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fandomfucker · 2 months ago

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You Can Be My Patient | Dr. Mel King x Gn!Reader

Synopsis: Firefighter!Reader runs into girlfriend Dr. King after they get hurt on the job.

⚠️TW⚠️: Talk of suicide, guns, gunshot wounds, lots of blood

A/N: There are for sure medical inaccuracies in here, apologies in advance. Doesn't follow the actual plot of the show so no spoilers, also heavily inspired by 9-1-1 🙂‍↕️

Word Count: 1,788

Noise clung to you like static. The only thing you could really make out was the thunderous sound of your heart beating in your ears. The last thing you remembered for certain was an ear-splitting boom, before nothing.

It was called in as just a kid on a ledge. Something you were the best on the team at. What no one had noticed, was that this kid wasn't just suicidal.

He had wanted to take others out with him.

None of the several 911 callers had seen the gun, what with him standing at the top of a billboard why would they have? He wanted to lure someone up there with him.

And that someone just so happened to be you.

You stood at the edge of the aerial ladder as your partner slowly rose you up enough to step onto the billboard where you called out to him. You never saw it until it was too late. And by then, the officer that had been canvassing from below took a shot as well.

The two of you hit the rungs at the same time, your name being screamed over your crackling radio the last thing you could make out over the buzzing in your ear.

Your eyes shifted, taking in your bloodied surroundings as a means of control as your nervous system began to override everything else. You were just in your team’s ambulance, but you had never seen it from this perspective before, and where you formerly felt confident you now just felt foreign.

Adrenaline coursed through you, leaving you shaking and breathless even as you just laid on the gurney.

Callie, your favorite paramedic at your station, stroked your hair with one hand as she kept pressure on your wound with the other.

"Hey, we're almost there, 'k? We're getting you to the best doctors possible. We're two minutes out alright, just hold on."

As your panic began to increase as whatever initial shock you had started to wear off, you were more and more aware of the bullet wound in your shoulder. The agonizing burn of it, to be more specific.

You could feel the hot sticky liquid flowing down your arm and your back, and knew without a shadow of a doubt that it coated the floor as well. You could smell the metallic properties of it, unsure if part of it was fused with the burnt metal of the bullet.

"Where's the kid?" You managed to ask her, your voice dry and cracking.

"He's in the other ambulance, GSW to the head. Don't worry about him though, just worry about you."

You closed your eyes, overcome by a sudden bout of nausea as the ambulance came to an abrupt halt, the wheels of the gurney shaking you.

They rolled you through the doors of the E.R., the bright lights making you close your eyes tightly as a reverberating pounding began from the back of your head. Callie shushed you gently as a small groan left your lips.

Fingers pulled your right eyelid back right as a bright light was shone directly into your eyeball. You knew what they were doing, but in your dazed state, all you wanted was to keep every light possible out of your line of sight.

The hand holding your eyelid dropped it but immediately picked up the other eyelid and shone the light in that eye while another set of hands held your head still.

Words you couldn't quite comprehend were thrown at and around you as your head was released and you felt the movement of the gurney you laid on. You heard "Dr. Langdon" and managed to open your eyes on your own to a squint. You recognized that name from what your girlfriend had told you about a few of her colleagues. Namely, Dr. Langdon, with whom she’d been working very closely.

You didn’t recognize his face but with the way he seemingly commanded the room you could tell who he was. He helped Callie and the other paramedic, Danni, move you from the gurney to a bed, making you bite back a groan of pain as more blood seeped through the tattered remains of your shirt.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, I’m Dr. King-“ The woman entering your little cubicle stopped dead in her tracks when she saw you. You probably looked a mess, with what you were sure was blood spattered on your face and your hair stuck to your sweat-soaked skin, not to mention the sheer amount of blood just all over everything.

“Y/N?” She spoke softly in horrified shock. You managed a small grin as Dr. Langdon got to work removing the rest of your shirt, removing every obstacle between him and your wound. He spared a glance towards Dr. King but never actually stopped for a second. “Hey, Mel.”

Her eyes were wide, glued to the amount of blood still coming from your shoulder that Langdon now gripped, prepared to move you to see the full extent but waiting for Mel.

He glanced at you before looking back at Mel. “Dr. King? Is there a problem here?”

You gave her a small nod of encouragement; you trusted her to heal you so long as she was okay with it. She twiddled with her pen against her clipboard as she searched for a proper response.

“Dr. King?”

It’s like she was shocked back to the present, she ran to your injured side and began doing a check of everything as she began to ramble. “Do you have any dizziness or nausea? A headache?” She braced your upper body as the two of them raised your injured shoulder. You hissed in pain, gritting your teeth.

“Through and through,” Langdon stated, grabbing some gauze to put in each side of the wound before wrapping it up.

You took in a deep breath, trying to remember the questions Mel had asked you. “No dizziness, but yes nausea and double yes, headache,” you groaned.

Mel walked around to your other side as Langdon began to cover up the bullet holes. She brushed some of the sweaty hair off your forehead and you closed your eyes, leaning into her touch.

“Are you on any medications that we should be aware of? Have any allergies?” Langdon asked, glancing at you before doing a double-take at Mel’s fingers in your hair.

Before you could even get a chance to answer, she was answering for you. “No allergies, but they’re on escitalopram.”

Langdon raised an eyebrow at where your fingers now clutched tightly onto the hem of Mel’s scrubs. “And, you would know that how?”

Mel looked sort of affronted at him as if he should’ve known already despite having never met before. “They’re my partner. I would hope that I know their medical history.”

