#frank langdon/dr robby

[mychemstat]

give me tough love.

Frank Langdon x Michael "Robby" Robinavitch

word count : ~4k

author's note and warnings: guys there's smut. because these are my barbies whom i make scissor. it's unethical. robby is upset. langdon wants love and attention (and dick). enjoy.

"I don't have a best friend."

“What am I?”

“You’re my best resident. Big difference.”

“Yeah, but we’re still friends?”

“Not if this conversation goes on much longer.”

Dr. Frank Langdon, emergency medicine senior resident, wondered whether Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch, senior attending, liked him.

He felt like a little kid on the playground, wanting his existence acknowledged by the most popular guy in school. He wanted so badly to be as close to Robby as Dr. Abbot was. At first, he figured it wasn’t anything serious, he has always been like that.

Langdon has always wanted love.

Needy, clingy Langdon who never showed his cards or pulled his punches and kept a safe distance with anyone (even his wife and kids), felt a new itch inside him the day he met Robby.

He couldn't list exactly what set that itch off on his ten fingers. Maybe he could if he held Robby’s calloused fingers in his own and counted the circles of his fingertips. Maybe then.

Frank, as no one calls him in the ER, held that thought for days. He puked over it, passing it off to his family as mild food poisoning even though they all ate at the same table every day. Who were they to question the doctor?

Confused was one word to explain how he felt. Horrified was a much more accurate term.

The last time he felt this way about someone, he got married. There was no way in hell he was having those same feelings. At least that is what said to himself as he jerked off every day in the shower, hot water almost piercing his skin, pretending it was Robby’s nails and teeth digging into his skin.

It’s the painkillers. A voice in his head reminded him, and he immediately shoved it away, remnants of shame creeping into his conscience.

Painkillers alter moods. Maybe they changed my hormones. Langdon bit his lip deep in thought before chewing on the last morsel of protein bar stuck to the aluminum wrap.

“Dr. Langdon, the labs you ordered? Mr. Raina’s bloodwork shows low hemoglobin and iron, B-12 at an all time low of a hundred.”

Langdon snapped out of the ridiculous conversation he humored with his own conscience and turned his attention to Mel, immediately relaxing in her presence.

“Uh… thanks, Mel. Administer a B-12 shot and prescribe vitamin c, iron, and vitamin d supplements.” Langdon informed, almost on autopilot. Anemia was so common he swore he had the same exact conversation ten minutes ago with Mateo.

Mel nodded in her usual, focused manner, about to turn around to leave before stopping to question, “Are you okay, Dr. Langdon?”

Mel was observant as fuck.

Langdon hesitated, “Uh. Yeah, I’m fine. Just late night with the kids.” The best part about a job that put the patient’s best interest in the most dire situations was how good he got at lying. With patients, it had a line: Say what you need to save their life. If the patient insists they don't drink, agree with them and take a blood test and CT scan anyway. At the end of the day it's for the patient.

Lying was fun. And as with anything else, moderation was not a regular part of Langdon's routine.

He had to be the best in his class all throughout highschool, undergrad, masters degree, and part of the dean's list whenever possible. He couldn't get his head out of his textbooks because he wanted to be the best. He needed to be the best.

When he needed, he needed so much he could die. Every lay of his life left his bed with an earnest performance review. Needless to say his bedside manners only improved every time. And when he said “just one more” to himself with a vial of ativan clasped between his sweaty palms, he had nothing but green lights flashing in his head.

Langdon was anything but moderate, always going out of the way to impress every set of eyes in the room. For him, there was nothing worse than being on the receiving side of disappointment. He aimed to please. Even the goldendoodle he brought home for his kids was to make them happy. He got paid enough to support his wife and kids. What was one more mouth to feed if it made his children happy for the next few months till they eventually got bored of the dog?

All throughout the morning, Langdon kept his eyes on Robby, looking for a twitch of disapproval in his eyebrows as he monitored procedures. If Langdon sensed anything but satisfaction, his fingers would squeeze around whatever medical instrument had the misfortune of being within his grasp. There was no way he was going to disappoint Robby.

The compliments were the best part. A mere “good work” or “nice job, Langdon,” from his senior attending would have him on a high all day, barely reaching for those pills in his locker. His own little painkiller without side effects.

Just like those pills, however, he was dependent on Robby too.

Every time he would see the man striding around the department, the most important person in any room, waiting or operating, his pulse would skyrocket, craving one look of reassurance from him. Just one more glance from coffee browns to icy blues that melted Langdon’s brain in the matter of seconds.

Today, Robby was not having a good day.

Adamson’s death anniversary was clearly affecting Robby and his patience. He would snap at regular troublesome patients whom he usually waved off, and he almost yelled at Mohan because she was taking too long with patients.

And the worst part of the day was when he found Langdon’s stash.

He had never seen Robby so angry. The veins on his forehead popped as he yelled at Langdon in the hallway, Princess and a patient caught in the crossfire. Shame flooded Langdon’s senses watching his mentor throw his shit on the ground and shout in the hospital in front of everyone within earshot. Langdon had fucked up bad.

“Get out! And don’t come back here till you’ve gotten your shit together, fuck!”

Langdon couldn’t bear to hear Robby talk to him like that. He knew he fucked up. He knew he should get help. But hearing it from the man he wanted to be adored by was probably the worst thing for his psyche right now. All it did was make him sad, and Langdon had rarely ever sat with sadness. He would push it down and move on because it wasn’t worth honing over.

There was a first time for everything.

“No.” The word escaped Langdon’s throat quietly.

Robby’s face fell like he had been factory reset, voice laced with venom, “What did you say?”

“I’m not going home, Robby.” Langdon repeated himself, gathering bits of courage to look up from his shoes soaked in patients’ blood. He knew very well that Robby could call security and end this matter in less than a minute. He knew that. But he still felt like trying Robby’s patience.

What else could he do other than yell?

Langdon wanted to find out.

“I’ve proven myself here, time and time again. I know I fucked up, but I also know I’m a good doctor. You can’t do this to me. Call security, I don't care.”

Robby was a hurricane personified, storm dawning over his normally kind eyes.

“Mother-” Robby charged loudly towards Langdon before composing himself, “-fucker, you wanna act tough now?”

“When else have I done this, Robby?” Langdon pleaded softly, eyes welling up. The bright lights shone over them in the medically white hallway. Death and hard truths floated in the air.

He hated being weak.

The older man scratched his scalp furiously, trailing his fingers down his beard in frustration. If Langdon didn’t know any better, he would think Robby would just spontaneously combust.

He watched his senior place his hands on his waist, staring down at the sickeningly clean floors of the hallway, fingers visibly clawing into his scrubs. Langdon was so afraid of what would happen. Would he hit him? Would he risk his entire career to let out his anger?

“Meet me in call room three in five minutes.”

Langdon’s thought train halted, “What?”

Robby started toward his direction, walking with intent and past Langdon’s shivering body. He could smell the coffee and disinfectant from Robby as he walked by in a hurry, making him a bit dizzy.

