Help_im_dying
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the patients' investigation: who is dr. whitaker's husband by lovelyslice for shotatonystark
Fandoms: The Pitt (TV)
23 Oct 2025
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Summary
The man squinted stubbornly. “Man, hell nah. Maybe it’s just for show. You know — ring to ward off the creeps."
Daniel gave him a look. “ You do know you’re literally the creep it’s meant to ward off.”
Another patient intervened, “Okay, okay. But weirdo with the scar has a point. Dr. Whitaker practically lives here. I always see him when I come back here. How’s a man like that got time for a spouse?"
Daniel tilted his head. Come to think of it, he always sees Dr. Whitaker working himself down to the bone.
And looking back at it, there was one person Whitaker seemed... different around. “Maybe,” Daniel said slowly, “he’s married to one of the doctors in here."
TLDR: the patients at PTMC make a bet to figure out who Dr. Whitaker's mysterious husband is.Bookmarked by Help_im_dying
18 Feb 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
1. The deeper voice gentled. “Having a bad day?”
A sigh, “A couple of, uh, trauma cases. Too many people, not enough beds. You - you start thinking you can help everyone, and then the world reminds you you’re just -” Dr. Whitaker said, voice dripping with exhaustion. “A person as well.”
The mysterious man hummed, a low, thoughtful sound that somehow carried through the door and right into Daniel’s chest. “You’ve got the biggest heart in this whole place, blessing. It’s okay to take a break sometimes and talk to me, yeah?”
Blessing. The word hit like a small prayer[..]
Then the man’s voice again, teasing this time, “You know, today was supposed to be your day off.”
Whitaker groaned softly. “Please don't remind me.”
“You were supposed to be home, and then I’d come back and be greeted by the sight of you sleeping and drooling all over our bed, wearing my shirt.”
Daniel heard the soft, warm laugh Dr. Whitaker emitted, “You, uh, make it sound so scandalous -“
“Because it is, sweetheart. My shirt has never looked better.”
Ah, Daniel wishes he could find love as sweet as theirs. One can only dream...
“Yeah, but even if I did stay home - who would be here to stabilize you?” Daniel heard Whitaker teasing. “I remember what you said about my ‘energy hugs.’
The man’s laugh was a deep, rich thing — that soft, worn sound Daniel had only ever heard from people who’d worked nine hours and still managed to find something good in the world.
“Okay now, don’t rub it in my face.”
There was a pause again — soft shuffling, a tap of something against tile, maybe a hand brushing someone’s arm.
“C’mon, wash your face. We only have a few more hours. When we get home, I promise I’ll make your favorite pasta.” The mysterious man said.
2. He wasn’t sure what made him hesitant; the way Dr. Robby was looking at Whitaker or the way his big hand rested against the doctor's back as if it belonged there, like it was so fucking obvious.
“Yo, dude?” A patient says, “Hello? Can you hurry up and say your guess before I flatline from suspense?”
Daniel was about to look away when it happened.
That same low, smooth voice. He heard it before.
“You were amazing in there, blessing.”
Blessing.
Daniel’s head whipped up, eyes wide. He gasped loud enough that half the room turned to stare.
“What?” hissed the woman in the wheelchair, “you saw a ghost or something?”
Daniel’s pulse jumped, Oh my God, he thought. It’s him. It’s actually him. He fucking knew it.
Well. Only one way to end this.
He turned towards the other man, “Hey scar face man-“
“My name is Arthur.”
“Yeah, whatever. How much would I have to pay you to go over there and flirt with Dr Whitaker right now?”
Arthur blinked, “Fuck man, I’d do it for free. Why now, though?”
3. “Because,” Daniel started, “my money is on Dr. Robby, and we’re about to prove it.”
Arthur shrugged and stretched, cracked his neck, and sauntered across the hall with misplaced confidence. He slid between the two doctors like a human wedge.
“Hey there, Doc,” he said to Whitaker, turning on a smile supposedly meant to charm the doctor (Daniel was pretty sure it was doing the opposite). He continued, “You got a minute to check my heart? I think it stopped when I saw you.”
