Ace Lesbian writing everything from hurt/comfort, fluff, to hardcore smut, you can also find me on AO3 if you want to subscribe to me there! (For smut) I adore comments and am always open to requests!
✦ The Pitt ✦
HuckleRobby
If You Don't Beat Me To It (Roadtrip, past sibling abuse) wc: 30k ~in progress
A brother attempting suicide means Dennis needs to get back home to Broken Bow - Robby offers to drive him.
Turn The Other Cheek wc:10k
5 times Dennis gets his ass slapped at work + 1 time he slaps back
Lessons in Trust (18+, noncon, gangbang, smut) wc: 5.9k
HuckleRabbot
Anything for You (misunderstandings and stalkers) wc 26k
Dennis mistakes secret admirer gifts from Rabbot for his stalker escalating, 5+1
Should the Pieces Fit (Aro x Allo x Ace) wc: 2.5k
Angry Dennis one and two wc: 2.6k
HuckleAbbot
Got My Eyes on You
Abbot X Reader
Ace!Reader - If You Mean It (Ace get together fic + holiday oneshot) wc: 16k
fall free and sedate me (18+, somno noncon smut) wc: 19.9 k in progress
Jemma
to: My Favourite Med Student wc 2.4
The Valentine's day card Emma wrote to confess her feelings to Joy is accidentally taken by Ogilvie, who thinks it was meant for him.
Now trying to dodge his advances, and come up with a way to let him down gently, Emma needs Joy’s help.
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Liked the feel of soft cool sheets directly against his skin, liked not getting overheated and sweating all night, liked being able to fantasize about hands roaming over every inch of him that was exposed, feeling skin against skin, soft cock squished against his plush mattress.
But it was hard to sleep naked when you were sharing a room with your older brother, then impossible when you were homeless, and somehow even harder when you had a roommate that didn't understand personal boundaries, or knocking, when she came barging into your room first thing in the morning.
So he may have gotten overly comfortable at Robby's place.
Finally having a private space where he didn't have to worry about being intruded on, means he may have made himself overly comfortable.
May have made him just a step too brazen, closing all his attendings blinds and spending half his time in the apartment naked.
So he liked feeling free, and soft, and yeah sometimes he liked catching his naked reflection in mirrors, and the glass of picture frames.
It's not like he was hurting anyone.
Or, he wasn't, until…
Dancing and singing along to I Heard It Through The Grapevine, he cooked his morning egg in toast, loving the rush of air around him as he twirled and dipped and rolled his hips.
He didn't hear the front door open and close, or the uneven gait of Dr. Abbot approaching, or the slight gasp as he found Dennis naked in the kitchen.
It wasn't until he twirled, pan in hand, about to attempt a ridiculously high and very unnecessary flip of his egg in the hole; when he finally spotted the attending standing slack jawed a few feet away.
Watching Dennis, unblinking and spellbound.
Their eyes meet as Dennis chokes back a scream, and Jack flushes beet red, throwing his hands over his eyes.
Scrambling to dump the burning pan back on the stove top, Dennis squeaks out a series of ‘Don't Look!'s as he ducks behind the kitchen island, trying to find literally anything to cover himself with.
And somewhere behind him there's a tight, strained, “I didn't see anything!” that he believes about as much as he believes it when a patient comes in and says they fell on whatever was currently lodged in their ass.
He can hear Jack's stomping footsteps as he rushes to get out, seeming to back track, stumble, and slip.
Dennis hears the sickening crunch of cartilage about a half a second before the kitchen rattles with the heavy sound of Jack's body hitting the floor.
His stomach drops and he's on his feet, clutching a wrinkled apron as he rounds the island, forgetting about his lack of clothing and focusing on making sure Jack didn't seriously hurt himself.
“Shit,” He hisses finding Abbot flat on his ass, hands still covering his eyes for some fucking reason, blood pouring out of his nose. “Are you ok?”
Carefully sitting him up he starts using the apron to dab away blood as he tries to evaluate how bad it is.
“‘M fine.” Jack grunts, a nasally, pained sound as Dennis probes the cartilage, feeling for a break.
“I don't think it's broken.” He gently pries Jack's hands away, ducking his head to try and get a good look at his pupils.
