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mercvry-glow · 2 days ago

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Stay with me

parings. michael robinavitch x reader

warnings. age gap (michael early 50s, reader early 30s), traumatic birth, hospital setting, nobody dies, michael is mess and constantly stressed, other pitt characters, reader gets described as pale in a medical sense no mentions of outright skin color or hair type, let me know if there's anything else!

notes. this ones a doosey to make up for not writing for our sad boy! I love this and I'm happy I got to fulfill yet another request from you guys! I love y'all so much, and remember that all feedback is appreciated and to please enjoy!

wc. 3800+

Maybe coming into work at thirty-nine weeks pregnant wasn’t the best idea.

But you were stubborn. Always had been. And despite everyone—especially Robby—telling you to stay home, you couldn’t bring yourself to sit around waiting for labor like a ticking time bomb. You hated the stillness. The wondering. The endless scrolling and anxious pacing.

So here you were, waddling through the automatic doors of Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center like you weren’t a day past thirty weeks. Your badge still clipped to your belly, your sneakers swelling tighter by the hour, and your hair pulled into a bun that screamed "I tried... kind of."

“Seriously?” came Frank’s voice before you’d even made it to the nurses' station.

You didn’t even look up. “Good morning to you too.”

“You’re full term,” he said, falling into step beside you, black scrubs hugging his sturdy figure as per usual. “As in, literally any second now.”

You smiled at him over your shoulder, trying not to let the exhaustion show. “I’m fine. And I’m bored. Let me chart for a few hours. I’ll even sit down the whole time. Swear.”

“You know that’s a lie,” he shot back, snorting. “You’ll be helping lift gurneys and running labs by noon. Someone’s gonna find you chasing a trauma bed down the hallway.”

“Hey,” you said with a little huff, rubbing your back with one hand, “just because I’m growing a whole human doesn’t mean I forgot how to function.”

Frank just gave you a knowing look, which meant: we’ve all seen you trying to wedge yourself into the cafeteria chairs.

That’s when Robby appeared around the corner, clipboard in hand and eyes already narrowed. He didn’t even have to say anything—his expression screamed "Really?" Robby frowned, scanning you up and down. His hand hovered near your lower back, not quite touching but always close. “You shouldn’t be here.”

You tilted your head and gave him your most innocent look. “I’m on light duty. Promise.”

“I’d like to point out,” Langdon added, grinning as he peeled away toward the coffee cart, “that I tried.”

You plopped yourself into the nearest rolling chair with a dramatic sigh and swiveled toward Michael. “It’s either this or reorganizing the diaper drawer for the sixth time this week. I think the baby’s fine with me typing a few notes.”

Robby crouched down beside you, one knee on the floor like he did when checking patients, except this time his palm found your knee instead of a pulse point.

“You’re swollen. And your breathing is a little tight.” He raised an eyebrow. “How long were you on your feet this morning?”

“Like… twenty minutes.” You grinned. “That includes brushing my teeth and taking care of the dogs.”

He exhaled slowly, leaning his head against your leg. “You’re going to send me into cardiac arrest before this baby even gets here.”

You carded your fingers through his hair, soft and absentminded, brushing the strands back from his forehead. “You’re cute when you’re worried, old man.”

“I’m always worried,” he muttered. “Because you’re always doing something you shouldn’t.”

You didn’t argue. Mostly because he wasn’t wrong. You were already shifting, trying to pull up the electronic charts on the nurses’ station computer.

Michael gave your belly a light pat and stood, arms folding as he watched you with that quiet, hesitant fondness he reserved only for you. “Fine. Two hours. Feet up. You so much as sneeze weird, and I’m dragging you to OB myself.”

“Deal,” you chirped, already logging in.

“And don’t even think about stealing someone’s trauma case when we get slammed.”

“Define stealing,” you replied innocently, sipping from your water bottle.

He pointed a warning finger, but his smirk gave him away. “Two hours.”

“Love you too, Doctor Buzzkill.”

As he walked off, you caught the way his hand reached for the stethoscope around his neck, the subtle shake of his head as he glanced back at you one last time before disappearing toward the elevators.

And for a little while, everything felt normal. The steady rhythm of the hospital, the buzz of the morning shift changing hands, the rolling carts, the beeping monitors, and the casual banter of a team that had become a second home. You rubbed your belly gently, feeling a soft nudge from the baby in response.

Still here, still safe.

You leaned back in your chair and took a deep breath.

You had no idea how quickly everything was about to change.

The morning passed in a blur of keyboard clicks, routine charting, and the occasional pat on the shoulder from coworkers who either admired your stubbornness or questioned your sanity. Probably both.

Danabrought you a fruit cup and didn’t even bother hiding the fact that she was watching your ankles like a hawk. “You know,” she said while leaning against the edge of the station, “we’ve had patients come in for stubbed toes more dramatic than you being full-term and still here.”

You laughed softly, spooning pineapple into your mouth. “I just wanted one more shift. One more day of normal.”

“You’re due in three days,” she said, eyebrows raised. “You know what would be really normal? Not going into labor next to the trauma bay.”

You gave her a half-hearted glare, and she gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze before moving along.

By the time the clock read 10:47 a.m., you’d gone through two rounds of vitals checks, one baby name debate with the new ER nurse (“Mikey Jr.” was not happening), and an entire cup of crushed ice. You felt... okay. Tired, sure. Tight across the ribs, definitely. But okay.

The baby kicked again—this time a little stronger, enough to make you wince and shift in your chair. You rubbed at the spot, exhaling slowly as the muscles in your lower back pulled tight.

Normal. Probably.

You stood up to stretch, rolling your shoulders as your bladder reminded you it was still being squished by a watermelon-sized human. With one hand pressed to your back, you made your way toward the staff bathroom, waving off Frank’s dramatic offer to “escort the ticking time bomb.”

Inside, you braced your hands against the sink for a moment, catching your breath. That tightness across your middle was sticking around longer than you liked. Not a contraction exactly... but a pressure. Your reflection looked a little pale, a little drawn.

Probably just low blood sugar. Probably just tired.

You splashed cold water on your face, took a breath, and patted your belly like you were trying to reason with it.

“Let’s not do this here, kid,” you whispered. “Give me 'til at least lunch.”

The baby shifted again, slow and sluggish.

You frowned.

Back at the station, you tried to ignore the small twist of something off. Robby walked by on his way to check in with a patient and paused long enough to give your hand a squeeze. You didn’t say anything. You didn’t want him to worry—not yet. Not unless there was a real reason.

But deep in your chest, just under the hum of fluorescent lights and the steady rhythm of the hospital, a quiet unease began to grow.

You went back to your chair, sat down slowly, and propped your feet up on an overturned supply box Dana had dragged over earlier.

“Getting royal treatment now,” you murmured with a soft smile, stretching your fingers across your belly again. The pressure was still there—low and dull, like a cramp that hadn’t quite made up its mind. But you chalked it up to gravity. End-of-pregnancy things.

Michael passed through again, this time glancing at your chart on the screen. “You okay?” he asked casually, but his voice held that little edge, the one he got when he was reading between the lines of your smile.

“Yeah,” you said. “Just tired. Baby’s being clingy.”

He crouched down beside you again, resting his hands on your knees and gazing up at you like you were something fragile and wildly important. “You sure? You look a little pale.”

You shrugged. “I think my blood sugar’s just dipping. I’ll eat something real at lunch.”

Robby opened his mouth like he wanted to press the issue, but then his pager buzzed, pulling him back to the chaos. “Page me if anything feels off, okay?”

You gave him a thumbs up. “Promise.”

He kissed the inside of your wrist—gentle, a little rushed—and then disappeared down the hall.

You watched him go, your heart tugging in that quiet, familiar way. This wasn’t supposed to be dramatic. You were just going to stay a few hours. Get your fill of normal. Go home.

You reached for your water, took a sip, and then—

The pressure in your lower abdomen suddenly turned sharp.

Your breath caught.

It wasn’t stabbing, not yet—but it was wrong. Deep and spreading and foreign.

You shifted in the chair again, trying to ease the feeling, but this time it moved through your back too. A tight, radiating grip like something clenching from the inside.

Your hand instinctively moved to your belly. Still round. Still there. But... heavy. Heavier than before.

You stood up too fast and had to grip the edge of the desk for balance. A strange wave of heat flushed through your chest and ears.

“Okay,” you whispered to yourself. “Okay. Not panicking.”

You turned toward the hall, planning to make your way down to OB—just to be safe—when a sudden gush of warmth rushed down your legs.

Your eyes dropped to the floor.

Blood. Not water…

Not a trickle. Not a few reassuring spots.

A pool.

Everything stopped.

You opened your mouth, tried to call out for someone—Frank, Dana, Robby—but your throat closed up as your knees buckled.

A pair of arms caught you before the world tilted entirely sideways, voices shouting your name, feet pounding against tile.

And somewhere in the distance, your heart broke open in fear as someone screamed for a crash cart.

The world dulled around the edges.

Voices came in waves—too loud, then too soft. The fluorescents above you blurred into a single long smear of white as you blinked hard, trying to stay awake. You were lying flat now, someone barking orders just over your head, hands pressing against your belly. Something cold touched your arm. A tourniquet? IV? You didn’t know.

You wanted to speak, but your tongue felt thick and heavy. The baby wasn’t moving. Or maybe you couldn’t feel it. You couldn’t tell anymore.

Where was Michael?

You turned your head slightly, reaching out blindly with a trembling hand. “R-Rob—”

And then everything went black.

On the other side of the Pitt the hallway was loud, as usual. One resident talking too fast, an alarm going off two bays over. Robby had just finished checking vitals on a pre-op trauma patient when the words cut through the noise like a blade.

“Code OB! Nurses’ station—she’s hemorrhaging!”

For half a second, it didn’t register. He stood frozen, pen in hand, until Dana’s voice came from behind—sharper now, more desperate as she ran past him.

“Robby—it’s her! It’s your girl, it’s—”

He dropped the pen. Took off running.

The world narrowed to tunnel vision, his shoes slamming the floor with every stride as he turned the corner.

And there you were.

Lying on the floor in a growing puddle of blood, too still, too quiet. Langdon was crouched beside you, white-knuckled and pale, while someone was trying to keep your airway open and shouting at a med tech for an O2 mask. Two OB nurses had already arrived from upstairs, trying to lift your limp form onto a gurney.

“Move—MOVE!” Robby’s voice cracked as he shoved between bodies, sinking to his knees beside you. His gloves were on before he could think.

“Talk to me,” he begged, brushing a blood-slicked hand over your cheek. “Baby, come on—hey, stay with me.”

Your lips parted, but nothing came out.

He saw the blood again. The amount of it. His heart seized.

“She was complaining of tightness earlier,” Dana said quickly. “Didn’t think it was labor. She didn’t say anything about bleeding.”

“Placental abruption,” one of the OB nurses muttered grimly, already calling down to surgery. “We need to move now.”

“No.” Robby gripped your hand as they lifted your body onto the bed. “You hold on. You don’t get to—don’t you dare leave me.”

Your lashes fluttered weakly. It was the smallest thing, but it was enough to crack him wide open.

“I love you,” he whispered fiercely, pressing his forehead to yours as they wheeled the gurney away. “God, I love you. Just hold on. Please.”

The elevator doors slammed open, and then they were gone—your body rolling down the hall, trailed by shouting voices and the squeak of rubber wheels.

Robby stood frozen in the blood you left behind.

And he prayed—for the first time in years—that he wouldn’t lose the two people who had already become his whole world.

The observation room was too bright.

Too sterile. Too loud and too quiet all at once.

Robby sat hunched forward on the gallery chair, elbows on his knees, hands laced together so tightly his knuckles had gone white. His scrubs were stained—your blood, dried now—and he hadn’t moved to change them. It felt wrong. Like washing it off would be admitting something final. Like you were already gone.

The OR doors had closed over an hour ago.

Every minute stretched. He counted the seconds between every nurse that walked in or out of the room. Every ding, every beep, every sound made his chest seize like a vise.

“Dr. Robinavitch?”

He shot to his feet so fast the chair rattledagainst the floor.

It was one of the OB residents—a younger guy, fresh-faced, kind eyes. He looked nervous standing at the doorway.

“The baby,” Robby said before the kid could speak. “Is he—?”

The resident gave a small, quick nod. “He’s stable—strong APGAR, breathing on his own. He’s in the NICU right now, just for monitoring because of the blood loss and delivery trauma, but he’s holding on great.”

Robby felt something like a breath stutter through his chest. A crack in the suffocating weight.

“A boy,” he repeated, voice cracking on the word. He scrubbed a hand down his face, the ache behind his eyes blooming all at once. “And she?”

The resident hesitated.

Robby’s stomach dropped like a stone.

“They’re still working on her,” he said carefully. “There was extensive bleeding. She lost a lot of volume and needed multiple transfusions. The placenta had fully detached. She coded once on the table but they got her back quickly—Dr. Jensen’s still in with her. They're doing everything they can.”

That familiar numbness swept in—cold and full of static. He’d seen this happen. He knew what these situations could look like. How fast they turned.

But this wasn’t just any patient.

This was you.

The woman who’d kept him steady when he didn’t know how to be. Who fought him and loved him and refused to be anyone but exactly who she was. This was the woman who carried his child, who still hadn’t heard that he made it. That their son made it.

“Can I see him?” Robby asked, quietly now, trying not to let his voice shake. “The baby?”

“Yeah,” the resident said, nodding. “I’ll take you myself.”

Robby glanced down at the gallery one last time.

“Hold on,” he murmured under his breath. “Please… just hold on.”

And then he followed, toward the small flicker of hope that looked an awful lot like a tiny newborn baby in a bassinet.

The NICU was soft with dim lighting and quiet beeps—worlds away from the chaos upstairs. Here, everything moved slower. Gentle. Careful.

Michael had scrubbed in without thinking, numb to the motions as the nurse guided him toward the far incubator. She was saying something—about weight, oxygen levels, bloodwork—but it barely registered.

All he could see was him.

His son.

Tiny. Swaddled in a sea of pale blue, a knitted cap covering his head, wires curling like vines across his chest. His skin was flushed pink, his breathing steady and strong, even with the tubes nearby just in case.

Robby stopped short a foot from the incubator.

“Go ahead,” the nurse said softly, nodding. “He’s yours.”

He stepped forward, one hand trembling as he reached out and pressed his now clean fingertips into the hole in the side of the incubator. Then he looked down through the clear plastic, and something in him shattered clean through.

“You’re here,” Robby whispered.

Not to anyone else. Not even to the nurse.

Just to him.

“You’re really here.”

His voice cracked. A tear slipped hot down his cheek. He swiped at it quickly, but it didn’t stop the next. Or the one after that.

“I thought we lost you,” he whispered, pressing his other palm fully to the side of the incubator now. “I thought—I thought I was going to lose both of you.”

The baby stirred slightly at the sound of his voice, his little face scrunching as if to acknowledge him.

Robby laughed—just a quiet breath of it. Barely more than a sound.

“You’ve already got a lot of fight in you,” he murmured. “Just like your mom.”

That cracked him open again. He dropped his head forward, resting it gently against the warm plastic as tears spilled freely now, all the fear and helplessness and love pouring out with no one around to see. No one to judge.

“She’s not out of it yet,” he said, so quietly it barely made it past his lips. “I don’t know how she’s doing….”

He swallowed hard.

“But I need her to be. You need her to be. So you just… hang on in there, little man. And I’ll hang on too.”

He stayed there for a long time. Just breathing. Just watching his son sleep, chest rising and falling with a steadiness Robby needed like oxygen.

And then—

“Dr. Robinavitch?”

A voice behind him.

He turned.

A nurse he didn’t recognize stood in the doorway, eyes soft but urgent. “They’re bringing her out of surgery now. She’s stable.”

Without knowing how long you were out the first thing you felt was the weight in your chest. Not pain—though there was plenty of that, dull and heavy through your midsection—but weight. Like your body had been filled with cement and someone was slowly peeling it away.

The second thing was the beeping.

Steady. Familiar.

A monitor. You’d heard that rhythm a thousand times, but this one felt… personal.

Then came the light. Too bright. You winced.

“Hey—hey, easy…”

A voice. Soft. Hoarse.

You knew it.

Your lashes fluttered as you tried again, squinting against the fluorescent ceiling until a shadow leaned into your frame of view. Hair mussed. Beard teased. Scrubs wrinkled. Eyes bloodshot but still such as deep warm brown. .

Robby.

He was sitting beside your bed, leaned forward with his elbows on his knees like he hadn’t moved in hours. Days maybe. His hand was already in yours.

“You’re okay,” he said quickly, blinking down at you with a thousand emotions all crashing in at once—relief, love, panic, exhaustion. “Jesus, baby, you’re—God, you scared the hell out of me.”

You opened your mouth, but your throat was too dry. All that came out was a rasp.

Robby was already up, pouring water and helping you sip from a straw with gentle, practiced hands.

When you finally managed a whisper, it was just one word. “Baby?”

His lips trembled around a smile.

“He’s okay,” Robby said, nodding, voice cracking as he set the cup aside and cupped your face with one hand. “He’s perfect. He’s tiny and loud and beautiful. They moved him to the nursery this morning but stable. Breathing on his own. He’s strong. Like you.”

You exhaled slowly, your body sinking back into the mattress with a kind of weak, aching surrender. The tears slipped out before you could stop them.

“I thought I lost him,” you whispered.

Robby shook his head. “No. You didn’t. You brought him into this world. You fought like hell.”

You looked up at him then, really looked, and saw the toll it had taken on him—the shadows under his eyes, the hollow in his cheeks, the scruff he hadn’t bothered to shave. He looked like a man who’d been holding his breath for days.

“You stayed?” you asked.

He gave a watery laugh. “I never left.”

And then he leaned down and kissed your forehead. Slow. Long. Like a prayer.

“You scared me,” he whispered into your skin. “More than anything in my life. Don’t ever do that again.”

You reached for him, weak and shaking but needing him close. He didn’t hesitate. He was there in your arms a second later, wrapped around you like a shield, like a lifeline. And for the first time in days, maybe weeks, you let yourself breathe.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed after that.

The pain meds kept you somewhere between floating and dreaming, and the monitors were a constant lullaby, but Robby never left. He was always there, holding your hand, brushing the hair from your face, whispering things you barely remembered.

But when the nurse finally came in, smiling softly and pushing a clear bassinet ahead of her, the world snapped back into focus.

“I thought you two might be ready,” she said gently.

You blinked hard, trying to sit up, but the ache in your abdomen stopped you short. Robby was already there, adjusting the bed, piling pillows behind you like he had done it a hundred times.

“Easy,” he murmured. “You’re still healing.”

But your eyes were locked on the tiny bundle being lifted into your arms.

And then—he was there.

Your son.

Wrapped in soft hospital blue, all fuzzy hair and wrinkled skin and the tiniest fingers you’d ever seen. He blinked up at you like the light was too much, his brow furrowed in confusion, and then he yawned—wide and slow—and settled against your chest like he already knew exactly where he belonged.

The breath hitched in your throat.

“Oh,” you whispered. “Oh, hi…”

Your voice broke on the word.

Robby was sitting on the edge of the bed now, his arm behind your back, his other hand smoothing over your son’s impossibly small shoulder.

“You made him,” he said softly, awestruck like he still couldn’t believe it. “We made him.”

You nodded, a tear slipping down your cheek as you gently ran your finger down your baby’s nose.

“He’s perfect,” you said. “He’s… ours.”

Robby kissed your temple and stayed there, his lips pressed against your skin as your son sighed in his sleep and curled closer.

You didn’t say anything for a long time.

There was just the three of you, tucked into a too-small hospital bed, held together by quiet breathing and trembling hands and the kind of love that doesn’t need to be spoken aloud to be felt in your bones.

This was certainly worth the pain.

mercury-glow 2025

#the pitt #the pitt x reader #the pitt max #michael robinavitch x reader #dr michael robinavitch #michael robby robinavitch #dr robby x reader #dr michael robinavitch x reader #the pitt hbo #robby robinavitch #michael robinavitch x you #dr michael robinavitch x you #the pitt x you #dr frank langdon x reader #frank langdon x reader #frank langdon #Michael Robinavitch.<3 #Frank Langdon.<3

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theonewiththefanfics · 3 days ago

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An Itch You Can't Scratch (one-shot)

Synopsis: After taking a bad fall, Y/N gets rushed to the ED of Pittsburg Trauma Medical Hospital only to come face to face with a man she had a one-night stand with, and who ghosted her that same morning without a word - Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch. As if her bad day couldn't get any worse than it was...

Pairing: Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x fem!Reader (age-gap relationship (Reader is 26, Robby is implied 46-48))

Genre: angst, fluff, SMUT

Warnings: descriptions of wounds (open breaks), puke, swearing, etc., SMUT

Word count: 13,319 (yeah, this sort of started out like a cute little chaotic story and became... this. I might make more parts to these two, people like it enough, because I already have some ideas, and ideas for other stories too also, let's please pretend like Robby didn't have the worst shift of his life and everyone is happy and alive :) )

Please don't copy my work or repost it onto other platforms. all of the characters belong to HBO Max.

In all honesty, Y/N thought Sara was overreacting. There was no need to be hauled to the ER on a Monday morning, at seven AM. So, what if she’d slipped in the shower? So, what if she’d hit her head against the towel rack? So, what if she’d sprained her ankle? Y/N could just pop a couple of Tylenol and be on her merry way, but no.

When Sara had heard the thud and the subsequent crash of shampoo and conditioner bottles, she’d rushed inside the bathroom only to find Y/N sprawled out in all her naked glory. She cursed the stupid bathroom latch their landlord refused to change.

After Sara had had her fill of laughter, she helped Y/N stand, get somewhat dressed (a loose cotton shirt and some shorts), and helped her hobble down the stairs of their apartment, her leg in a make-shift splint of dishtowels and left-over wood paneling from an IKEA dresser.

A groan of protest escaped her as Sara parked in the hospital parking lot and rushed to the passenger door, opening it for Y/N and helping her get out.

“You are worse than my mother,” she huffed as she leaned her weight onto her good leg. “I am completely fine.”

Sara sighed, and Y/N rolled her eyes, knowing what was coming. “My love,” she said. “My other half. The Yin to my Yang, the milk to my matcha. My partner in crime for whom I would kill and/or dispose of a body. I can quite literally see the fucking bone sticking out of your lower leg.”

“It’s a sprain,” Y/N gritted through clenched teeth.

“It’s an open fucking break and the fact that you refused to have an ambulance called, boggles my fucking mind, yet here we are.”

To that, Y/N had nothing to say, but still, she thought Sara was being way too overdramatic. And honestly, if she kept mentioning the real situation of her sprain, making her remember the sound of the snap, how it had been the worst sound she’d ever heard, and Y/N had spent more than twenty years listening to her brother singing in the shower, before she moved to Pittsburg for her job, she would put Sara in a hospital bed herself. And then they could be the ED besties.

But the worst was the pain that came when Sara reminded Y/N of why she had to go to the hospital.

It had been a miracle no neighbor had called the cops or the EMTs themselves, though it didn’t necessarily comfort Y/N either. If she could scream bloody murder like that and nobody batted an eye, it didn’t say anything good about the complex they lived in.

One look down had confirmed Y/N’s worst fears – she had, in fact, broken her leg. Not only that, it was an open break where part of her bone was sticking right out of the meat of her calf. For the first few moments, she’d been in such a shock, that the only thought running through her head was – I look like a poor man’s version of a Disney turkey leg. Then she’d started screaming. And that had made her puke.

Right then and there, still lying half out of the shower, half on the floor, she’d emptied her stomach. There hadn’t been much in it, just the cup of water she’d drank when she’d awoken, but still. At least Y/N had been in the bathroom when it had happened. Tiles were easier to clean up than carpet, and she already felt bad enough Sara would have to wash the floor.

But now, as some form of punishment, no doubt, Sara was helping Y/N hobble towards the emergency department of Pittsburg Trauma Medical Hospital, when a sad-looking man noticed them and rushed inside, grabbing a wheelchair, and getting by Y/N’s side in a matter of a second.

“Here, sit down.” The man, Dennis Whitaker he introduced himself, took hold of her other bicep and moved the wheelchair behind her.

