your pace slows, gently working him through his orgasm.
You continue to slowly suck him off until he's done squirming—movement brought down to only a slight tremble of his hands. You pop off his length, rubbing his bare thighs before pulling up his garments and returning to your feet.
“Good?” you ask with a shit-eating grin.
“Yeah,” says Dennis, mouth still agape as he tries to catch his breath. “Really fucking good. Thank you.”
You laugh. “You're welcome, baby.” You pull him in for a kiss, darting your tongue out to let him taste himself. A trail of saliva connects your mouths when you withdraw from him, and you use your thumb to swipe it away.
“I love you,” he says with a grin, his large blue eyes staring deeply into yours.
“I love you, too.” You smile. “Now, button up your pants before anyone notices we're gone.”
He works at his pants while you make your way over to the mirror, making yourself look as presentable as possible before opening the bathroom door.
So much for being inconspicuous—as you're greeted by Jack Abbot’s smiling face standing before the door.
“Never thought I would have to wait an hour to use my own damn bathroom,” he jokes, clearly unbothered by you using his guest bathroom to give your boyfriend a blowjob.
You look over at Dennis, whose face is somehow more flushed than before. Good thing Dennis works the day shift.
the audience erupted into an applause when sally stepped out onto the stage.
you took a breath backstage, someone from your pr team taking notice. “you’ll do fine.”
“a little nervous is all,” you smoothed a hand over your outfit. you were wearing a fitted black wrap-style top with a deep v-neckline and bell sleeves that brushed just past your wrists. it had gold floral embroidery climbed across one side of the top with a pair of dark wash jeans of the same embroidery, but the opposite side. you paired it with black slingback heels, gold hoop earrings, and your hair was a blowout that was put in the prettiest half up half down.
“five seconds.” the producer yelled, causing your stomach to flutter. you could perform infront of 80,000 people and sing without a problem.
interviews? entirely different story.
“ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the incredible—“ the crowd practically drowned out the rest.
“go.” the curtains parted, the applause grew louder. and then there she was, sally jessy raphael herself — standing center stage with a bright smile on her face.
you laughed despite yourself as you walked onto the stage. sally met you halfway, wrapping you in a hug. after, she grabbed your hand and you both sat down, waiting for the audience to settle.
“it’s so good to finally have you here.” sally nodded.
“thank you, it’s so good to be here.” you smiled.
sally turned to the audience, “i have to tell y’all something.”
you covered your face. “oh dear.” the audience laughed.
“i have been trying to get this interview for a year,” the audience laughed harder. “it’s true! y/n you’re such a successful young lady..”
you dropped your hands, “thank you, you make it seem like i’m hiding.” you giggled.
“you disappear for months at a time.” sally raised her brows.
“that’s called living.” the crowd erupted.
“see? this is why the people love you.” you shook your head smiling at her statement. the interview started easily enough.
your newest album, touring, songwriting, your interests outside of music, even silly stories from when you were younger. this part was easy,
until sally crossed her leg over the other and gave you a look. immediately, you were suspiscous.
“ugh, just spit it out.” you giggled, causing her to glance at her cards.
“what about dating?” the audience cheered.
you leaned your head back, “no.” causing sally to laugh “oh, yes.”
no.
“everyone wants to know.” you turned to the crowd, seeing faces full of grins. “y’all are positive?” they ‘yes’d in unison, causing you to groan and cover your face once again.
“y/n..” sally started, “you write some of the most romantic songs in music.”
“that doesn’t mean anything.” you dropped your hands, smiling.
“fine. let me ask differently.” she narrowed her eyes toward you. “are you seeing anyone?”
you shook your head. “no.”
“no special someone?”
“no.”
“do these men have eyes?” the audience roared as she turned to the crowd, causing you to giggle as well.
“sally.”
“yes?”
“you’re determined.” you said, causing her to nod. you sighed dramatically then shrugged.
“no.”
a collective aww echoed through the audience. sally blinked. “really?”
“really.”
“why?”
you turned your head to the crowd, then back to her. then you smiled, a little sheepishly.
“i’ve never had much luck.” you heard a loud gasp.
sally looked genuniely shocked. “what do you mean? you’re one of the most beautiful people i’ve ever seen.”
there was pause for a moment, causing you to think.
“i think people fall in love with who they think i am, not who i actually am. and when they meet me, and they’re disappointed to find out i’m just a person who does the same things a person would.” you said with a giggle behind it.
sally looked at you thoughtfully. “that’s lonely.”
“sometimes.” you offered a small smile, “but i’d rather be alone than with someone who doesn’t really wanna love me for me.”
the audience applauded. a lot. it made sally smile.
“so.. what kind of man do you want?” she leaned forward a bit.
you laughed shyly, looking down for a moment.
“someone who’s funny, who’s kind, who doesn’t feel the need to impress everybody.” you looked back up.
sally smiled “mm.”
“and someone who is comfortable with being themselves!”
“thats a plus!!” someone in the audience yelled, causing everyone to laugh.
sally tilted her head. “so where does one find this mystery man?”
you laughed a real laugh. effortless. “if you figure it out, let me know.”
· · ─ ·ʚɞ· ─ · ·
thousands of miles away, michael sat in a hotel suite in tokyo. the ‘bad’ tour had him halfway around the world.
the tv was on for background noise, at least that’s what the plan was. until he heard your name, causing him to look up.
now 45 minutes had passed, and he hadn’t moved not once.
his elbows rested on his knees, eyes fixed on the screen, watching you answer questions with a mixture of honesty and humor that was effortless. when sally asked about your love life, michael found himself paying far more attention than he should have.
“i’ve never had much luck.” he heard, causing his brow to furrow.
how?
how was that possible?
the woman that was on the screen was beautiful, talented, funny, and graceful. and somehow she’d had bad luck? michael shook his head.
by the time the interview ended, he’d already developed a problem.
because now, he wanted to meet you.
and had absolutely no idea how.
· · ─ ·ʚɞ· ─ · ·
a few weeks after the interview, you’re home when your assistant, jennifer walks in holding an envelope. at first, it looks ordinary enough. cream-colored, no flashy markings, nothing that indicated that it was important enough.
she hands it over to you — no return address, just your name. the handwriting looked neat, intentional. carefully you slid a finger beneath the seal. it was a handwritten note.
then a fifth. you were sure you misunderstood. it wasn’t dramatic nor flirtatious. if anything, it was surprisingly simple.
he seen your interview, he enjoyed it, thought you seem genuine. wanted to wish you well. that was all.
“who’s it from?” jennifer asked, a brief pause.
“…michael jackson.” you said, sounding more a question than a statement.
she blinked. “the michael jackson?”
you handed the letter to her.
“wow.” her eyes widened
“i know, right?” that seemed to be the only words you could utter. what exactly were you supposed to do with this?
it wasn’t a business proposal, it wasn’t a request for collaboration. simply just kind.
you were still in shock. out of all the things he could’ve been doing, he was watching your interview. for some reason, that detail stuck with you the most.
“are you going to answer him?” jennifer pulled you out of the trance.
“yes, maybe.” you laughed, a nervous one.