Blinking hard at the stormy hazel eyes staring back at him. Slightly watery from running face first into whatever it was.
Fucking gorgeous.
It's not fair having the full force of them unleashed on him this close up.
He finds himself lost for a moment, struggling to remember what it is he was meant to be doing.
His mouth hangs open. He was gonna say something… or ask a question maybe?
Jack's eyes trace his bottom lip, and then Dennis watches them slowly drop, down, down, down, and his pupils blow wide, nearly swallowing his irises.
Flushing lobster red again, Jack slaps a hand over his eyes with a wounded noise, accidentally clipping his nose.
Pained and accusing, “You're still naked.”
Dennis swears hard, flailing as he struggles to open the stained and bloody apron to put it on.
“Sorry, sorry, I'm decent now, I promise, you can look again.”
Jack does, pupils still fat and hungry, raking over just how little the apron covers, “I wouldn't say you're decent, but you're not naked anymore”
Dennis can't help but blush at the flirty lilt to Jack's words, thinking he must have given himself brain damage or something to be hitting on Dennis.
“What are you doing here anyway?”
“Fucking-” Jack gestures vaguely to… somewhere, “Robby asked me to check in on you. Make sure you didn't burn the place down.”
Oh god.
Robby.
Jack's best friend.
Who Jack is no doubt going to immediately run and blab to this about. Finding his house sitter naked and using his apartment as a nudist paradise.
He’s never going to live this down.
“Oh god, please, you can't tell him about this.” Dennis pleads, desperately grasping at Jack's hands. “Seriously, Dr. Abbot, I won't be able to show my face in the hospital ever again. Please don't tell him.”
Jack blinks at his intensity, glancing down at the grip Dennis has on him, then up to his mouth and finally settling on his eyes.
“I won't.” Abbot murmurs, shaking his head softly, all sincerity. “I wouldn't do that to you.”
“Thank you,” He breathes, nearly crumpling forward from the relief. “thank you."
“But ah-” He tenses, and Jack toys with his fingers, “maybe I could take you out for breakfast? Make up for ruining whatever you were making.”
Looks like Dennis has another reason for liking sleeping naked, after all, it led to his first date with Jack Abbot.
you guys know that when analysing the canonical content of the pitt, the acab sentiment still includes jack abbot, right?
canon tells us and shows us that he still has a *lot* of deconstruction to do about the american military, and is still pretty substantially actively involved with them in a way that doesn't seem to trigger any moral conflict in him as far as we've seen (yes it still counts if he's only there as a doctor, yes that still counts as being complicit in military actions).
when ice agents detain jesse, he still asks what jesse did before anything else, implying that he hasn't been able to disconnect himself from his instilled belief that "agents of the law" (despite ice not fitting this category well, if at all) are acting correctly and in the pursuit of justice, as opposed to being weapons of the state imposing fascism. I'm not saying he supports ice, we know he doesn't, im saying his brain still jumps to assuming law enforcement in any form is automatically in the right before he thinks more deeply.
in season one his letter to the dead veteran (note- I'm not critical of the fact he wrote one, shared experience in that way creates very powerful connections, and it's easily understandable as to why abbot would want to write personally to his family) and the way in which he spoke about him to robby- regarding his surviving several tours just to die back home- didn't show him to be particularly critical of the work the military was actually doing on these tours and the horror they were causing for civilian people, rather just the trauma it causes for the soldiers themselves. his focus in general hasn't directed itself to the majority of victims of war.
we see al-hashimi to be initially unsure of his presence in s2 and then critical of his involvement with swat, and though they find common ground in their similar traumatic experiences quickly, abbot still brushes off her concerned question as to what he's doing with that organisation. overall he doesnt have much of an answer to his involvement, aside from "my therapist said I needed a hobby", or "I suck at golf". yes, I don't doubt that his own unresolved trauma drives him back to a familiar environment, and im not saying he's a bad person, im just saying that he has a lot of deconstruction to do.
he has work to do in separating himself from the military and it's offshoots, and from his assumptions that they're acting in the right, and it's important to acknowledge the fact and this journey as very, very central to his character. he's not a bad person due to this (none of the characters in the pitt are bad people), but he's a character with work to do and flaws and biases galore like all of them, and seeing this either flattened or ignored by the fandom at large is frustrating.
