Untitled

[byawns]

Hucklerobby and Ogilvie

My prediction based on the episode 11 trailer is that Olive Garden's patient is going to die, and it's not going to be his fault. And in the perfect mirror of season 1, when Mr. Milton died, Dennis is going to take Olive Garden to the side and give him the exact speech Robby gave him.

"It wasn't your fault," and "It was just his time." and "We try to find balance, if we can."

"You've found balance?"

Robby watches in the background, holding his breath because he knows how this conversation ends.

"No," Dennis says, "but we keep trying anyways."

END SCENE.

[byawns]

It's time to take my hand again

LINK: https://archiveofourown.org/works/80896411

SUMMARY: Based on the "come housesit" conversation in season 2 episode 9. Post-shift, Dennis catches a ride with Robby to his house. What follows is intimacy beyond brotherhood. Beyond sex. Just two men choosing to take comfort in one another instead of breaking alone.

EXCERPT: "Robby teased. Robby lectured. Robby rolled his eyes and called him 'kid' when they were alone. 

But he didn't offer praise like THAT without cause. Not even close.  

Dennis’s fingers curled slowly at his sides. 

Their earlier conversation from the breakroom echoed out loud and clear in his mind:

‘If I don’t come back…’

‘If I don’t come back…’

‘If I don’t come back…’

Oh, shit.

His eyes widened as realization turned his blood to ice. 

Robby wasn’t just acting weird–

He was saying goodbye."

[oldermanthighs]

it’s the youth in his eyes when he’s looking at him.

[byawns]

OMG STAHHPPP

I'm gonna cum

[byawns]

TW: Planning Suicide

On another note, why do I get the feeling that Robby is being an asshole to everyone before his BIG SABATTICAL so that if he decides to kill himself, they wont miss him as much?

Like, their last memories will be him being an absolute FUCK NUGGET, so it might help them not mourn for him. Or miss him as much.

Maybe that was his goal all along? Maybe, in his own twisted way, Robby picking fights with everybody--and pushing them all away--is how he shows he cares.

[byawns]

Season 2 Ep 10

The fact that everybody is catching strays from Robby except for OUR FARM BOY WHITAKER. He gettin that RoBUSSY. Icon.

[byawns]

Guys my age [11/15]

SUMMARY: Months before the events of PittFest, struggling med student Dennis Whitaker faints into the arms of a man who desperately wants him to eat real food, actually.

This changes everything and nothing.

LINK: https://archiveofourown.org/works/78681571/chapters/206321866

EXCERPT:

Robby stood at the stove, staring down into a frying pan with a deeply offended expression. Smoke curled lazily upward from what looked like a very dead breakfast. 

“Shit,” Robby muttered, scraping the contents into the trash.

He glanced up just as Dennis rubbed the last of sleep from his eyes. 

“Sorry,” he said. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s alright. What time is it?”

Robby checked his watch.  “9:34. Why? Got somewhere to be?”

“No, not today.”

Dennis stood lazily, snagging an old t-shirt from his small stash of clothing and pulling it on. It barely came down to the waistband of his boxers, stretching a little too tight over his shoulders. Every movement of his arms caused it to ride up, exposing a stretch of stomach to the cool air. 

He ignored it in favor of padding to the kitchen.

Dennis grabbed a glass and the Brita pitcher from the fridge, pouring himself a tall drink of water.

He drank greedily without much thought, feeling the cool water satisfy his parched throat. His shirt rode up, and a drop of water escaped out the corner of his mouth, trailing slowly down his chin. 

Across the kitchen, Robby stilled. 

Dennis lowered the glass slowly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. 

Robby’s gaze tracked the motion, leaning against the counter beside the trash can. 

Watching him. Not casually either.

His eyes trailed from his lips, then lower–past his throat, the exposed skin of his stomach, down his bare legs–then slowly back up again. 

Lingering long enough that Dennis suddenly became aware of how little he was wearing. 

Heat crept up the back of his neck and he licked his lips on reflex.

Robby’s gaze snapped up to follow the movement. 

“Um,” he said, suddenly unsure of himself. “Is everything–I mean, are you ok?”

Robby blinked back to himself, then turned abruptly back to the sink.

“Yeah,” he said, grabbing the pan and running water over it. “I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well, not to disrespect your culinary skills but…you burned eggs?”

Robby snorted under his breath.

Dennis couldn't catch the first half of his sentence but the second half sounded strangely like–

“...wouldn’t have this problem…living with…someone so distracting.”

Robby dropped the pan into the sink to soak, then wiped his hands on a towel.

“How about we eat out for breakfast?”

“Oh.” Dennis startled. “Sure, I guess.”

As long as he got to eat, he wasn’t picky.

“Great.”

Robby stepped past him, giving his shoulder a quick pat as he headed down the hallway.

“Be ready in five.”

Then he disappeared into his bedroom.

Dennis stood for a moment, staring after him.

Even after Robby was gone, he could still feel the residual warmth of the brief touch. It had almost been two weeks since he touched him like that.

Two weeks since their night on the couch.

Since Robby’s hands squeezed at his hips, his mouth against his neck, sucking tiny bruises that had long faded. 

He blushed at the memory. 

Fuck. He really shouldn’t think about that. 

Dennis let out a long exhale, willing the color in his face to fade. 

Because suddenly he realized, with startling clarity:

He wanted–no, needed–that again.

Badly.

And he had absolutely no idea what to do about it.

[byawns]

Post-shift house sitting?!