· · ─ ·ʚɞ· ─ · ·
the replied arrived 12 days later. 12 days too long for him.
michael was sitting in his hotel suite when bill knocked on the door. “you got mail.”
he opened the door “thank you,” he stepped to the side, allowing bill to walk in.
“quincy said it was a reply to a note you’d sent?” his ears perked. “right.” he said quickly.
“what?”
“nothing..”
“michael.”
“bill.” bill shook his head, heading out.
oh, how eager michael was to recieve something back from you.
summary: after dinner at Amy's, things with Dennis don't change as much as you expect. You try convincing yourself you don't mind, that what you have now is enough. When that doesn't work, you decide to try untangling yourself from Dennis altogether. The only trouble is, that isn't working either...
tags/summary: slowburn, angst, mean!reader, implied fem!reader, so much avoidance, miscommunication (sorry) (it's worth it i promise), smut, fingering, dennis is too nervous to get it up LMAO, did i mention slowburn
A/N: all my 'food as a symbol for love' girls come to the front! pt.4 of Sweetheart is here! bon apetit etc. etc.
i'm actually not so sure how i feel abt this one, it took me forever and a day to write so i think the words r just turning to sludge every time i look at them now. taking that as a sign it's time to post...i hope those of u who wanted this enjoy it! and also haven't withered away in the time it's taken me to finish this LMAO. i'm still debating doing a pt.5, but then i think for my own peace of mind it has to be over...the worms in my brain r recently akotsk-pilled ASF and i have a giant knight and cunty little princes to lust after...
word count: 5.7k
If you had more cutthroat friends, they’d be telling you ‘I told you so’ right now. All your real friends are too nice, and too blissfully unaware of the total hell you’re putting yourself through. Whatever dreamy, inexplicable, magic got you that night with Dennis, it didn’t last. It was never going to, but you figured–Guy like that, you might get a sweet, distracting month or two, if you were lucky? You’re not lucky.
Of course, the second you begin pulling away, Dennis notices. He turns up the charm, goes full faux-boyfriend and invites you over most nights to cook you dinner, or eat you out until your legs are shaking. You let him bug you into cuddling on the sofa, and let yourself give in to this strange new urge to wrap one of his curls around your finger and tug lightly, as if to prove to yourself that he’s really there. Also of course, the second things start to get too real, he pulls back.
He ducks out of the room to talk to his mom, though you’ve seen Trin answer for him when he’s not in the room. You’re pretty sure she has inside jokes with his entire family, and you know what they have is different, but it’d be nice if it didn’t feel like he was trying to hide you. When he’s sick or sad, he’ll accept cough drops from Langdon and encouraging pats on the back from Mckay, but suddenly he can’t even bear to look anywhere in your direction. It’s the little things, the sweet, subtle indicators of intimacy, that he refuses to give you. Things that, after Amy’s, you can’t stop longing for.
You could give him up entirely. It would mean untangling and rearranging all your mutual connections, weeks (or, if you’re honest with yourself, months) of moping and grieving like he was your boyfriend, when in actuality he’s a guy you barely fucked once. You want to be his friend, you tell yourself, so it’s better this way. Better to wean yourself off of the romance, instead of trying to go cold-turkey. If you get over Dennis slowly, then you can get over him for good.
“Do you have to hover?”
Leaning over the charge station counter to look down at you, Dennis doesn’t miss a beat. “I do. There’s this really pretty girl I’m tryna get a hold of, but she won’t answer my calls.”
You continue typing without sparing him a glance, biting your lip to keep from snapping. “She’s been busy.”
“We work the same hours.”
Your gaze cuts up to him and for a fraction of a second, Dennis falters. Despite yourself, you relish that familiar old fear in his eyes. “You think I don’t have a life outside of you? Outside of work?”
“Of course not–I mean, of course I don’t think that–I was just–”
You hold a hand up to cut him off. “Listen, she’s definitely busy now. You know, with the whole ‘having a job’ thing. So maybe fuck off.”
“Sure,” he says, doing his best to nod decisively. Before he goes, he doubles back to lean even closer, hunching over the desk to mutter to you. “We’re okay, right? I haven’t done anything to piss you off?”
Once again, your eyes swivel up to hold a glare. “No Dennis. You haven’t done anything at all.”
Except even that isn’t true. If he was sweet before, now it’s almost insufferable; always an extra can of Monster and extra snacks, squeezing your shoulder when he passes by you at the charge station, driving you into work when you stay the night with him and Trin, insisting on giving you rides everywhere else even when you don’t. You try telling yourself this is a good thing; if he was suddenly an asshole, all this suffering would be in vain. At least now, you get a constant reminder of what you’re torturing yourself for.
He shows up at your front door one evening, brandishing take-out bags and a soft, hopeful smile.
“What the hell, Whitaker?”
“Apology Burritos.”
His hair is mussed from a long day of work and probably an entire car ride of running a nervous hand through it. If you’ve learned anything about Dennis since getting to know him, it’s that he’s far more fussy about his appearance than you’d have imagined. It’s kind of sweet, actually. How much he cares about everything, right down to the minute details. As you stand deliberating, his biceps bulge slightly with the strain of holding up the food. Now that you’re thinking about it, it does smell delicious. You crack the door open a little further.
“So, what are you sorry for?”
He strides towards your kitchen like he owns the place. With how often he’s been over lately, he might as well. Humming to himself, he plates the food and carries it like a fine-dining waiter to your living room’s coffee table. As you tuck in, he shrugs.
“Uh, I don’t know yet, you won’t tell me.”
Your eyes narrow. “I won’t tell you.”
“No,” he shrugs again, dropping a shard of nacho into his mouth. “But I figured I should come over anyway. Keep the line of communication open. You know, in case you decide to let me in on it.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
If Dennis shrugs one more time, you swear, the both of you will be making an impromptu visit to your friends on the night shift. He looks around with absent, wide-eyed interest, taking in your home decor with an appraising nod. As if he hasn’t seen most of it already. As if he’s simply giving you the floor to blow off some hysterical steam before the real, grown up conversation can start. You could kill him, you swear to God. But then, of course, something infinitely more confusing happens.
He pauses eating to simultaneously fiddle with the TV remote and take a swig from his drink. Again, his arm flexes in his shirt. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. His fingers, too, flex as he grapples one-handed with the remote, and an inexplicable wave of heat rushes through you. A transitory silence gives you the perfect out to just keep eating and move on. Instead you toss your food onto the table and lean back, arms folded.
“Fuck you, Whitaker.”
He turns to you half-sip. “Okay,” he says, all maturity and patience.
“You come in here with–with your fucking Chipotle and your smile, and you’re not even gonna fucking ask me what’s wrong?”
“My smile?” He only smiles harder.
“Fuck you!” But already, you’re losing conviction. You’ve been having some version of this fight since right after he dropped you off from Amy’s, and even you aren’t sure anymore if he should be taking you seriously. Something still stings in the back of your throat, threatens to choke you up and spill out of your eyes. Instead of letting it, you turn it into manic, frustrated laughter, until the two of you are playfighting on the couch.
You end up on top of him, snatching the bottle from out of his hand and taking a sip.
“Okay, okay you win.” He holds his hands up. “Are we gonna finish our dinner now?”
