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[dexxtrosee]

I truly think everyone in The Pitt love each other very dearly, even the ones that seem distant. But I also wonder how much of it is organic and how much is "I have been forced to love you dearly because of the traumatic experiences we have faced and survived together over the years". Would they like each other outside of work? Would they go get coffee every couple of weeks to catch up if they didn't work together? Would they even get along?

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me again, i say biochemistry for javadi because it's a very popular pre-med major in america jsyk

Oooh okay, and UNDERSTANDABLY SO. When I took the biochem CLASS I cried tears of blood for a year, I can’t imagine doing a MAJOR but it is objectively the one that would probably give you the most advantage once you get into med.

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javadi probably took biochemistry as her undergrad or something similar. during that baseball kid case, she admits that she started college at 13 (at UPitt if i remember correctly). her mom is like that because she's asian btw (< anon is also south-asian and is only half-joking).

Hoooow on earth did I miss this omg. I do agree she did something very very alligned to STEM. (THIRTEEN? GIRL WHAT THE HELL)

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Here in my country (and in most btw, y'all are doing too much) you go into medschool right away after finishing high school, no need for an undergrad, but I just now realized that Javadi being 20 and an MS3 is actually impressive in the series cause most get there at like 24? Like??? Girl how the fuck

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Abbott was 100% right though, like, Robby did rock that shit down there that night, they both did, they ALL did cause holy fuck man, 100+ injured, several in critical condition, shortstaffed, and you only lost SIX? And at least one of them was already a lost cause on the way there? YOU DEFINITELY ROCKED THAT SHIT DOWN THERE.

[dexxtrosee]

Safekeeping (Part 2)

Summary: a father loses his mind over a silly little thing that Robby has to deal with, of course. Needless to say, he fucks up when you come into the picture and his judgement gets clouded.

A/N: sorry for the long wait, this is still like setting the ground lmao I'm sorry, promise things will pick up after this one.

Part 1.

Robby has always tried his best to be approachable.

The irony doesn’t pass him by. He knows what he must look like, 6’1 and sleep deprived all the time, annoyed and at the brink of yelling at the next person who comes to him with a stupid ass remark about patient satisfaction scores or vaccines being harmful or whatever the fuck conspiracy theories are spinning around lately. He would argue being approachable doesn’t equal putting up with bullshit, though. 

But he tries, honest. The last thing he would want is to become one of those doctors people pray to avoid rotating with, he knows the feeling. He dreads ever seeing a patient sighing when they notice him approaching, or have a nurse press their lips together whenever they work a case with him.  And he knows the job inevitably gives you nightmares, how could it not? But he hopes he doesn’t have a recurring guest role in his students’ dreams. 

The hospital is overwhelmed and understaffed, the nurses are not safe, his new students have gone through the horrors since day fucking one (God, he already sounds like them). There’s no time to sit down and talk, barely time to stuff his mouth full of whatever he can get his hands on to eat, and he doesn’t really check his phone almost in the entire shift. On good days, he finds it hilarious. On bad ones, he doesn’t really get why they’re still trying, why all of them haven’t quit on the spot.

But he’s the one in charge, right? So he has to be approachable.

“Doctor Robby? Could you help me out here? The father keeps telling us he doesn’t want the vaccine to avoid the, uh, ‘tracking device created by the government’?”

He takes a deep breath. Well disposed, easy going and approachable, goddammit. 

“I’ll be right there.”

Whitaker scurries off and Dana starts laughing her ass off somewhere to his left. He can’t really help it when he starts laughing too, despite covering his mouth and turning away. 

At the corners of the entire ER, there are these metallic things that are supposed to serve as mirrors, circular as to give a better perspective of every place. They have cameras too, of course, but he can’t really use the CCTV system to sneak glances at the mother of the babygirl, can he?

He tries to be subtle. Stands in front of the closest with a chart and plays dumb, ignores Dana's teasing smile and Samira's weirded out looks. He finds it interesting that they don't say anything though.

He takes another deep breath and walks to the room with the conspiranoic parent, grabbing the inside of his sweatshirt for dear life.

He doesn’t quite manage to smile, but can anyone blame him?

“Good morning sir, heard we’re having some trouble here. Mind if I help out?”

He already met this man, so he has already decided he doesn’t like him. Still, he keeps his face neutral and bites back the snark and the snapping.

“You’re not getting any injections anywhere near him.”

Ah, of course, not like we already pumped him full of other shit to help with the state you brought him in.

“It would just be a vaccine, sir, nothing more.”

The man scoffs. 

Robby doesn’t quite understand people, despite having a career longer than their lifespan. They had to sedate the patient- Dylan, when his father had brought him in with a deep cut that had torn his right thigh and he was so deep in a panic attack he wouldn’t answer a single question they asked, just kept sobbing and screaming while his father kept frowning at him. A piece of rusty metal had done it, after his father had taken him to a wrecking yard for a ���fun time”. 

Dylan is now laid in bed, with stitches going from the right side of his knee to the upper middle of his thigh. He’s barely ten.

“Yeah sure, how stupid do you think I am?” Very. “I said no.”

Robby nods, turning his head to the side in hopes of hiding the anger. “I understand your decision, but I’m sure you can understand too that we’d rather wait until his mother gets here so she can tell us as much, if she agrees with you. Ultimately, it is her decision.”