He knew not to defy him then. Maybe Robby wanted to talk. Maybe he was handling the situation privately. Maybe he was still keeping his job. Langdon had some hope. He wasn’t totally cynical.

The moment Langdon set his things down on the desk in call room three, the door creaked open softly, revealing an alert Robby, licking his lips as he looked outside for any incoming traffic before shutting the door carefully and pulling the blind.

“Robby, I just wanted to thank you for hearing me out-”

“Who the fuck do you think you are?”

Langdon swallowed around nothing, completely taken aback by the question.

“What… Listen Robby, please, you need to listen to me.”

Robby flashed him one of those sarcastic, semi-frustrated smiles of his that made his underlings cower in fear.

“You risked patients’ lives and jeopardized your career and mine. Do you know what could have happened? Do you have any fucking idea the consequences of your fuck-”

“I know I fucked up, please-”

“Shut your fucking mouth, I don’t wanna hear anymore-”

“I just wanted you to be proud of me!” Langdon shrieked, louder than he thought he could, breaking any and all boundaries of their professional relationship. Not that anything about the situation they were in was professional.

The ventilator in the room pushed the cold in, a chill traveling up Langdon’s spine. Robby’s face softened, then his eyes narrowed, like a scope on a rifle. Langdon had never been more terrified. The older man took a seat on the neat and empty bed, looking like he was rethinking his life. Langdon felt something break in his chest.

Then his legs carried him as he knelt to the ground, fingers grasping at the legs of Robby’s scrubs, knees hitting the linoleum floor unabashedly.

“Please, just hear me out, Robby,” Langdon begged, eyebrows twisting up, eyes glistening with tears at his superior. Robby was his only hope. His only way out, not just medically, but according to his own conscience.

Fingers digging into Robby’s muscular calves, Langdon held on tight as if that would convince Robby to let him stay.

“You want me to be proud of you?” Robby finally spoke, opening his eyes that were tightly screwed shut. Langdon could feel the hatred in each syllable of Robby’s.

“Yes, yes please. Robby, I would do anything, you know me, you know this.”

Robby jutted his lips in denial, but didn’t move or take Langdon’s hands off his legs. He sat in silence, eyes flitting to Langdon’s face, gaze trailing down the strands of hair that were so annoyingly perfect he was pissed off seeing them every morning. Robby looked into Langdon’s eyes, finding nothing but a confusing mixture of denial and regret.

He denied his addiction. He regretted letting Robby down.

Langdon saw something click in Robby. The older man suddenly looked calmer. Still stern, but less explosive. He wanted to get inside his head and figure out what was going on in there.

Robby raised his hand and Langdon almost flinched thinking Robby would slap him, or hit him, or do something that was not simply sitting in silence. Now that he was closer to his mentor, Langdon could smell hints of Robby’s fabric softener, cologne, and some sweat from the already insane day he had had. He hated that he was now another worry added to Robby’s endless list, but his scent twisted Lngdon’s gut so deliciously, he swore he felt his cock twitch.

Not the time, he thought, eyes still glued on Robby.

Robby’s thumb curled as he lowered it to Langdon’s spit slicked lips. The pad of his thumb dipped into the plush of Langdon’s bottom lip, revealing his bottom teeth, calloused skin harsh against the younger’s.

“Robby-”

“Just shut the fuck up. For two fucking minutes.”

Langdon followed. He gave up his defense and focused on Robby, how his fingers latched to the bottom of his chin, red hot touch wiring jolts of electricity to his stomach.

Langdon dropped his jaw, allowing Robby to explore further. The older man slid his thumb past his bottom teeth and onto Langdon’s silver tongue that began gathering spit. The younger man could practically feel himself about to ruin his underwear as he tasted the salt on Robby’s skin. Rough skin brushed Langdon’s tongue out so it hung out of his mouth. The mentor finally spoke.

“Suck.”

Langdon let out a noise so embarrassing he felt his ego shrink and his cock grow, tongue hanging out and saliva dripping down his jutted berry lips. Robby gave him a second to gather his brain before advancing deeper into Langdon’s mouth as the younger man wrapped his lips around his thumb in an instant, swallowing around it.

Robby let out a satisfied exhale, shifting in his seat, other hand lifting from the bed and reaching for the drawstring of his sweats. Langdon’s eyes shifted down to Robby’s hips, watching intently as he slowly pulled the string and untied it in one go.

Was this actually happening?

Langdon felt like he was in one of his many dreams about Robby. He certainly didn't imagine it like this. He thought Robby would invite him over to watch a game and have a drink with him and things could lead into something more risque.

But he wasn't complaining.

Langdon was on his knees in a call room in the hospital with his mentor’s finger in his mouth, about to be used thoroughly by the looks of everything.

He almost came at that thought.

Langdon’s eyes scanned the veins in Robby’s hands leading up to his forearms, and drabbled spit down Robby’s thumb once again, salivating at the mere thought of having Robby’s cock in his mouth.

He had dreamt of how he would feel. He almost caught a glance of it once as he talked to him about some patient’s stats while using the urinals in the hospital bathroom. And from what he saw, he knew he needed almost a bucket more of lubrication to even take him halfway down his throat.

Langdon moaned around his finger as Robby started to draw back slowly, collecting all of his spit before standing up to lower his sweats. The hem of his shirt rose and Langdon wondered what it would be like to lick and bite his midriff.

“Robby-” Langdon barely let out, still sucking and devouring the savory skin of Robby’s thumb.

The older man shushed him, pulling him into his hip and sliding his thumb out, a string of Langdon’s saliva bridging the tip of his thumb to the younger's already swollen bottom lip.

Langdon could hear Robby’s shivering breaths, something he usually heard when he was angry or vexed, but this was something else. This was impatience.

His eyes traced the outline of Robby’s cock through his black briefs, swallowing around nothing as he admired the view.

Robby looked down at him, clouded eyes growing darker like a tempest steadily brewing. Loathe coated his expression but Langdon wasn’t afraid anymore. He was ready.

Hands working separately, the man in trouble parted his lips before leaning close and licking a stripe up Robby’s length, drawing a shaky breath from the man towering over him. His nimble fingers sizzled at contact with Robby’s bare skin just an inch or two above the hem of his briefs before curling them underneath the elastic band and tugging them down slowly, tufts of curls revealing with every little pull.

Whatever was happening outside in the ER was now not their business.

Robby was big; which wouldn't have been a surprise if Robby wasn’t already hard, the head of his cock an angry scarlet, already leaking in anticipation.

Langdon wanted to cry. Not because he didn’t like any of this. Because he felt like all his questions had been answered. Robby liked him. Robby wanted him.

The younger man’s eyes welled up as he examined Robby, long and heavy, veins bulging down to the base. He noticed a tattoo scattered on the side of his hip, and he almost lunged to lick it.

Before Langdon could do anything, however, Robby grasped the kneeling man’s gel-slicked hair, pulling it back to expose his throat.

So empty. Robby marveled.

Langdon could only watch as Robby brought his spit-slicked thumb to the tip of his length and ran it over the slit, letting out a moan so deep and guttural that it made Langdon’s cock leak against his underwear.

