I love everything to do with Hucklerabbot, Hucklerobby, Huckleabbot, Rabbot, and PopeWhit! Essentially any combination of those three men in love/fucking each other has a chokehold on my heart! 🫶🫶🫶
I don't really support other Pitt ships that much, but I'm not against them either. Love is love.
Please feel free to message me about literally anything. I don't bite (unless you're Jack Abbot or any variation of a Shawn Hatosy character . . . Then I might bite your titty 🤭).
whitaker is not robby's new langdon and he never has been. and robby does not see himself in whitaker. that's not the point of dennis regurgitating robby's teachings, "oh it's like robby when he was younger..."
it's to show dennis looks up to robby. and that's what gets robby. because dennis is a person who saw him curled up on the floor like a baby, crying and whimpering, completely breaking, and stayed through it. saw all of it. and still, still respects him, trusts him, likes him, looks up to him afterwards.
he saw robby at an extremely vulnerable moment and did not "abandon" him. thaaat is the root of the attachment. that is why robby is so careful to keep dennis from seeing the uglier parts of him. he is desperate to have at least one person who still thinks he's good. who still looks up to him as the "captain" of the ED.
I'm not saying this is a good thing, it isn't, for either of them, but it's soooo interesting. dennis is not langdon, dennis is not robby, dennis is dennis.
Hucklerabbot stalker! AU with Trans!Dennis and creeps!Rabbot
Dennis who, unable to confess his feelings to Robby before he leaves for his sabbatical, decides to give in to the compliments of Abbot, the best friend of the man he has a crush on, and begins a relationship with him full of sex and "no" feelings.
They fuck everywhere: in Jack's car, in Dennis's apartment, in the bathrooms at the Pitt.
And yet, Jack's favorite place to fuck seems to be Robby's bedroom. There, he pushes Dennis's head against the mattress, or pulls his hair and makes him look at the bookcase on the wall. He shoves his cock in his pussy, his ass, his throat, calling him his "good boy" and his "pretty whore."
When one night, after they've fucked, Dennis asks Jack why Robby's room, the man shrugs, saying something about the man having a really comfortable bed.
So he forgets about it.
But oh, if only he had noticed the little camera hidden in one of the many books in the library, and if only he knew how much Robby enjoys hearing his moans.
robby confessing to dennis while he thinks dennis is asleep beside him, listing every little thing he loves about him, every little detail that stole his heart. talking about his smile, his kindness, the way he makes every room feel warmer, his dumb laugh
meanwhile dennis is wide awake the entire time, eyes squeezed shut, heart pounding so hard he's convinced robby can hear it. he's doing everything in his power to pretend he's still asleep, terrified that if robby realizes he's awake, he'll stop talking
as much as I love the concept of dennis sleeping in robby's bed while he's away my dennis is far too polite. he feels weird about it, too weird. he ends up curled fetal on robby's couch, holding himself, shivering a little. he doesn't even bother with a blanket.
robby gets home early. two months early and 2am early. it's dark out, and he's tired— he's never not tired. a bone-deep exhaustion he just can't shake. couldn't shake it on the road, couldn't work up the courage to hurl himself off a roof or a cliff or something that would end this endless exhaustion for good. he did something he's gotten embarrassingly good at, he gave up.
he assumes dennis is sleeping at the very least, most likely not even there. dennis probably stops by once a day to water a couple of dying plants, make sure no one has broken in overnight. easy enough. of course, dennis was welcome to stay. welcome to anything, his food, (not that there's much of it) his bed, anything he wanted. robby half-expected him to get the house. half-expected himself to never come home.
knew that he was never gonna do it. too pussy, too weak, maybe. he'll make excuses, say PTMC needs him, (what a joke..) that his colleagues would miss him, something, anything. but the damned truth is he just couldn't fucking do it.
robby eases his front door shut, toes out of his boots, sighs heavy through his nose. when he pads into the living room he's shocked to make out a form in the dim light, the rise and fall of breathing, dennis. god, of course. robby should've given him some sort of express permission, do whatever you want, sleep in my bed, wear my clothes, use my shower.
