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taylor price
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Keni
ojovivo
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🪼
One Nice Bug Per Day
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DEAR READER
Jules of Nature
cherry valley forever
seen from T1
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from Canada
seen from Australia
seen from Croatia
seen from United States
seen from Australia
seen from Malaysia
seen from Türkiye
seen from Türkiye
seen from Vietnam
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from United Kingdom
@slowburnsaint
╭ ❝ mari❞ ᦏෆ᪔
• kiss the ladder ; fleshwater ♪
╰ ★ new writer . infj . EST 🕰️
main : @motelmarijuana
──★ fandoms : the pitt, the rookie, tlou, rdr2, avatar , house md, overwatch , call of duty mw2/3 anything shawn hatosy＜3, some starwars / mandolorian,,,
──★ mostly fluff/ casual but maybe the occasional smut drabble
traveling soldier
synopsis: based on this song. highly recommend listening while reading! (i didn’t kiss the brick btw)
🪖 𓏵‧₊˚ ┊
the first time you met johnny you were working as a server in a dingy little cafe, faded vinyl booths, chipped tiles.
he was sat in a booth facing the street, dressed in a fitted green shirt, a terribly anxious look stricken across his face.
he looked young.
too young to be carrying the weight sitting behind his eyes.
you almost walked past him.
almost.
instead, you stopped beside his table.
“would you like a menu?”
he glances up.
for a moment, neither of you say anything.
then—
“would you tell me the time?”
you glance down at your watch.
“it's a little after six.”
“thank you.”
his fingers tap nervously against the table.
you should leave.
there are other customers.
other tables.
but something keeps your feet rooted to the floor.
he notices.
“would you sit with me awhile?”
you blink.
“why?”
he looks down at his hands.
“i'm feeling a little low.”
the honesty catches you completely off guard.
you glance toward the clock behind the counter.
“i'm off in an hour.”
hope flickers across his face.
“i know where we can go,” you add softly.
and for the first time since you met him, he smiles.
an hour later you're walking side by side down the pier.
the ocean air is cool.
the sky painted gold by the setting sun.
for a while neither of you say much.
just the sound of waves crashing below and distant gulls overhead.
eventually he breaks the silence.
“i bet you've got a boyfriend.”
you laugh.
“i don't.”
he looks relieved.
so relieved, in fact, that it makes you laugh again.
“why?”
his gaze falls toward the water.
his hands shove deeper into his pockets.
“i don't care if you do.”
you raise an eyebrow.
“oh?”
“i got no one to send letters to.”
his voice is quieter now.
more vulnerable.
“would you mind if i sent one back here to you?”
for a moment all you can do is stare at him.
he looks terrified.
like he's waiting for you to laugh.
or say no.
instead you smile.
soft.
warm.
“i'd like that, johnny.”
the tension leaves his shoulders instantly.
and somewhere between the crashing waves and the fading sunlight, something changes.
neither of you know it yet.
but years from now you'll still remember this moment.
the pier.
the ocean.
the nervous soldier beside you.
he leaves the next morning.
there's no dramatic goodbye.
no promises he isn't certain he can keep.
just one last hug.
one last smile.
and a folded piece of paper with your address written carefully across it.
three weeks later a letter arrives.
your name is scrawled messily across the front.
inside, he talks about rain.
about awful coffee.
about the men he serves beside.
he never tells you where he is.
never tells you what he's doing.
just enough to let you know he's safe.
at the very bottom of the page he writes:
thanks for giving me someone to write to.
you cry after reading that line.
though you're not entirely sure why.
you write back the same night.
then he writes again.
and again.
and again.
somewhere between pages and envelopes, johnny becomes a permanent part of your life.
months become years.
letters become routine.
he writes whenever he can.
you answer every single one.
sometimes they're only a few paragraphs.
sometimes they're pages long.
he tells you about a captain named price.
a lieutenant everyone calls ghost.
friends who become family.
missions he can't discuss.
close calls he refuses to elaborate on.
you learn how to read between the lines.
you learn which letters were written after bad days.
which were written when he couldn't sleep.
which were written because he missed you so badly he couldn't bear not hearing from you.
when he comes home on leave, it feels natural.
like seeing him again is the most ordinary thing in the world.
he's taller somehow.
broader.
older.
but the smile is still the same.
the one that first appeared in that little cafe.
you spend every moment together.
walking through town.
sitting on rooftops.
watching terrible movies.
talking until sunrise.
every goodbye becomes harder than the last.
you realize you're in love with him long before either of you say it aloud.
it happens quietly.
without warning.
one evening you're reading one of his letters.
laughing at a terrible joke scribbled in the margins.
and suddenly the truth settles in your chest.
you love him.
you've loved him for a while.
the confession comes during another leave.
you're sitting together outside your apartment.
his shoulder pressed against yours.
the city quiet around you.
“i think i'm in love with you.”
the words are so simple.
so johnny.
you look at him.
really look at him.
and smile.
“good.”
confusion flashes across his face.
“good?”
“because i'm in love with you too.”
he laughs.
the nervous laugh you remember from the pier.
and kisses you.
the years continue.
deployments.
letters.
homecomings.
goodbyes.
through everything, there is always another letter waiting.
another promise to come home.
another i love you written across the bottom of the page.
you keep every single one.
he keeps yours too.
folded carefully inside his rucksack.
carried across continents.
across years.
across wars.
his letters become less frequent during task force 141's latest operations.
when they do arrive, they're shorter.
more hurried.
you worry.
he insists he's fine.
always fine.
always coming home.
the last letter arrives three weeks before everything changes.
the handwriting is rushed.
slanted.
familiar.
he tells you he misses you.
he tells you he'll be home soon.
he tells you he loves you.
three separate times.
as if he can't help himself.
as if he needs to make sure you know.
you write back immediately.
he never gets the chance to read it.
the knock comes early in the morning.
heavy.
deliberate.
wrong.
your stomach drops before you even reach the door.
some part of you already knows.
when you open it, captain price stands on your doorstep.
ghost beside him.
neither man says anything at first.
they don't need to.
their expressions tell you everything.
“no.”
the word leaves your mouth before you can stop it.
price removes his hat.
ghost looks away.
“no.”
your knees nearly give out beneath you.
ghost catches your arm before you can fall.
the room spins.
the walls feel too close.
too small.
too empty.
because johnny isn't coming home.
this time he isn't coming home.
you don't remember much of what follows.
only fragments.
price explaining.
ghost standing silently beside him.
words that refuse to fully register.
sacrifice.
mission.
hero.
none of them matter.
none of them are johnny.
before they leave, ghost places something on your coffee table.
a battered bundle of envelopes tied together with faded string.
you recognize them instantly.
every letter you'd ever sent.
every late-night confession.
every joke.
every i miss you.
every i love you.
he carried them with him.
all those years.
all those miles.
all that time.
after they're gone, you sit alone on your living room floor.
the letters resting in your lap.
your hands tremble as you untie the string.
a folded note slips free.
one you don't recognize.
written in handwriting you know better than your own.
if you're reading this, things probably didn't go according to plan.
a broken laugh escapes you.
typical johnny.
i loved you every day i knew you.
every letter.
every goodbye.
every hello.
and if i had the choice, i'd spend a thousand lifetimes finding my way back to you.
love always,
johnny.
years later, people will talk about heroes.
about soldiers.
about legends.
they'll talk about john mctavish and the life he lived.
the sacrifices he made.
the battles he fought.
but when you think of him, that's not who you remember.
you remember a nervous young soldier sitting alone in a cafe.
you remember him asking for the time.
you remember him asking you to stay.
you remember the pier.
the ocean wind.
the sunset.
“i got no one to send letters to.”
and despite everything that happened after—
you'll always be grateful that he asked.
so who wants mandolorian content.
i saw the new call of duty trailer. ohhh god it’s gonna be a never ending spout of fanfic.
you will cry.
please i’m feeling creative again send me requests
pt.2 of my huckleabott headcanons
• since wittaker loves avocado abott always makes sure to always have atleast 3 in the house at all times
• when dennis can’t sleep sometimes he’ll make a late night coffee run and drop it off during abotts shift
• both dennis and abott love drive in movie theaters so those are a common date night occurrence for them
• abott carries dog treats for the K-9s when he’s working on swat calls and sneaks them to the pups when they’re not in an active call
• abott is a big hypocrite about dennis and his small energy drink addiction (he has one a day on shift) whereas abott has like 4 cups of coffee through the day; he says it’s because he doesn’t like all the chemicals that dennis is drinking from them
huckleabbott headcanons because i don’t see enough of them pt.1
⋆⭒˚.⋆
• as much as he hates to admit that abotts music taste is good, whittaker LOVES to secretly shazam songs from abotts playlists
• when abott has the occasional panic attack or nightmare from his military days whittaker will lay on his chest like a service dog doing deep pressure therapy until he calms down enough to sleep
• abott and whittaker LOVE to go work together on amy’s farm together (nothing gets abott turned in more than watching whittaker be strong and get all sweaty)
• on the slim chance that both abott and whittaker both have the day off the both occasionally like to roll a joint or two and order food while binging a series or movies
•them getting each others clothes confused is a very real occurrence and they have both gone to work in each others scrubs without noticing until later in the day
i could absolutely sit here all day and come up with more of these but i’ll keep it short for now 🫡
pt.2 as requested of my whittaker fight!! from: @ghosty-pal
the hustle and bustle of the er was as normal as any day in an emergency room could be
but with the fact that Dennis had a black eye and split lip raised lots of questions from patients and other doctors
Dennis did not expect to see the asshole from the night before in the er, was it something he considered? absolutely. but in no world did he actually think it would happen.
especially not after spending the first half of the morning getting cornered by Robby and Abbott every fifteen minutes so they could “check on him.”
which really just meant staring at his face with varying levels of concern and annoyance.
Dennis was leaning against the nurses station trying to finish charts when the ambulance doors slammed open.
“incoming trauma!”
Dana looked up immediately. “what happened?”
“male, early twenties,” the paramedic answered while steering the stretcher into the bay. “facial trauma, possible concussion, suspected broken ribs. got into a fight at a house party. called in by his roommate this morning after he passed out.”
Dennis paused.
very slowly, he looked up from the chart in his hands.
the patient groaned dramatically as the stretcher rolled to a stop.
one eye swollen nearly shut.
split eyebrow.
bruising already spreading across his jaw and cheek.
blood crusted beneath his nose.
and despite all that, Dennis recognized him instantly.
apparently the guy recognized Dennis too because his visible eye widened immediately.
“oh you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”
Trinity blinked once. “wait.”
Dennis closed his eyes briefly. “no.”
Santos looked between them instantly.
the guy on the stretcher pointed weakly toward Dennis. “THAT’S him.”
the entire trauma bay went silent.
Trinity slowly looked toward Dennis.
then back toward the patient.
then back toward Dennis again.
“this,” she said carefully, “is the guy from last night?”
Dennis rubbed a hand over his face. “unfortunately.”
the frat guy looked deeply offended. “you busted my face open!”
“you were harassing a girl.”
“i was talking to her!”
“she was literally trying to leave.”
“okay,” Dana interrupted before either of them could continue, “can we save the criminal investigation for after we assess the patient?”
Trinity still looked stunned.
because now that she was really looking at the patient—
he looked awful.
not horror movie awful.
but definitely “got the shit kicked out of him at a party” awful.
and then there was Dennis.
Dennis, who had a black eye, a split lip, and a bruise forming along his jaw.
that was it.
it clicked almost visibly across Trinity’s face.
“…oh my god.”
trinity slapped a hand over her mouth.
“don’t,” Dennis warned immediately.
“YOU did this?” Trinity asked.
Dennis looked genuinely uncomfortable now that everyone was staring at him. “he swung first.”
“because you shoved me!”
“because you grabbed her arm!”
the room went quiet for half a second.
