Huckleberry Enthusiast

oh what a curse it is to be a lover girl

[denwhitaker]

⋆˙˖✧ 𝘞𝘦𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘳!

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘶𝘺𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘦 𝘞𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴! 𝘚𝘩𝘦/𝘏𝘦𝘳 - 26

𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴 18+ 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵

𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

₊˚⊹♡ 𝘋𝘦𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘴 𝘞𝘩𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘳

𝘈𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘵, 𝘓𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘤𝘬, & 𝘊𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘶𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥

nurse!ex!reader, hurt/comfort, exes to lovers, 2.9k

𝘚𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘓𝘰𝘷𝘦: 𝘚𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘳, 𝘍𝘢𝘭𝘭 & 𝘞𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳

smau, a year of your relationship with dennis told in four parts- one for each season

𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘜𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘕𝘰𝘸

falling in love or more so realizing it's already happened, fluff, 1.6k

𝘋𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘕𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵: 𝘗𝘵. 1, 𝘗𝘵. 2

smau, take a peek into date night with the pitt's favorite couple

𝘠𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘯 & 𝘓𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘯

multi chapter, you and dennis were happy together until everything came to a screeching halt, and now eight years later, you're stuck in a situation that has you both coming to terms with years of pent up feelings

𝘎𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘭 𝘏𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘴

a collection of my personal opinions about who dennis is and how he became that way

[denwhitaker]

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘍𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘛𝘪𝘮𝘦 (𝘈𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯)

𝘺&𝘭 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘣𝘭𝘦, 𝘸𝘤: 947 (𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘶𝘱 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘪 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘰..), 𝘤𝘸: 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵, 𝘧𝘦𝘮!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘦, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭 𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘣𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦

You’re nervous. You’re so nervous your head is spinning, and yet you’ve never wanted anything more. Though you and Dennis have been together for a while at this point, you hadn’t let anything get too hot and heavy until now.

His lips trail down your neck, wet and desperate. You can tell he’s fighting back every urge to leave marks in his wake, and while you wouldn’t mind a physical reminder of what’s happening this very moment, you know your boss wouldn’t be too pleased to see you covered in hickeys.

You wonder if he can feel your pulse in your throat, and the way it jumps when he thumbs over your nipples, making your hips twitch forward and a pathetic whine of his name to slip past your lips. Your entire body feels electrified just from this much attention, and you’re not sure how you’re going to manage when any part of him finds its way between your legs.

It’s not hard to tell that he’s just as nervous as you, his movements more hesitant than they had been back when you two were young, dumb, and hopelessly in love, fooling around in the backseat of his brother’s truck. Time apart has done as much good as it has harm though. For every bit of nerves, there’s that much more need fueling your movements. It’s almost as if the two of you are blushing virgins again when it comes to exploring each other’s bodies, but there’s still an air of familiarity and experience that has chills shooting down your spine with every touch.

When he pulls you closer, his hips rolling against your own, you have to bite back a moan. The thin layer of his boxers and your underwear barely acts as a barrier, and only continues to become more and more frustrating the wetter you get. There’s a part of you that wants to savor this moment, but there’s more of you that craves to be full of him for the first time in nearly a decade, so despite your anxieties, you awkwardly shift until you can push your underwear down, leaving your body fully exposed to his hungry gaze.

One of his hands glides down your body, dipping between your thighs. You can feel his hesitancy, so you do the unthinkable and grab his wrist, forcing him to dip his fingers into your dripping folds.

“Please,” You breathe out as his fingertips ghost over your clit. “Please, Dennis. I need you.”

Your words are more than enough encouragement to have him sinking two long, thin fingers into you. Each thrust of them is slow and deliberate as he savors the clench of your cunt. If you’re this tight around his fingers, he can only imagine how your squeeze his cock when it’s finally buried deep inside you. 

He crooks his fingers, brows furrowed as he searches for the spot he knows will work you up the quickest. When he finds it, you keen and he smirks.

“That’s it,” he says, voice low and hoarse with need. “That’s my girl.”

Your back arches off the bed, eyes fluttering shut as he puts all his attention on that spot, pulling you closer and closer to the edge before you even realize. You don’t know if it’s because it’s been so long since you’ve been touched by someone else or because it’s been so long since you’ve been touched by him, but as his thumb finds your clit and your hands shoot out to grip his shoulders, you have a sneaking suspicion it’s the latter. 

You can hear the messy schlick of your cunt as his fingers move faster, bullying into that spot with each thrust, and it has your whole body burning hot. You’re embarrassed at just how needy you are, but it feels too good for you to do anything about it.