Langdon let out a small laugh, finishing up the wrapping. “Well, in that case, you can help fill out all their paperwork. I’ll let the OR know we’re ready when they are.” He turned to you just before he left the room, “Nice to finally meet you, Y/N.”

She pulled up the small stool on wheels next to your bedside and took up residence as she filled out your paperwork. Only leaving your side once to get you some pain medication. She kept you entertained while also making sure you stayed awake until they put you under for your surgery.

You tried to explain to her what happened, through your hazy memory and brain currently turned to mush. It wasn’t your first concussion and certainly wouldn’t be your last with your line of work which made Mel all the more nervous.

When the OR was finally ready for you, Mel made sure to be the one to bring up upstairs. She hesitated at the end of your bed before she had to leave, visibly anxious. “Come here.” She smiled softly, holding out your good hand for her to hold. “I’m gonna be okay, I promise. I’ll be in recovery waiting for you before you know it.” She smiled slightly, knowing you were in the best possible hands. “I love you, Mel, this isn’t going to keep me away from you.”

She ducked her head, a small blush coating her cheeks. She squeezed your hand, a small smile gracing her lips. “I love you too. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

You grinned, as much as you still could to recite something the two of you had originally bonded over when you first started dating. “Always?”

“Always,” She laughed, sounding like pure heaven.

**********

“How long 'til I can go back to work, Doc?” You had woken up from surgery a little over an hour ago. Mel had been able to get the rest of her shift off to stay with you until you could go home the next day.

Mel frowned at you slightly, “At least a month or two, and possibly a little bit of physical therapy depending on if any tendons were torn. But I want you to get as much rest as possible. You don’t always have to rush back to work. You’re allowed to rest.”

You sighed softly, this was a conversation the two of you had had a few times before. Maybe now that something serious happened, you would be more open to slowing down. If not for you then for her.

"I was.. I was really worried about you." She kept her gaze on the ground as she let out a large breath that, by the sound of it, she'd been holding in for quite some time.

You reached out your hand, knowing that while she did enjoy your touch, she typically preferred it to be on her terms. She softly grabbed your hand, pulling herself closer to you as she gripped it harder.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. And, I would’ve been more careful had we known the kid had a gun.” There was a lump in your throat as you swallowed, suddenly being the one to avoid eye contact.

“But you didn’t know, and there was no way to know.” She absently drew different shapes on the back of your hand as she cradled it in her lap. “But, it’s okay because I’m a doctor, and that’s what I’m here for. You can be my patient.” She smiled at you, in that cute way she does that reminds you of pure sunshine.

You squeezed her hand, your head lolling to the side as some of the residual drowsiness snuck up on you.

“I love you,” and a kiss on your forehead was the last thing you remembered before you were totally asleep. Comforted in the knowledge that your girlfriend would still be there when you woke up, and every second afterward.

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dontcurbyourenthusiasm · 22 days ago

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I'm writing a Whitaker x reader fic because I am obsessed with the Pitt and have not seen a SINGLE fic about this poor sweet man. I just wanted to know if people would even want to read smth like that if I wrote it??

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cxrrodedcoffin · 11 months ago

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𝐂𝐱𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐧’𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 (𝟏𝟖+):

* indicates smut

criminal minds:

spencer reid

hair lockets - one shot

morning glory - one shot *

jealousy, jealousy - one shot *

close to you - one shot *

rock me - one shot *

sweet temptation - one shot *

dead of night - one shot *

nightvisions - sequel to dead of night *

emily prentiss

sweet understanding - one shot *

oh make me over - one shot *

aaron hotchner

the way i loved you: in which reader falls first and aaron falls harder

don’t call me kid - part 1

begin again - part 2

crimson & clover - one shot *

jennifer jareau

is it casual now? - part 1, part 2 * (fin.)

tara lewis

stranger things:

eddie munson

route to sin - one shot *

watching porn w/ older!eddie - blurb *

shades of cool - one shot *

steddie (eddie munson x steve harrington x reader)

american horror story:

michael langdon

the countess

james patrick march

kai anderson

miscellaneous:

chip taylor (68 kill)

stu macher (scream)

cooper abbott (trap)

guiding light - one shot *

stomp ‘em out - one shot *

basement bunny - one shot *

eric draven (the crow 2024)

logan howlett (x-men)

oral fixation w/ logan’s claws - blurb *

rafe cameron (outer banks)

somno anal w/ stepbro!rafe - blurb *

on the run - part 1/3 *

charlie mayhew (grotequerie)

holy diver - one shot *

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jaydedstories24 · 1 year ago

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For who YOU are– Michael Langdon AHS apocalypse

Summary: after Cordelia kills Ms mead Michael Langdon kills the other witches but takes the reader hostage when he sees that the others have escaped. For the first time in Michael’s life, someone wants to know what he wants.

Warnings: kidnapping, being held hostage, Burning someone at the stake, swearing, talk of abuse.

Word count: 1.6+

Tags: @ajokeformur-ray

Y/n POV

“where did you guys go?” I say to everyone that's just walked in the door.

“To take care of a problem, dear” Myrtle says.

“and is there a reason why you went without me but everyone else” I asked.

I take a look at Zoe, Madison, queenie, Mallory and Cordelia they're all dressed in black.

“ You burnt someone at the stake didn't you” I accuse.

“Yes y/n if you must know we burnt someone at the stake” Cordelia walked passed me.

“Who” I asked.

Cordelia hasn't really spoken to me or has been really arrogant since Michael came into our lives apparently I'm the only one here that doesn't see him what everyone else says he is.

“Who” I yelled.

“the old lady with the black hairstyle” Madison answers.

“Ms. Mead you killed Ms. why on earth would you do that” I freak out.

