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Sep 4, 2025

Implication

Dennis laughs loudly, awkwardly. “No, I am not gonna hurt you!” he chuckles, his voice a little higher now. “Why would I want to hurt you? I mean, I could. I could. Anyone could, really. But that’s just - well, that’s just human nature, right, honey?”

Tags - dubcon/noncon, implication that things might go wrong for you if you don’t have sex with dennis, soft slasher!dennis /stalker!dennis? implied roofies, unprotected piv, fingering, cunnillingus, dennis typical sexism, threats of violence, dennis and his tools, implied age gap, both characters are adults. 4.2k words A/N - for the dennisfuckers ♡ I know Dennis is a loser who sucks at sex, but if I’m gonna write Roman Roy, another canonical loser who sucks at sex to be a fuckgod, I’m gonna do the same to Dennis. I am shamelessly attracted to Glenn Howerton and I need him to do evil, evil things to me. Also, thanks for everything these past few days, with my blog. I love you guys ♡

You really should’ve gotten that headlight fixed.

In the endless dark, with rain violently pounding on your windshield, you can’t see much of anything. Your wipers are moving as quickly as they can on their fastest setting, but the endless stream of rain keeps them from really being effective at all. It’s useless, with everything swallowed up by shadow and storm.

You’re really not one to drive through bad conditions. It’s just not worth it to you to take risks like this, so you slow down and ease your car to the side of the road, watching as the rain drums so loudly against it. You send a quick text to your friend, letting her know where you’re at and what’s going on, then turn on your hazards.

It’s been raining a lot like this lately. But it’s April, so it figures, though it doesn’t help. It feels so…claustrophobic to be stuck in the rain like this, in the dark. You can barely see what’s in front of you. You can’t even hear your own thoughts. If you think too hard about it, it feels like it’s closing in on you. You’re staying calm.

But the downpour does slow, eventually. When the rain has slowed enough to be safe to leave, you put your car into drive and press on the gas, though you don’t move - the wheels just spin. You open your car door to check and yep - mud. You pulled off just enough to get caught in a patch of slick, cloying, slippery mud. And now you’re fucking stuck.

Great.

You’re about to Google a tow company to call when two lights appear in your rearview mirror, inching too close to your car. You’re on edge immediately, watching as the driver gets out and approaches you. The driver is a man, no taller than six feet. He walks with an umbrella in hand, then taps on your window. You roll it down just a few cautious inches.

“Hey - hey there. Just checking to make sure everything’s okay.”

You tap your overhead light, then squint at the man. He’s not in a uniform and he doesn’t have a badge, which makes you feel nervous. He’s just some guy.

“Everything’s fine,” you say, smiling politely but remaining distant.

The man - you’ll know him soon - looks around, noting your muddy wheels. “Doesn’t look fine,” he laughs, eyes twinkling at you. Even in the low light, you can see that they’re piercingly blue. The stranger is handsome, with his curly hair and sharp jawline. He wears a navy flannel, rolled up to his forearms. Veins spidering down to his hands. He’s maybe in his mid-forties.

“No, yeah. It’s fine, just - my car’s stuck, that’s all.” You smile kindly. The man smiles back at you.

“Is there anyone coming to get you?”

“Um,” you hum, checking your phone’s screen to see no text back from your friend. “Not yet. I was about to call–”

“Oh, don’t call. Yeah, don’t call.” The man laughs awkwardly, shifting on his feet. He seems a little nervous. Maybe not nervous, but…edged? Amped, even? “C’mon, look. Let me give you a ride, okay? The rain’s about to pick up again and—”

You cut him off with a wave of your hand. “No thank you, I’m gonna call my friend. I appreciate it anyway, sir.”

The man looks stunned when you interrupt him, when you go so far as to take out your phone in front of him. Already he thinks you’re a fucking bitch. A man is speaking to you. He hates the way you keep your window rolled only a quarter of the way down, fucking open it. He touches the glass and rests his fingers on the rounded edge of the window, wiggling them, itching…

His jaw ticks and his nostrils flare as he finds his composure. A deep breath in, and a deep breath out.

“You’re not gonna get a signal out here. It’s a total dead zone,” the man says, watching as you scroll through your phone’s contact list.

“Thank you, but—”

The man interrupts next. “Go on, look. Look.” He uses a finger to gesture toward your screen, where a little SOS sign sits in place of the usual bars that indicate your phone’s connection. Stray rain drops splash onto your skin. “See?”

