beansproot
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Ex Mormon Dennis Whitaker, folks. ft a lot of mental breakdowns. author is lowk working through trauma with this one (I am exmo)
Title and chapter headings from We'll Never Have Sex by Leith Ross <3
(His desire for human contact was embarrassingly innocent. A hand squeezing his shoulder, the nape of his neck, petting through his hair. Sometimes, laid down at night, alone, he would pet himself like that. Rub his scalp, pretend it was someone else's hands. If it was someone else, who would it be? Would they whisper sweet things to him?
Now, he imagined it to be Dr Robby. As humiliating as that is, he can't help himself. Dr Robby gave him something to work with— he squeezes his own shoulder, pressing his thumb into that bit of skin Dr Robby had touched. Dr Robby's hands are bigger, warmer, but Dennis makes do.)
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Bookmarked by beansproot
16 Jun 2026
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If God is always listening (and Dennis has been told repeatedly that he is) then God already knows what goes on inside of his head. God knows that Dennis has been harboring strange, perverted desires for as long as he’s known how to want. God knows that Dennis’s peers never could capture his attention the way their fathers did. God, more than anyone else, knows the sheer depths of the youngest Whitaker child’s depravity. All-seeing being, right? That’s the way the story goes.
So fire and brimstone it is.
Bookmarked by beansproot
13 Jun 2026
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The conference itself would’ve been bad enough on its own. Three days in Virginia Beach with physicians from across the East Coast attending lectures and networking events and social hours that nobody actually wanted to participate in. But no, PTMC had also agreed to some commemorative panel recognizing the one-year anniversary of Pittfest.
Meaning Robby somehow ended up scheduled the next day to accept a departmental honor recognizing “exceptional leadership and emergency response coordination during mass casualty management.” There would apparently also be a plaque. A shiny new plaque to hang in the ED. Because nothing helped process collective trauma like polished wood and engraved brass.
Or, Robby is selected to sit on a conference panel commemorating Pittfest and accept an award on behalf of PTMC. (Inspired by the photo of Noah Wyle looking *lovingly* at a picture of Gerran/Dennis)
Series
- Part 12 of Hucklerobby Fics
Bookmarked by beansproot
06 Jun 2026
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July 4th, 2025 10:15pm for Robby after the last shift before his sabbatical. A simple text leads to something that is anything but simple between Dr. Robby and Dr. Whitaker.
Bookmarked by beansproot
06 Jun 2026
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“You’ll have to hold on, okay?” Robby chuckled, and Whitaker could feel his body shake, because they were sitting on the same flimsy, stupid seat. Nope. Nope, nope, nope. This was not happening. Some time ago, he remembered cussing out motorcyclists in their entirety, especially the ones who didn’t wear helmets, after a particularly bad collision incident had left them with six casualties, four entirely preventable. It didn’t seem relevant here. Dr Robby was driving. He felt his morals slipping away by the second.
“Hold on to where?” And yes, Whitaker was aware of how weird and stretched out his voice sounded, and no, he was not going to unpack that right now.
“Me.”
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A lift home on the back of Robby’s Triumph Bonneville one evening pushes Whitaker’s inconvenient crush on his attending into the danger zone, and Robby seems entirely aware of this.
Set across the Friday evenings until the end of the year. A Christmas, a birthday & a happy new year.
Bookmarked by beansproot
06 Jun 2026