“To show Michael that I’m done messing around with him” Cordelia says

Taking her by surprise I put both of my hands on the side of her head and forced myself into her memories.

Flashes, the burning, the smell of charred flesh.

“I will kill you all” Michael promised.

I take my hands off of Cordelia.

“I am your supreme you may have gifts that the others don’t but you will not use them on me” she orders.

“Some supreme you are you’ve practically signed our death certificates with that you do understand right? At least Fiona would’ve made a truce with him” I yell.

“Do not use my mother against me y/n” Cordelia scolds.

“I have gifts you don’t that is correct it’s also why I told you not to attack Michael everything I saw everything I warned you about” I told Cordelia.

“What you saw maybe true but that side of Michael is long gone I gave him a chance today and he turned it down” Cordelia replied.

“Of course he did you killed the one person he thought who loved him what did you think that you were going to walk off arm in arm, embrace the coven that killed the closest thing to he ever had to a mother. I don’t think he would want to bake cookies with you Cordelia” I spat

“I’m strong enough to take him y/n” Cordelia says.

“That’s a laugh” I smiled.

I turned around to walk back up the stairs.

“Where do you think you’re going Missy?” Cordelia questioned.

“To paint my nails so that they’re fresh for my inevitable death, are you coming Madi? I invite her.

“No, this shits crazy I’m out for what it’s worth y/n I hope you live you’re the only one I like around here.” She walks out the front door.

“When Michael comes here and trust me he will. I won’t fight him and I won’t protect you” I warn

I walked upstairs.

Red.

Red I think is a fantastic colour to paint your nails before you die. I think painting them black is just a little on the nose.

It has started my blood runs cold I can hear the witches downstairs especially the younger ones calling out for me. But if I have any chance of being able to really meet Michael for who he is I can’t do anything. So I put my headphones on and paint my last nail.

I look up when I smell the metallic scent that blood gives off.

Michael stands at my door my breath hitches. It’s different looking into Michael’s eyes they’re look hardened much unlike the sweet past version I saw him as in murder house. However they still have the Same jaded look on his face

He stands there for a moment before racing towards me I only flinch when he blows black dust into my face.

Floating? I feel I’m floating I don’t open my eyes I’m too tired and strangely I’m at peace.

I feel someone put me on what feels like a wooden chair and put something on my wrist.

My head rolls forward and I wake up.

“Thank Satan I thought you were going to sleep forever then you wouldn’t have been very helpful to me” Michael says.

“Yeah well that stuff smells like goats ass” I say half smart.

“No that would be me actually” he tells me.

Now that he says that it gives me a moment to take in his appearance disheveled, dirty but mostly he looks broken.

“Listen Michael I know you’re going through a hard time–“ I start.

“A hard time your witches killed my Ms mead and now you’re going to help me” he yells.

“I’m not going to be much help to you” I say quietly.

“You will help me whether you like it or not” he towers over me.

To my surprise I don’t quiver when he stands over me.

“You see when the witches when they notice you’re gone they will have to come out of hiding and look for you” he tells me.

“No they won’t we got into a disagreement. I’ve been arguing with the coven for months now” I disagree with him.

There’s a look in his eyes that proves he wants to believe me but some part that thinks he can’t after everything he’s been through.

I struggle with the rope’s around my wrists. They start burning.

“They’re cursed ropes they won’t hurt you unless you try to escape” he says.

In this moment I found that interesting he doesn’t intend to hurt me. I stop resisting and relax.

“You say that the coven has had a disagreement with you. What could possibly cause that much of a rift that they wouldn’t protect their own” he asks me.

Michael sits down on a wooden box waiting for my answer.

“You, we had a disagreement about you” I answered hesitantly.

He leans forward slightly, “what about me?”

“They think you’re evil” I answered.

Michael seems suspicious for a moment, “you don’t”

I shake my head.

“Why” he scoffs.

“Because after you performed the seven wonders and the extra challenges Cordelia made us look into you. She sent Madison and I to the house you grew up in”

“What did you find there?. Did you find whatever proof you were looking for?” He seems intrigued.

“The others found what they needed to crucify you but I don’t agree with them” I answered honestly.

“If you went looking then you would have also found that I am the Antichrist” he says.

“But that doesn’t make you evil Michael it makes you powerful. I know about your upbringing, about Constance’s abuse, trying to get to know Tate as your dad and your interesting relationship with Ben. Michael I know a lot about you and I understand it but everyone your entire life has done nothing but force their opinions on you” I say softly.

He takes a moment to comprehend everything I just said to him.

“So you know full well everything I am so you understand why I’m so upset about Ms. Mead she is the one person who didn’t force anything on to me” he says softly.

I sighed. He hasn’t realised it yet but she was using him too.

“Don’t suggest otherwise to me don’t lie to me” he orders.

“Michael I’m not I promise to you I’m not” I tell him.

He seems to be waiting for an explanation.

“I have a particular gift that allows me to adsorb a memory and share it with other people would it be okay if I could share it with you” I asked him.

“That’s a trick I know better than that do not take me for a fool. You just want me to untie your hands” he says.

“No, Michael I use touch to transfer the memory using touch. I don’t want you to untie my hands until you’re ready, until you trust me and only then. I’m asking for permission to touch you” I explain.

He walks over to me and kneels down to my level, “do whatever you have to do, show me”

I lean forward the smell doesn’t really bother me anymore. I lean forward far enough that I’m barely touching him. I just need confirmation that he’s okay with this.

He stares at me with his blue eyes that seem to be staring into my soul. “Y/n it’s okay, kiss me.” This is the first time he’s said my name.

My lips touch his and lock my touch is as light as feather. I whisper the spell I need to to show him the memory.

