#dr robinivitch

[zzzugzwanggg]

Okay so I noticed something on my latest The Pitt rewatch that could be nothing but was interesting enough to me to talk about it anyway

Look at this gif.

Notice anything about Mel and Langdon's proximity to Robby?

The cut definitely has something to do with it, but notice that specifically Mel and Langdon are fighting to be closest to Robby.

Look what Taylor Dearden said about John Wells's direction for Mel in episode one on Pop Culture Unplugged.

Maybe Patrick Ball got the same direction. Maybe Langdon and Mel are both so desperate to be noticed by Robby that they're physically fighting each other to be the one who gets to tail him closest.

Also, notice Mel's facial expression in the second shot where she's behind Langdon vs. her face when she's rearing up to go in the first shot. This is the same scene, just different angles (again, continuity has something to do with this) but Mel is grinning as she's jumping in to follow him, and then she's stoic, almost annoyed, as she accepts that Langdon is the one who's going to be in front.

Both of them want to be close to him. Both of them are seeking his approval. Mel only shifts to seeking Langdon's approval after she realizes he's a more realistic source of it than Robby.

Look at them, two praise-seeking kids desperate for their boss' attention <3

[aquaholicsanonymousworld]

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

Off the Clock

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“At what?”

“Making me feel human again.”

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

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

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

You smiled into his chest. “Sold.”

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

And he did.

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

Just two people, off the clock, in love.

[wisps-writes-fic]

Read on Ao3 | Masterlist

Pairing: Dr. Michael 'Robby' Robinavitch x Fem OC

Summary: Evelyn knew he was a doctor, of course. Professions had come up briefly in the weeks they spent tangled up together. That didn't mean it didn't come as a shock when he was the attending seeing to her care after she was shot at Pittfest.

CW: Age gap (~20 yrs), Angst, Soft-dom Robby, Praise kink, Smut in later chapter

AN: This was written in a couple hours and I also know nothing about medicine. If this sucks, I'm sorry.

Chapter I

Evelyn

“This really isn’t necessary, is it? The person I was with—Other people—” 

“Evelyn, right?” She nodded, grimacing. In the grand total of three minutes she’d spoken with Dr. McKay, the woman had proved herself to be the no nonsense type. Something Evelyn could respect, if the bullet wound in her arm wasn’t putting her in the ugliest mood of her life, painkillers be damned. She was never going to a festival again. “Your friend is in the OR with the best care she’ll get. You might not need surgery, but if I don’t stitch and dress this properly this you will undoubtedly be looking at a nasty infection.”

“Stubborn patient here, Dr. McKay?” The familiar voice registered before the man carrying it came past the half-drawn curtain and into her field of vision. Startled her enough to break through the rising anxiety regarding her roommate’s condition.

“Not to worry,” he continued. “Intake has slowed and the worst is behind us. It’s—” He froze, a wariness taking over his handsome features. She watched him carefully as he took in the damage done, resisting the urge to pull down her torn sleeve to cover the dried blood and sloppy dressing one of the intake nurses had applied to stop the worst of the bleeding until she could be seen more formally. “Through and through?” he asked after clearing his throat.

“Evelyn Sinclair. Twenty-six Came in with a gunshot wound to the arm. Nothing vital hit. We were just getting to the cleaning and stitching. Evelyn, this is one of our attending physicians, Dr. Robinivitch,” McKay provided, obviously marking the lingering tension despite her attending’s remarkable talent to mask what might leave him shaken. He clearly wasn’t in any more of a hurry than Evelyn was to explain that tension.

“Go wrap up what you need to, McKay. I’ll finish things here.”

She raised a brow, but didn’t argue, no doubt in a hurry to finish her business and get back to the son Evelyn had overheard another team member mention at one point. She’d always been that way, gathering information how she could, storing background insight for whenever she may need it in the future. 

Her hope this time was that she’d never return to this particular ER. Never see the doctor eyeing her so carefully as he drew the curtain completely closed. Go home, drink tonight away, and shove down everything she thought she’d spent the past four years healing. Forget the hurt of him leaving after those two wonderful weeks she’d spent in his arms, away from her cruel reality.