“So pretty like this,” he mumbles, eyes glued to where his fingers are fucking into you harder. “You don’t know how bad I’ve missed you. Been fucking my fist every night, imagining it was you. Shit- you’re gonna let me fuck you, aren’t you, baby? Please?”

The last part comes out so much more whiny than the rest, and you swear it pushes you right to the edge. All you can do is nod, too caught up in a haze of pleasure to give him a proper verbal response.

“Gotta cum for me first then. You can do that, can’t you, pretty girl? Just soak my fingers, and I’ll fuck you as much as you want.”

His words have your breath catching in your throat. He had never been one for dirty talk when you were younger, but then again, it was never really a priority. A few depraved words here and there, but nothing like now. Back then, it was all moans and whines. Now, he’s got you on the verge of cumming from his voice alone.

Your hips grind in time with his movements, and as his thumb presses harder on your clit, you gush around his fingers with a loud, drawn out moan.

He works you through your orgasm, voice softer now as he talks you down. So many whispers of “good girl” and “so perfect for me” and a million other phrases of the same vein leave you in a floaty headspace as you melt back into the bed.

When he pulls his fingers from your cunt, he doesn’t hesitate to bring them to his mouth, sucking them clean of your cum. It makes you clench around nothing, already ready for more. And with the way he looks at you, you know that’s exactly what he’s going to give you.

[denwhitaker]

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘍𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘒𝘪𝘴𝘴

𝘺&𝘭 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘣𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦, 𝘸𝘤: 380, 𝘤𝘸: 𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘦, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭 𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘣𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦

You’re not sure how you got here- your best friend’s lips pressed against yours as you sit behind his family’s barn, tucked out of sight from prying eyes. Only barely, though. At any moment, one of his brothers could come looking for you two, and that is the absolute last thing you want happening.

In fact, anything other than what is actually happening- him kissing you- is the absolute last thing you want happening. Because, if you’re being honest, you’ve wanted this to happen for years, and now that it finally is, you don’t want it to stop. 

Everything about the kiss is innocent and awkward, which is to be expected with a first kiss. Still, to the both of you, it’s perfect. All the desperate longing built up from the moment your feelings shifted from platonic to romantic was finally spilling over.

You pull away at the same time he does. His cheeks are pink, and you can tell he doesn’t know what to do from here because he keeps fidgeting with his hands in his lap. You’re in a similar position, though. Your cheeks feel hot, and you can’t stop tugging at the hem of your shirt.

“So…” He begins, only to be immediately interrupted as your name echoes across the farm, your mother’s voice causing the two of you to jump apart.

Dennis stares at you as you scramble to your feet and dust the dirt from your clothes. There’s something in his eyes that pleads with you to stay just a little longer, but you both know that’s not possible. Your mother isn’t a patient woman, and you don’t want her questioning what the two of you were up to behind the barn.

“Call me tonight,” You say quickly. “After dinner. We’ll talk about…”

You trail off, but he knows exactly what you mean. He always does.

He nods and gives you a tense smile. “I will.”

You smile back equally as awkward before you round the barn and start rushing towards the house. He follows shortly after.

Neither of you are ready for what this phone call will entail. It’s not hard to guess that the kiss is going to change your friendship in a million different ways.

You just hope it’s for the better.

tag list: @hazydespair @ninihrs @oddin4ry @jihoonsbbygirl

[lostlamblizzie]

forever thinking about the fact that perlah alawi also had such a terrible awful fucking shift and managed to smile through most of it. stay her reliable self through most of it. even her emotions over louie didn't take over. she only let herself break on the roof, after the shift was done. perlah alawi I love you so so so much

[theyurisisters]

I know that the majority of the Pitt fandom really likes characterizing Whitaker as a womanizer or, like, a shyboy™, but I really like the notion that he's just a geek loser. There's a reason the only woman this guy can pull is a farmer's wife. Did you see the argument he had with Langdon? "Like what, you're the skipper, I'm Gilligan?" That is a geek. All the references this guy makes are a million years old. His ass is not listening to Ethel Cain; he's rambling about some ancient TV show his family played on VCR (okay, that might be pushing it). The only modern show that man has seen is Yellowstone, and I bet he gets really sassy about it. It's such an interesting dynamic to have the beautiful, attractive, intelligent, majestic Trinity Santos living with a guy who was made for Farmer Wants a Wife. Have you met some of these farm guys? Especially those who are really into theology. I need Whitaker to say something really out of the pocket and then have every woman in a 5-mile radius get the ick. I need us to focus on Whitaker being a loser.