Trinity’s expression flattened instantly. “oh.”
perlah looked notably disgusted from across the nurses station . “ew.”
even Dana looked irritated now.
the frat guy shifted awkwardly under the sudden judgment from the entire room. “okay it wasn’t like that—”
“save it,” Trinity cut him off sharply before snapping gloves on. “sit still.”
Dennis looked at the ceiling briefly like he wanted divine intervention.
instead, what he got was Abbott walking into the trauma bay carrying coffee.
Abbott took one look at the patient.
then at Dennis.
then very slowly lowered the coffee cup.
“…holy shit.”
Dennis pointed at him immediately. “don’t start.”
Abbott looked genuinely impressed. “THAT’S the guy?”
“i said don’t start.”
Trinity was still staring at Dennis like she’d discovered some horrifying secret.
“wait wait wait,” she said, “this whole time i thought you lost the fight.”
“I didn’t lose the fight.”
“Dennis,” Dana cut in, “this guy looks like he got hit by a truck.”
“okay that feels dramatic.”
the patient scoffed from the bed. “dramatic? you slammed me into a table!”
“you tried to punch me with a beer bottle!”
“because you hit me first!”
“after you grabbed the girl!”
Robby finally appeared at the doorway mid-argument.
he stopped dead after taking in the scene.
“…why is everyone yelling?”
Trinity pointed directly at Dennis. “HE did this.”
Robby looked at the patient.
the patient looked rough.
Robby looked back at Dennis slowly.
Dennis immediately got defensive. “don’t look at me like that.”
“like what?”
“like you’re reassessing my entire existence.”
Abbott snorted into his coffee.
Robby walked closer, still visibly trying to piece things together.
“this is the guy from the party?”
“yes.”
“the one who hit you?”
“yes.”
Robby stared at the frat guy again.
“…huh.”
Dennis looked offended. “what does THAT mean?”
“nothing,” Robby said quickly.
Abbott failed to hide a grin. “it means he expected the other guy to look bigger.”
“i hate both of you.”
Trinity started checking the patient over while dennis hovered nearby pretending not to listen.
“pain level?”
“seven.”
“dizziness?”
“a little.”
“nausea?”
“yeah.”
she gently touched along his ribs and the guy hissed in pain immediately.
“probably fractured,” she muttered.
“his shoulder too,” the paramedic added. “he couldn’t lift his arm.”
Dennis winced slightly despite himself.
the frat guy noticed.
“don’t look guilty now.”
Dennis crossed his arms. “occupational hazard.”
“you hit hard as hell.”
“you were being an asshole.”
“okay yeah but still.”
Abbott outright laughed at that.
Robby looked exhausted already. “Dennis, remind me never to piss you off.”
“that’s probably smart.”
Trinity paused mid-assessment, still clearly stuck on the realization.
“seriously though,” she said slowly, “you barely look injured.”
Dennis gestured vaguely toward his face. “i literally have a black eye.”
“yeah and HE looks like he lost a cage match.”
robby nodded in agreement. “this is actually insane.”
the frat guy groaned from the bed. “can everyone stop talking about me like i’m dead?”
“then stop interrupting,” Trinity shot back automatically.
Dana turned toward Dennis finally. “why exactly were you even at a frat party?”
Dennis immediately looked annoyed.
Abbott raised an eyebrow. “please tell me you weren’t willingly hanging around college students.”
“I wasn’t. one of my neighbor’s cousins was throwing it and i got dragged there.”
“tragic,” Robby said.
“deeply.”
Trinity looked amused now. “you got into a fistfight at a frat house.”
Dennis looked like he wanted to walk directly into traffic.
“can we please move on.”
“absolutely not,” Santos said instantly.
Robby was still looking between Dennis and the patient with poorly hidden disbelief.
“i genuinely thought someone jumped you.”
“rude.”
“Dennis,” Abbott said carefully, “did you actually throw this guy through a table?”
Dennis hesitated.
that hesitation answered the question immediately.
Trinity’s jaw dropped. She made a noise that sounded almost impressed.
“it was already broken!” Dennis defended.
“OH my god,” Trinity laughed.
the frat guy pointed weakly from the stretcher again. “thank you! finally someone acknowledges that!”
“you deserved it,” she told him.
“i did not!”
“you grabbed a girl who was trying to leave,” Trinity said flatly.
the guy looked away.
Robby sighed heavily. “okay. concussion workup, chest x-ray, shoulder imaging.”
“got it,” santos answered.
Dennis immediately started backing toward the door. “great. sounds handled.”
“where are you going?” Abbott asked.
“away.”
the frat guy squinted at him. “you work here and you still fight people?”
Dennis stopped in the doorway.
“you know what,” he said calmly, “normally no. but you were being creepy and i was tired.”
Abbott covered his mouth with his hand very obviously trying not to laugh.
Robby looked one second away from developing a stress headache.
Trinity shook her head slowly. “this is genuinely the craziest thing that’s happened all week.”
“it’s tuesday,” Dana reminded her.
“exactly.”
Dennis escaped the trauma bay before the conversation could continue.
Abbott followed a second later, still smiling.
“you enjoying this?” Dennis asked dryly.
“immensely.”
“you’re evil.”
Abbott leaned against the counter beside him. “for what it’s worth, stepping in was the right thing to do.”
Dennis looked down at the chart in his hands. “yeah well. maybe i overdid it a little.”
Abbott glanced back toward the trauma room where the frat guy was currently whining through a rib exam.
“…a little.”
Dennis groaned.
Abbott nudged his shoulder lightly. “Robby’s trying very hard to pretend he isn’t impressed.”
“he should stop.”
“probably.”
across the hall, Robby looked up from the chart he was reading and caught Dennis staring.
his eyes flicked briefly toward Dennis’ bruised face.
then toward Abbott standing too close beside him.
something soft crossed his expression for just a second.
warm.
fond.
it hit Dennis right in the chest before he could stop it.
Dana walked past all three of them and sighed deeply.
“if anybody else decides to fistfight a patient this week i’m quitting.”
“technically,” Dennis muttered, “he became a patient afterward.”
Dana pointed at him without slowing down. “not helping.”
from inside the trauma room Santos suddenly yelled, “hey dennis, your boyfriend needs another ice pack!”
Dennis froze instantly.
silence hit the nurses station.
Trinity started laughing first.
hard.
Abbott nearly choked on his coffee.
Robby just closed his eyes like he was in physical pain.
Dennis buried his face in his hands. “i’m transferring hospitals.”
Whitaker gets in a fight and the er finds out that the little mouse boy can fight.
Please.
sorry this took so so long i had awful writers block so i apologize that this took so long for me to get out!!
Dennis is not someone who enjoys confrontation, or fights for that matter. but when a drunk frat boy asshole is pressuring some girl and harassing her, he won’t let it happen.
now dennis has experience fighting, years of roughhousing with his younger and older brothers gave him plenty of experience with that. but fighting with a man twice his size and drunk makes a difficult and rather dirty fight.
Dennis only missed one punch, and it landed him square in the eye. in which left him with a nasty black eye, going into his shift was not something he was looking forward to.
the party had been loud. too loud. music pounding through the walls, cheap beer sticky on the floor, voices overlapping until everything blurred into noise.
dennis had been halfway to the kitchen when he heard it. not loud, not dramatic. just enough.
“c’mon, don’t be like that.”
he didn’t mean to look. but he did.
the girl had that tight, polite smile people get when they’re uncomfortable and trying not to make it worse. the guy in front of her wasn’t trying at all. leaning too close. hand on the wall next to her head. blocking her in.
“i said i’m good,” she repeated, softer this time.
“you don’t mean that.” the guy laughed, like it was a joke. like she was in on it.
dennis felt something in his chest twist.
he should’ve kept walking. people do, all the time.
he didn’t.
“hey.”
it comes out sharper than he expects. both of them look over.
“she said she’s good.”
the guy blinks at him, then scoffs. “who the hell are you.”
“someone telling you to back off.”
the girl slips out from the corner while the guy’s attention shifts, disappearing into the crowd. good. that’s good. that’s all dennis wanted.
it should’ve ended there.
it doesn’t.
“you got a problem?” the guy steps closer, breath heavy with alcohol.
dennis shrugs, trying to keep it light. “nah. just don’t like watching people get cornered.”
“mind your business.”
“wasn’t my business until you made it my business.”
the guy laughs again, but there’s no humor in it this time. “you think you’re tough or something?”
dennis exhales. “no. i think you should walk away.”
“or what.”
and there it is.
the moment it tips.
dennis doesn’t answer. not with words.
the first shove is hard. unexpected. he stumbles back, catches himself.
“yeah,” the guy grins. “that’s what i thought.”
dennis’s jaw tightens. “just go.”
the punch comes fast. sloppier than it should be, but strong. dennis dodges the first one, not the second.
after that, it’s messy. loud. people shouting, someone trying to pull them apart, failing. dennis lands more hits than he misses, years of instinct kicking in, but size matters. weight matters.
and eventually, he slips.
just once.
and that’s enough.
—————————
the pitt feels colder than usual when dennis walks in.
it doesn’t take long. it never does.
“oh my god—”
dennis winces before he even looks up. santos.
“what happened to your face?” she demands, already halfway across the room.
“good morning to you too,” he mutters.
she grabs his chin before he can dodge, tilting his head toward the light. “that’s not a ‘good morning,’ that’s a ‘what the hell did you do.’”
“i walked into a door.”
“i’m going to walk you into a door.”
“be original.”
“i will if you answer me.”
“later.”
“no, now—”
“santos.”
robby’s voice cuts clean through the noise.
dennis closes his eyes briefly. great.
robby takes one look at him and stops. not dramatically. just… stills. like everything locks into place.
“explain,” he says.
not loud. not rushed. worse.
dennis shrugs. “it’s nothing.”
“you’ve said that twice in ten seconds,” santos mutters. “it’s definitely something.”
abott appears a second later, drawn in by the same gravitational pull of chaos. his gaze flicks over dennis, taking in everything at once.
“…sit down,” he says.
“i’m fine.”
“you’re not.”
“i can still work.”
“you can still sit.”
robby doesn’t wait for him to argue again, grabbing a chair and nudging it forward with his foot. “don’t make this a thing.”
“you’re making it a thing.”
“no,” robby says, stepping closer, voice dropping just slightly, “you showing up looking like you got jumped is the thing.”
“i didn’t get jumped.”
“oh, good. so you chose this?”
santos snorts. “bold lifestyle choice.”
dennis shoots her a look. she grins, but there’s concern under it.
“what happened,” abott repeats, calmer, but firmer.
dennis hesitates. then sighs. “party. guy wouldn’t leave this girl alone.”
robby’s jaw tightens immediately.
“so you stepped in,” santos says.
“yeah.”
“alone?”
“…yeah.”
“of course you did,” robby mutters.
“it handled it.”
“did you,” robby shoots back, gesturing at his face.
“he backed off.”
“and you look like that.”
“worth it.”
that stops them for a second.
abott’s expression softens just a fraction. santos’s eyes flicker with something like approval.
robby exhales sharply through his nose. “you’re unbelievable.”
“thank you.”
“that wasn’t a compliment.”
“still counts.”
abott steps in before it can spiral. “sit.”
dennis sits.
santos leans against the counter, arms crossed. “i leave you alone for one night and you start street fights.”
“not a street fight.”
“oh, sorry. a morally justified beatdown.”
“that sounds better.”
robby presses a cold pack into dennis’s hand. “hold this.”
“you’re bossy.”
“you’re injured.”
“i’ve been injured before.”
“and every time, you’re annoying about it.”
dennis huffs a quiet laugh. it pulls at his ribs and he winces.
abott notices immediately. “ribs too?”
“just bruised.”
“we’ll decide that.”
“you’re both insufferable.”
“and yet,” santos says sweetly, “you showed up anyway.”
“i needed the paycheck.”
“sure you did.”
there’s a rhythm to it now. the bickering. familiar. grounding.
abott cleans up the cut on his lip with careful hands. robby hovers just close enough to intervene if needed, pretending he’s not hovering.