No strings, they’d promised.

What a load of bullshit.

“Robby.” His name was out of her mouth before she could stop herself, the tender inflection telling him everything she couldn’t say out loud. She hated that weakness.

Just the bloodloss. Nothing more. You went your separate ways years ago. You’re over him. He’s just an old summer fling.

“Let’s get you stitched up, Evelyn. Discharge shouldn’t be far behind.” Every action was careful, precise. She had to look away for most of it, dizzy at the sight of the wound and a needle pulling through it even with the numbing agent to mask the feeling of it. “There,” he finally said, securing the end of the guaze. “We’ll get you something for the pain, then you should be set.”

“I can’t leave.” He cocked his head ever so slightly. “Please, my friend was taken up to surgery.” Her throat tightened, fear finally overtaking the adrenaline. “Abigail Hunt. I need to know—” 

His hands were on her just like that, one cradling the back of her neck while the other anchored itself at her right hip. On her feet now, she had her nose firmly pressed to his scrubs, taking in the strange blend of blood and his scent. “Deep breaths. Good girl, again.”

She shuttered, sinking further into his hold even as her fists clenched in the fabric of his shirt. It took several moments longer to push past that tightness, her worries only slightly mellowed. “I can’t go home. I need to know.”

“There’s a waiting room,” he murmured, “if you’re discharged before she can take visitors. Or if you choose to go home we can call—”

“No,” she snapped, shrugging back out of his hold where his touch couldn’t muddle her thoughts and break her resistance. “I can’t leave her.”

She saw it coming in the flash of his eyes—the knit of his brows and crossing of his arms. But the last thing she needed right now was a lecture on traumatic events and taking care of herself. They may have only had a few weeks together, but she knew Robby. Knew how quickly she could fall into that quiet control he wielded with her, especially when she was high strung. 

“I’m staying.”

Finally, he gave a short nod. “Someone will be in shortly with your paperwork.” A flick of the curtain open and shut and he was gone. ~~~ Dr. Robby

She was in his workplace. A woman who had haunted his thoughts in the months following their goodbye. A woman who had left a permanent mark on him he’d spent the past several years trying to get rid of. A woman who was twenty years younger than him and deserved a relationship with someone who didn’t carry his baggage.

He’d told himself he could keep things professional. Even after sending McKay out of the room. But she’d broken down, bared her fears for her friend in a few short words. Holding Evelyn in his arms again, he never wanted to let her go.

But that bridge had long since burned.

[mellybeanking]

A stolen moment in a Regency AU - inspired by Frank Churchill/Jane Fairfax from Emma in which a piano forte is a dog

Read on Ao3

She’s staring up through a gap in the trees, allowing the golden light to warm her face as she hums a familiar air when an excited yelp from her companion brings her back to the present. The lead yanks in her hand and she follows the path of the puppy’s excited expulsions.

Frank.

Mel smiles despite herself. She’d meant to be cross with him— she still means to really, but their conversation can keep.

If she has any misgivings about her engagement to Frank Langdon it is that it must remain secret. They’d met in London only a few short months prior on one of the Colonel’s family’s visits to town: She as Colonel Abbot’s daughter’s longtime companion and Mr. Langdon as dutiful nephew and heir apparent to his aunt Gloria’s estate, so long as he stayed in her good favor.

Traveling in the same circles that season, they’d bonded first over their shared histories in Highbury: Frank having spent a few happy years there as a boy before his mother had died and her husband, Dr. Robinivitch, the only father Frank had ever known, had been forced to surrender him to his mother’s kin. And Mel whose remaining family, an aunt and sister, both resided in Highbury. What began as fond recollections, grew into mutual confidences and blossomed into romance. Despite his acerbic attitude in company, she found him to be kind and sincere in the tete-a-tetes he was keen to engage her in; conscious of her trepidation of boisterous settings, but solicitous of her opinions in private, away from the scrutiny of large parties where she’d never offer them freely.