The older man pushed Langdon’s head near the tip of his dick, lips brushing against the hot, throbbing skin as Langdon groaned in need.

“Please, Robby-”

Robby swiped the head through Langdon’s wet lips, already feeling the warmth of his underling’s mouth, brushing his length against his gums. Langdon dripped saliva all over him as he waited for instructions. He wanted to make him so happy. He would do anything for him.

“Open.” Robby stated, and Langdon dropped his jaw in relief, fingers latching onto the older man’s length.

“Don't fuckin’ touch me.” Robby hissed, and Langdon backed his hands away immediately. He watched as Robby lowered Langdon’s mouth onto his cock, coating his tip in warmth and slick.

Langdon moaned at the feeling of his mouth being occupied, finally feeling full. His own dick was now begging to be let out but the friction of his scrubs against Robby’s shoe had him satisfied for now. As Robby slid further down Langdon’s throat, he reminded the younger man to breathe through his nose and relax his jaw, losing his mind at the tightness of his employee’s mouth.

Langdon was now struggling. Robby was thick and a little too long for his usual routine of sucking dick. He wanted to take his time with him: kiss the tip and work his hands around his balls. He couldn't do any of that. He couldn't show just how good he could be.

“Fuuuuuck, F-frank.” Robby exhaled quietly, hitting the roof of Langdon’s mouth before feeling his throat clamp around him. Langdon choked and spat and gagged at the obstruction as he felt Robby somehow grow harder.

He called him Frank. He had never called him Frank before.

Langdon whimpered around Robby, mouth full and lips contracting just halfway across his length, sending vibrations up his cock. Robby fisted Langdon’s hair tighter. Langdon couldn't be quiet anymore.

He exhaled loudly, crying around Robby in the magic of it all as he watched Robby slide out before going back in further. Robby was about to bottom out.

“Fnmnhg,” was all that Langdon could add to the conversation as Robby slipped lowerr and further down Langdon’s throat, curving down to his oesophagus, tears prickling at the corner of his eyes. Tears ran down his cheeks, jaw already sore.

Robby was in a time crunch, but Langdon had forgotten all about the world outside. And to be fair, Robby was also close to losing himself inside Langdon. With one thrust, Robby now fit completely and perfectly inside Langdon, the younger’s nose pressed against the dark curls at the base of his cock. Langdon couldn't breathe. He couldn't speak. He couldn't think.

It was perfect.

Robby shut his eyes, the tightness of Langdon’s throat squeezing him in all the right places. The vein on the underside of Robby’s cock nestled perfectly on Langdon’s slippery tongue, pulling out the most breathtaking sounds from his superior.

Langdon groaned again, trying his best to breathe through his nose, inhaling the smell of soap and musk that sent lightning up his cock. God, he had a new addiction to add to the list, it seemed.

Robby could notice Langdon's struggle; the way his eyebrows twisted up beautifully in acceptance yet slight discomfort at Robby’s outstanding length, cheeks hot with tears, and throat completely used. Robby had wanted this for so long: just to use that pretty mouth of his for some good instead of having it run rampant in the ER. Sometimes Robby’s eyes would flicker to Langdon’s arms or exposed skin on his midriff, and he would have the sudden urge to bend him over and milk him for all he’s worth.

Now he had a reason to. Not that the ethics board would agree. He knew what they were doing was so wrong.

Anybody could walk in. Anyone. Princess, Perlah, or worse, one of the interns.

He could lose everything. He could lose his medical license if he was found fucking his employee’s throat into oblivion as other doctors scrambled to save whoever was dying that minute.

Something switched on in Robby at the sheer thrill and insanity of the situation. He was exhausted from being responsible and caring and considerate the entire damn time. He just wanted to let go and do whatever the fuck he wanted. Do whoever the fuck he wanted.

With one last groan from Langdon inciting such a perfect twist of his gut traveling down to the tip of his leaking cock, Robby thrusted upward in Langdon’s throat, fucking the gummy walls of his mouth without a care. Langdon shrieked before grabbing the back of Robby’s thighs for balance. He was worried that Robby would tell him to get his hands off. But Robby had stopped thinking altogether.

“F-fuck, Frank…”

There it was. Calling him by his first name again. Langdon was losing it.

As Langdon’s mouth was put to use, the motion and warmth mixed with the highly unprofessional sounds of spit squelching against his cock jet Robby through his orgasm mortifyingly quickly. He bucked hard and rough against Langdon, pushing his head against his hip, spilling down the younger man’s throat. Langdon held his breath till Robby finished jutting into his mouth, cum spurting so heavily that Langdon found himself humping Robby’s shoe and cumming into his boxers.

“Oh, baby, fuck, oh fuck.” Robby muttered silently, and Langdon felt himself already growing hard again at the nickname as he hummed obscenely on his cock.

Robby pulsed slowly inside his mouth, still reeling from the shattering orgasm he just had inside his employee’s mouth and down his throat. Robby swore he almost saw God as he peaked, letting out every frustration from this morning (and four years ago) into his coworker.

“Rob- Robby…”

Langdon was fucked out. His mouth and jaw hurt, his throat was sore, and he was sure that his knees had been bruised. He looked up at the man, trying his best not to stare at his superior’s impressive cock dripping with cum and his spit. He glanced once for a mental picture before storing it at the back of his mind for later.

Robby grabbed a couple of paper towels from the dispenser before wiping himself and adjusting his sweats neatly. He threw a towel to the man now resting on his buttocks before extending a hand.

Langdon reached out hesitantly before getting back up on his feet. Robby’s eyes flitted down to the soft, swollen pillows of pink on Langdon’s face glistening with his cum. Langdon saw fire in his eyes again.

Robby grabbed him by the collar of his scrubs, pulling him in roughly for a kiss. Robby licked into Langdon’s mouth as the younger man kissed back in shock before giving in and sinking his teeth down on Robby’s bottom lip. Robby could taste himself on Langdon’s lips. Langdon drove him crazy.

Robby harshly pushed Langdon away, hurt and something sweeter crossing his eyes.

Langdon stared back knowing exactly what Robby felt. He just wanted to be back. Back beside Robby, exchanging those glances that only meant something to him.

“You’re with Mel for the rest of the day.” Robby stated bitterly before leaving the room quietly. Nothing else.

Something in Langdon’s ribs jumped.

He wasn’t fired. He made Robby happy.

He finally made him happy.