“you did the right thing,” abott says quietly.
dennis glances at him. “yeah?”
“yeah.”
robby nods once, reluctantly. “still stupid.”
“you can’t just say one nice thing, can you.”
“i just did.”
“you immediately ruined it.”
“balance.”
santos rolls her eyes. “you two are exhausting.”
“you’re still here,” robby shoots back.
“for the drama.”
there’s a beat of quiet as abott finishes up.
dennis shifts slightly, looking between them. something unspoken sitting just under the surface. it’s been there for a while now. lingering looks. too-close proximity. the way robby always notices first when something’s off. the way abott’s voice softens just for him.
he’s not imagining it.
right?
robby seems to come to some decision, pushing off the counter. “you’re not lifting anything today.”
“i can—”
“you’re not.”
“you don’t have that authority.”
“i have enough.”
“you’re bluffing.”
“try me.”
dennis opens his mouth, then closes it.
abott hides a small smile.
santos looks between them, eyebrows raised. “wow. this is… something.”
“what,” dennis asks.
“nothing,” she says, entirely unconvincing.
robby ignores her. mostly. “if you feel dizzy, you tell someone. immediately.”
“yes, mom.”
“i’m serious.”
“i know.”
there’s a pause.
then, softer—
“you scared me a little,” robby admits.
it slips out before he can stop it.
the room goes quiet for half a second.
dennis blinks. “i—”
abott’s hand settles briefly on dennis’s shoulder, grounding. steady. “you don’t have to prove anything by getting hurt,” he says.
“i wasn’t trying to prove anything.”
“i know.”
robby looks at him like he wants to say something else. like he’s debating it. then—
he just leans in and kisses him.
it’s quick. not dramatic. just a brief press of lips, like testing the reality of it.
but it’s enough to short-circuit dennis completely.
“…oh.”
santos makes a noise that is definitely not subtle. “OH?”
robby immediately steps back, running a hand through his hair. “yeah, okay, that—”
“took you long enough,” santos cuts in.
“not helping.”
abott just watches dennis carefully. “you okay?”
dennis stares at both of them for a second, then lets out a quiet, slightly dazed laugh. “yeah. i think so.”
he looks at robby. then at abott.
“that was… unexpected.”
“yeah,” robby says. “got that.”
“not unwelcome,” dennis adds.
that shifts something.
abott exhales softly, something like relief crossing his face. “good.”
santos claps her hands once. “great. love that for all of you. now can we focus on the fact that he looks like he got hit by a truck?”
“i didn’t get hit by a truck,” dennis protests.
“semantics.”
robby shakes his head, but there’s a faint smile now. “ice. keep it on.”
“yes, sir.”
“don’t push it.”
“i never do.”
everyone stares at him.
“…okay, sometimes,” he amends.
abott squeezes his shoulder once more pressing a gentle kiss to the back of dennis head. “we’ve got you.”
simple. steady.
dennis nods, settling back with the ice pack, the ache in his ribs still there, the bruise still throbbing—
but lighter.
because he’s not carrying it alone.
and apparently—
he doesn’t have to figure everything else out alone, anymore
since everyone seems to be enjoying this greatly send me some fic ideas…
Whitaker gets in a fight and the er finds out that the little mouse boy can fight.
Please.
sorry this took so so long i had awful writers block so i apologize that this took so long for me to get out!!
Dennis is not someone who enjoys confrontation, or fights for that matter. but when a drunk frat boy asshole is pressuring some girl and harassing her, he won’t let it happen.
now dennis has experience fighting, years of roughhousing with his younger and older brothers gave him plenty of experience with that. but fighting with a man twice his size and drunk makes a difficult and rather dirty fight.
Dennis only missed one punch, and it landed him square in the eye. in which left him with a nasty black eye, going into his shift was not something he was looking forward to.
the party had been loud. too loud. music pounding through the walls, cheap beer sticky on the floor, voices overlapping until everything blurred into noise.
dennis had been halfway to the kitchen when he heard it. not loud, not dramatic. just enough.
“c’mon, don’t be like that.”
he didn’t mean to look. but he did.
the girl had that tight, polite smile people get when they’re uncomfortable and trying not to make it worse. the guy in front of her wasn’t trying at all. leaning too close. hand on the wall next to her head. blocking her in.
“i said i’m good,” she repeated, softer this time.
“you don’t mean that.” the guy laughed, like it was a joke. like she was in on it.
dennis felt something in his chest twist.
he should’ve kept walking. people do, all the time.
he didn’t.
“hey.”
it comes out sharper than he expects. both of them look over.
“she said she’s good.”
the guy blinks at him, then scoffs. “who the hell are you.”
“someone telling you to back off.”
the girl slips out from the corner while the guy’s attention shifts, disappearing into the crowd. good. that’s good. that’s all dennis wanted.
it should’ve ended there.
it doesn’t.
“you got a problem?” the guy steps closer, breath heavy with alcohol.
dennis shrugs, trying to keep it light. “nah. just don’t like watching people get cornered.”
“mind your business.”
“wasn’t my business until you made it my business.”
the guy laughs again, but there’s no humor in it this time. “you think you’re tough or something?”
dennis exhales. “no. i think you should walk away.”
“or what.”
and there it is.
the moment it tips.
dennis doesn’t answer. not with words.
the first shove is hard. unexpected. he stumbles back, catches himself.
“yeah,” the guy grins. “that’s what i thought.”
dennis’s jaw tightens. “just go.”
the punch comes fast. sloppier than it should be, but strong. dennis dodges the first one, not the second.
after that, it’s messy. loud. people shouting, someone trying to pull them apart, failing. dennis lands more hits than he misses, years of instinct kicking in, but size matters. weight matters.
and eventually, he slips.
just once.
and that’s enough.
—————————
the pitt feels colder than usual when dennis walks in.
it doesn’t take long. it never does.
“oh my god—”
dennis winces before he even looks up. santos.
“what happened to your face?” she demands, already halfway across the room.
“good morning to you too,” he mutters.
she grabs his chin before he can dodge, tilting his head toward the light. “that’s not a ‘good morning,’ that’s a ‘what the hell did you do.’”
“i walked into a door.”
“i’m going to walk you into a door.”
“be original.”
“i will if you answer me.”
“later.”
“no, now—”
“santos.”
robby’s voice cuts clean through the noise.
dennis closes his eyes briefly. great.
robby takes one look at him and stops. not dramatically. just… stills. like everything locks into place.
“explain,” he says.
not loud. not rushed. worse.
dennis shrugs. “it’s nothing.”
“you’ve said that twice in ten seconds,” santos mutters. “it’s definitely something.”
abott appears a second later, drawn in by the same gravitational pull of chaos. his gaze flicks over dennis, taking in everything at once.
“…sit down,” he says.
“i’m fine.”
“you’re not.”
“i can still work.”
“you can still sit.”
robby doesn’t wait for him to argue again, grabbing a chair and nudging it forward with his foot. “don’t make this a thing.”
“you’re making it a thing.”
“no,” robby says, stepping closer, voice dropping just slightly, “you showing up looking like you got jumped is the thing.”
“i didn’t get jumped.”
“oh, good. so you chose this?”
santos snorts. “bold lifestyle choice.”
dennis shoots her a look. she grins, but there’s concern under it.
“what happened,” abott repeats, calmer, but firmer.
dennis hesitates. then sighs. “party. guy wouldn’t leave this girl alone.”
robby’s jaw tightens immediately.
“so you stepped in,” santos says.
“yeah.”
“alone?”
“…yeah.”
“of course you did,” robby mutters.
“it handled it.”
“did you,” robby shoots back, gesturing at his face.
“he backed off.”
“and you look like that.”
“worth it.”
that stops them for a second.
abott’s expression softens just a fraction. santos’s eyes flicker with something like approval.
robby exhales sharply through his nose. “you’re unbelievable.”
“thank you.”
“that wasn’t a compliment.”
“still counts.”
abott steps in before it can spiral. “sit.”
dennis sits.
santos leans against the counter, arms crossed. “i leave you alone for one night and you start street fights.”
“not a street fight.”
“oh, sorry. a morally justified beatdown.”
“that sounds better.”
robby presses a cold pack into dennis’s hand. “hold this.”
“you’re bossy.”
“you’re injured.”
“i’ve been injured before.”
“and every time, you’re annoying about it.”
dennis huffs a quiet laugh. it pulls at his ribs and he winces.
abott notices immediately. “ribs too?”
“just bruised.”
“we’ll decide that.”
“you’re both insufferable.”
“and yet,” santos says sweetly, “you showed up anyway.”
“i needed the paycheck.”
“sure you did.”
there’s a rhythm to it now. the bickering. familiar. grounding.
abott cleans up the cut on his lip with careful hands. robby hovers just close enough to intervene if needed, pretending he’s not hovering.
“you did the right thing,” abott says quietly.
dennis glances at him. “yeah?”
“yeah.”
robby nods once, reluctantly. “still stupid.”
“you can’t just say one nice thing, can you.”
“i just did.”
“you immediately ruined it.”
“balance.”
santos rolls her eyes. “you two are exhausting.”
“you’re still here,” robby shoots back.
“for the drama.”
there’s a beat of quiet as abott finishes up.
dennis shifts slightly, looking between them. something unspoken sitting just under the surface. it’s been there for a while now. lingering looks. too-close proximity. the way robby always notices first when something’s off. the way abott’s voice softens just for him.
he’s not imagining it.
right?
robby seems to come to some decision, pushing off the counter. “you’re not lifting anything today.”
“i can—”
“you’re not.”
“you don’t have that authority.”
“i have enough.”
“you’re bluffing.”
“try me.”
dennis opens his mouth, then closes it.
abott hides a small smile.
santos looks between them, eyebrows raised. “wow. this is… something.”
“what,” dennis asks.
“nothing,” she says, entirely unconvincing.
robby ignores her. mostly. “if you feel dizzy, you tell someone. immediately.”
“yes, mom.”
“i’m serious.”
“i know.”
there’s a pause.
then, softer—
“you scared me a little,” robby admits.
it slips out before he can stop it.
the room goes quiet for half a second.
dennis blinks. “i—”
abott’s hand settles briefly on dennis’s shoulder, grounding. steady. “you don’t have to prove anything by getting hurt,” he says.
“i wasn’t trying to prove anything.”
“i know.”
robby looks at him like he wants to say something else. like he’s debating it. then—
he just leans in and kisses him.
it’s quick. not dramatic. just a brief press of lips, like testing the reality of it.
but it’s enough to short-circuit dennis completely.
“…oh.”
santos makes a noise that is definitely not subtle. “OH?”
robby immediately steps back, running a hand through his hair. “yeah, okay, that—”
“took you long enough,” santos cuts in.
“not helping.”
abott just watches dennis carefully. “you okay?”
dennis stares at both of them for a second, then lets out a quiet, slightly dazed laugh. “yeah. i think so.”
he looks at robby. then at abott.
“that was… unexpected.”
“yeah,” robby says. “got that.”
“not unwelcome,” dennis adds.
that shifts something.
abott exhales softly, something like relief crossing his face. “good.”
santos claps her hands once. “great. love that for all of you. now can we focus on the fact that he looks like he got hit by a truck?”
“i didn’t get hit by a truck,” dennis protests.
“semantics.”
robby shakes his head, but there’s a faint smile now. “ice. keep it on.”
“yes, sir.”
“don’t push it.”
“i never do.”
everyone stares at him.
“…okay, sometimes,” he amends.
abott squeezes his shoulder once more pressing a gentle kiss to the back of dennis head. “we’ve got you.”
simple. steady.
dennis nods, settling back with the ice pack, the ache in his ribs still there, the bruise still throbbing—
but lighter.
because he’s not carrying it alone.
and apparently—
he doesn’t have to figure everything else out alone, anymore
·༻❀༺·
ــــﮩ٨ــــــــــﮩ٨ــــــــــﮩ٨ــــــــــﮩ٨ـ ㅤꨄ︎
˚₊ · »-♡→ Yearning Cowboy | ~5K
˚₊ · »-♡→ HuckleRobby (The Pitt)
˚₊ · »-♡→ CW for: Implied smut (not detailed), ‘problematic’ ship, age gap (both of age ofc)
˚₊ · »-♡→ The length of this got away from me, and I did ~5 hours of research on Broken Bow Nebraska. This IS accurate to real life.