He’s right, unfortunately. When you check your messages, you see the text you sent earlier to your friend still hasn't been delivered. He swallows thickly, then speaks again,“And you’re very low on gas, too,” he adds, wiggling his finger toward your gauge cluster. “And that’s not great, considering.”

And he’s right about that, also. You didn’t notice you were close to empty, but you really don’t like that he did. You swallow nervously as you shut off your phone, heart beginning to beat a little harder. You feel a little sick inside about this. He’s just rubbing you the wrong way.

“Why don’t you just come with me, yeah? It’s really—really no problem.”

“I really appreciate it, but I don’t know you, sir,” you tell him, and that should end it.

But of course, it doesn’t. It is smart, though. Very smart. He expects responses like this from young women like you. As he gets older, you girls get smarter. You’re not quite as…willing as you used to be. Not so compliant. It used to be that he could just tell you to come with and you would. But women nowadays, with your fucking safety classes and whatever. You’ve got no problem telling men like him when you don’t feel safe. Such bullshit.

“Oh, come on. Yes you do. You know me!” he says, smiling so big, whitened teeth on display. “It’s me, Dennis! From the other week? Paddy’s Pub, I was your bartender.”

You stare at Dennis blankly, then shake your head slowly. “No, I don’t think I do.”

“No, no, see. You’re misremembering or something, sweetheart. Maybe in the dark you don’t recognize my face but just…come on. We’re really not far from your place at all, right?” Dennis rattles off your address then. “Short drive, right?”

Your stomach drops then, and your gut begins to really churn. “You, uh…you know where I live?” you ask, feeling your palm perspire against the steering wheel.

The man, Dennis, tilts his head, those blue eyes narrowed as he smirks at you. “Well, of course I do. I took you home when you were too drunk to drive, remember? God, you were a mess.”

You most certainly do not remember. You never, never drink to the point of being blackout. You stare at Dennis, trying so hard to place him. He does have a familiar face, or maybe it’s just that he’s handsome. Paddy’s, Paddy’s…

…it’s ringing a bell now. You remember some shitty, dingy bar, filled with strange people. Stopping inside to pee, maybe. Maybe having a drink? Yeah, maybe. You remember something tasting bitter…

The rain starts to pound harder on your windshield, startling you. Dennis waits impatiently, now with his hand on your car’s door handle. “I made sure you got inside,” he adds, “You said I was sweet.” He smiles at you in such a kind and disarming sort of way, though it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“So come on. Just a - just a quick ten minute drive, right?”

You pause, tapping your fingers along your steering wheel as you contemplate. You have that sticky, nagging, ugly feeling inside, but maybe it’s nothing.

It’s nothing. It’s probably nothing. How many times have you worried yourself sick only to be completely wrong about whatever you thought was wrong, right? Countless. And Dennis, he’s charming. He looks, you know - clean…and gentlemanly.

Your windows roll up with a soft whir, startling Dennis as he quickly jerks his hand away. He opens your door for you, holding the umbrella over you as he takes your hand and helps you out of your car. He walks you quickly to his, a dark green Range Rover, and ushers you into your seat, then slams your door shut. Dennis quickly rounds the front of the vehicle and then joins you.

He runs a hand through his wet curls, mumbling, “Okay, okay. Perfect. You’re there, good, good…” He adjusts his rearview mirror, quickly tilting it down to get a look at the tools he keeps in the back of his car. All the seats are down, good. There’s his blanket back there - Dennis eyes you quickly, sizing you up in his mind. You’d fit, all wrapped up in the fabric. If it got to that point.

A beat passes then, and he takes off in the Rover. You watch your car in the side mirror, how it disappears into the dark and the rain as Dennis drives away. He touches his hair again nervously, throwing you a sideways glance. “So you really don’t remember me?” he asks, voice chipper and forced/

You shake your head. “I don’t. But…you said you were my bartender?” you ask, studying his face. He has a handsome profile, a sharp nose.

“Yeah,” Dennis answers. “Made you a cocktail.”

You try so hard to place him. That face, that voice. “What was it?”

“Oh, it was a…Moscow mule, if I remember correctly.”

You nod slowly, rolling his answer around in your mind. It is something you’d drink, after all. “Okay. Um, what was in it, exactly?” you press.

“Ginger beer, vodka. Lime. The usual,” he rattles off. Rohypnol. “Ice. I know how to make a Moscow mule, if that’s what you’re asking. Been bartending since you were in diapers, sweetheart,” he jokes, clutching the wheel a little tighter.

