hiii i'm jj, welcome to my blog! i've been on tumblr foreeeever but i've decided to graduate from being a lurker bc honestly i've just been loving writing so much lately. right now i'm going crazy loco over the pitt but i'm also the no.1 Challengers (2025) fan of all time, president of the fanclub etc. etc. Otherwise i rlly like to read and am, as an internet dweller, predictably pretentious abt music. if u have recs (or requests! or general chatter) of any kind my inbox is WIDE open <3
currently reading: Don't Make Me Laugh by Julia Raeside
current listening: drive by Nieve Ella
challengers masterlist | the pitt masterlist | a03
summary: It was sweet of Dennis to bring you on his most recent hometown visit. You're grateful that he trusts you, wants to show you the place that birthed and built him. You just figured--being his partner and all--that he'd make a stronger effort to avoid making you feel left out.
tags/warnings: smut, drunk sex, brat!dennis, brat tamer!reader, perhaps ooc dennis, characters call reader 'city girl' but otherwise fem!reader is only implied, handjob, edging (dennis receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, missionary, dennis cums early, oral (reader receiving), so much kissing
word count: 3.5k
A/N: Oh waiter! waiter! bratty dennis please! if u lot could see my drafts rn...i've really been slutting this man out lately, like far more than the traditional-vanilla-lovers fics of days gone by...hope yall don't mind bc i am LOVING it. #freakdennisall2026. i'm thinking of dabbling in perv!dennis soon; been feeling the rush......also it's like...do I know a damn thing about how to play pool? not at all! so if that scene doesn't make sense, just allow it
p.s Sweetheart fans don't worry, part 4 is coming...my job is beating my ass rn tho so just bear with me beloveds
p.p.s i feel like atp it's tradition for me to rec a song u should listen to while reading, this post's song is Dog by Towa Bird or Gibson Girl by Ethel Cain, i listened to both relentlessly while writing this
Acrid clouds of smoke curl around your face, hanging a pale, hazy sheen over your vision. The room is big enough to crawl with bodies, but standing by the pool table with Dennis and his friends, you and all the bar’s patrons might as well be crammed into a porta-potty.
You sip on your beer and attempt a more obvious pout, hoping to sulk brazenly enough that Dennis will suggest leaving on his own accord, and the two of you can avoid yet another argument. It’s not his fault, you reckon, that being back here changes him. Even the brothers that left their parents' farm are still lingering around town. His friends are all still here, all still moody midwesterners, pissed off about being in the middle of nowhere, pissed off about never having enough money and having even less to spend it on out here. Dennis doesn't have to feel that way anymore, but being back here seems to make him forget that. And you love him, know him well enough to know that it’s not his fault. Know him well enough to know that he probably won’t keep you here for the full two weeks he’s promised his folks. In a few days this place won’t even be his problem. Until then, though, he seems intent on making it yours.
“Cheer up, doll.” One of his friends–Jack, you think–nudges you on his way to the opposite end of the pool table. When you roll your eyes, he shoots you a wink, equal parts sleazy and sneering. They love to see you pissed off, to see Dennis’ ‘city girl’ glazed with sweat and glowering. Since the day he brought you to Broken Bow, he’s sworn it’s not personal. Every time you argue that maybe it should be, he gets sick of you and needs a smoke. Yet another bad habit that picks back up in the middle of buttfuck-nowhere-Nebraska.
One of the other girlfriends joins you, tugging at a loose thread on her DIY denim miniskirt. She, too, seems like she’d rather be anywhere else. When she reaches for your beer, you hand it to her and together, you drain the bottle in smouldering silence.
“Hey,” Dennis says, approaching when the game is done. He won; in his quiet way, he’s gloating. A sly grin plays on his lips as he comes towards you, caging you against the wall with his arms as he absently hands off the cue. He tries nuzzling his face against yours but his tattered baseball cap gets in the way and he has to swoop it backwards, to plant sloppy kisses on your cheek and by the corner of your mouth. You almost feel bad turning away, when he gives you those earnest puppy-dog eyes and cartoonishly downturned brows.