UPDATE: Part 1/2 on AO3 now.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/80896411

Say no more, friends. Fanfics United has heard your pleas and is currently working on a fic for your viewing pleasure.

Imagine this: Dennis leaning against Robby's motorcycle post-shift, so he doesn't have to compete for the man's attention during the key exchange, already missing Robby, even though he hasn't left the parking lot yet. Robby sees how tired he is and offers to give him a lift to his place and show him around before he heads out on his suicide journey.

Dennis puts two and two together, and basically holds him down with love and affection and makes the man stay home for "just one night, Dr. Robby, please."

I'm thinking non-sexual intimacy, soft conversations in bed, and Robby getting the worst case of separation anxiety imaginable. Like, he legit can't function if Dennis isn't in the same room as him. Touching him. Peppering little kisses across his face and neck.

Hurt/ALL COMFORT FOREVER 100 YEARS COMFORT DOT COM

And then three months go by and Robby shows back up to work glowing and happy and well-rested. Oh, and did I mention he was living with his boyfriend now? Yeah, Dr. Dennis Whitaker MD and Suicidal Man Specialist.

BONUS: Robby is a sub bottom in this fic, and no one can convince me otherwise.

BONUS BONUS: JEALOUS ROBBY. LIKE SUPER JEALOUS.

and post.

[byawns]

Persephone x Hades Hucklerobby

Alright, yall! I'm back on my bullshit since AO 3 is still down.

I'm considering writing a 50K word Persephone/Hades AU for the Hucklerobby ship.

I'm thinking Dennis is gathering flowers in the meadow, Robby sees him, falls in love, and strikes a deal with Abbot to agree to let him kidnap Dennis to the underworld. He agrees and turns a blind eye to the deed. Mel/Mohan, however, witnessed the whole thing and tells Trinity (Dennis's mother FIGURE, not actual mama, probs) about it. Trinity get's pissed, rightfully so and demands Abbot get her son back.

MEANWHILE: Dennis is having the time of his life, falling in love with the cool, mysterious god of the underworld who showers him in affection and gifts and all the praise and attention he deserves. Sure, the initial kidnapping was just...not cool, but they've moved on from that. Robby is his husband now, and he'll beat anyone who tries to take him away from him.

Robby, similarly, is just happy to have a little taste of sunshine in his life. Dennis is his whole reason for living now, so good luck trying to separate them.

Here is my lineup:

Persephone = Dennis Whitaker, obvi

Hades = Robby, duh

Demeter = Trinity Santos

Zeus = Abbot, of course

Helios = Mel, probably. Could also be Mohan, tho.

Hermes = Langdon. Or Mohan, again. Both make sense to me

Others to be determined as the story progresses.

Anyways, am I cooking or cooked, chat?

What do y'all think?

Should I write this fic?

Hell yea!!!

Nah, I wouldn't read it.

Voting ended onMar 5

[byawns]

Hucklerobby Horror?

I just had the inkling of a desire to write a hucklerobby horror story where:

Robby dies--tragically and suddenly and possibly by suicide--in a motorcycle accident. It's very sad (wear a helmet, please folks). And at first, maybe Dennis is like "damn, my crush is dead. this fucking blows." and goes through a depression, as one does.

He mourns the loss of a great doctor, a great attending, and his unrequited love.

But then, maybe he finds out later that Robby wrote about him in his journal (which either Dana finds and gives him, or maybe Robby wrote in his will that Dennis got his journal). Either way, he finds out that Robby had feelings for him.

BAM! Not-unrequited love!

This elicited some shrimp feelings, and he struggles with them for a time, up until he hears about a magic artifact/ritual/whatever to bring the dead back to life. But at a horribel price.

But it's a price Dennis is willing to pay.

And so he does.

dum Dum DUM

Cue Dennis frantically digging Robby's rotting corpse up from his grave, scared at getting caught but half-mad in his desperation for his first love to be alive again.

Robby gets resurrected, but he can never go back to his old life since he's--you know--legally dead.

BUT!

They fall in love, there's smut, it's delicious.

Maybe they have to talk about why Robby did it, or maybe they don't.

Either way, it ends happily, and yeah, everything is wonderful!

[byawns]

Guys my age [10/12]

SUMMARY: Months before the events of PittFest, struggling med student Dennis Whitaker faints into the arms of a man who desperately wants him to eat real food, actually.

This changes everything and nothing.

LINK: https://archiveofourown.org/works/78681571/chapters/206321866

EXCERPT:

Dennis’s first thought as he stood in the store, watching Robby swipe his credit card for the fifth time that day was simple:

How did I get here?

The morning started quietly enough. 

He woke to sunlight bleeding through the blinds and the warm weight of a body somewhere behind him. An appropriate distance away, Dennis obviously having shifted in bed. For one blissful second, he didn’t move.

He languished under the heavy comforter, the soft sheets, the feeling of safety and warmth and home. Nuzzled into the memory foam pillow that smelled like detergent and Robby’s cologne. 

Then the memory of last night hit in a flash: the balcony, cigarette smoke in his lungs, on his tongue, Robby’s lips roaming his skin, his hands. 

The word ‘tomorrow’ breathed against his ear like a promise. 

Heat flooded his face, down his neck, into his chest. He pressed his palms to his eyes, groaning silently.

Hoooly shiiiit.

He had kissed Robby.

Had climbed into his lap and–

He gotten a handjob.

Like, an actual, honest-to-God handjob. 

Dennis made a strangled sound into his pillow, face turning a furious shade of maroon at his complete lack of shame. 