[annsfics]

♡ she belongs to me ♡

♡ pairing: leonard shuler x fem!reader

♡ synopsis: you & leonard have a quiet day together, until carlton comes to collect the money he's owed. after he's left, leo makes an effort to make you feel safe again.

♡ content: age-gap, caretaking, fauxcest, fingering, unprotected p in v sex

Gently swinging your legs to and fro, you wait patiently for Leo to pour you a bowl of cereal. Dressed only in a pair of clean white tube socks, a mostly buttoned-up flannel shirt, and patterned panties—all of which are Leonard's, minus the latter—you glance to the small TV pushed against the wall to your right, eager to get breakfast over with so you can watch cartoons for awhile.

Cereal tinkles in the porcelain bowl set before you then. Turning, you watch as a steady stream of milk is poured atop, and colorful charms float to the surface. "Thank you, daddy," you chirp before grabbing a silver spoon and lifting frosted oats to your mouth.

Cupping the back of your head—you do so like when he does that—Leo presses a tender kiss to the crown of it. "You're welcome, sweetheart."

Warmth blooms upon your cheeks, and you take a bite while he gets to work on braiding your hair for you. Working through the brushed strands—also his doing—with careful precision, you hold still until he's done.

You snicker when an anvil is dropped atop Wile E. Coyote's head, a most beloved sound which causes Leonard to lift his chin—choosing to watch you for awhile instead of continuing on with reading the novel currently sat in his lap.

He ruminates over it more often than he'd like to admit: how close he came to losing all of this, and for good, when he cast you out after your calling him a name which he now constantly looks forward to hearing morning, noon, and night. All because he felt like he was betraying a family he no longer has; a daughter he'll... That he'll never see again.

Gazing at you with unabashed adoration from over the rim of his glasses, he knows it isn't a sense of replacement that he's seeking with you like he initially thought—punished himself over.

No, just purpose.

You make his life a bit more worth living now. Alright, maybe more than just a bit.

His daughter will always be his little girl, yes, but that doesn't mean that he can't also make room for another.

Watching as you gently twirl the promise ring he gifted you not terribly long after your return here—rather, his carting you back home in his Duster—which he picked up for a pretty penny at a pawn shop in town, Leo smiles.

Its purpose wasn't just one thing.

He wished for it to serve as a symbol of stability and security in your shared relationship; an assurance that you belonged solely to him and he to you, and that through it, he was dedicating himself to you in every way that you needed so you could finally feel safe. And that he would fill every role you wished for him to this time around without conflict.

Father, lover, husband, confidant, teacher, protector, and provider.

In terms of the latter most... He knows you hate what he does. That it serves only to remind you of the life you were trying so hard to leave behind when you fled the derelict house your parents called home, in exchange for the North Carolina wilds. But so, too, is that ring a promise of better days to come.

A promise that he wholly intends to make good on.

When the dogs start barking outside, you jolt, then jerk your head in Leo's direction and stare at him with wide, frightened eyes. With a sigh, he leans over and grabs his pistol from a nearby table, followed by tucking it into his waistband and throwing his button-up flannel over it in an act of concealment.

A knock sounds at the front door just a moment later.

Speak of the devil and—

"You in, professor?" calls Carlton while welcoming himself inside—presumptuous asshole that he is.

Your heart now pattering away like a jackrabbit's, you pull a folded blanket from the back of the couch and fan it across your naked legs before turning the volume down on the TV.

No time to hide away in the bedroom this time, unfortunately.

"Yeah," croaks Leo. "Come on in."

Rounding the now open front door, the hefty man steps inside and promptly greets you with a toothy smile. "Well," he drawls. "Was wonderin' when we'd get a chance to become acquainted with one another."

When he extends his hand in your direction, you look to Leo before taking it. When he grants you a terse nod, you cringe, but ultimately plant your palm atop Carlton's. When he folds his grubby fingers around the back of your hand, it takes all your might not to cringe. He lifts it to his lips and brushes a kiss over the back of it. "Pleasure's all mine, young lady," he asserts with a wink.

Jerking the limb back to you, you swiftly hide it away beneath the blanket.

Out of sight, out of mind. You'll scrub it with antiseptic later.

Leaning back on his heels, Carlton hooks his thumbs over each of his front pockets and nods to Leonard. "Figured I'd come by for my cut, seein' as I was in the area."

When Leo rises from his recliner, a metal spring groans when it pops back into place.