“I’m fine,” she groaned. “I’m not an invalid. I can make it inside on my own. Besides, that wheelchair could be used for someone that actually needs it.”

“You actually need it.” Sara levelled a gaze at her. “And I will make you a fucking invalid because I will clock you so hard in the head, you will have a concussion, if you don’t have one from the fall.”

For a tense second, Y/N stood (or wobbled) her ground, Y/E/C eyes locked onto Sara’s hazel ones which were slowly narrowing with each passing moment until she cursed and said, “Alright fine.” Together Whitaker and Sara lowered the injured woman into the wheelchair. “God, I hate your mom-stares.”

“It’s the only way to get you to do anything in terms of taking care of yourself.”

“It’s not!” Y/N protested. “I’ll have you know, I made myself an omelet yesterday for breakfast. Veggies and all.”

“Yeah, after I berated you that a stale Coke from three days ago, isn’t actual breakfast.” Sara walked side by side as Whitaker pushed the wheelchair into the madhouse that was the emergency department.

It was fascinating to observe the situation as an outsider – nurses and doctors were like level-headed owls, their heads swiveling this way and that way, as they assessed the patients and their statuses, while the residents and patients themselves, not all, but quite a bunch, were like headless chickens, rushing around and trying to prioritize afflictions or become a priority to the doctors.

Codes were called left and right, people moved from one side to the other, snapping on gloves and donning protective gear, and in the center of it all, was the command post – the nurse’s station which Whitaker had wheeled her to.

“Dana, is there a room available?” he addressed a slim, blonde woman, probably the one in charge.

“Room six is available, what’s the, oh,” she stopped mid-sentence as she noticed Y/N and the bone sticking out of her leg.

“I don’t mind waiting,” she gave her a sheepish smile. “There’s probably loads of people before me. Besides, it’s just a sprain.”

“Well, that’s probably one of the worst sprains I’ve ever seen,” Dana deadpanned as she motioned with her head towards someone behind them.

Y/N shrugged. “Well, I am just special like that.”

“Yeah, maybe in the head,” Sara grumbled as she gave the charge nurse all the necessary info for the moment. “Speaking of which – she also hit her head when she went down with her… sprain.”

Dana’s lips quirked up as she hummed and tapped something on her iPad, weaving around the table, leaving Whitaker to follow her like a lost puppy as they moved to the room Y/N was now assigned to. “We’ll schedule you a CT ASAP.”

Y/N turned her head to look at her best friend. “Given how this little trip was your idea, you’re paying off my medical debt.”

“Just let these nice doctors and nurses take care of you.” Sara pinched the bridge of her nose. “Because quite honestly, I’m not too into the idea of searching for a new roommate. Do you know how many creeps I’d have to go through? And what if the one normal one I find has a fatal flaw?”

“Such as?”

“I dunno. What if they hate musicals?”

“Oh, the tragedy.” Y/N pressed a hand against her chest as they wheeled her inside the room.

There was another presence there, a young doctor, probably late twenties or early thirties. A cute little dimple on his chin, dark hair, and blue eyes. Reminded her a bit of the guy from Air Bud, if she squinted a bit.

“My name’s Dr. Langdon,” he introduced himself, giving Y/N a reassuring smile. “And this is Dennis Whitaker, our fourth-year medical student. Would it be alright, if he and another one of our residents observed the situation today? This is a teaching hospital, but it is well within your rights to refuse.”

She shook her head. “Observe away. Not much I can hide.”

“Alright, thank you.” He ventured out for a quick second only to come back with a young woman who introduced herself as Dr. Mel King, a second-year resident. “Okay,” Dr. Langdon said. “Let’s get you onto the bed and see what we’re working with.”

The three medical professionals surrounded her and helped Y/N move from the wheelchair on the paper-covered bed, without jostling her leg too much, but it was enough.

So far, she’d been able to take her mind off the pain by distracting herself – she bickered with Sara, recited the script of The Hunger Games movie in her head while fantasising about a blond Josh Hutcherson, because Peeta was just elite like that. She’d even gone so far as to go over the division table, but now, as more attention was being placed on the broken leg, it started to hurt more and more. It was like Y/N mind-over-mattered an itching spot left by a mosquito by chanting “It’s not itchy” over and over in her head, but the second she stopped, the itching came back in full force.

“So,” Dr. Dimple, she nicknamed him in her head, started. “What happened?”

Y/N sighed, looking at the ceiling. “Can I just give you the not-humiliating version and say I’m a klutz?”

He gave her a charming smile as a nurse prepped an IV line. “Unfortunately, we need to know beyond “clumsy”. The environment where this accident happened is important.”

"It could introduce pathogens into the wound," Mel, as Dr. King had requested to be called, said.

Y/N chewed on her bottom lip before muttering, “I slipped in the shower and sprained my leg. And then got assaulted by some shampoo and conditioner bottles… and then I threw up.”

“And don’t forget the head!” Sara said from the door where she still stood, observing the work happening.

Y/N threw her a knowing smirk. “Never do. And I haven’t had any complaints yet.”

“The throwing up could indicate a concussion,” Whitaker said. “Dana’s already scheduled a CT. And in terms of the leg, you actually have an open fra-,”

Y/N took hold of Whitaker’s bicep like he’d done so for her when he’d helped wheel her inside the emergency department. “Please listen to me when I say this – unless you want me to hurl all over you, and trust me, I can aim, the only thing I have, is a sprain. Got it?”

He gulped and nodded, stepping away from Y/N like a man who’d gotten sprayed by too many fluids in one day and didn’t want to be anywhere near the danger zone. “Loud and clear Miss Sprained-Ankle-Woman.”

“Good.” The nausea that’d started creeping up her belly subsided. “Because I can deal with you people having to do things, but if I have to actually listen to any of it, or think about it, I will be sick.”

“We can give you some anti-nausea medication for that,” Dr. Dimple soothed. “But first, we’ll get you a CT, and then we’ll have a surgery room prepped for you because you need to get this reset as quickly as possible. You will probably have some metal plates and screws to hold the uh… sprain together, and then a cast for about six to eight weeks.”

“Great,” Y/N grumbled. “This is just fucking great. This is exactly how I wanted to spend my vacation, before, oh… oh, absolutely not.” Y/N’s eyes widened to a comically large size as she looked past her room and into the waiting area. “Sara, you need to get me out of here right the fuck now.”

“Hey, woah, what is going on?” Dr. Langdon rushed to where Y/N was trying to get the IV line out. “Please don't do that, you'll only hurt yourself more.”

“Y/N, what’s going on?” Sara’s brows were pulled tight in a frown, as she tried to help Dr. King get the oxygen monitor back onto her finger. “You need surgery, for fuck’s sake.”

“It’s him,” she hissed, not taking her gaze away from where it’d locked on. “And I don’t want to spend a second anywhere near the dick.”

“Who?” Sara swiveled her head to look beyond the glass separating them from the chaos beyond. “Who’s the dick?”

“Him.”

And then four pairs of eyes locked onto the man standing and talking with the charge nurse at The Hub, Y/N was glaring at.

“Do – do you two know each other?” Dr. Dimple asked. “Do you feel unsafe with him around?”

“Yeah, you could say we know one another,” she scowled and crossed her arms as Mel managed to finally reattach the oxygen monitor, all of their attention onto her. “That’s the dude I hooked up with two weeks ago, and completely ghosted me that same morning.”

Every single head snapped to look back at Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch, who’d also finally noticed Y/N was at his workplace, as a patient no less. His eyebrows were right up to his hairline, brown eyes wide with disbelief and mouth agape as she glowered at the older man.

It was quite a surreal moment – all of these capable doctors and residents and nurses, stunned by the information so bad, that they almost seemed to forget Y/N was there. She wondered what was going through their heads, as this seemed like it wasn’t a regular occurrence. Which stung even more – if Michael had been a fuckboy, she could take it, but it didn’t seem so. So, what was wrong with Y/N that had made him run away after the night they’d spent together?

When they’d met at the bar, he had told her he was an emergency department attending. The big boss of his little duckling residents, dutifully running the hospital department with the help of the nurses.

Why, when Sara had finally managed to get Y/N inside the car, it hadn’t occurred to her, he would work in this particular hospital. Just why?

Y/N couldn’t say. Maybe she’d hoped he worked the night shifts. Maybe she’d hoped, he worked somewhere else, or even out of town, but, of course, for whatever sins she’d committed, karma couldn’t do her a solid one.

Sara gasped, rushing by her side as Y/N watched Michael flounder and try and decide what to do – whether to interfere and face the music or run away from the hospital. He apparently chose the latter as he twisted on his heel and high-tailed it to the other end of the department, leaving a cackling Dana behind.

“That’s him?” Sara strained her neck. “That’s the hot doctor?”

Y/N scoffed. “The one and only. Couldn’t even leave a fucking note or something. Like I can take a hint a one-night-stand is a one-night-stand, alright? But don’t just fucking bolt out of the door like your ass is on fire before the other party wakes up. Fucking dickhead.”

“Well, maybe it wasn’t as fun of a night for him, as you thought, and he didn’t want to hurt your feelings.” Sara raised a brow.

“Oh, trust me,” Y/N smirked. “It was a very fun night for him. I would know. I was there, and you can’t fake the kind of shaking. Four hours will do that to a guy,” she winked and touched the tips of her pointer finger and thumb in an A-Okay sign.

“Yeah,” it was Dr. Dimple smiling at her, the grin on his face almost wolfish in nature. “Yeah, you are absolutely my new favorite person in the world.”

However, whatever he wanted to say or ask, was cut short when Dana returned to inform that her CT slot was coming up, and so Y/N was wheeled away, not daring to look at Michael as they passed one another in the hallway.

As the results came back for a minor concussion, the anesthesiologist informed, that they recommended a spinal for the surgery, while the team prepper, but Y/N shot it down immediately.

“Absolutely not. Look, I know it’s not safe to go to sleep after a concussion, but I will not be listening to the sounds of some bone-carpenter crunching on my leg. Put me under,” she gave him her most pathetic look. “Please.”

The specialist still tried to argue, but he couldn’t do it much longer, as Y/N needed surgery as soon as possible, so after five minutes of strongly recommending the spinal, he relented and in half an hour, Y/N had managed to get hers – she was out like a light, without a sound in her ears.

It was the best sleep she’d ever had in her life. Like floating on a cloud, surrounded by doves and angels singing her lullabies. She never wanted to wake up, but something was rousing her out of the blissful state.

A large warm hand around her palm, thumb rubbing the top of it, was soothing her senses. It was like hot chocolate after being out in the sow. Or sitting by a fireplace with a blanket wrapped around your shoulders.

“Good afternoon, Miss Sprained-Ankle,” a low, rumbly voice greeted Y/N as she floated back into consciousness. Her eyes locked onto two gentle, brown ones, and despite the medication, she knew she wasn’t hallucinating him.

Michael’s face was beard-covered like it had been when they’d met. He still had the same worry lines on his forehead and the crow’s feet around his eyes. Y/N had said she liked those the best.

“It shows you’ve smiled and laughed despite everything else,” she’d informed him over the rim of her Pornstar Martini.

She couldn’t truly imagine just how draining his line of work was, both physically and mentally, but the laugh lines she could see hiding under the beard, harmonizing with those around his eyes, was a feature Y/N had noticed first.

“So,” she slurred her tongue a swollen mass of sandpaper in her mouth, and Michael noticed that, holding a cup of water against her lips until she’d had her fill. “Do I have to keep breaking bones to wake up with you next to me?”

“I hope not.” With gentleness Y/N knew he possessed, yet didn’t expect, he brushed away a droplet that’d slipped past her mouth, and onto her cheek. “I hope this is the only time I ever have to see you in such a state.”

“Can’t promise that,” she shook her head. “I do have a reputation to uphold.”

“Yeah?” amusement was evident on his weary face. “And what kind of reputation is that?”

“When I was in first grade, on the first day of school, I broke my arm. And then like a few months later, I smashed my face against a radiator and split my lip open. Still have a scar,” she pointed right below her right nostril where a sliver of lighter skin was. “And then, but that was like third grade or something, I smashed my head against a metal railing and split my head open. I could even push my fingers inside and scrape my -,”

“Okay, I understand,” Michael interrupted her and pulled the hand that was tapping against the hairline on her forehead. “You are an ED connoisseur, but please, don’t make this a habit.”

“Damn, straight I am.” Y/N gave a confident nod, but before Michael could ask anything else, she said, “You know what I don’t get? Like why did my leg bone hurt while sticking out of my body, but my teeth that are sticking out right now, don’t?” She clacked them for emphasis. “They’re outside bones.”

A soft smile bloomed on Michael’s face as he brushed a strand of hair away from her forehead. She could feel someone had put her hair in a protective style and had to wonder if it had been the man beside her. But that wouldn’t make any sense. Why would he care like that for her?

“For one,” he muttered. “You broke your fibula – the smaller bone in your lower leg, and in doing so, hurt the surrounding things like muscles and skin. That is one reason why you felt such pain. And two – if you broke a tooth, it would hurt too. Your cavities hurt, don’t they?”

“Mmm,” a self-satisfied smile bloomed on Y/N’s face. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never had a cavity.”

“That’s good. Dentists aren’t cheap.” As a response she just clacked her teeth again, making Michael laugh. “How are you feeling? Any pain? Nausea?”

“Nope, I am A-Okay. Honestly, that was like the best sleep of my life. Well…” Y/N pouted, taking her gaze away from Michael’s. “That night when I fell asleep with you is also up in the Top 5, but then I woke up and… you know… you weren’t there.”

She was obviously delirious from the medication being pumped through her veins, but much like when Y/N was drunk, she was a throw-up-remember-everything kind of a girl, instead of a black-out-drunk. Besides, it wasn’t like she could run anywhere. Quite literally.

Michael sighed, dragging a hand down his face, visibly cringing at her words. “About that… I – yeah, I think the only thing I can say is I’m sorry. For, you know, ghosting, as you youngsters say.”

“ ‘S alright.” Y/N shrugged, trying to act nonchalant, as if the second she’d seen him, she hadn’t been ready to bolt. “I’m over it.”

“No, no it’s not okay. I shouldn’t have done that. Because that night was… great. It was amazing, actually. And everything leading up to the uh, you… you know, the...” he cleared his throat, and a smirk pulled up on Y/N’s lips.

“The sex? Come on, you can say it in your big old man age. It’s just three letters.”

“Jesus Christ.” Michael rubbed his neck as a slight pink shade crawled up his neck, which made Y/N let out a chuckle at how uncomfortable he looked talking about this. Maybe it was time to let this go, for his sake and her own sanity.

“Look, if it makes you feel any better,” Y/N shifted to the edge of the mattress and patted the side of her bed, so he could sit down. After asking if she was sure, he did take the offered space. “I – I’ve been treating you a bit unfairly with this. I think my ego was a bit crushed after waking up and not having you there, but, umm… you’re off the hook. Besides, I think I’m in your debt with all of this. Your team is amazing.”

“They’re pretty great, aren’t they?” he mumbled, one of his hands having moved to toy with the wristband the hospital had assigned to Y/N. “But still, how I reacted then, and even earlier in the morning… it wasn’t right. I mean, I’m pushing fifty for fuck’s sake. That’s not what someone my age does.”

“So what?” she raised a brow. “The issue is you think you’re a cradle-robber? Because you’re no more that than I am a grave robber. I’m twenty-six, Michael,” she turned her palm up hoping he’d accept it and slide his hand in hers. After a moment of hesitancy, he did, and Y/N squeezed it in reassurance. “I mean, if you think you’re doing something bad, by having slept with someone two decades younger than you, I’ll have you know, according to regency times, as a woman who’ll be turning twenty-seven this year, I’m pretty much a decrepit old spinster.”

Michael let out a soft laugh as his fingers trailed the lines on Y/N’s palm. “You have your whole life ahead of you. Me? I’m your probably dad’s age.”

“And looking hotter than ever, if you ask me.”

“Yeah? You think so?” He asked as Y/N hummed in affirmation. “Well then, for a decrepit old spinster, you are beautiful. And acting with much more grace than I deserved or deserve.”

Something in the way he said those last few words made her heart squeeze. “Michael… of course you deserve grace.”

“You’re being far too good to me… you’re far too good for me…”

Y/N’s brows furrowed at that. Slowly, she attempted to rise in a sitting position, but she didn’t get far before Michael had his arms around her waist, like they’d been two weeks ago, pushing a pillow to stabilize the small of her back. Once he was sure she was comfortable, he opened an apple juice box and handed it to her.

“To get your sugar up.”

But she just stared at him, only reaching for the little carton after he’d resumed his previous sitting position. “Is that what this is about?” she asked. “Some insecurity you think I deserve better than you? Because I can decide those things for myself. I am an adult. With a fully-developed frontal lobe, mind you.”

He took in a deep breath, held it for a second, then released it, and Y/N watched that whatever kind of decision he’d come to, had released a certain tension that’d been accumulating in his body. “Kind of, I guess. But mostly…” he swallowed, then nodded to himself, eyes trained on her wristband. “Mostly I got scared.”

“Of what?” Y/N tilted her head. “I mean, I know my morning breath probably isn’t that attractive, and the smeared makeup made me look like a coked-out raccoon, but -,”

“No,” Michael shook his head, chuckling. His cheeks were reddish at her words, but as he lifted his eyes to hers, there was a grateful look to them. Like he was thankful she wasn’t making fun of him even in his ripe old age. “You,” he stumbled over his words a bit, “when I saw you there, sleeping by my side like you belonged… I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything more beautiful than that. And that’s when I thought to myself – if I worked up the courage, could there be more mornings like that? Could I make you breakfast and coffee one day? Maybe I’d get the privilege of falling asleep next to you as we watch movies at night. And that scared me.”

“The possible future?”

“Wanting that possible future, because that feeling, the one that started to grow right here,” he tapped the center of his chest. “I couldn’t think straight. So, I had to go.”

“I mean,” Y/N swallowed hard. “That is a lot to imagine after only a few hours together.”

“Does that… creep you out? ‘Cause it’s totally understandable if it does. I mean Jesus, I’m old… and you’re so young.”

“No, it doesn’t.” And she meant it when she said it. “I find it actually quite endearing, but you can stop being so hung-up on the age difference. If you think there might be some daddy issues on my side, I can assure you – there’s none. I quite like my dad, and I definitely don’t see you as such a figure. Not after the things you did to me. ‘Cause, quite honestly, sex with you was probably the best dicking-down I’ve had in a year.”

If Michael had been drinking anything, Y/N was sure he would have choked with how he sputtered at her words. “Well, uh, yeah, I uh… I’m glad you… enjoyed it.”

“I did. And I know you enjoyed it too,” her smile was nothing short of wicked.

“Yeah, and apparently now the rest of the residents and nurses and doctors know it too?” Michael raised his brows at her.

It took Y/N a while to realize he was talking about when she’d gotten admitted and spilt the beans on their night together, implying their copious amount of copulation. “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger, but I’d like to think your reputation has now gone sky-high between the female nurses and doctors. Maybe the guys and theys as well. But I do apologize for talking about your private life while at your work. In my defense, until that very moment, I didn’t know you worked here. And well, I was pissed.”

“You and your mouth will get you in trouble one day,” Michael pointed at her.

“Yeah? Would you like to put something in it, to shut me up? Last time, you really liked it when I -,”

“Okay, trouble, that’s enough.” Even though his words had a finality to them, humor glowed on his features. He seemed relaxed. Content even, as he took the now empty apple juice box Y/N had been sipping on this whole time.

“You on a break?” She started scooting down the bed once more, and Michael instantly helped her get situated.

“Want to get rid of me so quickly?”

“No. It’s just you’re spending an awfully long time with me. Don’t you have other patients to check in on? I don’t want you to waste your time if you need to get to someone else. Or maybe grab a bite to eat? I’m fairly sure doctors don’t know how to have a good work-life balance, despite continuously recommending it to us, mere mortals.”

“Time with you isn’t a waste.”

Oh.

Oh, how badly did Y/N want to rip off the little wires connecting her to the heart monitor, because had Michael not turned the sound off, she was sure the whole hospital would be hearing it go nuts at his words, the squiggling beat of it a treat for only Michael this time, because when he noticed it, a smirk bloomed on his mouth. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t need to, not when he murmured, twining their fingers together, “I want to kiss you so bad.”

“I definitely won’t be opposed to that.” Y/N’s answer might have come way too quickly, but she was beyond feeling embarrassed about wanting him. “You have permission to kiss away. For as long as possible. All day, every day, whenever you want to.”

“Well, thank you for that,” Michael chuckled, cupping her cheek, and she leaned into the touch. “But… not right now. Let me take you out on a proper date. Let me do this right.”

“Oh my God, seriously?” Y/N whined throwing her head back. “You’re gonna make me wait? Especially after that whole speech and whatnot? You are a cruel, cruel man Dr. Michael Robinavitch.”

Slowly, without breaking eye contact, he leaned to hover over Y/N, a golden necklace slipping from the inside of his shirt and dangling before her. She wanted to pull it between her teeth like she’d done so during their one night together. It took every dwindling ounce of willpower not to.

“Maybe, I just want you aching. And yearning. You were the one who said men don’t yearn enough nowadays. But I have. For you, for two whole god-damned weeks. Now it’s your turn.”

It was pathetic how Y/N wanted to cry and whimper. “But I didn’t even do anything! You were the one that ran out! Why am I being punished for your actions?”

“Do you – do you not want to go on a date with me?”

“I do, but I’d rather you rail me as soon as possible.”

“Well, for one,” Michael tried to continue on as if Y/N’s words hadn’t made heat creep up his face, but he could only do so much. He was a human, after all. “You’re not allowed any strenuous activities until you’ve got a clean bill of health. And two, all teasing aside, I want to do this properly. I want to do right by you this time.”

“Why would you?” she exasperated. “I wasn’t complaining when you didn’t do it right by me, and I’m certainly not going to if you suddenly decide to stop being chivalrous. Maybe even right here. We could recreate some scene from Grey’s Anatomy?” Y/N wiggled her brows at him, eliciting a deep rumble of a chuckle.

“Grey’s is just a malpractice lawsuit after a malpractice lawsuit, and I, unlike the characters there, don’t want my medical license to be revoked. Until you get discharged, I’m one of your doctors.”

“My hot doctor, you mean.”

The sigh that left Michael was not weary or a worn-out kind of noise. Rather it was a resigned I-guess-this-is-my-life-now kind of a sigh, especially combined with the endearing look on his face, it made Y/N feel warm all over.

Slowly, as they talked a bit more, her eyes began to droop, exhaustion from the morning, from the surgery and the subsequent consequences settling in once more. “Will you stay?” she asked as Michael brushed a knuckle along her jaw. “Just until I fall asleep?”

“Of course,” Michael took her hand in his, sitting down by her side again, as he pressed a kiss to her wrist. “And I… I wish I could promise I’ll be here when you wake up, but I, -”

“I know,” Y/N interrupted him with a soft and understating smile. “By that point, you’ll probably be off saving lives. It’s why I’m not asking you to.”

“I’ll try though.” He promised.

“Okay.”

And with her hand still in Michael’s, Y/N drifted off once again without even realizing it was pitch-black outside, and Michael hadn’t been wearing his shift scrubs. He should have long been home resting, and yet, he hadn’t been able to leave her. Not like he did before.

By the time she awoke early the next morning, Y/N was clearheaded, and yet all her thoughts mulled over the conversation she’d had with Michael the previous night. Would he go back on his word? Had he only talked with her like that because she was high on pain meds, and maybe thought she wouldn’t remember their discussions?

She knew he hadn’t promised to be there when she awoke, so Y/N didn’t hold it against him, but she couldn’t deny the sting. But that was immediately soothed by the hoodie that’d been laid over the back of a chair.

His hoodie.

A promise he would at least have a reason to come back and check in on her. It was Dana, the charge nurse, peeking her head inside that pulled Y/N back into the present. “How are we feeling today? Ready to be discharged? Dr. Langdon will be with you shortly for a follow-up.”

The woman in the hospital bed groaned. “Can’t I just stay here? Like you people – you are normal. Sara will be a mother hen on crack. I am willing to brave hospital food, as long as I don’t have to go home to all that fussing. She’s probably already bullied our landlord into installing a lift or something.”