He stays there absolutely shocked for a moment tearing and shaking.

He quickly undoes the ropes.

“I don’t even know what to say as shocking as it is I am thankful for the truth how can I thank you,what can I do for you ” he tells me.

Tears slide down his face.

I hug him. “Michael I want to get to know you for who you are.

The end

Author’s note this is my first post on my new account hope you like it. Anyway this is inspired by a conversation I had with a friend sorry I didn’t get to it sooner I’ve been busy

Requests are open

#michael langdon #michael langdon x reader #ahs fandom #ahs murder house #madison montgomery #first post #cordelia goode #ahs coven #ahs apocalypse #ahs x reader #angst #fluff #jaydedstories

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michaelangdonsslut · 1 year ago

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𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐎𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬 // 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞

hey pookies! here's the first chapter of tales of the shadows ౨ৎ

please read the introduction post before reading this chapter!

hope u enjoy <3

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩 : 1.5k

no warnings!

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- 𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝐻𝑂𝑈𝑆𝐸 .

Riley Bennett felt the wind brushing her face faintly as she opened the window to her dad's car. It was a cloudy Wednesday morning when they finally decided to move all the way across the country.

Riley was a 17 year old troubled teenage girl who often struggled with fitting into her new surroundings.

They were a typical wealthy family from LA and had everything, so why did they decide to move to a small town in Massachusetts? This is what Riley has been wondering all the time ever since her dad talked about moving to Chesterfield. "I don't even know why we have to move here It's so cloudy and looks boring. I already miss LA and my friends.", Riley said nonchalantly looking at the window trying to look for anything interesting about this town. "Come on Riley don't be so grumpy, it can't be that bad!" her dad tried to reassure her but it didn't really work. She was going to miss LA and there was nothing they could say about it.

About 20 minutes later, they finally arrived in front of the house. It was a beautiful Victorian house, a mix of light pink and dark blue, and Riley couldn't help but admire the huge house in front of her. It looked so old and vintage, that house actually reminded her of Coraline, she loved this movie as a child. “ So what do we think ?” Mr Bennett looking smiled at Riley knowing how much she loved old fashioned houses. " This house is beautiful Peter, and look Riley there's a swing!", said Mrs. Bennett eagerly. "I'm not a little girl anymore mom I don't really care about that" , Riley said rolling her eyes as the family parked in the driveway. “And besides, this house looks kinda haunted.” Mrs. Bennett scoffed taking her sunglasses off. After some time, they finally get out of the car and start grabbing their stuff from the car boot when a lady approaches them. "Hello, I'm Dina the real estate agent! I'm here to show you around the house" A huge smile was plastered on her face as if she was happy someone was finally interested in this house.

" Oh hello! I'm Peter Bennett and this is my wife Marie " they both shake Dina's hand, her smile never leaving her face. " It's really nice to meet you. Oh and I suppose this is your beautiful little sweetheart ", she says as she walks over to Riley; " Uh yeah. I'm Riley. " Dina shakes Riley's hand and Riley can't help but find her a bit... eccentric .

“ All right, I’ll show you the inside of the house right now !” Mrs. Bennett smiled eagerly looking at her husband with stars in her eyes.

The family stepped into the foyer, greeted by the grandeur of a bygone era. High ceilings adorned with intricate molding loomed overhead, while a majestic staircase beckoned from the center of the room. Sunlight filtered through stained glass windows, casting a warm, ethereal glow. Dina, with a practiced smile, gestured towards the sprawling rooms adorned with ornate details - antique chandeliers, mahogany wainscoting, and a fireplace steeped in history. A sense of both elegance and mystery enveloped them as they took in the timeless beauty of their potential new home.

"This house is goddamn beautiful. We're taking it!" , said Ms. Bennett eagerly with a huge smile of anticipation.

"Yes, this house sure is beautiful although I must mention, it comes with a bit of a past." Dina seemed unsure and anxious, but she kept going; " full disclosure requires that I tell you about what happened to the previews owners.

“Jesus, don’t tell me they died in this house did they?” Mrs. Bennett turned around to look over at Dina with a concerned look plastered on her face. "Yes actually, both of them died here. Murder-suicide. I sold them the house too. They were the sweetest couple. You never really know what happens behind those walls I guess.

"That explains why this house is half the price of every other house in neighborhood I guess." Mr Bennett sighted, crossing his arms.

“Where did it happen?” Riley asked curiously.

“In the attic.”

Riley pauses for a second, a smirk forming on her face as she decides to speak up; “ We’re taking it.”

After the initial excitement of choosing their new home, the Bennett family embarked on the task of settling into their Victorian mansion. As they unloaded boxes and furniture from the moving truck, Riley couldn't contain her curiosity about the attic. She'd always been drawn to mysteries and the thought of living in a house with a dark past only fueled her intrigue.

Once they finished moving the essentials into the house, Riley dashed up the grand staircase, eager to explore every nook and cranny. She pushed open the attic door, the creaking hinges echoing in the vast space. The attic was dimly lit, dust particles dancing in the sunlight that filtered through the small windows. Old trunks and forgotten relics littered the space, each one holding a piece of history.

Riley's eyes widened with excitement as she imagined all the stories hidden within these walls. She spent hours rummaging through the forgotten treasures, uncovering vintage clothing, dusty books, and antique toys. Despite the tragic events that occurred here, Riley felt a strange sense of belonging, as if the house welcomed her with open arms.

As the days passed, the Bennett family settled into their new life in Chesterfield. Riley's room became her sanctuary, a reflection of her eclectic personality. She adorned the walls with vintage posters and fairy lights, transforming the space into a cozy retreat. She spent hours scouring antique shops and thrift stores, searching for unique pieces to add to her collection.