You watch wordlessly as he heads in the direction of the bedroom to rifle through the strong box stored beneath the bed, and you remain looking in that direction, lest Carlton be left to think that eye contact equals a want for conversation. Now left alone together, you can practically feel his eyes roaming across your skin, much like a parasitic insect does its prey—with spindly legs and searching antennae.

You hate him, and hope he dies a horrible death sooner rather than later.

"Alright," Leo calls from the hall—his return signaled by thumping footsteps. "Got it here."

You breathe a sigh of relief when he reappears.

Slapping a stack of folded bills down in the scumbag's outstretched hand, Leo takes a step back.

Carlton tucks the cash away into a back pocket.

"Not gonna count it?" questions Leo with crossed arms.

"Oh, no, professor. I trust you well enough. 'Sides, if you ever tried to short me... Well, I know where you and this pretty one live," he finishes with a wink shot in your direction. "Might just have you make it right in a non-monetary sort of way, if you catch my meanin', were that to happen."

Brushing his flannel back a touch, Leo settles a heavy hand over the grip of his pistol. "You ever come near her—you ever speak to her again after today—and it'll be the last thing you do. She belongs to me and me alone. You understand?"

Inopportune time for liquid heat to pool between your thighs, but—

Carlton mockingly raises his hands in faux surrender, but you can see the way they lightly tremble, as well as the hint of fear that fills his dark eyes that wasn't there even a moment ago. "Never took you for the possessive type, but a man's property's a man's property." He drops his hands. "I know it well enough." He nods, then turns for the door. "Be seein' ya."

Once the door has shut behind him, you throw the blanket aside and jump up, into Leo's arms. Burying your face in his neck, and wrapping your legs around his ample waist, you whine tearfully. "Daddy—"

Softly shooshing you, he smooths a hand down the back of your head. "It's alright, sweetheart, he's gone. Everythin's alright. You're safe; I've gotcha."

Carrying you back to the bedroom, Leo gently kicks the door shut behind himself before lying you down on the bed with the intention of making all your worries go away with a tender bit of lovemakin' to pass the time.

You pant heatedly against Leo's chest that's smattered with coarse brown hair. Gently pawing at the soft swell of his gut, you stare up at him through bleary eyes. "P-please," you whimper with a pouty lower lip extended for emphasis.

Easing his fingers back between your fluttering walls just the same as he's been doing for the last fifteen minutes, Leo runs the thumb of his opposite hand between your knitted brows. "What is it, honey?" he whispers quietly.

"I want you inside of me," you sniffle. "Please."

Removing his slick fingers from inside your cunt, he dips his chin and presses a lingering kiss to your forehead. "Alright, baby, just gimme a minute."

Pushing himself overtop of you, Leo cups your cheek and eyes his bedside table.

"Don't," you insist with raised hips. Brushing your weeping cunt against the thick tuft of hair that sits above his heavy cock, you curl your fingers in his beard. "Just you, daddy."

Bracketing his other arm beside your head, his eyes flit between yours with wavering uncertainty. "Are you sure, darlin'?"

You nod and smile happily. "Yes."

Lifting his arm, he reaches between his thighs and takes himself in hand. Swiping the mushroom tip of his swollen erection between your wet folds, he eases gently inside you—inch by inch.

Your eyes nearly flutter closed at the relaxing feel of him so close. The two of you connected so intimately like this—familiarly—is heaven. He curses quietly once he's bottomed out, then grants you a moment to adjust, same as always.

Kissing warm tears from your soft cheeks, Leo smiles encouragingly. "Is this what you needed, sweetheart?"

You nod fervently, then wrap your arms around his tanned neck. "Thank you, thank you, thank you," you babble contentedly.

Leonard presses his lips firmly to yours.

[annsfics]

♡ i could teach you ♡

♡ pairing: leonard shuler x fem!reader

♡ synopsis: when you break into a strange man's trailer looking for food to steal, you find much more inside when he comes home sooner than expected and offers for you to stay.

♡ content: age-gap

Tumbling head-first through a mildew covered window you only just managed to pry open with a rusted prybar but a moment ago—pretty stupid to leave such a tool lyin' around outside, as if the owner is just begging for the place to get broken into—you land on peeling linoleum with a soft oomf. Pushing yourself into a sitting position, you slowly survey your surroundings.

All you find, though, is nothin' more than a predictable single-wide interior: a worn recliner, broken-down sofa, drooping Christmas lights strung across the top of the wall, and an overflowing bookcase are amongst your finds.