“She cares for you,” it was Dr. Langdon piping in, as he entered her room, pulling on a pair of gloves and nodding to Dana in thanks. “You’re pretty lucky to have a friend like her.”

“Yeah, I know,” Y/N sighed as Dr. Langdon looked over her leg, asked some questions about pain levels and talked her through the post-op care. “But in my defense, she has a tendency to overreact.”

“I’d say you have a tendency to underreact, but that’s just my professional opinion.”

She rolled her eyes as Dr. Langdon finished his assessment and handed off her chart to Dana, so they could start the discharge process. “God forbid a girl has hobbies.”

“In any case, I do think the whole ED is in debt to Sara.”

To that she raised a brow.

“Well, had she not made you come in, I don’t know if Dr. Robby would have had a chance of seeing you again. Because, if I have to be honest, we’ve all been scratching our heads the past couple of weeks trying to figure out why he’s been in such a mood. Now we know why.”

“You two shit-talking me?” Michael’s soft tone interrupted the conversation, as he crossed his arms and leaned against the entryway. “How are you feeling?”

She tried and failed to hide the heat creeping up her veins. Even if Y/N had succeeded, that damned monitor, the sound no doubt having been turned back on by Michael before he left, to make sure if anything went awry at night, someone was there for her, betrayed her anyway. God, she wanted to punch the smile off both the men's faces.

“Fine.” She turned her head to look at the wall, as a nurse stepped in and removed the IV catheter and wrapped her hand in gauze. “Not looking forward to the itching that will appear, in what? Three days?”

“No scratching,” Dr. Dimple pointed at her with a pen. “You could injure yourself and cause a serious infection. No rulers, no knitting needles, no crochet needles, no twigs or branches, no nothing.”

“But what about -,”

“No nothing,” he emphasized. “Or I will have to recommend Dr. Robby make a house call on you. Though that isn’t much of a threat for you two, is it?”

“Okay, Frank? Scram. Now. There’re patients that need checking on. I can take care of Y/N.”

“Yeah, I bet you can,” Dr. Langdon let out a laugh but was out of the room before either she or Michael could say anything.

The only thing Y/N was happy about, was that the comment had made not only her flustered, but Michael as well, as he shifted on his feet and rubbed the back of his neck in a nervous tick. In the end, he gave her a smile that said “Sorry about him” and padded over to where he’d left his hoodie.

And that only made her even more flustered, because seeing a man like him, so level-headed and sure, get visibly nervous over her, did things to Y/N. Which made her want to do things to Michael, but then Dana returned, two crutches in hand, Whitaker wheeling a wheelchair once more, and all passion slipped away.

“Right, thanks.” She eyed the crutches like they were cow-eating pythons. “I fucking hate my life.”

Low, warm laughter filtered through the room as Dana helped Y/N get redressed and situated her in the wheelchair, crutches placed over her knees as she was rolled to the nurse’s station.

“I uh, took the liberty of calling Sara for you,” Michael said as he leaned against the table. When Y/N raised a brow in question, he elaborated, “She’s in your emergency contacts. Should be here in fifteen or so.”

“Thank you. You didn’t have to do that, you know.”

“I know,” he smiled. “But I wanted to.”

And there it was again, that warmth that blossomed in her chest, only this time she let it spread, let it wrap around her heart and wash away that bitterness, that’d been there since the morning Y/N had woken up cold and alone.

It hadn’t been just the sex, though that night Michael had given her some of the most earth-shattering orgasms she’d ever had (thankfully, Sara had been away with her girlfriend, so she didn’t have to suffer through the teasing).

It was the conversations leading up to it, the sense of ease Y/N felt around Michael. He was witty and sarcastic, his humor dry, but not at the expense of others while being engaging and thought-provoking at the same time. What had sealed the deal for her though was when he actually engaged in the debate, she presented him – if he had to kiss a fish-spider hybrid, what would he choose – fish head, spider body or fish body, spider head?

He’d made her laugh so hard she cried, and when Y/N had deemed it was time to call an Uber and go home, she’d taken the risk and asked if he wanted to come to her place. And after a few moments where she wanted the earth to open and swallow her whole, he’d nodded.

Together they waited for the cab, standing side by side, yet not touching. He’d opened the car door for her, before slipping in himself.

The tension could be cut with a knife, and afterwards, Y/N had given the driver five stars for enduring it, while the whole way, one of Michael’s palms had slowly moved to rest against her thigh, and she’d had to clench them together because if she didn’t, there would be a noticeable wet spot underneath.

After an agonizing half an hour's drive, they finally got to her place. Michael held the door open for her, and insisted on paying for the Uber, no matter how much Y/N protested.

Every step towards the apartment she was renting on the fourth floor of the complex, was agony. As she fumbled for her keys, Michael’s fingers were slowly skimming the side of her dress where the zipper rested.

Y/N’s whole body was a live-wire, and she wondered how in the world had the lock not melted from the heat, as it slid in place and she unlocked the door, the motion now forever having a sexual connotation, for in that moment Michael was the key that would unlock her desires.

Together, they stepped beyond the threshold, and yet still, he never once removed his touch from her body. From that damned little black number. She’d only worn it because she’d been set up on a blind date. They were supposed to meet up at the bar for a drink before going to a play, but as it turns out, even guys who like theatre can ghost.

When Y/N realized the situation, she wanted to go home, as her date was the one who had the tickets, pull this thing off and drink the already opened bottle of wine that was in the fridge, but she could have at least one good cocktail before that.

That’s when Dr. Robby, or as he’d asked her to call him by his first name, Michael, slid into the seat next to her. They didn’t talk for the first five minutes, not until she’d been scrolling through Instagram and some post had caught her eye. Something about green tea enemas and glowing skin, and the man beside had released a heavy-duty sigh, accompanied by “fucking Dr. Google.”

It’s when slowly but surely, they’d struck up a conversation, which had now resulted in Y/N having Michael towering over her, his beard scratching against the crook of her neck where he’d placed his chin.

When his hands wove and settled against her stomach, any sort of resolve she’d had, snapped. Instantly, she turned, weaving her arms around his neck and pulling his mouth to hers in a bruising kind of kiss. The kind that left you breathless and dizzy and wanting more.

She felt an insatiable thrill rush down her spine as Michael responded with just as much vigor, the pads of his fingers digging deep into her hips and pulling her to be flush against his chest, so much so, that Y/N could feel his own desire growing in his groin.

“I’ve never hated clothes more than I do right now,” she giggled as Michael grappled with the door handle and pushed it close without disconnecting from one another.

“Then let’s get them off, shall we?”

The way he dragged the side zipper open, was almost reverent, worshipping even. Like he wanted to prolong the build-up between them, and Y/N couldn’t lie – she was loving it, even if she was losing her mind. So many times, when she’d had hook-ups, guys tended to just get her naked as fast as possible, which was fine. She was down for it, but there was something indescribable about how Michael reveled in feeling her slowly start to tremble, in how he kissed up and down her neck, while his fingers took their sweet time. It drove her insane with want, in an amount she’d never felt before.

His pointer finger dragged its way up Y/N’s bicep, making goosebumps erupt all over before he slowly slid a strap down. Then the other, until the dress was pooling around her waist, and still, where usually she’d be helping the guy shimmy herself out of the dress, Michael didn’t rush. He simply allowed his hands to explore her body, skimming along her ribs and up to the black lacy number she’d worn, then right back down.

“You counting if I have all my ribs in place, Dr. Robby?” Y/N let out a shaky breath, trying to alleviate the gathered tension, for she was just about to combust, but all she got was a soft smile as he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her neck where her pulse was visibly thrumming.

“I don’t have much time in my day to stop and admire art. So please, indulge me. And art, which I’m allowed to touch, should be revered even more so.”

Her eyes may or may not have rolled to the back of her head at his words, and he hadn’t even gotten his head between her legs yet. Yeah, Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch, the attending of a trauma centre, would be the death of her.

Name of the deceased - Y/N Y/L/N. Date of death - 4th of April, 2025. Cause of death – self-combustion. Reason for self-combustion – a sexy as fuck doctor.

Quite honestly, if that was how she was going to go, so be it.

Finally, though, after what felt like ages, her dress was shed, leaving her only in her underwear and strappy high-heels she’d worn.

“If there is one thing I hate, it’s not having a photographic memory,” Michael grumbled as his hands skimmed along the waistband of her panties. “But trust me when I say this, I will be picturing this moment for decades to come.”

“You are more than welcome to have a look at what’s hiding underneath,” Y/N said. Or that is what she would have said, had she not simply whimpered in response. Not very sexy of her, but the feeling of his chest rumbling with a laugh, totally made up for it.

She gathered enough of her bearings to step out of the fabric around her feet and move them along to her room. Never did his eyes leave her, never did his gaze waver or wander as they faced one another, her queen-sized bed behind her.

“You are awfully overdressed,” Y/N mumbled, allowing herself the luxury of running her palms along the still-covered planed of his chest. His breathing was steady, but to feel the erratic thumping of his heart excited her beyond measure. It meant all that composure was just an act, and she was thrilled she’d be the one to crack it.

She was just about to move her fingers to the buttons of his shirt when Michael slid down to his knees. If his hands hadn’t been resting against her thighs, she was sure she would’ve buckled and crashed. And Michael, damn the man to hell and back, knew it, if only by the smirk that stretched his face as he unlaced the strappy heels she had on and helped her stand on her feet.

Y/N covered her face and groaned, throwing her head back. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? Torturing me?”

“Torturing you?” A kiss against her navel. “The only person being tortured tonight has been me. At the bar. In the car. Even now, you’re driving me crazy. So, if this is torture, simply consider it payback.”

With the gentlest of touches, only a doctor could manage, Michael skimmed over Y/N’s stretchmarks, scars and blemishes – pieces of herself she didn’t particularly like, but the way he touched her… it was like he was mapping out the carve-marks of a Michelangelo statue. She was Venus and those – the history of her life.

By the time he got back up to her mouth, she was a trembling mess, her nails digging into the muscles of his back, as finally, to her relief, he allowed her to rid him of the shirt.

Much like he’d done to her, Y/N allowed herself the pleasure of exploring his body, mapping out the ridges and slopes of his chest and abdomen, before moving around to his back, and once they made their way to the small of it, she dug her nails against the skin there. The groan she was rewarded with, was sweeter than the cocktail he’d bought her.

“Is it okay, if I touch you here?” Michael’s fingers slipped along the tops of her breasts before they moved to her back where they toyed with the clasp of the garment.

“More than,” Y/N’s words were a breathless whisper by that point, and her inhale stuttered in her chest as she deftly snapped it open.

It was clear he had experience, and not just because he was two decades her senior, but probably also because he’d done so in the trauma center, he worked at. For a brief, stupid second, she wondered how he could still find such acts pleasurable when he’d no doubt had to have done it during horrendous emergencies, yet all that was wiped away when Michael lowered his head and his teeth grazed a nipple.

Her sharp gasp echoed around them, and Y/N weaved her fingers through his hair, pushing his face closer, as he lavished at her chest. The next day, she was sure, there would be bruises and love bites blooming like flowers across her chest and sternum, not to mention the delicious beard burn.

Y/N moaned as he pulled the peak into his mouth, but when an uninhibited thought entered, it made her throw it back in a deep groan.

“That feel good?”

“So fucking good, but also, so yeah, I,” she stammered trying to get her brain to cooperate and create a coherent sentence. “Okay, so I just imagined you in glasses, and this got like ten times hotter.”

“Glasses?” Michael chuckled, pulling slightly back and looking up at her. “That’s what does it for you?”

“Correction – you in glasses. Though you right now are so doing it for me too. But that image just… yeah… kinda glad you don’t have any on. I’d probably be a pile of ash by this point.”

“Now that would be a shame, wouldn’t it?” He said, slowly moving to her other breast, but not neglecting the one he’d already loved on, by cupping it in his large palm. “I mean, I’m just getting started.”

Yeah, Y/N was dead and done for.

As he continued licking at her chest, the hand that’d been fondling one of them, slid down her front and tentatively brushed against her clothed core. It was a single knuckle right against where her clit was, but it was enough for her to jolt in his grasp. Michael just steadied her and held tighter around her waist.

Once he deemed Y/N’s breasts worshipped enough, he trailed back up between them and covered her mouth with his, yet the knuckle, that damned fucking knuckle, still slid against her pussy. He could no doubt feel how wet she was, the material, though there wasn’t much of it anyway, soaked through so bad, her thighs were already sticky.

“Michael please,” Y/N was now openly begging. She was way beyond feeling embarrassed for such a move when in the span of half an hour, he’d reduced her to liquid fire. No one had ever made her feel this wanted. This needed. And she desperately wanted and needed him too.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmured, as he pushed his thumbs beyond the waistband of her panties and started to lower them down. The cool air hit her exposed core, and Y/N released a breathless moan. “You gotta tell me what you want and don’t want. I’m not gonna go any further until you do.”

“I want you to touch me.”

“I am touching you.”

She could feel him smirk as his hands took hold of the globes of her ass and squeezed.

“No, I want you to touch me there,” Y/N whined and tried to chase his mouth with hers, but Michael pulled back, shaking his head.

“Gotta be more specific than that, sweetheart.”

She debated on pulling away completely, on not giving him what he wanted either, but she was pathetic for this man. So, instead, she took one of his hands and guided it from where it rested against her ass, towards the front, sighing in relief as he let her do so. With her fingers guiding his, they slid to rest between her legs as Michael slowly, ever so exploratory, found her clit. She pressed her hand harder against his, so he could match the pressure on her core, and when he did so, overwhelming pleasure flooded her veins.

“There,” Y/N breathed. “I want you to touch me there. And then,” she moved his hand deeper, by the wrist, until she could feel the pads of his fingers nudging against her entrance. “I want you to put three of your fingers inside me, while you suck on my clit, until I’m a crying mess.”

As Y/N lifted her head back to look at him, there was absolutely no sign of the warm brown irises that’d looked at her so gently at the bar. Sure, it was dark in the apartment, yet even in bright daylight, she’d bet all her student loans, only two black abysses would be staring back at her, especially with how fast his chest was rising and falling.

“And then?”

God, had his voice dropped even lower? How did he manage to make it so gravelly, yet smooth as the darkest, most succulent chocolate?

“And then…” Her fingers trembled as she moved her hands to the front of his pants, undoing the buckle and flipping open the button, lowering the zipper as she went. All the while, Michael applied steady pressure on her clit, circling the bundle of nerves just enough to drive her towards the edge, but not enough for release to come. “And uhm, then…” She pushed his pants down as far as they would go, letting them bunch around his knees.

It took barely a moment for him to step out of them completely, kicking them to some forgotten corner of her room, leaving him in only his boxers. Somewhere along the way he’d lost the shoes and socks, but Y/N wasn’t about to go and hunt for them. Not with how he still circled her clit with those experienced appendages.

“Yes?” He raised a brow and pressed harder against her clit, making her pull in a sharp breath.

“And then,” Y/N trailed a teasing finger along the band of his boxers, for once delighting in how his abdomen muscles went taut, and his obviously hard dick twitched inside the confines. “And then I want you to fuck me. However, you want to. As long as by the end of it, neither of us know up from down and left from right.”

When she cupped him over the clothes he still had left on, it seemed like it snapped something in Michael, some taut, already fragile wire, that’d begun fraying ever since she’d invited him back to her place. Because this time when he kissed Y/N, it was a hungry kiss. A man starved being served the most lavish meal of all.

She was on the mattress in a matter of seconds, body covered by his towering frame. They molded perfectly together, Y/N thought. When she rolled her hips up to get at least some form of friction, he responded in kind, clearly searching to satiate his own desire.

Michael’s hands slid from her shoulders down the length of her arms before intertwining their fingers and bringing them up and over Y/N’s head, not once disconnecting from the kiss.

“You keep them there,” he instructed, breathing the words into her mouth. “And when I’m done with my appetizer, we’ll move on to the first of the main courses.”

“Appetizer?” Y/N squeaked out. A good hook-up in her books was at least two orgasms, usually only having one. But calling eating her out an appetizer, and then having a numbered list of courses, was something else completely.

Michael’s only response was that same damned smirk she’d learned could only mean torture, as he made his way between her legs, and without wasting another second, diving in between them.

The first lick of his tongue was a broad, all-encompassing one. And Y/N could only hope her neighbors had some good noise-cancelling headphones at the ready.

His forearms had settled against her hips and palms splayed themselves over her stomach to push her down against the bed, as she tried to chase his mouth.

And what a mouth it was.

Who knew the soft-spoken trauma doctor she’d met on a random Friday night at a bar while waiting for a date that never came, would be the creation of the Devil himself?

But when he pushed two thick fingers inside, shortly followed by a third, just like Y/N had asked, all thoughts flew out of the window. The way he curled them in an attempt at finding that spot that made her gasp and choke on air, the way he scissored them, stretching her, preparing her for the first course he had in mind, was diabolical.

Her first orgasm came unexpectedly. She could feel it like a wave – pushing and pulling – but she hadn’t expected the moment it crested and shattered against the rocks, swift and sharp, coming without a warning, all due to the teasing that’d happened before, no doubt.

Michael rode it out with Y/N, until her hips stopped grinding against his mouth, and he could gently remove his fingers from her pussy.

He placed a soft kiss against the inside of her thigh, the skin raw and tender from his beard, that now glistened with her juices.

“ ‘M sorry,” Y/N mumbled, an arm thrown over her eyes as she came down from her high and tears streamed down to her temples, just like she’d requested.

“Whatever for?”

“Didn’t warn you I was coming.”

As the aftershocks receded, and she removed her arm, she found Michael looking up at her completely puzzled. “And why would I need a warning? I could tell, you know.” He rose to hover over her. “The way you were clenching. Fucking proud of it too.”

“No, I mean,” she huffed, trailing a hand down his chest. “Sometimes guys don’t want to… you know… have that in their mouth. They’d rather finish a girl off with their fingers and not have to… taste it.”

Now that was one way to kill a mood, but Y/N had already opened her big mouth and the words were out.

“And why wouldn’t I want to taste it, hmm?” Michael tilted his head at her, as his hands drifted up and down her sides, over her breasts and clavicles, to skim along her neck and finally settle on the pillow beside her head. “Why wouldn’t I want that, when it’s the end goal? You got your tears,” he kissed the corners of her eyes where the salt still lingered. “And I got my wine.”

Her gaze drifted to the beard, the one she would be feeling for days to come, as she went about her life. The one that was glistening with the remnants of her orgasm even in the dark, and Y/N wondered, what it would be like to sit atop it. To have him pull her down by the waist as she claimed his mouth for her throne. They were such salacious thoughts, for a moment, embarrassment flushed through her, but come on! After such an eating out, Y/N was allowed to fantasize.

“And by the end of this, if you let me,” Michael mumbled, a golden chain dangling in between them. Quickly she snatched it between her teeth and pulled, making him come closer. “I’d like to do so at least once more.”

“You are absolutely welcome to it. Morning, noon and night.”

But at that moment, Y/N had no intentions of allowing him to go for another round, as when he leaned down for a kiss, she lifted a leg over his hip and twisted, throwing Michael off his balance and onto his back, with her now on top.

“But right now… you had your starter.” She gave him a wicked grin. “And I’ve yet to still have mine.”

“Fuck me,” was all he managed to groan out as he threaded a hand through his hair, head pressed tight against her silk-covered pillows while Y/N rid him of his boxers.

His length sprang free, thick and aching. It slapped against his abdomen and her hand curled around it immediately to give him some sort of relief, precum dripping from the tip. Or maybe, she intended to do quite the opposite.

He’d taken his sweet fucking time riling her up. She could take hers. But it was the way he let out the smallest of “please”, the way his eyes locked onto hers, practically begging to put him out of his misery, that did her in. She’d tease him come morning. For now, she was way too aroused herself to deprive her body of his any longer.

Y/N gathered a bit of saliva in her mouth and let it drip down onto his length, before dragging her tongue along the vein at the base of it, her lips wrapping around the tip as she made her way up and giving it a gentle, yet firm, suck.

Michael’s hips jolted, and a hand grasped onto her head. He didn’t push it down or pull her hair in any way, more so it seemed he needed something solid to hold onto as she pulled his length into her mouth, until it hit the back of her throat, making both of them choke.

“You don’t need to do that,” Michael started, ready to pull Y/N away if it became too much for her, but she stayed there, relaxing her muscles bit by bit, until he was so deep down her throat, her nose brushed against the hairs of his pelvis.

“Fucking. Hell.” Those were the only two words he managed to express before Y/N trailed her mouth up and started to really suck him off. After that, it was just grunts and groans, his hand tightening and then unclenching in her hair, but never pressing, never pushing her to take more than she wanted to. Michael was completely immersed with her pace, and ready to take whatever she gave him.

That sort of power could make anyone lightheaded, and when Y/N started to feel him twitch in her mouth, she pulled completely off.

Instantly, his eyes snapped open, head rising to look at how she climbed his body and settled her knees around his hips, pressing her core down against his length. She was just about ready to let it slide inside when Michael’s hands closed around her waist and stopped her.

“Condom,” he breathed out, chest rising and falling rapidly, probably the only word he could manage, which was great, because at least one of them still had some thinking skills left.

“Shit. Fuck. Right, yeah.”

Leaning over to her nightstand, Y/N half-fell over the bed to open the lowest drawer. In between her panties and vibrator, was a little foil packet which she fished out. She was glad of Michael’s unwavering hold, because the way she was precariously dangling over the edge, could end badly and with a stupidly gotten concussion.

When she was back to straddling him, opening the packet and rolling the condom on his length, their eyes met.

Michael rubbed his thumb in a circle on her hip. “We can always stop if you don’t want to go any further.”

“I’m not a quitter,” Y/N scoffed, yet it didn’t elicit the smile she was aiming for, as he rose into a sitting position, wrapping his arms around her, hers resting onto his shoulders.

“And this isn’t some race or competition. You can revoke consent anytime you want. And so can I.”

“I know that,” Y/N nodded, her gaze softening at his words. He could easily create a power imbalance between them. With double the decades of age and experience on her, Michael could be pushing at her limits, trying to twist things into teaching her how to properly please a guy and so on, yet throughout all of it, his focus had been zeroed in on her wants and needs. She shifted a bit in her lap at the thought that she hadn’t checked in with him. “Do you want to stop?”

“No.” His voice was soft but sure, and then, after a moment of him searching her eyes, the smile she’d hoped for, formed on his face. “But uh, and that is obviously if you are alright with it, I wouldn’t be opposed to adding your… friend… to our activities sometime later.”

“My friend?” Y/N tilted her head in confusion. “Oh…” A furious heat exploded through her body, and not because of the fact Michael’s cock was slowly rubbing against her clit, the head nudging just right for pleasure to zing through her.

He’d obviously noticed her vibrator, though the bright purple shade would be hard to miss. “You’re not turned off by it?”

“Why would I be? You’re a woman who has needs. And if that’s how you take care of them, it’s completely fine. I mean, as long as you’re being hygienic and safe about it. Besides,” Michael breathed against her neck, as his hand slid between their bodies and he grasped himself, lining the tip up with Y/N’s entrance. “Real men see them as tools to use to their advantage, not competition. And well, not to stroke my own ego,” he smirked, “but I don’t think I have any competition here.”

Y/N wanted to call him out for that statement, but he wasn’t lying. Not with the way his length stretched her out as he pushed inside. The fingering beforehand was incomparable to the feel of Michael sliding inside at a slow and agonizing pace, but one she desperately needed and welcomed.

He was thick and veiny, all ridges and girth, and so, so perfect for her.

It took a minute for him to be fully sheathed, and a minute more for Y/N to adjust, her forehead pressed against his, while he rubbed his hands up and down her back while she settled.

This wasn’t fucking. This was sex. This was intimate, and it was something she hadn’t known she’d wanted from a partner. Usually, it was fast and hard, leaving both her and the guy she was with, panting against the sheets. Satisfied in the sense that both (hopefully) had had orgasms, but something was always missing. Now, Y/N knew it was this – time.

Time spent exploring one another, time spent learning and teaching, and time spent simply enjoying each other’s bodies.

“You good?” Michael muttered, shifting ever so slightly and making the tip catch a spot inside of her, Y/N had only reached with her purple “friend”.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “You?”