“Baby, what’s the matter?” he whispers. “We okay?”
“That depends.” When he tries to hold your hands, you keep your arms crossed. “Are we going home soon?”
“Come on.” He keeps his face and voice low, speaking to you as if you’re the only two people in the room. You’d swoon, if he wasn’t so plastered. “One more game.”
“One more bet, you mean. How many twenty dollar bills do you need, Dennis?”
Lips stretched wide and glistening with beer, he huffs out a laugh. “You won’t be complaining when I treat you to whatever you want at Sal’s later.”
“Later? Dude, it’s almost midnight.”
He ignores you. “Besides, I didn’t mean me. It’s your turn, sweetcheeks.”
“I’m not playing.”
“Why,” he chuckles. “So you can stand here and mope all night?”
You clench your jaw shut. It’s not like you enjoy complaining. Honestly, even you aren’t sure what’s gotten under your skin so bad. You rub your hands over your face and groan quietly, then let him take them, his thumb rubbing over the backs.
“So, what do you say?”
“I say,” you sigh, shaking your head. “You owe me pancakes in the morning.”
“Yes ma’am.” He kisses your cheek again and leads you to the table. His friends burst into whooping cheers as he hands you a cue, laying it across your palms like a sword.
One of them nods her chin at you, smirking. “You even know how to play?”
Dennis’ self-satisfied smile falters slightly, but he barely misses a beat. He comes up behind you and speaks into your ear, one hand on your hip and the other gripping the pool cue around your own clenched fist.
“Don’t listen to them baby, I got you.” In one swift movement, he bends you over the table and aligns the cue. His body is flush against yours, warm and stable. His heartbeat thumps against your back. “Alright, you see which ball we’re tryna hit?”
You don’t, and tell him as much. When he chuckles, you feel that reverberate through your body, too.
“Okay, so–That red one over there. You wanna angle the cue like this.” He moves you into position, his hands both calloused and gentle. “Lift your elbow–Yeah, like that.”
“Don’t hit the cue ball too hard. You just wanna…” He guides you to take the shot, voice still warm and low against your ear. When he speaks again, he drags it out long and slow, giving you an approving nod. “That’s it.”
Once you’ve got the hang of it, he watches you from across the table, not bothering to fight off the smug smile every time you pot a ball. Your first miss comes after watching him saunter back from the bar with two bottles in his hands. He opens one against the table’s edge in one swift motion, so that its foam drips all over his hand and he has to lick it off, laughing drunkenly along with his friends. Either you’re a sore loser, or this is your final straw, because you snatch the second bottle from out of his hand. His friends continue to leer as you chug from it, draining every drop until there’s only a dark-tinted, thick film of beer foam along the bottle’s glass.
“We’re leaving.”
Dennis inhales dramatically and raises his eyebrows, taking a sweeping look around to make eye contact with anyone who will match his mocking smile. But when you stride out the door, he doesn’t argue, and he doesn’t stay behind.
“Baby, come on,” he urges, trailing behind you as you storm the whole way home. For the next few days ‘home’ is a crumbling motel with awful yellow lighting, which only serves to worsen your mood. At your room’s door, Dennis clutches at your waist and stands over you. He’s trying so hard to fight off a dopey smile and failing so miserably, not to mention the drowsy lilt to his eyelids.
“What is with you?”
“Nothing,” you say, shrugging him off.
“You’re lying.” Which, obviously, is true. Though, after the week you’ve had so far, he’s lucky you’re even speaking to him at all.
You barge past him to get inside, but he still can’t let it go.
“Hey,” he says gently, caging you with his arms again, his biceps flexing by your face. The door’s cool, flimsy laminate prods against your back and you cross your arms. He leans in to nuzzle at your face and neck with his nose, pouting.
“Come on, baby,” he says again. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
When you still won’t talk and his nuzzling doesn’t soften you any, he switches tactics. Probably, he’s too drunk to even remember what he’s after anymore, especially this close to you. He grazes your skin with aimless little pecks, from jaw to shoulder. As he goes back up your neck he gets more methodical, suckling on your skin and pressing his body closer. He gets to your lips and seems to remember himself.