Standing, you pluck a yellowed novel with softened edges from a middle shelf and trace your fingertips across the striking, abstract cover: a purple backdrop, with a boy's gaunt face positioned in the middle, drawn in what looks to be charcoal, half hidden away behind brown stalks that stretch toward the top of the book.

Can't much tell what the title is, though.

Only words you manage to make out are "The" and "It" before losing interest entirely. Tucking it back away, you consider the rear of the house before spotting a modestly-sized kitchen at the front. Eyeing a box of Pop-Tarts on the counter, you reach it in record time and rip the cardboard top off before prying out a foil packet and tearing it open with your teeth to get at the frosted pastries inside.

Only after you've gone through four of them do you bother wrenching open the rest of the cabinets and cupboards in search of other treats to take with you on your journey to God knows where after this. Makes no never mind to you whether the man who lives here'll miss 'em or not.

Small glass jars and condiments clink together when you open the fridge door next. You greet a container of pickled eggs with a raised brow before moving on. Swiping a can of peaches from the top shelf, you set it on the kitchen table with the rest of your gathered provisions.

The low rumble of an engine suddenly grows nearer then, causing you to still like a deer in headlights. Reverberations swell, and you consider the still open window with wide eyes and a pounding heart.

When he kills the engine, you bolt toward the back of the house.

Searching every room in a frenzied panic for a place to hide, you opt for the closet in the bedroom with a lack of other options at your disposal. Shoving a pair of wooden folding doors open, you grit your teeth and curse—fighting desperately to get them shut again. Kicking a scuffed boot out of the way, they finally slide closed, submerging you in muffled silence. Daylight streams through the thin wooden slats in front of you, drawing lines across your neck and breasts and knees.

You hope it doesn't soon turn to rope instead, should he find you here. Not many men 'round these mountains got a gentle disposition... Like your daddy.

Why didn't you hide the damn food?

Hinges creak open, followed by the front door being slammed shut, and silence descends once more.

You count the seconds and the seconds between the seconds while holding your breath in anticipation of what comes next. Would've, could've, should've thrown yourself back out the window.

You just wasn't thinkin' straight, not expectin' him to be back anytime soon. He'd only just left when you bothered comin' in.

"Come on out now," commands a deep, steady timbre, underscored by a southern drawl.

He's down the hall; doesn't know where you are yet. But you imagine there ain't many places to hide in a house as small as this one. Not from what you saw, anyway.

Footsteps grow closer, and your breath hitches in your throat.

He's in the doorway now.

"Outta the closet 'fore I start firin'," he warns. "Nice and slow. With your hands raised."

Reluctantly obeying the orders set before you, you slowly slide the doors open again, then emerge with palms held in front of your chest. Stepping over the boot from earlier, you stare at the tall, bearded man who's holding a revolver aimed at your belly. Would be a terrible waste, considerin' that the toaster treats are still digestin'.

Lowering the weapon with a sigh, he pops the lever back into place and tucks the gun away into the waistband of his jeans. "Christ," he sighs. Running a hand down his weathered face, the strange man crosses his arms atop a round belly. "You're just a kid."

You glower. "I'm older'n that."

Snorting amusedly, he shakes his head. "Younger than I am, so that makes you one in my eyes." Jerking his head toward the hall, he eyes you curiously. "You take anything else? Or just what I found in the kitchen?"

Raising your chin, you meet him with defiance. "Just the snacks. Pop-Tarts are coming with me."

He barks a laugh. "The ones you bothered not eatin', sure." Lips quirking into a grin, he tilts his head. "You still hungry?"

Clink, clink, clink.

Scrape, scrape, scrape.

"Slow down," Leonard—that's his name, you've now learned—insists with a large, steady hand rested on your shoulder. "Or you'll choke, if not make yourself sick."

You tug the dish territorially toward you.

"If you're still hungry after, I'll make you another plate. Just... Give it a chance to settle first."

Stabbing another slice of country ham with your fork, you pop it in your mouth and chew. But slowly this time.

Seems to please him when you do, so you take a sip of juice and nibble on a buttered roll next.

Might just be the best meal you've ever had, you think.

He chuckles. "Should mind our table manners, starvin' or not."

"I ain't got none," you grumble over a mouthful of food.

Wooden chair creaking when he leans back, he slides the pad of his thumb down a glass bottle of beer slick with condensation. "Don't have any."

Cheeks bulging with food, your brows draw together. "What?"

"Don't have any table manners," he enunciates. "Proper way of speakin'."