“Yeah.” Michael kissed her. Whether as an affirmation of his words or simply because he could, she didn’t know. But neither did she care. He was the best kisser she’d had the opportunity to enjoy, so she’d take it.

While they kissed, Michael started moving. At first, it was slow rolls of hips, figuring out what movements made both of their breaths hitch and hearts pound, but it wasn’t long before Michael was on his back, knees bent as Y/N bounced up and down, his thumb pressed against her clit the whole time.

Her second orgasm of the night was a more controlled approach. She could feel the coil tightening in her abdomen, and when Michael started lifting his hips up to meet hers, Y/N listed forward, balancing herself against his chest.

“You gonna come?” he breathed against her ear as she pressed her chest against his, Michael’s hands wrapping along the small of her back and holding onto it, so he could fuck up into her pussy. “I can feel you clenching around me. Fuck, you feel good.”

“Michael,” Y/N moaned his name. Not Dr. Robby or Robby how he’d explained the people in his life called him, but the name he’d asked her to call him. His real name.

One snap, two, three. That was all it took for heat to explode. The only grounding thing in the world was his scent – some form of cheap cologne, antiseptic and sweat, but she knew she still had a long way before she came down, with how he was drilling up inside of her, chasing his own release.

It elicited another, albeit smaller orgasm, but the most pleasure she got was when she realized he’d come with her as his palms grabbed onto her ass and pulled her sharply down, her name a sweet grunt on his lips against her ear.

Yeah. Y/N needed to go out with more doctors. At least they knew where to find the clit and not neglect it once they had.

He brought a hand up to her face and pulled her by the cheek to meet his mouth, a satisfied sigh leaving her as he did so.

“That was the best one yet,” Y/N mumbled against his lips.

“And the night’s still young.”

They went three more rounds after that (because she only had three more condoms, and she’d rather use them on one man who knew how to make her come three more times, than three men, who would have trouble getting one out of her).

Michael was also a man of his word, as he had her vibrator join in on the fun. Y/N had her ass up in the air while he railed her from behind, an arm wrapped around her middle, pressing the toy to her clit, the vibrations sending pleasure unlike any other through her.

His front was flush to her back, beard having left delicious burns down her spine, as he’d kissed her there, before eating her out once more in between the rounds and pushing his again-hard cock inside.

That was the final orgasm she could manage, and it seemed Michael knew it. It was the kind that not only made her legs, but her whole body shake, leaving Y/N a trembling mess against the sheets, while he soothed her through the aftershocks.

“You with me, sweetheart?” he mumbled against her temple as he gathered her in his arms and laid them side by side.

“Jus’ give me a momen’,” Y/N slurred while Michael brushed a finger from her cheek to her jaw and back. “I think I’m a medical fucking miracle with how you just fucked my brains out, and yet, I can still function. Barely though.”

Michael’s chuckle reverberated through her body, as after she’d recovered slightly, he gathered her up and moved them to where she instructed the bathroom was, to make sure she peed and didn’t get a UTI. If these had been normal circumstances, she would have never let a guy see her peeing, but quite honestly, Y/N wasn’t sure she’d be able to get back from the toilet seat on her own.

“You’re more than welcome to have a shower if you want. Of course, only if you’re down with smelling like peaches or passion fruit.” Y/N nudged her chin towards the shower gels lining the floor, one hers, the other Sara’s.

“I wouldn’t be opposed to, but only if you join me.”

She hissed, biting her lip. “I don’t have any condoms left. Besides, from what I’ve heard and read, shower sex can be quite precarious. I’m surprised that you as a trauma doctor would risk such a thing.”

“I’m not asking to have sex,” Michale laughed and helped her stand on her still wobbly legs after she flushed. “I’m asking for you to shower with me. Nothing more, nothing less.”

And that’s what they actually did. They simply had a shower. Michael washed her back and she washed his, along with his hair. When she did so, the blissful look on his face, the way he allowed himself to melt against her touch, sent a new kind of thrill through her. But it also made her wonder – when was the last time he allowed someone to take care of him?

By the time they got out from under the water, it was close to four in the morning, so they dried themselves down and went to bed. Y/N’s down duvet was a warm and fluffy cloud around them. Sure, she could have asked him to leave, but why would she, when he seemed so content to be there? Whether anything came from it once they awoke, didn’t matter. If he didn’t want to leave at that moment, Y/N would be the last person to push him to.

She drifted off almost instantly, warm and safe in Michael’s hold, but when the real morning came and she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, body sore and satiated, she was met with a cold spot next to her.

There was no fucking sign on Michael, and judging by how she’d been tucked in, he’d left a while back.

Her dress and underwear had been neatly laid out on the chair in her room, heels tucked beneath it. As she ventured into the apartment, there were absolutely no signs of him, except for a cup of tea on the kitchenette. She knew it’d been made for her – it was filled to the brim, but much like the sheets, it was also already cold.

Sourness settled in her mouth as she poured the liquid down the drain. Not even a single fucking note. It was like they’d never even met.

Y/N hadn’t expected him to leave his phone number, God forbid, his address, what with how he’d laughed when she’d told him she was twenty-six, and he’d responded that he could be her father with that age gap. She knew she was some kind of spur-of-the-moment mistake he’d made. A weakness in his judgement, but fucking hell, she at least deserved an “it was great meeting you, wish you all the best,” note. Especially because he knew the only reason she’d gone to the bar was because she’d been ghosted by a date.

And now – now Michael was also a ghost, an unscratchable, unreachable itch under her skin she couldn’t get to.

That was the real reason Y/N’d felt so bitter for the past two weeks. If he’d been a bad lay, or maybe she’d been the bad party, she would understand the one-and-done-dump, but something about falling asleep while being wrapped up in one another, and then just leaving without so much as a goodbye, was crueler than if he’d left while she was still coming down from her release.

Now though, as she watched him while they waited at the nurse’s station, she noted how his fingers twitched by his side. She wondered whether he wanted to touch her as badly as she wanted to touch him, but then horrible reality kicked in – there wouldn’t be any sort of touching for a while.

She was stuck with her leg in a cast, and a scheduled check-up with Dr. Langdon in a week to take it off and remove the stitches, before it would get swaddled again for a month or more.

Y/N cursed the day she’d met Dr. Michael Robinavitch, for he’d released a monster of carnal urges, she didn’t even really know resided in her. And he was the only one who knew how to properly tame it because even in his scrubs and hoodie, surrounded by the smell of antiseptic and all sorts of bodily fluids she didn’t want to think about, all she wanted to do was grab him by the neck and get him to some supply closet to have her way with him like they were actually in Grey’s Anatomy.

“Michael, I,” Y/N started but got cut off by Sara waltzing into the emergency department.

“How’s my pirate doing?” She threw her arms around her shoulders and squeezed. “They assign you a parrot yet?”

“I don’t have a fucking peg-leg.” Y/N rolled her eyes as she signed a final form. With that, Sara took the wheelchair handles, gave Dana a salute and wheeled her out of the hospital, making Y/N crane her neck back and shout a final thank you to the nurse.

She was just about to ask Sara to slow down as she needed to talk to Michael, when she felt his presence moving with them, silent, steady and strong, his hands taking hold of the crutches as the automatic doors opened.

He followed them out and once they got to Sara’s car, helped Y/N settle in the front seat.

“You good?” He tucked a strand behind her ear.

“Yeah.” She gave him a genuine smile, and her heart pounded in her chest as his eyes trailed to trace her lips. “I am. Thank you. For taking care of me in there.”

“Honestly, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but the only time I’d like to see you back here is for your check-ups.”

Y/N nodded, suppressing a smile. “Duly noted. No shower karaoke for me.”

“I’m serious. You have an appointment with Frank in a week, but other than that, please take care of yourself, alright?”

“You don’t have to worry about that.” She nudged her head towards Sara who was wrangling the crutches inside the boot of the car. “Mother hen is on the job.”

“Good.” Michael nodded and before Y/N could properly prepare herself, he’d leaned down, cupping her jaw in his hands and kissed her.

Her brain short-circuited at that, but when his tongue probed against the seal of her lips, she had to start wondering if she’d actually died when she’d hit her head in the shower. It didn’t take more than that though for her to open up, for her arms to brush against his scrubs and weave into the salt-and-pepper hair.

By the time Michael pulled back, both their lips were kiss-swollen.

“Let me take you out on a date.”

Y/N let out a breathless laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “What happened to the doctor-patient thing?”

Michael only smirked. “You’ve been discharged. You’re no longer a patient of mine.”

“Okay, but even so – what would we do? My leg’s in a cast, and I can barely hobble around with the crutches.”

“I can carry you. I don’t mind.”

“And throw out your back, old man?”

“Hey, I’m not that old!” Michael protested, and when he noted the smile on her mouth, he pressed his against it once more.

“How about this,” Y/N proposed, “when you’re done with your shift, you could come over to my place, and -,”

“Our place,” Sara butted in, sliding into the driver’s seat. “So, whatever you have in mind – no hanky-panky with me next door.”

If Y/N rolled her eyes any harder they would get stuck in the back of her head, but she returned her attention to the awaiting attendant. “And we order some take-out. We watch a movie and then just… go to sleep?”

“It might be very late by the time I’m off.”

When she raised her hand and cupped his rugged cheek, it took him no time at all to lean into her touch. “I can wait.” She pecked his lips. “I’m in no rush.” She could only hope he understood the double meaning behind what she meant with it.

Later that night as Y/N sat by the TV, the glow of the screen illuminating her face, she fell asleep with her head against Michael’s chest.

And when she awoke, her sheets were warm with the remnants of his body, even if he wasn't there anymore.

She was alone, yes, but atop the pillow rested a note:

Shift started at 8. Sorry, I can’t be there to wake up with you. I’ll be home by 9.

It was almost impossible to wipe the smile off her face for the rest of the day.

Even as the itching under the cast started.

-----

Tags: are open :) if you wish to be tagged in further fics, please drop a comment under the fic or message me or leave me an ask :)

A/N: I have arisen

if you wish to know how this man makes me feel, please listen to Slutty by The Scarlet Opera.

I am FERAL.

P.S. I hope you enjoyed it :) feedback/constructive criticism is always appreciated :)

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halfpsychic · 5 days ago

Text

my mind immediately went to dr robby stuck in an elevator smut

#i have too many wips right now #but this is Very appealing to me #dr robby x reader

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thebestandworstdayofjune · 19 hours ago

Text

sweet nothings

summary: you own a bakery down the street from PTMH, and Dr. Robby is one of your favorite customers. The night of The Pitt Fest shooting, you stress bake and deliver the results to the park near the hospital when you have a gut feeling everyone could use something to lift their spirits wc: 1.8 k+ a/n: this is my first time writing for The Pitt but I really enjoyed it, looking forward to more!! Please feel free to send any requests my way! Yes I stole the title from the Taylor Swift song, some things never change. warnings: two idiots who haven't gotten their shit together and admitted their feelings, general fluff

You’d been elbow deep in flour and cocoa powder the moment that you saw the first message concerning the shooting at Pitt Fest. You whisked and folded, hoping that the familiar movements would quiet the nausea churning in your stomach. You knew that it was going to be a long night for your chosen family, which meant that it was going to be a long night for you. Three batches of brownies, a few dozen cookies and a special batch of gluten free hand pies for Princess later, and you could catch your breath. By the time that you had them all packed up and loaded into your travel tote, the tightness in your stomach had subsided.

It was a cool night, a gentle breeze blowing the loose strands of hair around your face and tickling your cheek as you walked the familiar path to the park in front of the hospital. You’d forgone packing things into your car, unsure if the traffic would still be busy near the hospital. You hadn’t texted ahead, deviating from your typical routine. You knew that they were likely too busy to check their phones, if service was even working again after the barrage of worried calls and texts had tanked it earlier in the evening.

The benches were empty, but it hardly phased you, you’d beaten them there plenty of times. And worse case scenario, most of the security knew you well enough to let you sneak into the Pitt through the back and dump your offerings in the break room before trucking home. You unpacked your bag, setting out the tupperware along with some small plates and napkins. You’d left drinks behind, knowing that someone was likely already making a run for a pack of beers. You tucked the strands of hair behind your ear, settling in for a bit.

It didn’t take long, fifteen minutes or so before Donnie and Princess arrived, rolling the cooler behind them. They waved in greeting, planting themselves on the bench across from you and digging out two beers. You smiled softly, before grabbing a brownie and one of the pies and walking them over.

“You sure you’re not an angel?” Donnie asked, grinning.

“Laying it on thick today?” you laughed.

“It’s the only way I know how,” he hit you with a charming smile that lacked any real commitment. You held back your instinct to ask after his wellbeing, knowing full well that he is not doing well after the day you imagined he had.

You and Princess gossiped about the latest episode of the reality show you were both shamelessly addicted to, and you did your best not to dodge their compliments on the baked goods, knowing they would report back to Michael. Or rather, Dr. Robby.

You’d met him only once before getting properly acquainted after an accident at the bakery had required you to hurry to the nearest hospital. But, he’d given you his first name when placing the order for his latte, so Michael he remained.

You did you best not to ask about the shift knowing that it had to have been a nightmare. Instead, you contented yourself to sitting and listening to them chatter, the time passing surprisingly quickly.

Just as you were starting to feel silly, playing with the edge of the wax paper lining the tupperware with the brownies and chastising yourself for getting your hopes up, a set of footsteps broke through the mess of worry in your brain. Michael had clearly had a hard shift, his shoulders dropping, head hung low and his eyes were dark. You’d been right to come. Jack seemed to be in somewhat better spirits beside him, but he was battle weary even to your untrained eyes.

Michael’s eyes bet yours, his eyebrows creeping up towards his hairline, head tilting in question. “I saw…” you hesitated, unsure of how much to say. “What happened today. Figured you could use a pick me up.” You’d already added a few of the brown butter chocolate chip cookies to a plate, handing them to Michael wordlessly. He took a seat on your side unlittered with tupperware, and you did your best to control your rapidly beating heart. “Jack?” you questioned, motioning to the assorted baked goods on your left.

“Well if you insist,” he laughed, working his pant leg up to free himself of his prosthetic. “Can’t turn you down.” You smiled, adding a bit of everything to a little plate and walking it over to him.

You sat back down next to Michael, insisting to yourself that the heat radiating off his arm stretched across the back of the bench was in no way related to the flip in your stomach. The others chatted amongst themselves, making light of the day. You chanced a glance his way, holding in a giggle when you noticed the couple of crumbs clinging to the side of his mouth. Your fingers twitched to brush them away, but he managed to beat you to it. “Tough day?” he asked, surveying the plethora of baked goods taking up the rest of the bench.

“Just worried.” you shrug, not meeting his eyes. “Hate feeling like I can’t do anything worthwhile to help.” The ‘not like you can’ was unspoken.

Michael cast his glance across the clearing, where his coworkers were smiling and making a considerable dent in your sweets. He didn’t argue with you, knowing that it wouldn’t make a difference, especially on a day like today. “You had one of these yet?” he asked, holding up one of the cookies. You shook your head. “You should, they’re working miracles.”

You blinked at him, your heart picking up speed. You searched his eyes, trying to figure out if he did that on purpose, when a few more people joined your circle. “Samira!” you jumped up, reaching for her. She gripped you tight, sinking against you for the duration of the hug. Samira stopped by the bakery frequently on her way to work, taking advantage of the early hours you kept with the morning shift at the hospital in mind. “If I’d known you were going to be here, I would have made a couple batches of those muffins you like.”

She laughed, head tilted back and eyes light in a way you wouldn’t have imagined was possible after the shift she just finished. “You didn’t have to bring anything, I’m glad you’re here.” she paused for a moment, her gaze shifting behind you for a moment. You craned your neck to find Michael watching the two of your carefully, something different in his expression. “This is Victoria, today was her first day,” Samira gestured behind her to the girl who was standing with her hands clasped in front of her, looking shy.

“Oh! It’s so nice to meet you!” You gave her a warm smile, squeezing her arm gently before turning and placing a few things on a plate for her and another for Matteo. “Here, to soothe your soul.” She took the plate gratefully, Matteo as well.

“Thank you that’s really-” she was cut off by loud, full laughter from behind. Your head whipped around, finding Michael with tears in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said through his laughter. “I just realized this was your first day.” Everyone quickly burst into various degrees of laughter. Victoria met your eyes, assessing your reaction. You did your best to shrug in a way that said ‘I’m used to this by now’ and you realized that was the truth. You had known Michael for a little over a year, and had slowly integrated into the culture of the ED. You weren’t one of them, but you belonged. These were your people.

“That’s trial by fire, baby” Jack said, raising his can in Victoria’s direction.

“I can almost guarantee the next one will be easier.” Michael said, and you were reminded that he was not just a kind man who stopped in on his way to work most days. He was a mentor, a teacher and someone that changed lives.

“I really fucking hope so.” Victoria looked weary, but not defeated. You felt she would be back.

Donnie was saying something to her, but you didn’t hear. “It’s late.” Michael said, leaning close enough for his shoulder to bump yours. You nod, leaning in as well. “You ready to go?” you nodded again, fighting back a yawn that was bubbling to the surface. He nodded, shouldering his backpack and standing up.

“Last call!” You announced, grabbing a couple of containers and offering second helpings around. A smile took over when everyone accepted the extras. You deposited the container of pies in Princess’s lap, laughing when she promised she would get the container back to you. “You don’t have to lie to me of all people, you know.”

“I don’t even know why I try.” she laughed, squeezing your hand.

“It’s nice that you do,” you insisted. You packed as many empty containers as you could into your tote, and Michael grabbed the few remaining. You gave everyone a gentle wave before turning on your heel and starting towards the bakery. You could hear Michael saying his goodbyes but you continued on, confident that he would fall into step beside you.

After a few moment, you felt him reach for the tote bag you had slung over your shoulder. “Keep dreaming, Robinavitch. I don’t let you carry my stuff on a good day.”

“Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

“You underestimate me,” you say, assessing him now that you’re alone. He is still clearly exhausted, weighed down by the reality of his day. But he looks okay. Definitely better than when he’d trudged into the park across from the hospital.

“Never.” and you knew he was right. You looped your arm through his, pulling him tight against your side. The two of you made your way back to the bakery in relative silence, taking comfort in the fact that the other is okay. He waited for you to unlock to door before pulling it open for you. You slipped inside, Michael following you to the kitchen. You moved in sync, putting things into the dishwasher, the few bits of leftover brownies into one of the fridges.

Once things were put away, you leaned against the counter, giving him a once over. “You’re not subtle.” he mutters.

You laugh, folding in half with the force. “I don’t know what you mean.” But you do know what he means. You were worried, you showed up with baked goods to mask the fact you were checking on him. it wasn't the first time and it won't be the last.

“I’m okay. Today was rough, but I’m…” he paused, taking a shaky breath. “I’m better now. Jack helped, you helped.”

You took a step towards him, hesitating, waiting for him to turn away or cross his arms or any other sign that he doesn’t want this, doesn’t want you. It doesn’t come. Another step, another pause. And then you can’t take it anymore and you are pressed against him, his hands tight around your back.

Your breaths even out, sync up and the rest of the day feels distant. You’re safe, he’s safe and the rest can wait until tomorrow.

#The Pitt x reader #The Pitt hbo #The Pitt max #The Pitt fanfiction #dr robby x reader #dr robby fanfiction #dr robby imagine #Michael robinavitch x reader #Michael robinavitch imagine #Michael robinavitch fanfiction #Michael robinavitch x you #The Pitt x you #dr robby robinavitch #dr robby Robinavitch fluff #dr robby fluff #Michael robinavitch fluff #The Pitt fluff #The Pitt angst #the pitt

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abbotjack · 3 days ago

Note

between abbot and robby, who's a boobs man and who's an ass man? 👁️👁️

SO GLAD YOU ASKED! 18+ ONLY. Do not interact if you’re a minor. not beta read. we die like men.

warnings/content: NSFW / explicit content, smut-heavy character headcanons, soft dom!Robby, possessive/control dom!Jack, breast/nipple worship, ass-focused positions and dominance, reverse cowgirl, explicit language, overstimulation, very obsessed men. One wrecks you from behind while gripping your hips like he can’t let go. The other worships your chest like he’s never seen anything more important. Choose your fighter—or don’t.

Robby :

Robby is a boobs man.

You don’t need him to say it. You feel it. Every time his hands settle just a little higher than they need to. Every time you catch his gaze flick down when you're changing in front of him, like he’s trying to memorize the way your shirt clings before it slips off.

He always starts there. Even when you kiss—messy, open-mouthed, frantic—his hands slide up beneath your top, fingertips brushing warm skin, until they’re cupping you like instinct.

He palms you slow. Presses his thumbs over your nipples like he’s checking your pulse.

And when you gasp?

That’s when it happens.

He gets still. Focused. Lips parted, breath already coming heavier as he does it again, watching the way your body reacts to just that.

“God,” he whispers, voice thick, “you’re so sensitive here.”

He says it like a confession. Like he’s been thinking about this—you—for weeks.

He drags your shirt off, slow and careful, not like he’s rushing to get you naked, but like he wants to see every inch of you revealed. The second you’re bare, his hands are on you again—warmer, firmer, heavier—and his mouth follows before you can even breathe.

His lips wrap around your nipple, tongue teasing soft at first, then deeper, wetter, until your hands are in his hair and your back’s arching off the bed. He groans against your chest when you whimper. He lives for the sound of it.

You can feel him grinding against your thigh, hard and leaking through his boxers, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t fuck you yet.

Because this? This is what gets him off.

The way you squirm beneath him. The way your nipples stiffen in his mouth. The way your thighs press together, slick and aching, while he does nothing but kiss and suck and worship you with his mouth.

And he takes his time.

Switches sides. Leaves one nipple wet and flushed and still throbbing while he moves to the other, his hand kneading slow in time with his tongue.

You’re soaked before he ever touches you between your legs.

But he knows that. He likes that.

And when when he finally slips his fingers inside you—he doesn’t speed up. He just fucks you slow with his hand while his mouth stays on your chest, watching you unravel from the top down.

You come once just like that—legs shaking, fingers clawing at his shoulders—and he groans when you do, grinding into the mattress like he feels it, like your orgasm hit him just as hard.

And even then, when he finally pushes inside you, slow and deep and perfect—he still brings one hand back up. Presses it flat over your chest like he’s grounding himself. Like that part of you is his.

You whimper his name, and he just moans right into your skin.

“You feel so good like this,” he says, voice broken. “God, baby… I’m not gonna last.”

You clench around him. He gasps. And when you come again—tight and messy and desperate—he follows with a groan so raw it makes your whole body shake.

He collapses on top of you, still deep inside, still panting against your chest, one hand tangled in your hair, the other resting between your breasts like it belongs there.

Because to him?

It does.

Jack :

Jack is an ass man.

You figure it out in pieces.

Every time he pulls you in for a hug, his hands settle low. Too low to be casual. Not obscene—never that—but deliberate. Centered. Cupping you like it's habit. Like he always means to.

He doesn’t leer. He doesn’t ogle.

But his palms always find their way there. When he’s walking behind you. When you’re standing too close at the nurses’ station. When you shift in your seat and his gaze flicks downward just for a second, like your body gave something away you didn’t mean to show.

It builds in quiet moments.

Until one night, he doesn’t stop at just looking.

You're already half-undressed when he sits back on the edge of the bed, legs open, cock hard and waiting, fingers curled loosely around the base like he’s been waiting all damn day for this.

“Turn around,” he says. Low. Calm. Absolute.

You do.

You climb into his lap facing the wall, knees bracketing his thighs, back arched—already soaked, already throbbing before you even sink down.

And when you do?

He groans.

Not loud. Not uncontrolled. Just a quiet, fuck dragged through his teeth like your body knocked the breath out of him.

His hands slide to your hips, then lower. Gripping your ass like he’s molding it, memorizing it, like this—this—is what he’s been thinking about every time he kept his mouth shut at work, every time he let you walk away without touching you.

“You feel that?” he mutters, thrusting up once, deep and slow. “That’s what you do to me.”

He sets the rhythm. You don’t ride him—he moves you. Guides your hips with firm, unrelenting pressure, pulling you back again and again, until the sound of your bodies meeting is thick and wet and loud enough to drown out your breathing.

You try to hold the pace. Try to keep some control. But he’s not giving you the chance.