Oh God.
Whitaker blinked, horrified. “Um- sir, that’s-“
Daniel bit his knuckle to keep from laughing. Dr. Robby’s face, meanwhile, had gone through several stages of emotion in three seconds, ending between annoyed and ready to commit homicide.
“Sir,” Dr. Robby said tightly, so sharp that half the ER was trying to subtly listen to the drama. “Is there something you need from him?”
The man didn’t even look at him, just kept staring at Dr Whitaker, “Just medical attention and if he handles me with care, maybe dinner.”
“H-huh?” Dr. Whitaker rasped.
Dr. Robby’s jaw tightened. “You’re clearly flirting with a man who has a ring on his finger.”
4. Arthur raises his brows, “So what? Never heard the phrase 'Don't let your husband stop you from finding your boyfriend?” He paused, "Unless, you're his boyfriend?"
The room went silent. Even the monitors seemed to pause, holding their electronic breath. Holy shit.
Dr. Robby’s eyes flicked from the patient to Whitaker, then back again.
“I’m not his boyfriend.” He said.
Arthur turned, triumphant. “See, dude?!” He called towards Daniel. “You were totally wro-“
“I’m his husband.”
The words landed like a crash, sudden and hard.
Before anyone could react, Dr. Robby stepped forward, one hand sliding to Whitaker’s jaw, and kissed him — so sweet that it made Daniel yearn for love. A ripple of gasps swept the ER, followed by someone dropping their cup of coffee.
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Summary
The next time Robby brings it up, they’re on the emergency room floor, shoulder to shoulder at the board in central. If Dennis were anyone else, he’d probably be getting lectured about cherry-picking cases, but instead he’s being grilled about building materials.
Robby’s in the market for a new place to live.
What Dennis can’t seem to figure out is why Robby keeps asking him so many questions about it.
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Bookmarked by Help_im_dying
18 Feb 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
1. “What are your thoughts on hardwood flooring? Oak, walnut?”
It’s innocuous enough not to draw any untoward attention, the kind of thing one coworker could feasibly ask another. Perlah doesn’t even bother to look their way from her perch nearby.
“I’m pretty sure Dana just had her floors re-done,” Dennis says, eyeing up the minor laceration waiting in south twelve. “Why don’t you ask her?”
At his side, Robby tilts his head and asks, quiet enough to be just for them, “Why would I ask Dana?”
Why are you asking me, Dennis thinks. He doesn’t know the first thing about home building or renovation. His father never even let him help with fixing up the barns back on the farm.
Dennis shrugs. “Because she would probably know more about it than I would.”
Robby looks like he wants to say something more, but Mohan shows up to get his opinion on something in trauma one before he gets the chance.
But it’s not even close to the last time Robby asks him about it. Over the following few weeks, he gets the third degree about the tiniest little preferences. It’s ridiculous, bordering on inane. He ends up giving his opinion on brick color, ideal square-footage, bay windows, and just about everything else under the sun before it’s all said and done.
But some way, somehow, he manages to stay completely clueless to what's actually happening up until the very moment Robby looks at him from across the kitchen one morning before work, travel mug of coffee in-hand, and tells him, “I need you to request off on the twenty-fourth. We have a meeting with the architect at three o’clock.”
“The architect?”
Robby continues smoothly. “Oh, the contractors will be there, too. The first phase of drafting is complete, they just need our go-ahead before they move any further.”
Dennis checks the watch at his wrist. Six twenty-six. They need to get moving soon if they want to arrive at a reasonable time and avoid a hounding from Trinity. “And why do I need to be there?” he asks.
“To make sure that I’ve properly relayed all of your answers.”
“My answers?”
Robby looks at him as if he’s lost his mind, a furrow between his brows. “To the questions I’ve spent the last three weeks asking you,” he says slowly. “Are you feeling okay?”
All at once, it clicks. The dozen inquiries about tile versus vinyl, marble versus quartz. Everything. Of course they weren’t asked in plain curiosity, or in search of expertise. Robby’s been taking them into consideration. Real consideration.