“You’re really not gonna tell me?” Before you can even think of answering, his lips are on yours in a messy, slow kiss. He moans softly as your tongues press together and your nails dig into his arm. Your hands move upwards and come upon the barrier of his stupid cap, still backwards, with tendrils of hair poking out. You push it off and it lands with a soft thud behind him.
Dennis’ arms wrap around you and again his biceps flex, this time under your palms as he lifts you and carries you towards the bed. His mouth is hot and soft, and both of you taste a little of beer, plus the sugar and lime off the rim of your cocktails much earlier in the night.
“Fuck, baby,” he says as he lays you down. You look up at him smugly.
“See? Isn’t this so much better than–” You interrupt yourself with a soft, humming moan when he nips at your neck. “Than shooting pool all night with those assholes?”
“Those assholes,” he kisses you again, “are my friends.”
Still with a flirty lilt to your voice, you whisper against his jaw. “So does that mean we’re getting up early again tomorrow?”
Dennis doesn’t get off you, but he freezes. “Actually, uh–”
“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”
You roll away from him, getting up and stripping off your sweat-soaked tank top before he can protest. All this storming around and all those drinks makes your balance precarious, but even when you stumble and Dennis chuckles, you don’t humour him.
“What’s happening?” he demands.
“I’m getting ready for bed.” You turn to him and shrug, eyebrows raising in annoyance. When he keeps gawking at you, you continue. “We have to get up early, right? It’s either dirt-biking with them or sex with me, and you’ve made it clear which you prefer.”
“Babe.” Dennis splays his hands in disbelief. You’re sure he wants to argue that actually, you’ve already been dirt-biking, which you had a great time doing, by the way, and that he’s not going to see these friends for months after you’re back in Pittsburgh so sure, he’s prioritising them but do you have to be such a bitch about it? Instead he blinks rapidly, jaw slack, and in real time you watch him make the boring, wise decision to push his luck only the minimum amount.
“So that’s what this is about?” Smug laughter trickles out of him and his feigned confusion turns into a venomous grin. “You’re mad we’re not fucking enough?”
He joins you where you're standing in the bathroom doorway, to once again barrel through your personal space and trail his hands all over you.
“Did my pretty baby miss me?” He teases, through more kisses. “I haven’t been paying enough attention to you, huh? That it?”
You frown and push his chest with both hands but he barely budges.
“Come on, you can’t stay mad at me all night.” He speaks against your jaw, the breeze from his breath sending shivers down your neck. His hand slides from your waist to your hip. “You’re spoiled, you know. So used to having me whenever you want me. My spoiled little city girl.”
“You know, maybe you suit your friends. You’re an asshole too.”
“That so?” he asks absentmindedly. Dennis’ hand reaches into your jeans, fingers pressed over your underwear. “So moody and you’re not even ready for me. Guess we gotta do something about that, huh?”
“Sure.” This time, when you shove him towards the bed, he lets you. Before you can so much as open your mouth, he’s already tearing his clothes off, until he’s wearing nothing but his boxers. He lays with his hands tucked behind his head and one knee bent, expectant and relaxed as if he’s lounging on a beach.
You stride over to him and push his leg down to straddle him. His gloating grin is back as his hands land on your thighs and he leans up to kiss you.
“It’s okay, I missed you too. Come here, gorgeous.” Before his lips can reach you, you push him back down. A little winded and with his arms still open for you, he lets out a shocked laugh. “Alright, okay. I get it. You’re still mad.”
“Oh, I’m not mad,” you warn, grinding your hips onto him.
“Okay, yeah. Not mad.” He licks his lips and watches as you do it again, nodding eagerly. “But if you were, I’m just saying. I’m right here. Could always take it on me.”
“Oh?”
This time when he sits up, you let him. You even let him wrap his arms around you, pecking your lips and rubbing his hands up and down your back. The mild calluses built up on his fingers massage your bare skin as you palm him through his boxers, rubbing until he’s too worked up to hold himself up anymore. Now that he’s flat on his back for good, all defenseless and wide-eyed, his cockiness has miraculously disappeared.