+++

HAIII i can't believe two doctors from a serious medical drama broke my writer's block. anyway. enjoy this pure filth <33

gif cred : @gallners

[lauraneedstochill]

“The Pitt” characters + tumblr posts that are definitely about them part 1 (original posts: x, x, x, x, x, x, x, x) (part 2, 3, 4)

[officialmichaelnesmith]

[thepencilnerd]

Feels Like Trouble

pairing: Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x F!Doctor!Reader summary: You and Robby have been secretly dating for a while now. Most of the ER is clueless—except the five people who could probably write dissertations on your dynamic. Enter a frat boy med student with too much confidence and not enough self-awareness. Robby? Jealous. You? Oblivious. Everyone else? Watching the drama unfold like it's peak primetime television. warnings: cringe flirting, depiction of boundary-pushing behavior, mutual pining, protective!Robby genre: fluff, slow burn, banter, crack vibes, emotional constipation, robbie's love language is acts of service, strong!reader energy because women run the world word count: 6.3k a/n: robby in his protective, simmering, quietly feral era + men anticipating my needs without me having to ask is my roman empire. p.s. also check out my other Dr. Robby fics (Not Enough | And Through It All) if you're interested <3

It started at the nurses’ station.

You were finishing up notes from a back-to-back shift, hair a mess, sleeves rolled, running purely on caffeine and spite. You barely registered the med student who leaned in a little too close—Jackson, of course. Jackson, who everyone knew had barely scraped through med school with a transcript that looked like a cry for help and a reputation for quoting his frat days like gospel. Jackson, who thought calling women 'Doc' in a tone meant to charm was somehow endearing. So, yeah. Not a great dude, to say the absolute least.

"Hey, Dr. L/N," Jackson said with that ever-present grin, leaning just a little too close. "You, uh... ever take pity on exhausted interns and grab a drink after shift?"

You gave a polite smile. "I’m not really a spirits person, but thanks."

Jackson blinked. "Huh?"

"You said drink, right? I’m more of a coffee or tea girl. Caffeine over cocktails."

He opened his mouth like he was going to try again, but you were already turning back to your chart.

"Good luck today!" you said cheerfully, not noticing the groan from your colleagues. Just around the corner, Mateo muttered to Javadi, "That’s the fourth time this week. It’s painful, man."

Javadi sipped her carton of apple juice with focused precision, attention directed solely on your ability to brush off such obvious advances without it getting in the way of your work. "Seventh, actually. If you count the half-made attempt on Monday. She's bulletproof."

"Try Jackson-proof," Mateo scoffed.

Two beds down, King leaned over to Langdon with her gloved hands clasped and asked, "Why does Jackson keep hovering around Dr. L/N like a... rabid mosquito?"

Langdon just smiled knowingly, looking over to the nurses' station where the man of the hour sat. "Don’t worry. Robby'll take care of it. Eventually."

Unbeknownst to you, Robby had been watching the entire interaction—and every interaction before that. If any med student so much as breathed near you with less-than-pure intentions, he was up in arms, ready to intervene at a moment's notice.

There was that time Whitaker nearly took your eye out when a patient came in with a nail embedded in his femur; the force of pulling it out snapped Whitaker’s elbow backward—only for Robby's hand to catch it mid-swing before it could clock you in the face. Or when Santos nearly sliced your finger open as you gently guided her through her first incision—Robby had materialized behind her in the span of a gasp, steadying her hands with a calm correction that masked sheer panic. Or when Javadi passed out for the second time during a gnarly pelvic realignment and collapsed straight into you, nearly giving you a concussion from her deadweight—Robby had been there then, too, catching you both with lightning reflexes and barely concealed fury.

At this point, the only person in the hospital who hadn’t triggered Robby’s internal security system was Mel. And that was only because she kept a respectful three-foot radius and shared snacks with you during breaks. The two of you had a quiet little tradition—inviting her out to try the new cat café when it opened downtown, or attending weekend adoption events together like it was a team-building exercise. Langdon once joked that she was the third wheel in the most wholesome slow-burn romcom he'd ever seen. Mel's only response was two blinks and a single nod of acknowledgement.

Everyone in the ER noticed your dynamic—the way you and Robby worked together like a well-oiled machine, never needing to speak aloud to know what the other needed. It was intuitive. Rhythmic. Like watching a dance you’d been rehearsing for years.

Still, only a handful of people actually knew about your relationship. Abbot, Collins, McKay, Dana, Langdon, and Mel.

Abbot had been Robby’s sounding board from the very beginning. Back when Robby was still pacing around the break room, torn between professionalism and the undeniable, slow-burning pull he felt toward you, it was Abbot who told him to get over himself and ask you out. Life was too short for regrets.

Collins, McKay, and Dana didn’t know officially—but they knew. The meaningful glances, the subtle handoffs of coffee, the shared silences that were too loaded to be casual. They never said a word because they lived for the soap-opera-worthy drama of it all.

Langdon and Mel were on the same wavelength. They hadn’t caught you red-handed, but their spidey senses were borderline clairvoyant. They never probed, never asked. Just watched it unfold like a plotline they already knew the ending to.

Besides them, the rest of the department remained blissfully unaware—except for the way Robby’s entire demeanor shifted over a year ago. A quiet warmth started to replace his usual stoicism. People credited it to the anonymous private donation made to the ER around the same time.

But the truth was, it had nothing to do with money.

It was you. 

You, of course, were oblivious to whatever other people thought or said—unless it had something to do with your patients. Robby sometimes joked that you were pathologically unbothered, something he made a mental note to ask you about, and he wasn’t wrong. The rumors from the nurses, the looks from the interns, the knowing smirks from Dana or Langdon? All of it flew over your head like air traffic.

Maybe you just didn’t see it. Didn’t see how Robby’s entire world seemed to tilt when you entered a room. How effortlessly the two of you moved in sync like second nature—side by side in trauma bays, tossing instruments, treatment plans, and glances back and forth like muscle memory. Everyone else could see it.

You were always focused on the next decision, the next step, the next person who needed your help. You didn’t think about what you needed until the shift was over—if ever. Your well-being came last, always.

But not to Robby. Never to Robby.

He noticed everything.

The slump in your shoulders. The faint crease in your forehead when a headache was starting to set in. He knew when you were on the verge of running on empty, when your patience was thinning, when you hadn’t eaten since sunrise. He never made a show of it. He just acted.

He didn’t wait for you to ask. He didn’t expect you to remember to need anything.

Because he already knew. He just... knew.

Your coffee, brewed and sweetened exactly how you liked it, would be waiting for you at the nurses’ station first thing in the morning. A second cup at lunch—always packed, always hot, even if you never had time to drink it. He’d drop it off like it was routine, like it was no big deal, because he knew the odds of you being pulled into another case mid-sip were astronomical.

Your favorite sandwich from the cafeteria, left quietly on your desk with a sticky note that said, “Eat this or I’m calling your mother.” You'd sooner pass out from hunger than remember to eat. He knew that. So he took the thinking out of it for you.

And after the longest days—those days where you'd made a thousand decisions, answered a hundred questions, led back-to-back codes—he’d cook dinner at his place. Quietly, without fanfare, and pieced together with the same kind of intention you gave your patients. He’d hand you a glass of water—because that was one other thing that you along with 80% of the population deprived yourself of—and steer you to the couch while he handled the rest. Just so you could turn your brain off.

You never asked, never had to, yet he always knew.

You’d just been snapped back to the present by the sound of an unwelcome familiar voice—again.