Married long haul trucker drivers rabbot whose favourite part of the job is finding sweet little toys to take on the road with them.
When they stumble across Dennis, trying to run away from home, eager enough to give them both a blow job in the gas station bathroom for a ride, they know they've struck gold.
At first they keep him a little drugged and pliant in the sleeping compartment so they can take their turns with his holes for some stress relief throughout the day.
Until they get far enough on the road that the real panic sets in, because Dennis is finally with it enough to realise they aren't going the direction they promised him they would.
It makes it all the more humiliating when they only smile down at him like circling sharks when he tries to fight them and run.
Feeling weak and stupid as they easily pin him down and keep him tied in place while they fuck him into submission. Until he's been fucked empty and hollow and willing.
Till he forgets a time where he wasnt being used to keep their cocks warm.
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see my thing is. when i write qprabbot. i am very dedicated to it being a weird third thing. this isn't just friends that live together. it's not just husbands who don't fuck. it's like the lines of their intimacies are zigzagging in unpredictable ways that nobody understands.
i think they kiss but don't make out. i think they sleep nude sometimes in the summer when it's hot and yes they're still spooning and no they're not fucking. i think they've bathed and showered one another many times. i think they hold hands when they go out together and i think they'll nuzzle into the other's hair while still referring to one another with "brother" and "man." i think they've jerked off in the same room as the other one and it's just a whatever thing that happens sometimes.
i think they never put a label on it and they never explain it to anyone else because it's just.... them. them in all their idiosyncrasies. it's love. the shape of the love doesn't need to be conceivable to anyone but them and that's why i find myself so enamored by them.
dennis is pretty drunk when trinity pulls him aside at the club to ask if he could make himself scarce at their apartment that night so that he could take the girl who'd been steadily funding her drinks for the past two hours home. he says yes. of course he says yes, he's heard more of trinity's sex life than he wanted to over the past year, so at this point he was just happy to have been given the warning.
the uber ride is awkward and silent, but thankfully short. dennis is happy to rest his head against the cold window and close his eyes to avoid feeling dizzy instead of having to keep up with dry small talk. he steps out onto the sidewalk, thanking the driver before closing the door and walking up the footpath to the door of the townhouse.
the key scrapes at the keyhole as he fumbles with shaky hands to insert it aided only by the low glow of a streetlamp nearby. it clicks open and he shuffles in, toeing his shoes off to leave in the entryway. it's warm. dark, cozy, and familiar.
his throat is dry from too much alcohol and not enough water (and maybe a drunk cigarette or two). dennis stumbles his way through the unlit house to the kitchen. the moonlight shines through the window, but he doesn't need the illumination of it to know which cabinet to open or what shelf to reach towards to get a cup. when he fills the cup with ice from the freezer ice dispenser the whirring of the machine grates his ears that are very much still ringing from the too loud club music. he closes his eyes and leans back against the counter as he sips at the cold water. everything hurts. his skin feels disgusting, covered in dried down sweat and spilled drinks, but at least it's peaceful here.
"who the fuck—whitaker?"
dennis's eyes shoot open quickly, his brain lags a few seconds behind. robby is standing in front of him. dr. robby. standing in dr. robby's kitchen. because dr. robby has definitely been home from his sabbatical for weeks and it makes way more sense for him to be in his kitchen at three a.m. than for dennis to be there. because dennis isn't house sitting any more, so he definitely shouldn't still be using robby's place to hide from lesbian sex noises. it is probably actually really weird that he was there.
"is it weird that i'm here?"
"is... whitaker, are you drunk?"
dennis laughs. this is all very funny. he's suddenly aware that maybe he hasn't sobered up as much as he thought. "little bit... lottle bit..." he corrects himself between giggles.
robby sighs, rubbing at his eyes. he looks tired. probably because he just got woken up to someone in his kitchen at three in the morning. he still looks good. dennis thinks he always looks good, a little blurry right now, though.
"why are you drunk in my kitchen right now, dennis?" robby asks with a raised brow.