In his defense, anyone would have lost their mind at the picture Robby made in that white t-shirt, leaning comfortably with a cigarette pinched between his thumb and forefinger. Passing it over and talking him through every step, voice gravelly and low. Blowing smoke in his face.

Looking at Dennis like that.

Like he wouldn't take a single thing Dennis didn’t hand him first.

That had done something irreversible to his brain, made his body buzz with need.

Turned off the part that felt any shame. 

He didn't know what he was doing. Still didn’t. He just knew that in that moment, he wanted Robby, and for once in his life…wanting had been louder than fear. 

Dennis turned his head slowly.

Robby was still asleep, face slack and unguarded in the morning light. One arm lay sprawled across the empty space Dennis had apparently retreated from sometime in the night.

It was tomorrow now. 

His mouth went dry.

Did he still want that ‘tomorrow’?

Robby had told him to wait. To decide in the morning.

Well, the morning came and now he wasn’t sure. 

What would his parents think–?

Wait. 

Oh shit.

Today was Wednesday, right?

Which meant–

“Oh, fuck me,” he hissed, scrambling out of bed. 

Robby stirred behind him with a low groan.

Dennis tried to quiet his footsteps as he rushed to the living room, grabbing for his phone where it sat plugged uselessly into the wall. 

Still dead. Still no better than a paperweight. 

Panic tightened in his chest. 

His parents called every Thursday without fail. It was their routine–reassurance, proof of life, a normal check-in. 

He couldn’t just not answer. They would lose their minds. 

He’d stopped at the little IT shop yesterday, desperate, and had asked what could be done. The man suggested a battery swap.

He told the guy he didn’t have the money for it, but the man just offered to do it for free. Told him he had a bunch of extras lying around. 

Dennis nearly cried from gratitude. 

But, it hadn’t fixed anything.

If he didn’t figure something out before tomorrow night, there would be questions. 

“Shit, shit, shit–”

“What’s going on?”

Robby rubbed his eyes as he stepped out of his bedroom, sleep pants slung low on his hips. Bare chested. Dark hair dusted across it, revealing a soft stomach that Dennis absolutely did not find hot or distracting in the slightest.

“S-sorry,” he said quickly, averting his eyes with a blush. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Not what I asked, Whitaker.” 

Robby crossed the room and perched on the arm of the couch, looking down at him. 

Dennis held up his phone with a frown. “It bricked. I need a new one before tomorrow when my parents will inevitably call.”

“Ah,” Robby nodded as a yawn took over.

Silence stretched. 

“Well,” Robby smacked his lips together. “Let’s get dressed, then. We’ll go shopping.”

Dennis froze.

“Wait–huh?”

But Robby was already turning away.

And that's how he found himself, an hour later, being steered through an upscale mall by a warm hand at the small of his back, a brand-new phone heavy in his pocket. 

“We might as well grab you a few things while we’re here,” Robby mentioned over a Starbucks americano. They ate breakfast there before the whole impromptu shopping trip. 

Dennis had drunk his already, and ate the sausage and egg croissant sandwich Robby shoved his way.

“You don’t have to–I just need to go back to the laundromat–”

“Two shirts, a pair of pants, and a coat. That’s all I ask, kid,” Robby said firmly, then added quietly, “Trust me, you will be doing me a favor.”

He said it like he hadn't meant for Dennis to hear, but he did and it only made him more confused.

Doing him a favor, how?

Why did it matter so much?

They moved through stores at a neck-braking pace. Robby didn’t hesitate, didn't price check, didn't flinch, or ask for the receipt. 

“Robby,” Dennis tried to object. “I can’t accept this without giving you something in return.”

“Cook dinner tonight,” Robby shrugged. “The stew last night was really good.”

Dennis wanted to argue that one dinner hardly made up for the phone and clothes, but Robby hushed him with a strategically placed hand on his hip, turning his face scarlet and any clever arguments he had dying on his tongue. 

Mind blanking pleasantly at the contact.

The way Robby smirked every time it happened told him the man knew what he was doing. What effect he had on him. Which almost made it worse. 

They hit up countless stores, got Dennis three shirts, a pair of jeans, sweats, socks, and boxers, with one winter coat and one hoody.

Dennis didn’t even pretend to know how that happened. 

They were almost on the way out of the mall, nearly made the decision to get home, arms full of miscellaneous bags of clothes and groceries, but Dennis almost paused outside a computer store.

Almost.

He slowed but then remembered that Robby was in a retail therapy mood and tried to maintain his pace past the store. 

Robby noticed.

“How’s your computer running?” he asked lightly.

Dennis's stomach dropped.

“Fine,” he lied automatically.

Robby’s eyebrow lifted.

He sighed. “It overheats. Shuts off or doesn’t take a charge randomly. I just…take breaks.”

Robby didn’t respond immediately. 

45 minutes later, they walked out of the computer shop with a new bag on his arm.

[byawns]

Can I take your scent (and your whole life, too) [2/10]

Tags: Omega!Robby, Alpha!Dennis, scent kink, slow burn, touch starved, angst with a happy ending.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/79644616/chapters/208985896

Summary: A slow-burn story about a Broken Omega Man (Robby) who finally learns he can fall apart safely...with the right alpha to hold him together (Dennis).

Excerpt:

“Well, you learn to live with it. The chaos, the–the death. You find ways to cope, find balance if you can.”

“You’ve…found balance?”