Sweet satisfaction spreads through his veins when the man seethes in front of him, clenching his hands by his sides and walking around like a caged animal. “I’m his father.”

It’s so hard for Robby to hold back the shrug, but he manages. “And we’re aware, but we also have registered that the mother has full custody of the boy. I’m sorry, but what she says goes.”

The man in front of him is big, younger than him by at least ten years. If Robby got close to him, he thinks they’d look at each other eye to eye. 

That said, he thinks a simple punch would get him on the floor, in case he loses his mind. Not like he can do it though, he’s not about to lose his license over some stupid ass man that has more air than brain inside his skull. 

“I could sue you for this.”

His voice rises, setting Robby on high alert in seconds. He gets his hands out of his hoodie and threads them behind his back.

“You are free to do so, sir, but we are following the law and the mother’s wishes. She set on record her consent for vaccines whenever they are required.”

He already feels frustrated by not giving it to him as soon as he arrived. It was a deep cut, deep enough that the cleaning was messy and had made Javadi turn a little pale. McKay had held the little boy’s head while it happened until he passed out, then had asked Robby for her break and ran outside, to the ambulance bay. 

“You’re not getting a single fucking thing inside my boy, you hear me?”

It rings louder this time, loud enough that everything seems to quiet down outside the room. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Dana approaching. He takes a few seconds to step back and shake his head, motioning for Mateo instead. 

Relief fills him when she doesn’t protest, only to be squished as soon as he notices she turns around and goes to the room you’re in. You’re right outside, standing at the curtain with your hands shaking. Dana grabs you and pushes you inside, closing the blue cloth behind her.

Fuck.

He turns back around, rising his hands with his palms open.

“Sir, please calm down. This is a hospital, there are many other patients here that would appreciate some silence.”

It comes out harsher than he intended. The man walks closer to him, and Robby was right, they meet eye to eye.

Mateo comes inside right then. 

“Should I call security?”

Some sort of stupidity must be infecting him today, cause he raises his eyebrow before he speaks. “I don’t know. Should we, sir?”

He braces for impact when the man’s face turns red.

Oh well, at least he’ll have some days off.

You looked so shaken, eyes darting around the room in search of the voice that kept yelling. He never likes to see his patients so unsettled, but God, what he had felt was something else entirely. It was almost like someone was choking him, tied down to the place he’s standing at while he was forced to take the beating.

He’ll go take a look at you right after Langdon fixes his soon to be broken nose, he decides.

“Are you out of your fucking mind, you imbecile?”

A woman comes rushing inside the room, pushing the man that was about to punch him away from Robby. 

He won’t admit it to anyone, ever, but he almost cries out of relief. He really likes his nose to be intact.

“Get the fuck out.”

She’s the mother, he notices. They come to the hospital for check ups often enough that he recognises her, even if he’s just treated them once before, after Dylan threw up blood once only to discover it was just a nosebleed that had gone to his stomach. 

“I’m not going anywhere, he’s my son too. Where does it say he’s only Sydney’s?”

The mother, apparently Sydney, scoffs. “By law, he is, remember? You don’t have fucking custody and I was stupid enough to allow you to see him, but not anymore. Get the fuck out before I call the cops.”

A few beats pass. Mateo looks at Robby like he has the answer for world peace right at the palm of his hands, so he sighs and gets between them. 

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but I need to remind you that this is a hospital and we cannot allow you to have this type of behaviour here. If you don’t stop now, I’m gonna ask you both to leave.”

He seriously thinks he’s about to get tackled to the floor by both of them before Sydney nods and grabs the man by his arm, pulling him away. “I’m sorry, we’ll keep it quiet. Can you tell me what’s going on with Dylan?”

He nods, nodding at Mateo so he can go get McKay and Withaker. “We’ve stitched the wound and had to sedate him to do so, he was in blind panic when they arrived and made it nearly impossible for us to treat him properly. He’ll be fine, one of our doctors will explain further to you. For now, we need to get him a tetanus shot too, to prevent any infection.”

Sydney nods, ignoring the way the father glares at her. Robby’s sure he’ll end up being escorted out of the place sometime soon, but he’ll deal with it later. “He got the full scheme when he was little, if that matters.”

“Unfortunately, since the wound was dirty, we had to stitch it together, and it has been close to ten years, the booster is needed. He’ll be fine more than likely, this is just protocol.”

Once she tells him the go ahead, McKay comes inside smiling at her. Whitaker understandably looks six seconds away from jumping out of his skin.

With a warning look to both of them, he steps outside and tries his best to appear nonchalant as he nearly runs to your room. 

His stomach twists in knots when he hears you sniffing inside, but he doesn’t dare go in.

He catches Dana’s soft tone talking to you in reassurance, doesn’t quite get any words but knows how she looks like, bent over by your side, rubbing your back while she holds your hand. 

The baby girl is quiet now, probably taking her much needed rest after crying for so long and getting a relief from her colics. He can’t really help it when a smile blooms over his face, picturing you holding her and talking softly. You’re so pretty, but it makes him dizzy to think what you must look like when you’re loving your daughter. There’s something so soft and gentle about you, tender in a way that he didn’t believe possible in times like these. A raw, dormant part inside him wants to jump out and wrap itself around your frame, letting your arms keep the baby close to your chest while he keeps you safe inside his. 