"muscle memory i guess. would come here when... trinity is having sex right now, so i don't wanna be home—"
robby exhales sharply, shutting his eyes and tilting his head back. "nevermind! forget i asked—"
dennis scrunches up his face, continuing on like robby didn't say anything, "because if i'm home then i'd have to hear sex noises, and i don't want to hear sex noises... unless you want to make sex noises, dr. robby. i wouldn't mind that."
robby hums awkwardly, trying to get him to shut up. "okay! i mean not— okay okay. i think you should make sleep noises right now. in the guest room. and then tomorrow you can make hangover noises, yeah?"
dennis thinks that maybe if it wasn't so dark in here, he'd be able to see that robby's face was red. "sleep," he affirms, nodding dutifully. he sets his now drained glass on the counter before padding down the hallway after robby on socked feet.
robby still doesn't ask for his house key back when he gets dennis situated in an uber (that he pays for) the next day.
“Jesus, Dennis, you were gonna hitchhike with no phone? What the fuck were you thinking?”
Defensiveness washes hot over him, and he crosses his arms, huffing, “I was thinking I was stuck in the middle of nowhere with a family that didn't want to waste the gas to even get me into town. It wasn't exactly my first choice, but I was dealing with the circumstances I was dealt, okay?”
Robby’s face pinches, “Promise me you’ll never do something like that again.” he demands, quiet and intense, not even a question really.
Dennis’s brows draw tightly together, “I can’t promise that.” frustrated with the controlling tone Robby’s taken on.
As Robby’s mouth opens to argue, he huffs, cutting him off, “I can’t! I’m always going to do what I have to do to get by, and if I end up being put in a position where I have to hitchhike or sleep rough, then I will. We don’t all have the luxury of being able to buy our way to safety.”
Robby freezes and he can practically see the pieces put themselves together in his mind.
Sounding embarrassed and chastised when he finally grits out, “Shit, I know, I’m sorry. I do know that- I just, I really hate the idea of you putting yourself in a dangerous situation when I could have been here to help.” Face drawing together in worry, “I hate thinking of you hitchhiking alone in the dark because you had no other options. But I can’t blame you for doing what you needed to.”
That at least settles something in Dennis. That he can accept, “Good, because I don’t need you treating me like I’m a child who doesn’t understand the weight and consequences of my choices. I knew the risk I was taking on, and I also knew it was the only way I could afford to get back home. Trust me when I say I wasn’t taking those risks lightly.”
Their eyes meet, a beat of understanding passing between them.
“I do trust you. And I’m sorry that I made you doubt that. I think I’ve been trying to convince myself you were just a kid. Sweet and naive, and too young to be jaded by the horrors of the world. Which I know- I know that’s not fair of me, I know you’ve shown how capable, and knowledgeable you are. But in a lot of ways you are very young, I mean, you have so much ahead of you, god I’m twice your age Dennis. I shouldn’t- I shouldn’t want you.” And then, said like it’s against all of his better judgement, “But I do.”
Oh god, oh they’re really talking about this.
Dennis feels like he could vibrate out of his skin with the electricity that’s shooting through him, dancing through his core, thrumming under his fingertips.
“Is that really so bad?” It's barely a whisper, he's so scared of Robby thinking it is. Of him agreeing and saying that wanting Dennis is the worst thing he’s ever done.
Michael sighs, scrubbing a hand through his hair, flicking his sad eyes back out the windshield. Watching the strobe of orange hazard lights flickering and illuminating the empty fields surrounding them, “No,” then a little firmer, “no, but just- just look at this logically, Den, best case scenario is that this thing between us works. And it's great, and we have a few wonderful decades together. At best. But what I can't get around, is that I still die, twenty, maybe thirty years from now, and that leaves you all on your own. A widower at my age. How am I supposed to be okay knowing the grief I would be leaving you with?”
Before Dennis can even try to interrupt, Robby is barreling on, clearly worked up over an argument he’s been having with himself.