Robby wanted to laugh. Wanted to lie and pretend he had his shit figured out, if only not to scare Dennis away from the ED. 

He didn’t.

“No, not at all. But, we–” he pat the kid on the shoulder, “we keep trying, you know? You’re doing good, Whitaker. You’re doing great so far just–you know, hang in there.”

Wow, words to live by. Very inspiring. Robby winced.

Dennis just nodded, then glanced down at Robby’s hand which hadn’t let go of his shoulder. He let it fall a moment later.

“Well, I’m gonna–” Dennis shifted like he was about to step away. 

That’s when Robby remembered the other thing he wanted to do. 

“Hold on,” he muttered.

Dennis stilled.

Robby reached into his pocket and pulled out the extra patch he’d grabbed earlier. 

“Your patch is coming off,” he explained, voice even. “The last thing you need today is that coming off in the middle of another code.”

“Oh.” Dennis hand twitched like he might fix it himself, but Robby ignored the motion.

He stepped closer.

Close enough to see the faint flush still lingering high on the alpha’s cheekbones. Close enough to feel the residual heat radiating from him after all those chest compressions. He could practically taste his scent past the salt of his sweat. 

The aftershocks of that exertion. 

His breaths stalled for half a second before he peeled the old patch away carefully, knuckles accidentally brushing the side of Dennis’s neck. 

Dennis, who leaned to the side to grant Robby better access. Almost…baring his neck.

Robby blinked, surprised at the trust implied there. 

He wiped the sweat built up there with the sleeve of his jacket before he pressed the new patch into place. Immediately, Dennis’s scent dampened in the room, almost disappearing completely, except for the traces left on Robby’s sleeve. 

He smoothed the patch down with his thumb once, twice, making sure it adhered. 

His fingers lingered on the warmth there.

Dennis didn’t move. Didn’t lean in–but didn’t pull away either. His throat bobbed with a swallow and Robby’s fingers rode the line of his throat with the action. His breathing had gone shallow again. 

Robby became aware–a little late to the fact–of how this must look. 

An omega attending replacing an alpha’s scent patch like this. 

Robby’s hand drifted away slowly.

For a split second, his fingers hovered in the air between them. He became aware of the instinct to bring them closer, to breath what lingered on his skin.

Dennis’s eyes flicked to his hand. 

Then back to his face.

Like he knew what Robby was thinking. 

Robby cleared his throat. 

“There,” he said, resisting the urge to smooth down the patch one last time. “Good as new.”

“Oh, um. Thank you.”

Dennis adjusted his collar, fingers brushing the fresh adhesive as if confirming it was secure. 

He didn’t step back immediately. He stayed within arm’s reach, studying Robby with that same careful attention.

As if committing something to memory.

A metal bedpan clattered from beyond the curtain, down the hall. Both men startled at the sound. 

Snapping them back into work mode. 

“I’m gonna–” Dennis pointed vaguely down the hall. 

“Y-yeah, I'm gonna go–” Robby stepped aside and almost bumped into him in the process. 

Dennis stopped, waiting for him to go first. 

Which he did. Then spun in place to turn back towards the alpha. 

“Um, you know,” Robby tried again. “Kiara is here. She’s great. If you ever need to talk.” 

He couldn’t help it, his hand raised to pat the kid on the shoulder again. Then he thought better of it. 

It never connected.

[byawns]

The Pitt shipping

I think something so beautiful about the way the Pitt was written is that every single character has some type of established relationship with every other character. Like, pick two characters. Any of them! It literally doesn't matter because the second you do, a specific dynamic comes to mind.

For example:

Dennis + Langdon = Potential bros but also low-key rivals (one-sided). Like, they would never seek the other out at a work party, but small talk by the punch is chill. This probably resolves once Langdon realizes Dennis is Robby's favorite cuz they fucking nasty style, but maybe that's just me.

Mohan + Santos = neutral probably. Don't hate each other, but don't fw each other either. Don't expect to hang out after work. But there is not open hostility either. Just...neutral.

Dennis + Mel = sibling coded. Full stop. They WOULD hang out after work if Mel didn't have her hands full with her sister. But on the off chance they do, Dennis is chill enough that Mel could drag him to a renaissance fair and he would make the most of it. They would dress up, take lots of pictures, and have a great time.

Mel + Abbot (or + Robby) = cool, reluctant father/daughter dynamic. Rough start in episode 1, but Mel is so likable, so competent, that either men would just take her under their wing if they would fucking notice that she needs it.

The writing is so well done you can even infer dynamics even if the characters have never shared a scene!

For example:

Olive Garden + Mohan = Smart woman beats up annoying med student with her sharp beauty and mean words. He corrects her one time and she's citing five publications that SHE WORKED ON to tell him why he's wrong. Also, her hyper empathetic outlook on life would clash SO HARD with his callous, nonchalance. She would beat the brakes off of him and Abbot would point and laugh because that's his girl.

Joy + Collins (even though she's gone) = Two nonchalant baddies who don't take other peoples shit. Attitude, check. Brains, check. Don't fuck with me vibes, check check check. Game knows game. TLDR: They would get along.

Al Hashimi + Collins = two baddies who may disagree a lot at first, but begrudgingly respect the other's methods and realize that there's more than one way to skin a squirrel. TLDR: Mohan and Santos vibes, probably. Neutrality with mutual respect.

I mean, I WISH I could write such lived-in characters like these people do. There are so many relationship strings that every ship I come across feels like there is HUGE potential because there is. Every week it feels like we are watching real human beings live and work in a real worlds.