He nearly jumps to the roof when Dana steps out and finds him in the middle of the daydream. A nervous laugh bubbles out of him when she raises her eyebrow at him, but he brushes it off and clears his throat.

“So, how’s she doing?”

Dana shrugs. “Better now that you’ve shut that piece of shit up. Good job, doc.”

He preens at the praise, satisfied with helping you feel better in any way possible. 

He doesn’t dare ask to go inside, afraid of shaking you further. Still, he thinks he can ride the high of having helped you until he has a chance to see you again. 

He doesn’t really expect you to step outside and stare at him with wet eyes, clutching a piece of cloth-a baby’s blanket, he thinks, close to your chest. His legs feel like jelly.

“Are you okay, doctor Robby?”

Dana, that traitor, scurries off, leaving him with his mouth hanging open. 

“W-well I-uhm, yes ma’am, don’t worry.” He gives you a shaky smile, so pathetic he can feel his entire face turn red. “All in a day’s work.”

You frown at him. “That’s awful.”

A stupid little nervous laugh leaves his mouth, rubbing his neck subconsciously. 

“I hope it didn’t bother you too much, I try-we, we try our best to keep things as calm as possible here.”

You shake your head. And there it is again, that subtle shift between the scared woman he’s dying to take care of and this other version that seems ready to eat the world whole.

“I’m fine, it just set me off a little. It hasn’t been the easiest day today.”

He nods in understanding, wringing his hands while wrecking his brain in hopes of finding a way to keep you here, talking to him for hours and hours and eternity and then more. 

“Hopefully we can keep it this way now.” 

A sweet smile is gifted to him again.

“I know you’ll try your best, doctor Robby. Thank you.”

You go back inside your room, and he has to brace himself against the wall. Holy fuck. 

There is no way he’ll stay with just your name and a one time meeting. He needs to figure something out before you leave, or else he’ll regret it for the rest of his life.

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So now I can rest easy knowing Robby doesn’t say A THING about García being flirty towards Santos (AN INTERN) and just stares like this 😐 because according to the timeline, COLLINS HERSELF was probably AN INTERN when they "briefly dated" (read: had a very intense month an a half, she got pregnant BOY THEY WERE NOT WASTING TIME, then Adamson died, Robby's entire world came crashing down, then it all went to shit).

At least he's self aware.

[dexxtrosee]

Neverending battle

Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x reader

TW: mentions of canon character death, mass casualty event, grief, PTSD, lockdowns

Robby's sitting outside on the steps when you get home.

You reel back slightly, unsure. He has his head between his hands, taking deep breaths with his eyes closed. He's not dirty, still wearing the same cargo pants and black scrub top he left with in the morning. The face full of grief isn’t new either.

There's added weight to his shoulders though, you can see it. It’s almost like he’s doing an effort to stay upright against a crushing weight pushing him downwards, unsure of if he even wants to anymore.

You try your best to get closer without making a sound, slow steps and controlled breathing. His hands clench slightly.

"Jake's girlfriend died on me today."

You freeze.

"Remember I told you I'd give him the tickets so he could go with the girl he told us about? Her name was Leah," his voice breaks when he says her name, "I got to see her alive and happy through a call, and a few hours later I was covered in her blood and she was dead right in the middle of the ER."

You had seen the news, had called him a hundred times before it got through and Dana had answered. He talked to you five, ten seconds maybe, just to tell you to call Jake, to tell you he loved you, that he'd get home late. A watery chuckle was what he got back, and a 'be safe'. They had both sounded wrecked in that controlled way you knew so well, Robby had mastered it ages ago.

Which is why you don’t really know what to do with what’s pouring out of him right now. He hasn't moved, hasn't looked up at you, talking to the floor with his backpack by his side. He never tells you anything, never talks about what eats him alive and wakes you up when he starts crying at midnight.

He can talk about the funny, quirky cases, not with any other details but the fun ones. The girl who broke his arm trying to see how far she could jump, the boy who had a condom stuck inside, the teacher who had an accident in class and had been sneezing glitter for two days.

A month ago he got home laughing his ass off because a bunch of teenagers had gotten to the Pitt in a blind panic from their tongues being blue without "apparent reason", fearing the worst.

They just got high off his asses with a blue brownie and didn't remember, he kept saying, tears streaming down his face from laughing too much. It had made you so happy to see him like that, so carefree and finding something nice at work for once.

The man sat in front of you is a whole different person.

Your mind unhelpully supplies that Leah must have been around those teenagers' age.

"I broke inside the ped's room after Jake told me it was my fault, a-and it is, right? It is. Over a hundred people saved and I let my- I let Jake's girlfriend die."

Irrational anger flames inside your chest.

He's just a boy, you know.

He didn’t see Robby five years ago, though. Didn't spend months having to see him through the car window only, with dark circles around his eyes and thinner than ever. He has no clue about the first time he came back home and woke you up with his retching inside the bathroom, or the way he got paranoic for days and cleaned every single surface again and again. The blind panic that would show up on his face when you so much as sneezed, how he bought packs of facemasks that haven’t run out to this day.

But he’s just a boy, you know. And you know that you would hate anyone too if they were somehow even remotely capable of saving Robby and he died anyway, no matter how crazy it would be. Grief isn’t rational.

"I don't think we're gonna be seeing Jake anytime soon, babe. Sorry."

And he says it just like that, like that boy hasn’t been the shine in his eyes for years.