˚₊ · »-♡→ The setup for this (Robby being in Broken Bow accidentally) came from @slowburnsaint ! She’s my best friend so I’m bias but she has some great fics
Robby was in absolutely no rush to get anywhere.
That’s why he was already enjoying his sabbatical so much more than anyone—even he—suspected he would.
3 months. No strict timeline…no deadlines…no door to balloon times…no Press Ganey scores…just peace.
Him, his motorcycle, and the open road. For three, unplanned months. He had a final destination—and a few stops he wanted to make specifically. But outside of those? Completely unplanned.
Specializing in emergency medicine made him really good at playing it by ear. Made him good at going with the flow, and taking things by stride.
So when he ended up in a small half undeveloped town in Nebraska, he was completely fine with it. He actually liked it—if he wasn’t practically married to the bleach and alcohol of the ED he’d move himself to a town very similar to this one.
It’s not like there was much tying him to Pittsburgh.
So instead he was enjoying a Mint Chocolate Chip Dairy Queen Blizzard, sitting under a nice umbrella and listening to the birds chirping. Robby would much rather listen to birds chirp than heart monitors.
Because here, he wasn’t an attending. He wasn’t liable for someone’s death. He wasn’t in harm’s way if another combative junkie came in throwing fists and bodily fluids like it was a full time job.
Here, he was just Michael Robinavitch.
And Dennis was just Dennis. That’s why nobody questioned it when they saw him fixing Mrs. Walker’s flat tire on the side of Paulsen Road.
Because he was just Dennis. A well known, good meaning boy that went further than anyone expected. Because someone born on the farms here rarely left. So when he came back, everyone was happy to see him. Just Dennis.
Not Dr. Whitaker, the young intern known for being in new scrubs every hour. Not Huckleberry, known for being victim number two of Trinity Santos’ nicknames.
Just Dennis. The farmboy that worked tirelessly, and was always willing to help anyone he could in any way. He was less manly than his brothers, in some ways. He preferred being clean-shaven, and he didn’t enjoy beer and football games. He’d rather have a margarita at brunch with his elderly neighbor’s book club, but he’d have to leave early because it was time to milk the cows.
So when a rugged looking kid wearing scuffed Levi’s and broken-in workboots—covered in oil slicks and grease—walked up to the window to order Mrs. Walker lunch…no one questioned it.
Not even Robby, at first.
He’d seen plenty of working men in the past. Blue collar men that did something they either enjoyed or were just good at, just trying to enjoy that moment of peace they had between clients.
Until he recognized that dirty blond mullet. The one Trinity forced Dennis to let grow, because she insisted it made him look less like a kicked puppy.
And he recognized the deftness of those hands as they handed over a bag and cup to a nice old lady, who looked enamored by the young man’s kindness.
And then he heard the old lady speak: “Thank you so much Dennis…you’ve always been a sweet boy.” Her smile was deep, one that lived many years but still reached her eyes like she still had faith in humanity.
Maybe it was because this small town had many people like Dennis.
Maybe it was just because this small town had Dennis.
“It’s really no problem, Mrs. Walker. I wouldn’t let a young lady such as yourself change a tire on her own, after all!” His smile was just as wide. He seemed so much more relaxed in this environment than in the ER.
Though, Robby would be the first to admit how difficult it is; being relaxed in the ER is an impossible feat some days.
“Flattery will get you everywhere with me, dear,” Mrs. Walker said, tapping the young man’s cheek. “Come by my house later—I’ll have a fresh batch of cookies with your name on them!” She chirped.
And then she was off, beckoning to everyone sitting outside the Dairy Queen that they have a spectacular day. It was more of a command than a suggestion.
Robby didn’t realize he’d been staring so intently until his eyes burned. Had he not even blinked?
“Dr. Robby?” The voice was hesitant, like it was responding to the sudden appearance of an angel and not an ordinary man. Robby snapped out of his staring spell, blinking up at the young man, who was now standing closer to the table.
“Just Michael, please…I’m not a doctor for another two and a half months. What are you doing here, Whitaker?” Robby responded, pushing his forgotten blizzard aside. It was starting to hurt his teeth, anyway. He definitely didn’t need a large.
“If you’re just Michael then just call me Dennis. Or Denny works, too…most people here call me Denny.” Dennis responded, slipping into the bench on the other side of the table without prompting.
He seemed much more confident here.
Because this was his turf. In the ER, Robby was supreme…not counting Gloria. But here, Dennis was in his element. The streets he grew up on—he got his first job at this Dairy Queen. He didn’t need to be prompted to do things here. He just…did them.
Robby liked that.
“Okay…then call me Mike and I’ll call you Denny.” Robby responded, smiling faintly. “But still…why the hell are you here?”
“I’ve had this time off approved for months—it’s my mothers birthday this weekend so she and my dad are goin’ off. Wanted someone they deemed responsible on the farm for the week.” Dennis responds. running his hands through his hair. Robby notices the sweat lining his hairline and arms, the same way it does when he does chest compressions for too long hoping for impossible resurrection.
Here, Dennis seems far less anxiety ridden than normal.
“Aren’t you the youngest?” Robby inquires, chuckling, both at the absurdity of running into his subordinate 17 and a half hours from his place of work.
“Still the most mature.” Dennis smirks, rolling his eyes. A moment of somewhat awkward silence stretches. Because Robby doesn’t know how to progress the conversation from there.
“What drew you to Broken Bow of all places?” Dennis asks, resting his elbows on the table.
“Just passing through, really. Not really following a set path to my destination, and I wanted ice cream.” Robby shrugs, gesturing to his half consumed Blizzard.
“Alberta, right?” The younger man tilts his head. “Heard you talking about it with Abbot before you left. Pretty place.”
“You’ve been?”
“Well…no,” Dennis looked away, a faint pink dusting his cheek that he swears is just from the heat. “Did some research on it though. Beautiful mountains—kinda reminds me of the Rocky’s in the beauty part.”
“The Rockys sure are a sight to behold.” Robby agrees, smiling faintly.
The silence resumes.
The birds are quieter now—or maybe Robby is just so focused on Dennis and his uneven breathing that he can’t hear the intense chirping.
“You sticking around for long? Not much to do here.” Dennis finally speaks, looking back to Robby with now perfectly normal cheeks.
“Eh, maybe. Was considering gettin’ a hotel. Plenty of daylight left, though. Is there anything to do in this town?”
“Ha! No…nothing at all,” Robby noted how similar that laugh was to Dana’s. “All there is is parks, Dollar Generals, and this small business district. Besides that, just the farms.” Dennis smirked, shaking his head. Broken Bow wasn’t even lucky enough to have a Walmart.
Just a couple Dollar Generals.
“Might kick out early then…not much use in wasting daylight in a boring town.” Robby immediately felt bad for calling Dennis’ home boring. “Sorry that was rude.”
Dennis actually laughed at that. “Not gonna get upset because you’re stating a fact.” The young man chuckled. But for some reason, he felt sad at the thought of Robby leaving so soon. The same sadness he felt when he was first told Robby was leaving for three whole months.
“If you want…” Dennis trailed off, because he only processed what he was gonna offer halfway through the sentence. But he was already halfway there, and he never was one to quit. “I could give you a little tour of the boringness I grew up in. Maybe show you the farm, if you want?”
Robby raised an eyebrow at that, his mind immediately going to the ethical concerns Gloria would reem him over if she were to hear that sentence.
But he’s not Dr. Robinavitch here. And this isn’t Dr. Whitaker. This is Michael and Dennis. And Gloria is 17 hours away, still stressed about patient satisfaction.
Michael couldn’t care less about anyone’s satisfaction here—except for his own. And Dennis’ apparently.
Dennis’ mind immediately went to the social implications of taking his boss—whom is 20 years his senior—on what could definitely be interpreted as a date around his hometown. Ending at his family farm that has been such for generations.
What would Trinity say? She’d probably cheer him on, so maybe she wasn’t the best judge. And she was all he had so…no one to object to the idiotic plan.
Therefore the plan must be a good one.
Logical.
“If you’re offering…sure. Though I’m not sure how much there is to see here.” Robby joked, gesturing to the rather simple main strip of Broken Bow.
“Well…the farm is probably the most interesting. Sure you can handle it, Mr. Steril?” Dennis responded, his earlier trepidation at his own resolve instantly disappearing. He would not admit to himself that he was more eager to show Robby around than he would be most others.
“Excuse you!” Robby forced an offended face, but the amused expression in his eyes gave him away. “I’m plenty used to a non-sterile environment—thank you very much.”
“You practically live in the ER, Mike.” Dennis deadpanned.
“Irrelevant.”
“Uh-huh..”
Dennis stood, and Robby followed with all the eagerness of a kid touring a firetruck. Though no one would be able to tell with how placid he seemed.
After a short struggle of loading Robby’s Bonneville into the bed of Dennis’ truck, the two were already climbing into the cabin of the small vehicle.
It was nothing fancy. At all. An old, beat-up pickup that Dennis found abandoned and restored on his own after getting permission from the presumed owner. He pretty much rebuilt the whole thing, save for the engine and transmission which he had an actual mechanic help with.
“This is why smaller trucks are better. Never would have gotten that thing into a 150.” Dennis said, cranking the engine.
“Do all farmers hate big trucks? Don’t think I’ve heard you people do anything but talk shit about them..” Robby joked, forgoing the seatbelt because it wouldn’t help in an old truck like this anyways.
“First of all, not a farmer…I’m a farm-boy. There’s a difference…”
Dennis took Robby on a very short drive around the small, empty town he called home for his entire pre-college life. The conversation was easy, and the two didn’t have to mention the ER or work even once to keep it going. Instead talking about the places Dennis did stupid things as a kid.
They talked about where Dennis had his first kiss—and then the spot not far away where he washed his mouth out in Mud Creek because he hated it.
They talked about where he jumped off a playscape and broke his first bone—his middle finger. Which is why it always looked a little crooked when flipping someone off.
Because on a farm you can’t not haul hay just because you broke a finger.
Dennis showed Robby both the Dollar Generals, and explained that one was better for snacks and one was better for a quick stop for basic necessities.
He showed the Town Square, where there was a park that was just a tad more used than the rest.
He showed him the Chinese Restaurant that he and his family ate at every Christmas Eve—because it was a tradition that started when he accidentally caught a turkey on fire.
And then they were following the bump dirt road to the Whitaker Family Farm, where his great great great grandfather built the barn himself. Since then it has been repaired so much that it could be compared to The Ship of Theseus.
“Fell off that barn once—landed in a pile of hay so I was fine. It was a doozy though.” Dennis explains as he pulls them past it up to the front of the farmhouse.
A simple, two floor house. It was large though. Large enough for Dennis and his three brothers to always be causing mayhem. Large enough for large get-togethers where everyone would bring a platter of something to share and half the guests would be drunk in the fields by 7PM.
“Why were you on the barn to begin with?” Robby questioned, dismissing the whole slew of potential injuries that could cause.
“Needed a quiet place to just…chill, I guess.”
“On the barn?” There was a brief pause between each of his words, like Robby was questioning a new section of his interns sanity with each word spoken.
“Brothers wouldn’t have thought to look there—they still think I’m too much of a pussy to do something that reckless.” Dennis snorts, shaking his head. Robby was just taken aback by the fact that, before now, he’s never heard Dennis cuss.
Dennis’ home was different than Robby expected. Or rather, more different than he assumed. He didn’t know what to expect. He’d assumed there would be the traditional Hollywood style country home—with a buckhead and rifle on every wall.
He didn’t expect the wall of crosses to be the first thing he saw when he entered.