And as a fanfic writer, it makes my job infinitely easier because I can write a scene and don't have to guess how each character may feel about things. It's RIGHT THERE, waiting to be written.

[byawns]

Guys my age [9/12]

SUMMARY: Months before the events of PittFest, struggling med student Dennis Whitaker faints into the arms of a man who desperately wants him to eat real food, actually.

This changes everything and nothing.

LINK: https://archiveofourown.org/works/78681571/chapters/206321866

EXCERPT:

“It’s fine,” Dennis insisted, watching as he shook a cigarette out. “I’ve worn less in colder.”

Robby froze. Wasn’t that a picture.

Dennis, bare skinned in the snow. Face tinted pink from the biting cold, shivering until Robby warmed him with a touch. Flesh on flesh. 

He flicked his lighter harder than necessary. The flame flared briefly in the dark. Robby brought the cigarette to his mouth, lips closing around it, cheeks hollowing as he drew in. 

Fuck, that’s what he needed. Sweet nicotine spiking his veins. 

Dennis stared, not even pretending not to. 

“I didn’t know you smoked,” he said, voice rougher than before. A weight in his gaze Robby didn’t care to examine, but he felt it. The heat on his skin, the way Dennis tracked the movement of his mouth.

“I don’t.”

Robby took another drag, slower this time. Let Dennis watch the way his fingers rested against his mouth. The way his throat moved when he swallowed it back. 

He held it in for a long beat before letting it spill slowly from his lips. 

Then, he looked over at the other man, almost daring him to challenge his words. 

“I see,” Dennis looked away. “Could have fooled me.”

Robby smirked but otherwise, didn’t respond. He just took another puff of his cigarette and admired the city lights down below. 

Both were silent for a long moment. 

“Ever tried it?” Robby turned back toward him. The other man’s gaze slowly lowered from pondering the stars to study him. He adjusted in his seat, leaning closer and offered the cigarette.

“No. I can't say I have. I grew up in a small, very religious community. If I stepped one toe out of line…”

“Your parents would hear about it?” Robby guessed.

“Yeah. Exactly.”

“Well, they aren’t here now.” He tilted the cigarette toward him. “You can do whatever you want.”

The ‘and no one was going to blab’ went unsaid, no matter how untrue it might have been. Obviously, Robby didn’t have any intention of being a tattle-tale. However, he was self-aware enough to know that not even a day ago, he was threatening Dennis with that very thing.

Playing dirty.

Dennis slowly plucked the cigarette from his fingers and brought it to his mouth. He mimicked Robby without being told, lips wrapping around the filter in the exact same place. 

Robby’s stomach tightened. 

“Now, take a deep breath,” he murmured between them. “Let the smoke fill your lungs.”

Dennis obeyed without breaking eye contact, shoulders rising on the inhale. 

Then immediately started coughing. 

Robby chuckled. “Good, that’s how you know you did it right.”

He patted him on the back encouragingly, relishing the brief contact. 

“H-how, uhm,” Dennis coughed a couple more times. “How do people find enjoyment out of that?”

“Practice. Here, try it again.” 

Dennis looked at him dubiously, then obeyed, this time taking a more cautious breath in. The result didn’t change. He still ended up keeling over, coughing up a lung. 

“You’re getting the hang of it,” Robby said, voice lowering to something dangerous. “This time, take a gentle breath in before smoking.”

Dennis did.

“Now, take in the smoke for half a breath.”

Dennis did that too, to Robby’s delight, brows furrowed in concentration. Either focusing on his instructions or resisting the urge to cough. 

“Good,” Robby croaked, attention never wavering on the sight before him. “Hold it in for a second.”

Dennis did. He looked at Robby like he was waiting for permission to exhale. 

Robby felt himself twitch in his pants at the sight. The trust in his eyes. All for him.

“Now let it go. Slowly.”

Smoke spilled from Dennis’s parted lips in a thin, trembling stream.

He was a natural.

Dennis coughed a little on the tail end of the draw, but that was ok.

Robby told him as much before he grabbed the cigarette back with a smirk. His lips wrapped around where Dennis’s had been. 

The cigarette was half gone now, but he didn’t mind. It had served its purpose. He felt much calmer than before. Lighter. 

“What were you doing out here? Before I interrupted.” Robby asked, softly.

Dennis watched him, gaze flicking between his face and the cigarette, expression unreadable. He licked his lips, and Robby tried hard not to track the action. Then, his attention returned to the night sky.

“Stargazing, I guess.” 

Robby looked up too. There wasn’t much to see, what with all the light pollution from the city. Some smog, too. 

“That’s not easy out here.”

“No, it’s not.”

They were silent, both of them searching the sky.

Robby took another drag and held it. Dennis' eyes slid towards him again, following the motion. 

He wasn’t even sure what made him do it. Maybe it was the look in the younger man’s eyes or maybe it was the sexual frustration simmering low in his own abdomen, making his head light and impulse control nil.

Robby blew the smoke towards Dennis instead of the sky. Right into his face. 

Dennis, to his surprise, leaned into it. 

Actually leaned. 

Like he wanted to breathe it secondhand. Like he wished Robby had blown it directly into his mouth instead. 

And then looked mildly shocked by his own actions. He didn’t pull away, though. Didn’t backtrack or try to explain himself. 

Robby’s possessive streak flared hot in his gut.

Dennis sitting there wearing his hoodie, smelling like his soap, looking at him like that. 

If the younger man didn’t do something soon, Robby might cross a line. The Line.