She’d assumed the attachment was all on her side, until the day he’d professed his love. He was not yet at liberty to marry; His Aunt had made her opinions of a second marriage quite clear, especially with two healthy sons secured, but Frank assured Mel of his certainty in swaying his aunt’s blessing in time. Then they would be able to acknowledge their engagement and be wed. And when Mel had left London for Highbury, Frank had found a ready need to visit the Doctor and his new wife, a courtesy he’d been long neglecting, allowing for these clandestine rendezvous.

Frank smiles back, wrapping her in his arms and she melts into his embrace, nearly dropping the lead before regaining her grip— a good reminder of the matter at hand.

She steps back, clearing her throat. Unperturbed, Frank's smile does not waver as he leans down to ruffle the pup’s ears, “so this is the handsome fellow the whole town has been speaking of. What name have you chosen?”

“Frank,” she says sternly.

“Delightful choice, really, but a touch indiscreet, do you not think?”

“Then it is fitting: A thoughtless name for a thoughtless gift.”

A courier had arrived the day prior: a dog wearing a bow to be delivered to Miss Melissa King with no further instructions. Mel of course had known the gifter, but could hardly own the truth. So when her aunt had posited that he must be a token from the Abbot’s, she had not contradicted. Unfortunately, not everyone in Highbury had so readily accepted this supposition and while doubt of the giver remained, so did the gossip.

“I disagree. I thought only of your joy and that of your sister’s in securing him. Do you not adore dogs? Do not deny it; Not after the way you fawned over Mr. Purnell’s hound last week.”

She rubs her temple, “I fear you confuse sentiment with sense.”

He grasps her hands, bringing them down between them to trace circles with his thumb. “Mel, I do not know how long my aunt will withhold her consent or even how soon before she’ll summon me back, but until then, it brings me solace to know he is there to comfort you and dance at your heels until I am able.”

She sighs, “he does remind me of you.”

“Just do not let him share your bed or I shall be loathsomely jealous,” he smirks.

She looks away to hide her blush. His hands encircle her waist, tugging her to him, his nose caressing the flushed skin of her neck. “Will you accept?”

Her eyes flutter closed, “You have made it quite impossible for me to refuse.”

She expects him to kiss her, but instead he pulls away slightly, leveling her with his stare. His blue eyes are intense as he speaks, “but you could.” And the flicker of doubt in his voice tells her he means more than just the dog.

Silly man— She will not refuse anything he offers. “His name is George.” She says in response to his earlier question. She’d allowed her sister the honor of naming— she’s certain Rebecca had chosen a hero from among her novels, though she’s not sure which.