3. Standing directly in the center of his boss’s kitchen, for the first time in several long years, Dennis Whitaker’s eyes begin to water.
Robby hurries to set his coffee cup on the countertop, visibly distressed in a way he very rarely gets. “What’s wrong? Den--sweetheart. Please don’t cry.” His hands come up to cup Dennis’s cheeks, wiping away the few traitorous tears that escape. “It’s okay. Are you having second thoughts about it?”
He doesn’t know how to go about saying he hasn’t even really had first thoughts about it, not without sounding like a complete idiot. But he can’t very well go on letting Robby think they’re tears of sadness, either. Not when he’s never felt more joyous.
“No, it’s not that. I just didn’t realize you would want to consult with me about your forever home.”
Cheeks flushing endearingly, Robby clears his throat. “Well, I would rather prefer it to be your forever home, too.”
Dennis’s head spins. “But I don’t even live here.”
Robby raises his eyebrows. “You’ve been living here for the past eight months.” When Dennis opens his mouth to disagree, Robby beats him to the punch. “When was the last time you stayed a night at Dr. Santos’s?”
It’s been a while, Dennis can admit. Yeah, ninety percent of his belongings are here at Robby’s, but ninety percent of about twenty-five things total isn’t saying much. And maybe he’s gotten accustomed to sleeping with a warm body curled around his own, but who could blame him? Robby’s presence is a comfort without comparison.
“I just thought you wanted things to be more…I don’t know.” It’s Dennis’s turn to blush. “Casual.”
“What part of me taking you to my grandmother’s grave said casual to you? Or was it the eating dinner together every night?”
“Alright, uh huh. I get it.”
“Or was it the part where I’ve spent almost every evening with my head between your--"
“Robby.”
He’d be embarrassed, if it weren’t for the crystal clear smittenness on Robby’s face. His fingers are still at Dennis’s cheeks, caressing, gentle with an emotion that Dennis thinks he could place, now.
“If I haven’t made my intentions clear enough, Dr. Whitaker, I’d very much like you to be a part of everything the future brings,” Robby says. “But first, I want us to build a home.”
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Summary
“Why does everyone keep looking at me like that?”
Robby’s mouth turns up at one corner, as if something about the question amuses him. “Probably because you’ve been walking around the floor all morning smelling like me.”
While out thrift shopping, Whitaker makes a purchase that shakes up the entire emergency department.
Bookmarked by Help_im_dying
18 Feb 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
2. Time passes and the Pitt eventually gets some new gossip to chew on--that, or the scent fades from the jacket enough to no longer draw attention. Either way, after a week or so of rampant chattering, things return to normal.
Mostly normal. Dennis still hasn’t quite been able to knock the whole sleeping with his boss’s old jacket thing. But it’s not as if the habit really causes harm to anyone; sure, he’s got a bit of an olfactory fixation, a slight obsession with the false sense of security that the jacket gives him, but he’s working on it.
Things are perfectly fine.
Then there comes a time in late February when he has to stay late for a trip to the decontamination showers.
4. When Dennis returns to the Pitt the following morning, he does so clad embarrassingly in the threadbare Carhartt he used to wear back on the farm, a relic from when he was a different person entirely. These two parts of his life aren’t meant to mix; it’s strange to fathom that he’s still the same kid who used to watch his father use a nailgun as a euthanization tool, that he used to spend his evenings praying and wondering if his own hands would one day run red with the blood of livestock.
His strange mood hovers like a rain cloud, parting only when Robby catches him in the locker room, gray Patagonia in hand.
“Sorry, kid,” he mumbles, oddly sheepish as he passes it over. He can hardly look Dennis in the eye. “Must’ve grabbed yours by mistake.”
It’s incredible. This is a man whose job practically requires being devoid of shame. Dennis can count on one hand the amount of times he’s seen Robby so out of his element[...]
“It’s not like the jacket wasn’t yours once, Dr. Robby,” Dennis reminds him.