One afternoon, while exploring the local flea market, Riley stumbled upon a mysterious key hidden amongst a pile of trinkets. Intrigued, she purchased it for a few dollars, wondering what secrets it might unlock. When she returned home, Riley headed straight for the attic, her heart pounding with excitement.

She searched every nook and cranny until she found a small locked chest hidden beneath a pile of old newspapers. With trembling hands, she inserted the key into the rusty lock, the mechanism clicking open with a satisfying sound. Inside, she discovered a collection of letters tied with a faded ribbon.

As Riley read through the letters, she uncovered the tragic love story of the previous owners. Their words painted a picture of a forbidden romance torn apart by societal expectations and family obligations. Riley felt a pang of sadness for the couple, their lives cut short by tragedy.

And as she looked out the attic window, watching the sun set over the sleepy town of Chesterfield, Riley saw a shadow lurking behind the trees, It was like someone was staring at her. She rubbed her eyes thinking she probably hallucinated, and just like that, the shadow was gone.

iii

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the sleepy town of Chesterfield, Riley found herself drawn to the attic once again. She climbed the stairs with a sense of anticipation, eager to lose herself in the stories of the past. But as she reached the top, she was met with an unexpected sight—a boy standing in the dimly lit space, his silhouette illuminated by the fading light.

"Who are you?" Riley asked, her heart racing with a mixture of fear and curiosity.

The boy turned to face her, his features obscured by the shadows. "I'm Andy," he said, his voice soft and haunting. "I live next door."

Riley took a step closer, her eyes adjusting to the darkness. Andy's appearance was striking, with tousled hair and dark brown eyes that seemed to hold a hint of sadness. He reminded her of a character from one of her favorite movies, mysterious and enigmatic.

"What are you doing up here?" Riley asked, her voice tinged with suspicion.

Andy shrugged, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Just exploring," he said. "I like to come up here and think."

Riley nodded, her curiosity piqued. She had always been drawn to people who were different, who didn't fit into the mold of society. And there was something about Andy that intrigued her, something she couldn't quite put her finger on.

"Are you new here?" Andy asked, breaking the silence that had settled between them.

Riley nodded. "Yeah, my family just moved in a few weeks ago. What about you?"

Andy smiled wistfully. "I've lived here my whole life," he said. "But I've never really felt like I belong."

Riley understood the feeling all too well. She had spent her entire life searching for a place where she truly felt at home, a place where she could be herself without judgment.

"Well, you're not alone," Riley said, her voice soft but determined. "We can be outsiders together."

Andy's eyes sparkled with gratitude, and for the first time in a long time, Riley felt a sense of connection—a bond forged in the darkness of the attic.

"You should probably leave now tho, before my parents see you here and call the cops thinking you're here to rob us or something", she giggled slightly, looking at the boy right in front of her who's been smiling at her. It was like he was admiring her, feeling safe by her presence.

He got up and left the attic without saying a word to her, leaving the house so quietly It was like he was never there.

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a/n : idrk what to think of this but i truly hope y'all enjoyed this chapter, lmk if you wanna be in the taglist !!

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beastsovrevelation · 1 year ago

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Anyone want Crowley x Readers? Or War x Readers? I don't know how long I'll take to start uploading my WIPs, and I don't like to not upload. Female Reder. Both male and female Crowley (not at the same time). War'd be... Herself.

What are you saying? I'm procastrinating? Why, ✨yes✨, how did you know? On my WIPs, original works, and papers for uni.

#no actually i've been away from good omens for so long they'd be decent enough practice especially for crowley war i'm more connected to #but of course i'm ✨procastrinating✨#good omens #good omens fanfiction #good omens fandom #x reader #crowley #good omens crowley #lady crowley #fem!crowley #crowley x reader #crowley x you #fem!crowley x reader #good omens war #war x reader #diary pages #writing journal #the gif is him coming to bother well... you #who's reading this #i don't know anyone in this fandom #i'm don't know how suave he/she can really be but i'll add at least some demonic charm #i don't know i did that michael langdon x reader and it made me feel productive besides people liked it #i don't know i can see smut fluff... random nonsensical scenes #i'll maybe even do crowley some dom elements... like out of spite for seeing so much of the reverse #everyone in my works is a switch #fem!reader #m/f #f/f #i should be doing other things

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unidentifiablesubject · 1 year ago

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sup fuckers… so i’m back will i be writing again? yes BUT i don’t know how to write smut😔 so if it gets to that point in the story (it will more then once) imma need yall do give advice on how to make it ✨better✨ anywho. it SHOULF be up on Wednesday maybe tmrw who knows🤭🤭 anyway love you bye. ALSO YOU CAM REQUEST A NAME FOR YN but to be fair i will not add details of what the “yn” looks like. you wants dean x castiel? igu BUT NOT SAM X DEAM PLEASR GO AWAY THEU ARE B R O T H E R S

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purpleleek89 · 4 months ago

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Michael Langdon Ai

New Michael Langdon ai :) on c.ai (working on making a page for all of my ais)

MASTERLIST

.𖥔 ݁ ˖౨ৎ.𖥔 ݁ ˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖౨ৎ.𖥔 ݁ ˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖౨ৎ.𖥔 ݁ ˖

GN! User and younger Michael

𖤐 After being kicked out of "the murder house" Michael runs to you, desperate for the affection and love he never got but oh so desperately craved.

𖤐 this scenario takes place before the apocalypse and before he meets Ms mead.