You sit down next to him, pulling one of his hands away from his head and clutching it between yours. He lets you, but doesn’t move otherwise.

"I think just us two will be fine for a while."

Not like you have any option, but still, he chuckles. "You think?"

Shrugging, you bury yourself into his side, ignoring how tight his entire body feels. You wonder if, this time, it was Jack the one who had to go up and talk. It makes you pull him closer.

"You sayin' I'm not fun enough for you now? Want me to go around pulling odd shit again, like when we first met?"

Finally, he turns slowly and kisses the top of your head. His body trembles slightly, adrenaline rush wearing off. You don’t dare mention it.

"As if I'd need anything else."

You smile.

You'll pressure him into going to therapy tomorrow, again. You're not sure if you should be relieved or worried sick at the fact that your chances at winning seem better this time around, not like the hundred times before.

"Whatever you need, Robinavitch."

You stay outside until his shaking calms down, and let him cry himself to sleep with his head on your chest.

In the morning, he finally agrees.

[dexxtrosee]

I just think Robby really really really really likes being ridden. He likes having something to suck on right in front of his face, likes wrapping his arms around you and pull you closer while you bounce, getting to see up close the way your face contorts with pleasure, how he can hold you still if he wants and then just fuck up into you and.... yeah, he loves it.

[dexxtrosee]

Overflow

Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x reader. NSFW. Smut. Subish!Robby.

The entire house is suffocating you with silence.

Outside, the city's alive and well. Cars pass and honk, people yell, parties go on. Blissfully unaware of the tense bubble you're in, background noise for whatever is going on inside. 

Water pours into the sink until it fills up the glass Robby put under.  Seconds pass. It starts overflowing, filling the kitchen with soft metallic sounds of droplets, then streams, then it just becomes noise. He just stares at it, and you stare at him.

“That bad, uh?”

His shoulders are tense. You can see the way his hands are gripping onto the bar for dear life, knuckles white from how much strength he’s putting into it. He’s 6’1 of pure frustration, drawn tight like a rope. 

You feel a little guilty when heat spreads all over your body, but you can’t really help it. This Robby doesn’t come out often, the one that is so angry at the system, at the stupid comments he gets at work by his superiors, that he has to close his eyes and take a hundred deep breaths before he can speak coherently and not sound like a caged animal. 

You like it when he’s like this. He’s like a knot you just have to unravel, turn him into dust between your palms.

Slowly, you approach him. He doesn’t move a single inch, but his back seems to tense even more, feeling your body heat radiate into him. He’s burning up with so many things it’s intoxicating, makes your head spin. 

You’re careful when you press your hands against his back, feeling his muscles clench at your touch. He’s a mess, holding back by trying to control his breath. His face is damp, either water or sweat, maybe both. If he turned to look at you, you’re sure his pupils would be blown out. 

“You want to tell me about it?”

It doesn’t surprise you when he shakes his head. He’s barely keeping it together as it is, driven to the brink of insanity all day and worsening every second he feels your touch. You start rubbing your hands up and down, pressing your face to him. It makes him jump slightly, caught off guard by your breath fanning against his skin. 

“I think you should try to relax,” you tell him, pulling away slightly so you can start rubbing his shoulders a little. “It’s over now.”

His breath stutters when you wrap your arms around his waist, letting your hands wander low enough to play with the waistband of his pants without actually doing something about it. Your fingers draw lazy circles over his belly, then his chest. His breathing picks up almost imperceptibly, but you can feel every single change, electricity running between the two of you.

Hurried, he turns off the faucet and lets himself bend lower, pressing lightly against you. You let him, shifting until you’re almost by his side. The tips of his ears are bright red.

If you didn’t know better, you’d say he has a fever. His skin feels scorching hot in every point that’s rubbing against your own, but that may just be your own fire trying to swallow him.

“You’re here with me now,” you whisper at him, smiling slightly when his breath hitches again. “You can let go.”

His hand is shaking when he raises it to cover his face, biting at the meat of his palm to keep some form of composure. It just makes you want to break him to pieces even more, have him all for yourself. The rest of the world can fuck off for a few hours.

“Relax,” you urge, pulling him closer and twisting until you're standing face to face. The bridge of his nose is tinted pink, and he doesn’t dare look up. “Let me take care of you, Robby.”

He’s so sensitive right now that just those few words are his breaking point. He groans, bracing himself against the sink when you press your hips against his and feel how hot and hard he is already. You laugh at him a little, and he turns away to hide his face, flustered by how easy you get him delirious with desire. 

You let him for now, trailing up his neck with your mouth. His pulse is thundering under your lips, you’re so close it’s like being enveloped by him. You’re sure he doesn’t mean to grab your arm, but he does, and he pulls you impossibly closer, going after your touch.

“Please,” he pants, throwing his head back when you bite at his collarbone. “F-fuck, please.”

Warmth grows and spreads from your belly to your entire body. It’s so easy to turn him into a mess with the right words, the right touch. A power trip that gets to your head every single time you have him begging for attention.

“I’ll take care of you, babe, don’t worry.”

When you push yourself away from him, he whines, opening his eyes to stare at you like you just confessed to a crime. 

You were right. You can barely see the pretty brown that’s so characteristic of him, almost completely hidden by how dilated his pupils are. You grin up at him, taking in the sight of such a big, controlled man turned into a whiny mess just for you. 