"Dr. L/N," he said, sidling up to you again with that same confident grin—clearly not deterred by every failed attempt before. "I’ve got a list of mocktails that might just change your mind. Pretty creative, right? I googled it during lunch. There’s this one with lychee and—"

You blinked at him slowly, like you were buffering.

"Jackson," you said, voice firmer this time, "I don’t even have time to finish a protein bar most days, let alone entertain another pitch for drinks. You’re taking time away from my patients, my patients. I sincerely hope you don’t treat them the same way—ignoring their boundaries and refusing to take no for an answer."

You didn’t say it harshly. Just plainly. Clearly and finite. Like a diagnosis that needed no follow-up.

Across the room, Robby pulled down his glasses as his lip quirked up into a slow, private smirk. Pride bloomed across his face so fast he had to duck his head behind a chart to hide it. He knew better than to coddle you. The mutual discomfort and stifled reactions from the staff were one thing. Watching you handle yourself like that? That was something else entirely.

From across the nurses’ station, the staff collectively cringed like someone had just dropped a post-op surgical tray. Santos and Mateo physically turned away to hide their budding laughter. Javadi buried her face in her sleeve, secondhand embarrassment blooming. Mohan took off at a brisk pace to see a patient. Whitaker closed his eyes and mouthed a silent prayer to the ceiling. Meanwhile, Dana, McKay, and Collins couldn’t look away if they tried, pressing down their grins and wishing they'd brought popcorn. Langdon sipped his coffee like it was a box-office premiere. King, ever diligent, kept her focus on irrigating her patient’s wound—Langdon would fill her in later with full commentary. Before you could continue—

"Dr. L/N," your savior called, tone light but cutting through the air like a scalpel—just loud enough to interrupt whatever nonsense Jackson was about to say next.

You turned and there he was.

Dr. Robby—your chaos compass, your caffeinated partner in crime, loyal boyfriend, favorite soon-to-be roommate, and at the moment, your very composed but unmistakably irritated attending—his expression perfectly calm to the untrained eye, but you could read the tension in every line of his face.

"Got a case," he said flatly. "Now. Come on."

You blinked, confused but relieved. "Okay."

You didn’t miss the way Jackson shrank a little at Robby’s tone, nor the way Langdon grinned over his coffee like he'd just won a bet. You caught up to him by the supply closet, where he all but dragged you inside and shut the door behind you.

"What's up?" you asked, eyebrow raised.

He stared at you, a little too intently, like he wasn’t sure whether to scold you or wrap you in bubble wrap. "Are you seriously asking me that after that guy just tried to chat you up in the middle of the ER like this is Grey’s Anatomy?"

You blinked, tilting your head. "Wait… was that flirting?"

Robby blinked back. "You’re joking."

You were. "I thought he just wanted to split an energy drink or something."

He huffed a quiet laugh, some of the tension bleeding from his shoulders as his hands came up to ruffle his hair. "Jesus."

You poked his chest lightly. "You’re kind of cute when you’re flustered, you know that?"

His ears went red immediately. "I’m not flustered. I’m... professionally annoyed."

You blinked. "You’re jealous?"

"I’m not jealous," he said tightly. "I’m—concerned."

You grinned, stepping close. "Concerned is hot."

"He was twelve."

"He's definitely at least twenty-six."

Robby exhaled through his nose. "I’ve been very chill about this whole 'let’s not tell the hospital we’re dating' thing. But if I see him so much as come within two feet of you again, I’m submitting a formal notice that you are very much taken and a complaint with HR about his behavior. And if that doesn’t work—" he leaned in closer, voice dropping—"I’m dealing with him myself."

You raised an eyebrow, lips twitching into a smirk. "What’s that going to look like—are you gonna slam your clipboard down and tag team him with Abbot? Because honestly, I wouldn’t hate that."

Your voice was teasing, but your cheeks were warm. Watching Robby get territorial from a respectful distance? Unexpectedly hot. And now, you couldn’t help but push his buttons to see how much more riled up he’d get.

He didn’t answer. Just leaned in slowly, deliberately, raising both of his arms to cage you in—palms flat against the wall on either side of your head. The move sent heat straight to your cheeks. You turned bright red, blinking up at him as he leaned closer, so close his breath brushed your lips.

Then he kissed you—hard and fast and possessive, his hands sliding up into your hair, threading through it with the kind of reverence that made your knees go weak. You gasped softly into his mouth, one hand instinctively rising to cup his jaw, your fingers grazing the edge of his beard before curling into the softness of it. He leaned into your touch, like he’d been waiting for it all day.

Your other hand slid up into his hair, tugging gently at the strands at the nape of his neck, and you felt it—the way his pulse thrummed just beneath your fingertips, the way he shivered just slightly at your touch.

His thumbs caressed the line of your jaw, then drifted down to the curve of your neck, holding you like you might slip away if he wasn’t careful.

It was fire and softness, urgency wrapped in warmth. And you never wanted to stop.

When you finally pulled back, you were both breathless. "Is that allowed in a supply closet?" you smirked. 

"If they didn’t want people kissing in here, they wouldn’t make it this conveniently located."

You smacked his arm, giggling.

"I’m serious," he added, voice softening but maintaining a firm undertone. "I don't share."

You looped your arms around his neck. "Good. I wasn’t offering."

He grinned, still close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. "That thing you said back there—about boundaries, about respect." He paused, eyes scanning yours. "That was... incredible. Seriously. You handled it perfectly."

Your brows furrowed for a moment, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice.

"It was... commanding," he added a moment later, voice lower, more playful now. "Alluringly so."

You snorted. "You're ridiculous."

"Yeah," he agreed, pulling you closer to pepper your face with kisses. "Ridiculously in love with a woman who knows exactly how to shut down frat boys without breaking stride, resuscitate half the ER, deliver excellent patient care, and still make rounds on time."

His hand slid down your back, warm and steady. "You’re the whole damn package, you know that? It’s genuinely unfair."

You chuckled, burying your face briefly in his shoulder.

Somewhere down the hall, Dana's voice rang echoed through the PA, summoning you for the consult. Robby groaned, forehead dropping to your shoulder.

"This is not over," he muttered.

You kissed the corner of his mouth, a smirk following soon after where your lips lingered. "Got any dinner plans?"

Robby raised an eyebrow, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "Actually, yeah. I’ve got a date—with my incredibly beautiful, breathtaking, beyond intelligent, and painfully witty girlfriend."

You blinked at him, then laughed, delighted. "Wow. Sounds like a catch."

He leaned in and bumped his nose against yours, grinning. "She really is. And I think she’s about to say yes."

You didn’t say anything at first. Just smiled, so full of affection it made your cheeks ache. Then you nodded, brushing your thumb gently along his cheekbone.

"Yeah," you whispered, "she definitely is."

[matthewrhys]

The Pitt— "9:00 P.M."

[mercvry-glow]

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

[science-hoes]

Angel Kisses

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x Reader

Warnings: graphic medical descriptions, needles

A/N: I thought this fic would be a little less fluffy and more spicy but I just can’t help it. Plus I love Noah Wyle’s barely there freckles. I feel like this isn’t my best work because I had severe writers block. Hope it’s good enough for yall tho 💕

My Ko-Fi :)

—

The Pittsburg Trauma Medical Center was rumored to be the 9th level of Hell. So when it was time for you to begin your schedule for trauma surgery, you prayed for a different hospital. Literally any other hospital.