The one he built fence posts and stop signs around, blaring red lights that said ‘CAUTION: DO NOT CROSS’.

“Dennis,” he said very softly. Carefully, so as not tip the dangerous balance between them. “What are we doing?”

The younger man didn’t answer right away. His eyes stayed on Robby’s mouth, on the slight curl of smoke leaving it. 

His thighs shifted on the metal chair, knees brushing against his without pretense. 

“Whatever I want,” Dennis echoed his words from earlier. 

Robby’s pulse kicked up.

The statement wasn’t nervous. Wasn’t shy. Dennis looked contemplative, like he was trying to decipher his feelings, or maybe Robby’s feelings, on the matter.

“And what do you want?” Robby asked, voice roughened by smoke and something else. He stamped out the cigarette, just for something to do with his hands. 

A distraction from the tension rising between them. 

Like a tendon ready to snap. 

Dennis's attention lowered again–from his mouth to his hand. The dead cigarette balanced between his fingers. 

“You’re…” he trailed off, breath hitching slightly. “You’re asking me like you want me to do something.”

Robby swallowed. 

“Is that so?”

Dennis nodded once.

“And do you?” He asked. “Want to do something, I mean.”

Dennis nervously licked his lips again, a tell. 

“I know what I want,” he murmured. “It’s you that I can't quite read.”

The air tightened between them. 

“I want…” Robby started, posture relaxing into something more open. Waiting. “I want you to feel safe. To choose whatever makes you comfortable.”

Dennis looked him up and down. His eyes darkened to something a little more focused. Dangerous. 

Hungry.

He leaned closer. Close enough that Robby could feel the heat of his breaths, smell the faint scent of nicotine and body wash and old laundry detergent wafting off him. 

Robby held his breath, waiting. Anticipating. 

Dennis' lips parted like he was about to ask permission.

He didn’t.

Instead, he surged forward. 

And kissed him.

[byawns]

Can I take your scent (and your whole life, too) [1/10]

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/79644616/chapters/208985896

Tags: Omega!Robby, Alpha!Dennis, scent kink, slow burn, touch starved, angst with a happy ending.

Summary: A story about a Broken Omega Man (Robby) who finally learns he can fall apart safely...with the right alpha to hold him together (Dennis)

Excerpt: 

Robby didn’t think much of Dennis Whitaker when they first met. 

Didn’t think much of any of the new interns and med students when they first met. Not really. To him, they were all just another green batch of clueless newbies, ready to learn but desperately ill-prepared for the chaos that the ED had to offer.

Oh, sure. They had probably done their essential rotations already–gen surg, ob/gyn, and ICU. Had crushed those clinicals, gotten glowing feedback from preceptors and attendings. Hell, they’d probably even heard once or twice that they worked well under pressure. Thought fast on their feet. That they would do well in emergency medicine. 

Everyone always thought they were ready. 

They never were. 

He introduced himself, made sure they knew that, although he was an omega, he was the boss. 

Well, Dana was the boss. But he was the Chief of the ED and found that asserting that early on usually led to less dick measuring later. 

Especially with alphas, which made up approximately 65% of the Pitt…and probably every ED in the States. Something about the guts and glory appealed to them.

The air in the room carried a muted blend of alpha musk and nerves, citrus and woodsy and just slightly sour, mostly coming from the four newbies in front of him. Beneath it, his own scent moved through the space, warm and tinged with omega-sweetness at the edges. 

The kind of scent that turned heads. He could see the restraint on some of them, watching as they elected to breathe from their mouths instead of their nose, the tenseness of Whitaker’s shoulders in particular. 

He drew their attention to the regulation patches jostling in his hand. The new ones required by law for all emergency personnel, no exceptions. 

“These are special, medical-grade scent patches,” Robby announced. “Every morning, you will come to work and place one of these,” he lifted one high above his head, “over your scent glands like so.”

He demonstrated the action without ceremony.

Immediately, the spiced ambrosia of Robby’s scent dampened in the room. A few of them took controlled breaths as he turned down the olfactory noise. 

Now, he was almost indiscernible from every other beta present.

“The patches are intended to fully neutralize your scent output. That is non-negotiable in this department, even for betas. The last thing patients need is instinctual interference while we’re trying to keep them alive. As Dr. Langdon can tell you, doing the heimlich on a confused omega who can’t tell up from down, but can smell that you are an alpha is an easy way to get your eyes scratched out. Right, Dr. Langdon?”

Robby paused for dramatic effect, looking pointedly at the man in question. 

Langdon leveled him with a flat stare. 

“Yup,” he said. “I would not recommend it, kids.”

A couple smiles were thrown around the room. Mostly between the ones who had been there to watch as Langdon tried to explain to the poor woman that he was just trying to help. All while getting a chunk of his hair ripped out the back. 

And none of it would've happened if he had been more diligent with the patches like Robby warned. 

He loved rubbing that one in. 

“Ok. Now, if your patch gets contaminated or you need a replacement, these will be in the med rooms for easy access. Please remember that there are no–I repeat, no–excuses for going unsuppressed on this floor. These are for your safety as well as the safety of our patients.”

He made a point to look each and every one of them in the eyes. 

Gloria had sent him the lineup earlier in the week, and he’d taken the time to review their files last night. Get to know each, at least, on paper. 

As he looked around, he recalled their names and designation.

Dr. Mel King, a mild mannered beta, stood at attention, with a bright smile firmly in place. She nodded along when Robby spoke, holding herself with calm confidence. 