He pulls her into him once more, his lips meeting her own at last. Her free hand finds purchase in his hair, as she feels the strands through her fingers, shorter now than when she’d last seen him. The haircut had been his excuse to abscond to London for the day—to secure the dog, she’d determined. The haircut had placed him at the center of derision until the puppy had arrived. She supposes that was her doing as well— had she not given hints on the state of his hair more than once? But she can not say she is not glad with the familiar feel of his cropped hair beneath her fingers.

~~~

“Have you any other faults to find in me?” he says as they right themselves a while later, readying to part. She’ll be missed if she fails to arrive home soon.

“You might not quarrel so with Miss Garcia.”

“We do not quarrel. We partake in lively debate.”

“Some have called it flirtation,” her aunt among them and though she knows there is nothing like love between the two, a small voice in her head still suggests that Miss Garcia would make a far more suitable bride than her.

Frank laughs. “Believe me, there could be no woman more immune to my charms— Excepting perhaps Miss Santos.”

She does not understand his meaning or how he can be so secure in his beliefs. There is a queer sort of friendship between Miss Garcia of Hartford and Miss Santos that she hasn’t quite puzzled out yet, but she trusts Frank.

[aquaholicsanonymousworld]

I love your Dr Robby fics!! can there be one with a happy ending where Carter/Robby finally get to have a baby with his wife.

The man needs a break!!

The Sound of Her Cry

Pairing: Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinivitch x Reader

The hospital room was still, save for the faint monitor beeps and the slow rhythm of IV fluids dripping. Late afternoon light spilled through the blinds, casting golden stripes across the blankets that covered you — curled on your side, quiet, waiting.

Dr. Robby paced.

He wasn’t in scrubs for once, just jeans and an old gray t-shirt stretched a bit across the chest. But his pager still sat clipped to his waistband out of habit, and he looked like he hadn’t slept more than an hour the night before.

Because it was happening.

Finally.

After the years of trying. After the two losses. After the nights where you both laid side by side, silent and raw, wondering if your family would ever grow beyond just the two of you.

You shifted with a quiet noise and his head snapped to you instantly.

You smiled, tired, hand resting on your very full belly. “You’re going to wear a hole in the floor.”

“I can’t help it,” he said, coming to your side instantly, brushing your hair back. “It’s like—my brain knows we’re close, but my heart’s still waiting for something to go wrong.”

You reached for him, pulling his hand to your cheek. “Hey. It’s okay now. She’s ready.”

“She,” he echoed, quietly in awe. “God, I can’t believe it.”

You looked up at him, misty-eyed. “Believe it, Robby. We’re finally going to meet her.”

The first contraction came hard not long after that. The nurses moved quickly. The OB was called. Your breathing turned sharp, knuckles white against the bedrails as you labored through waves of pain that made your whole body shake.

Robby never left your side.

He whispered through every contraction, pressed cool cloths to your forehead, held your hand so tightly he thought he might bruise — and didn’t care.

And then finally, after what felt like forever…

A cry.

A high, sharp wail that split the room open.

The doctor smiled. “She’s here.”

You sobbed with relief, exhausted and overwhelmed, while Robby let out a laugh that cracked halfway into a cry of his own.

“She’s okay?” you asked.

“She’s perfect,” the nurse confirmed, wrapping the baby and placing her gently into your arms.

Robby hovered beside you, hand on your back, eyes locked on the tiny face blinking up at the world.

“She has your mouth,” you whispered, overwhelmed.

He smiled, voice breaking. “And your eyes.”

You looked up at him, and for the first time in a long, long time, there was no fear, no waiting for the rug to be pulled out. Just light. And hope. And this tiny new life between you.

“Hi,” he whispered to his daughter, brushing a knuckle gently down her soft cheek. “I’m your dad.”

You watched him, heart splitting open in the most beautiful way.

“She’s finally here,” you murmured.

He kissed your forehead, eyes still wet. “Yeah. And so are we.”

[aquaholicsanonymousworld]

Amazing Pitt fanfiction! Thoughts on maybe Robby and an old fling from med school winding up in the Pitt? I’m all about the angst!

thank uuuuu!! did a little spin on it and added an ER reference! hope you enjoy!

Second Shift

Pairing: Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinivitch

Summary: You and Dr. Robby were once inseparable—two brilliant, wildly competitive med students who fell in love between rotations and sleepless nights at Cook County General. But that was years ago. He went to Pittsburgh. You stayed in Chicago. And that was that. Until now. You’ve just been offered the department head role at a top trauma center in Pittsburgh. And on your first day, you finally realize why the offer sounded so familiar.

You should’ve put it together sooner.

The trauma center in Pittsburgh. The opening in the surgical department. The vague mention in the offer letter of a “well-established trauma attending with seniority.”