Side note, my requests for ais are open, feel free to request if you want a certain ai made :)

#c.ai #c.ai creator #michael langdon #american horror story #ahs #ahs apocalypse #american horror story apocalypse #cody fern #angst #fluff

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amomentsescape · 2 years ago

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AHS Apocalypse Masterlist

Michael Langdon

#ahs #american horror story #ahs fanfiction #michael langdon imagine #michael langdon fluff #michael langdon headcanon #michael langdon x reader #ahs apocalypse #american horror story imagines #american horror story one shot #american horror story preference #american horror story x reader #american horror story apocalypse

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thepencilnerd · 2 months ago

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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, 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."

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asxgard · 2 months ago

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Healing | [2/3]

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

Previous | Next

Summary: Healing comes in stages.

[ My Masterlist ]

Note: ayy, this idea came while I was thinking about a one-shot/possible continuation of Heartbeat lol ended up adding this and another part. gender was a coin toss, so don’t be upset with me😊

Word Count: 3.3k

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

Warnings: afab!reader, some angst, foul language, pregnancy, hospital mentions, medical inaccuracies, drug mentions (Langdon), struggling with feelings, vague ptsd, some fluff, pet names (my love, sweetheart)

not beta read

The month that followed the chaos of Pittfest was not an easy one — not only was there damage control, but there was also a hell of a lot of clean up. Both physically and emotionally. You saw the blood on your hands when you closed your eyes, but you kept repeating, “I did everything I could with the resources we had”. That only worked for about a week.

Your temper flared whenever you came to be in Gloria’s company after that, and you could plainly see you were testing her patience. Hospital politics and satisfaction scores meant absolutely nothing in the grand scheme of the ED, and the budget cuts and bare-bones resources meant everything if another mass casualty event rocked Pittsburgh. You had bypassed Michael entirely when you complained about it — which left him frustrated, but more-so over the fact that you were right and Gloria was still playing politics.

While Gloria had clearly stepped up during the tragedy, she was not much help in the aftermath.

In the wake of that shift Michael had worked, you could see it still weighed on him. You hated that you had taken that day off — sure, it had been for a checkup with your OB to check on your bouncing baby boy, but you had been needed. You hated that Michael had only called for you when he started to crack, but that was the man he was. That was the man you had married, fully knowing that fact. You were lucky he called for help at all.

Despite the fact that you were both fighting for better resources and an increase in the ED budget, you both found small comforts at home. Mostly in his touch, but in a handful of new hobbies you began to start to prevent your mind from wandering too close to the horrors you saw daily. Michael took to building your baby’s crib. Then their dresser. And then a wooden rocking horse.

Whatever it took to keep his hands and mind occupied.

Jake warmed back up to Michael sometime between Leah’s funeral and your birthday that month. Jake’s guilt had manifested as disbelief at first, dissolving into anger, and finally acceptance. He had shown up to your house on your birthday with flowers and a smile, asking if Michael was home.

They both talked out on the balcony for a good chunk of the afternoon, coming back inside with smiles and quiet laughs. It made you feel worlds better.

—

“Dr. R squared!” Dana called happily when you and Michael walked in together one morning, calling the attention of all the newer faces. You were happy she had decided to stay, but she had nearly gotten the nurses union up in arms about the violence they faced, which caused a big headache for Gloria. You were thrilled.

Whitaker and Javadi exchanged glances, while Santos let out a surprised laugh.

“I knew it!”

You enjoyed keeping your personal life private, but your marriage to Michael was more of an open secret, anyways. You were professional inside the hospital, so you could see how it took them awhile to catch on.

“Damn, Dana, you ruined my bet. I had another month to go before I thought they’d catch on.” Michael said with a fake frown.

You barked a laugh, “You haven’t exactly been subtle. I win.”

“That’s gotta count as foul play.”

“A bet’s a bet, Michael.”

Since your pregnancy, Michael had hovered more and left more lingering touches on your skin, touching your back when you were helping a patient or passing in the hall.

You noticed Princess and Perlah exchange a few bills, and it was then you were certain a similar bet had taken place in the ED as well. You smirked.

“Wait…wait. You guys are married?” Whitaker asked, looking back at you, face flushing.

“Happily.” Michael supplied, tone low, heavy gaze on the poor kid.

You knew how it looked — a younger woman with a much older man. You were also very obviously pregnant. But you were proud of your marriage, and if it weren’t for the board watching how you interacted together, you would have shouted it from the rooftops.

“...but your last name..?” Javadi whispered out.

“Less confusion with my maiden name, Dana’s just proud of her little nickname,” you told her with a grin. “Plus, the Pitt only has room for one Dr. Robinavitch.”

“Should I take offense to that?” Michael asked with an amused raise of an eyebrow.

You only smirked at him, before moving to put your things behind the charge desk.

“Alright, everyone back to work.” Michael said, following after you to put his bag down. “Residents, I want your reports.”

Michael quickly fell into his role as Chief ED Attending, and you fell into yours, moving to triage as you usually did at the start of your shift. You had a good eye for finding cases that could very easily slip into critical, and you had a knack for clearing away the cases that definitely did not need to be in the ED clogging up chairs. Sniffles, papercuts, and symptoms better suited for their primary care physician rather than the hospital.

Sliding in next to Michael to drop off a tablet, you smirked at him, “So…what’s for dinner tonight?”

Your bet had consisted of who was going to make dinners for the next month and Michael had lost. You were looking forward to not having to worry about that for a month, seeing as typically you and Michael traded off or cooked together.

His eyes still on his computer, he frowned, “I was thinking take-out.”

“Sore loser.”

He smirked, “Thai?”

“How dare you use my cravings against me.” You scoffed with a smile.

He looked at you fondly, eyes going back to the screen, “I’ll even get you ice cream after.”