“So, what horrors are in store for me tonight?” So not totally disappeared. You raise your eyebrows, all nonchalance and a burgeoning smirk.
“Whatever I want, obviously.”
“Yeah, yeah of course.” He swallows thickly. “But what do you want?”
“Well, for a start, to see my boyfriend’s big fucking dick.”
He ignores your teasing tone and obeys, and you sit watching as he looks between you and his quickly growing hard-on. You wait until the tip is blushing pink and glistening with precum before touching him. When you do, it’s just to hold him, feeling him twitch in your hand and staring into his face as your smirk fully forms. He licks his lips again and looks into your eyes, expression already pained.
“Now what?” he asks breathlessly.
“Now, we wait.”
“For?” Immediately, he cringes away from the demanding tone to his own voice. “Sorry.”
You bark out a laugh, shifting in a way that squeezes your hand around Dennis ever so slightly. Enough, apparently, for him to begin whinging.
“What’s so funny? I said I was sorry.”
“And you know what?”
“What?”
“That’s the first time you’ve said it all night.”
His eyebrows furrow. “So?”
“So,” you begin to stroke him slowly and with a punishing pressure, pausing to let a moan break free from the back of his throat. “You’re only sorry now that it might mean getting your dick wet.”
“No,” he whines, then gasps. “No, baby. I–I am sorry. I swear. I’m sorry, I–I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean it, baby, please. Please don’t do this, please, I–Oh my God.”
“Didn’t mean what?”
“I don’t know,” he whines again. He’s the picture of petulance: lips and cheeks rosy, brow creased with indignance and strained pleasure. “I didn’t mean to make you mad, I didn’t mean to neglect you. Baby, please, I am so sorry.”
Your hand doesn’t speed up even a fraction, but you bring your lips to his neck and gently graze your teeth over his sensitive spots. “Please what?”
“Uh, honey, I’m so hard. Please, it hurts. It hurts, baby.”
“Please what, Dennis?”
“Please fuck me,” he practically wails, likes it’s obvious. When nothing changes, he starts frantically whispering. “Let me cum, please. Do whatever you want but please let me cum, God–”
He cuts himself off with a gasping moan and grips the sheets to keep from moving. You take your hand off his dick and use your fingers to lightly trace his balls.
“You wanna cum?”
“Uh huh,” he whines, panting.
You pout down at him. “Well that’s a shame. ‘Cause you’re being punished, aren’t you?”
“Why?” His pout is earnest and comes with his head thrown back and his voice breaking when you squeeze his balls slightly. “Okay–uhhhh, baby, baby please. I’ll be good, I’ll be good, I’ll behave. Please, please. I’ll do anything, I’ll be a good boy, please. Keep going, don’t stop–Mmm, fuck.”
On and on and on, he makes all manner of promises as you tease him, lubing him up with his own precum and then using it to massage the spot right under his balls with the pads of your fingers, giggling as his back arches and his voice pitches up. Just when it seems like he can’t take anymore, you stop and sit back to glare at him. After giving him a second to catch his breath, you lay down beside him, arms folded. Slowly, he sits up to gawk at you with hawkish focus.
“Well?” you snap him out of his reverie and he starts towards you, then falters. “You wanted to fuck me, no?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“You don’t sound too sure.”
“I am,” he answers quickly. “Just…I’m…I don’t know–”
“I’m sorry, aren’t you the one who just promised you’d be good?”
“I am! I will, I–I want to.” Kneeling over you now, he bites his lip, muttering sheepishly. “I just don’t know if I’ll be able to hold it.”
“So I jerk you off and that’s it? We just, what, go to bed now?”
He hesitates for a moment before slowly taking your jeans off, then your underwear. Hovering over you, his dick just barely grazes your skin and he’s already inhaling sharply, squeezing his eyes shut and muttering like he's trying to convince himself. “I’ll be good, I’m gonna be good.”
“So I cum first, right?”
His wide, crystalline, dark blue eyes meet yours and he nods. “Yes ma’am.”