“Was any ingredient like, I don’t know. Expired, maybe?” You hope your tone sounds casual still.

“Alcohol doesn’t expire,” he says flatly. “Why?”

“And it was only the one?”

Dennis nods. “Yep. Just the one,” he confirms. “It was a normal drink, babe. I could make you another if you wanna go b–”

“Actually, you can turn up here–” you interrupt, pointing at a familiar road sign.

“I know where to fucking turn,” Dennis snaps before you finish. In the silence, he shakes himself out of it quickly, then apologizes, voice a little softer now. “Sorry, god. I just know where to turn, is all. You…just relax, okay? That road’s closed.” Dennis turns the AC on cold and blasts it. He needs to cool off.

You’re really starting to feel sick now, because you know that’s a lie. Dennis drives past the next road too, and the next one. You’re on the endless, winding road for a long time, now thinking about that one episode of The Sopranos. Sil had Adriana in the car. And the road never seemed to end.

Fuck, what do you even do here? If he…if he locked you in the trunk you’d at least be able to knock a tail light out and wave your hand, maybe scream for help. But who’s around on this road? You look at the floor, the dashboard, anywhere in the car to find…anything. You clutch your car keys - dammit. You were given a pepper spray keychain that’s nowhere to be found. It had fallen off a while back and you never replaced it. Stupid, stupid, stupid…

Dennis keeps looking at you. Not just your face, but your body, too. Your nipples are hard, peeking through your shirt. No bra, hm? The image sends a rush of arousal through his body, cock twitching in his jeans as his eyes linger too long. “Are you cold?” he asks.

“A-a little,” you murmur.

You flinch when Dennis reaches for a knob on the dashboard. His hand is so big, so veiny. Strong. With his sleeves rolled up, you can see the muscles twitching in his forearms. How easy it’d be for him to–

“What, did I spook ya?” Dennis smirks.

Your mouth is dry as sandpaper as you search for a way to answer him. And how awful that feels. Like being picked on in class when you don’t know the answer or you weren’t paying attention.

“I think I did. But you seem nervous, sweetheart, not really…spooked. Maybe - maybe you’re scared?” Dennis chuckles quietly, keeping his eyes on the road, acting like he’s not rock hard from your anxiety. He grips the steering wheel tighter, skin stretched out thin over his knuckles. “What, am I - am I scaring you or something? Are you scared of me?”

You force out an awkward laugh, feeling around or the car’s door handle. Dennis notices this. His lips twitch and he exhales, shaking his head a little. “You’re scared or you’re not, honey. Can’t be both.”

“I’m uh - honestly, I am a little scared, yes.”

Dennis clicks his tongue. Not disappointed, but not surprised. Like he expected that answer, or maybe…maybe he even hoped for it. “Mm. I mean, that makes sense, though. The right setting can make anyone feel…well, vulnerable.” Dennis throws you a sideways look, eyes tired and dead as he does his best to smile warmly. The mask is slipping. It always does around this point. “And in a storm, well. That’ll do it, huh?”

A flicker of lightning and a booming clap of thunder has you jumping hard enough to make the seat belt lock against you. “No, it’s good that this happened,” Dennis continues. “I’ve been following you around, you know - in a good way, of course. And I knew there was something wrong with your tires. They’re bald, so - so that’s why they’re spinning in the mud back there. And I recognized your license plates.”

“How did you–”

“Don’t worry about it.” There’s another bolt of lightning, long and windy and spindling, lighting up the sky. “God, how about this weather? You’re lucky that I found you tonight. Wouldn’t wanna - wouldn’t wanna leave you stranded out there in the thunder and the lightning.”

“Yeah,” you murmur, watching the speedometer’s needle rise and fall, heart pounding so hard you can feel it behind your ribs and in your throat. Your voice is starting to wobble, too.

“I love storms like these, honestly. We’re out in the middle of this quiet road. Nobody could see us, or hear - hear much of anything, really.”

His words hang heavily in the air as he waits for you to speak, tilting his head. “Right?”

Your throat feels dry. “...Right…”

Dennis grins. “You know, I think we should pull over,” he says, checking the rear view and side mirrors of the car. “Yeah. Yeah, we should pull over. Before something…happens. The rain…”

His fingers flex against the wheel, and you swallow hard as Dennis applies the brakes, and the car starts to slow. He knows where he’s going, like he’s done this before. You can make out two parallel lines in the grass, worn deeply down to dirt. He has done this before.