“Fuck you,” you lean in to mutter. His breath is sweet with the drink’s sugar and his lips shine. Before you can really think about why, or why not, you clamp your mouth to his and sigh as his arms instinctively wrap around your body.
His tongue folds over yours, heat spreading from your mouth down the centre of your body as his hands grab at your ass, your thighs. He spreads his legs under you and grinds upwards, mouth opening wider with every kiss. The sounds he’s making, you would think he was deep inside you already. Just the thought of it makes you moan into his mouth, pushing yourself impossibly closer to his body while he shoves his hands into your hair, his finger scratching gently at your scalp. He eagerly swallows up your moans and you grab his face, tilting it upwards to encourage more from him. The millisecond you pull away, he groans and holds you tighter, then pushes away suddenly.
You frown and he gawks up at you, eyes wide and miles away, hands still in your hair. The strain it takes to switch his brain back on is literally visible, his hands running heavily down your back until he’s pulling fully away and you're on opposite ends of the sofa.
Instantly, you’re flooded with embarrassment. Is it possible you’re not going to be able to break this off until he rejects you? Surely, fucking Fuckleberry isn’t that irresistable. “What the fuck, Whitaker?”
“Sorry,” he mutters to the ground. He has his fist up to his mouth, blinking rapidly and shaking his head intermittently, like he’s just resurfaced from a deep body of water. “Sorry, uh–I, uh–I didn’t want to–”
“You don’t wanna fuck me?”
His eyes cut to your body, looking you up and down before he shuts them completely, expression slightly pained. “I…Sorry.”
“Yeah, you said.”
“Sorry. Um. I was…” He keeps glancing in your direction but he literally can’t hold eye contact without trailing off. He can barely look at you at all. The thick, choking, stinging sensation begins to fill your throat again.
“Listen, it’s whatever, you don’t have to explain yourself to me–”
“But I will,” he begins. “I want to. I just…I don’t wanna give you the wrong idea.”
Your scowl urges him to go on.
“It’s just that I–I guess…After what you, uh–What you said.” His breathing picks up. If he couldn't face you before, now he’s practically already out the door. “At Amy’s? I’ve, uh, never been in a relationship before. Or, like, at least not a real one, nothing like–It’s just never felt–I’ve never felt–anything like this before.”
“Right.”
“I just, uh…” He takes another deep breath in, shifting in his seat, staring at the ground. “I don’t want to fuck this up for you.”
“For me.”
“Yeah, I mean–I want to be–or, hang on–I want this to be good. I want to make you happy.”
There it is. That unabashed earnestness, even when he’s fucking you over. No one you’ve ever been with has been this sincere, has ever been trying this hard with you. He’s not exactly doing a flawless job of it, but it’s this almost devotional level of effort that keeps you orbiting Dennis like the moon circles round the sun.
The food is definitely freezing by now but you dig around the bowl of nachos, just for something to do with your hands. While you chew, you narrow your eyes at him. Hope batters against your ribcage like it’s trying to burst you open, but suspicion is threading up your spine, slow and icy. While hope kicks and screams and tries to reach Dennis, suspicion sinks its hooks into your brain and stiffens your entire body. As always, Dennis notices.
“What’s the matter?” he chuckles nervously. “Don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind already.”
“About what?” You frown through another handful of chips.
“About, uh–” he chuckles breathlessly again. “What, uh–What you said. At Amy’s. About…About how you…feel. About me.”
After every word, he swallows hard, shooting desperate looks at his drink on the coffee table but apparently glued to his seat. He clears his throat and rubs his hands on his jeans.
“What is with you?” You know you’re being unfair now, but you can’t help it. Seeing him suffer is the only way you can be sure he means it.
“Sorry,” he clears his throat again, “I guess I’m a little nervous.”
You shrug and grimace, urging him to go on.
“I guess I still don’t know why you’re mad.”
“Well that’s not very perceptive, is it, Whitaker?”
He shakes his head, looking like a kid being sent to his room. “Sorry.”
“Whatever, don’t apologise,” you say, getting up with your food. “You should probably go, though.”
As you take your plate to the kitchen, you expect him to follow suit. Instead, he stays seated, hunched over himself and perfectly still, staring at the ground again. It’s possible you may have overdone it.
“Huckleberry.”
His head snaps up.
“You don’t have to leave. Just, come on.” You gesture with a sweep of your arm to the kitchen. He nods. Already he’s looking less forlorn, but he still won’t move.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be with you in a sec. I just don’t think I should…I just need a minute. I’ll come in after you.” Despite the confidence returning to his voice, he still won’t look at you. Huffing out a sigh, you turn on your heel and leave him to it, trying to make sense of the panic fluttering through your body. It’s fine. You’re fine. You’re good. He likes you. He’s made it abundantly, unequivocally clear that he likes you. So then why do you still feel like you’re about to burst into tears?
A few days go by like this: friendly but awkward, an air of uncertainty surrounding every interaction. Soon, even Trin starts to panic.
“You’re weird.” She’s cornered you on the way out of work, letting herself into your car and staring from the passenger seat.
“Thank you for the pertinent diagnosis, Dr Santos.”
“Do you disagree?”
After a few tries, your shaky hands get the key in the ignition. “That I’m weird? A weirdo? Like the Radiohead song?”
“Look, Huckleberry won’t tell me what’s going on either but there is something, isn’t there?”
“Alright, alright, I’ll drive you home.” You start the car and pull out. “All you had to do was ask, jeez.”
Trin rolls her eyes, settling into her seat and muttering an exasperated thanks. She gives you all of two minutes before getting back to grilling you. “Something happened at Amy’s, right?”
“Sure.” You shrug. “But it wasn’t a big deal. We just talked.”
“So you’re avoiding eye contact because…”
“Because I’m driving?”
“Sure,” she says, exaggeratedly shrugging in mockery of you. Right then, her phone rings and she swears under her breath. “Speak of the devil.”
“It’s Huckleberry?”
She holds the phone to her chest, whispering with wide, guilty eyes. “He said he’d meet me outside, I totally forgot.”
While she talks to Dennis, you sulk, silently coming up with something cutting about how many women he seems intent on juggling. Sure, you know by now that he’s not with Amy and sure, Trin is practically a walking episode of The L Word. Still, you’re pissed off, you think. You’ve earned a little petulance.
“Alright. Yeah, later Whitaker.” She goes quiet for a second, and just as you’re pulling up outside her and Dennis’ apartment, you notice her rolling her eyes. “Alright, don’t be gross. Alright, Jesus. Yeah, sure, love you too.”
Your hands tighten around the steering wheel as she gets out. When she's outside, she leans back in to fix you with a stern glare.
“You heard nothing.”
Oh, how you wish that was true.
You’ve never been especially liberal with your use of the word ‘love’. It even takes you a few moments of hesitation to admit your favourite foods or movies, and even then you insist on hedging. You ‘like’, you ‘enjoy’, you ‘appreciate’ and ‘really feel good about’. As far as you can help it, you never ‘love’, and here Dennis is reminding you exactly why.