“Worst case scenario we have a messy breakup in seven weeks. And the rest of your career is followed by gossip of you seducing your chief attending.” His eyes widen and he raises his hands like he’s warding off outrage Dennis hasn’t even voiced. “I’m not saying that last part is what’s happening, just that gossip has a way of twisting things. And higher ups and peers have a habit of blaming the victim and keepi-”
He tentatively grips both Michael's wrists, lowering his steady hands, stopping his rant, “I don’t care.”
“Don't.” Michael chokes, pained, shaking his head, “Don't dismiss all that like it's nothing.”
Dennis softens, "I'm not. I know, ok, I know that this is going to end in heartbreak.” Slowly he strokes his thumbs over Robby’s pulse points, “But so does just about everything that's worth having.”
He shifts in his seat, pulling his left leg underneath himself so he’s turned fully towards Michael.
“Isn’t that what happens with any good relationship? There’s always going to be grief. Look at you and Abbot. You’re not gonna die on the same day, no matter what you tell each other. At some point one of you is gonna die before the other. No matter what, someone is being left behind to grieve their best friend. That doesn’t mean you shouldn't be friends in the first place.”
Robby groans, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows, pleading, “This is different, you know it’s different. There are people your age you could be with, people you could settle down with and actually spend the rest of your life with, not just the next good decade or two.”
Dennis huffs, desperately pulling one of Robby’s hands up to cup his cheek, nuzzling into the large warm palm.
“I don’t want someone else. I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you.” He drops Robby’s hand but it stays anchored to where he left it. Staring into the dark, barely restrained hunger in his eyes, “Can you please just trust what I said before. That if I make a decision, it’s because I have weighed the consequences and decided it’s still worth it.”
He shifts forward, slowly closing the gap between them, feeling the air in the car heat till it’s sizzling along his skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. The world humming around them like lightning’s about to strike.
Dennis hovers inches away from Robby’s face, watches the fear and apprehension bleed away to want. Watches his near black eyes trace down to Dennis’s lips, wrinkles softening as his face is taken over by longing.
“Michael, you are worth the consequences.” He whispers into the hazy air between them. Falling into Michael's orbit and finally kissing his attending like he’s been wanting to for nearly a year. The firm plush of Robby’s lips and the gentle scratch of his beard like an anchor pulling him down and down and down.
It’s sweet and tentative, and Dennis is a greedy, greedy man and he wants more. A shiver running through him with just how much he needs more.
Making desperate little noises at the back of his throat as he presses forward. And then Micahel is devouring him. Shifting his hand to grip the back of Dennis’s head, dragging him impossibly closer. Mouth’s slotting open as Michael’s tongue dips into his mouth, hot and claiming.
Chapter six of If You Don’t Beat me To It - The Pitt (TV) // Micheal "Robby" Robinavitch/Dennis Whitaker (Dennis deals with the aftermath of his childhood abuser attempting suicide. All while struggling with his feelings for his attending, who just happens to have postponed his sabbatical to drive him back to Nebraska.)
The walk isn’t so bad… for the first ten minutes or so.
Until he realizes that his phone is out of power and that he’s fucked.
But there’s no turning back, his parents wouldn’t take him unless he begged, and he’s been hurt by them too many times to stomach that.
Instead he’s just grateful that it’s dark. That he can blend in with the shadows. Not worry about someone driving by and recognizing him.
Running to go tell the nearest open ear about how they saw the Whitaker's youngest back in town. Hitchhiking like some broke hippie.
Which is stupid.
He’s not even sure where that thought comes from, because if anything he should be hoping someone does see him. That his parents get to deal with the joy of explaining why he's not only back in town, but out at night hitchhiking.
At least the walk helps clear his head. Leaves him with nothing but time to wonder if this is him abandoning James to die.
Because he can't- he cannot be the one to support him, to be the only thing keeping James alive. It’s not fair to himself, and James needs to figure out his own life, he needs to find his own reasons for living. So Dennis has to come to terms with that, and all the potential consequences.
He’s not his brother's keeper…
Dennis’s life is in Pittsburgh. And clearly his help isn’t wanted here, even if he still feels responsible for fixing everything. He’s at least self aware enough to know it would be at the cost of his own mental wellbeing to even try. Heck he knows the toll just keeping tabs from afar through Garrett is going to bring. But at least that much he can handle.
He’s going to have to trust that, despite everything, his parents and his family will pull through and be there for James.