You huffed, trying to maintain a frown, “I accept only if it’s a cinnamon roll from Grandview.”

He raised an eyebrow at you. Grandview Bakery was wildly out of the way, but you had been craving the sweet treat for days.

“What? It’s for your son, not me.”

Michael grinned and relented, agreeing to your terms.

—

Michael opened up to you about that shift two weeks later, on a quiet evening in. You were attempting to knit a small hat, but one of the rows had gotten uneven forcing you to backtrack. Your feet were in Michael’s lap while he watched a Penguins game, hand absentmindedly running along your leg.

“I think the choice I made with Adamson is still affecting me.” He said, not looking at you.

You glanced up at him, “It was a choice you never should have had to make.”

“Who else?” His brown eyes met yours, filled with a sadness that broke your heart. “Who else could have made it?”

Adamson had been a mentor figure to you as well, but not to the extent he had been for Michael. They had met a handful of years after Michael’s residency at Big Charity in New Orleans, and he had taken him under his wing. He had learned a lot from Adamson in the nearly fifteen years they spent together, while you had only known Adamson for a quarter of that, before he passed.

“It shouldn’t have been you.” You stressed again, putting your knitting aside. “But it was. That little girl ended up living, and Adamson would’ve been proud of you. In fact, if he saw the man you are today, I know he would be.”

Tears came, his face scrunched up and you moved forward to hold him. It was not the hysterical, fully body sobs you had seen in the Peds room after trying to save Leah, but it still burrowed its way into your chest. You curled yourself around his body, pulling him as close as your bump would allow and let him cry.

“I remember all their faces, I remember all of them.” He whispered into your neck, your skin wet from his tears.

Your own tears came, and you held him tighter, feeling heartache for how haunted your husband had become.

It was a reality you faced as well, and while you had never properly learned of a way to deal with it, you frequently found you had it mostly under control. But Pittfest? It had torn through your coping mechanisms like they were paper, leaving zero time to compartmentalize, and left you open and vulnerable by the time you began to process it all.

“I know.” You got out. “I’m here.”

Recognition was the only thing you could give him. Empty promises and sweet words had no place here; you could not placate him with a solution, because you had none to give. You only held him and did not let go, knowing that would be enough. All he needed was an anchor to help him weather the storm in his mind.

Michael moved from your grasp sometime later that evening, having held onto you long after he stopped crying. You had kissed along the parts of him you could reach, the length of his shoulder, the shell of his ear.

His eyes were red when he moved to sit up, still holding you close. He pulled you effortlessly into his lap, resting a hand on your bump and finally looking at you.

“Langdon was stealing benzos.” He told you, voice quiet and raw.

You blinked at him. You had known something had happened with Frank — Michael had taken him under his wing not long after he had started his residency in the Pitt. After the tragedy that had happened at Pittfest, Langdon had gone to rehab, putting his residency on hold.

“He was what?” You searched Michael’s eyes. You figured there was a drug problem if he was opting for rehab, but stealing from the ED? That was a whole other can of worms.

“Santos noticed some irregularities.” He said simply. “He avoided it when I confronted him. Found librium in his locker from Louie.”

“Not just stealing…but stealing from patients?” You asked, nausea rolling around in your gut. You had trusted Frank, helped him whenever possible. You had even hung out with his wife a few times.

Michael nodded, a faraway look in his eyes. “I let him leave when I found them…I didn’t want to believe it. I didn’t know what I was going to do, I barely had time to think before Pittfest happened and then he was just back. I was still worried about Jake, and everything else, and I let him stay. He was probably fucking high and I let him stay.”

You processed his words slowly. Even in the chaos, you had noticed a palpable shift between Michael and Langdon, a tension that (at the time) you were sure was due to them butting heads over a patient earlier in the shift.

You had trusted him, with your own patients, and it made you sick to think he might have taken advantage of that trust to score drugs.

You swallowed your thoughts, “We needed all hands on deck.”

It was a rationalization and not a very good one.

Michael saw right through it. “I compromised patient care because I was too fucking overwhelmed.”

“So, what? You were going to cause a scene right in the middle of all that shit? Take everyone’s attention away from patient care?” You asked, voice harder, “You were stuck between a rock and a hard place. If any one of the residents or nurses felt he wasn’t making the right decisions, they would’ve told you. Or Abbott. Or me.”

Silence came over you as you held each other’s gaze. He brought a hand to rub across his face, a long breath escaping him. You moved one hand to the back of his head, to fiddle with his hair.

“I told him before I left that he could either go to rehab or I would report my findings to the board.” He said to you after a few minutes.

Going to the board would have effectively ended Langdon’s career. Though, he took that risk when he started stealing from the ED.

“I’m glad he chose rehab.” You admitted quietly.

“Me too.”

It went unspoken that you both had no idea how you would navigate him returning to the Pitt, trust torn to shreds — forcing him to start even below square one. How would he gain back your trust? The care you had shown him? How could you trust him after all of it?

Did you even want to?

You moved your hand to play with Michael’s fingers, eyes on your hands.

“You know, I’ve been thinking about names recently,” you started, only glancing at him while your cheeks heated.

“The world doesn’t need a Michael Jr.”

A quiet laugh rushed through your nose, “Don’t be so self centered.” You looked at him. “I was thinking Adam.”

All the air escaped Michael’s lungs, watching you while water blurred his vision, but he did not cry.

“I like that one a lot.”

Adam Robinavitch.

—

It was easy enough to warm up to the new med students, intern, and year two resident after several shifts together. Though Santos had a habit of rubbing you the wrong way — far too cocky for your liking, frequently taking unnecessary risks without consulting her senior resident or any of the attendings. You felt she was better suited for surgery, lacking the kind of empathy the ED required. But she grew on you. Like a weed.