not like— not like that. even though robby's chest feels weird at the thought of it, dennis in his clothes... smelling of him... nuzzling into sheets he's slept in. fuck. robby's always been a fucking pervert when it comes to his adorable intern with the biggest, saddest eyes, but knowing it feels a little better. self-awareness and all that. the kid is just so sweet, so eager, so... he looks up at robby like robby means something to him.
just— dennis should've been comfortable. he knows the kid, always scared of imposing, taking up too much space, being too much. a tendency to curl into himself, even months later with a new edge of confidence. robby knows his mattress is a hell of a lot nicer than his couch, at least.
for a moment he considers if he should leave the little thing all curled up, sleeping, unaware. but robby is a selfish man. and he'll pretend that it's for dennis, that he's thinking about how achy the poor kid will get from sleeping on the couch, but he knows it's not true. robby is fucking tired. and he wants. he wants dennis in his bed, in his arms, sleepy and sweet, something whole, something innocent. someone who likes him. who cares about his opinions and his praises, craves them, even. fuck, yeah, robby's a selfish man. but he knows it. he's aware.
ignoring the protest in his back and knees, he scoops dennis up in the cradle of his arms, grunting at the muscled weight. dennis is short, compared to him at least, and robby fucking loves that more than he should— how small dennis can seem in comparison to him— but he's not exactly tiny. especially not since his return from rotations, with those pretty, sculpted arms robby keeps peeking at every time he offers a job-well-done fistbump.
fucking pervert.
dennis stirs a little, snuffles in the crook of his neck, and robby feels like crying. it's the most intimate he's been with someone in years, it feels like, even though he picked up a girl in a bar on the road just a week ago, gave her a good night. picked up a guy, just a couple days before that. robby's good at flirting, good at sex, good at impersonal.
this feels different. dennis's warm weight, the gentle smell of coconut shampoo, the softness of the dirty blond curls against his chin. this is someone he cares about. and dennis is clinging to him in his sleep, whining a little in the back of his throat as he's laid down on robby's bed. yeah. robby feels like fucking crying, even though he'd never just let himself. he spends most of his time trying not to cry.
but, he lets himself have this. shushes dennis's soft whines, crawls into bed and curls up close, gritting his teeth as dennis takes so easily to it. nuzzles up like he's trying to burrow into robby, shuddering like he's unused to touch, unused to the warmth of another body. robby squeezes his eyes shut and lets himself drop a kiss to the top of dennis's head, breathing him in deep til his shoulders loosen a bit. god, how long has he wanted this? feels like forever. maybe always, in some capacity. someone sweet and forgiving, warm and soft, cuddling up into his chest like robby could ever be considered "safe."
someone staying, as if robby could ever be anything but abandoned.
dennis whispers robby? against his throat and robby tenses up, scared that this safety bubble is popped, that everything's broken, that he's fucked it. that he only had paradise for a moment before it's snatched from his grip all over again.
he might as well give into it while he can. talk to dennis like he does in his head, treat dennis like he fantasizes about on lonely nights. so he hums soft, starts rubbing circles on dennis's back, cuddling him somehow closer as he coos shh, you're okay, baby, you're alright. you're safe, sweetheart. go back to sleep.
robby resigns himself, waits for the other shoe to drop. waits for dennis to realize what's happening, to wrench out of his grasp, maybe yell at robby for holding him, touching him like this without even asking. innocent, maybe, but intimate, too intimate. inappropriate. so robby waits.
dennis only rubs his cheek against robby's shoulder, tucks his face into robby's neck, body going lax with an adorable little yawn. mm, he murmurs, soft, sleepy. your bed's nice. I missed you.
as much as I love the concept of dennis sleeping in robby's bed while he's away my dennis is far too polite. he feels weird about it, too weird. he ends up curled fetal on robby's couch, holding himself, shivering a little. he doesn't even bother with a blanket.