Because he won’t.
Even knowing the logic of it all, his stomach still feels like it’s filled with lead. A deep sense of dread curling up the back of his neck, waiting for the inevitable other shoe to drop. And as much as he tells himself it won’t help anyone to feel that way, it doesn’t stop the feeling.
So he focuses back on the pounding of his feet on gravel, the sound of crunching beneath his shoes as it eventually turns to the slapping of rubber soles on rough pavement.
At one point a lone car revs by, passing him so close he's forced to jump out of the way. Tires screeching like laughter as his heart clenches and thuds, fucking assholes.
He just needs to make it to the highway and then he's sure someone going east will pick him up. Maybe even let him charge his phone, and then he can call Trin and beg her to come pick his ass up.
She might even save the inevitable I told you so for later.
Anxiety blooms through him over being forced to hitch hike again.
He's mostly had good experiences. He looks young and unassuming enough that a decent amount of moms would pick him up. See him as a surrogate for their own kids. Inquiring but kind, and more often than not leaving him with a twenty and whatever packaged snacks they had squirreled away in their car. Leaving him deeply jealous of the kids who got that kind of mother. Followed quickly by shame and guilt for not being grateful for what his parents were able to provide for him.
There was only one time he got picked up by a driver that made his skin crawl. One time where he was actually bone deep terrified. Spending most of the ride with a white knuckle grip on his switchblade, praying he wouldn't need to use it.
The guy who picked him up had seemed ok at first. Older and jovial, with a balding head and a beer gut. Over friendly in a way Dennis had tried to brush off before he couldn’t anymore, before the guy started testing Dennis's boundaries. A claiming hand coming down jokingly to pat his knee. Only to stay planted there, squeezing and drifting higher until Dennis was sure it was going to lead to him raped or dead on the side of the highway.
To this day he isn't sure why it didn't lead to any of that. Maybe the man just liked pushing for the thrill of it. The thrill of striking fear. Of seeing the prey part of his victim’s brain register that they put their trust in the wrong person. That they were about to pay dearly for that lapse in judgement.
The whole experience had left him deeply unsettled and with a sour taste in his mouth. Fear of that and worse forever etched into his brain when he thought of having to hitch hike again.
But here he was, eyeing up the few cars heading into town, none going his way as he walks east down the highway.
Unfortunately for him there haven’t been many cars leaving town, or at least none that would stop for him.
But he keeps walking backwards, eyes peeled for headlights, throwing his thumb stubbornly out whenever he hears a car approach.
Ever the optimist.
Then it happens.
His stomach drops as a car driving towards town makes a quick u-turn after passing him.
It can’t be a good sign that this person is eager enough to go back the way they were coming just to pick him up.
Uploaded a new chapter to my Hucklerobby fic only to get immediately flash banged by not one (1) but two (2) bot comments with the “contact me on discord so I can make a comic of your fic” scam.
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Fic where on an earlier anniversary of Adamson’s death robby tries to distract himself with a hookup. It doesn’t work, and he actually ends up feeling worse after, crying himself to sleep.
When he wakes back up later in the night, he feels like such a piece of shit, probably ruined the kids night, he’s so fucking embarrassed and ashamed and so fucking sad that he plans on staying in bed for the foreseeable future. That is until he hears a noise coming from downstairs.
Fan-fucking-tastic. I’m being robbed.
He might as well stay here and let his shit be taken, but then he’ll have to face Jack and Dana and buying new shit, so he lets out a world weary sigh and hauls his ass out of bed.
He doesn’t bother grabbing anything to defend himself, whats the fucking point, and makes his way down. He follows the noise through the hall and the living room, looking around and not noticing anything of worth missing. Actually, the place looks cleaner than it did this morning. What the fuck kinda burglar is this?
He finally finds the robber in the kitchen, and just freezes at what he sees. The guy - Danny? No, Denny - is puttering around the kitchen in just his underwear and an apron (where the fuck did he find that?), dancing as he loads the dishwasher, headphones in and oblivious to the world around him. Now that he’s not preparing for an impending attack, Robby can smell that something is cooking in the oven. Who the fuck is this guy?