The words only serve to make Robby even more flustered. Dennis can practically hear the discomfort in his voice when he finally says, “That doesn’t mean I much like the thought of you being outside in subzero weather without a coat.”
Then it’s Dennis’s turn to blush.
“Ah. Understood, sir.”
Robby exhales. Already he’s bouncing back to something more familiar, to the alpha Dennis is used to, collected and professional. “Next time, just take mine home with you.”
Next time. Dennis swallows. “Of course, yeah.”
Robby leaves him there, flushed like an idiot, staring at the fabric clutched between his fingers. He switches out the jackets almost immediately. The new one feels more like home than the old one ever did.
To his horror--and complete and utter delight--Robby’s scent is stronger than ever.
5. The harsh Pittsburgh winter continues to bleed into an early spring, and Dennis has to spend the remaining few weeks of cold preparing to return to the life of an unmated omega, bracing for the small percentage of problem patients to inevitably return to either hitting on him or patronizing him. There’s a short patch of time that he considers buying scent-blocking patches for himself, or going the fake pheromone route, but he ultimately settles against it when the prospect nearly brings him to tears on Trinity’s couch. He doesn’t actually want to hide the fact that he’s an omega, nor does he have any desire to carry the scent of another alpha. (Not that he’s actually Robby’s omega or anything, but--things are going well. He’s happy with how life’s going.)
But, like the seasons, things have to change eventually.
Except for the fact that weeks pass sans jacket and nothing ever actually changes. Not the way he’s treated in the Pitt, not the way he’s treated when Trinity forces glitter on his eyes and drags him out clubbing. Nothing. Almost as if there’s already a claim set on him.
It’s about then that Dennis has to start considering the very real possibility that Robby is scent-marking him.
He doesn’t arrive at the conclusion lightly. There’s empirical evidence, even if the touches aren’t particularly purposeful, even if they linger only long enough for Robby’s scent to transfer subtly from skin to skin. Even if it’s pretty much the same hand on the back of the neck that it has been since Dennis’s first day of rotation, only now Robby’s fingertips slip upwards like an afterthought, brushing lightly over the spot where an alpha will one day stick their mating bite. He never does it with anything so obvious as saliva, just leftover pheromones and the barest remnants of sweat, but it's strong enough that he can notice it on himself even after he showers at night, following him into bed where his mind can’t seem to think of anything else but the brush of calloused fingers against his scent glands.
It’s near-certainly happening. What Dennis can’t seem to figure out is why. If Robby’s marking him, it almost has to be unintentional, an inherent alpha desire to take care of the theoretical pack, or something. Any other option is completely unfathomable.
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Summary
“How about this,” he said. “You can feed from me. We can set up a little schedule to make sure you don’t end up like this again.”
Whitaker’s head shot up, his brow furrowed. “Sir, I couldn't—”
“It's okay, I've had people feed from me before. This can be a temporary solution until we can set you up with a more stable supply. I know I can be a bit…” Robby trailed off, watching the corners of Whitaker’s lips quirk up. “But I care about all of my crew. That includes you. You're a great doctor, and I can’t have you making mistakes because you can’t afford to eat.”
Whitaker smiled. “Student doctor.”
Or: What Robby intends to be an innocent favor for his subordinate turns into much more than he bargained for.
Bookmarked by Help_im_dying
18 Feb 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
1. That first night, as they settled on the couch and Whitaker lifted his wrist to his lips, Robby felt a familiar heat pooling in his stomach. He bit his lip to stifle a moan as Whitaker’s fangs broke his skin. Fuck. It had been so long since someone had fed from him—not only that, it had been so long since he had been with someone at all, that he forgot about his…thing for blood.
He tried to steady his breathing as Whitaker continued, clearly starving. Whitaker’s eyes were closed, soft groans emanating from this throat as he drank. His tongue darted out to catch the blood that dripped down Robby’s arm.