robby gets home early. two months early and 2am early. it's dark out, and he's tired— he's never not tired. a bone-deep exhaustion he just can't shake. couldn't shake it on the road, couldn't work up the courage to hurl himself off a roof or a cliff or something that would end this endless exhaustion for good. he did something he's gotten embarrassingly good at, he gave up.
he assumes dennis is sleeping at the very least, most likely not even there. dennis probably stops by once a day to water a couple of dying plants, make sure no one has broken in overnight. easy enough. of course, dennis was welcome to stay. welcome to anything, his food, (not that there's much of it) his bed, anything he wanted. robby half-expected him to get the house. half-expected himself to never come home.
knew that he was never gonna do it. too pussy, too weak, maybe. he'll make excuses, say PTMC needs him, (what a joke..) that his colleagues would miss him, something, anything. but the damned truth is he just couldn't fucking do it.
robby eases his front door shut, toes out of his boots, sighs heavy through his nose. when he pads into the living room he's shocked to make out a form in the dim light, the rise and fall of breathing, dennis. god, of course. robby should've given him some sort of express permission, do whatever you want, sleep in my bed, wear my clothes, use my shower.
not like— not like that. even though robby's chest feels weird at the thought of it, dennis in his clothes... smelling of him... nuzzling into sheets he's slept in. fuck. robby's always been a fucking pervert when it comes to his adorable intern with the biggest, saddest eyes, but knowing it feels a little better. self-awareness and all that. the kid is just so sweet, so eager, so... he looks up at robby like robby means something to him.
just— dennis should've been comfortable. he knows the kid, always scared of imposing, taking up too much space, being too much. a tendency to curl into himself, even months later with a new edge of confidence. robby knows his mattress is a hell of a lot nicer than his couch, at least.
for a moment he considers if he should leave the little thing all curled up, sleeping, unaware. but robby is a selfish man. and he'll pretend that it's for dennis, that he's thinking about how achy the poor kid will get from sleeping on the couch, but he knows it's not true. robby is fucking tired. and he wants. he wants dennis in his bed, in his arms, sleepy and sweet, something whole, something innocent. someone who likes him. who cares about his opinions and his praises, craves them, even. fuck, yeah, robby's a selfish man. but he knows it. he's aware.
ignoring the protest in his back and knees, he scoops dennis up in the cradle of his arms, grunting at the muscled weight. dennis is short, compared to him at least, and robby fucking loves that more than he should— how small dennis can seem in comparison to him— but he's not exactly tiny. especially not since his return from rotations, with those pretty, sculpted arms robby keeps peeking at every time he offers a job-well-done fistbump.
fucking pervert.
dennis stirs a little, snuffles in the crook of his neck, and robby feels like crying. it's the most intimate he's been with someone in years, it feels like, even though he picked up a girl in a bar on the road just a week ago, gave her a good night. picked up a guy, just a couple days before that. robby's good at flirting, good at sex, good at impersonal.
this feels different. dennis's warm weight, the gentle smell of coconut shampoo, the softness of the dirty blond curls against his chin. this is someone he cares about. and dennis is clinging to him in his sleep, whining a little in the back of his throat as he's laid down on robby's bed. yeah. robby feels like fucking crying, even though he'd never just let himself. he spends most of his time trying not to cry.
but, he lets himself have this. shushes dennis's soft whines, crawls into bed and curls up close, gritting his teeth as dennis takes so easily to it. nuzzles up like he's trying to burrow into robby, shuddering like he's unused to touch, unused to the warmth of another body. robby squeezes his eyes shut and lets himself drop a kiss to the top of dennis's head, breathing him in deep til his shoulders loosen a bit. god, how long has he wanted this? feels like forever. maybe always, in some capacity. someone sweet and forgiving, warm and soft, cuddling up into his chest like robby could ever be considered "safe."
someone staying, as if robby could ever be anything but abandoned.
dennis whispers robby? against his throat and robby tenses up, scared that this safety bubble is popped, that everything's broken, that he's fucked it. that he only had paradise for a moment before it's snatched from his grip all over again.