You decide to give him a chance, pressing your mouth against his. His entire body shivers, grabbing the back of your head and letting you eat him alive, at your complete mercy. His kiss is desperate, full of the frustration you aim to pull out of him. The hunger swallows you both, rids you slowly of oxygen until you have no other choice but to separate.

Instead of talking, you decide to just pull his waistband open and bury your hand inside to grab his length.

He jumps so hard it knocks him back into the counter, but you don’t pay it any mind. It will be a nice reminder if he bruises, of how easy you can break him into this.

“Oh fuck, fuck.”

You rub your thumb over the tip, using the precum he’s already leaking as lube. His moans are so pretty, loud and stuttered in a vain attempt at holding them back. You kiss his cheek, resisting the urge to bite when his cheeks turn pink. 

“Feels good?”

He nods, mouth open and swollen. You stare at it, at the way his lower lip is pushed out and glistening from kissing you. The fucked out look suits him, so different from the composed doctor you’ve seen him be at his job.

You twist your wrist in circles, relishing in the way he squirms and groans. More precum leaks out, dirtying your hand until you’re filling the room with wet sounds. He presses his lips together, unconsciously pulling slightly back from your touch.

“Ta-take it easy,” he begs. You squeeze him harder, giggling when he jumps again. “F-fuck, please, I’m not gonna l-last.”

You tilt your head, speeding up your strokes just to have him gasp and grip your wrist. “What’s wrong with that?”

He lets out a breathy laugh so full of disbelief that it sends molten heat running down your legs. He gives up trying to make you stop, leans back and pulls you with him until the tip of your nose is almost touching his. 

“Y-you drive me fucking n-nuts,” he grits out. His hips start fucking into your fist, getting so much pleasure it’s making him dizzy. “Fuck, please don’t st-stop.”

“I won’t,” you promise him, giving him a quick peck that pulls a tiny gasp from him. “I want you to cum.”

There is no human power that could have kept him from doing what you ask of him. Just as he raises his hand to grab your head and crash his mouth against yours, his cock starts shooting cum all over your hand, getting his clothes dirty too. He pushes his moans into your mouth, and the whiny little breathless sounds that he always tries so hard to hide. His entire face is beet red, you can see it spreading down his neck and to his chest. 

He twitches in your hold as you keep pumping him, gasping and gripping you harder against him. He cums so much, an explosion of frustrations and anger and so much adoration for you. It leaks from his pores and seeps into your very soul. 

You only stop when he gently grabs your wrist, panting so hard it wrecks his entire body. It makes you giddy to see him so utterly destroyed by only your hands and your kisses, so willingly at your mercy after being in control all day.

He leans his forehead against yours, taking deep breaths to calm himself. He interlaces your clean hand with his, kisses it. His body’s still shaking, soft and pliable.

“G-god, holy fuck.”

You laugh against his mouth when he kisses you again.

[dexxtrosee]

In the middle of the night

Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x reader

TW: mentions of canon violent mass event, panic attack.

He doesn’t talk to you about it.

Days pass and pass, and then they turn into weeks. More patients come, more patients die, more patients live. Jake doesn’t talk to him, Leah's parents invite him to the funeral. Still, he doesn’t tell you about any of it, aside from shaking his head when you ask when Jake's coming over again. It was on the news, he's not stupid enough to think you have no clue about what he went through, you just don't know how bad it was.

You don’t know any of it from his own mouth, and still, it bothers him when you don’t seem even slightly surprised every time he wakes you up with his nightmares and his crying. You just let him hide his face on your neck, let him clutch your body against his while the sobs wreck him. You push his hair back, kiss his forehead, wait until he's calm enough to manhandle him back to lying down. He falls asleep to your fingers tracing the lines of his face more often than not.

One particularly bad night, he manages to wake himself up in silence, petrified. You don’t seem to notice at first, breath soft and slow, still sleeping. He can’t move, can’t make a single sound. His chest feels tight, his head is drowning in screams and sobs and people telling him he's not good enough.

The bed feels too soft, his shirt is choking him. Why couldn't he save them? Why is he even fucking trying? Fuck, he can't breathe. Adamson died on his watch, he made him suffer through a horrible, long death because he couldn't let go. And everyone had to watch him do it again with Leah, cling to an impossible task while docens of people needed him and she was already fucking dead. Fuck, fuck, fuck fuck fuck fuck-

"Robby. Hey, Robby, look at me. Open your eyes love, come on."

Your voice makes him jump. He realizes for the first time he's hyperventilating now, squeezing his eyes shut.

God, he feels pathetic for putting you through this again and again. You're gonna end up leaving him, he's sure. He's too much and too little at the same time, more baggage than man. He can’t keep doing this to you, he can't, he can't he can't-

"Robby, open your eyes."

He feels you grab his arms and pull him into a sitting position. His entire body breaks into shivers, his heart trying its best to burst out of his chest.

"Robby, open your eyes."

When he finally does, he doesn’t like the concern plastered over your features. He pushes you away slightly, bending to the side.

"I-I think I'm gonna be sick."

You don’t seem to listen to him, instead jumping over the blankets until you're kneeling by his side. You push his head back with the heel of your hand, and he closes his eyes again. He doesn’t think he can handle your worry right now.

A balloon stretches inside his throat. His hands fly to clutch at his neck, but your hand grips them both and pushes them down until they're pressed against his legs. You're seeing right through him, right into all the things he's tried hiding from you ever since he met you.