After what felt like an eternity, Whitaker pulled off with a dreamy sigh. He pressed his tongue against the twin puncture wounds once more before licking his lips and opening his eyes. A dopey smile was stretched across his face. He turned to thank Robby, but stopped short when they made eye contact.
Robby had no idea what his face looked like, but he could wager a guess—pupils blown wide, a bright red blush covering every inch of exposed skin from his hairline down to the collar of his shirt. His breathing was shallow, and he knew without looking that his dick was rock hard in his sweats.
Whitaker swallowed. “Dr. Robby?”
Robby swallowed, cleared his throat. “Feel better?”
Whitaker’s eyes flicked from Robby’s face to his crotch. His hand was still on his arm.
“Listen,” Robby started. “I’m…we can figure out a different—”
“Can I take care of you?”
Robby blinked. “What?”
“Well,” Whitaker started. He shifted a bit closer to Robby, so close their thighs were touching. “You're doing me a big favor. It’s only fair that I repay it.”
“Whitaker,” Robby warned. Or, tried to. His tone came off more needy than reprimanding.
Whitaker moved closer still, until he was half sitting in Robby’s lap, hand inches away from his cock. “It's okay. I want to.”
2. They were both silent as they settled into their usual positions. Or, Robby settled into his, taking a seat on the far end of the couch. He watched as Whitaker set his bag down and toed off his shoes.
“I’m sorry about last week.”
Whitaker didn’t reply. He walked over to Robby and stood in front of him. For a moment, they just stared at each other; the tension was palpable.
The younger man used his foot to nudge Robby’s legs apart and stepped between them. Robby watched, paralyzed with nerves, as Whitaker lowered himself until he rested on his knees. His gaze as he stared up at Robby was hungry—and he could tell it was not just for blood.
“I was thinking,” Whitaker said, running his hands up Robby’s thighs, “we could try something new.”
Robby took a deep breath. He tried and failed to keep his voice steady. “What…what do you—”
Whitaker’s hands found his waist band and curled around it, the tips of his fingers brushing against his stomach. His touch was cold, and Robby couldn’t help but shiver. His cock was already starting to harden, visible through his pants.
“I’ve heard that feeding from the thigh helps satiate hunger even better than the wrist.” Whitaker smiled innocently, batting his eyelashes as he looked up at Robby.
“I don’t think that’s—”
“Let's just try it out,” Whitaker said, and he was pulling down Robby’s sweats and boxers before he could get another word out. He gasped as the cool air graced his bare skin, making all of his hairs stand on end. Whitaker pulled the garments completely off his body before placing a hand on either thigh, spreading them; his eyes flicked back and forth between Robby’s cock and his face. He licked his lips.
Whitaker leaned forward and licked a long stripe up the inside of Robby’s left thigh, maintaining eye contact as he went. Robby fisted his hands by his sides and turned to look at the ceiling. Bad idea—the second he looked away, Whitaker bit down, and he cursed at the sting.
It felt different from his wrist—not only because it was closer to his dick, which was now leaking against his stomach, but also because of how less accessible the veins were. With his wrist, Whitaker didn’t need to put up much of a fight. Here, Whitaker was sucking hard, fangs digging deep into his flesh. There would be marks there for days. That's probably what Whitaker wanted.
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Summary
At twenty-six years old, Stiles was graciously employed and housed by his father, the Sheriff of Beacon Hills, CA, while he remained separated from his husband of almost eight years: Derek Hale.
Or that time things were complicated between Derek and Stiles, and Teacher!Jackson swooped in.
Series
- Part 2 of Stole You Away
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 44,920
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- 20/20
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- 660
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- 1,383
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- 259
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Bookmarked by Help_im_dying
23 Jun 2020
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Bookmarker's Notes
1. "We noticed he wasn't coming home almost two weeks ago when his scent started to fade. I'm sorry, Stiles."
"It's not your fault, Isaac," Stiles said, "I just wish he'd let us know when he's going away for a while, it was hard enough explaining to Scotty the first week why Derek never showed up for their regular days."