He’ll say it to his mom (fine, okay, it’s his mom), he’ll say it to Trin. Once, you picked him up from housesitting Robby’s and caught him mid-phone-conversation, saying goodbye. He was nodding at you and fiddling with the keys and as he glanced up to greet you, ‘goodnight, love you’ absently slipped out, his mouth snapping shut as he looked at you with panic tinging his cheeks pink. Clearly, Dennis doesn’t have your problem.
Yet, even after sleeping with the guy, he won’t reciprocate your increasingly humiliating love confession with anything more than great sex and friendly conversation. Sometimes, you wonder if you didn’t hallucinate the whole night at Amy’s, if maybe you actually hooked up after running into each other in a bar and he has no idea how you feel at all.
After yet another gruelling day at the hospital, you slump your way back to your apartment alone. Prepared for microwaved leftovers and TV as background noise, you nearly jump out of your skin when someone knocks on the door. It shouldn’t surprise you anymore, but part of you still can’t believe that he keeps showing up.
As always, Dennis’ arms heave with food. Groceries in one hand, take-out in another.
“In case you were tired of all the grease,” he says, by way of explanation.
“I’m not hungry, Dennis,” you insist, like always. Like always, you let him in anyway.
Tonight is only marginally different than the last few weeks have been, but something has changed. Dennis treads lightly but you’re too tired to fight, so the result is furtive eye contact and all your jokes directed at the shitty reality TV playing in front of you.
His recent phone call with Trin still has you on edge. Every laugh and every heated sideways glance riles you up until you can no longer tell the difference between anger and desire. Why is this so goddamn hard? It’s not just knowing what to say, but knowing why you even need to say anything at all. If you could just figure these emotions out on your own, you wouldn’t need Dennis. You could keep screwing, or not, or hanging out, or not, and you could process every last moment of it yourself. No bullshit, no drama.
Instead, here you are, reaching over to trace your fingers lightly down the back of his neck. What you’re feeling still doesn’t make any sense, but it matters less when you’re watching his sharp intake of breath. He fidgets in his seat and licks his lips. Your hand moves higher, then lower, until he’s leaning forward to let you pull his t-shirt off over his head.
Shoulders pressed together, you kiss. His body leans further into yours until you're laying down and he’s on top of you, hips grinding slowly. Inconsistently, too, as if he's unaware he's doing it. Frustration wraps your legs around him, and urges you to tug him as close as possible, lifting your hips to meet his. The friction makes both of you moan, and Dennis’ bulge hardens between your legs.
“Still not hungry?” He just manages to breathe out, through a chuckle.
“Oh my God, shut up,” you say through laughter of your own. Dennis leans in to kiss you, but can't seem to decide where. His lips graze yours and he nuzzles into the crook of your neck, pressing his face to you as he lets out a deep, satisfied moan.
“Can I touch you?” he mutters. You laugh again.
“What would you call what you're doing now?”
He doesn't move his face away from your skin, and he keeps his voice low. “Please?”
“Whatever, yeah.”
As he goes back to pressing his tongue to yours, his hand glides down your body. He toys with the waistband of your shorts, slides his hand down your hips, grabs at your ass.
“I thought you wanted to touch me?”
He moans. “I do. I–fuck–God, your body is so perfect. It's–”
He cuts himself off with another moan when you roll your hips upwards, legs pulling closer.
“Alright, alright,” he chuckles. “No more talking.”
“Clever boy,” you mutter against his lips. He takes a sharp breath in and his head drops, as his hand slips into your underwear, two teasing fingers sliding over your skin.
“God, you're–” Dennis moans. “So wet. You're so hot.”
“So I've heard.”
“God, I–I can't believe–” He shuts up when you bite your lip, letting out a sultry moan of your own. Head tilted back, you continue rolling your hips up, eager to get more friction.
“Can, um–Holy shit.” He lets off a string of expletives as his fingers sink into you, getting soaked right down to the knuckle. “Could you stay still for me baby?”
“You telling me what to do, Huckleberry?”
“No, no, just–” He lets out yet another gasping moan, then leans closer to whisper against your skin. When he speaks, it comes out whining. “I want you to relax, come on. Lemme make you feel good.”
As he talks, he curls his fingers inside you. You sigh against his neck and he shivers, the jolt only pushing his hand deeper into you. He knows exactly how to unravel you, moving agonisingly slow, keeping his mouth clamped to your neck and moaning quietly. It takes a few more drawn-out thrusts of his fingers before you relax properly. When you do, the pleasure rolls through you in waves, like you’re at once sinking into the sofa and being pushed higher and higher, as close to Dennis’ body as you can get without melding into him completely. Your back arches and Dennis bites lightly on the sensitive spot above your collarbone.
“You’re so pretty like this,” he murmurs, voice lazy and sultry. His breath travels warm and wispy against your skin and he adds another finger, still gliding in and out of you at a languid pace. You moan and he swears under his breath.
“Feels good, baby?”
To hold back a pathetic, whining moan, you bite your lip and nod.
“Could you tell me, baby? Could you tell me how it feels?”
“Good,” you gasp, going straight back to biting your lip. “Feels fucking good, Dennis.”
“Fuck.” He hangs his head again, grinding on the sofa more fervently. “My fingers–mmh–I’m covered in it. So wet for me, baby. So fucking pretty.”
He curls his fingers again and picks up the pace. His groaning, his hands, his lips, and the lewd sounds coming from between you, make your head spin. When your hips start to roll of their own accord, Dennis holds them down.
“I know babe, I know. I’ve got you.” His teeth graze your neck again, biting just a little harder. Already, you can imagine the bruise. “Come on baby, give it to me. Let go.”
He keeps whispering sweet nothings as you cum, soaking and clenching around his fingers. After he pulls out slowly, he rubs your sensitive skin up and down, getting his fingers even wetter and giving you one last, deep kiss. He sits up, shoving his fingers into his mouth and sucking them dry with a lurid moan, his eyes fluttering closed.
As he does, you lift onto your elbows, to tug on the drawstring on his sweatpants. His hips roll to meet your hands but when you touch him, he stays limp in your hands. You grab him a little harder.
“This feel good?”
“Mhm,” he nods, pulling his fingers out of his mouth. His hips roll again and he sighs, but nothing changes.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, uh–Hang on.” He grabs your wrist to stop you and shuts his eyes, taking a handful of shaky, deep breaths. “Uh–Sorry. I just need a minute.”
You give him one, and still nothing changes. Another, and he scratches the back of his head with a sheepish, breathless laugh.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “This has literally never happened before. I don’t–I think–”
He groans but it’s more of a growl, frustration humming through every inch of his body as he leans forward to rest his forehead against your stomach.
“I’m gonna–” He gestures in the direction of the bathroom and disappears, leaving you staring stunned at the ceiling. The tightly coiled confusion you were trying to fuck away has indeed vanished, but in its absence is something expansive, vague, that winds you. When you sit up, it immediately gets easier to breathe, but then it becomes infinitely clearer what you’re feeling. This happens every time you and Dennis hook up. No matter how much you insist to yourself that this is enough for you, it always leaves this chasm in your body where you’re pretty sure fulfilment and comfort are supposed to be. It’s easy to burn off confusion, but no matter how hard you keep trying, there’s no sweating out love.