Denny turns around and nearly reaches the ceiling when he sees Robby standing there, also in just his underwear.
“What the hell are you doing kid?”
And Denny has the gall to get shy, “Just- I just thought I could do something. Help you out while you slept. I thought you’d be out for longer. You seemed like you needed the sleep.”
And, fucking shit this kid was sweet, shifting in place and looking down, as if his attempt at kindness - at pulling Robby out of this hole - was something deserving of reprimand or punishment.
Robby jutted his chin towards the oven, “what’re you cooking?”
And, fuck, the kid lit up, now knowing he wasn’t gonna get, what, abused? Yelled at? He darted over to the oven, pulling out his creation - Robby had no idea how the fuck he managed to make anything with the shit he had here - and presenting it to him, “it’s just a casserole. I was planning to be long gone by the time you woke up, so wanted to make something that you could reheat and keep for a while.” And Robby could only stare at him for a moment, just struck with wonder at this man in front of him. He stared long enough that Dennis flushed again, “oh- but if- it’s okay if you don’t want- it’s no big deal-“
“Do you want to have dinner with me?”
It was stupid, probably a dumb move. It was, what, 1 am?, he probably had places to be and Robby had to get back to sleep sooner rather than later.
But Denny’s shoulders relaxed, and a soft smile grew on his face, “Dinner would be lovely.”
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Sometimes I think about Julia Cody and I get so sad.
Growing up with a mother who always put herself and her wants first. Who was resentful and jealous of any relationship Julia had with a man (sexual or platonic). Hated that Julia had any influence with Andew, made sure Baz cheated on her (though really she didn't have to do much for that one), cut her off from her education, cut her off from even having a job. Wanted her completely dependent on Smurf.
And then
Despite being his twin and despite together dealing with all the shit smurf put them through growing up. With the skeevy abusive guys, and the brushes with violence and crime, and being left on their own for days. Even with all that, Andrew starts drifting from her. Now he's also jealous of Baz, he's being pulled further and further from Julia thanks to Smurfs influence. Smurf is twisting what love and healthy relationships should be in his mind.
Everything is falling apart around her, and then just when she thinks her and Andrew are reconnecting, that there's still hope. He kisses her.
The last person she feels like she has left on her side, the last person Julia had left to protect her, and now that's been ruined too...
out and proud gay dennis this, repressed religious trauma grindr slut dennis that, I want queer dennis who even after living in pittsburgh for four years, and with trinity santos for a year still hasn't kissed a boy. who lets her cut his hair and tags along to bars with her and sits in the corner and spends all night trying to work up the courage to speak to a cute dark haired gyy at the end of the bar, only to see him head out with another guy, who just took the opportunity dennis couldn't bring himself to. who successfully kills off any approach to him (because “you're cute, huckleberry! i really do hate to admit it, but you are”) by stuttering over his words and shaking his head and brushing off the attention to the point where it tips from endearing into turnoff territory. trinity keeps calling him a baby gay, keeps making jokes about whether he's actually just an ally after all, and he knows she doesn't mean anything by it but he feels hot in the face and embarrassed and stupid. he doesn't know how to do any of this, doesn't like the game, has tried the apps but never meets up with anyone, has only got as far as sending semi-indecent images and being called frigid when he won't send any more. he likes the music, but that's about it.
and he's still helping out on the farm, which is something that feels familiar and comfortable, like sinking into a bath at the end of the day, but one that's turning to the cooler side of lukewarm. but it's easy, it's a vision of the future he used to think was a given in his life, that's uncomplicated and reminds him of childhood comforts. and what he's got with amy is also what he wants: a friendship that could turn into something more, a simple kind of love that doesn't need labels and types and flashing lights or involve having to second guess yourself at every move. and he thinks maybe he could be one of those guys who lives his whole life knowing that there's something unspoken and unfulfilled under his skin, which sounds unbearable but also kind of sounds like how everyone lives, doesn't it? no-one really gets what they want, especially people who were born with the shit-scared gene he seems to have. he likes girls (not that that doesn't make everything more confusing) so he's not lying to himself, not really. he just really really would like to kiss a boy. just once.
kaledo-art
stormborns
blakekathryn
prguitarman