But there you were, in the depths of the Pitt, working your fifth 12 hour shift of the rotation. Only 1pm, but you felt like someone had changed the clocks because there was no way that the day was only halfway done. You were reading a pediatric patient’s CBC results, getting ready to tell your senior attending for the day, Dr. Jack Abbott, that the child is anemic. But Dana’s voice distracted you:

“You can’t even stay away on your day off. Do you have a life besides the Pitt?” She said to someone out of your view.

“Trust me. This is a last resort.” You heard a man respond, the voice slightly familiar.

You turned around and saw Dr. Michael Robinavitch, the senior attending from your first four days of working here. He didn’t look too different out of his scrubs and navy hoodie that he wore at work. Black joggers and gray long sleeve athletic shirt that hugged his waist…really nicely.

“Last resort for what?” Dr. Frank Langdon called out from where he sat at his desk, charting his patient case.

“I fell of a ladder and tore up my back on the fence in my backyard.” Answered Dr. Robinav- Dr. Robby, you had to remind yourself. “I need stitches, but I can’t reach the cut.”

Langdon winced and leaned back in his chair. “Need me to stitch you up?” He asked.

Dr. Abbott walked up to the desk near Langdon and laughed. “No, he wants his friend to stitch him up. Right, Robby?” He joked, referring to himself.

Robby laughed and crossed his arms, biceps straining against the fabric of the athletic shirt. Damn. “Friend is a strong word. I don’t have friends.” He said with a smile.

Langdon scoffed. “We went fishing last weekend. What does that make me?” He asked.

“I prefer the term ‘coworker that I hang out with sometimes outside of work.’” Robby said, but you could see the teasing in the way his eyes crinkled.

Dana rolled her eyes. “You are all annoying me. Jack, go stitch him up so he can get out of here and rest.” She said before walking off to a patient room.

Robby shook his head. “No, no, just let a med student do it. Good learning opportunity.” He said.

“No med students today. Only interns.” Langdon mumbled as he continued typing on his computer.

Robby clasped his hands together and held them close to his chest. “Even better. I would love for my scar to be in a straight line.” He joked.

Abbott looked to you, who had been watching the group interact from a couple of desks over. Your face flushed slightly, realizing you probably look like an eavesdropper. He motioned with his head toward Robby. “Why don’t you take our patient to holding and fix him up? I’ll take the CBC results.” He said.

“Yes, sir.” You answered, almost a little too seriously. The Pitt was an intense environment, but these attendings did not have the same egos as the ones from your last several rotations.

Robby chuckled at your earnestness. “Hear that, Langdon? ‘Yes, sir.’ You should be taking notes.” He ordered facetiously, pointing his finger at the senior resident.

Langdon looked up from his desk as you began walking with Robby to the back of the Pitt where the holding rooms were. “You know, we tell all of our patients over 65 to be very careful when doing yard work.” He called out.

Robby shot him a bird without turning back around. You smiled at the banter, not used to the lax interactions between physicians of different ranks. Once you made it to the room, Robby sat on the bed, and you grabbed a standard suture kit.

“Is it on your back?” You asked, turned away from him.

“Yeah. I’d do it myself if I could reach it. I managed to cover it up though.” He said.

When you turned back around, his tight fitting shirt had been peeled off his upper body. Holy shit. In the last five days, you didn’t really give yourself time to fantasize about your attending. He was handsome for sure and charming when he wasn’t jumping down a resident’s throat (yet he still had the patience of a saint). His abdomen was well toned, and his chest was smooth. Not what you expected based off his hairy forearms and face.

You must have been staring too much because Robby’s shoulders hunched, as if trying to subtly cover his exposed body. “Let me just take a look at the cut.” You said, trying to come back to earth. You moved to the edge of the bed and removed the bandage that he had placed himself.

You could see the blood that had leaked through the dressing, but you were not prepared to see the extent of the cut stretch across the majority of his upper back. “Oh, shit.” You swore.

Robby chuckled. “That’s not a comforting thing to hear from your doctor.” He said, shifting uncomfortably as the cold air of the hospital struck the wound.

You shook your head in a panic. “Oh, no, I’m so sorry. I wouldn’t say that to a normal patient.” You covered for yourself.

Robby shook his head. “No, no. Listen. You’re taking everything a little too seriously. Just relax. Roll with the punches. That’s the only way you’ll survive down here.” He explained.

You nodded, taking in a stiff breath anyway. You disposed of the bandaging and picked up the lidocaine syringe. “Okay. I’m about to start injecting lidocaine around the cut. You’ll feel the burning more than the needle.” You said. You placed one gloved hand on his back, giving yourself a guide while you held the syringe in the other.

“90 degrees or 45?” He asked, making you freeze in place.

You paused for a moment, almost afraid to say your answer in fear of being incorrect. “90.” You answered.

“Why?”

At this point, the needle was hovering just an inch above your first injection site. “Recent studies show that patients report less pain with a 90 degree angle.” You said, confident in your sources.

Robby smiled, but you didn’t see it. “Very good.” Was all he said.

You injected the first round of lidocaine, and he hissed at the burning around the open wound. You kept moving around the cut, injecting small doses. “You’re doing great, Dr. Robby.” You praised, just as you would with any patient.

“Fuck, I say that to patients all the time. No wonder it makes no difference.” He grumbled.

You smiled slightly and injected the final dose. “All done.”

Robby let out a heavy breath, hanging his head as the skin slowly numbed where you worked. You began to open the suture kit and sort out its contents on the metal tray near the bed.

“What stitch?” He asked.

You grabbed some gauze and antiseptic from the drawer in the room before returning to his side. You cleaned the skin around the wound where the blood had dribbled down his back in a mix with sweat from working outside.

“Running stitch. The cut is long but not at risk of tension.” You answered. Robby nodded in approval. You carefully started on your first stitch, delicately inserting the curved needle into his skin. “So, you were on a ladder?” You asked.

Robby huffed in slight irritation. “Yeah. Trimming some branches that were reaching over the fence into the neighbors’ yard. I misstepped on the way down and lost my balance.” He explained.

You grimaced. “That sucks.” You said matter of factly.

“Yeah. Maybe Langdon is right. I’m getting too old for that kind of stuff.” He said with a chuckle.

Your hands carefully moved as they continued to sew. “You don’t look old.” You said.

Robby smiled to himself, not expecting you to respond at all. “You think so?”

“Yeah.” You said, glad he couldn’t see your involuntary blush. As you continued to stitch, you noticed all of the spots and marks that dusted his back and shoulders. “I like your freckles.” You noted.

Robby’s mind halted. It was a compliment he had never received. Your words went straight to his chest, and for the first time in a very long time, he felt flustered.

“My freckles?” He repeated.

You smiled and nodded. “Yeah. You got ‘em on your face too?” You asked.