“Where are we going?” you ask. Dennis doesn’t answer. You try again, and he still ignores you. “Are you–” you swallow hard, “Are you gonna hurt me?”

Dennis puts the car into park, then exhales heavily and unclicks his seatbelt. He turns to you, eyes all dark and lidded. “I am going to fuck you,” he tells you, unblinking. “I mean, I would like to. I want to fuck you. You’re very beautiful, you know. Very clean.”

Desperately, you pull on the door handle, though it doesn’t open. “Been meaning to get that fixed,” Dennis lies softly, watching you desperately search for a way out of this. What can you do, though? He’s thought this through. He’s so practiced, perfected his craft.

“And you’re not going to say no, are you?” he adds, taking in your terrified expression. “No, of course not. Because - I mean, look around, right? All these woods. Do you think you know your way out?” he asks.

“I’d follow the tire tracks,” you whisper.

Dennis laughs. “Oh, sure. But with what lighting?” He sniffles then, and twists his neck to crack it.

This is usually the part where girls like you start to scream. Not all, though. Some freeze up and go quiet, and that’s nice too.

“Do you think anyone would hear you?” Dennis asks. “You know, if you screamed? Because I don’t think they would.”

You stammer some incoherent answer, voice so wobbly and terrified. Dennis opens his window and yells then, screaming as loud as he can. When he’s done, he smiles calmly and shrugs. Your ears are ringing. “See?”

You jump when Dennis reaches for your seatbelt and unclicks it. “So with all of that in mind, why don’t you head back there?” Dennis nods toward the back of his car. “And take your clothes off, hm?” he adds, touching your thigh, feeling the fabric damp from the rain. “You’re all wet. That can’t be comfortable.”

Dennis licks his lips, watching you tremble as you slide out of your seat and crawl into the back. Only one bulb lights up when he presses the dome light, and tilts his rearview mirror to get a nice look at you as you slowly peel off your clothes. “All of them,” he reminds you. “Underwear too.”

“You know,” Dennis says, meeting your eyes through the mirror. “I think this is romantic. The storm, the trees…it’s kind of nice, huh?”

“Y-yeah,” you whisper. “It’s very romantic. Um - I really, I like the woods,” you tell him nervously, voice shaking. “My dad and I used to go on h-hikes in the woods, and bike rides. He named me after–”

Dennis chuckles. Humanizing yourself. Smart. He grunts then, swinging his body around the driver’s seat to meet you in the back. He looks like an animal as he crawls toward you, sitting on his heels as he unbuttons his shirt, revealing a toned chest, his hair neatly trimmed. His body is slightly muscular, and so fucking attractive for as awful as he is. Isn’t that just something. And he’s got a pretty cock, even at half-mast. Long, a little on the slender side, with a perfectly pink tip. Trimmed, just like his chest is.

You look around yourself, seeing a plethora of items he keeps back here. There’s duct tape, rope, a case full of what you can assume are a variety of blades. Very Dexter of him. Your breaths turn short as your heart pounds loudly in your ears. Is he gonna cover the car in plastic wrap, too?

“Don’t - don’t look at that shit. It’s nothing, alright? Just lay.” Dennis says with a wave of his hand. “Lay on your back,” he repeats impatiently.

When you do, Dennis pulls you back by your hips. You gasp at the feeling of his strong hands on your body, angrily grabbing at your flesh. He spreads your legs wide and pushes your knees toward your chest, your cunt now on display for him. You hiss when he drags two of his long fingers up and down your seam. Dennis clicks his tongue, “You always this fucking dry?”

He doesn’t wait for you to answer. Instead, he spits onto your clit and watches his saliva drip down, lips twitching. Dennis dips his head lower then, and licks you from bottom to top, humming at the way you taste. Somehow, girls like you always taste better when you’re scared.

He kisses you a little, then begins lapping at your cunt, savoring all of that sensitive flesh, where you’re growing wetter just for him. There’s no art to it, no special technique beyond simply using his tongue to get you wet enough to fuck. And not only that, but he eats you for himself and his pleasure, not yours.

Dennis adjusts and pushes his ring and middle fingers into you, curling them repeatedly. God, he loves this. Being inside a person this way. Feeling the heat of their warm, wet guts. It’s beyond satisfying to him. He growls against your cunt, sending vibrations through your core. Scruffy cheeks and jaw scratching your inner thighs.