Even asleep, Dennis’ brow is slightly creased with despair. His eyes dart back and forth under his eyelids and his mouth is slightly ajar, huffing out gentle rushes of warm air. In your poorly air-conditioned room, curls are matted to his temples and a shimmering sheen of sweat is visible just under the covers, in the hollow of his neck.
Before he wakes up and you can feel observed enough to put your walls back up, you let your fingers hover over his face, tracing each of his features and imagining a world where you can lean over and kiss them. Without sex to explain it away, intimacy remains inconceivable to you.
Dennis’ eyes blink slowly open. When he looks at you, he smiles softly and in one awful swell of fondness, your resolve breaks. To fight it, you roll onto your back and huff an exhausted sigh at the ceiling.
“Morning sunshine,” Dennis chuckles.
Your mouth opens to respond, and it’s going to be a joke. It’s going to be short, hilarious, just icy enough to keep him from wrapping an arm around your body and pulling you closer. Instead, a second, shakier sigh leaves your body.
“What the fuck are we doing?”
Dennis waits. When more doesn’t come, he leans up on his elbow, gaze flitting around your face with a furrowed brow. “What do you mean?”
“What do I mean?” you sit up. “Why haven't you taken me on a date?”
Slowly, his eyebrows raise. He joins you in sitting up and leaning against the wall, both of you facing your vanity, its mirror framed by polaroids of all your friends. When you sneak a glance, he’s still staring at it, stunned and blinking rapidly. His mouth opens, then closes. It opens again and he turns to face you.
“I’m confused.”
“What’s there to be confused about, Dennis? We’ve been fucking for weeks but you won’t take me on a real date. Can’t seem to leave me alone either, even though I told you I loved you, and last night you couldn’t even get it up, so if this is just sex for you that would be–”
Dennis throws his hands up as if you’re launching punches. “Woah, woah, hang on. Just sex?”
“Sure, okay, the sex is good but that doesn’t make it–”
“I thought–Okay.” He shifts in place and huffs out a bewildered sigh. “Dinner at Amy’s, the farm, that’s–That wasn’t our first date?”
Hands splayed in his lap, he only seems to get more confused. “I planned the whole thing, I–I thought–”
“That was our first date?”
Dennis keeps staring into his lap, risking a sideways glance when he thinks you aren’t looking. His breaths come quicker and his voice comes out tentative. “Yeah?”
“Dennis…” You groan into your hands, sliding them down your face with an exasperated laugh. Whether it’s genuine or masking anger, you aren’t sure. You say his name again.
“Yeah?”
“You think the farm was a date.”
“I cooked you dinner, I decorated.”
“And that’s very sweet.” You fix him with your signature scowl. “But how the fuck was I supposed to know that?”
He stays quiet.
“You said Amy wanted us over. All our friends were there! And how the hell was I supposed to know you decorated, Dennis? I’ve never seen Amy’s house before.”
Dennis blinks at you, then hangs his head, face buried in his hands. For a moment you worry he might be crying, but then his head raises and he’s smiling. Laughing. For once, you're distracted enough, too lost to jump to conclusions.
“I knew this would happen,” he says quietly, mostly to himself. “God.”
Now he’s laughing for real, leaned back against the wall. His shoulder presses into yours and soon you’re both laughing.
“Okay, first of all,” he begins, “I couldn’t get–you know–last night, because–God, this is so embarrassing.”
You nudge him with your elbow, smirking. “What?”
“I was too nervous.” Red in the face, he glances at you. “In case you hadn’t noticed, you’re kind of scary.”
“Scary. Me?”
“You’re so–I mean it’s not your fault, but…”
“Dude, what?” you push through more giggles.
“Ever since we first met, the coolest thing about you has been how…” He cuts his hand through the air. “Decisive you are. Self possessed, you know?”
“Sure.”
“Like, you always know what to do and what you like, or want, or think. It’s really–I mean, it’s really hot but–intimidating. It’s a little intimidating.”
“Shut up,” you say, failing to fight off a grin and pushing him away. He comes right back, with a smile of his own.
“No, seriously. So then, you tell me you love me, right? And I was just like ‘woah’. Like, not to sound…you know. But you love me. Me? And I just…I don’t even know. My brain shut off. I mean, I’ve been trying to get you to like me for months, and now–I mean–You know?”
Opposing urges to tell him to stop and save you the humiliation you’re still convinced is coming, or to keep talking and never stop, fight for a front row seat in your head. You nod, biting your lip to shut yourself up.
“I just–I had no idea why. I kept feeling like I was doing everything wrong, but it turns out the whole time I’ve been just fine. But I couldn’t get it out of my head that I had to impress you. And obviously I didn’t, so it was just me spinning out on my own.” He pauses to laugh at himself again. “And then I still made the dumbest decision imaginable. Go figure.”
“Okay, okay,” you cut him off, waving your hands to silence him. “But what about the last few weeks? I mean, you can’t still be stressed, right? You’ve got me. Pretty sure I made that clear.”
“Sure, yeah. In theory.”
You frown.
“I mean you said you loved me, but then nothing actually changed. So I guess, I don’t know. Nothing changed with me either? I still wanted to…I don’t know, honestly. Stop laughing, I was losing it!” But he’s laughing again too. “I thought it would be easier if I just kept doing what I had before, but more…familiar. I guess it seemed like you weren’t a ‘going on dates’ girl. I don’t know, I know, it’s stupid.”
He runs a hand through his hair and dares to look you in the eye properly, for the first time all morning. “I wanted to, though. God, I think about it all the time.”
“About what?”
“Taking you out. Showing you off. Corny, goofy boyfriend shit. Shit you’re way too cool for, honestly.”
When he huffs out another self-conscious laugh, you blink at him. It’s your turn to be stunned; even now, after everything, Dennis is still the one who’s nervous. He’s on a roll now, though, spilling his guts with the reckless abandon of someone who already feels rejected. A space deep in your chest warms for him.
“I have dreams, you know, about massaging your shoulders on my way between exam rooms at work. And about sharing your shampoo. Sometimes when I’m making dinner I imagine you’re sitting on the counter telling me everything I’m doing wrong, or begging me to let you taste, or just, like arguing like an old married couple about what we should watch on TV.” He has this gentle, far-away smile on his face. One of his hands reaches over and when his fingers thread between yours, you let them. When he speaks again, he does it staring at your interlocked hands.
“I’m not chill, or cool, but I guess I thought you wanted me to be.”
“That is the exact opposite of what I wanted.”
“I know,” he plants a long kiss on the back of your hand, eyes sliding shut. “But I’m, like, really not cool. I wake up, go to sleep thinking about you. I miss you even when you’re right in front of me.”
“Like right now?”
He chuckles. “A little, yeah. I just want you all the time.”
“Okay, well–”
“Not like that.” He grips your hand harder. “I want us to be…I never wanna let this hand go. I want to shake you awake before work every morning. I want to be the last person you say goodnight to, and the first person you think to call when something goes wrong, I want–”
For a second time, his breath hitches in a way that seems to signal tears. This time, his voice wobbles along with it. “I think I might’ve fucked it up. This isn’t how I wanted to do this.”
Instinctively, your thumb strokes his and your body curls against him. “How’d you wanna do it then?”