Robby turned his head, not to present his face, but because he was still surprised and wanted to see if you were being genuine. And there they were. A light scattering of freckles across his cheeks and bridge of his nose.

“Yep. They’re precious.” You said after inspecting and returning back to your stitching. Robby’s face flushed, and you could especially see it in his ears as you worked. “You know, my mom used to tell me that freckles were angel kisses. Every time I got a new one, I thought an angel had kissed me. I went an embarrassingly long time into junior high before realizing it was just a tall tale.” You explained.

Robby smiled at the charming story, feeling an unusual feeling of comfort. “My grandmother used to say the same thing.” He said.

You grinned. “Looks like the angels couldn’t get enough of you then.” You teased.

Robby chuckled and ran a nervous hand across the back of his neck, careful not to pull against the skin as you worked. “How’s it looking back there?” He asked, trying to continue conversation.

“I need to run about five more stitches. Then you’ll be on your way.” You said.

He nodded and folded his hands in his lap. “Are you working tomorrow?” He asked.

You thought for a second, honestly not sure. “I don’t think so. My first off day since I started.” You replied. “Are you?”

“No. Seven on, seven off.” He said.

You pulled at the last suture and cut the remaining thread. “All right, Dr. Robby. You’re all cleaned up.” You announced.

“Great.” Robby hopped off the bed and stood up straight, popping a few kinks in his back from being hunched over. He towered above you, losing the intimacy that you temporarily had. “Take a picture and show me.” He said.

You pulled off your gloves slowly, unsure of how to respond. “Of the stitches?” You asked, afraid that he was going to grill you for sloppy suturing.

“Yeah, just to see the damage.” He responded.

You pulled your phone out and stood behind him. Fuck, even his back looked good. You snapped a picture and zoomed in to show him your work. Definitely saving that for later. “Does it look okay?” You asked timidly.

Robby nodded, impressed. “Actually yeah. Don’t think I could’ve done it better myself.” He complimented.

You laughed in relief. “Oh, good. I still need more practice on different suture patterns. I’m just lucky you were a simple case.” You said.

Robby looked down to you, letting his eyes linger as he watched you put your phone away. “If you aren’t busy tomorrow, maybe I can give you a masterclass. All ER docs have to know every suture.” He offered.

You looked up to him, suddenly very aware that he was still shirtless in front of you. You smirked and crossed your arms. “Sure. But only if you teach me just like this.” You said, looking him up and down. “You know, because you’ll need to let those stitches breathe.”

Robby grinned. “Wow. That was pretty smooth.” He admired.

You shrugged. “Just rolling with the punches.” You responded, repeating his quote from earlier. “Give me a call tomorrow.”

And you left. Robby stood there, smiling to himself. He pulled his shirt on and walked out to the desk hub. Langdon was still charting, but caught the attending before he snuck out. “What’s that goofy smile for?” He asked, even though he knew the answer.

Robby shrugged, hands in his pockets, unable to shake the smile off his face. “I don’t know.” He said before walking away to leave.

Abbott leaned against a desk near Langdon. “His ears are red.” He noted. “That motherfucker is in love.”

[force-dyad]

The Pitt 1x14 8:00 P.M.

[whumpetywhumpwhump]

The Pitt characters as text posts (part 1)

[high5sos]

is this anything

[lauraneedstochill]

“The Pitt” characters + tumblr posts that are definitely about them part 2 (original posts: x, x, x, x, x, x, x) (part 1, 3, 4)

[noahwhyle]

that episode + Robby centric text posts

[words-4u]

healing hands - f.l

pairing: frank langdon x nurse f!reader

wc: 1.2k

a/n: a lil rusty after a year and a half of not writing so forgive me but i am so pitt-pilled. love this show soooo much

the PTMC is sometimes one of the best places to be. every shift is full with fresh faces and most often than not, people getting a new lease on life with life saving/changing surgeries but other times, like today, it's the last place you and your fellow practitioners want to be... and yet you push through.

"okay jason, you're gonna feel some pain but it will be over before you know it," you say to the patient sitting across from you. it's an easy case, a late twenty something came in with serious shoulder pain. you were able to diagnose it off of first glance.

"what like now, here?" the look on his face made you smile. "trust me you'll be fine."

you scoot over on a stool with wheels.

"got a girlfriend, jason? boyfriend?" you ask as you take the affected arm, putting it on your shoulder.

"single but dating in pittsburgh is hell," he winces.

"on any apps?"

"tried tinder but i'm-- AAAHH," he yells out. you pushed down on his arm and realigned into his socket. his eyes almost fall out of his head when he whips his head over to you.

you try to mask a smile.

"hurts less when you don't expect it," you say apologetically.

as you take off your gloves robby walks over. "y/n, need. any help?"

"nope, just a shoulder dislocated which i just corrected. jason here just needs a brace and some ibuprofen for the pain," you say with a smile.

"good, can i talk to you for a second?" robby motions his head over to an empty hallway.

"of course," you say. "hey, princess, can you finish this off? just a brace and ibuprofen."

"got it!" princess says, continuing where you left off.

you walk off with robby. he stops you placing his finders on your elbow.

"how are you?" he asks, more sincerely tis time.

"good as i can be. what's up?" you notice his small smile turn into an uncomfortable look.

"robby, what's going?"

"listen, i know i'm not supposed to know about you and frank but he needs you right now," he says in a low tone.

"i- okay," you manage to say. how else do you respond to your boss saying he knows about your secret, clearly no-so-secret, workplace romance. "um... langdon, w-where is he?"

"ambulance bay. i sent him outside to get some air,"

you nod. "okay, thanks robby," you say moving out of the hallway and trying to making it outside without running.

the ambulance bay door opens and you are hit with the cool evening air. you whip your head around trying to find your boyfriend until you see it, two feet on the back of a parked ambulance.

the shuffle of your feet alerted him to our presence. he sniffles trying to wipe the tears off his face, he stops when he sees it's you. his eyes soften but voice still rigid.

"shouldn't you be with a patient?" he asks.

"i was. robby told me where you were," you softly. "frank, what happened?"

"it's nothing, really, i'm okay," he says and you both know it's a lie. his still covered in blood.

you move closer to him and without saying a word you reach your hands around his neck and untie the white disposable surgical gown coloured with dry blood. you scrunch it up and put it to the side.

"i know you don't like to talk about these things, that you think keeping it in is somehow better... but i'm here, frank." you say taking a seat next to him. you place a hand on his knee, stroking your thumb up and down.

for a moment you just sit there listening to him catch his breath. frank langdon's not one to share his hardships. you try your best to coax it out of him but you've learned he'll share what's on his mind and heart when he's ready.

"she was young," he began. you look at him, ready to take on the sadness that was weighing on him. "not child young but mid to late 20s. it was her fucking wedding day"

you fully take his left hand now holding it between yours.

"she came in with her husband, blood all over her gown. it was liver failure and i tried... we tried everything, did all the right steps. we intubated, we got her more blood, reduced her ammonia levels and it was looking good for a while until..."

frank gets choked up again.