He shifts his grip, palms spreading your ass wide, and watches himself slide into you again and again. Slow at first. Then faster. Until your thighs are shaking and your moans are spilling out too freely.

“You look so good like this,” he says, voice rasped, jaw clenched. “All open for me.”

He fucks up into you, hard, precise—like he knows how to break you. Like he’s done it before. And when your body tightens, spasms, already close—he knows that too.

“Don’t stop,” he growls. “You come on me just like that.”

You do.

You come hard, head back, body writhing in his lap—and he doesn’t stop moving. Doesn’t let up. Just keeps fucking into you, brutal and steady, until he follows with a low, guttural sound and comes so deep you feel it in your stomach.

Even then—his hands stay exactly where they started.

Gripping your ass like he owns it.

Like he’s not finished.

Because Jack is an ass man.

And once he finally gets his hands on you?

He keeps them there.

#request #notsafefotlove #the pitt #jack abbot #dr robby #dr abbot #jack abbot x reader #the pitt fanfiction #the pitt x reader #michael robinavitch #dr robby x reader #dr abbot x reader #michael robinavitch x reader #smut #noah wyle #shawn hatosy

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ebodebo · 3 days ago

Text

oh, you know, just dr. robby being very professional during a checkup….MDNI

“You do this with all your patients?” Your voice is strained, sounding dry as you slide your skirt off and drop it to the floor in a frenzy.

“Just the really, really good ones,” Dr. Robby says, hands skimming the inside of your thigh, sending goosebumps across your skin.

“Am I good then?” You chew on your bottom lip, fingers playing with the waistband of your panties.

His hand hovers over your clothed cunt. “Yeah…such a good girl you are,” he praises, fingers pulling your panties down with one tug.

“I’m gonna test the nerve endings on top of your legs first, okay?” His eyes look to you, fingers hovering over your skin.

You give him an eager nod, but that doesn’t satisfy him.

“Let me hear you,” he gruffs.

Your lips part slightly. “Okay.”

“That’s it, pretty girl,” he murmurs. “Fingers are gonna be a little cold,” his fingers run up your thigh, making you release a shallow moan.

He hums in approval. “Still so sensitive,” he remarks, his tone is like warm honey.

Your breathing labors as his fingertips skim across the warm skin of your thigh, inching closer and closer to where you ache.

“Gonna have to test the nerves inside,” his voice is low, seductive. “That okay with you?”

“Yeah,” you should be embarrassed by how quickly you answered, but you aren't, not even in the slightest.

He smiles at your eagerness. “Just gonna move up the femoral region, nice and slow,” his fingers drag up your thigh with purpose.

That tease.

His fingers smooth over your slit, your arousal coating his fingers. “No need for the jelly, huh? Already soaked,” he teases, slightly breathless.

You release a shaky moan at his touch. “Dr. Robby…could you, can you—” You want him to plunge his fingers in, get you off nice and easy.

But, he won’t.

At least not yet, anyway.

“Moving into the vaginal canal,” his fingers push into you, but it’s a tight squeeze. “Open up for me, hon,” he gently pats your thigh with his other hand already squeezing your thigh.

You shut your eyes tight, trying to relax your body. He gently brushes against your thigh to help you unwind.

“That’s it,” he says, fingers moving deeper inside you. “Let me feel you, baby,” his fingers gingerly slip inside you.

You shift on the examination table.

You feel so full.

So tight.

“Gonna move my fingers around your clitoris, yeah? Might feel a sensation in your lower stomach,” you can see the God-damn smirk playing on his lips, but before you can react, his fingers are dragging across your clit.

You hunch forward, a moan slipping off your tongue.

“That can happen too,” his lip quips, fingers moving skillfully, in and out of your cunt with ease.

“Robby, there’s no—no need—for the, the formalities,” you sputter in between a moan as his fingers pump in you faster.

“I’m always professional,” he enunciates with seriousness, though a sly smirk spreads across his lips. “Is this not professional?” Your eyes drift to his, focused on his fingers moving against your aching clit.

You can’t even speak.

The words on your tongue dissipate before they can even come to fruition.

Instead you answer in a pathetic whimper.

“Taking that as a yes,” he tilts his head, a humorous smile growing as he feels you tighten around his fingers. “Can feel you tightening. Let go, baby,” he directs, hand around your thigh tightening.

With one more pump of his fingers, you’re arching your back off the table, face scrunched as you come on his fingers with a loud moan.

“Did so good,” he breathes out, slipping your panties on with one hand.

“That felt even better than last time,” you cringe as the fabric from your underwear rubs such a sensitive area. “Have you been practicing for me?”

He lets out a deep chuckle. “Everything looks good,” he doesn’t answer your question, but the tips of his ears go red; you made him nervous.

The sentiment brings a smile to your face.

“Yet again,” he finishes.

He grabs your hand helping you off the table. “Thanks, Dr. Robby,” you smile, skin warming. “For the…checkup.”

“Anytime, sweetheart,” he smiles, snapping his gloves off and tossing them in a nearby trashcan.

“You know, I was thinking,” you fidget with your purse strap slung over your shoulder, chewing on your lip. “Next checkup, you should bring your friend,” you look up at him, a glint in your eye. “You know, for more thoroughness.”

He crosses his arms over his chest. “What friend?” He raises a brow, intrigued.

“Dr. Abbott,” you voice, with a cheeky smile. “Heard he was good with his hands.”

author’s note: the rumors are true, i am a whore for this man!

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write-and-buried · 2 days ago

Text

And you can hold me

Authors Note; HOW DID NOBODY HUG THIS MAN. I had to come out of semi retirement to give this man the hug he so desperately needs

Content warnings; none - just sad boy being sad

Note; this blog is intended for adult audiences regardless of content, by proceeding you agree that you are over the age of 18, have read any relevant content warnings, and wish to proceed.

It wouldn’t run without the donations. One of the bands from PittFest had set it up, funded enough for three years without blinking an eye. A 24hr coffee cart in the emergency department. Not in the waiting room, tucked in a little alcove off the staff entrance. Protein bars, coffee, tea, fresh fruit, all arriving daily, and a staffing roster of four shifts of 6 hours each, ensuring a never-ending supply of caffeine and sustenance for busy doctors, stressed patients and parents, and the occasional late night maintenance worker.

Given the location, you lucked out on the shift you did. Six to midnight, midweek. You missed the start of the night shift by an hour, relieving your coworker who had somehow managed to get milk in her shoes barely giving you a handover before leaving as if she was being chased. The start and end of the shifts were the worst. Sleep deprived, run down doctors, nurses, custodians, all weary and thankful for your existence. You were lucky enough to have a steady trickle of customers across the evening with enough time to sketch in between if you were lucky.

They were a quiet customer based too – all too lost in their own thoughts or already on their phones requesting lab results. In the few months you’d worked here, you’d only learned a few names. Dana, the charge nurse who got a chamomile on her way out the door with the kind smile and impenetrable attitude. Whittaker, whose diet seemed to consist mostly of energy drinks of varying flavours, who reluctantly bought a banana or apple once a week when another doctor ordered him to, shy and sweet. Dr Abbott, who forces you to call him Jack and lets you experiment with weird espresso combinations and has genuinely good feedback on the flavours.

The rest passed you like ships in an inky sea, never rude or demanding, but too consumed with things far more important than sketching barista who isn’t tall enough to see over the cart.

It’s a little under halfway through your shift. Everything is stocked, all the equipment is clean, everything in its proper place you take the time to work on the jellyfish sketch that has been consuming you for the past few days. Something about the floating ribbons of tentacles has sunk its teeth into your subconscious, demanding to spill across a page. You’ve just finished enough to stretch your neck out, stand from the crappy wheelie chair tucked into the little nook behind the cart. That’s when you see him.

He’s tall, clad in a hoodie over scrubs, glasses sticking out of the pocket. You immediately categorise him in shapes. The rounded slump of his shoulders, the blunt square of the fists he’s clenching at his sides, the oval rise and fall of his strong chest as he forces breaths in and out. He looks so sad. So tired and worn down, the words claw out of your throat before you can stop them.

“Rough day?”

He starts, just a little, his hand coming to scrub down his jaw to hide the brief shock as a laugh follows.

“Yeah, yeah… aren’t they all” His voice is weary, tired. You glance briefly at your watch 9:30pm. If he’s a day shift worker he’s currently sitting on hour 14, most likely without a proper break or meal.

“Coffee? Fruit? I think there’s a blueberry muffin hiding somewhere back here”.

“No” he drags a deep breath through his nose as if even the act of speaking is costing him precious energy “Thank you, though”.

“You’re welcome”

His head tilts curiously as he looks at you. Giving you a tight-lipped smile before he leaves out the staff exit, muffled music following him as the door swings closed.

He keeps looking for you. It’s not on purpose, not a conscious decision. But every time he leaves now, he flicks his eyes to the coffee cart, looking for you. Sometimes you’re standing on tiptoe to hand a customer a coffee, sometimes you’re tucked into the corner with your sketchbook, just your shoes visible, the worn graffitied pair you seem to wear every day. He knows Dana orders tea from you sometimes on her way out after a particularly energising shift to help wind down, he’s seen the disposable cups from other coworkers. There’s just not a good reason to bring you up in conversation, no good reason to ask a single question about you that won’t have half the ER gossiping about how he had interests other than work.

The months since PittFest have been long. Gloria crawling all over her star emergency department, Langdon returning from inpatient, McKays schedule changing with an ongoing custody battle, the slow repair of a friendship with Collins. He didn’t need anything else to occupy his mind except the Pitt, and yet you were there. A sliver of his shift spent thinking about you, about the sweetness in your voice as you jumped to offer him a kindness after a day that seemed to have none.

It was another mean shift. Sometimes the days felt cruel – as if luck had taken PTO and left the universe short staffed. Car accidents, children hurt worse than childhood ever should, a pair of scrubs swapped in a vending machine after a surprise arterial bleed when the patient lifted their hand.

It was a day when he didn’t feel like anything he did was enough, the memories of all of it, Adamsons hand growing cold, the tile under his ass as tears cooled on his cheeks, the sharp points of the star digging into his palm as he clung to nothing but a brief snapshot of childhood comfort.

“Another rough one?” Your voice breaks through it. Enough for him to start again, coming back to himself as he whips to look at you. You’re wringing a cloth, your cheeks slightly pink.

“They all are” he replied, a grief laden chuckle forcing the words out, just enough to convince a stranger that he’s fine really. That a beer and a baseball game and thick sleep on his couch in his empty apartment is going to be enough to heal him, to keep him coming back.

“Coffee?... Tea?” you ask, the cloth strangled between white knuckles.

“No muffin this time?” he asks, quirking a brow

“Sold out” You say, a shy smile blooming across your cheeks when you realise he remembers you. It’s cute. It’s too cute for him to notice, the sweet and cute combination of you already seeming precious to him. He tries to resist it, the pull towards that sweetness

“Want a hug?” the words pull him up short, his eyes snapping to yours as you cover your mouth in shock.

You watch his face change, a hint of amusement sparking across his features as you feel your cheeks heat. You don’t know what made you say it, except the thought had occurred to you more than once, that he looked like he could use one.

“I-I… oh my god” you stutter, squeezing your eyes shut, hoping to pull on some long dormant super power to rewind time by thirty seconds to keep the stupid words from coming from your mouth

“Yes” he says softly, so soft you almost don’t hear it.

Looking up you see his lips purse slightly, shrugging his shoulder, the backpack strap lifting a little higher as he does.

“I’d like a hug please” He says, louder now, slowly coming towards the cart, approaching you as if you were a skittish kitten.

You nod, swallowing hard as he comes around the side of the cart. He’s taller than you thought, towering over you as he slowly slides his backpack onto the ground, nestling it next to your canvas bag as he stands and waits.

“Um, okay… come, uh, come here” you nod, tucking yourself into the little alcove where you hide to draw sometimes, the crappy chair you rescued from the outside dumpster with your sketchbook laying open on the seat.

“Pretty” he comments, nodding towards the sketch, another seascape, corals and bright colours, with the whip of a tail pushing sea grass across the ocean floor.

“Thanks” you say, trying to tug bravery from the hidden spot behind your rib cage. Inhaling once you find it, slipping your arms around his waist, relishing in his height so that he cant see the cringe on your face, or the heat in your cheeks as you awkwardly link your arms around his back.

You smell like sugar and sweet fruit. Crystalised pineapple and something earthy and warm tickles his nostrils as shock settles into his bones that you actually did it. He was expecting you to laugh it off, roll your eyes, tease him a little. But instead you wrapped your arms around him and fit yourself against him with a shaky inhale and now he doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

Warmth is the first sensation that bleeds into him. Your forehead pressed into his sternum as you shift a little on your feet. It races through his bloodstream like sunlight through an open window before he realises he hasn’t moved since you touched him.

Slowly his arms come around your shoulders, easily folding you into his embrace. His eyes shut softly as some thread between you lets you rock a little back and forth, his hands splayed around your back. His next breath feels broken, a comfort his body has forgotten and suddenly aches for breaking his ribs as your thumb skates a tiny circle on his shoulder blade.

God, when was the last time he touched a body that wasn’t broken? That he wasn’t trying to put back together, that he wasn’t losing. He feels the muscles in his face relax as his eyes drift shut, his head tipping forward to catch more of the sweet scent of you, some burning sensation starting behind his eyes.

You feel it. The breath he takes, deep and soothing, moving you both with the force of it as the full weight of his arms around you becomes a little tighter. You try not to consider how well you fit directly into his embrace, how the tiniest twitch of your fingers seems to have lifted some weight off his shoulders, the relief in the exhale that curls around your hair. He smells like antiseptic, the sharp sting of hospital cleanser and a hint of old spice hiding somewhere underneath.

“Are your days always like this?” your voice is soft, muffled slightly by his shirt as your thumb keeps gently tracing the curve of his shoulder blade

“Hugging strangers? No… no this is new” He says and is rewarded with the tiniest shake of your shoulders, a tiny laugh.

“Rough… I mean” You say, and he can hear the smile in your voice.

“not all of them, but today was pretty bad”

“I’m sorry” you say instinctually “But… thank you”

“For what?” he replied

“Coming back. Can’t be easy, to have so many days like this and keep coming back for more. Must feel like there’s nobody else, that if you don’t do it, then nobody will, and then people will just… get hurt, and be alone and scared without anyone to help them.”

He tilts his head down, eyebrows scrunching in confusion as you angle your face upwards to meet his eyes. You don’t say anything, just offering him a mirrored version of the same tight lipped smile he’s given you for the last few weeks. His arms tighten around your shoulders, pulling you closer into his body as the heat builds behind his eyes.

The natural end comes when you hear the squeak of sneakers coming towards your card. He pulls away from you, sucking in cool air at the immediate loss of your warmth. The customer is quick, and he watches you rise onto your tiptoes to hand him the coffee and fruit he ordered.

The awkwardness settles over you both like a blanket when you’re left in one another’s company again.

“Go home” you say softly “Sleep in your bed, have sweet dreams”

“That’s the best advice I’ve been given in a while”

“Next one will cost ya” You say with an awkward giggle.

“Hug? Or advice?” He replies, picking up his backpack and turning to go

“Hugs are always free. But I’ve gotta charge you this first time”

“Sure, what’s the going rate?”

“a name?” you say quietly, looking away from him quickly.

“Michael Robinavitch” he says quickly, swinging his hand out to shake yours as you reply with your own “But everyone calls me Robby”

“Sweet dreams Robby”

It’s the first real smile he’s had all day as he nods, music filling his ears as he leaves into the sweet smelling night air.

Thanks for reading! This could easily turn into a series/obsession if there's any interest for it <3

#the pitt #the pitt fanfiction #dr robby #dr robby x you #dr robby x reader

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aquaholicsanonymousworld · 3 days ago

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Not sure if you’re taking requests but if so Can I request a Dr Robby x surgeon reader where they unwind together at the end of a long day

Off the Clock

Pairing: Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinivitch x Surgeon!Reader

The hospital hummed quietly in the background, fluorescent lights casting tired shadows along the hallway floors. The last trauma had finally been stabilized, charts signed off, and surgical gloves tossed in bins. It was nearly midnight when the elevator doors opened and you stepped into the call room floor, shoulders aching, scrubs wrinkled, hands smelling faintly of antiseptic and coffee.

You opened the door to your shared on-call room and there he was — already kicked back on the cot, coat slung over the chair, stethoscope hanging lazily around his neck.

Dr. Robby looked up from his phone the second you walked in, his tired eyes brightening just slightly. “Hey,” he said, voice gravel-worn and warm. “I was starting to think they’d stolen you for another surgery.”

You peeled off your surgical cap, exhaling as you dropped onto the edge of the bed. “Close. They tried. I threatened to bite someone.”

He laughed, shifting to sit up straighter, knees brushing yours. “God, I love when you’re feral.”

You leaned into his shoulder, sighing against the cotton of his underscrub. “Long day.”

“I know.” He reached for your hand without even thinking, rubbing slow circles into the back of it with his thumb. “You killed it today though. That thoracic bleed? You saved that guy’s life.”

You let your head rest against his shoulder, the adrenaline finally washing off, leaving only quiet exhaustion in its place. “Felt like I was moving underwater all day.”

“You were brilliant.” His lips brushed your hair — a kiss or a comfort, or both. “Even underwater.”

For a moment, you both just sat like that — shoes kicked off, tension slowly melting between soft touches and soft breath. Outside, the hospital kept ticking. Inside, it was just you and him. A world away from trauma bays and pager buzzes.

“I hate how good you are at this,” you murmured eventually, eyes fluttering closed.

“At what?”

“Making me feel human again.”

He smiled faintly. “You do that for me, too.”

You shifted to lie beside him on the cot, curling into the space where his arm opened instinctively for you. “Tell me something good.”

He thought for a beat, his voice low and fond: “Something good… we’re both off Friday. I was thinking—dinner, no pagers, no blood, maybe some terrible movie you’ll pretend to hate but secretly love.”

You smiled into his chest. “Sold.”

His hand slid into your hair, slow and soothing. “But tonight,” he added, barely above a whisper, “you’re staying right here. I’ve got you.”

And he did.

No scrubs. No titles. No pressure to save anyone but each other.

Just two people, off the clock, in love.

#the pitt #the pitt hbo #the pitt imagine #the pitt fanfic #the pitt headcannon #dr robby x reader #dr robby imagine #dr robby fanfic #dr robinavitch #dr robinavitch x reader #michael robinavitch #dr michael robinavitch #noah wyle

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nixandtonic · 2 days ago

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This fic is gonna break me in the best way!!!

Residuals

Ongoing Series

Synopsis: You and Robby spent seven long years together until the day it ended. You’ve done your best to create space; to become invisible. You can’t miss what you don’t see. Unfortunately, the universe (Gloria and the Board of Directors) seemed to have missed the memo.

Pairing: Michael ‘Robby’ Robinavitch x Reader

Genre: Established previous relationship, slight age gap (by about 15 years give or take), a little bit of tension mixed in with a little bit of hate yearning, cause she’s a saucy angsty fic ok

A/N: So, I kept telling myself I wasn’t going to do this, but honestly, I’m such a sl*t for Noah Wyle and older men. I also kept running into there being just hardly any fics in general for this amazing show and so…here I am. Attempting to create my version with an OC that does have a last name (it's for the doctor purposes but also I hate that whole y/n, y/l/n stuff, ok? It just throws my ass off and throws me out of a story) and follows along with the episodes of the show. Idk how this will go or be received but I’m here wrecking myself. Much Love

Shout out to @viridian-dagger for looking this over for me and hyping me up when I feel like my shit is trash. I Love you. Also, thanks to @strangergraphics for the cute little divider.

Word Count: 3259

Next I

7:00 AM

“No, absolutely not. Ask someone else.”

The break room was the perfect place for Gloria’s early morning ambush. You’d barely pushed in the numbers on the keypad, the door swinging open when your gaze homed in on her position leaning against the small kitchenette. The words blurted out from a place deeply seeded in not being ready for her or the administration's early morning bullshit. You hadn’t even got to enjoy your coffee yet.

You’d turned on your heel and raced back out the door in what could’ve been record time. Your hand tried to steady the sloshing of your coffee as you could feel Gloria hot on your heels.

“You don’t even know what I was going to ask, Dr. Fullerton.”

“You’re right - I don’t. However, seeing you this early, Gloria is not a good omen for starting my day.”

There was nowhere in the entire trauma center that you could go to get away from her and, knowing Gloria, she wasn’t going to make it easy for you. Realistically, you understood that Gloria was just another cog in the corporate machine. She rode your ass - and every other medical professional in the system from doctors during residency to technicians and CNAs - because it’s what the big bad CEOs demanded. The hospital functioned on efficiency facilitated by money and if too many bad Yelp reviews arrived it systematically hurt numbers. Bad numbers equaled a bad flow of funds.

Gloria no doubt listened to her bosses during an early morning meeting where they rattled off complaint after complaint that dealt with a showcase of data and numbers. Both, of which, the board constantly claimed, showed the true efficiency of the hospital - not the life-saving measures taken to keep people alive. No doubt its main focus rested on the emergency department downstairs, because, once again, Yelp reviews of massive wait times and poor satisfaction scores outweighed the expertise of attending doctors.

You didn’t envy Gloria’s position of being hated for being said cog in the corporate machine. Her job focused on relaying the demands from the top. Gloria was forever the bad guy to staff whenever they noticed her no-nonsense demeanor coming towards them. It was hard to be sympathetic to her plight when she followed you around like a bloodhound. The woman was relentless.

“The board would like to see if applying additional support down in the emergency department would help alleviate time issues that are keeping patient satisfaction at a tremendous low.”

Absolutely not.

You would rather chew your arm off than be sent down there. Your retreat came to a halt as you turned to face her. There weren't too many places inside the hospital you could go, and you were willing to bet Gloria was willing to follow you anywhere until you conceded. Plus, you came to a full stop in front of the elevator, and no matter how much you’d like to magically teleport yourself inside of it, unfortunately, you were mortal and would just have to wait.

Gloria’s hands were interlocked in front of her middle - eyes drilling miniature holes in you that not that long ago used to make you squirm. That was back when you were just starting your internship - eager back then to make a great first impression. Terrified of being reprimanded for making an unpopular decision or speaking your mind.

“Gloria, I’m in family medicine.”

“Last time I checked you started in the emergency department and helped out in intensive care.”

“Yes, great memory, Gloria. If you also recall, I moved to family medicine where I’ve been for the last couple of years.”

The transfer to family medicine was a hard pill to swallow. You’d grown accustomed to the craziness of the ER. The constant adrenaline rush that required you to always bring your A game. Where the anxiety was at an all-time maxed-out high where a simple mistake cost lives but a quick deduction could save them. Once you’d moved upstairs to help out Dr. Nave’s family practice, it’d been a huge adjustment. Eventually, once your body got used to the monotony of the days, you found you were finally able to sleep. To be semi-normal.

There was no denying, however, that you left something important behind in The Pitt. Something you hoped you could leave there inside its sterile rooms and the overwhelming storm of emotions.

“I’m not asking you to go back down there to answer every trauma call. I’m asking you to take your family medicine knowledge downstairs to help assess triage for minor issues -“

“You mean people who come in for chest colds,” you interrupted.

“ - and help the senior doctors clear out these cases so they can focus on more immediate health care concerns.”

Gloria’s words crushed your small outburst and bore down on your shoulders, keeping you from trying to move away. Her hands were now connected at her elbows, which was her silent way of informing you she didn’t appreciate you trying to talk over her. That no would never be an acceptable answer.

You felt the drag of your teeth against your cheek. The temptation to bite down to relieve your growing irritation was overwhelming but futile. No matter what argument you came up with, you knew Gloria was here to make sure what the board requested was done.

Instead of bloodshed, you eased your frustration out inch by inch through your nose. Your eyes scanned over the shitty egg wash walls while you debated all of your available options, which were a big fat none.

“How long?”

Gloria didn’t need clarification on what you were asking. The way she practically preened like a peacock let you know she knew she’d won.

“As long as the board requires it.”

“I’ll do it just for today,” you interjected, ignoring her raised brow. “Today you can see if pulling me from Nave’s floor makes your charts or numbers move or whatever data it is you all look at. If it does nothing, today is my first and last day going down.”