“I wanted you to know, you know? Without a shadow of a doubt. That I–How much–That I love you.” His breath comes out in a rush and he shakes his head at the ground. “God, I’m so–I’m so in love with you. It’s stupid. I love you. So much.”
He bites the inside of his lip and gets quiet. “So so much.”
The words at once sink in and stay buoyed at the very top of your mind. You think, if you knew a thing about music, you could transcribe the notes of each and every vowel sound, notate the beat of every consonant. It’s becoming stupid how much you smile around this man. “How much?”
His smile matches yours, giddy and crinkling the corners of his eyes. He leans in to speak low against your lips, letting go of your hand to cradle your face. “So much. Stupid amounts. Infinitesmally.”
“Wow, infinity. That’s impressive.”
“I impressed you?”
You huff out a small laugh, practically into his mouth and push up from the bed. “You know what would be really impressive?”
He looks up at you expectantly.
“Remember that hangover breakfast you made me?”
“I do.”
“You wanna do it again?”
He reaches a hand up for you to pull him out of bed and uses the momentum as an excuse to wrap his arms around you, burrowing his face into your neck and sniffing like he’s trying to get high. “Do you want me to do it again?”
That perma-grin still won’t drop, as your arms curl around the sturdy warmth of his body. “Infinitesmally.”
There is a concerning number of people who complain about how fanfic authors write, and then say it's just an opinion when you use the most condescending language possible. Your entitlement is showing, babe.
Fanfic writers are not paid. We are not paid. Our writing, our creativity, is free. We write because we want to. If you don't like how we write or what we write, you are free to scroll away, but keep that shit to yourself unless the writing is actively harming someone.
Now, while I haven't been in the MJ community for long, I have noticed that there are a lot of y'all who tend to forget that Michael is a Black man. No matter his skin condition, no matter his personality, he has never stopped being a Black man who grew up in a Black family, in a black community, surrounded by Black artists. Ma or mama is a language used predominantly by that community. My dad used that language; he was born in the 70s. My brother uses that language, and he was born at the tail end of the 90s. Hell, I use that language with a girl I was talking to, and I'm 28. So, it's not like the black community just stopped using normal terms of endearment like that just cause time moves on.
So I find it really fucking weird that you take a Black man and then say that "He doesn't look the type to say that." Because what exactly do you mean by that? What do you mean??
The way I see it, it's anti-black, however you wanna look at it. There, for some strange reason, is a preconceived notion that Black men can't be soft-spoken or shy or what the fuck ever. And mind you, it's not just outside the black community where this is prevalent. A lot of Black men and women inside the community don't think Black men should be soft-spoken because of their idea of what blackness is, should be, and how it should be presented is twisted as all hell. And while there are a multitude of reasons for that, there is no denying that ultimately, it's a harmful attitude that needs to be thrown the hell away.
Add to the fact that a lot of newer MJ fans focus on his years where his vitiligo is more noticeable, just shows me that some of y'all focus on his skin color and ignore the fact that he is black, was damn proud of it, and spent years defending himself and reminding people that he is Black.
That is the only way I can see it because "doesn't look the type," doesn't make sense unless you're focusing on his skin and how you have chosen to view him.
It's the same way y'all like to focus on "aggressive" readers in the x-reader tag of any fandom, not just here; that shit is everywhere. Why is it that when the reader is black, her standing up for herself and going after what she wants is seen as aggressive, but when the reader is noticeably white or white-passing or light-skinned, they're soft-spoken and a boss bitch when they finally stand up for themselves???
It's weird and anti-black, and some of y'all need to cut that shit out.
Also, this is just a pet peeve, but if you're 18, don't try to act like you're a grown-ass adult. You are barely an adult, barely hun. You just got out of high school. If you still got teen in the age, please do not act like you're halfway to 30. You're still a child.
Cat got your stethoscope? (Dennis Whitaker x Fem Reader) Part Eleven
synopsis: Dennis tries to fix things with you again! (This time with the helping/forceful hands of Dee and Trinity)
part one | word count: 3k | ao3 | playlist | taglist: @bloodredcherry-fic @chilifrylizards @cardcaptorrin @polaryxie @uneducateddd-blog (comment to join)
tags: fluff, angst, love at first sight, reader is from pittsburgh, author is not! flirting, awkward crush, first dates, romance, reader is a baker, clueless Dennis, reader has chronic pain, reader is a social worker, workplace dynamics, reader had a troubled childhood, Robby may or may not be readers father, mentions of SDE/erectile dysfunction, Dennis needs a hug, so does reader, eventual smut, family drama, religious guilt, mutual pining, funerals, mentions of past domestic violence, phone sex, therapy sessions
⋆｡˚☤🩺✧˖°.
“So what happened?” Trinity was tired of Dennis sighing while staring out the window. She hadn't started driving just yet in case he’d get a clue and go after you again on his own.
No such luck, instead she was stuck with a broken record. Listening to the Huckleberry Finn audiobook would actually be preferrable at this point.
“I've ruined it.” Was all Dennis would say, repeating it like gospel.
“What did she actually say?” Trinity would pry the words from his mouth with a crowbar if she had to. “Also super awkward about having a first shift together. I'd hide away, crawl somewhere and die.”
“She said that she needs time. Working at the Pitt now and with everything going on…” Dennis trailed off, unable to focus on anything past how broken it all felt. Inside it was like crushed glass piercing the skin where his heart used to be.
“Did you guys even really get to talk?” Trinity wondered. “I didn't get to have my tequila. You were out that door before you could say Huckleberry is a moron.”
“No, she was pretty upset.” Dennis admitted. “She said that she didn't know but then that she wanted me eventually, honestly it was confusing.” He really wished there was an instruction manual for what he was supposed to say back there.
Instead he shut down and went silent, holding you with barely another word.
“It only just happened. Not everything can be magically fixed with a hammer and nail farm boy. Especially when it comes to stuff like this. Maybe give it till tomorrow morning, call her then.” She suggested starting up the car.
“You're right, I really wish it was like that though.” Dennis nodded, then like kismet his phone went off. “I’m really good with a hammer.” He humble bragged, answering it as Santos rolled her eyes at that comment.
“Hey.” Dennis swallowed thickly, expecting, hoping that you might be on the other end.
“Hey there sailor, where do you think you’re going?” But it wasn't your voice, an older familiar, more gruff tone. Then a rap of a finely manicured hand at Santos' window that scared the absolute shit out of both of them.
“Sorry to get you out in the cold Mrs. Favreau. She said that she doesn't want to see me right now.” Dennis explained politely.
“You kids are driving me to Dixmont! Learn a thing or two about going after the ones you love! Don't just give up, young man.” Dee lectured, voice reverberating until Dennis dropped the call.
Dennis was practically booted by Santos and dragged from the car by Dee, Trinity waving him goodbye with a cackle as she peeled out. Had they discussed this plan earlier?
“But…” He attempted to flee, however there was no escape from this 100-pound 67 year old powerhouse of a woman in leopard print with blonde peroxide perm.
“But don’t cut no ice with me, mister.” With that Dennis was marched back inside, wow her grip was like iron!