He remembered Dennis saying something about not being religious even though he knew the religious texts. He remembered Dennis reciting that text the day of the Pittfest shooting.
Dennis didn’t remove his dirt-ridden shoes, so Robby didn’t remove his as he followed the man through the house.
Dennis was reeling internally the entire time. He noticed how Robby’s hand slid up the railing as they walked up the stairs, and how the older man’s fingers curled around the doorknob that led into Dennis’ childhood bedroom.
It was nothing impressive. Posters on the wall of various alternative bands from his intense emo phase in high school—the music taste never left but Dennis no longer wore strictly black outfits and chains and spikes.
A small desk, with an old laptop. An old memory foam mattress with a dent in the center that made it seem like Dennis slept in a ball.
Dennis did sleep in a ball.
Curled up like a puppy, as Trinity described it.
“It’s pretty bleak in here.” Robby said. Dennis couldn’t immediately decipher if his superior was judging or just making an observation.
Silently, he hoped it was the latter.
“Yeah…I never spent much time in here. Never cared to decorate much.” Dennis snorted, looking around the room. His eyes landed on the poster of a figure skater that was definitely his gay awakening.
“It’s very you.” Robby added, nodding. Dennis would interpret that to mean he’s bleak if it was said in any other tone. Instead, Robby’s tone was more…almosr affectionate.
Dennis could feel his heartbeat in his ears.
The tour continued. Dennis showed him the various rooms of the house, explained in brief memories the many scuffs and holes and cracks in the walls.
Robby asked questions like he was genuinely invested, and Dennis wanted to answer every single one if it meant Robby would say another word.
He’d tell this man his social security number and bank information if it meant Robby would continue talking to him in that tone that was so much different than the one he used when hovering over a fresh GSW.
By now, it was nearing 5:30. Dennis’ brothers weren’t home—the three of them went off to spend the weekend getting shitfaced a few towns over. Dennis couldn’t find it in him to be annoyed because he was home alone with his boss.
He was sure the priest at his old church would drown him in holy water for where that line of thought ended.
“You hungry? It’s about dinner time!” Dennis chirped, leading Robby into the kitchen. It was a simple kitchen that had seen many disasters and many Michelin worthy recipes—sometimes in the same day.
“I could eat—not gonna ask you t’ cook for me though.” Robby responded, his eyes flicking across the wooden cabinets and granite countertops.
It was a well used kitchen. Not run down by any means, but it was obvious how often it was used. He could tell in the way the stain on the bottom of the cabinets was rubbed off, and the once matte handles were brassy and shiny.
“You’re not asking, I’m offering. Plus I love to cook—I only ever cook for Trin, and she has the pallet of an eight year old.” Dennis was already pulling fresh steak out of the fridge. Fresher than anything you could get in Pittsburgh, because the butcher owed Dennis a favor.
“Never imagined you to be a kitchen wizard.”
“I used to cook a lot with my mom,” Dennis responded, moving through the kitchen like water through slats in a drain. “She taught me everything, including the secret to making a phenomenal chili.”
Dennis turned on the stove—an old gas stove that sometimes he’d need a match to light. It was old, but it still worked. No reason to replace a perfectly functioning appliance.
The food was nothing particularly fancy. A seared medium rare steak, with homemade mac and cheese.
Something simple that Dennis has been making since he could eat solid foods.
To him, it was an easy, simple yet tasty dish he could serve. He tried not to focus on the fact that a steak dinner is typically reserved for romantic occasions. Anniversaries and such.
The food was good. It always was, when Dennis cooked it. Aside from that one fateful turkey, he’d rarely messed anything up in the kitchen.
And to Robby, who’d been surviving off of takeout and cheap diners since he left Pittsburgh, it was a delicacy.
Focusing on the food was difficult for Dennis, however. It’s not that he didn’t enjoy it—it actually came out quite perfect to his taste. But he was far more enamored by the flex of his attending’s biceps while he cut through a particularly rough patch of meat.
Surely it was just him wanting to ensure Robby liked the food.
That’s what he told himself, anyways.
Because the ethics committee at work would have an aneurysm if it were anything else than that.
The food didn’t last long. Robby inhaled it, and Dennis’ served himself a smaller piece because he wasn’t really hungry—he just didn’t want Robby feeling awkward eating alone.
And then the night went on. Normally. And Dennis couldn’t take his eyes off of his attending’s hands the entire time. Or the way Robby’s back muscles moved when he lifted a hay bale, or the way he grunted when bending at the knees.
It was a sickeningly sweet feeling every time the older man did something to remind Dennis of the 20 or so years of difference between them. Dennis was startled at the juxtaposition between himself and Robby when it came to endurance.
Robby got a tour of the farm. He found everything interesting, aside from the rat he saw scurrying away when they entered the barn. Dennis laughed at him, and Robby wouldn’t take his eyes off the way the intern’s top row of teeth showed when he did.
Robby found out that Dennis getting covered in fluids was more than just a work-related incident. When they went to Mrs. Walkers house to collect the promised cookies, the woman’s dog threw up on Dennis’ boot—which Dennis insisted was the least gross thing those boots have been through.
Robby made a mental note to order him new work boots anyways.
When Dennis showed Robby how to milk a cow, the milk got all over his shirt. Robby laughed. Dennis—who was already embarrassed to be making those hand movements—got even more embarrassed and turned into a tomato.
And then it was dark out, and neither of the men had even realized 5 hours had already passed since dinner. 6 hours since the fateful Dairy Queen encounter. The windows were open, the cool Summer breeze coming in and leaving just as quick.
Living here all his life, Dennis knew which windows to open to create a perfect breeze in the house.
“You should just stay the night.” Dennis offered, no longer watching Greys Anatomy—because he hated the show. He only put it on because he knows Robby likes it.
“I wouldn’t want to impose-“
“Nonsense. It’s only imposing if you invite yourself—I’m offering. Plus, you already saw me get covered in cow’s milk and vomit so…I think we’re past the point of imposing.” Dennis interrupted, chuckling at the last part.
“Where would I even sleep?” Robby asked, like it was a ridiculous thing to even consider offering. Most people want to be far away from their boss—Dennis is inviting his boss to sleep over.
“Well…the couch is a pullout. That’s an option. There’s a guest room, which has an old but technically functional bed, or we could just share my bed. It’s a king size—plenty of room for both of us.” Dennis rattled off the options.
Robby, already feeling bad about taking the offer to stay under the same roof, wouldn’t even entertain to himself the option of the guest room. Much less Dennis’ personal bedroom. He justified it to himself by thinking about what Gloria would say.
Because that’s what made him feel the least like a dirty old man.
Totally not because he’s spent the day watching Dennis’ every movement, and sleeping in the same bed would only exacerbate that feeling in his chest.
Totally.
So Dennis pulled out the couch.
Robby lasted thirty seconds.
Riding on his motorcycle for days without end made his back hurt more than he’d like to admit. He remembered that woman on his last day that said it was stupid for a man his age to go on a motorcycle for months…he almost agrees with her now.
And the guest bed is worse than the pull-out.
Which is how, despite both of the men’s many protests, they ended up in the same bed. Robby trying to deny the offer, Dennis trying to insist that he would just sleep on the couch.
Now, here they were. Laying, facing opposite directions. They stayed like that for a while, until Dennis was certain his attending was asleep. Then he turned around, and stared at the older man’s back.
The way he slept made his shirt strain against his back. Dennis could see the sharp curve of Robby’s shoulder blades, and the curve of his spine. He could see the rise and fall of Robby’s shoulders while he breathed.
“Mike..?” Dennis whispered softly, not understanding why he followed the urge to speak before his mind could process it.
He reasoned with himself that just because he was 27 doesn’t mean his prefrontal cortex is actually developed.
Because that was easier to accept than the burning and magnetic pull he felt in his chest.
Dennis bit his lip, expecting that the older man would be fast asleep—or perhaps weirded out by the tone which Dennis used when calling his name. He was shocked when, instead of the expected reaction, Robby turned around to face him.
The two stared at each other, and Dennis swore he could feel electricity crackling in the air. He swore that said electricity was the reason he reached out and grasped Robby’s star of david—because it was easier to blame electricity than the burning desire to do just that he’d felt all day.
It was easier to blame the tiredness when his hand traveled up the chain of Robby’s necklace, and settled into the crook of his neck.
He had plausible deniability for everything he did, so he couldn’t help but squeak when Robby’s hand came to cover his. Not pushing him away, holding him there.
He was able to justify himself moving closer—because he usually slept in the center of the bed anyways. It was natural. But he couldn’t figure out Robby’s justification for pulling Dennis closer.
Dennis wasn’t sure he cared anymore, either.
“Denny..” Robby’s voice was rough, and lulled Dennis even closer to its source. Like he was in a trance, he moved closer. Remembering every time that voice coached him through an intubation, or a procedure he’d never done.
But here, that voice wasn’t his boss. It was a gentle, promising lure to comfort and satisfaction.
Dennis’ hand moved up to the star of david necklace one more time, and he hoped to god the chain was strong because he tugged on it hard enough to crash his own lips into Robby’s.
And from there, all bets were off. Robby’s hand immediately slid up Dennis’ back, and tangled into the curls at the base of his neck. And Dennis’ hands slid up Robby’s body to steady himself with his hands on the mans chest.
The electricity Dennis had been feeling all day was finally not potential, but kinetic. The stagnance in Robby’s chest since the start of his sabbatical was finally a roaring river.
And between them, the dam that had been holding back everything finally broke.
Every touch, every whispered praise, every plea for guidance, all which added pressure to the metaphorical dam. Finally crashing down.
Hands traveled faster than Dennis’ heated skin could process, but that didn’t make them any less welcome. Lifting his shirt, pushing him down, but all the while being the most gentle he’s ever felt.
“Michael..” Dennis couldn’t find words other than his attending’s name, letting his neck be tickled by the feeling of the older man’s facial hair. “Gloria would kick your ass..” Dennis breathed with a chuckle—only being able to latch onto humor.
“I don’t wanna think about that witch right now..” Michael’s voice could only be described as a growl. Dennis only nodded, because he’d be damned if he was gonna disappoint Robby right now.
So Dennis vowed to just stay silent, aside from the occasional chant of “Mike…” or “Michael”, quickly lost to the next sound he’d make or the sounds Robby would make that overpowered him.
So much so that by the time the two men settled once more, with fresh sheets and hair that was still damp, Dennis still couldn’t find words. He just clung to Robby, regulating his breathing slowly to try and process what just happened.
Thank god they were home alone.
Dennis’ head was laid on Robby’s chest for a long time. No words. No conversation or verbal communication at all. Just the soft rise and fall of their chests and the expansion and deflation of their lungs to fill the silence.
Dennis could hear Robby’s heart beat, and swore to himself that he’d fall asleep to the sound if the peace wasn’t broken soon.
“BP might be elevated..” Robby whispered, breaking the silence with the closest thing to humor he could gather in the moment, coming down from a high such as that one.
Dennis hadn’t even noticed how Robby’s fingers had been resting on his Carotid Artery. Like he was doing the same thing as Dennis—silently tracking the other’s heartbeat and lulling to sleep because of it.
“It’s gettin’ pretty late.” Dennis responded, shifting to look Robby in the eyes. “You headin’ out early tomorrow..?” There was a soft sadness in his voice, like he truly didn’t want to part ways with Robby at this point. After the dam finally broke. After the truth came out, between them.
And Robby found himself saddened, too. He didn’t want to go anymore. But his trip had been planned. And while not meticulous, there were parts of it set in stone. He couldn’t abandon ship now.
But maybe…he could justify staying in town a few days longer.
His back could use the rest from the motorcycle. Dennis could use the company and help on the farm, and he still had so much to learn about Broken Bow.
Or, more importantly, he had more to learn about Dennis in Broken Bow.
Because now that he’s explored the resident beyond what the ethics committee would approve of, it’s time for him to learn not just the resident, but to learn Dennis.