You wait until he’s sinking into you to tell him, “Good boy.” His moan is pained and long, and he has to pause to bury his face in your neck. Once again, you let him catch his breath before shifting your hips.
He fucks you slowly, his whole body shaking with effort of holding back. The whole time, he continues to moan mindlessly into your skin, making promises and apologies until his words are slurring together.
“I’m so sorry, baby, I never meant to make you angry. Never–I’ll never do it again. I’ll be good. I love you, I’m so, so sorry.” His breath fans against the side of your neck and his hands tangle into your hair. Your lips are damn near bruised from kissing and every inch of your skin has been warmed by Dennis’ hands.
“You’re so wet,” he cries. “So wet, so fucking good. It feels–Uh, b–baby. I’m–”
“Hell no, you’re not. I’m not even close yet.”
“I know, I–Oh God, baby, I’m sorry. I can’t–You feel so fucking good, it’s so good, I–” With that, he keeps mindlessly thrusting through an orgasm, pumping his load deeper into you and lavishing you with yet more wet, messy kisses. It lasts a while, until he’s dripping out of you and onto the bed.
“Oh shit,” he grimaces, hurrying to grab a towel from the bathroom. As he mops up his mess, his gaze continuously flits to you. “What else–Uh, I mean, how should I make you cum?”
Once the towel is down at the edge of the bed, you sit up. “Get on your knees.”
He does it without question, already trailing kisses up your legs and spreading them open before he’s even hit the ground. “Fingers?”
He knows how much you love those hands. Long, deft fingers and steady, capable strength. You decide to mess with him anyway. “What, your mouth is tired from running it all day?”
“No ma’am,” he insists, diving towards your cunt like a man starved. He licks a stripe up its centre, then burrows deeper to lap his own cum out of you. You grab the back of his head to shove him closer and as he moans, his nose hits your clit.
You gasp. “Atta boy, that’s it.”
He grabs your hips to bring you closer, then reaches up to take both your nipples in his hands and roll them between finger and thumb. Your grip in his hair tightens and your legs instinctively spread wider, pleasure already steadily building from the precise spot Dennis is circling with his tongue and spreading through every limb. Distracted by your own looming orgasm, you don't notice that the keening way Dennis is grunting into your cunt and his rhythmic pulsing back and forth on your clit, is coming from his hand working himself up to his own high. By the time you catch him, your orgasm has you gushing all over his face, head fuzzy and body ablaze with it.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” you just manage to get out as you come down. His face is still buried in your crotch, even when you untangle your fingers from his hair. You wait and all that changes is his moving back to gasp for breath, head resting on your thigh and mouth hanging open as if he expects–or wants–you to fill it with more cum, as he hastily strokes himself, whining and muttering under his breath.
“Please, please, please, just a little more, it feels so good, just a little bit more.”
It’s unclear whether he’s even talking to you, or just lost in the throes of pleasure and aimlessly spilling his thoughts. You pat his cheek a few times to try and snap him out of it. When that doesn’t work, you slap him.
He comes to with a crying moan, and immediately hangs his head.
“So much for being good, huh?”
His head snaps up. “I was! I was so good, I just needed–”
“To cum twice? After you already did without permission?”
“I–” He remains indignant but clearly knows it’s not worth arguing. “Should I bother apologising anymore?”
Shaking your head, you chuckle and wipe him clean with the towel. He gets into bed half-hard and still complaining, looking you up and down when you make your way back from the bathroom. As you crawl into bed beside him, you point in his face. “You know, for such a fucking brat, you sure know how to eat pussy.”
“That’s why I’m your favourite.” He leans closer and you let him, just to pull away as his lips graze against yours. You laugh in his face as he whines, turning over in bed to face the wall.
“Maybe if you're good, I'll take care of that in the morning,” you say, reaching back to squeeze his dick softly. He groans again but remains undeterred, wrapping his arm around you and shuffling closer. By the time you’re falling asleep, your breathing is in sync and his head still rests on your shoulder, lips pressed to your skin.