“I don’t think this is a great idea. She really doesn’t want to talk with me, Mrs. Favreau.” He fretted, glancing up at the stairwell to your apartment.
“Ya not cattin around on her are you?” Dee checked, assessing him scathingly.
“I don’t think so, no.” Dennis didn’t begin to know what that meant and was scared to find out given the way she was filing her nails into daggers.
“Good, didn’t think ya were the type and don’t worry about that, I’ll handle her. Now how about you make yourself useful?” She suggested.
“Huh?” He blinked a couple times, thoroughly lost.
“You want’tah fix things right?” Dee asked, waving her bottle of tequila around.
“Of course!” Dennis agreed, he wanted nothing more.
“Well tha’ sink downstairs needs fixin’.” Dee put him straight to work in the bakery.
Meanwhile, a firm knock at your door had you annoyingly up from the couch again.
“Seriously, what is with you? Is this persistent door knocking a Nebraskan thing, like Jehovah's Witnesses?” You snapped but then saw through the peep hole it wasn't Dennis.
“No, ‘sup wif you?” Instead there was a fish-eyed lens of a woman in a leopard print jacket holding a very cute cat up. Begrudgingly you opened the door.
“Where'd your man go?” Dee asked, hands on her hips. There wasn't any use in trying to lock the door, she was your landlord and had all the keys. “Yay high cornhusker with cute curls, baby blue eyes? She raised a hand up and Elvis launched out from her arms.
Loudly Elvis meowed as if to agree with you that he missed Dennis too, dashing away and circling the spot on the couch he'd been sitting on without so much as a hello. Little traitor.
“Gone like all the rest of them. Hand the bottle over.” You swiped for the tequila, but Dee held it up higher.
“No hon ya know you're not supposed to drink on your pain meds, did you tell him that you're on new ones?” Dee asked pointedly, taking a swig from the bottle.
“No.” You sighed, you hadn't told him anything about your latest appointment.
Nerve pain was a total bitch and your new prescription helped significantly, you took them before bedtime now.
But it also made you feel so groggy and disorientated. And irritable.
Your specialist told you not to try and not make big life decisions or expensive purchases while on these at night it could make you more impulsive…
Wait a second.
Shit.
Had you just dumped Dennis? You left it pretty open right?
“Didn't think so.” Dee sighed as you clutched your head and groaned.
“Ugh, my throat is so parched. I hate taking these!” You stormed off into the kitchen to get yourself a glass of water.
“Will you call him?” Dee badgered you.
“Maybe!” You huffed, chugging down the sweet nectar with a long sigh before going to make some decaf. “Later.”
“Sweetie, he admitted to you about how he's struggling with ya know all-a-that.” Dee made a fleeting hand gesture instead of saying sex.
“All-a-what?” You asked bemused, she was never one to beat around the bush.
“Being intimate, don't get smart with me young lady. That's a difficult thing for a man to do. Did you hear him out about it?” Dee knew you all too well. It was seriously infuriating.
“...kinda.” Dee's intense look spelt out that she could read you like a book. Damn it.
“Shit.” You groaned again. “No, not really.” The admission made you stare at the boiling kettle as a way of distraction. You weren’t mad about his reason for lying, and felt for Dennis, but he still lied. After a lifetime of being lied to, that made you close up entirely.
“Give Dennis a chance, we all make mistakes. But he's trying to patch things up with you. Can you name another guy that's made the attempt?” Dee loved being right, a little crook of her lips showed whenever it happened. Which was frustratingly often.
You slowly nodded at that, having to concede that perhaps she had a point. Could even be a good one. “Yeah, you're right.”
“Also he's fixing the sink.” Dee grinned.
“Wait, he's what?” You nearly dropped the kettle, putting it back on its stand.
“Yeah, you know the leaky one downstairs that gives us trouble.” Dee explained with another hand wave, grabbing out a couple mugs. “That Denny of yours sure is a handy one, good to keep those sorta men around I say.”
“He's still here?!” You couldn’t believe it, you’d been wallowing on the couch for at least an hour since he left.
“Yuhp.” Dee was enjoying this, rapping her nails on the counter.
“But Trinity's car…” You heard that car screech down the street, Trinity really needed to get it looked at.
“She went home. Got the morning shift.” Dee said, taking the pot and pouring herself a decaf and then one for you. “I flagged them down and he was more than happy to help out.”
Then she poured a third cup and pushed it across to you. “I bet he's thirsty too.”
“You’re welcome!” She called out after you when you dashed downstairs.
“Denny?” You asked, approaching the set of legs in washed jeans sticking out from the kitchen.
“Ope!” You heard a sharp bang and sure enough Dennis had hit his head on the counter at the sound of your voice.
Rubbing his forehead, Dennis crawled from out under the sink. “Oh uh hey, Dee let me in. She said that you guys have some stuff that needs fixing around the bakery and well I'm good at that kind of thing…” He explained anxiously, wiping the grime off his hands with a cloth. “Not so much at relationships or communication...”
“Me either, and I can’t even fix a sink…” You smiled just as sadly back.
“Hey I'm sorry.” You whispered, sounding hoarser than you wanted to. Tears were already welling up seeing him again, diligently going at the plumbing with a wrench.
“W-what? No, I'm supposed to be saying that.” Dennis frowned, hating how upset your voice was. That he'd contributed to the red ringed bags under your eyes, the way you sniffled, the pain laden in your tone.
“I didn't really listen to you earlier, that wasn’t fair of me. I got worried that you ran out on me like those other guys but it's not the same.” You said.
“I know, I understand. That's okay, um did you want to get lunch together before our shift?” Dennis asked hopefully. “We can talk more then?”
“I'd like that Denny. But I do have time now. We're not on till night shift…if you'd like to stay longer.” You asked shyly, fear plaguing you that he’d say no again and leave.
Dennis dropped the wrench with a clang in surprise at the offer. “Yeah, I’d like that!” He jumped up and tested the tap, pressure looking great and no leak when he twisted it closed. “Should be all fixed.” He washed his hands to prove it was.
“Impressive.” You praised him and wished everything else could be that simple. Heading upstairs, Dennis sat down on the couch and Elvis snuggled up to him on his lap straight away.
“You little shit, where’s my love?” You demanded and were given a rude blep and nothing more. Dennis laughed softly, petting Elvis as you got some of the burnt almond torte you’d been saving out of the fridge onto a couple plates.
The two of you traded trauma tales, Dennis with how his mother instilled in him a deep fear of sex and religious guilt, growing up in a small town where everyone underestimated him. How he grew up as the weird kid, older brothers given everything, how his father hated that he went to medical school. The one thing Dennis had worked on with his father, the car they'd spent fixing together over summers taken away from him, not even given a single hello on the phone from the man since he moved to Pittsburgh.
You told him about your own father, who left as soon as your mother got sick, he wasn't the centre of attention anymore, he'd never been a father but more a second grown man-child for your mother to look after. As soon as she couldn't provide everything for him on a silver platter, he was gone. How in school you were also the weird kid, so bitter and angry at the world for losing your mother and entirely unable to process it.
Then Dennis began to tell you about his previous encounters with women and what happened in med school.
“Wait, hold on. She actually watched instagram reels while you two were?” You asked horrified as Dennis retold the story of his first time.