And the true Dennis could never be fully comprehended by just his life in Pittsburgh. Broken Bow was part of the young man—part of his soul, even.
Plus, Dennis has a few more days before his PTO ends and he’s flying home. So Robby decided that was it.
“I’m not in much of a rush..” Robby’s hand slid off Dennis’ carotid and moved down to his Radial. “I could stand to stay a bit longer…if you’ll have me, of course.”
And Dennis could never imagine not folding under that tone. Not that he would have rejected Robby—the idea of having the older man in his home for the days to come was riveting.
Then Robby’s hand was on the move again, this time stalling on Dennis’ Femoral while waiting for a response. The cheeky older man was testing Dennis’ restraint. And Dennis was losing. Admittedly so.
“Keep my sheets clean this time, Robinavitch.” Dennis threatened weakly, giving into himself and Robby.
“Of course, Dr. Whitaker…”
it’s just practice right…?
rabbot in med school together
the dim lighting of robby’s desk lamp illuminates their tiny dorm room, the steady scratch of his pencil dragging across the paper.
it’s almost 2 in the morning and the ebbs of sleep are reaching robby’s eyes, heavy and persistent.
robby reaches for his water bottle, his sleep deprived hands failing him as the bottle clangs to the ground in an absurdly loud clatter.
jack stirs awake, confused, from his bed on the opposite wall.
the sound seems to echo longer than it should before settling into silence again.
“jesus… what was that?”
robby freezes, like staying still might undo it. it doesn’t.
“nothing,” he mutters, already leaning down to grab it. “just dropped something.”
there’s a pause.
“you’re still up?” jack’s voice is rough with sleep, softer than usual.
robby rubs at his eyes. “yeah. couldn’t sleep.”
“you’ve been at that all night, haven’t you?”
robby huffs quietly. “something like that.”
the bed creaks as jack sits up, then stands, crossing the small space without turning on the overhead light. the desk lamp casts just enough glow to catch on his face, his hair, the outline of him.
he stops beside robby’s chair, glancing down at the scattered notes.
“vitals?”
“yeah.”
jack hums. “and you thought staying up till two was the best way to learn that?”
“it’s quiet,” robby says.
jack watches him for a second longer than necessary, then sighs. “move over.”
“what?”
“if you’re gonna do this, at least do it right.”
there’s something about the way he says it that makes robby’s chest tighten.
still, he shifts his chair back.
jack doesn’t take it. instead, he reaches out, catching robby’s wrist.
the contact is warm. steady.
robby stills.
“go on,” jack murmurs, guiding his fingers into place against his pulse. “feel that?”
robby does.
a soft, steady rhythm under his fingertips.
“count.”
“right—yeah.” robby clears his throat. “one… two… three…”
his voice drops low, almost a whisper.
jack doesn’t move.
“…fourteen… fifteen…”
“you’re slowing down.”
“i’m not—”
“you are.”
robby exhales through his nose. “maybe you’re distracting.”
jack laughs softly. “didn’t realize i had that effect.”
robby doesn’t answer. he just finishes, fingers lingering a second too long before pulling away.
“…seventy-two.”
“not bad.”
a beat.
“breathing next,” jack says.
robby hesitates. “i know how to—”
“do it properly.”
he steps closer.
too close.
“go on,” jack says, quieter now.
robby nods, placing his hand lightly against jack’s side, just under his ribs.
jack inhales.
robby feels it the rise, the fall. steady. controlled.
“…normal,” robby murmurs, counting under his breath again, though it’s harder now. everything feels sharper. closer.
“you always talk to yourself like that?” jack asks.
“helps me think.”
another breath. in. out.
robby pulls his hand back a little too quickly this time.
the air shifts.
jack doesn’t step away.
“you’re better at this than you think,” he says.
robby lets out a quiet laugh. “i just counted your breathing.”
“still.”
their eyes meet.
too close.
robby looks away first. “you should go back to sleep.”
“you should too.”
“yeah, well—”
they don’t move.
not right away.
then jack steps back, the space returning all at once. “don’t stay up all night.”
robby nods. “i won’t.”
jack lies back down, turning toward the wall.
the room settles.
quiet.
robby stares at his notes for a long moment before switching off the lamp.
darkness fills the space.
it should end there.
it doesn’t.
“you’re still up.”
robby exhales. “yeah.”
a pause. fabric shifting.
“come here.”
robby turns his head. “what?”
“you heard me.”
he hesitates then stands, crossing the cold floor, sitting on the edge of jack’s bed.
the mattress dips. their knees nearly touch.
“you overthink everything,” jack murmurs.
robby huffs. “you don’t think enough.”
“maybe.”
their hands brush.
neither pulls away.
slowly, jack turns his hand, letting their fingers rest together—like he’s giving robby time to stop him.
robby doesn’t.
“robby,” jack says, quiet, like it matters.
robby turns, just enough
too close now.
“yeah?”
jack doesn’t answer right away.
then, softer “you’re really bad at pretending this is nothing.”
robby lets out a quiet breath. “you’re one to talk.”
there’s the faintest hint of a smile in the dark.
and then robby closes the distance.
the first kiss is tentative. soft. like a question.
jack answers it.
his hand comes up to robby’s neck, steadying him there, and the next kiss is a little more certain still gentle, but deeper, warmer.
robby exhales into it, shifting closer without thinking, one hand bracing on the mattress, the other gripping lightly at jack’s shirt.
they pull back
just barely.
then lean in again.
this time it lingers.
slower. softer. not rushed, not uncertain anymore just quiet and deliberate, like they’ve both decided at the same time to stop pretending they don’t want this.
jack’s thumb brushes along robby’s jaw, and robby tilts into it, kissing him again, a little firmer this time, like he’s testing how far he can go.
jack makes a quiet sound against his mouth something warm, something that makes robby’s chest tighten. his grip shifts, pulling robby closer.
there’s no space between them now.
the kisses come easier after that.
one after another, unhurried but constant soft presses, lingering touches, breaths shared in between like neither of them wants to fully pull away.
robby loses track of time.
loses track of everything except the warmth of jack’s hand at his neck, the way his fingers curl into his sleeve, the quiet rhythm of it all.
when they finally break apart, it’s only because they have to breathe.
their foreheads rest together.
neither of them moves far.
“…we should stop,” robby murmurs, though he doesn’t sound convinced.
“yeah,” jack says, just as unconvincing.
they don’t.
instead, robby leans in again, softer this time, slower, almost tired now, the kind of kiss that drifts instead of builds.
jack follows it, matching him, gentler, his hand slipping from robby’s neck to his arm, then his side, keeping him close without pulling.
eventually, it fades.
not abruptly, just gradually, like neither of them notices the exact moment it stops.
jack shifts first, lying back, but he doesn’t let go. his hand catches robby’s sleeve, tugging lightly.
“stay.”
robby hesitates.
then lies down beside him.
the bed is too small. it forces them close—shoulders pressed, legs brushing, nowhere to go but into each other.
jack’s arm slips around him easily, like it belongs there.
robby tenses for a second, then relaxes, settling in, his head finding jack’s shoulder.
he can hear his heartbeat again.
steady.
familiar now.
grounding.
“guess you’ve got my pulse memorized,” jack murmurs, half-asleep.
robby huffs softly, pressing a small, absentminded kiss against his shoulder. “shut up.”
jack’s arm tightens slightly in response.
silence settles over them, softer now. easier.
robby’s eyes drift closed, his hand still loosely curled in the fabric of jack’s shirt.
and this time
sleep comes easily.
*looking at myself in the mirror*
Fanfiction is supposed to be cringy. You're allowed to write bad. You're allowed to be cringe. Fanfiction is supposed to be self indulgent. You're allowed to be cringe. Let yourself be cringe. Fanfiction is supposed to be fun. Stop putting arbitrary rules on yourself and be free.
2 fics in 24hrs oh my im on a roll
Hucklerobby where one of them is insane and a stalker and the other isn’t oblivious but doesn’t do anything about it
hnnngggtnfg 🤤
stalker whittaker x encouraging ish robby ??
uhm anyways.
warning for stalking
Robby was following his usual evening routine after a shift—hot shower, loose clothes, trashy TV he barely cared about.
He had only just stepped out of the shower, towel around his waist, water beading across his bare chest.
The open bathroom door cast harsh shadows across his bedroom but there seemed to be something just out of place.
He paused in the doorway.
At first he couldn’t tell what it was. His room looked the same as always: unmade bed, scrubs tossed over the chair, the small lamp glowing dim on the bedside table.
But the feeling lingered.
Like someone had been here.
Robby stepped further into the room, slow and quiet without even meaning to be. His damp footprints darkened the floor behind him.
His dresser drawer was open.
Just slightly.
Robby frowned.
He walked over and pulled it open fully. Nothing looked missing. Just his usual clutter—t-shirts, old hospital badges, a couple mismatched socks.
But resting on top of the pile was a small square of paper.
He picked it up.
three words written in careful handwriting.
I love you.
Robby stared at it for a long time.
“…what the fuck?”
He turned slowly, scanning the room again, but nothing else seemed disturbed.
The front door was still locked.
Windows closed.
No sounds.
After another moment he crumpled the note slightly in his hand and muttered to himself, “whatever. That’s weird.”
Then he tossed it on the nightstand and went to watch TV.
⸻
Two days later it happened again.
Robby came home late, exhaustion dragging behind every step. He kicked the door shut, tossed his keys in the bowl by the counter, and went straight to the kitchen for a glass of water.
That’s when he noticed it.
A small yellow sticky note stuck to the cabinet.
Your shampoo smells nice.
Robby stared at it.
Slowly.
“…what?”
He pulled the note down.
It wasn’t threatening. The handwriting was neat, careful even. Whoever wrote it had pressed lightly into the paper.
Which somehow made it stranger.
He walked through the apartment, checking doors and windows. Everything was locked.
Nothing stolen.
Nothing broken.
But the feeling came back again—that faint sense that someone had been standing in the space he now occupied.
He folded the note and shoved it into his pocket.
“Okay…” he muttered to the empty apartment. “That’s so fucking creepy..”
⸻
The third time, Robby got uneasy.
Not scared.
Just… uneasy.
He’d fallen asleep on the couch after a brutal shift. Some rerun played quietly in the background, flickering blue light across the living room.
When he woke up a few hours later, the room was quiet.
The TV was off.
as he was dragging himself to bed he spotted something on the floor.
A Polaroid.
Robby picked it up slowly.
The photo showed him asleep on the couch exactly how he’d been—head tilted back, one arm dangling off the cushion.
The soft washed-out glow of the Polaroid made the whole scene look strangely peaceful.
Too peaceful.
On the white border someone had written:
I can’t wait to hold you.
Robby rubbed his face.
“…okay.”
This was getting very concerning.
⸻
The next morning at the hospital, Robby brought it up.
Casually.
Like it was a weird anecdote and not something sitting heavy in his chest.
A few of them were gathered near the nurse’s station during a quiet moment—coffee cups, half-finished charting, the usual tired chatter.
Robby leaned against the counter.
“So,” he said, “hypothetical question.”
dana looked up “that’s how all bad stories start”
“I think someone might be breaking into my apartment.”
The reaction was immediate.
“What?”
“Call the police.”
“Did they steal something?”
Robby shrugged.
“No. Just… left notes. creepy ones, but nothing violent.”
Dennis had been standing a few feet away flipping through a patient chart.
The sound stopped.
Robby glanced up automatically.
Dennis’s face had gone pale.
Not subtly pale.
The kind where all the color drains at once.
Robby blinked.
“…you good?” the patient asked Dennis.
Dennis snapped back like someone had flipped a switch.
“Yeah—yeah. Fine.”
But he wasn’t looking at Robby anymore.
He looked like he wanted to disappear, melt into the floor.
And suddenly—
A small, quiet thought slipped into Robby’s head.
Huh.
⸻
After that, Robby started paying attention.
Not obvious things.
Little things.
Dennis avoiding eye contact.
Dennis getting very quiet anytime someone mentioned Robby’s apartment.