But you didn’t. Not until you walked through the automatic doors of The Pitt, stepped into the hallway, and ran face-to-face into him.

Dr. Robby.

Older. Still sharp around the eyes. Still annoyingly unreadable. Still the man who once fell asleep on your shoulder in the med school library after pulling a thirty-six hour shift—who once kissed you in the supply closet between rounds and whispered, “Don’t fall in love with me,” like he didn’t already know you had.

You both froze.

His gaze dropped to your badge, flicked back up to your eyes.

“You’re the new chief of surgery.”

You exhaled slowly. “You’re still terrible at hellos.”

He didn’t smile. Not really. But there was a flicker of something familiar in his expression—something halfway between curiosity and regret.

He stared at you for a long moment. “You didn’t tell me you were coming.”

You stared back longingly, taking all his features. “I didn’t realize I had to.”

And then you were paged. He nodded once and the shift began.

It was awkward as hell.

Consults were sharp, clipped, too professional. He stood just a little too straight when you were in the room. You kept your notes a little too neat.

He referred to you as “Doctor” like the word burned his tongue. You didn’t call him anything at all.

And yet—You still noticed the way his hand brushed against yours as you reached for the same chart. He still waited for you to finish speaking before jumping in, even when he disagreed. You still caught him watching you as you examined a post-op trauma case. He still leaned in just a fraction too close when he passed you in the hallway.

Like muscle memory. Like nothing had ever changed.

By the time your shift ended, your shoulders ached from the weight of it—of old tension, of unspoken things.

You turned down the hallway toward the staff elevators, just wanting to make it to your car before you fell apart—

“Wait.”

His voice behind you.

You turned. Slowly.

Robby stepped toward you, hands in his pockets, eyes unreadable.

“What changed?” he asked. “You wouldn’t leave Chicago for anything. You—” He paused, jaw tightening. “You wouldn’t leave for me.”

The words hung in the air. Heavy. Sharp.

You swallowed. “That was a long time ago.”

“You came to my hospital.”

“I didn’t know it was yours.”

His eyes darkened. “You didn’t know it was me? Not once in the interview? In the paperwork? Pittsburgh didn’t set off any alarms?”

You exhaled. “I knew I was following a ghost. I just didn’t think it’d still be you.”

That stopped him. For a second, he looked almost — hurt.

“Why now?” he asked. Quiet. But firm. “Why Pittsburgh?”

You looked at him. Really looked at him. He was older. Sharper. The lines on his face deeper. But the way he looked at you — that hadn’t changed.

“Because it’s been long enough,” you said, voice softer now. “Because Chicago didn’t feel like home anymore. Because every hospital started to feel the same. And maybe…”

He tilted his head. “Maybe what?”

You hesitated. Then stepped in. Close. Close enough to smell the soap on his hands, the exhaustion in his shoulders.

“Maybe I was done running.”

A breath caught in his throat. “You left me.”

“I stayed,” you corrected. “You were the one who took the offer and left.”

“I asked you to come with me.”

“I asked you to wait.”

The air between you crackled.

“I don’t know what you want from me, Robby,” you whispered.

“I don’t either,” he said, hoarse now. “But you’re here. And if there’s even the smallest chance…”

He didn’t finish. Didn’t have to. You leaned up. Pressed your lips to his — soft, certain, final. He froze for half a second. Then kissed you back.

When you pulled away, your voice was low. Steady. “Pick me up Friday. Eight o’clock.”

He blinked, stunned.

You gave him a faint smile and turned to walk away, calling over your shoulder—“We can talk all night.”

And just like that, you finally left Chicago behind.

[mellybeanking]

Anyways - sort of abandoning the premise and springing off of scenarios 2

After loosing his leg, Navel Surgeon, Jack Abbot, retired to Pittstings (lol), an out of the way seaside town, to establish himself as a physician. He married Mrs. King, a widow with two young daughters, Melissa and Rebecca, who he subsequently became responsible for upon his wife’s death a few years later.

Melissa takes an interest in medicine and Jack indulges her with medical texts and by allowing her to accompany him in house calls and in his surgery: Despite her lack of formal medical training, Melissa becomes an excellent healer.

The town has since grown in size and demand over the past twenty odd years and in need of another physician. So when an acquaintance from his school days, Dr. Robinivitch, recommends Frank Langdon, a young physician with two small children (and something of a mysterious and sordid past), Jack invites Frank to Pittstings to see how he’d fare.

Fast forward a bit… While attending to a gravely injured patient, Frank is impressed with Miss King’s instincts and when she catches a symptom that both doctors initially miss, saving the patient’s life, he becomes enamored with her.

Frank finds himself working doubly hard to impress Jack Abbot as both a competent physician and worthy suitor of his daughter.

Frank Churchill Langdon or Frank Langdon Churchill - either way, you get the idea…