You shrug, uninterested in a grammar lesson right now. Or ever.

"Elbows," he continues with a nod. Leonard slides his own off the table until just his forearms remain positioned on either side of his porcelain plate in way of example.

"Why's it matter?" you question after swallowing.

He lifts a shoulder. "Just does. Not here necessarily, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't learn. Also impolite to talk with your mouth full."

"It's not now," you counter.

"But it was." Grabbing his fork with one hand and a serrated knife with the other, you watch as he slices into a salty slice of ham. "Things to keep in mind if you're plannin' on stayin' here for awhile."

You perk up at that. Crossing your ankles, you study his features—waiting for his eyes to crease at the edges, or for his mouth to turn upwards into a mocking smile, indicating that it's all one big joke. Such a reaction never comes, however. "I... I can stay? Here?"

"'Less you got some place else to be. But from the sight of you, I take it that's not the case?" He slides a bite of ham off his fork and chews.

So he thinks he knows everything, apparently. Actin' like he can read you like you're one of his lengthy novels when you've only just met. "It could be."

He studies you with a quizzical brow. "You just do B 'n' Es for fun, then? Never heard of a grocery store?"

You roll your eyes, then peel fluffy buttermilk bread apart. "This way's cheaper."

Leonard huffs a laugh. "Given you don't get caught." He takes a pull from his beer. "Where've you been stayin'?"

You bob your head from side to side. "Here and there."

He leans forward. "Meanin'?" he presses.

You stuff half a roll in your mouth. "Nowhere."

Thought as much, he thinks, but doesn't say. He keeps diggin' long and hard enough, and he'll get the answers he desires. You seem pretty harmless—just looking for a bit of food, and maybe even some clean clothes—but one can never be too sure.

Not here in Marshall.

"You like readin'?" he inquires with folded arms.

You shift in your seat. "Don't have much time for it."

"Should make time," he groans while standing. Padding over to shelves brimming with stories you'll surely never read, Leonard peruses the selection put before him with hands planted on his narrow hips.

"What's your favorite genre?" he calls over his shoulder. "Romance? Mystery? Non-fiction, maybe?"

Quietly sipping your drink, you silently will him to drop the subject. "I dunno," you mutter. "Didn't have many books growin' up."

Not sure you had any, truthfully. Your folks were more concerned with spendin' what little money they had on keepin' beer in the fridge and meth in a bulb for smokin'.

"Well," he begins before turning on his heel with a book in hand. "This is one of my favorites. Faulkner can be a bit..." He sucks his teeth.

Leonard sets the book on the table and nervously rubs at his brow with his thumbnail. "Can both be easy to read and not, dependin' on the person, I s'pose. Used a style for this one called stream of consciousness. Peculiar when you first start it, but once you've got the hang of what he was tryin' to convey—" he shrugs. "I flew through it my first time."

Man sure does like his ten dollar words, you muse. Makes him sound full of himself. But also worldly and intelligent, in a confident, lived-in sort of way.

You wish your daddy had been more like him growin' up. Or even just your mama. Carin'. Instead, they was—

He taps a finger on the title. "Can you tell me what that says?"

By his tone, you would think he was requesting something simple—like for you to pass the salt, or tell him what time it is. Not somethin' you're incapable of doin'.

You've lost your appetite all of a sudden.

"I—I will later," you whisper ashamedly.

"Like for you to now," says Leonard.

Balling your hands into fists beneath the table where they rest in your lap, you study printed letters through eyes blurred from welling tears. "As I... L—" A, but not a hard A. Its sound should be similar to the A from the first word. "L-ay..." You huff in frustration after a beat of silence.

"You're illiterate," he murmurs with just a hint of mild disbelief.

Jerking your head back, you scowl up at him—your face immediately heating in burning mortification. "I'm not stupid!" you shout acidically.

"Didn't say you were," he assures with a gentle hand cupping the back of your head. "Just a word, like any other. That's its definition is all: if you can't read or write, you're illiterate. It's nothin' bad, darlin'. Promise."

Sitting again, he slides a calloused palm between your shoulder blades. "I could teach you. It's what I used to do. I mean, not English. History. But—"

You cock your head to the side and narrow your eyes. "What do you do now?"

Leonard's pursed lips morph into a lopsided smile. "Everything I shouldn't."

You can't help but return the funny look on his face. "Me too."

Picking up your forgotten utensils, he cuts up the remaining meat on your plate. "Least we got somethin' in common, then."