Dennis almost dropping a tray when Robby jokingly said, “Maybe I’ve got a secret admirer.”
That night Robby went home and checked his apartment more carefully.
Nothing new.
No notes.
But the strange tension sat in his chest anyway.
⸻
A week passed before the next incident.
Robby came home late again, tossed his jacket over the chair, and headed to the kitchen.
Another Polaroid sat on the counter.
His stomach dropped.
He picked it up.
This one was from earlier that morning—Robby tying his shoes by the door before work.
The photo had clearly been taken from inside the apartment.
Robby turned it over slowly.
You look beautiful when you’re sleepy.
Robby leaned back against the counter and stared at the ceiling.
“…it couldn’t be dennis?”
He said it quietly.
as if he was unsure of the fact. he knew deep down it was him. but he didn’t know how to accept that.
⸻
He didn’t confront him right away.
Instead, Robby waited.
Because if it was Dennis…
Dennis would come back.
So Robby set a small trap.
Nothing dramatic.
Just simple things.
He left the bedroom window unlocked.
Left the lamp on.
Left the back door latch loose.
And then he waited.
⸻
It happened around midnight.
Robby sat on the couch with the lights off, pretending to watch TV.
He heard the softest sound.
A careful click from the back door.
Then slow footsteps.
Quiet.
Cautious.
Someone trying not to be heard.
Robby waited until the figure stepped fully into the living room.
Then he said calmly,
“You know most people knock.”
The footsteps froze.
Slowly, a familiar shape stepped out of the hallway shadows.
Dennis.
He looked like someone had drained the life out of him.
“…you knew,” Dennis whispered.
Robby sighed softly and muted the TV.
“I had a suspicion.”
Dennis’s hands were shaking slightly.
“I—I didn’t mean to— I wasn’t trying to scare you—”
“You’ve been breaking into my house for weeks.” robby sighs, his hand reaching the back of his neck
Dennis flinched.
“…yeah.”
“Taking pictures.”
“…yeah.”
“Leaving love notes.”
Dennis looked at the floor.
“…yeah.”
The silence stretched between them.
Dennis’s voice cracked first.
“I’m sorry.”
The words came out fast after that.
“I know it’s weird and I know it’s wrong and I didn’t know how to stop and I just— I didn’t want to mess things up with you and I thought if I just— if I just stayed quiet—”
His breathing was getting shaky now.
“I never touched you,” he added quickly. “I swear. I just wanted to see you. That’s all.”
Robby studied him.
Dennis looked genuinely terrified.
Like he was seconds away from bolting and breaking down
even though the breakdown seemed to have started already.
Finally Robby sighed.
“…Dennis.”
Dennis looked up slowly eyes wide and watery with panic.
“You realize,” Robby said, “you could’ve just asked me out.”
Dennis blinked.
he looked utterly pathetic at this point
“…what?”
Robby rubbed the back of his neck.
“I’m saying the stalking thing was probably unnecessary.”
Dennis looked like his brain had short-circuited.
“You’re… not mad?”
“Oh, I’m mad,” Robby said. “You broke into my house.”
Dennis’s shoulders sagged.
“I’ll go—”
Robby grabbed his wrist before he could turn.
“Dennis.”
Dennis froze.
“…yeah?”
Robby looked at him for a long moment.
robby grabbed him by the jaw, and kissed him.
Dennis made a startled sound before kissing him back like he’d been waiting forever.
the tension that had been building for weeks finally snapped loose
Robby pulled him a little closer, one hand sliding up to the back of Dennis’s neck. Dennis leaned into it without hesitation, shoulders relaxing for the first time since he’d walked into the apartment.
Their kiss deepened quickly. slow at first, testing, then warmer as the shock faded.
dennis cautiously but hastily tried to guide robby to the couch
Robby took a step back without really thinking.
Dennis followed.
Dennis barely had time to grin before Robby kissed him again.
Their mouths barely separated between steps, kisses turning clumsy and breathy as they tried to keep up with each other and move at the same time.
“Careful,” Dennis muttered against Robby’s mouth, half laughing.
“You’re the one walking us backwards,” Robby murmured.
“Yeah but you’re the one—”
Dennis bumped into the arm of the couch and nearly lost his balance.
Robby caught him instinctively, hands sliding to his waist to steady him.
For a second they both froze.
Then Dennis started laughing again, the sound soft and a little disbelieving.
“This is ridiculous,” he said.
“Your stalking plan was ridiculous,” Robby replied.
Dennis opened his mouth to protest, but Robby kissed him again before he could.
Dennis made a small surprised sound and grabbed onto Robby’s shirt as Robby guided them the last couple steps backward.
The back of Robby’s knees hit the couch.
He dropped down onto it with a quiet thump, pulling Dennis down with him.
dennis straddled robby’s hips almost immediately his hands reaching around robby’s neck and scuffing into his hair
Dennis breathed out a quiet laugh against Robby’s mouth.
“I thought you were going to throw me out,” he murmured.
Robby kissed him again instead of answering.
This one lingered longer.
Dennis’s fingers curled into the fabric of Robby’s shirt, pulling him just slightly closer like he was afraid Robby might disappear if he didn’t hold on.
When they finally pulled apart, neither of them stepped away Robby muttered,
“Next time you wanna see me…”
Dennis swallowed.
“…yeah?”
“Use the front door.”
Dennis laughed shakily.
“…okay.”
Robby glanced toward the hallway.
“…you can stay tonight.”
Dennis blinked.
“Really?”
Robby smirked.
“Only if you promise to stop photographing me while I’m unconscious.”
Dennis hesitated.
“…no promises.”
“Dennis.”
“Okay, okay!”
Robby shook his head, smiling despite himself as he pulled him into another kiss.
“You’re such a problem,” he muttered.
Dennis grinned.
“Yeah.”
And this time neither of them let go.

farm boy
hucklerobby 🤤🤤🤤
sweaty FREAKY GAY BOYS!!!!!!!! RAHHHH
anyways…
bestie @nyxsins333 helped with this
summer heat is no joke anywhere, especially not rural nebraska with such minimal shade in 95°f weather.
dennis was home for the summer, something he typically dreaded. his family was not the best, but he still cared for them. and like the good son he tries to be he always comes home to help on the farm.
robby is out on his sabbatical when he’s stopping in a small farm town, a dingy little diner and motel combo off the highway.
he wasn’t expecting to see anyone from pittsburgh on his trip, let alone fresh doctor whittaker. who was only grabbing his family dinner at the only half decent place in town that isn’t the dollar general.
robby noticed him first.
it took a second to place him—sunburnt neck, dusty boots, a faded baseball cap pulled low—but the posture gave him away. dennis always stood like he was bracing against something, shoulders squared like the world might shove him any second.
robby leaned back in the cracked vinyl booth, squinting through the heat haze of the diner windows.
“well i’ll be damned.”
dennis looked up from the counter where he was waiting for a takeout bag. their eyes locked.
for a moment neither of them moved.
then dennis blinked like he’d seen a ghost.
“robby?”
robby raised a hand in a lazy wave. “small world.”
dennis walked over slowly, still looking confused. up close he looked different than the hospital version of him—sweat darkening the collar of his t-shirt, forearms tan and scratched up from farm work.
less polished.
more real.
“what the hell are you doing in nebraska?” dennis asked.
robby smirked. “driving west. thinking. avoiding responsibility.”
“sounds about right.”
dennis slid into the booth across from him without asking, the seat creaking under his weight.
up close robby could see the tired lines under his eyes.
“you look like hell,” robby said casually.
“yeah well,” dennis shrugged, “farm life.”
the waitress dropped off robby’s coffee with a heavy clink. the air smelled like grease and burnt toast.
for a moment they just sat there.
it felt weirdly intimate, seeing someone from the hospital out here where nothing looked like their normal world.
“so,” robby said finally, “doctor whittaker the farmhand. didn’t have that on my bingo card.”
dennis snorted. “family farm. my dad’s knees are shot and my brother’s useless.”
“you always did look like you could throw hay bales.”
dennis leaned back, stretching his shoulders.
“careful robby,” he said dryly. “you flirting with me in a roadside diner?”
robby smiled into his coffee.
“depends,” he said. “is it working?”
dennis rolled his eyes but there was a faint red creeping up the back of his neck.
the waitress called his name from the counter.
“order up!”
dennis stood, grabbing the paper bag and a sweating cardboard drink carrier.
he hesitated before leaving.
“you staying here?” he asked.
robby nodded toward the motel sign outside. the neon flickered like it was struggling to stay alive.
“unfortunately.”
dennis stared out the window for a second.
“place is a dump,” he said. “ac barely works.”
“i’ve stayed in worse.”
dennis shifted his weight.
“my place isn’t far,” he said. “farmhouse. spare room.”
robby raised an eyebrow.
“you inviting strange men home now?”
dennis huffed.
“you’re not strange.”
a beat passed between them.
“and my mom made way too much dinner,” dennis added quickly.
robby stood up, grabbing his keys from the table.
“lead the way, farm boy.”
the farm was about fifteen minutes outside town.
cornfields stretched in every direction, tall green walls rustling in the evening wind. the sky was going gold and pink with sunset.
dennis parked his truck in a gravel driveway beside an old white farmhouse.
“home sweet home,” he muttered.
inside, the house smelled like cooked beef and laundry detergent.
his family was already halfway through dinner when they walked in.
after a quick round of introductions and a lot of curious looks at the tall stranger from pittsburgh, robby found himself sitting at the kitchen table eating the best home-cooked meal he’d had in months.
dennis barely talked during dinner.
but robby kept catching him glancing over.
afterward they ended up outside on the back porch.
the night air was still hot but at least the sun was gone.
crickets hummed across the fields.
dennis leaned against the porch railing, cracking open two beers and handing one over.
“so,” he said. “sabbatical.”
robby nodded.
“burnout.”
“yeah.”
they drank quietly for a minute.
then robby said, “you seem different out here.”
dennis tilted his head.
“how.”
“less… tense.”
dennis laughed under his breath.
“give it three days with my family.”
robby stepped closer to the railing beside him.
their shoulders brushed.
neither of them moved away.
“i meant it,” robby said. “seeing you here.”
dennis looked out at the dark fields.
“it’s weird seeing you here too.”
the silence stretched again.
this one heavier.
robby turned slightly, leaning one hip against the railing.
“you ever think about leaving?” he asked.
“the farm?”
“everything.”
dennis didn’t answer right away.
“sometimes.”
the porch light buzzed softly above them.
robby studied him for a second.
then quietly said,
“you know you look good like this.”
dennis glanced over.
“like what.”
“like you belong somewhere.”
that earned him a long look.
dennis stepped closer without really thinking about it.
now they were standing almost chest to chest.
close enough robby could smell sweat and sun and soap.
dennis let out a slow breath.
“you always say things like that?” he murmured.
“only when i mean them.”
their hands brushed on the railing.
neither pulled away.
the tension between them had been building since the diner and now it sat thick in the warm night air.
dennis’s voice dropped a little.
“robby…”
robby looked up at him.
their faces were inches apart.
for a second it seemed like the whole farm had gone quiet.
then dennis laughed softly, shaking his head like he was trying to break the moment.
“this is a bad idea.”
robby didn’t move.
“probably.”
but neither of them stepped back.
the porch light buzzed softly above them.
dennis could feel the heat of robby standing beside him, close enough their arms kept brushing whenever either of them shifted.
it shouldn’t have felt like a big deal.
they worked together in an er. people were constantly in each other’s space there—shoulder to shoulder during trauma calls, leaning over the same patient, shouting orders across crowded rooms.
but this wasn’t that.
this was quiet.
and robby was looking at him like he meant something by it.
dennis took another drink from his beer just to give himself something to do.
“you staring or something?” he muttered.
robby didn’t even pretend to look away.
“maybe.”
dennis huffed out a laugh, but it sounded a little tighter than he meant it to.
“you always this annoying on sabbatical?”