"He's a piece of shit, Stiles," Isaac said, shaking his head quickly, "You guys don't deserve this, especially when he's out there with–"
"I know who he's with, Isaac. I don't need a reminder," Stiles said, moving to sit down at the table again, "It's just frustrating, because somedays… Somedays he walks in, and it's like it was before. He makes jokes, and he smiles with that annoying but cute smirk, and then he tells me he'll never walk away from us. But then he pulls this kind of shit, and I end up feeling more lost than ever."
"Stiles," Isaac said, leaning forward, "I don't think Derek doesn't love you – I'm pretty sure that he does in his own stupid way. I just think the kind of love that he has for you, it's more obsessive than nurturing. It's not the kind of love that you need in your life, and I think you need to get away while you still can."
2. "Why," Derek said, red eyes blinking back at Isaac, "Do you smell like Stiles and Scott?"
"I think the better question is why don't you, Derry?" Isaac asked, smirking back at the alpha, "Now if you would please let go of me, I have a little boy to see off to the first grade. I'm working on that Uncle of the Year award."
Derek growled, though Talia pulled him back from Isaac.
"Don't wanna forget this," Isaac said, picking up the new reptile sticker book that fell from his hand when Derek attacked him, "Scotty would be so disappointed."
Isaac smirked again as he heard Derek growl behind him before the kitchen door shut.
3. Jackson's shoulders tensed in preparation for Isaac's next words, werewolves were not particularly welcoming to his kind. Isaac hadn't seemed unfriendly in past visits, though, and Jackson didn't think Isaac would pull anything in front of the children.
"Okay, how can I help you?" Jackson asked, face set in a firm line.
"Scotty wants to ask you to dinner tonight, at the Stilinski house," Isaac said, staring solemnly back at Jackson[...]
"And you would like me to… Not accept?" Jackson asked.
"Quite the opposite," Isaac said, still staring intently, "I want you to accept, but only if your interest in Scotty truly extends beyond Scotty."
"I'm sorry?" Jackson asked.
"We both know that I can hear your heart beating a mile a minute whenever Scotty enters your classroom in the mornings, and it practically falls the moment you see my face," Isaac said, smirking now, "And I can only imagine what your face looks like if and whenever my idiot stepbrother steps up to the plate. So, if you're really interested in pursuing Stiles, then I want you to say yes. But if this is a one time interest, or just some lust thing, then say no.
4. "Well, let me in," Peter said, making a hurrying gesture with his hand.
"I would love to, Uncle Pete," Rick said, grinning back at the man, "But I was just about to take a little personal time, if you know what I mean."
Rick lifted his right hand to emphasize his point.
"God damn it, Rick," Peter said, scowling, "You can jerk off to Stiles when there are less pressing matters. That's what I do."
Rick rolled his eyes but unlocked and opened the window.
"Boner lost," Rick said, frowning, "Major negative cool uncle points. What's so important?"
5. "That sounds like a great idea," the Sheriff said, still hidden behind the wall to Isaac, "You two should go do that."
"He doesn't have a shirt on," Scott said glumly, "And I don't want to leave the house, what if Lydia screams because daddy needs help–"
[...]"We could be back in no time, and I'm sure your grandpa, or one of your uncles, would lend me a shirt so we could go."
"You can have mine!" Rick said, standing up and pull his own shirt over his head.
"No," Isaac said, standing up and pushing Rick back down onto the couch, "I've definitely got shirts upstairs, ones that don't require anyone else to go shirtless in order to be worn. Shirts for everyone!"[...]
"All right," Scott said, voice still disheartened, "And… I have a shirt for you."
"As jealous as I am of your fashion sense, bud," Jackson said chuckling, "I don't think I'm small enough to fit into your clothes!"
"No," Scott said, shaking his head, "It's one of daddy's, sometimes I sleep with it because it smells like him."
Isaac's heart almost burst from the internal aww of that one moment, until Rick opened his mouth.
"Genius," Rick whispered, "Why did I never think of that?"
"What is wrong with you?" Isaac asked, swiping a hand at the back of Rick's head.