he might as well give into it while he can. talk to dennis like he does in his head, treat dennis like he fantasizes about on lonely nights. so he hums soft, starts rubbing circles on dennis's back, cuddling him somehow closer as he coos shh, you're okay, baby, you're alright. you're safe, sweetheart. go back to sleep.
robby resigns himself, waits for the other shoe to drop. waits for dennis to realize what's happening, to wrench out of his grasp, maybe yell at robby for holding him, touching him like this without even asking. innocent, maybe, but intimate, too intimate. inappropriate. so robby waits.
dennis only rubs his cheek against robby's shoulder, tucks his face into robby's neck, body going lax with an adorable little yawn. mm, he murmurs, soft, sleepy. your bed's nice. I missed you.
Something about the after effects of anesthesia makes him drop into subspace. He woke up in the transition room, still on a gurney being transported back to the recovery room.
His first thoughts are initially stricken with panic, then abrupt sadness. Where is Daddy? Sir? Why would they leave me? A tear trickles down his cheek and he lies still, incapable of moving his limbs. The nurse accompanying him in unfamiliar, her grey scrubs dull against the florescent lighting of the hospital.
Somewhere in his floaty, fuzzy brain, he knew he needed something to ground him. His arms felt heavy and his head couldn't lift off the pillow. His fingers twitched, yearning for. . . Something. He didn't know what.
The pulse monitor on his left pointer finger was at least something he could try to focus on. They continued down the hallway and the blur of scrubs and people made him nauseous. He felt the slight pressure from the monitor squeezing his finger. Focused on the smooth rubber. The pulse in his finger.
A buzzer sounded as the nurse gained access to the hallway where the recovery rooms were held. The noise pulled at the static in his head. He couldn't orient himself, he just kept drifting.
"I'm sure someone can contact your family for you, sir. Just try to calm down for now. Someone will find your dad, okay?"
Had he been speaking out loud this whole time? Dennis tried to shake his head, but the movement was too sluggish for his eyes and vertigo pulled at his stomach.
Daddy would know what to do. Sir always knew what was best. Where were they? Dennis' mind went blank as they rounded a corner and went into an open room. The blinds were open and the nurse flicked on all of the lights in the room.
"N-no . . . Off--pleazzz." His voice sounded strange. The nurse rolled her eyes and flicked off the main lights, leaving just the vestibule lit by the doorway.
The nurse transferred some of the wires and leads to the machines and made sure his vitals were being monitored. She typed a few notes into his chart using the in-room computer, before signing off and taking off her latex gloves.
"Okay Dr. Whitaker, you should be all set for now. If you need something, please push the call button for help. Do not attempt to get out of bed on your own, okay?"
Dennis laid there for a while, his thoughts sliding off of each other with little to no connection. He stared blankly out the window to his right. Cars. Road. Parking lot. What was he missing? He needed . . . Something.
A knock sounded at the door and a familiar face appeared. Black scrubs. Dennis fixated on the scrubs for a moment. Something was important about black scrubs.
"Hey Huckleberry, enjoying the high?" Her voice pulled at his thoughts.
"Wh-what?"
"Ya know--from the insane dosage of pain meds you're on right now? Must be nice, you get to skip a few days of work AND they give you some of the good stuff."
His eyebrows were knit together. She could tell he was out of it, so she smirked and gave him a queer look.
"Soooo Huckleberry, who's this mystery man you've been seeing when you claim you're at Amy's? And don't lie and tell me you were there, because you no longer come home smelling like the barnyard anymore--not that I'm complaining--but spill. C'mon. Do they work here? Is that why you're being so secretive?"
"I--gah I-I need Sir--"
"Ser--vice? Like a nurse? Oh god if you're taking a shit right now, I am NOT cleaning your bedpan."
Dennis blinked his eyes for a moment. Another knock sounded at the door.
"Santos, don't you have patients downstairs?"
"Right--yes, sorry Huckleberry, duty calls." She snickered and made her way out of the room.
The voice belonged to a tall, tired looking man wearing black scrubs and a green jacket.
"Daddy!"