Gloria considered your counterargument. The sharpness in her eyes brightened; the terms of this new agreement were revised without you knowing the new verbiage. The only thing you were sure of was that you could count on this small verbal agreement being drawn out in document form for you to sign later.

“Alright, Dr. Fullerton. You’ve got a deal. I’m sure the board will agree. Now come on. If we walk down fast enough maybe, you’ll make it in time for shift change.”

She didn’t wait to see if you were going to follow. Why would she when Gloria knew very well you weren’t going to fight it, especially when the main reason for your denial currently wouldn’t be working today.

Anniversaries were never really Robby’s thing.

You would never admit it, but your anxiety was fifteen feet away from grabbing you in a chokehold.

Get a fucking grip.

It had been two years since you left the ER. Two years since Robby and you had called time on seven years together. Seven years of memories filled with all the good and bad, co-parenting Jake, and keeping your relationship secret until it wasn’t. The early years of walking to work together with quick kisses goodbye before you split up just before you turned onto the final street to the hospital. The both of you choose different entrances each time to try and not raise suspicion.

It took Dana four days to figure out the two of you were together.

Dana was perceptive like that. Hell, she’d been the angel on your shoulder whispering hints that Robby just might like you as much as you liked him.

“I told him to ask you out to dinner. He thinks you’ll say no.” “If he did ask, I should say no,” you countered. Your eyes struggle to stay trained on the chart in front of you. “Yeah, but I know you’ll say yes.” “And what makes you so sure about that, Dana?” “Because if you don’t stop giving each other googly eyes from across my nursing station I’m going to throttle you both.”

Robby had only been divorced from his wife for less than a year. You’d overheard snippets of conversations between Robby and Abbot, Dana, or Adamson about custody battles and visitations. The last thing you wanted to do was be a possible added stress to an already stressful situation. At least, that was the bullshit you kept telling yourself to try and stay away.

But Dana was right (she usually was, but you’d never tell her that).

You couldn’t pinpoint a specific time when things started to change between the two of you. The coffee breaks on the roof looking out over the top of Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. The jokes that caused smiles to crest over his face, rivaled the glow from the sun's early morning rays. He told you later, in the med closet, how the sound of your laughter was something he looked forward to hearing; the warmth of it was enough to keep helping him make it through his shift. A sound he began to crave in the quiet corners of his home. You could still remember the phone calls and early texts. The caution and heavy breaths that harbored a desire that longed to reach out and consume the other. The two of you were equally afraid to be the one to take that first step over the bounds of professionalism.

The two of you knew the dangers of playing with lingering touches and knowing glances. The way you both acted like you wouldn’t ultimately end up burned. You could still recall the way he’d traced his thumb across your lips. The possessive way his eyes followed the motion made the desire for him to close that space, to claim you, to take you, threatened to make you lose all self-control.

Eventually, you stopped listening to the warning signs of all the what ifs; of being the intern and worrying about how it would make you look. When Robby asked you out on that date you didn’t hesitate to say yes.

You didn’t think it was possible to fall in love with someone the way you did with Robby. He was so attentive; he was thoughtful in the most pragmatic ways - packing extra scrubs in your pack. Teaching you how to fish and the differences between the lures and bait. The way he took the time to explain the objects he carved from wood and how much pressure was necessary to create the grooves and pattern. The way his voice would sound as he read to you; the soothing vibrations of his baritone the safest place you could be with his fingers in your hair.

He carved out a life that made it possible for all three of you to co-exist. His son, Jake, becomes the deepest interwoven part of your life you never realized was missing. On days Robby had him, you planned camping trips up in the mountains to hike and fish. To go on museum trips into Jake’s latest hobbies with the two of you making sure to have his game day off to cheer embarrassingly loud for him in the stands. The shared looks of pain from beside each other on the couch while Jake practiced his clarinet upstairs when he thought he wanted to be in the school band. You got lost in furniture manuals, cooking dinners that ended a few times with questionable outcomes, and attempting to bake tarts and pies that led to a one-time usage of the fire extinguisher. The euphoria of loving someone and being loved so fiercely in return made the years feel weightless, and when Robby finally proposed it made so much sense to say yes.

And COVID happened.

The quarantine and the endless amounts of patients that just kept coming - that felt like, no matter what you did, they couldn’t be saved. Family and friends, you both knew were ravaged by the infection. There were no answers. No medical treatments that you knew for sure would be what would save them. It didn’t discriminate and took lives without mercy. You just came to work every day, exhausted, and fighting to do what you could to heal those you could. You showed up every day for your patients.

Then Adamson passed.

There was no denying Robby blamed himself for what occurred with his mentor. It didn’t matter what you said. What Dana, Abbot, or anyone else said. The guilt weighed down on his conscience, pressed so violently, that eventually, Robby cracked under the strain. His grief was all-encompassing and the added loss that should’ve been experienced together, was left for only you to bear - widening the gap between you until it became a chasm.

The last time you’d seen Robby he’d been leaving to go to work. The latest fight - the endless bitter silences that stretched on - tore at the fabric of your being. Fractured pieces you didn’t know how to pick up on your own no longer felt worth fighting for. So, you decided to remove yourself from the equation.

When Robby came home from work that night you were already gone. Your engagement ring and house key sitting on a note that asked him not to contact you. He’d made it clear enough that there was no place for you in the new person that he was becoming - made it clear that your grief would be processed alone.

And so that was how you ended up transferring to family medicine. How you made sure to steer clear of all the places Robby was known to frequent. You ignored, as politely as you could, texts from Dana. Refused to talk about him in a work capacity or to close friends.

The truth was that you were still in love with Robby after all this time. The idea that someone else could ever make you feel as whole - as complete - didn’t exist. So, yes, you only agreed to come back down to the emergency department, where it all started, because you comfortably knew he wouldn’t be here. Dana, you could deal with her by using a little recon - you just needed to stay two steps ahead of her. Langdon was easier to deal with because his loyalty to Robby was absolute, which made you public enemy number one. For you, that meant he’d stay away from you on principle.

You were in the middle of shoving down the growing dread that was threatening to spill out of you when you came around the north hall triage. It was morning rounds. It was the attending's job to give the early morning pep-talk, debrief about patients who came in last shift, and go over the board. What you found waiting for you was what looked very much like a fresh batch of interns and/or med students taking instructions from a doctor you knew painfully well. One that made you question if it was too late to back out and turn tail and run.

“Oh, shit.” Dana huffed the words under her breath, but Robby caught them. The way each one dripped in a warning he should’ve heeded. “Gloria -”

It didn’t surprise him to hear she was here. He’d been warned by Dana but what Robby hadn’t expected was to see you - you - standing beside her.

You who he thought completely disappeared to the point you’d quit the hospital. You, who he thought of in the most inconvenient of times, who haunted him, and you who he wanted to fucking scream and curse at you but also ask how the fuck you’re doing because Jesus Christ…

He didn’t need this shit today.

At least you had the decency to look as uncomfortable as he felt.

“Good morning, Dr. Robby. I’m aware you and most of your emergency department know Dr. Fullerton. She used to work down here previously a few years back.”

“You could say that again,” Langdon muttered.

“I’m sorry why are you bringing a random fucking doctor down into The Pitt?”

The annoyance contrasted with the peaceful professionalism Gloria tried to hold together. But if she was going to bring random doctors down here, God, bring you fucking down here, he was damn sure going to make her work for it. Inch by irritating inch.

“We both know that Dr. Fullerton is not a hospital resident or an attending transfer. As previously stated, she worked down here in this very ED, with you no less. She also holds one of the highest Press Ganey scores in this hospital.”

“I’m sure she’s very proud,” his words ground out like he’d swallowed gravel.

Gloria shot him a warning look as she continued, “-Something I figure she could teach the new students and old physicians here. I’m bringing her down to assist Dr. McKay today in triage.”

“Let me guess - this either has to deal with the hospital's numbers or lack of working bodies down here. Am I right?”

“What a fantastic guess, Robby. It does indeed have to do with the hospitals' numbers and poor patient output. Based on those numbers alone today, if it shows Dr. Fullerton’s presence helps patient satisfaction go up and wait times decrease - even in the slightest - she’ll be staying here. Permanently.”

His jaw ticked violently. He wanted to bristle and tell her where to stick her metrics and numbers. To tell Gloria to get you the fuck out of his Pitt. Somewhere in his brain, his common sense slowly won out. It didn’t matter how much of a fit he threw; Gloria had every intention of making you stay. Down here. With him.

Robby also knew, realistically, that the chances of you driving up productivity were high. You were a damn good doctor. One of the best. Adamson had made sure. Christ, Robby himself made sure. Fuck. The edges of his vision were beginning to tighten in glaring white; he needed to get away before he succumbed to a panic attack.

He should’ve kept looking away, but he was fighting a losing battle trying to keep his eyes away from you. It’d been nearly two years since he came home to find you gone. Two years for him to think of the hundreds of thousands of questions that he would demand for you to answer if he ever saw you again. All those months of burying it all down, telling himself he got what he wanted, only for it to be dredged up, and on a day like today, he was already close to his breaking point.

You looked good. Great, even. Just as gorgeous as the first day he’d met you and begrudgingly, for a split second, he wondered how you saw him. If you were equally as fucked as he was.

“Make sure she stays with you up in triage, Dr. McKay. I don’t want to see her in my red zone.”

He didn’t wait to hear confirmation from Gloria or McKay. He didn’t bother to see if you understood he meant every word he said. You had no place down here. Robby needed to start his shift - to start the normalcy of seeing patients - before he completely forgot why he chose to come into work today.

He needed to get away before all his resolve shattered. The easiest way to keep himself whole was to begin his day. To do his rounds and when he passed you, he did his best to pretend you didn’t even exist.

___________

Thank you so much for taking the time to read this and I hope you enjoyed it! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated! Much love.

#Residuals #ongoing series #the pitt #the pitt hbo #the pitt fanfiction #michael robinavitch #the pitt max #dr robby #dr robby x reader #dr robby x oc #michael robinavitch x you #doctor robby x reader #michael robinavitch x reader #noah wyle #saucy angsty babies

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ovaryacted · 7 days ago

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SPECIAL TREATMENT

─ Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x fem! reader || WC: 1.2k

CW: MDNI/18+. NSFW. SMUT. Age gap implied [Michael is canon age, reader is 25+]. Power imbalance situation [Attending/Resident]. FWB dynamic, sort of. Past mentions of smut in different instances. Oral (m & f receiving. Unprotected p in v. Heavy praise kink. Everything is consensual & mutual. They’re freaky idk. A tinge of yearning. Reader has hair & is a beast at medicine. Note: I have not watched The Pitt yet, so I apologize for any mischaracterizations lolz.

Hi. I honestly don't know what this is. It came to me in a dream after I yapped with @superhoeva in the DMS, and now she's tormenting me to keep writing for Mista Dr. Robby. Now I'm sucked into this world that I didn't even know existed lmao. Anywho, walk with me for a second here, let me cook! Reblogs, comments, and likes are greatly appreciated. Proofread by moi. <3

It all started with two simple words.

“Good job.”

Seven letters. One singular statement. A term of encouragement familiar to practitioners all over the Pitt, and of course it’s not unknown to you. Always said in recognition of one’s efforts, and in this family you’ve meshed with in the emergency department, it went a long way to hear that phrase after the intense shifts you all had to handle.

Though with Dr. Robby, it had a second meaning.

Sure, he recognized everyone’s hard efforts in saving lives, pairing his words with a nice pat on the shoulder and his signature smile. But he would never admit to giving you special treatment, at least away from prying eyes.

As a fourth year resident in the Pitt, you’ve already made somewhat of a name for yourself, and it didn’t go unnoticed by your other colleagues, especially Dr. Robby. You impress him on a daily basis, your quick reflexes in adapting to current situations is a trait he’s always admired, your ability to keep your cool in moments that would otherwise crack everyone else brings a mix of admiration and envy. You weren’t particularly the sensitive type, often reminding him of Dr. Abbott and his demeanor at times, but he knows it’s because you’re determined, because you hold yourself to a different standard and aim to command any room you step foot in regardless of the circumstances.

He can sympathize with that, he was like that years ago. It’s nice to watch the spark take over when you’re in your element.

You can be confident and borderline cocky at times, but never arrogant. You barely flinch when you need to crack open someone’s chest, or when you were covered with blood after a particularly extreme trauma, steady hands working despite the adrenaline running through you. Michael liked when you called the shots before he did, and usually he didn’t need to ask for your thoughts on the cases assigned to you when you were already so persistent in sharing your resolutions.

He had no choice but to commend you for your hard work, always slipping a quick “good job” after doing something right or a “job well done” once things were taken care of. You’d never show it to anyone else, but Michael knew the impact of his words, how your eyes gleamed for the slightest second as you fought off the urge to smile. It was amusing to say the least, so he didn’t stop, he couldn’t, not when it encouraged you to push your own limits, to be the best, if not for yourself then for him.

He reveled in it.

Your consistent performance is what resulted in this mess you found yourself in. Going from being Dr. Robby’s trusted and favorite resident to something more over the course of a year was enough to give you whiplash.

It began with a brief “pep talk” in an empty on-call room. You thought you had fucked up royally on the last patient you had, that maybe Dr. Robby had a different opinion towards your approach. Yet, he surprises you when he leans down to kiss you, your breath hitching in your throat and instantly reaching to grasp his shoulders, fingers digging into the material of his hoodie in an attempt to bring him closer.

Those two little words became a frequent saying in the safety of his apartment, where you often went after your shifts synched up. Michael always needed to give you more than just words, to feed you the reverence you deserved—craved even.

He always tells you when your lips were wrapped around his length, sucking lavishly while he keeps your hair out of your face. Your throat grew sore from the tip of him slipping inside, lips plump with your constant sucking. Pulling away with a smile on your spit covered face and placing a wet kiss to his crown, the words tumble out of him with a groan.

“That’s a good girl. Taking all of me like that. Good job, baby.”

Or when it was his head between your thighs, licking and eating at you with such fervor, your thighs shake every time. Clutching at his head, you’ve already fallen over the edge twice, and it was never enough for Michael. Like an addict, he ate you up until his jaw ached, refusing to leave his spot from your cunt until tears streaked down your face and your overworked pussy throbbed from all of his attention. Despite his overwhelming touch, he was always there to keep you grounded with his slick covered mouth.

“Doing such a good job for me. You got one more in you, right? One more and I’ll give you what you need.”

And the other instances where he was inside you? Those were probably your favorite pastimes.

Your legs were hanging loosely over his hips as he pummeled into you, back arching up as your arms slung around his neck. Moaning against the side of his throat, Michael cradled the back of your head with one hand, the other keeping your lower back at the right angle, letting his cock fill every crevice so deliciously you had no other choice but to just take him. Completely smothered under him, your senses were overwhelmed with him; his scent, his touch, his voice. Tears pooled at your lash line, cheeks warm under the intense gaze of the man hovering above you, stuttering on your own breath that turns into a moan at the precision of his thrusting. He only smirks above you, lifting up one of your thighs to his shoulder and diving inside you even deeper.

“Been such a good girl for me, letting me take care of you like this. I know, I know. I got you.”

Your moment of daydreaming is cut short as you’re back in the commotion of the Pitt, the beeping of the machines and people yelling here and there grab your attention once more, deciding to look down at your clipboard to review what else was on your roster for the day.

“Reviewing the caseload?”

You didn’t need to look in the direction of the person’s voice to know it was Dr. Robby, slyly eyeing up at you from where he sat, typing some notes on the computer. The black glasses he wore sat on his sharp nose, a staple to the rest of his appearance along with his cargo pants and baggy zip-up.

“Had so much on my plate I started to lose count. You still want me to handle that patient in Room 5? Heard it was a bad one.” He glances at you, slightly tilting his head to the side with the faintest smug grin on his aged face.

“Yeah, I do. Plus, I know you’re always up for a challenge. I’ll be there in five.” You rolled your eyes at that, shaking your head with a sigh and turning on your heel to head towards your next patient, fully aware of the set of eyes following you from behind.

You didn’t mind being Dr. Robby’s favorite resident. After all, a little special treatment never hurt.

©️ ovaryacted 2025. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

#dr robby x reader #dr robby smut #dr robby x you #michael robinavitch smut #michael robinavitch x reader #michael robinavitch #dr robby #doctor robby #noah wyle #the pitt hbo #the pitt fanfiction #the pitt #ovaryacted fics #⋆♱ nic works ♱⋆

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superhoeva · 2 days ago

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“you’re in my spot.”

robby only grins from his kneel in front of your chair, tongue slathering your clit in a wet glob of slobber. you curse, leg hanging helplessly in the air and gripping the sides of your chair for dear life. you can’t even find the manners to greet the grey-haired man as he slinks his backpack off his shoulder, the suckle of robby’s lips making it too hard to think.

“not my fault you took the long way here,” words muffled by he shrugs, hand creeping up to tug at one of your nipples.

“he bein’ nice to you?”

your head shakes lazily, face frowning into a pout that has jack smirking in his hang over you.

“n—fuck, no,” you whine, back arching with a squirm when robby purposefully drags his tongue up your slit a little harder at your answer. “no, he won’t let me come—“

“i don’t know what she’s talking about,” robby flicks his eyes to abbot then back to you before giving your swollen bud a soft suck. “you can come any time you wanna, sweetheart.”

you groan in half-bliss, half-annoyance, your lash line shining with frustrated tears as you turn to jack.

“he keeps stopping. right when i’m about to—ugh. fuck, see?” your whine to jack is covered up by robby, who’s pulling away from you with a giggle.

your head tosses back with gritted teeth, robby and abbot sharing a little look. the former just shrugs while you’re not looking, lips shining as they bend into a smirk. jack shakes his head, trying not to laugh before guiding you to raise your head. his lips dance down your jaw, fingers finding home in flicking one of your hardened nipples.

“so he’s not being very nice, huh?” the question at your ear is low but still heard by you and robby. as you shake your head, a shiver runs corses you.

jack’s hand sinks lower, dragging across your stomach, stopping to press tenderly just above your mound before thumbing at you’re clit.

fuck, robby must’ve done a number on you, ‘cause you’re soaked. jack’s fingers barely have to brush you for them to be covered in your slippery slick. he raises them to his mouth to lick it all off, circling them right back around your clit as you moan a loud curse.

“let’s see if this helps, yeah?” jack speaks lowly next to you, a silent conversation with robby happening easily. the man still on his knees in front of you takes the hint, kissing your thigh and sinking his tongue back inside you. “maybe this’ll make it a little easier, baby.”

the men work in perfect tandem. robby flicking and gliding his tongue deep into your hole just beneath your clit, nose bumping the tips of jack’s fingers every now and then.

eating you hungrily, robby groans, eyes rolling a little when he peeks up to find you sucking on jack’s tongue with a quiet mewl every time he pushes it into your mouth. reaching down to palm his throbbing cock, robby licks you faster. following the pattern abbot’s rubbing against you with a perfect precision.

the three of you are a mess of moans, a few growls even rattling from abbot when your teeth nibble at his lip.

“help me get her there, mike,” jack pants against your lips, bicep bulging as he works you. robby obliges, eyes closing and letting the sounds oozing from you take over his mind. you’re buzzing, thighs shaking and hawing for any kind of air.

“i’m coming,” you rush out and the men groan. “fuck, i’m coming.”

that you do, robby having to hold you steady as you body nearly trembles itself out of the chair, jack also letting you lean you weight against him while you sob into his mouth.

“that’s a girl,” robby mumbles, hot pants rolling across you. he dips his tongue into again, yanking it upwards to dance along side abbot’s fingers as they both help you through it. “that’s it, baby, keep soakin’ me.”

it takes a long few minutes for you to calm. jack’s touch has slowed and and robby’s tongue has lightened, but their touches still ride you high.

“see,” jack declares, pecking your cheek. “just needed a little teamwork, that’s all.”

robby chuckles, hands rubbing along your tired legs. jack studies him, eyes squinted.

“don’t forget to ice your knees, you grandpa,” he tells the man quietly, and even in your post-orgasm haze, it’s pretty funny. robby rolls his eyes with a smile, trying not to wince at the pain shooting through them already.

“fuck off, john,” robby gripes, straightening to pull the other man into a wet peck. it lingers for a long moment before robby pulls back with a grimace. “and, yeah, go grab the ice. please.”

#dr abbot smut #dr robby smut #jack abbot smut #jack abbott smut #michael robinavitch smut #dr jack abbot x reader #michael robinavitch x reader #jack abbot x you #dr robby x you #jack abbot x reader #dr robby x reader #jack abbot imagine #dr robby imagine #jack abbot #dr jack abbott #michael robinavitch #the pitt x reader #the pitt hbo

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asxgard · 3 days ago

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Handprints | [3/3]

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x pregnant wife!doctor!reader

Previous |

Summary: The birth of your first child and all the little moments that you cherish with your husband.

[ My Masterlist ]

Note: I’m honestly enjoying this Robby and Reader, so I might do something with them/inspired by them. Let’s see where season 2 takes us👀

This one got away from me, but I had a lot of fun writing it!

Word Count: 4.4k

Most of my works are 18+ due to adult language and content

Warnings: afab!reader, established relationship, pet names (my love, sweetheart), mild angst, comfort, fluff, birth scene (nondescript), postpartum, mentions of a prior panic attack, therapy, Mother’s/Father’s Day, vague smut (minors dni!!!!), Robby getting good things because he deserves it

not beta read

Langdon returned in the last few weeks of your pregnancy, rolling into the Pitt with something to prove. He wasn’t as cocky as he had been, but he threw himself headfirst into the chaos of it all — which worried you that he would only fall back into his addiction.

Michael had put strict rules in place for him after he was done rehab — random urine tests, he needed sign offs for most of the drugs he could prescribe, as well as having him attend NA meetings. You could see plainly that even if Frank succeeded in all of that, Michael would need so much time to trust him as he once had. You didn’t know what had transpired between them during that shift, not really, but Frank had let your husband down majorly.

Most in the Pitt might not have known he had been stealing the drugs from patients, or the ED, but with one glance at you and it was clear Frank knew that you knew about it. How could you not? You were Michael’s wife, his one true confidant in the mess of it all.

Frank sucked up to you, maybe thinking it would be an easier way to soften Michael’s heart to him again. Brought you a muffin from the cafeteria when he saw you hadn’t eaten, pulled a stool over to your computer so you could sit, even taking the meaner or nastier patients from your plate. All with a smile. All with a humility you hadn’t seen in awhile.

You appreciated the gestures, but it did little to help gain your trust back.

“It’ll just take time,” you said to Langdon one afternoon. “He won’t trust you again if you take the easy way out.”

He seemed to consider it. “And you? When will you trust me again?”

You turned away from the computer screen to look at him, “Pass all your drugs tests. Show me that coin you get after one year in the meetings. Don’t fuck with my patients again. Then we’re square.”

He gave a curt nod, “Okay, I can do that.”

You smiled softly at him, “I hope so, Frank.”

Due to your large bump, you were not frequently in the trauma room, not wanting to risk bumping into anything or anyone. Like usual, you stuck to triage and the non-critical patients. Michael wanted to keep your stress and adrenaline levels down, which you accepted with little pushback. He also ensured you always sat down to have lunch, even pulling himself away from the chaos long enough to eat with you when you demanded requested it.

If he was going to make sure you ate, you were going to make sure the same.

It was roughly lunchtime when the cramping started, starting as just a mild sense of discomfort before edging closer to moderate pain. Braxton Hicks contractions, you thought, seeing as you were only in your 38th week. You had been getting them periodically since starting your third trimester, but they never got any worse than mild.

Dana found you hunched over the nurses station, trying to take slow, even breaths. The cramping had gotten substantially worse, edging closer to you not being able to think properly.

“Honey?” Dana called your attention.

You took another deep breath through your nose and out through your mouth. “It’s nothing, I’m okay.”

“You and your husband, I swear to god.” She let out a long breath before raising a careful eyebrow at you, “How long has it been going on?”

You hummed, thinking, “I don’t know, noon?”

Dana grinned at you, “Looks like you’re about to have this baby, kid.”

Your eyes widened, “What? No. I still have two weeks.”

“Babies come when they’re ready, not when you are.” She chuckled.