[puppiegracie]

I lob Dennis Whitaker I really do I can't help it he's so cute he's so likesable he's just my little guy and I love him I kovehimuonj like he just wants to be kind and help people and he's used to it and being like yhe side character of his own life n no one really notices him excfprt trinity sometimes but she doesn't vervalize how much she cares and he's just soooo he's so sad snd soft and sweet and he's my special baby boy I csnr help it okay I can't help it I love him I love him even youths grow tired and weary and young men stumble and fall like ohhhh my denny baby you still look to god for comfort but has he ever really comforted you? when you were homeless and starving and alone? do you think trinity is an angel sent from heaven? do you think she's the answer to your prayers? and you don't speak well of home but you miss it anyways and maybe you just miss the country and the quiet and not the people who go with it but maybe you can't bring yourself to hatr your family even though they hurt you because really they're not that bad and they tried their best and you just wanna help them like you help everyone else and who helps you baby boy

[denwhitaker]

dennis w/ hyperspermia

that’s all

[denwhitaker]

no dennis don’t pull out ur so sexy haha

[russianblush]

no ai usage over here. you’re gonna get my shitty authentic writing whether you like it or not

[denwhitaker]

𝘠𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘯 & 𝘓𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘯

𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘌𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵: 𝘗𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘴𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘨𝘩 𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘓𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴

˚⊹♡ 𝘋𝘦𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘴 𝘞𝘩𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘹 𝘊𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘉𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥!𝘌𝘹!𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢 𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘋𝘦𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘨𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘰.

𝘊𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵: 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘹𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯 (𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘢 𝘫𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘺), 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧, 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘦/𝘩𝘦𝘳, 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘰𝘰𝘤 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦, 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘶𝘯𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦, 𝘣𝘢𝘥 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳

𝘞𝘊: ~1.3𝘬

𝘕𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘴: 𝘞𝘦'𝘷𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘥! 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘰'𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘰 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘵. 𝘉𝘪𝘨 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘐 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘢𝘴 𝘐 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘶𝘱. 𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘶𝘺𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥. 𝘐 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘵! 𝘈 𝘧𝘦𝘸 𝘣𝘭𝘶𝘳𝘣𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘧𝘶𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦! 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘠𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘯 & 𝘓𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘯, 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘴𝘬! 𝘐’𝘥 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘯 𝘦𝘹𝘤𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘦 𝘨𝘶𝘺𝘴 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦!

𝘍𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘠𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘯 & 𝘓𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦.

Dennis Whitaker is at your door with flowers. You are wearing a dress- a new one, but you will never admit that. This is not a new scenario. It’s not an unwelcome one either, but it does feel strange.

“You look beautiful,” He says as his eyes scan you over. It doesn’t feel creepy like it would with anyone else. With him, you can tell he just genuinely appreciates you, and that makes you feel good.

“Thank you. You look really nice.”

And he absolutely does. He always does, but tonight, it’s different. His eyes are brighter, his curls curlier, his smile softer. Everything about him is just more- from the button down that has clearly and surprisingly recently been ironed to the boots on his feet that you’re convinced might be the cleanest pair of shoes he owns. He put in extra effort just for you, and it doesn’t go unnoticed.

You take the flowers from him and immediately go to hunt down a vase. Of course, as you don’t receive flowers often, you have no reason for a vase. After a few minutes of searching around, you cave and settle for a big cup, filling it with water and slipping the bouquet in before calling it a day.

Dennis smiles and makes a mental note to get flowers with a vase next time. If there is a next time. He really hopes there will be as he offers you his arm, and you both head down to the car.

The car ride is comfortably quiet until it's not, and that is entirely your fault.

“Is it weird that I feel nervous?” You ask about halfway to the restaurant, unable to help yourself any longer. “I’ve known you my whole life- we’ve literally been on dates before- but this has me nervous. I mean, I think my hands are shaking...”

He glances at you before his eyes are on the road again, and you feel your face growing warm over your confession. Carefully, he reaches out and takes your hand in his, and it does very little to calm you.

“Your hands aren’t shaking,” He says before giving it a squeeze. “But I don’t think it’s weird. I’m nervous too.”

You nod at the admission.

It’s not hard to notice the way his grip on your hand shifts. He doesn’t pull it away, though, which you half expect from the way your palm is a little sweaty. You’re glad he doesn’t. You don’t want him to pull away.

The rest of the car ride is spent in a comfortable silence once more.

The restaurant you end up at isn’t fancy, but it is nice. Nice enough to dress up for, and yet not so much it puts Dennis’ wallet in a tight spot. You both order your drinks, and then shortly after, your food. The conversation flows similarly to how it was at the coffee shop- natural and as if nothing has changed. It makes it easier to relax for both of you.