You find yourself rocking against his tongue - when’d that happen? Dennis snaps his fingers and points at you with the hand wrapped around your thigh, “Sit still,” he commands, then continues licking you. “Sorry, just - I need to do this my way. Okay? You’re fucking with my rhythm when you do that shit.”

“Okay,” you whisper. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Oh, of course not,” Dennis mumbles in between kissing you. He licks you a little more, then sucks your clit between his lips and teases you that way. It makes you shake and tense up, then Dennis releases you with a chuckle.

He pulls back and rests against the door of the Range rover, eyes half-lidded and heavy as he lazily pumps his cock, head tilted. Dennis pats his thigh twice, urging you to come straddle him.

You crawl over, putting your hands on his broad shoulders as you hover above him. From this position, you can get a closer look at every one of his tools - maybe you can even grab one. You measure the distance in your mind, considering the move you’d have to make. “Hey, what did I fucking tell you?” Dennis snaps, reaching for your jaw to pull your attention back to him.

“I was just looking for condoms. Don’t you have condoms in here?”

Dennis laughs, putting one of his hands on your hip, and with the other, lines his cock up with your entrance. He notches the head inside you quickly, then pulls you down, bottoming out with a moan. “Oh, you’re cute,” he says. You whimper at the stretch, squirming away from him and the way his cock bruises your cervix. “No, I don’t use condoms, babe. Gonna have to take my load.”

Dennis palms your ass cheeks, slowly moving you up and down his length. “Birth control is a woman’s problem, anyway. I hope you’re on the pill. It’s just…well, irresponsible not to be. Anything could happen to you,” he says.

He thrusts up into you, guiding your hips to match his pace until Dennis has found something that works for him. Him, not you. If it were up to you, you’d slow it down a little more, have him roll his hips. But this isn’t about you, is it?

“Touch me,” Dennis rasps as you ride him. You slide your hands up his neck and touch his jaw, where Dennis then sucks on your thumb. He could bite you. He could.

He notices your eyes are closed. Bitch. You should be so lucky to be in his presence, fucking look at him. “No, no, no. Eyes open. Yeah, look at me. Look at Daddy,” he tells you, forcing you to stare into his eyes. “You’re very pretty, aren’t you? Not the prettiest I’ve ever seen, but…close.” You should thank him, he thinks. You mumble out a moan that could be interpreted as such.

Dennis fucks you from beneath, his once measured thrusts turning a little sloppy now as he pushes himself into you over and over again. He’s so warm, with beads of sweat rolling down his temples and neck, pooling at the dip between his collarbones.

He’s annoyed at how quiet you are. “Louder, sweetheart. I said louder. I need to hear you, right?”

Dennis smiles when you moan for him, too deluded to hear how fake it is. Or - is it? Maybe not. Could be real, could be a vocalization of your fear. Of your upset. He licks his fingertips and wriggles them between your bodies, searching for your swollen clit. He rubs it in circles as you fuck yourself on his dick, coaxing along your orgasm.

And he recognizes the way you try to stave it off. You dread your release - they always do. But it has to happen. “Hey, hey - c’mere and listen for a second. No, don’t stop. We’re not done here,” he pants. “You need to cum for me. And if you do not cum for me, I am going to hurt you. Okay? And I mean it - I will hurt you, with - with all of my tools in here. Okay?”

Dennis watches your brows knit together in worry, your bottom lip wobbling a little.

“Shit, sorry. I mean - I don’t want to, of course. Yeah, I don’t - don’t want that at all, do I? I know you certainly don’t.”

“No,” you whisper. “I don’t.”

“So do the smart thing and fucking cum,” Dennis says.

The threat works almost immediately. You change the rhythm, fucking yourself on his cock in a way you find most pleasureable. His tip reaches all those places inside you that you can never seem to find on your own, and kisses against your cervix just how you like it. With the pressure of his fingers on your clit, you cum on Dennis’ cock in seconds, whimpering his name.

With the rapid pulsing of your cunt around his cock, Dennis cums too. He blushes the most delicate shade of pink and moans your name loudly, clutching you against his chest as he spills into you, rope after rope of his spend.

When he’s done, he settles against the car door once more and smiles, all self-satisfied and sleepy and blissed out. It’s so eerily quiet, save for the sounds of your shared breaths. “Sounds like the storm blew right past us” he laughs. “Well, let’s get you home.”

reblogs, asks, all that good shit would be great ♡ love you all.

razrbladekiss

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