He doesn’t want it to reach you.

"Robby, I think my lip is bleeding. Can you take a look at it?"

Your question freezes him on the spot. Did he accidentally hit you? Oh fuck, fuck-

"I bit my lip too hard earlier today, I was sewing up my green sweater and got lost in my head. It's the one you gave me, remember? The knitted one."

Robby frowns, squeezing your hand tighter. The green one? The one he got in Philly after your third date?

"The one you say feels too rough unles you're wearing it."

Ah, Robby remembers that one. It felt itchy, he asked about it when he gave it to you and you put it on right there. Then you had shaken your head and smiled, telling him it was softer on the inside.

"Open your eyes, babe."

Slowly, he does. You're bent in front of him, and there's a small speck of blood close to the edge of your mouth.

He raises his hand, cleaning it up with shaky fingers. It doesn’t really help, just spreads it over your lower lip and paints it a faint red. It makes him chuckle, but the sound resembles an animal in agony.

Out of nowhere, he feels something cold and metallic press against his neck. He gasps, unintentionally pulling you closer.

You let him. You shuffle closer until you're kneeling between his legs, and he wraps his arms around you. His face is wet, his entire body feels weak, made of paper.

"Where did you even get that sweater from? You may need to buy me a new one if I can’t save this one."

It was a local, old shop. The owner was an older man, running the store on his own, if he had to guess. Full of old furniture, the kind that lasts generations.

"I-I can try and h-help you mend it."

Your chest shakes slightly against his, laughing. He buries his head on your shoulder. "Sure you can, doc."

Minutes pass. Your hand tangles inside his hair, the other caressing his back up and down. Your warmth seeps into his clothes, his body, relaxing it until he feels he can barely stay upright.

You kiss his cheek, his temble, his shoulder. He can’t really help it when he bursts into tears.

"Take a deep breath, it’s okay. I'm right here."

His sobs rock the entire bed. He wishes he could hug you close enough to merge his soul with yours.

"It's okay love, you can let it out."

In the middle of the night, with the other half of his soul wrapped around his, he finally does.

[dexxtrosee]

All the way down

Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x f!reader. Nsfw-ish

He didn’t date much, back in med school.

He wasn't a complete recluse either, contrary to what everyone seems to think about him. He'd go out and join his friends at parties whenever he could, would get tipsy more often than not, black out drunk in some rare ocassions.

But sleeping around was never really his thing. Not because he didn’t get chances, because boy did he, but the few times he did indulge, it made it harder and harder to go back to his dorm and pretend like he wasn't being swallowed by loneliness.

Anyway, the point is, of course he liked a warm body to bury himself into. He liked curves and sharp edges too, liked kneading soft flesh and squeezing muscles. The slick sweat of another body against his drove him crazy, the pants and the moans and the chances he got to have a pretty thing going Robby please, please-

He just doesn't think it’s appropiate to think like that about the cardiology attending that's currently treating his worst trauma case of the week.

He can feel his entire face burst into flames whenever you're near him. The way your scrubs hug your body in the right places, the sweat that pools near your neck after running three floors all the way down because the elevator hasn't been working since monday, how your hands clench and push and pick apart every single thing that comes close to them.

God, he wishes he could be your next subject of study. Let you pick him apart piece by piece, tracing his tattoos and the scar he has on his shoulder, the one that runs down his back, the faded, pale scar that travels down his navel. He can almost see you laughing at the way he'd turn red, at how he'd so willingly become a begging mess if it meant being touched by you.

"I think he'll be fine. You want us to admit him?"

He wouldn’t have called you to help, if he had been the one to decide. He would have called Morrison, the bald guy who has at least ten years on him, or maybe Tannen, the lady who keeps flirting with him despite being married with three kids. Anyone, anyone but you.

He feels intoxicated, way past tipsy and nearing loss of conscience just by getting to smell you, feel your heat radiate into him.

"Could you?"

The tips of his ears turn bright red when he hears how wrecked his voice is. The only other person inside the room is Jesse, because thank goodness for small miracles, but he still has to clear his throat and turn away from you when he notices the predatory smile you're giving him.

You press your hand against his bicep, and he has to brace himself against the patient's bed to repress the flinch. He knows he's breathing a little faster, pupils dilated and a bit stupid from your closeness. Still, he has to try to keep some dignity here.

"For you, Robby? I can admit every single patient you throw at me."

The laugh he lets out borders on hysteric. He doesn’t know what to do, wants to hide away inside his hoodie and strip you out of your bright red scrubs at the same time. His mind is a short-circuit that doesn’t let him think straight whenever you're near.

"I-I would appreciate it if you admited him in cardio, yeah."

He pretends he doesn’t see the way Jesse rolls his eyes before getting out of the room. A man has to lie to himself sometimes, for the sake of sanity.

"Sure thing."

And just like that, you're out of the room without so much as a wave, but a new spring on your step.

Robby notices, distantly, that your smell stayed on the cotton of his sweatshirt.

And his pants feel tighter.

Well, fuck.

[dexxtrosee]

Safekeeping

Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x f!reader

Summary: A baby got to the ER thirty minutes ago and hasn't stopped crying since. It's starting to get on everyone's nerves. He is, unfortunately, the one in charge, so it's his problem to deal with.