I want a creepy pathetic loser pervert virgin man right NOW ‼️‼️‼️ I want a man who cums in his pants when your shirt rides up!! I want a man who gets hard when you smile at him!! I want a man who steals your used boxers because he needs to sniff them when he jerks off!! I want a man who pulls up an innocent pic of you on his phone and cums all over the screen imagining it's the real you!! I want a man who dreams of sneaking into your room at night to stuff you full of cum while you sleep!!
i love your work! do you have any other writers that you like that write for whitaker? i trust your judgment LOL
thank u anon!! and thank u doubly for ur trust #goodtastegang. i hope i serve u well...
so i actually don't read fic as much as i write it, which is kind of the great mortal sin of writing craft (that and i've been rlly getting into my fantasy bag lately, shoutout akotsk), BUTTTTT i can totally give u a top three. In no particular order, of course:
@whatif-ialreadydid 's 'roommate' series is bomb, SUCH romcom vibes, it's adorable. sometimes i reread 'little white hearts' just to feel something. Love her
@sapiensecrets is i think on hiatus rn, but i'm making my way thru her works rn and i lurrrrve her writing. rlly dig her reader characterisation especially, both in her 'hotshot' series and otherwise!
@ccandlehead last but certainly not leassst. she has an ongoing (im pretty sure) smau abt dennis and his long lost ex and! if ur super strict abt characterisation then it mightttt not be for u but i have so much fun w it, like this is pure fanfiction just like mama used to make it. Pure fun, literally makes me giddy with all the giggling im doing. i also think u should check out this drabble! more character-focused and saurrrr cute
18+ mdni ♡ A/N: Dennis + bondage + making him cry = site-wide jerkoff sesh. ur welcome everybody. i'm sooooo into this one ugh Denny babyyyy come hoooome like mama's hungry [evil sonic rubbing hands licking lips gif]. wait also i feel like there r quite a few em dashes in this and im kind of scared so heads up im a real boy who uses my real brain to write i pinky promise
Most of the time, the thrill of helping people–saving lives or simply being the first person in a while to truly listen–it’s like a drug for Dennis. He loves feeling competent and being relied on, having eyes swivel to him when a problem needs solving. Sometimes, though, he gets home and he’s just…tired. Of being responsible, of worrying, of being good with his hands.
He likes to think of himself as a generous lover, and you’d absolutely agree. But when he comes home from an especially exhausting day at work, to find you draped in your softest, coziest pyjamas and finishing up with the dishes, his whole body is at once magnetised to you and aching to collapse into bed. He drops his bag and greets you with a passionate, open-mouthed kiss. Limbs loose and his brain on autopilot, most of his body weight pushing you into the counter. You cradle his face and look into his eyes.
“One of those days, huh?”
He nods dumbly, eyelids getting heavy as you lead him to the bedroom.
The day melts away only when he’s underneath you with both hands strung up on the bed posts. His head leans back against the headboard and his lips stay parted as you pump his cock in your hands, whispering sweet praises against his skin. You start kissing his cheek and trail down to his dick, to suck sweetly at the tip while his breath heaves and he pulls against his restraints.
You suck on his balls and he lets out a moan so broken you think he might be crying. He isn’t–not yet–and you move up his shaft with soft kisses. Your touch stays light until his muscles bulge from the effort of straining against the rope around his wrists and he's spilling down himself in small spurts of cum.
“Please,” he chokes out and as you look up, you grin. Now he’s crying, eyes glassy with brimming tears and skin flushed red. His chest is still heaving as you sit up to peck his lips. Just as you’re reaching to untie the first wrist, his hands twitch and he, as much as he can, leans away from you.
“Wait, can–You don’t have to untie me.”
“You’re already ready for another one?”
He shifts in his seat and nods, nervous to ask for more when he hasn’t done anything for you yet. “I know, I just–”
“You know what?”
“That it’s selfish.” His eyes flit to your lips but he only seems to be reminded of the ropes when they keep him from leaning forwards to kiss you. “I’ll do whatever you want after, I just–I’m so…”
He doesn’t need to say it; he’s still hard, still leaking a little and twitching further upright every second. You wrap your hand back around it and he inhales sharply, but shuts his eyes with blissed-out, whispered thanks as you get him off a second time.