“Maybe they were TikToks, I don’t know. Something about pink sauce.” He nodded, sipping on his decaf. “It got around that I couldn’t…perform and everyone made fun of me around campus.”
“What a fuckin’ whor-ible bitch, if I see her arahnd cen-trul downstreet it’s on sight!” Your accent came through stronger the angrier you got and Dennis couldn’t help but feel giddy at you being so protective of him.
“Yeah, they called me Dionysius of Pittsburgh. I guess a joke around my name which originates from the Roman god of orgies.” He sighed a little theatrically.
“That’s awful and what an intricate insult.” You frowned, doctors were a different league of bullies you supposed.
“They didn’t really call me that. I just made that one up.” Dennis smirked playfully from behind his cup, making you giggle.
“I’m really sorry that happened to you Denny, I’ve also had some real doozies.” You admitted with a laugh to try and hide the pain, setting your cup down a little shaky.
“Want to talk about it?” Dennis offered, taking your hands in his.
It took a while for you to find your voice, but he waited until you were ready. “My last boyfriend walked out on me during. I was in a lot of pain and he just…gave up on me. Said I wasn’t worth the trouble anymore.”
“He did what?” Dennis couldn’t even fathom it, his hands gripping yours tighter.
“I mean yeah, it makes sense. Why would you want to stay with me when you could find another girl that doesn’t need all the extra effort?” Dennis remained silent and you grew more and more anxious. “Look, maybe we should quit while we’re ahead and…” You offered him an out, feeling the tears drip down your chin before his gentle hands were caressing them away.
“No.That doesn't make any sense at all. I’ll put in every effort for you. All stops, puttin’ on the dog, the whole nine yards, if you’ll have me.” He promised and you nodded into his shoulder, before gazing up into his eyes. Beautiful, blue and pure sparkling like the ocean.
“Puttin’ on the what?” You laughed tearfully.
“Puttin’ on the dog, rather than taking off on you like a scalded dog." Dennis grinned as you continued to giggle at the funny Nebraskan turn of phrases. “And as my Grandfather used to say, I was slower than a three-legged dog to not realise that!”
You had to hold your ribs from the stitch forming, “Why are the sayings all around dogs?”
“You’re perfect, and I won’t let you feel any less than that. Ever again.” All you could see from his expression was sincerity, an honest farm boy that knew too well what it was like to be neglected, forgotten about and cast aside.
“Same here Denny, you don’t need to worry when you're with me. I won’t ever make fun of you, or make you feel less than perfect. No matter what happens.” You managed to hiccup back, before pressing your lips flush against his.
It was a salty kiss, both of your tears in the mix along with your collected fears, apprehension and anxieties but despite them, sweeter for the promise of healing together. Another joined it, Dennis kissing you back with a small moan, eliciting a pleasured sigh, calloused hands twisting in your hair until you both unfortunately needed to break for air.
“Hey what movie were you going to put on if I didn't run off?” His cute smile dimpled, thumb circling your knuckles. It felt nice, comforting and soothing, the same thing Dennis did idly when you first met and he found out about your chronic pain.
“A comfort one, mine are something like the Princess Bride or Ella Enchanted.” You said, laying against him and brought up another forkful of burnt almond torte to Dennis’ lips.
He mulled over that while chewing away, as though considering a great conundrum, making you laugh. “Ooh nice choices, I generally go for Back to the Future. I do love Ella Enchanted though, but I might have to say my fave Hathaway flick is the Princess Diaries.”
“I accept your inferior take in films, and I've got the superior one on Blu-ray.” You shimmied off the couch and proudly showed the collector’s edition, next to your copy of the novel.
“Ah a luddite after my own heart!” Dennis used your own line against you when you poked fun at his CD wallet the other night. It made you blush recalling what else you two got up to on the phone as you put the DVD in.
“I still can’t believe Dee conned you into fixing the sink for free.” You said with a yawn, settling back onto the couch and sliding closer to Dennis this time.
“That’s not all, I’m working on the dodgy stove-top and loose grouting next.” Dennis beamed down at you, kissing the crown of your head, enjoying the floral scent of your shampoo. “The gutters also need cleaning, might as well check the roof tiling while I’m up there…”
“Seriously?” You couldn’t believe how fleeced he’d gotten, then again it was your adorable Doctor Whitaker you were talking about. “You can do all of that?” That was seriously blowing your city-girl mind right now.
“Any problem can be solved with a little ingenuity.” Dennis quipped, looking rather proud of himself as he stretched and wrapped a tentative arm around you.
“Okay, MacGyver.” You quipped back and snuggled right in, smooching him on the cheek.
The rest of the night was spent in each other's arms, after the movie heading back to rest in your bed, just enjoying the company, no pressures of anything further preying on either of your minds with everything left said and now out in the open. Dennis held your hand the entire time, smiling adoringly as you instantly fell asleep, head to pillow.
“I love you.” He whispered into the crook of your neck, holding you close, planting gentle kisses there throughout the night.
۫ ܸ ❤︎ ׅ ۫ jaafar putting you in headlock ໒ྀི⠀ ⁺
cw. 18+ mdni. written from this thought. he's hitting it from the back. size kink? maybe ooc jaafar ? he's just stern n uses his strength. nicknames (babe & ma).
jaafar's fingers dig into the plush of your hips, angling them upward to meet his thrust. while your spine curves, face pressed against the now soaked pillow from you drool. eyes rolling back when jaafar's cock sinks the length of his cock back into your heat, nudging that too hard to reach spot just right.
"i know, babe," he coos in a hushed tone, a hand pawing at your hip when you let out a gurgled hgn, "doing s'well takin' it."
leaning down he places a peck on your shoulder, slowing his pace to roll his hips, his cock snug within your cunt. nudging his nose against your nape, adorning another kiss on your damp skin.
when you turn your head away from him, eyes screwed shut as you try to push yourself further into the pillow ⎯ further away from from jaafar and the weight of his toned body pressed against yours and the stretch of his cock.
"c'mon ma, wanna see you," he rasped, forehead falling against your shoulder. the sounds of your whines has him pulling up off of you, his feathery touch tracing down your back until they land on the plumpness of your ass.
it's still, just for moment. the room is no longer filled with the sound of skin slapping and squelching, now replaced with the heavy breathing between you two.
the sudden movement of one of jaafar's hand soothes up and down your back, his pinky accidentally brushing against the side of your breast each time. it takes you by surprise when the same hand grips at the crook of your neck before swiftly enclosing your head between his forearm and bicep, pussy flutter around his length from the unexpectedness of the action.
his hold on you isn't rough, but it's stern, causing your head to lull back. a whimper slips out when jaafar places his weight back on you, his head dipping back down to meet yours so that there's no other choice than for your glossy eyes to meet his.
"please⎯" you choked out, lifting your hips up, hands clawing at the messy bedsheets at your attempt to escape your boyfriend's hold, "it's t'much."
"i know, ma," voice laced with fake sympathy, "but you can't be askin' for me and then running from me at the same time." leaning down to capture your lips in a sloppy kiss.
pulling away from kiss, a few strings of saliva breaking, "but that's okay, this'll keep you from runnin'," he purs.