Dennis tried picking up his arms to reach for him, but wires and tubes pulled and he nearly ripped the IV out of place. Daddy put up his hands in a placating gesture and walked towards him with concern in his eyes.
"Dennis? What are y--did you drop?"
Dennis had a dazed smile as Daddy finally got close enough for his left hand to clutch at his Daddy's sleeve. He tugged on it, pulling his arm over the hospital bed railing. Daddy took ahold of his hand and brought it up to his lips, kissing it gently.
"Oh Denny, you're gonna be okay. Let's find something to ground you, okay baby?"
Dennis nodded his head. See? Daddy always knew what to do.
"Normally I'd use my cock, but you're just going to have to make do with my fingers, okay Denny? Open up for Daddy."
Dennis popped open his mouth and Daddy inserted two fingers. As Dennis started to lazily suck, he felt the edges of his conscience start to pull together. He focused on the salty taste. The pads of Daddy's fingers pressing against his tongue. The shape of the digits in his mouth. He hummed happily.
"That's it, good boy Denny." His Daddy--Robby cooed.
Dennis blinked. His eyes snapped wide open, alert and embarrassed, and he released Robby's fingers from his mouth.
"S-sorry Robby, I know I'm not supposed to drop at work, I just--"
"Whitaker, it's okay. You just got out of surgery for crying out loud. It's no big deal."
Dennis sank back against the bed, thoroughly numb all over and still a bit embarrassed. Robby gave him an easy smile and wiped his fingers on his scrub pants.
"Jack's on his way, he'll hang out with you here until you get discharged and then he's gonna take you home."
"Okay." Dennis felt small. He had lost control and slipped into subspace without the wherewithal to pull himself back out on his own.
"Sir is going to be disappointed he missed this. We thought you might slip, we just didn't expect it to be so far."
Just then, the door swung open and Jack swaggered in dressed in blue jeans and a faded Green Day shirt.
"Hey, kid. How ya feeling?"
"He dropped. Hard. These meds make him quite subby." Robby answered for him. He turned and gave Jack a quick peck on the lips.
Dennis hummed in agreement and looked up sheepishly at the two of them.
"I'm going to head back down, brother. Take care of him for the both of us." Robby said. He bent over the side of the hospital bed and kissed Dennis quickly before heading out.
"Oh we are going to have so much fun with this when we get home, kid." Jack smiled and winked at Dennis. Fuck he was going to be in for a wild recovery.
Dennis is the type to want to have sex every single day with Robby, and the one time he says no, cause he’s tired from a 24-hour shift, Robby thinks Dennis is gonna break up with him
Dennis wakes up in the morning feeling refreshed, while Robby barely slept a wink
Now Dennis is wondering why his boyfriend looks so sad and keeps shooting him mournful glances over his shoulder
Carrying on the torch from @lancey-lance-963! My queen, you have me blushing (I read your post and I was like "aww I wish I were in that list", and then I saw my handle at the bottom and got so excited) 🤭🫶
Last Song: Apocalypse by Cigarettes After Sex
Currently watching: Animal Kingdom, Ted Lasso, and Arcane
Current Obsession: THE PITT (no seriously this has taken over my life in the best way)
Currently Reading: tons of pitt fics, Crown of Midnight, Lights Out, The Hobbit
Currently Working on: Chapter 46 of Honeysuckle Huckleberry on AO3 😘
Last Google Search: okay this is gonna sound so fucking creepy but lemme explain . . . "When were Shawn Hatosy's kids born?"
BEFORE you judge me, I was trying to figure out what he looked like when he became a dad and the timing of when he was filming Animal Kingdom and I doing research on his career with his family life in perspective. Take from that what you will. 🫠
Okayyyyyy lemme pass the torch to some people I've been inspired by lately @alexisneverokay, @eggcompany, @sacrificedagoat, @puppydogwhitaker, and @waiting-in-chairs
Hucklerobby/hucklerabbot Farm episode: dennis has to go back home (because reasons) and robby (and jack up to you) decide to join. While at a bar, an older lady tries to flirth witj jack and or robby and dennis quickly places his cowboy hat on them. That is when they learn that placing cowboy hat on someone is a token of being taken and being flirted with (like "this one is mine" thing). So slow small town where everyone knows dennis, and cowboy midwest farm drama, gossiping and meeting people again who all have opinions about dennis and the two older gents he brought with him (or who followed after him)
YEAH YEAH YEAH I'm picking up what you're putting down!!