Even now, staring down at his lap with pained, heavy breaths, he gives you those puppy dog eyes and asks for yet another orgasm.
“Jesus, Den, you’re insatiable today.”
“I know, I know,” he says sheepishly, head down as he watches you sink back towards his cock. His voice shakes as you lick a stripe towards the tip. “Just–It’s been a–uh–long day.”
“Oh yeah?” You smirk, then hold him in your mouth until saliva is dripping down his shaft. As you suction your cheeks, strained, mewling moans come from the back of his throat.
“Yeah,” he whines, then whispers. “Needed you. God, need you so bad.”
Even after slow, sloppy head, as his body shudders with his third orgasm of the night, he’s begging to give you one more. Sometimes, his drug of choice is simpler than saving lives. The hungry look in your eyes and your hands on his body–As good as he feels about being a doctor, nothing even comes close to the way it feels to be yours.
“Just one, baby, just for you. Last one I swear,” he promises, as you press chaste kisses onto his lips, neck, chest. As he watches you get undressed, his hips roll forward, already chasing his next fix. You ride his wrecked, overstimulated dick while he lets out sobbing moans and praises.
“Thank you, oh my God. Feels so goddamn good baby, thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
When the night ends he’s knocked out and his wrists are red-raw with rope marks, which he prays he can figure out an excuse for before his next shift.
A/N: just something small and simple fa today, mommy is exhausted from back-to-back partying and working hard...pray 4 me. happy pride month, love u f words, love us, happy monday from me and my bisexual boyfriend <3
His first crush ever was on a kid he went to school with, who taught him how to sneak thru the wire fence of a surly mean old neighbour. As they got older Dennis' brothers always had something to say abt that kid, and then eventually so did everybody else. The kid got a bb gun and started spitting in Dennis' direction whenever they ran into each other. They stopped sneaking through that neighbour's fence pretty soon after that, and even though he made plenty of friends after that, Dennis could never bring himself to sneak through that fence with anyone ever again. to this day he has no idea why
part of why Dennis loves funk is he loves to sing, but growing up his brothers said it was gay so he packed that hobby away into the box in his brain labelled "for when I move out of this shithole town" along with doctoring, wearing jewelry, and drinking anything other dark liquor or beer
Everybody at work who's paying attention thinks he has a thing for robby and they're not WRONG, but that thing is more paternal. He actually loves sticking around to help the night shift come in just to spare a few glances at Shen. We're Cutiepie4Cutipie in this household. He laughs at all Shen's goofy jokes and wants to make him stupidly sweet iced coffees and have Shen's fingers in his mouth what who said that
Another reason for his crush on Shen is that the first (and only) time he's ever come out is when he, rather hopefully, joined in when he was around Shen and Ellis making gay jokes at each other.
He was ecstatic when Trin started coaching him on how to be hot in a Queer way. I mean she wouldn't have known any other way to coach him but this man surely cannot flirt for the life of him. At least now, even if hes not at a gay bar, there's a 50/50 chance guys will clock him. Or think he's the cutest most nervous little butch on her way to dyke night. Either way a win is a win
He feels a kinship with Thee Midwest princess (chappell roan), and Trin 100% has fought with him over belting After Midnight in the bathroom when it's way too goddamn early in the morning. This one is tru even if u see him as straight. I've decided.
He loves chatting with Victoria about Matteo, but insists to anyone who asks (Trin. it's alway Trin), that he's just trying to be a good friend. He's just interested! In his friend Victoria. Obviously. One time she described a time Matteo called her 'baby', absentmindedly and Dennis couldn't stop imagining it was him instead for the rest of the day.
After that, he had an incredibly confusing dream that made him unable to look Matteo in the eye for weeks. Tbf, everybody's been there. Matteo is the Pitt's no.1 babe.