"she had cerebral edema i was so focused on what i could see that i wasn't paying attention to thing i couldn't. i didn't see the full picture,"

"hey, no. no, frank we don't do this," you say. "we don't blame ourselves for things we can't control."

"i could've saved her, y/n, she died on her wedding day. her husband is a widow at the age of 30 because of me," the hurt was clear in his voice.

"if she succumbed to her brain injury that quickly there was nothing you, nor dr. garcia or anyone could have done to save her," you say. you see him nod slightly but he needs more convincing.

"look at me," you say softly. "hey..."

you take your fingers and move frank's head to face you. "you're one of the best fucking doctors i know, okay? i don't have to have been there to know that you gave it your absolute all just like you do for everyone who walks through those doors seeking help. you have healing hands, frank, but sometimes it's just out of our control and we have to live with that. you know this."

he nods more definitively this time.

"i just kept picturing you," he says honestly and you're slightly taken aback. "i know i shouldn't have but i couldn't help it,"

"i'm here... and i'm okay," you say moving even closer. you loop your arm through his and lay your head on his shoulder. your fingers laced with his. "you're not getting rid of me that easily."

frank chuckles. "yeah, i guess you're right," he kisses your head before resting his head on yours.

after a moment, you ask, "…who the hell told robby about us?"

you feel frank still under you. you pick your head up and face him with an accusatory look. "frank..."

"we were in the lounge together last week and he maybe saw a glimpse of my contact photo for you when you called," he said super quickly.

"the one of us in bed?!!? oh god, my boss knows what my sex hair looks like," you put your head in your hands, very embarrassed.

frank laughs. like a real belly laugh. and while you were still mortified at the though of robby seeing that picture, it was even better to hear him laugh like that.

"i'm glad my trauma bring you pleasure," you joke, slightly shoving him.

frank leans in and whispers, "that's not the thing of yours that brings me pleasure,"

this time you laugh, "shut up," you say cupping his face pulling him in for a kiss. frank tries to deepen it but you break away.

you get up from the back of the ambulance. "c'mon, lover boy. you got lives to save."

you hold out your hand and he takes it.

"we got lives to save," he says back to you, finally getting up.

[at-this-point-i-dont-even-know]

could you write about Robby’s gf/fiance coming into the ER and the residents don’t know they’re dating but they’re blown away by how beautiful/kind she is 🙏🙏

Pairing: Dr Michael 'Robby" Rabinovitch x younger! Langdon's little sister! reader

The sun was shining in Pittsburgh today and the last thing you felt like doing was going to work and dealing with emails and co-workers and the general panic of having a job that your body thinks is a war zone but really it's just not calling Brenda from Marketing a ‘dickhead’. So after a couple of fake coughs down the phone and a promise to check your emails as the day progresses you earn yourself a ‘snow’ day.

But it wasn’t so much fun having a day off in the middle of the week when your boyfriend was at work, and by the messages coming through it was a hectic day filled with unhelpful meetings with admin and too many beds filled with people that should be elsewhere.

So as the sun beats down on the city, you slip on shorts and your favourite shirt, a slightly small tank top from a long closed Irish bar and head into the hospital via the local donut shop.

The donut shop was your boyfriend's favourite new spot, he was always finding an excuse to swing by there almost daily for a pistachio creme for himself and a simple cinnamon glaze for you. So with your hands now filled with most of the shop you wandered the four blocks from your apartment to the hospital, smiling at the admin desk before gesturing with more your shoulders then hands for Dana’s attention.

No one really knew you at the Hospital, which was fine, both you and he kept your work lives pretty separate after an almost disastrous Christmas party at your work, where someone compared your job to his as the same high stakes. You had almost thrown your wine in your colleagues face, and your boyfriend had tried to defend your work before you laughed at the absurdity of it all.

It also didn’t help that your brother worked with your boyfriend and that made life always a little more challenging.

The charge nurse Dana ran to the door and helped you with the boxes, laughing as she glanced down at the absurd amount of sugar.

“What do we owe for this wonderful surprise?” She asked as you both made your way to the staff room.

“I took a sick day and thought I would give everyone a little treat.”

“Everyone or just-”

“There may be one or two pistachio creme’s in there for him, but really it's for everyone.”

Dana had been there when life had gotten a little too hard about a year ago and you had had to put everything on hold to help your big brother, Frank. Everyone at this hospital had been so kind and helpful as you managed work, your niece and nephew and then a love life. No one more than your boyfriend.

“You are a sight for sore eyes!” A familiar voice said as they almost fell through the break room doors, Frank was all limbs as he pulled you into a hug. He was clean for 13 months now, and was back at work under strict watch of his seniors but he was good, healthy and back to his normal over the top ways.

“If my work calls you, I’m terribly ill and may never recover.” you joke.

“Deathbed and all that?”

“It's sad and I want roses and frangipanis on my coffin.”

“Frangipanis?”

“I don't know they’re pretty.”

You both bantered, his arm around your shoulder as people started milling into the room, no matter the workplace, free food was a beacon to all.

Frank wandered off, his attention span failing him again as he went to talk to another doctor while you looked around. With your overly comfortable clothing you stood out like a sore thumb compared to the staff in scrubs.

You settle closer to the door about to make your leave in the way you loved, without a goodbye. Your boyfriend was obviously busy but Dana had hidden his treats away so you knew it was time to go and enjoy the rest of the sun filled day.

As you gathered your bag you heard the whispers.

“Who is she?”

“I saw her with Langdon? Maybe his new girlfriend?”

“Nah, I think they are related.”

“Seriously?”

“Same nose?” Which made you immediately grab your nose to check it was nothing like your brothers.

“Why else would she bring him donuts?”

“I thought he was not dating at the moment?”

“Plus she is way too nice for him!”

“And too pretty!”

“Dana knew her, maybe she's her friend?”

“Her daughter?”

“Don’t let Dana hear you say that!”

“Does Princess know?”

“Nope, just told us to mind our own business and eat the treats.”

“If there are no pistachio cremes left I will be very disappointed.” a gruff voice whispered into your ear sending a shiver down your spine as you smiled broadly.

“You’ll have to check with Dana, she is in charge.” You smile turning to the tall figure who had just entered.

All the whispering stopped as broad hands wrapped around your waist and pulled you close.

“I thought I was in charge.”

You smile against his lips as he kisses you deeply. His fingers almost bruise against your skin, as your shirt rides up and you lean further into the kiss, standing now on your tiptoes as you kiss him back.

“We let you think that, Dr Michael Rabinovitch.” you whisper to him as cat calls are heard around the room.

You can’t help but grin brighter as his beard bristles against your neck as he hides his face. You knew he had forgotten where he was the moment he saw you in the tiny shorts and tank top and you knew his colleagues would not let him forget it anytime soon.

“Get your hands off my sister!” Frank yelled before throwing his napkin at Robbys head.

[nfr-girly]

can we talk about how FINEE the cast of the Pitt is

[djkerr]

Behind the scenes of The Pitt 01x12 6:00 P.M.

📷 @fionadourif IG