You groaned. Adam, you really had to make an appearance now, huh? Couldn’t have waited a week and a half for when I started maternity?

You clenched your teeth, “Where’s my husband?”

“I just saw Robby head into Trauma-1.” Frank said as he passed, eyeing you warily. “You okay?”

“Baby Adam just decided he didn’t care about the plans I had, no biggie.”

“You better get used to that.” Frank said with a laugh.

You only rolled your eyes at him, trying to catch your breath after the contraction. You watched as Frank ran to grab Michael from the trauma room, and you mentioned to Dana it might be smart to call in someone to cover until the end of your shift. In one fell swoop, two ED doctors were about to be unavailable.

You tried not to feel guilty.

Michael exited Trauma-1, hiding his annoyance of being pulled away well enough, before he spotted you. His eyes flashed before he was jogging over to you, hand immediately going to your back.

“Sweetheart?” His cool mask had slipped, the one that kept everything between you two mostly professional while you were at work.

You squeezed his hand, “Adam has decided he’s ready to meet us.”

Michael’s eyes widened, gaze flickering between your belly and your face. “What?”

“Contractions edging closer to five minutes apart, for about a minute. They’ve gotten worse since noon.”

“Noon?” Michael yelled, though not at you, glancing at his watch. “It’s nearly five! Why didn’t you say anything?”

“We were busy.” You said, “I thought it was just Braxton Hicks, like it’s been all month.”

“We were busy.” Michael echoed, tone disbelieving. “You were seriously—”

You hushed your husband as another contraction hit, clutching his hand tightly.

It felt like mostly a blur after that. You had gotten up to Labor & Delivery a little bit later, and Michael called a friend of yours to go get your go bag and baby bag to bring to the hospital.

As the contractions got closer, so did your desperation.

“Why did you do this to me, again?” You panted. “Jesus Christ, just get him out of me.”

Michael grinned at you, “Last I checked, you were the one begg—”

You swatted him away like he was nothing more than an annoying fly. “Michael Robinavitch, don’t you dare finish that sentence.”

He raised his eyebrows, looking mildly amused, though he tried to contain his grin.

“You’re doing so well, sweetheart,” he said a few minutes later, after another contraction, kissing your hairline.

“Trade with me?” You asked with a sly grin.

He chuckled, “I would in a heartbeat.”

You made a small noise in the back of your throat, trying to catch your breath, using the techniques you had learned in birthing classes.

“Now you say that.” You said, closing your eyes. “Wish you had said that before I went into labor.”

Michael kissed your forehead and rubbed circles onto your back. “Tell me what you need.”

You hummed, “I think I want to walk around. Might help.”

He helped you from the gurney to your feet, holding you steady. You wrapped your arms around his neck and leaned on him for support, swinging your hips from side-to-side. After breathing through a particularly bad contraction, Michael helped you walk back and forth across your room.

You breathed through each of them, taking them one at a time and trying not to get overwhelmed with how far you still had to go. Michael was steadfast beside you, nearly intuitively understanding what you needed when you needed it. Cold washcloth, soft caresses over your shoulders, squeezing your hips together while you leaned over the gurney, whispering encouraging words to you, or holding you close when the pain subsided.

“You’re so amazing,” he said, tone soft, standing behind you and swaying with you while you breathed in and out, arms wrapped around you. “You’re doing such a good job, sweetheart. Strongest woman I know. I love you so much.” He kissed your neck, moving to your jaw and then your cheek.

You hummed in acknowledgement, though you kept your focus on breathing through the contraction.

A few agonizingly slow hours later and you were ready to push. You felt ready to cry, clutching Michael’s hand with a grip that rivaled a vice. He soothed you, kissing your forehead.

“You’ve got this. Push when you breathe out, come on,” he encouraged.

Part of you wanted to kiss him. The other wanted to throttle him.

During the next contraction, that was what you did, breathing out as you pushed. Slow, controlled, powerful. It ripped through you and you screamed.

You had once wanted to be dignified during your labor. You worked at this hospital and these people were more-or-less your colleagues, even though you did not always work with them directly. The thought of remaining composed now made you want to laugh.

“Alright, he should be out on the next push.” your OB told you, looking over to Michael. “Would you like to do the honors, dad?”

Michael’s eyes got glassy, though he looked at you. “I’ll stay right here if you need me to.”

“It’s okay,” you breathed out, mustering a smile. “I know you want to.”

He kissed you, before moving to assist your OB with delivering your son. Thankfully, she had been right, and it only took one more push before your son was in Michael’s arms.

Adam Robinavitch was finally here.

You cooed at him softly when he was laid on your chest, though he cried loudly — clearly upset to be anywhere else but your womb. You could hardly blame him, but you felt overwhelming joy finally holding him in your arms. Tears leaked from your eyes, a warmth cascading through your insides at the sight of him, at the feeling of his tiny hand on your skin.

Michael had his hand on your head, stroking your forehead softly with his thumb. His teary eyes remained, looking between you and your son with a soft smile on his lips.

Adam gurgled on your chest, making small noises to highlight his displeasure. You kissed the top of his head before letting your head fall back onto the pillow, letting out a long sigh of exhaustion.

“I love you.” You said, blinking through your fatigue to look at your husband.

“Thank you.” He whispered back to you, big brown eyes soft and warm as he held your gaze.

You raised an eyebrow.

He smiled, kissing your forehead. “For this life. For loving me. For giving me a chance. For bringing our son into the world. I don’t know why you decided to take a chance on an old guy like me, but I’ll forever be grateful that you did.”

Tears blurred your vision and you blinked them away, “Oh, Michael. I’m so grateful it’s you. Even before I knew it, it was you. It always has been.”

He kissed you tenderly, whispering ‘always will be’ against your lips.

—

Postpartum was no joke, and add in being new to motherhood? You were in the trenches. You were thankful Michael had gotten a decent amount of time off to be in the throes of it with you, but at times, it still felt like you were drowning.

You tried not to feel guilty when you knocked out on the couch or turned in early, leaving the brunt of night shift to Michael. He was an ever faithful partner, and never even flinched when you felt he was shouldering too much of it. All he asked was that you rest, heal and spend time with Adam.

He took time in the mornings for himself, even started seeing a therapist via Zoom and you could see it helping. His shoulders seemed lighter and it created healthier habits for when he went back to working.

Michael’s first shift back did not come home with him, though you knew it was not likely to always be that way. Not when harder patients hit, or major casualties, but you hoped the things he was learning in therapy would help him whenever that day came.

You were rocking Adam back and forth, trying to get him to fall back to sleep, humming a lullaby softly. You caught movement out of the corner of your eye, and you turned your head to see Michael standing in the doorway, tired smile stretching across his lips.

“Hey, my love,” you said lowly, trying to keep your voice quiet so as to not stir your baby, who still would not fall asleep. “How was your shift?”

He gave a small shrug, “I’ve had worse.”

You raised a careful eyebrow at him, but didn’t push. “I think Adam missed his daddy.”

Michael stepped into the room, walking until he was beside you, looking at your son in your arms.

“Yeah?”

You made a small noise of agreement, moving to hand him over. As he stirred, Adam opened his eyes to look up at his father, their eyes complete mirrors of each other. It was undoubtedly one of your favorite features that he had inherited from Michael.

“I think he likes your lullaby much more than mine, actually.” You said, kissing the top of your son’s head.

“Oh, I don’t think that’s true, is it buddy? No, mommy’s lullabies are the best.”

Despite having a tough day of your own, your heart warmed. You leaned your head on Michael’s shoulder, staring down at Adam and rocking side-to-side with Michael’s movements.

Perhaps this was a healing all its own, in the quiet of your son’s room, just the three of you.

—

Mother’s Day came shortly after you got off maternity leave, and while it was nice to return to work, you missed Adam. It was nearly painful. But all your co-workers made it feel like a second home.

Dana and McKay were happy to swap baby stories with you, while Langdon attempted to give you and Michael tips. You seemed more receptive to it than your husband was.

You had decided that for your first Mother’s Day, you wanted the day off to spend with your son. Michael also ensured he had off, and let you sleep in. It was peaceful to wake up to a quiet house.

Michael brought you breakfast not long after you woke, and you showered him with kisses in gratitude. It really was the little things.

“I have a full day planned,” he told you, sitting beside you in bed, sipping a cup of coffee. “Slow morning, then when you’re ready, we’re gonna go out.”

“Out?” You questioned. “Care to be more specific?”

A sly grin formed on his face. “Nope.”

You scoffed, but you were smiling.

Sometime after noon, Michael was packing a lunch bag while you got changed, curious to see what he had planned. He got Adam ready, and you met him at the car with an eyebrow raised. He only smiled at you.

It was easy enough to guess what he was up to once you pulled up to the park. It was a beautiful spring day, and you enjoyed the little things — a picnic in the park with your family of three was perfect. Not too complicated, or required too much effort from you, and it was simple enough that you weren’t worried about Adam fussing too much.

You relaxed on the picnic blanket, enjoying the feeling of the sun on your skin, the warmth sending a happy buzz through your system.

Adam was only four months, but he took in the world around him eagerly. He was beginning to roll over with only a small amount of assistance, and he clapped his hands when he was excited, babbling nonsense.

It seemed like such a short amount of time since he had been born, but he was already beginning to grow far too quickly for your liking.

Michael kept Adam entertained while you read a bit, before you ate together. Michael really had quite the spread, aside from the sandwiches, he also had fruits and cheeses and crackers and your favorite chocolates.

“This is exactly what I needed.” You told him. “Thank you.”

Michael raised an eyebrow at you, “You think this is it?”

“Oh? Do tell.”

He only smirked.

You discovered when you got home that Michael had hired a babysitter for that night. He said he wanted to take you out to dinner, and an excitement thrummed through you. You and Michael had barely had any alone time since Adam came into your lives, and while you enjoyed all the time you got with your son, you knew a night out with your husband would be good for you.

The restaurant he had picked? It was where you had had your first date.

A quaint little Italian place, and you nearly cried when you pulled up to it. It was not fancy or lavish, but it meant the world to you.

“Thank you for today.” You said, sipping your drink, trying not to cry in the middle of the restaurant.

He grabbed your hand on the table and ran a thumb over your knuckles. “You deserve it, sweetheart. You’re the best mom Adam could ever ask for, and I always want you to know how much I appreciate you.”

Your face heated, suddenly feeling sheepish.

Conversation flowed easily, and it was nice to be able to feel normal again — not just a mom, or a doctor, just you. It made your chest feel lighter. The topic eventually leaned back to Adam, and the fact that you missed him.

“We can take dessert to go.”

You smiled in relief, “Yes, please.”

On the ride home, you intertwined your fingers with Michael’s.

“So…any thoughts on another one?” You ventured quietly, a teasing smile on your lips.

Michael choked on an intake of air, “What?”

You laughed, “Eventually. Maybe. I don’t know. Just popped into my head.”

“Give a guy a little warning next time.” He chuckled.

“Consider yourself warned.”

He squeezed your hand, “Do you want another?”

You shrugged even though he was looking ahead at the road. “I don’t know. Adam’s still so little, but he’s also already so big, you know? I already miss how little he was. I wouldn’t be opposed in a year or so, but I wouldn’t be upset if we just stuck with one.”

“So…possibly another?”

“What do you think?” You asked instead of answering.

There was a long pause, and then a sigh, “I’m not getting any younger, I’d like to watch Adam grow up, go off to college. If we decided to, I wouldn’t want to wait too long.”

“So possibly another?”

You could hear the smile in his voice, “Possibly another.”

—

Father’s Day came with another day off, Michael wanting his first to be spent at home as well. You knew these kinds of holidays might need to be sacrificed in the future, so you were grateful that at least your first of each would be spent at home.

Knowing Michael, you knew he wasn’t one to want much fanfare, so you planned most a day in. From breakfast and lunch, to a few nice things to grill for dinner. It was mostly about spending time together, and you were happy to supply it. The details of his present sat in a card on the dining table, a cabin rented in the Poconos to fish with enough room for Jack and Jake to tag along (both had already agreed).

The day turned into a well deserved relaxing day, though you could see how much Michael was enjoying spending some time off with his family.

After dinner, you handed Michael the card, Adam in your lap. You bounced your legs, making car noises with your mouth, making him giggle and clap. You heard Michael open the card and silently he read over it.

“Jack and Jake already took off, and I worked something out with your shifts, you’ll be all set.”

He blinked at you before he was out of his seat and kissing your face, making you giggle. Adam squealed in your lap, clapping more eagerly while he babbled at his dad.

“This is…thank you.”

“You haven’t taken any time to go back up there in a really long time.” You shrugged, knowing he used to try to get away more frequently earlier on in your relationship. Sometimes you tagged along, but you thought a boys weekend away was just what the doctor ordered (you, you were the one who ordered it). “Soon you’ll have to bring Adam with you.”

Michael grinned, looking down at his son. “You’ll love it, I can show you how to…”

You watched Michael excitedly explain fishing to your son, who watched him with big brown eyes, mesmerized.

You put Adam down to sleep sometime later, before joining your husband in the living room. You curled up next to him.

“Thank you for today…it was very needed.”

You kissed his cheek, “You’re an amazing father, you know that? I’m incredibly thankful for you.”

He pulled you closer and kissed your head. You turned in his grasp and kissed his lips, moving into his lap to kiss him deeper. Michael responded instantly, one hand going behind your head and the other going to your hip.

The first time you had been intimate after giving birth to Adam had been a process riddled with your insecurities. Michael kissed his way through each one and took his time, like he was relearning your body. It took an incredible amount of pressure off your shoulders, and you revealed in his touch.

Your hands moved from his chest to his hair, tongue licking along his bottom lip. His grip on you tightened, his tongue slipping into your mouth. Warmth pooled in your abdomen, and you moved your leg to straddle him.

His fingers ghosted over the skin of your hips, making you shiver. He moved a hand up your torso, grabbing at your flesh and you moaned into his mouth. You moved your hips down to find some sort of friction. A groan echoed low in Michael’s throat, and the sound set you on fire.

Michael had you up and on your back on the couch in a swift motion, settling between your hips. You pulled at the hem of your shirt until he helped you pull it over your head. He kissed down your neck and across your torso, moving lower until your head buzzed with pleasure.

You felt like your body was thrumming under his touch and you lost yourself in it. It wasn’t long before all of your clothes were scattered across the living room, Michael back between your hips.

He whispered his love for you against your skin, and proved it with each slow drag of his hips, until you were a moaning mess under him, a blinding heat overtaking your senses. He was everywhere, feeling so full of him, tears falling from the corners of your eyes, blissed out and overwhelmed with all the warmth swirling around in your chest.

Michael came with a few low grunts, groaning against your throat before pulling you into a rough, sloppy kiss.

You ran your hands over his shoulders, panting with him, foreheads touching. You leaned up to languidly kiss his lips again. He brushed a thumb across your cheek. He kissed along your cheek and nose, the hairs of his beard tickling your skin and making you giggle. You lightly pushed him away.

“Get off me, old man.”

An eyebrow rose, “Old man, huh? This old man can make you come again, if you—”

You laughed, “Get off.”

He moved his head in such a way that the softest touch of his beard ran along your neck and your face, making you squirm. The sensation was incredibly ticklish.

“Alright, alright, I yield. I yield!” You laughed again, turning your face away from him. “You’re not even that old anyways.”

He laughed and kissed your cheek, moving to sit back on his haunches. He looked down at you with a soft smile.

You raised a challenging eyebrow, “If you’re gonna keep looking at me like that, I might have to take you up on your offer.”

A sly grin spread across his lips, “Yeah? Thought I was an old—”

You reached up for him, “Just get back down here, Michael.”

He laughed, but complied.

—

A rare quiet morning was always a welcomed thing in your household, slow and lazy. With the hectic reality you both faced at work, you had begun to cherish these days. Adam on his playmat, you and Michael sitting on the couch eating breakfast and enjoying the company of each other.

When Michael came back into the kitchen from taking a shower, you had Adam sat in his highchair. You had a spread of paints and a canvas print sat on the dining table, a handful of newspapers protecting the wood from any mess.

Michael looked over it all with a face drenched in curiosity.

“Care to fill me in? What’s all this?” He looked over all the paints, raising an eyebrow at you. “This a new hobby, or something?”

You shrugged, “Not quite.”

He stayed silent and waited for you to elaborate, but you were messing with a few different colors, mixing them on a paper plate.

“Blue or red?” You asked.

“...blue?”

You handed him a paper plate with blue paint.

He stared down at it, “Do you want me to..?”

You looked at him and smiled, “Put your right hand in it.”

“Right, right. Of course. Logically, that was my next step.”

You chuckled, “I thought it could be a cute art piece for Adam’s room. Your hand, my hand and his in the middle.”

A softness warmed his face, and then he did as you asked. You pulled over the canvas print for him to put his now paint covered hand on. You handed him a damp paper towel when he was done. You dipped your hand into the red paint and copied your husband, so that your hands mirrored each other.

Adam seemed thrilled to be involved when you dipped his hand into the purple paint you mixed, placing his hand between both handprints you and Michael had left. You wiped his hand off and gave him a kiss on the head.

“It’s perfect.” Michael said in your ear.

You pulled him close, “I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

You stared down at the little art piece of your handprints, your heart swelling at your little family you and Michael had carved out for yourselves. Even amidst the chaos, you had found your home.

“Always?”

“Forever.”

No matter what you two faced, you knew it was a promise you would both keep.

FIN.

All Dr. Robby content taglist: @cherriready @seeyalaterinnovator @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @bxxbxy @18lkpeters @flyinglama @hagarsays @mayabbot @anakingreys @happyfox43

All The Pitt content taglist: @cannonindeez @spoiledflor @kittenhawkk @nessamc @thatchickwiththecamera @sharkluver @loud-mouph

Robby deserves only good things. This brought me back to the layout I did for A Lesson in Firsts and omg it was another great journey.

Damn, s1 of The Pitt is over. What am I going to do with myself?? Write a lot? Probably

Also?? Heartbeat has over 1k notes?? That’s insane, thank you guys so much🥺🥹

#the pitt #michael robinavitch #dr robby #michael robinavitch x female reader #michael robinavitch x reader #dr robby x reader #the pitt x reader #asxgard writes #he’s so girl dad coded but oof I’m glad it was a boy to honor adamson #pregnant reader

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internetdaddy98 · 2 days ago

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The Ties That Bind Us - Chapter 2

Previous | Next

[Series Masterlist]

Content Warning: Age gap; reader in her 30’s;mass shooting; death; blood; gunshot injuries; angst; grief; medical procedures; I have 0 medical knowledge 🥹; PTSD; panic attack; if I've missed any warnings, please let me know.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Robby stood in the Pedes room surrounded by covered gurneys for what seemed like hours.

Trying hard to hold it together, preparing himself to face what was outside those doors. Too much had happened today, like a never-ending bad day. He remembers her words then and the way her eyes looked at him, no silent judgment but understanding and kind. He slipped the star of David back under his scrub top, tucked it close to his chest, and finally stepped back into the hallway.

He’s deciding whether to head towards Abbott or make his way back to Jake in hopes he hears him out and forgive him for not saving Leah but he decides they need space, knowing he might break down again while looking into Jake’s eyes.

He walks towards the hub, hoping to find Dana so he can tell her to head home. The Emergency Department is scattered, drying blood stains on the tiled floor that were being wiped away, hoping to erase what had happened today. They had been through the worst, but it seemed to be slowing down and stabilizing at a slow rate.

“Robby!” Abbott’s voice cut through the hum.

Robby glanced up. Jack looked exhausted, with dark stains on the cuff of his scrubs, but there was a tight glimmer of relief in his expression.

“I’ve been trying to find you, brother,” he said as he approached.

—------------------------------------------------------------

Giving himself a brief moment of solitude, Robby had slipped into the restroom. He washed his face in the nearby sink. The water was cold, grounding. He blinked at his reflection in the mirror— shadows under his eyes, grief written in every line of his face. The prayer had come out without thinking, like a last-ditch effort to hold onto something solid in a world that had just cracked open beneath him.

He didn’t even think he believed in God anymore, not really. But tonight, he found himself whispering those words again.

“All I see is that you have done your best tonight, and although it feels like a losing battle, you’re still here”

Still here.

That phrase hit him harder than he’d like to admit.

He had taken her hand because it was the only thing anchoring him to the moment. Her grip was steady, not too tight, just enough to remind him: You’re not alone. Not tonight.

And then, just like that, she was gone. —------------------------------------------------------------

Stepping out of the restroom, nurses buzzed by, gurneys were wheeled past, and the cleaning had started to erase the night that had been.

He could overhear Ellis talking with someone at the nurses’ station, she had her hair messily tied back, her back to him when he approached.

"We need to prep to open back up to the public,” you told Ellis as you looked around.

“Dr. Robby!” Ellis spotted him as he walked towards you. “I want to introduce you to one of our new fellows— she has been on her feet since the first victim came through.”

You turned to look at him. You were holding a cup of yellow bracelets and smiling.

“Dr. Y/N Williams,” Ellis said with a small smile. “This is Dr. Michael Robinavitch.”

“Act-” Robby had started to explain when you cut him off, extending your hand to him. “It’s nice to finally meet you Dr. Robinavitch” his eyes met yours as he reached for your hand. “Dr. Robby,” he said while shaking your hand. Ellis, thankfully oblivious or too tired to dig, just sighed. “You two will probably be working together soon on day shift. Y/N’s got a good head on her shoulders. Picks things up fast.”

“Noted,” he said, his gaze flickering back to you.

—------------------------------------------------------------

“Dawn, how are you doing? Do you need anything?,” you asked your patient as you looked at her vitals.

“I’m better. Kind of hungry, though,” she said jokingly.

“Well, we can discontinue your IV and give you a sandwich so your sugar doesn’t tank, and then you can go home” “What about me? Can I go home?” you turned to look at the patient in the gurney next to Dawn.

“Since you OD’d, we need to keep you here for a couple of more hours, make sure you don’t need any more Narcan”, you explained to him patiently. “Can I at least get another blanket? It’s so cold in here.”

“Of course”

Robby watched as you interacted with the patients. He approached you from behind, tapping your shoulder to catch your attention. You turned around and smiled. “Dr. Williams, do you have a minute?” he asked while signaling to the hallway away from the patients.

You nodded and put your index finger up as if to wait while you turned back around to face the patients one last time. “I’ll get one of the nurses to bring the sandwich and blanket for you guys”, you smiled, and then started following Robby. As you walked down the hall, you waited for him to speak.

“I just wanted to say thank you for earlier when I was, um..” he started not being able to find the right words. “You mean your brief moment of silent reflection?” you offered quietly with a smile nodding. “Yeah, how did you know it was the Shema? Robby asked curiously while looking at you, “My uncle is Jewish, so I grew up hearing it when I went to morning service with them” You finished explaining while looking down.

“Well, thank you. Really,” he exhaled.

“You really don’t have to thank me”, you looked up, shaking your head with a small smile “I’m just glad I was able to help” there was a flicker of recognition in your voice as you patted his shoulder. You cleared your throat “I really do need to grab that sandwich for my patient, but I’ll see you around” You walked away back towards him as you headed back to your patients. —------------------------------------------------------------ Once Robby was heading out, finally done with the hellish shift, he saw her again.

She was standing by the nurses’ station, updating a chart by one of the computers, her stethoscope half-tucked into her pocket. She looked different now—focused, composed.

The last thing he saw before he went past the sliding doors was her smile headed in his direction.

#michael robinavitch #michael robinavitch x reader #the pitt #the pitt hbo #the pitt imagine #the pitt fanfiction #dr robby #dr robby x reader #dr robinavitch x reader #dr robby imagine #dr michael robinavitch #dr robinavitch #noah wyle

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silens-oro · 3 days ago

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You Know Where You Are: Part III

Not all fics have adult content, but this blog is 18+. Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x f!Musician!Reader Angst/Established Relationship Part I | Part II

The Pitt Playlist located here The Pitt Masterlist

Synopsis: The aftermath of PittFest. Word Count: 5,542 (somebody sedate me) Content Warning: Reader is in her 30's; mass shooting; death; blood; gunshot injuries; angst; grief; medical procedures; I don't know anything about anything medical, but I did Dr. Google some things so please forgive inconsistencies - if I've missed any warnings, please let me know. A/N: Thank you all for the love this story has gotten. I anticipate one more part to this before it's over, so hang tight. For now, I leave this as a lil Friday treat because you deserve it.