“i’m actually worse.”
another pause stretched between them, thick and charged.
the wind moved through the cornfields behind the house, long soft waves of rustling that rolled across the dark.
dennis rubbed the back of his neck.
“look,” he said finally. “you can crash here tonight. spare room’s upstairs.”
robby tilted his head.
“just one room?”
dennis gave him a look.
“don’t push your luck.”
robby held his hands up in surrender, though the corner of his mouth twitched.
“yes sir.”
dennis finished his beer and pushed off the railing.
“c’mon.”
they stepped inside.
the farmhouse felt smaller at night. quiet. the tv murmured faintly from the living room where his parents had settled in.
dennis nodded toward the staircase.
“up there.”
the wooden steps creaked under their boots as they climbed.
the hallway upstairs was narrow, lit only by a dim lamp at the far end.
dennis walked to the last door and pushed it open.
“it’s not fancy,” he said. “but the bed’s decent, and a good ac.”
robby stepped inside.
the room looked like a place someone had left behind years ago. faded quilt on the bed. an old dresser. a small window that looked out over the fields.
dennis leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.
robby set his keys on the dresser and glanced around.
“i’ve stayed in worse,” he said.
dennis snorted.
“yeah, that motel probably qualifies.”
robby turned back toward him.
the small space made everything feel closer. more contained.
the quiet stretched again.
dennis shifted his weight.
“so… uh. bathroom’s down the hall if you need it.”
robby didn’t move.
“dennis.”
his name landed low and steady in the room.
dennis looked up.
robby had stepped closer without him noticing.
“what?” dennis said.
robby studied him for a second.
“you’re nervous.”
dennis scoffed automatically.
“i’m not nervous.”
“sure.”
robby moved another step forward.
now they were standing only a couple feet apart.
dennis could feel that same pull again, the one from the porch, tightening somewhere in his chest.
“robby,” he warned quietly.
“what?”
“don’t.”
robby’s eyebrows lifted slightly.
“don’t what?”
dennis opened his mouth to answer.
and then stopped.
because robby had stepped close enough that he could see the faint stubble along his jaw, the tired crease between his brows, the way his eyes kept flicking down to dennis’s mouth like he was thinking about it.
dennis exhaled slowly.
“this is a bad idea,” he said again.
robby’s voice dropped a little.
“you said that already.”
“yeah.”
“you still standing here though.”
dennis let out a quiet laugh.
“you always this cocky?”
“only when i’m right.”
the words hung there between them.
and then dennis did something reckless.
he grabbed robby by the front of his shirt and pulled him forward.
the kiss landed hard.
not careful.
not tentative.
weeks of stress and heat and something unspoken between them all slammed together at once.
robby made a surprised sound against his mouth before kissing him back just as hard.
dennis pushed him backward until the back of robby’s legs hit the edge of the bed.
they broke apart for a second, breathing heavier now.
robby looked up at him, eyes dark.
“wow,” he muttered.
dennis ran a hand through his hair, already flushed.
“you were asking for it.”
robby laughed under his breath.
“yeah?”
“yeah.”
robby reached forward then, grabbing the front of dennis’s t-shirt and pulling him back in.
this kiss was slower.
but somehow hotter.
robby’s hand slid up the back of dennis’s neck, fingers tangling lightly in his hair as he tilted his head.
dennis braced one hand on the mattress beside robby’s hip to keep from completely toppling over him.
the room felt suddenly very small.
very warm.
their breathing filled the quiet space.
robby pulled back just enough to look at him again.
“you’re sure about this?” he murmured.
dennis stared down at him for a second.
“you gonna stop if i say no?”
“yeah.”
“then stop asking stupid questions.”
robby grinned.
and then kissed him again.
this time dennis let himself lean in fully, one knee pressing into the mattress beside robby as their mouths met again.
his hand found robby’s shoulder, gripping the fabric there.
robby’s other hand slid down to dennis’s waist, pulling him a little closer.
the kiss deepened, slower and heavier now, both of them clearly unwilling to rush it.
dennis felt a similar electric tension from spreading through his chest and arms when Robby’s hand slipped under the hem of his ratty work shirt which kept them separated.
It took everything in dennis to not cum in his jeans at the feeling of those rough fingers alone–gliding up his torso along his ribs like they already had the skin mapped.
Then he was thinking about all the times those fingers pushed him around in a trauma room, and he realized those fingers did already have the skin mapped.
“You’re drenched.”
“You aren’t helping.” Dennis huffed back, his hips moving forward without his consent.
“You’re makin’ it ten times worse, old man.”
“I could always make it worse.”
“You already are.”
Then a knee shifted, and Dennis found himself straddling Robby more like he was a mechanical bull rather than his attending, with one hand on his ribcage and the other on his belt.
Dennis’s lips were on the older man’s once more before he could respond, his arms moving to shed his shirt off–which Robby justified to himself by considering how likely a heat stroke would be in this situation.
Dennis didn’t process his hips rolling against his attending’s–but Robby certainly processed it. And he was matching every roll with double the fervor, and triple the restraint.
“Kid you’re drivin’ me insane here..” Robby’s voice was getting rougher by the moment, and Dennis’ hips were getting more rushed–which the younger still hadn’t fully processed.
Dennis doesn’t even remember when the kissing turned into foreheads smushing together in a way that would leave red marks for days.
That familiar feeling starts in his spine, moving from the base of his skull all the way down, and electrifying in his lower abdomen–where pressure has been building for days.
“Robby-” The word is short, punched out and as empty as his lungs when he clutches onto the collar of the man’s shirt like it’s personally offended him.
“Gonna keep me waiting, cowboy?”
Robby’s voice was just as breathy, but somehow more controlled. The same way Robby was always more calm when treating a fresh GSW, Dennis realized.
Dennis’ breath stopped entirely, and his face buried into Robby’s neck, his teeth coming down around a chunk of skin before the logical part of his brain could stop him.
Dennis’ hips didn’t finally stutter to a stop for several moments after his climax, and when they did his teeth were still clamped down harder than he intended–or realized.
“Whittaker…you still breathin’, kid?” Robby’s voice was rougher–lower. More heated and more mellowed compared to previously.
robby pulled back dennis back by the scruff of his hair, just enough to rest his forehead against dennis’s.
they were both more than a little out of breath.
“so,” robby murmured.
“yeah?”
“still a bad idea?”
dennis huffed a quiet laugh.
“absolutely.”
robby smiled.
“good.”
and then dennis kissed him again.
outside, the cornfields rustled softly in the warm nebraska night while the old farmhouse settled around them.
| nude yoga?
| jack abott x reader
| mature ish content - jack is butt booty naked in this
Robby had invited you to his place while he went on his sabbatical, being gone for three months with no one home is an invite for a slew of things to happen.
He briefly mentioned Dr. Abott and his routine morning yoga, fully nude apparently.
Which is why he offered you to do so, as a respect to his neighbors more than anything.
he didn’t think his neighbors seeing jack in the nude at 6 am was a good idea
——————————
You hadn’t believed him at first.
Not really.
Jack Abott did not strike you as the kind of person who greeted the sunrise completely naked on a rooftop.
He struck you as the kind of person who kept the trauma room steady when everything else fell apart—quiet voice, measured instructions, the kind of calm that settled over everyone else the moment he walked into the ER.
Naked rooftop yoga didn’t fit that image.
Which was probably why it lived in your head rent-free during night shifts.
The ER hummed around you—monitors beeping, gurneys rolling down the hallway, the tired rhythm of the overnight crew pushing through the last stretch before sunrise.
You leaned against the nurses’ station counter, rubbing your eyes.
Across from you, Abott was charting.
Of course he was.
Perfect posture, tablet balanced in one hand, glasses sliding down his nose.
He looked up after a moment, sensing your stare.
“You need something?”
You hesitated.
Then blurted, “Robby told me about your yoga.”
One eyebrow lifted slowly.
“Did he.”
“The roof thing.”
Abott studied you for a second before the corner of his mouth twitched.
“Ah.”
“So it’s real?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re… naked?”
“Yes.”
You blinked.
“You just admitted that incredibly easily.”
“You asked.”
You folded your arms.
“That’s not normal.”
“It’s yoga.”
“That’s not the part I’m questioning.”
He set the tablet down.
“You seem very curious about it.”
“I’m curious about why someone would do that.”
“You could always see it yourself.”
Your brain stalled.
“You’re inviting me to watch you do naked yoga?”
“To join.”
That somehow made it worse.
“You’re serious.”
“Yes.”
“You ask coworkers that often?”
“No.”
The answer came quickly enough to make your chest tighten a little.
“Why me?”
Abott held your gaze.
“You noticed.”
You didn’t have a comeback for that.
And somehow that’s how you ended up agreeing to meet him at his building early, on the roof.
—————————————
The door to the roof creaked open as you lean against it.
Cold morning air brushed across your skin as you stepped outside.
The sky was soft blue, the horizon just starting to glow.
And there he was.
Standing on the mat.
Exactly like Robby said.
Exactly like you had tried not to picture for the days leading up to this.
Abott glanced over his shoulder.
“You came.”
“You didn’t think I would?”
“I thought you might talk yourself out of it.”
“I tried.”
“But?”
You stepped onto the roof.
“But now I’m here.”
The breeze moved gently across the rooftop.
Abott watched you for a moment.
“You don’t have to participate,” he said. “You can just watch.”
You scoffed.
“That somehow feels worse.”
He laughed quietly.
Then he started moving through his routine again.
Slow stretches. Controlled breathing.
Completely at ease.
You tried to focus on the skyline, anything but his nude body
It didn’t work.
“You’re staring,” he said calmly.
“I’m observing.”
“Same thing.”
“You invited me.”
“I did.”
He straightened and stepped closer.
Close enough that you could feel warmth radiating from him despite the cool air.
“You’re tense,” he said softly.
“I’m aware.”
“Breathe.”
You let out a slow breath.
“That helping?” he asked.
“Not really.”
His eyes stayed on yours.
“You could try a pose,” he murmured.
“Just one.”
He nodded.
“Just one.”
He guided you through it—quiet instructions, calm adjustments to your stance.
When his hand briefly steadied your arm, your pulse jumped.
Abott noticed.
“You feel that?” he asked quietly.
“Yeah.”
“That’s focus.”
“Feels like a heart attack.”
He smiled faintly.
“You stop thinking about everything else.”
And he was right.
The hospital noise.
The exhaustion.
Everything faded.
It was just the two of you on the quiet roof with the sun starting to rise.
You turned slightly to look at the skyline glowing gold.
When you turned back, Abott was closer.
Much closer.
Your breath caught.
Neither of you moved.
“This is probably a bad idea,” you said quietly.
“Probably.”
But neither of you stepped away.
Your heart hammered in your chest.
“You could leave,” he said softly.
You didn’t.
Instead you closed the distance.
The kiss happened almost at the same moment you reached for him.
It was warm and immediate, the kind of kiss that felt like it had been building for weeks.
Your hands slid up to his shoulders automatically, gripping lightly as he pulled you closer.
The contact sent a rush of warmth through you.
Abott kissed you like he did everything else—steady at first, controlled, deliberate.
But it didn’t stay that way.
The moment stretched longer, deeper.
Your fingers curled slightly against him as you leaned in, and his hands settled at your sides, drawing you closer until there was barely any space left between you.
The early morning air was cool, but the kiss felt warm enough to make you forget it entirely.
When you pulled back for a breath, it lasted barely a second before he leaned in again.
This one slower.
More lingering.
Your heartbeat thudded in your ears as you tilted your head slightly, the kiss deepening again in a way that made your knees feel a little unsteady.
You laughed quietly against his mouth, breathless.
“This… was not what I expected from yoga.”
Abott’s quiet chuckle brushed your lips.
“Focus,” he murmured.
“You keep saying that.”
“Working?”
You didn’t answer.
Instead you kissed him again.
The sunrise spilled warm gold across the rooftop as the moment stretched on, quiet and unhurried.
And for once, neither of you seemed in any hurry to get back to the hospital.