A/N: Set a few months after the last episode of The Pitt's S1. Mind you, this was supposed to be me testing the waters with the fandom and instead I got dunked, I just can't get this man out of my head. Oh well. Part one, I guess?

There´s a baby crying two rooms away from the one he’s at. 

The baby hasn’t stopped crying in thirty minutes, a world of difference from the case Robby is currently using as a teaching lesson for Santos and Whitaker. He doesn’t need to be a genius in emotional expression to notice she’s bored to death, while Whitaker seems relieved to be away from an immediate life threatening situation for once. He won’t admit it, not even to Dana, but he is using it as both a punishment for her and a break for him. He barely got between her and an abusive mother just a few hours ago before they drew blood. He managed to save Santos from being escorted out in cuffs along with the mother by sheer force of willpower and some favors owed by the cops.

And he won’t say it to her either, but if he were thirty years younger and a tad more stupid, that would have been him. She doesn’t need to know that, though.

“Are you a smoker, miss Rossi?”

The lady, a seventy year old woman who insists on them calling her miss, because she’s “divorced, dammit”, shakes her head and turns to look at her granddaughter. Robby can practically hear her thoughts (Can you believe this boy?) and has to bite back a chuckle. 

“Do you, by any chance, often cook on firewood?”

Miss Rossi shakes her head again, this time with an added eye roll. The baby hasn’t stopped crying. 

Whitaker is starting to play with his hands, glancing nervously at the granddaughter and at Santos. The boredom seems to have eased a bit, now replaced by amusement from seeing the poor boy suffer. Robby doesn’t interfere. 

“Have you done strenuous activity recently?”

At this, the teenage girl sitting by her side perks up, glancing at her grandmother with pursed lips. Robby smiles when Whitaker catches it and latches onto it like a starved animal. 

“Maybe cleaning around the house? Too long walks? Heavy lifting?”

Miss Rossi finally seems to think about it. Santos starts fidgeting where she’s standing, checking her watch. He suppresses a sigh and writes a mental note about mentioning it to her. The baby hasn’t stopped crying. 

“Well, I went with the kids to the park this morning. Had to chase them around when they grabbed the youngest and put her inside the basket of one of the bikes! Can you believe it? Those fuckers.”

They all let out some chuckles and sighs of relief. 

“Are you from Allegheny, miss Rossi?”

She nods, smiling for the first time since they both got here. “Born and raised, boy.”

Robby nods at him, giving him a thumbs up. Santos tries to hide her own smile. 

“Alright, seems you can handle this one.” Robby glares briefly at Santos, and she nods with so much annoyance he shakes his head. “I’ll go check on other cases, call me if anything happens.”

He doesn’t wait to see the answers, just steps out and walks straight to the room with the crying baby. 

Before he enters, he notices Dana standing inside and talking softly to, he assumes, the mother. She has her back to him, shoulders shaking and head hung low. Samira and McKay are bent over a cradle. A hole inside his stomach appears when he notices how anxious they both seem to be. 

“Good morning, I’m doctor Robinavitch. What seems to be the problem here?”

Dana turns, frowning and looking at him like he’s the worst thing to happen to her today. He reels back slightly, tries to peek behind her back. She shakes her head, motions him to fuck off. 

McKay doesn’t move. Samira stands up straight like he just pulled her back string, nervous. “All good, sir. We can handle this one, no worries.”

Robby frowns, bites back the need to tell them all off. “Well, that poor thing hasn’t stopped crying in more than half an hour. Are you sure?”

McKay waves at him from her bent position, shaking her head furiously without actually turning to look at him. 

Without saying anything, he turns to Dana again. She sighs, lets go of the mother’s hands and pushes him out of the room with no explanation. Before she closes back the curtain, he tries and fails to catch a glance at the mother.

“What the fuck is going on?”

He loves Dana, he truly does. Still, sometimes he wishes he could work with someone less hardheaded. He has enough of it in himself.

“She doesn’t want any men near her baby.”

Robby tilts his head, frowns deeper. “Should I call the cops?”

Something inside him burns and itches when Dana shakes her head. “They’re already aware of anything worth reporting.”

Robby nods, clenches his hands. He doesn’t know what to do with himself when the baby lets out a louder cry. “What the hell is wrong then? They haven’t figured it out yet? Should I bring Collins here?”

She’s busy dealing with a broken leg from a teenage boy that got too excited with his skateboard, but the cries are starting to get on everyone’s nerves, he can see it. 

“Maybe you should, yeah.”

“Fuck.”

He turns away, walks to Langdon and grabs him away from the nurse bay. He doesn’t protest, hasn’t since he came back last month. It still weirds Robby out. 

“I need you to finish Collins’ case, she has to help out with a different one.”

“I can do it,” The need for approval drips from his words. It still twists Robby’s chest. He shakes his head, doesn’t explain, pushes him inside and motions Collins out with just a smile to the parents.

“Need you to help in Room Two, I’m sorry.”

She gets it immediately, smiles softly and nods. She’s trying again, Robby knows. Still, he’s tried his best to keep her away from any babies. 

When they go back, Dana steps out and grabs Robby. He lets her lead him to the corner between rooms, crossing his arms. “I’m not going anywhere near the baby unless it’s completely necessary, I know. What now?”

“She wants to talk to you.”

The mother, he guesses. He nods, interlaces his fingers and then unthreads them when he notices how tense he feels from it. 

“Just… be gentle, Robby. She looks six seconds away from throwing up out of stress.”