Competent, if her glowing letters of rec were anything to go by. Three emphatic endorsements, strong enough that he was surprised she’d chosen the Pitt. People like her usually had options.

He wondered why.

Dr. Trinity Santos, one of a million cocky alphas, leaned lazily against the counter, looking bored out of her mind. Her gaze slid over the room, assessing. He wouldn’t be surprised if she was measuring herself against everyone in the room, and found them lacking. 

Her eyes landed on him and he met her gaze with steady attention. She straightened immediately, looking caught as her posture took on something a little more professional. 

Good. There was a little humility there. 

Victoria Javadi, MS3, and the only omega in the group. One of the only omegas on the floor, besides Robby and a couple others. She clutched a notebook between both hands, and had taken furious notes when Robby talked. 

But, her eyes darted around the room nervously, attention catching on anything and everything. She looked young, almost too young for this line of work. He hoped that didn’t bite them in the ass later.

Who was he kidding, it probably would. 

Dennis Whitaker, MS4, was an aloof alpha. He maintained eye contact with the floor, mostly. Posture at attention, albeit a little slumped. Like he hated the fact he took up space, that he was being perceived. 

There was no alpha posturing, no restless energy.

His eyes almost glossed over him completely because of it. 

Robby valued eye contact, demanded it in most cases, but Dennis preferred to glance up at him in short bursts. A little strange, but Robby didn’t think he was doing it to be disrespectful. In fact, he wondered if he was doing it to be the opposite. 

In some parts of the country, it was frowned upon to look at an omega without permission. Alphas in particular had to be very careful with their gaze. They were taught restraint at a young age–too much eye contact could be read as a challenge, or worse. 

His grandmother would’ve boxed an alpha’s ears for less, 70 years ago. 

Pittsburgh culture, well city culture in general, had outgrown those rules. Many considered them archaic. Impractical, even. Things like that only existed in the most rural of places. 

But, habits baked into one's biology didn’t disappear overnight.

Whitaker looked up again, and this time, Robby held the contact. Curious about what the other man would do. After a beat, Dennis broke it first, eyes fleeing down to watch his sneakers shuffle against the concrete. 

Interesting. 

“Your senior residents are Dr. Collins and Dr. Langdon,” Robby continued before the silence stretched too long. “You report to them. They report to me. Present every case before administering treatment. Always. To one of us. Ok, what else?”

Robby moved on, outlining departmental flow, and laying out expectations. Urged them to keep patient encounters brief, practical, and well-documented. Reminded them not to neglect Chairs, either. 

When he circled back to the patches, his tone shifted slightly.

“When you walk through those doors,” he said, seriously, “you are not an alpha. You’re not a beta, or omega. You are a doctor.”

Robby passed the tub around, watching as every student plucked one out and followed his lead, sticking the patch against their glands. 

He inhaled deeply when they finished, finally free from the mental static of being surrounded by fertile alphas in his pre-heat. Damn biology. 

Thank God for those patches. 

“If you listen to everything your senior residents say–everything I say–then you might become one worth something,” Robby said. “So, wear the damn patches, ok?”

Everyone nodded.

Everyone except Whitaker, who gave a distracted, “Yes, sir.”

The room stilled. All eyes turned to him. 

Whitaker froze, then blushed a furious shade of red when he realized that he had just singled himself out. His jaw snapped shut with a loud clack. 

Robby…almost smiled.

“Thank you. Alright, let’s get rounds started,” Robby rubbed his hands together. “Who’s up first?”

“That’d be me, boss,” Langdon gestured. 

Robby passed Dennis on his way to the first patient room and then, for reasons unknown even to himself, he clapped the kid on the shoulder. 

Dennis stiffened under his palm, but otherwise, didn’t react. 

Robby filed that reaction for later review. 

Now, it was time to get to work.

[byawns]

The Pitt ABO

If *someone* wrote a gratuitous, 50K word ABO fic with omega!Robby and alpha!Whitaker, would anyone read it?

Asking for a friend. No reason, lol. hehe.

(For 5,000 likes I'll make it 100,000 words, scouts honor)

UPDATE (Feb 9th, 2026):

THERE WILL BE A FIC COMING SOON TO AO3.

If this fic idea interests you, keep a lookout for a fic titled: "Can I take your scent (and your whole life too)" by Byawns on AO3!!!

The fic will update every week on Fridays (starting THIS FRIDAY)

As always, thank you for your kindness and support and happy reading :}

Lots o' love <3

[byawns]

CHAPTER 1 IS OUT NOW!

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/79644616/chapters/208985896

Sorry for the delay, y'all. I hope this chapter makes up for things <3

[byawns]

Serial Killer Hucklerobby AU

Ok, so....is this a thing people want? Like, toxic, destructive love that results in only the most beautiful of endings that poets write sonnets about for decades?

I'm thinking reminiscent of hannigram vibes. Obsessive possession. Jealousy and murder. The idea that 'I'd watch the world burn down just to see you through the light of the embers' type shit.

If this resonates with you, I only have one question:

Who is the feral one?

Whitaker

Robby

I would NOT read this fic, don't write it

I'm happy with either!

Voting ended onFeb 22

[byawns]

Guys my age [8/12]

SUMMARY: Months before the events of PittFest, struggling med student Dennis Whitaker faints into the arms of a man who desperately wants him to eat real food, actually.

This changes everything and nothing.

LINK: https://archiveofourown.org/works/78681571/chapters/206321866

EXCERPT: 

Dennis slept like the dead. The kind of sleep that hard reset something deep in his brain, and relieved the exhausted ache in his bones. 