“I’m really happy we came here,” You say after a lull, and Dennis nods enthusiastically with a mouthful of potatoes.

“Me too. This tastes so good.” He swipes a stray bit of potato from his lip with his napkin and takes a drink. “Victoria was the one to suggest it when I told her I wanted to ask you out. She’s got good taste.”

You can’t help but smile at him. There’s just something so endearing about him in this moment that makes you feel fuzzy inside.

“I meant I’m happy we’re on a date,” You say and then pause for a beat. “Wait- you told her you were going to ask me out?”

His ears go pink as he swallows another mouthful, but he still looks at you confused. “Well yeah? I needed someone to tell me if it was a stupid idea, and Trinity only said I needed to get my head out of my ass. Victoria seemed like the next best option for advice.”

“That’s really sweet.” You feel you face heats up as you smile spreads further. “Like really, really sweet.”

“Well, it’s been a while since I’ve been on a date. I wanted a girl’s perspective to make sure I did things right for you.”

You quirk an eyebrow at the statement and try to ignore the way it makes you heartbeat flutter. “How long is a while?”

He blinks, and you watch as embarrassment creeps up on his features. He looks like he’s unsure about giving you an answer. Finally, he mutters. “Five years..”

“Med school?” You ask, not an ounce of judgement in your tone.

He nods.

“It’s been three for me, and I don’t even have a proper excuse,” You say with a shrug. “No one compared.”

He seems to light up and you start to grow flustered as you realize what you’ve just said.

“Compared to..?” He eggs you on.

“You already know.”

He leans against the table, a teasing glint in his eye that almost makes your squirm. “Humor me.”

You purse you lips, and then you cave with a sigh. “You.”

He beams.

The rest of dinner goes just as smoothly, and before long, Dennis is paying the bill and leading you out of the restaurant. He drives you back to your apartment, his hand in yours, and you can’t help but reminisce about summer nights spent driving around Broken Bow, his hand on top of yours on the gear shift. It was the closest you could really get to holding hands when he was driving stick in his brother’s old truck, but it was more than enough then. This is more than enough now.

Dennis is ever the gentleman when he gets you back to your apartment. He follows you to you door- not with the intention to come inside- but because he just wants to make sure you get in safe. It’s a small gesture than means everything.

At the door, you both linger, not quite ready to say goodbye. His hands are in his pockets, and you know it’s to keep him from fidgeting.

“Well, I guess I should get going,” He says, and you know his wording is intentional. He wants to stay. He wants every bit of the Midwesterner in you both to start up another conversation so the night doesn’t end just yet.

You sigh, something dramatic and disappointed. “I guess so…”

You lean back against you door, and as if by instinct, he shifts closer to you as he bounces on the balls of his feet.

He pulls his hands from his pockets, and you watch the way they twitch at his sides as if he’s holding himself back. You try to meet his eye only to realize his gaze is directed somewhere else. Somewhere very specific.

And then, as if possessed by pure need, his lips find yours.

It reminds you of the first kiss you two shared in every way. Your lips pressed together- unsure but desperate. He goes to pull back after a moment, but your hand tangled in the fabric of his shirt drags him right back in before he can get very far.

Your lips move in tandem as if kissing each other is second nature, and it really did used to be, but the fact that it was still the case all these years later is something special.

His hands find your hips, squeezing them once before he’s got you pressed flush against your front door. That alone has your head spinning, and when his tongue slips between your parted lips, you melt.

It takes far too long for the two of you to part, but when you do, you’re both breathless and craving more.

He swallows hard and whispers “I love you”.

You don’t say anything back. You just drag him in again.

tag list: @hazydespair @ninihrs @oddin4ry @jihoonsbbygirl

[denwhitaker]

god I should be bouncing on it rn

[puppiegracie]

never ever getting over robby counting out his pittlings in the background 😭😭😭😭

[denwhitaker]

last chapter of yearn & learn and maybe a few drabbles for it to come over the next week or so while I keep working on the new wip

we’ve got a title for it btw- speak now (or never know peace)

definitely gonna be a messy one so stay tuned

[gynii]

“…And you always eat all my avocados!”

Super emotional and very serious version under the cut

[denwhitaker]

new den wip is getting long already and we’re not even really far into things im kicking my feet and giggling rn

my goal is for it to be longer than the last fic- it’s like a little challenge so im locking tf in for it