There are so many things he could say to that. Instead, he just nods. Dana goes inside, doesn’t come out again.

When the mom steps out, the first thing that crosses his mind is “wow, holy shit”.

Then he starts berating himself because, holy fuck, what the hell was that?

You take a few steps closer to him, playing with your fingers, and cleaning a few stray tears away from your face. His hands twitch by his sides.

“Hi.”

Dear God, take him now. Warmth spreads all over his chest when your voice reaches his ears. 

“Hello,” he starts. He has to clear his throat before continuing. “Dana mentioned you wanted to talk to me, I’m doctor Robinavitch. Or Doctor Robby, if you prefer.”

You nod, trying and failing to smile at him. “Nice to meet you. Are you… like, the boss around here?”

He nods, unsure of how you may react. He doesn’t notice any disgust or annoyance, but there’s no positive reaction either. He relaxes his shoulders and makes sure to leave his hands visible. 

“Indeed I am. What can I do for you?”

He has to hold his breath when you raise your head to look at him straight to his eyes. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck-

“Can you make sure no male nurses or doctors come near her?”

Irrationally, he wants to sit you down and make you spit out any and all information about your baby. Why you seem so scared one second and ready for combat the next, why your eyes are so pretty, why you don’t let him near the babygirl.

Instead, he just nods, asks softly “Is there anything or anyone we should be worried about?” 

You shake your head, give him a satisfied smile that seems to pull the ground from under him. “No, not anymore.”

He opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out. He feels lightheaded, unsure of where he stands. You tilt your head slightly, then jump when Collins comes out. He realizes now that the crying stopped. 

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but can we have a word?”

Your face falls. It makes him irrationally mad, wants to twist the world around until you’re smiling again. He doesn’t move.

“What’s wrong? Is it serious?”

Collins puts her hand on your hand in an effort to comfort you, shaking her head. He glares at her hand like it personally offended him. “Nothing serious, it seems like she just had an allergic reaction to formula. Could you tell me which one she's taking?”

It’s almost like he vanishes into thin air as soon as there’s something related to the baby anywhere near you. You turn around, back to him while you pull up a picture in your phone and show it to Heather. She nods and smiles, letting you know it’s nothing too bad. He notices your entire body relaxing, and the tips of his ears turn red. 

“So what should I do at home now?”

The anxiety you exude makes him tense, almost angry. He’s bothered by not being able to get an actual look at the situation, relegated to talking to you only and away from what seems to be the center of your universe. He takes a deep breath to try and push out the uncomfortable feeling of uselessness.

“We would like to keep her here, at least for today just to keep an eye on how she reacts with different formulas, and maybe give her some fluids in case she’s dehydrated.” Heather’s voice is tender, gentle in a way he’s not sure he could manage now, not after so many years of hoping it would help and seeing it turn people into aggressive maniacs. 

But you just nod, pocketing your phone before turning back to look at him again and knocking the air out of his lungs. 

He's sure he's earned his year in Hell when faint excitement blooms as he realizes you'll be around for a few hours. He doesn't understand what's happening, why he's acting like a teenage boy with a crush or a fresh student handling his first case with an attractive person. Fuck. Fuck.

“Can you make sure the people from other shifts respect what I ask?”

He’s already mentally preparing his speech for Jack. “Of course. And I’ll see if we can keep you here along with your baby, just to be safe.” 

You beam at him, and once again, he feels like the Earth tilts under him. “Thank you, doctor Robby.”

He notices Dana staring at him from inside the room, grinning.

Oh, he’s absolutely fucked.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

AO3

[dexxtrosee]

Birds in the morning

Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x reader

It's been a long time since Robby last worked on the night shift without it being a favor.

He wouldn’t say he hates it, it's too reductive of an expression. He just thinks it's smarter to avoid dark times when his mind plays enough tricks on him during daylight, he doesn’t want to risk it.

When he did though, a good ten or fifteen years ago, he liked the sleep he got in between cases. He'd go hide inside one of the trauma rooms, close the curtains, cover himself with the trashiest blanket he could find. He would close his eyes and be out cold in seconds, despite the noise and the yells and the million machines. They would drown out his thoughts.

He has a hard time sleeping at home. There's still noise outside, because the times when the entire city went to sleep past 2 a.m. are long gone. He can hear teenagers playing at the park across the street, his upstairs neighbor playing some kind of electronic music he doesn’t quite hate, even someone laughing somewhere to his left.

Still, it’s not familiar or loud enough to lull him to sleep. Instead, he stays looking at the roof for hours on end until the birds start chirping and his eyes are burning.

Or at least it was that way.

Now, he listens to a coffee machine begging for mercy after the third round of preparing more. He hears books, papers rubbing against each other, a pen against a card. Soft mutters sometimes, a yawn, a faint thud against the table.

He falls asleep to that most of the time now. Gets home around ten, sits down in front of you and eats, laughs at whatever silly thing you come up with to cheer him up after a long shift. Leans his face against your palm, blushes when you kiss the tip of his nose, his eyelids, his forehead.

Sighs when he feels your palms rub against his waist until your arms are wrapped tight over his entire chest. Threads his fingers with yours, kisses your knuckles and smiles when he hears you snore six seconds after your head hits the pillow.

He doesn’t stay awake until the birds wake up now, he wakes up along them and doesn’t miss the night shifts from before.