Internal strangulation was the first thing you felt as your mind clawed its way back to consciousness. Your body felt heavy and weightless, like you were floating to the surface from the deep, dark depths of the ocean in search of the sun. An invasion of your airway and your mouth caused you to choke and sputter as you thrashed involuntarily.

Your arms didn’t move further than an inch or two as you squirmed and the sound in your ears rushed and rolled as if you were listening through a conch shell on the beach. Beeping -incessant beeping, was the first clear sound that came though, splitting your head in half with each throttle of sound, then the squeaks of sneakers approached you.

“Check vitals. Someone grab Dr. Martin, please.” A woman’s muffled voice was the first you heard, then chattering around the room that didn’t sound human to your ears. It was indistinct, muffled, slurred. You sank, then floated, then sank again before floating back to the surface. So close with the light hitting your face, and still just far enough out of reach.

Your eyes, crusted at the seams, tried to crack open, but whatever was inside of you made you panic when they didn’t. Multiple sets of hands held you down and a cool, damp cloth was wiped over your eyes to clear the debris. Your name was called out softly once, twice, then a third time.

“I know you’re scared, but I need you to calm down. We’re gonna check you out to see if we can get this tube out of you as quickly as we can, but you need to settle so we can do it, alright?” Your eyes finally cracked open for the first time in what felt like centuries. The woman -a nurse- was standing over you. Her gloved hand was cradling the side of your head to comfort you, but there was no amount of comfort to stop your heart from feeling like it was going to beat out of your rib cage. She said your name again to get your attention back on her.

“My name is Kate. Do you know where you are?” Your hands had a white knuckle grip on the wrist restraints as people moved in and out of the room. You shook your head, your brain was going haywire and the sudden hit of stimulation from every direction was too much to handle. “Can someone call downstairs to let Dr. Robby know she’s awake?” Kate spoke sternly to whoever was listening behind her. Mike, oh god, Mike. This caused your heart rate to skyrocket. “You’re okay, sweetheart. I need you to let the tube breathe for you, alright. Let it do its job until we can take it out.” She was doing her best to calm you, but it felt like you could run through a wall with the way adrenaline pumped through your body. “You’re at Pittsburgh Medical Trauma Center. Do you remember how you got here?”

You were on stage. Then screaming. Then Nick, blood, face down, Jake, dragged, Mac. Your eyes squeezed closed, tears leaking down your face.

“That’s okay, don’t strain yourself.” She turned as another set of footsteps was heard behind her. “Sweetheart, this is Dr. Martin.” A man came into view. He was older than Mike and he had a neutral expression on his face as he looked you over, then over to the monitors, “He’s gonna help us get this breathing tube out, alright.” You nodded tearfully.

“Well good afternoon to you. It’s good to finally see you up,” He spoke gently, then turned to a nurse you just noticed was on the other side of your bed. “How is she looking?”

“Good for extubation.” She confirmed. He nodded, snapping blue gloves on his hands as the two nurses surrounded you.

“Alright, let’s get these straps off.” He spoke your name as he started disconnecting straps that held the tube in place while the nurses undid your wrist restraints. Your hands flexed against the bed, gripping the scratchy top blanket in a deathgrip. “I need you to take a deep breath and when you exhale, I’m going to remove the tube, alright?” You nodded, pleading with your eyes to just remove it. “Good, go ahead and take a nice deep breath in,” It hurt, but you did as he asked. You felt something in your throat deflate. “Perfect, now exhale slowly for me.” The tube made a squelching sound as it came out, the feeling of it sliding out caused you to cough and sputter, drool and mucus following the tube as it finally ended. A nurse pushed the button on the bed to get you to sit up as much as you could so she could hold a small pink bucket under your mouth as you continued to cough and dry heave into your lap.

“I know it’s unpleasant, but getting it removed is a good thing.” Someone was rubbing small circles into your back and you were sure that a glare sat heavy on your face, but Dr. Martin didn’t make note of it outwardly. “I’m sure you have some questions, but I’d like to go over why you’re here so you can understand the situation. Nurse Kate, if you could please stick around.” She nodded to the other nurse, who took her leave and shut the door behind her.

Dr. Marin sat on the edge of the bed and Nurse Kate handed him a tablet. He swiped a few times and turned the screen so you could see it. It was an MRI scan of your torso with certain areas circled.

“You were shot.” He said simply. “It went in at an angle through your back here,” He pointed at the scan where the entry wound was, then pointed at the upper part of your abdomen, “and exited right here. It lacerated your liver and there was some pretty extensive bleeding. Had you gotten here any later than you did, we would not be having this conversation.” Your hands began to shake, their grip on the blanket not letting up. “The good news is that we were able to repair the damage and that your liver was the only organ hit. There will be a pretty good chunk of recovery time for you, and some scarring, but in the long run there shouldn’t be any lasting physical damage and physical therapy will definitely help aid your recovery. That being said, our social worker Kiara is going to stop by at some point to chat with you. She has a wealth of knowledge and resources to help you navigate your next steps regarding what you experienced.” He brought his hand to rest on top of your right shaking fist, giving it a comforting squeeze. “We are going to keep you here for monitoring for the next week or so until you’re up on your own two feet, so get comfortable. You’re in great hands. I’m here if you have any questions, alright? For now just rest as much as you can.” He glanced over to Kate, then he stood, gave you a nod with a small smile, and exited the room.

You looked around the dim room for the first time since you woke up. Flowers, cards, stuffed animals, and ‘Get Well Soon!’ balloons took over every surface and carried over onto the floor. How long were you out?

“You have a lot of people who’ve been real worried about you.” Kate said softly. “Dr. Robby should be up in a few. He was up here earlier to check in on you, but you were still out. He’s been worried sick. Night shift tells me Dr. Abbot’s been checking in as well.” You were afraid to speak, worried that opening your mouth would let the proverbial floodgates open.”You know them?” You nodded.

“Are you feeling any pain?” Kate offered with a smile. How could you tell her that that’s all you felt, mentally, physically, emotionally? All you could do was shake your head, your chest tightening with sobs ready to be unleashed. Tears welled in your eyes and she took that as her cue to give you some space. “I’m gonna grab you some ice cubes to soothe your throat, alright? I’ll be back in a few.” She softly closed the door and that’s when you let out a deep gasp of air, it was deep enough to choke you and there was no reeling it back in.

Robby happened to be outside in triage when a white pickup pulled into the ambulance bay, honking frantically to get their attention.

“We’ve got four back here,” Dr. Shen called out for the triage team as he climbed in the bed of the truck. “Through and through the head. No pulse, black and white,” He verbally noted as he took stock of who could actually be treated. “Red zone, GSW to the abdomen, low pulse, heavy blood loss, unresponsive.” Shen and Ellis slapped bracelets on each victim as they were called out.

“Red zone, GSW left chest,” Ellis called out, slapping another bracelet on the third person in the back of the truck. “Weak carotid, unresponsive.”

“They were both talking when we got in the truck,” Jake tried to keep himself together as he spoke to Ellis. Robby’s ears perked up the second he heard the voice and bolted to the truck. “They were bleeding so much and I couldn’t stop it!” Jake was becoming frantic.

“Jake!” Robby’s voice boomed in the ambulance bay as he picked up into a sprint over to the truck.

“Robby! They were shot!” He sobbed your name, “-and Leah! It’s really bad!” Robby climbed over the side of the truck and stopped in his tracks when he saw you, slumped over and covered in blood. The color, the life, was drained from your face and the bloody shirt held to your abdomen was all he needed to see to get him moving. His fingers went under your jaw, checking for the pulse that was hanging on by a thread. It took a few seconds for him to find it, but it was there -faint- but there.

“We need gurneys over here!” His voice cracked as everyone moved into action. His manic eyes went from you to Jake, then down to Leah who was also unresponsive. He held a hand to Leah’s chest and his heart sank when he didn’t feel anything. “Get them loaded and inside, now!” He helped pull you from the truck, quickly assessing the damage. It was bad. You lost a lot of blood and god only knew the damage the round had done internally. Shen picked up where Robby left off so he could assess Jake and Leah.

“I’ve been putting pressure on the wounds as best as I could, but it’s bad, Robby!” Jake tried to be useful with any info he could.

“You did a good job, kid,” Robby reassured Jake, looking him over. “Are you shot?”

“I don’t know. Maybe-maybe my leg? Most of this is their blood,” A pink bracelet was slapped on his wrist and he was pulled up.

“You know them, boss?” Ellis asked. Robby felt like he was going to puke.

“Yeah. Come on, let’s go.” Robby’s voice boomed to get everyone back into high gear. They didn’t have time to lose.

Jack turned to look at the exit to triage to see one gurney come in with a young teen, then Robby pushed another behind it. When Jack saw you, he immediately turned over the patient he was finishing up with to Langdon before rushing over to Robby.

Robby’s eyes shifted between Leah -Jake sobbing for him to do something-, and back down to you before Jack made the decision for Robby by taking your gurney to his trauma area to begin intubation to get you stable without a second thought. Ellis repeated your status to Jack to give him an idea of what he was walking into.

Robby trusted Jack, knew you were in the best hands in this ED where his own hands had failed so many times today already, so he let Jack do what he did best while he began working on Leah and trying to settle Jake.

“Intubation, chest tube, IO, and a unit of blood,” Jack called to his team who were moving faster than he could give out orders. “We’ve got an entrance and an exit, through and through. That’s the good news,” Jack spoke out loud, loud enough for Robby to hear from across the room. He didn’t tell Robby the wound was in No Man’s Land because he didn’t need to hear it. Not now.

Robby couldn’t help but take quick glances across the room once the breathing tube had been inserted. Your face was obscured, but he could see that your shirt had been cut open, your tattooed body exposed to a room full of strangers, but it didn’t matter. None of it would matter if you didn’t make it out of this department alive. His knees almost buckled at the thought of your gurney being wheeled into the peds room to join the three others who they already lost.

Robby shook his head to banish the thought and give Leah everything he had.

Jack would glance up and over, cool as a cucumber, to catch Robby’s eyes, then he’dshift them back down to where he was doing everything he could, pulling every trick he had from up his sleeve to get you stable. Jack knew the odds weren’t exactly in your favor, but one glance at the girl on Robby’s gurney and he knew she wasn’t making it at all. You had a fighting chance, and it would be all uphill for Jack, but there was a chance.

The tension inside of Robby’s body wound tighter and tighter with every breath he took. Looking down at Leah, he knew in his heart of hearts that she wasn’t going to make it out of this -not with the wound that she had, but that didn’t stop him from exhausting every effort for Jake’s sake because he had to do something -anything. He couldn’t throw in the towel, not when she was so young with so much more life to live, and not when Jake was happy.

Robby couldn’t call it. He couldn’t face the reality of what was happening, so he kept frantically pushing and pushing until there was nothing left to give. It was the flash of movement from your gurney being wheeled behind the HUB and over to the elevator for the pre-OP that caught Robby’s attention. Jack seemed to teleport next to him in that moment and he leaned in close so only Robby could hear him.

“She’s stable. There’s damage to her liver and some soft tissue, massive blood loss, but she’s stable, brother.” Robby nodded, continuing to push the cell saver. “How many units so far?” Jack asked, arms crossed over his chest. His brows were furrowed as he watched Robby work and call shots when he knew this wasn’t turning around.

“Four, plus the cell saver.” Jack nodded.

“Last one?” It was more of a suggestion than a question from Jack. If he had to make the call, a single unit probably wouldn’t have gone to her in her condition. It sounded harsh, but it couldn’t be wasted on someone who had zero chance of survival when there were dozens of other patients who could have used it -especially since their supply was dwindling rapidly and patients were still pouring in.

“I don’t know.” Robby was in denial. Jack looked down at Leah and saw what the reality was. “Dana, why don’t we try a little TXA? 1,000 milligrams of TXA might help her clot.” Dana tried to hold it together after seeing you wheeled in with Jake attached to Leah’s side. She looked at Jack with devastation in her eyes because she was of the same belief as him regarding Leah’s status even though she wouldn’t say it out loud. Nonetheless, she did what Robby asked.

“Bullet tore through her heart,” Jack said softly, but it was something Robby needed to hear. “Anyone with a wound like this is pronounced dead in the field. You can’t keep up with the blood loss.” He tried to reason. “If she was our only patient we’d do a thoracotomy, maybe ECMO, but even then I doubt we’d get her back.” Robby moved back to chest compressions. He knew Jack was right, but he couldn’t let go. “We’re gonna lose ten other patients if you put all your efforts into saving this girl.” He said it point blank. Pussyfooting around the issue wasn’t getting through to Robby. This was the reality. Leah was gone and nothing Robby did was going to save her.

Nurse Kate had been gone ten minutes when you heard a quiet knock on the door. It cracked open and Mike’s head popped in to scope out the situation. When his eyes locked on yours he pushed himself through and shut the door.

You could feel it, the surging tsunami of emotions coming to the surface and the telltale wobble of your bottom lip was all it took for Mike to get to your side as you sobbed viscerally. He sat on the side of the bed and hugged you to him as best as he could while you cried against his throat.

“I’m so sorry, Mike,” It devastated him. Your first sentence spoken to him since the morning of the shooting, voice raspy and visceral, and you were apologizing to him. He tried to keep it together, he really did, but the last three days were wave after wave of grief, agony, pain and suffering, and he had nothing left to hold onto.

His cheek nestled itself onto the top of your head as he held you to him. “I’m sorry. God,” Your breathing was ragged against him. “Please tell me Jake’s alright and Leah.” Robby didn’t know if he could handle this conversation. “I couldn’t help them, Mike. Please tell me they’re alright,” You begged him. If something happened to either of them you would never forgive yourself. Robby put the pieces together that you either forgot Leah was in the truck with you or you just weren’t even coherent at that point and his heart continued to shatter into tinier and tinier pieces until it was dust.

“Jake’s fine,” Mike spoke into your hair, trying to keep his voice even, but you could hear the wobble. “He’s got a minor wound on his leg. He’ll be on crutches for a while, but he’s okay.” He felt a breath of relief leave you. He couldn’t tell you about how Jake had let him feel every bit the failure as a doctor, as a father figure, as a friend. “Leah…” Your grip on his zip-up got so tight that your knuckles cracked. He didn’t say it out loud, but you felt him shake his head. “And Nick…” Tears fell from Robby’s exhausted eyes at your devastated wails. His eyes were clenched shut, his deepening crow’s feet exacerbated by the tension used to keep them shut.

The fact that he could physically hold you in his arms was the first win he had in days. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw you next to Leah in the Peds room, you and the five other poor souls who didn’t make it out of the ED.

“I’m sorry,” His voice cracked as he repeated it over and over, his arms never leaving you. “I tried.”

It was around seven that night when you finally got Robby to go home and sleep. Your tears had mostly subsided, but there was an emptiness -a hollow pit- forming where the raw emotions left behind a trail of devastation. It had only been three days since the shooting, but Robby seemed to have aged ten years. His usually neat and trimmed beard was unruly. He had dark circles that weighed heavy under his eyes. His clothes were wrinkled, slept in, and he looked beyond exhausted. He was running on the leftover vapors of fumes and he couldn’t work under those conditions, much less function. He shouldn’t be working at all, but he threw himself into the only thing he had an illusion of control over. You reassured him that you’d be fine and that you weren’t going anywhere until he finally relented, promising to return in a few hours.

The truth was that you needed him out.

The more you looked at Mike, the more you saw Leah, and the more you saw Leah, the more you thought about the fact that it was supposed to be him on that stage with Jake and it made you furious. Furious that you fought with him because he decided not to go. Furious because you iced him out when he flippantly dropped it on you the morning of PittFest, which in retrospect wasn’t even a big issue, but his decision saved his life. It was you who fought to put him in danger. Hindsight was always 20/20 and realistically you couldn’t have known that this was going to happen, but you should’ve. It was always a possibility, especially with the current way of the world.

It was inevitable, but it shouldn’t be.

You saw Mike in Leah’s place in that truck, the few glimpses your brain kept locked away, every time you closed your eyes. You didn’t know if they were actual memories of her or if your brain had put the images together to further torment yourself. The hallucinations of Mike motionless, bleeding out, while you couldn’t even help yourself was agonizing. And it played over and over in various scenarios to the point of near madness. His death layered over Leah’s death played over and over in a vicious loop, over and over until you wanted to rip the hair from your scalp.

God, Leah. She was so excited to meet you and the rest of the guys before your set. She was sweet and bubbly, kind and an overall ray of sunshine. Jake and Leah were attached at the hip the entire afternoon and you remembered feeling so happy for them.

Now she was gone, a young life cut disastrously short in the blink of an eye for no reason. Her death ate away at you, gnawing at the frayed edges of your soul like a parasite and you couldn’t get her smiling face out of your mind no matter how hard you rubbed at your eyes. Jake would never recover from this, not fully. How could he? If he felt even a fraction of the guilt and anger you did, it would be a long time before he crawled out of that hole that kept going deeper and deeper.

You retreated further and further into yourself that night until you were spiraling into a deep, dark prison of your own making. It was a place you could shut yourself off, let your boat drift from the dock to flow along the gentle, black currents -adrift at sea with nothing tying you to the present.

The next time a nurse came in to check on you, you had her make a note that you didn’t want any visitors going forward unless they were ran by you first, and that included Mike.

“Robby,” Jack announced himself as he entered the post-op room, “Any changes?” His voice was just above a whisper when he shut the door behind him so he didn’t disturb the quiet peace that had settled over the space. It was nearing three in the morning and Jack had returned to the hospital around two just as he told Robby he would after going home and getting a couple hours rest.

Robby startled from his thoughts, his head swiveling to meet his counterpart before shaking it softly. His hands were clasped around yours, an anchor to hold onto you in every way he could.

“No, nothing yet.” They both watched over you, looking for any sign of life other than the steady beeping. The color started to return to your skin, noticeable even in the dim room. It was a step in the right direction, at least. Your vitals were steady every time Robby checked them and you hadn’t moved an inch since you were wheeled into the room mere hours ago after a successful surgery.

Robby needed you to wake up -they both did. After Robby’s admission on the roof earlier that night, Jack didn’t know what Robby would’ve actually done had things gone south.

“Why don’t you go home, get something to eat. Rest for a few hours.” Robby opened his mouth to argue, but Jack just held a hand up. “I’ll come up here to check on her through the morning, alright? And I’ll have the nurses alert me immediately if anything changes. You’ll be the first to know. Please. You’re no good to her if you’re dead on your feet.” Robby nodded, but didn’t move.

“I…I never got to thank you, Jack. I don’t know how I can.”

“No thanks needed, brother. I did what I was meant to do.” Jack patted Robby’s shoulder. “I’m here for you. Anything you need, no questions asked.”

When the news broke the next day that you were awake, people -friends, relatives, acquaintances, people you worked with, toured with- tried to visit and very few of them were granted access. It was pandemonium at the nurses’ station as they tried to corral everyone that came through.

The more flowers and balloons that were sent made you want to throw up every time a nurse brought the gifts in with a sad smile.

So many people lost someone that day -wives, husbands, fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, friends. Dozens of people died brutally at the festival grounds, not including the ones who died at PTMC, but it was your band who was the headline of every news station across the country as you found out when you turned the tv on in your room for some background noise. Hearing so many people speak about you and Nick while the other victims were pushed to the background as an afterthought -as a mere number to the death count- was derailing you mentally, and with each photo of Nick that you saw, each clip they played of past shows, you stepped one foot closer to the looming inevitable psychotic break.

It was when they played recorded footage from someone in the crowd’s perspective of the stage seconds before gunshots could be heard and Nick was hit that you lost it. The sound of the echoing shots right as the clip cut off caused an immediate involuntary reaction in you. You turned the tv off and threw the remote across the room before you knew what you were doing, gasping for breath. The back and batteries scattered and you didn’t care because that TV was never getting turned back on so long as you were stuck in this room.

Your day nurse, Rita, ran in at the noise and saw you in bed with your hands pressed tightly over your face.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m sorry! I don’t know-,” Your voice was muffled through your hands. She looked down and saw the remote and its pieces scattered across the floor. Without complaint, Rita picked up each piece, put them back into their places, and placed the remote back on your bed for easy access.

“It’s trauma, hun. Don’t apologize.” She stood at your bedside and checked you over. “Still not sleeping?” You shook your head. “I can get you something to take the edge off a little. Help you relax to get a few hours of shut-eye. You need it.”

“I’m scared to sleep.” You whispered. “I close my eyes and all I can see is my friend who I’ve known since we were 12, a girl I met hours before who was there when she shouldn’t have been, the people in the crowd. I see things that are going to haunt me for the rest of my life, but if I don’t sleep…I can put those thoughts away.” You brushed the tears from your cheeks. “I’m tired of crying, but that's all I can do.”

“Dr. Robby’s back,” it was the third day in a row he tried to get in and you didn’t budge, and still you just shook your head, eyes not leaving the window. The first morning Robby tried to see you after you sent him home to rest had been a catastrophe when he returned and was denied access to your room. He couldn’t understand what you were doing or why. Exhausted and broken down mentally, he tried to bully the nurses into letting him in. It wasn’t his finest moment, and he wasn’t proud of his behavior (which he apologized for). The nurse had reassured him that she understood but her hands were tied. He wasn’t your doctor so he could not have access unless it was granted and you essentially made the room the hospital’s version of Fort Knox. He tried day after day, but each refusal chipped away at every facet of his being. There was only so much a single person could take.

Robby refused to say anything to anyone about the way this was crippling him and knowing you would rather suffer alone…it was an unexpected blow that continued to throttle away at his foundation that was already standing on its last leg. Jack saw it. Dana saw it. Everyone in the ED saw it and he swam in the opposite direction when every single one of them threw a life preserver out to him.

He needed support. He needed you. But how can you lean on someone when you’re both angry, grief stricken, filled with crippling guilt and are horrifically traumatized? How do you work through that when neither of you are in a headspace that allows for help to be given or taken? How does he fight through it?

He couldn’t.

He can’t.

By the fourth rejection, Robby did something he hadn’t ever done before -he gave up. He went to work and he went home where he suffered in silence because everything around him had imploded in such a catastrophic way that it left no survivors in its wake. He failed every patient that flatlined. He failed Leah. He failed Jake. He failed you.

Everything fell apart.

You spent nearly two weeks in the hospital recovering, stewing, and self-sabotaging through a complete cut off from the outside world. Your phone sat on the rolling bedside table, battery dead and crusted with old blood that the nurses couldn’t get out of the cracks of the splintered screen. They offered to charge it for you, but you wanted nothing to do with anything that was waiting for you on the device.

Your discharge from the hospital couldn’t come soon enough. Sitting in that room, staring at the wall for 23 out of 24 hours a day was getting to you in ways you’d never say out loud.

The clothes you were wearing the day of the shooting had either been completely soaked in blood or were cut off of you so a nurse brought you a pair of scrubs to go home in and a pair of shoes that had been sitting in their donation box that were a size too big.

So that’s how you left Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center, in a pair of disposable scrubs, a stranger’s shoes, and a plastic bag in hand that held your phone, the key ring that was originally hooked to the belt loop of your bloody jeans, the in-ear monitor that was still strapped to you when you were tossed into the truck, and a bottle of prescription pain meds and sleep aids.

The townhouse you owned was only two and a half blocks from PTMC so you signed every waiver you needed to to be let out without having someone to take you home. Who would you call to get you anyway? Whoever you had lined up in your brain would want to talk, ask questions. They’d ask how you were feeling. They’d bring up Robby and the tops of your hands itched at the thought of having to face any of it. The skin was already raised and irritated, bleeding in some areas where you couldn’t stop scratching. It was simpler to get yourself back to the home you barely inhabited these days rather than reach out for help. It made sense in your mind anyway.

Every step on the sidewalk yanked uncomfortably at the incision site on your abdomen and back. The stitches were removed that morning, but the wounds were still tender. The lines that divided the sidewalk held your attention the entire way to the brownstone so you wouldn’t make eye contact with anyone. You looked crazy, perhaps a psych patient escaped from the ward to the average onlooker, which is why you picked up your pace just a bit more regardless of the pull you felt from your side.

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