He couldn’t remember the last time he slept without having to keep an ear out for security personnel, scared of being discovered sleeping where he shouldn't be. He’d taught himself to survive on the half-awake, tension-filled nights, bracing for a hand on his shoulder or flashlight to the face that never came. Luckily.

There were some close calls, but Dennis had managed to slip away at the last minute. 

He slept so hard that he didn’t even hear Robby leave for work. Couldn’t even tell what time the loud, sticky door must have creaked open and slammed shut. 

Instead, the midday sun pulled him from his dead-like slumber. 

It spilled through the bedroom curtains in one broad stripe, warming half of his face and the tops of his hands. Dennis blinked and turned towards the shadows.

His eyes snapped open a moment later as he registered the ceiling above him. For one panicked second, he didn’t recognize it. Too smooth, too clean, no water stains or cracks. No flickering fluorescent lights. 

Then he remembered the taste of chicken pasta and Robby’s curious attention. The way he had to flick his readers on every time he got a text. The way his sleeves were rolled up just high enough to show off the tattoo on his arm, which he tried really hard not to find hot. 

Right.

He was at Robby’s. 

In his bedroom. In his bed.

Dennis rubbed the sleep from his eyes with a groan and rolled over to check the time on his phone out of habit…which was plugged in beside him. 

He didn’t remember doing that. 

Dennis picked it up, spying the sticky note placed over the screen. 

‘Call or text if you need anything. Here’s my number: 412-XXX-XXXX’

-R

Dennis' stomach did that swooping thing anytime Robby was involved. 

He moved the note and tapped the screen. No response. He pressed the power button on the side, but it didn’t even flash the low power logo. 

Just…a black screen. 

Did it not charge last night? 

Dennis followed the cord with his eyes, looking for where it might have been unplugged or kinked or anything else that would prevent it from charging. Nothing. 

Only one possibility remained.

His phone, which he had owned since junior year of college, had finally bit the dust. It had been a long time coming. The touch screen had stopped sensing his finger in some spots, the battery died after only two or three hours of continued use, and the volume button on the side was permanently stuck half-inside the case. 

It was just the poor thing’s time. 

A flare of irritation sparked in his chest. Of course it picked now to give out. 

“Right when things were getting good,” he complained. “Figures.”

The last thing he needed was a bum phone. His laptop was already on its way out the door with keys sticking and the battery only charging when he held the cord just right. He’d kept it functional for months, but it was only a matter of time before he would wiggle the mouse and it would refuse to turn on. 

The expenses kept piling up. 

Dennis rolled out of bed and squinted at the alarm clock blinking in red on Robby’s nightstand. 

12:06 PM.

“No way,” he muttered, scrubbing a hand down his face. 

He hadn’t slept past 7 AM since he got sick in college. Back home, if you slept past the morning hours, you had better be sick or dying. Anything less would earn you a tanned hide and extra chores. 

He pushed himself from those thoughts, out the bedroom door and to the bathroom. He really had to pee. On the way, something bright caught his eye. 

Another sticky note.

‘Feel free to grab clean clothes from the closet. Don’t mind the mess.’

-R

Dennis chuckled. If Robby’s apartment was a mess, then he would dissect his own eyeball. 

But that thought brought up a good point. He didn’t see any in-house laundry facility in the apartment. He didn’t doubt that Robby had one, just that it hadn’t been shown to him yet. 

He remembered seeing one down the block on the Uber ride. Right across from a small grocery store. He made a mental note to check it out later. 

He brushed his teeth and tried to do something about his bed head. There was some gel in the bottom drawer of the vanity. Curious, he took a bead of it and slicked back his hair experimentally. 

Oh, nope. Absolutely not.

He looked like a choir boy.

He grimaced and then rinsed the substance out. He had to towel-dry his curls, but otherwise left them largely untamed. 

Dennis wandered into the kitchen, eyes catching on another note left on the counter. 

‘Breakfast in the microwave. Hope you like eggs.’

-R

Dennis stared at it longer than necessary. 

He popped open the microwave and found the wrapped plate of sausage and eggs, as promised, waiting for him. 

Hmmm. That was…hmm. 

He mutely closed the door and keyed 30 seconds on the microwave. It hummed and filled the air with the smell of well-seasoned food, making his stomach grumble. 

Dennis plucked a fork off the drying rack and sat down with his breakfast. 

Or…he would’ve.

Another note sat on the dining table. He picked it up and read the messy scrawl. Like Robby had written it last minute. Like he was in a hurry out the door but just had to get this one out. 

‘Getting dinner with colleagues. Feed yourself with this.’

-R.

And below it–

$40 in cash.

Something ached in his chest as he stared at the two crisp $20 bills folded one on top of the other. Not uncomfortably, necessarily, but the feeling of…

Well.

He sat down slowly, plate forgotten as he thumbed the bills. It wasn’t life-changing money. Not by a long shot. But, it was groceries. Real ones, not the ramen or oatmeal or peanut butter he stretched to last the week.

Fresh ones.

Dennis swallowed, biting his lip to keep it from trembling. Each note had built up into something painful in his heart–had stabbed with that familiar longing he had suppressed so long, it had almost vanished. 

The smallest flicker of something he had been craving for a long, long time jolted high in his chest. Something that clogged his throat with emotion, making him a little wet around the eyes as he slowly glanced around and remembered that last night wasn’t a dream.  That he was home.