(I'll do hucklerobby just because it's been a hot sec and Dennis can only have so many hats.)
"Did you see that Ruth's boy is back in town? Their youngest?"
"No but Susanne's been tellin' me about it at book club! He brought that older friend with him, didn't he?"
"Well... I wouldn't be too sure it was just a friend, you know."
"Now what are you trying to tell me?"
"Now listen- Susanne's daughter was sayin' she popped down to the bar by the Meijer's to have a good time on her free night. Lord knows bein' a teacher works her down to the bone, good for her. Anyways, she starts trying to chat up this taller fellow. Oh she was going on and on about how easy on the eyes he was. And then, you'll never guess."
"Was it Dennis's friend?"
"It was. And this boy walks up to the two of them, takes off his Stetson-"
"-no!"
"-and plops it down right on his head! Of course she gets the hint- didn't get a teacher's degree bein' stupid- walks the way back home all put out."
"You don't think..?"
"Well if a guy's fixin' to lay his claim.."
.
.
.
Dennis prayed to all things holy Robby wouldn't ask him about the hat thing.
He'd just seen a woman- Robby's age, nice, chatting him up all sweet- and he was walking over before he could even think. Under the guise of playfulness, he takes the hat off his head and puts it on Robby's.
"Robby, can you hold this while I try out the mechanical Bull?" Dennis asked, his eyes darting over to the sour look on the woman's face. Good. Robby chuckled and rightened the hat on his head, putting a hand on Dennis's lower back.
"Go ahead, I'll be here."
And of course nobody in Broken Bow could mind their fucking business. Dennis could see the older women clucking to themselves when they left the general store, the teenage clerk making a sly comment about how nice it was to see Dennis's "famous friend". He only managed to dissuade Robby's curious look with a comment about how he was probably the first new person in the last two decades before steering them back towards their motel.
He knew he was fucked when Robby was scrolling on his Ipad when Dennis got out of the shower; his glasses sliding down his nose in a way that drove Dennis wild as he chuckled and said, "So; The Hat rule, huh?"
Dennis froze and blinked at him, midway through toweling his hair dry as he tried to get his mouth to connect to his brain. He slowly walked over to his bed (because the clerk had thought they made a mistake booking a room with one bed) and sat down on the edge.
"I- Robby, I'm so sorry-"
"I was wondering why we kept getting stared at- makes a little more sense now." Robby swung his legs over the edge and stood up, walking the scant feet over to Dennis.
"It's- God, it's just a stupid country thing, I should've asked before telling the whole damn bar you were taken-" Dennis started before Robby took his chin between his fingers
"What's the rule? 'Wear the hat, ride the cowboy?" Robby murmured, and Dennis was sure his heart damn near stopped in his chest.
"Robby-"
"-you heard me, cowboy."
Dennis wished he had his digital camera Trinity got him so he could immortalize the sight of Robby riding him in nothing but his hat.
(And it was well worth massaging Robby's thighs and calves in the morning as he grumbled about how he was "too damn old for that shit.")
yes, I’m a writer. yes, I write whatever I want for myself and my own enjoyment. yes, I am my own primary target audience. yes, I am a greedy little gremlin who feeds on positive comments. yes, I deeply appreciate everyone who comments nice things on my works.
I feel like we moved on wayyy too quickly from "I'm not finished yet." "shhh." (sorry..) because what the fuck was that. that's his fucking dog ??? like. robby fucking dennis through past his orgasm and dennis babbling and pleading please, please, s'too much, please, I ca-an't take it— and robby only fucking in deeper, murmuring shh, shh, I'm not finished yet, baby. shhh, just take it.