The more someone means to him, the more terrified he is of them finding out. Even though Trin is the gayest person he's ever met, she's basically his sister at this point. Sister = Family = Can't talk about gay stuff. Obviously she's clocked him anyway, but she's actually kind of afraid to push him on this one
There’s a continuous bet going of how many times he’ll bring her up in one day. And of course his eyes always brighten when her name (or even just the words “my wife”) leave his lips.
He keeps a photo of her in his pocket, a polaroid of her smiling all big and pure. His heart stutters a bit every time he looks at it. When things get really tough, he’ll take a few minutes to himself, just in the bathroom or break room, staring at the picture. Better yet, he sometimes gets to call her. Even if she doesn’t pick up, just the sound of her voice in the voicemail makes everything seem a bit better.
When he starts getting a steady stream of income, she gets flowers weekly, no matter what. She mentioned her favorite flowers on the first date and he never forgot it.
He’s head over heels for you, and everyone has to know it.
i just want to say i am OBSESSED with your writing!!! the way you write dennis is so yummy, i cannot stop reading! would you ever write maybe dennis and reader in the future, starting a family?
thank uuuuu anon! ily ur too kind
i've actually never thought about it at length, i'm not super interested in being a parent myself 😭😭 but dennis totally seems like the type to have dreamed of being a dad since his teenage years.
i can just see him pushing a stroller with one hand and bouncing his youngest in one of those harnesses that keeps the baby strapped to your chest. Reading bedtime stories and doing all the silly voices...Helping you warm up the bottle when you're too tired to breastfeed...UGH.
idk if it would ever be a series or anything but the cogs...they're turning...baby daddy dennis i desire you...
bestie i literally just found part 3 “ Someone That Loves You” and it is amazing, reader again is so me (i can never be not mean to man i love) but will we be seeing a confession from dennis ? boy needs to open his damn mouth and confess his love for us already 😭😭 amazing work as usual xx
ayyyyye thank u friend, glad u enjoyed! and LMAOOOO i must confess, i got too in dennis' head writing the last part and actually just completely forgot he never actually *says* how he feels. #mybad LMAO😭😭😭 even in his perspective i'm avoidant and repressed asf....
it's possible that we may in fact need another part... (it's 100% happening) (get ready for more domesticity and more bullying poor huckleberry <3)
18+ mdni ♡ A/N: faux-oblivous friends-to-lovers and foothumping w Langdon...Does this make me a foot guy? Am I a certified Rick James freak now?
Thinking about hanging out in Langdon's newly-minted bachelor pad. He invited you over after a shift, all casual, insisting that it was just an excuse not to be alone. Now you're sitting in his living room, watching shitty movies and just barely managing to keep your eyes open. It's the middle of a sweltering summer and you're sprawled out on his couch, your legs in his lap.
You aren't sure when it starts and he doesn't even mean to do it but at some point, Langdon just starts fidgeting. He straightens his posture, he slumps; he just can't sit still. The whole time, he keeps one hand firmly around your ankles, held pointedly away from his crotch. Pointedly away, you realise, from the slowly growing bulge in his sweatpants.
When you stretch for the first time, it's innocent, you swear. The second time, though, where you point your toes and shift them ever so slightly upwards, so they graze his hard-on? That one might be intentional. It happens again and again, his fidgeting and your stretching, just to gently tease the outline of his shaft with your toes. To measure the length of him, biting your lip when he's a little bigger than you expect.
CGI explosions and car chases rage on in the background, and gradually, Langdon loses all composure, gripping your ankle to grind against the pads of your feet as barely-stifled, stunned, gasping moans slip out of his mouth. He gets whinier as he gets more worked up, though he tries desperately to shut himself up, which only results in more tortured, choked back sounds that make you clench around nothing.
Before he even realises how close he is, he's shooting warm spurts of cum all over his boxers. The action on screen lulls for a moment and you turn to him, all casual, stretching out even further in his lap.
“Should we order a pizza?”
And he knows that tonight, you're going to do far more than watch shitty movies.
it turns out that making big positive changes in your life is great but it also forces you to reckon with the years you spent not really living and makes you feel like you're carrying the corpse of a 20 year old girl on your back