Javadi reminded you too much of yourself, thrown into the world of medicine at an early age. You were no prodigy, but you started earlier than most had. While she was textbook, you were hands on, and you thought to bring her under your wing — to help her in the areas you knew she needed. She steadily got better at patient interactions under your careful supervision.

You found Whitaker endearing, but he frequently internalized too much of the job. You had learned in passing from Collins that he had taken his first patient death particularly hard — but so had you, and most attendings you knew. He was kind and patient, knew not to linger, and was eager to get his hands dirty, even if he was a little insecure and clumsy at times.

And Mel King? You quickly grew a soft spot for her. She was capable and knowledgeable, and you quickly began to rely on her as you once had with Langdon. You could see her rolling with the punches, but in the quiet moments, you would see her take a moment for herself. It made you think that out of all the newcomers, she would be best suited for the ED. The Pitt needed more attendings who had healthy coping mechanisms rather than the Robinavitch-Abbot Method of Bury Your Feelings Until You Die.

In the latter months of your pregnancy, you leaned more heavily on the residents as Michael became more and more overbearing. With the uptick in violence against staff and no budget to get more security, you could understand the restlessness he had.

Michael would come running even if a patient or family member so much as raised their voice at you, or in your general vicinity. You appreciated your husband being near, but his careful gaze made you feel like you were being watched. You nearly made the decision to switch to nights, but you knew Abbott would not have been much different.

He just would have been more subtle.

You knew he would have been hurt by your decision, especially if you did not run it by him first, so you opted to do the only rational thing: talk to him.

Easier said than done.

You opted to not bring it up during your shift, knowing you did not want your personal life to bleed onto the job any more than it already had.

In the quiet of the car, more of a necessity now with how far along you were (though you missed your walks together), you broached the topic carefully. Michael didn’t need kid gloves, but you knew his concern was coming from a good place, and you did not want him to think you didn’t appreciate it.

“My love,” You started, turning down the R&B station, rubbing anxious circles on your belly.

He hummed simply to let you know you had his attention, moving one hand from the steering wheel to grab ahold of yours.

Hey, you’ve been increasingly overbearing and making me doubt myself as a doctor? No.

Hey, I’ve noticed you hover a lot more recently and it makes me antsy? Better, but no.

You really need to cool it? Definitely not.

“I’ve really appreciated all the concern you’ve shown whenever I have a difficult patient, and I’m grateful you have my back, trust me, but it’s edging on just too much, I think.”

“You’re my wife, I’m always going to worry about you.”

“I’ve been your wife for almost four years, Mike. You were never like this before I was pregnant. I’m not asking for you to not worry about me at all, but I would appreciate it if you relaxed, just a little. It makes me feel like you’re doubting me as a doctor rather than protecting me as your wife.”

He frowned as he digested it.

Did he use to step in before when someone got particularly aggressive? Yes. Was he always there when you needed? Of course. But it had increased tenfold since you first found out you were pregnant.

“I feel like there’s got to be some middle ground here.” You said after he stayed silent.

He pulled the car into the driveway, turning the car off before resting back in his seat. You stared ahead to the bricks of your townhouse.

“After Dana got hit, I realized how easily it could’ve been you had you been working. You would have been dealing with him in triage. I never would have forgiven myself.” He paused to swallow thickly. “And Pittfest…with Jake — it just takes a fucking moment for someone you love to be ripped away from you. With what we do every day, I never wanted you to be at any risk. I figured if I could put myself in the middle…if I could shield you, you would be safe. I never want anything to jeopardize your life or our son’s life. I don’t—I couldn’t—”

You grabbed his hand, processing just how badly that shift had affected him. You knew it would have a lasting impact, but now you understood just how great. Of course he would become more protective after that shift, how had you not put it together sooner?

“I didn’t really think about it like that.” You told him quietly. This was his way of dealing with that shift.

He intertwined your fingers, brushing a thumb over the wedding band you wore to work (your pretty engagement ring sat safe from the grime of your job in a jewelry box, which you wore whenever you were not working). You squeezed his hand, pulling his attention back to your face.

“I don’t want you to feel like I’m being overbearing or doubting you. I just can’t lose you.” He told you.

“And you won’t, my love. I’m here.” You brought his hand up to kiss the back of it. “We’re gonna get through this.”

He released a long breath, “Just promise you’ll come to me if you need me.”

It went unsaid that this was his way of promising you the same.

“Promise. Don’t get me wrong, the protective husband thing is really hot. Just perhaps a bit more of a subtle approach would be better.”

He met your eyes with a tiny quirk in his brow, “I can work with that.”

“Through thick and thin, yeah?”

A soft smile formed, “Through thick and thin, sweetheart.”

[ Next ]

want to join any of my tag lists? feel free to shoot me a message!

All Dr. Robby Content: @cherriready @kittenhawkk @seeyalaterinnovator @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @bxxbxy

Dr. Adamson’s first name is Montgomery (according to a screen grab of the plaque), and well, I couldn’t work with that, so that’s how I settled on Adam lol

Will I be writing something about last night’s episode? Yes, yes I will. (two, possibly three, parts planned already oof who gave me free-will??)

#the pitt #michael robinavitch #michael robinavitch x reader #michael robinavitch x female reader #dr robby x reader #dr robby #dr michael robinavitch #female reader #pregnant reader #asxgard writes

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abbotjack · 2 months ago

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️₊˚‧︵‿꒰୨ masterlist ୧꒱‿︵‧˚₊

(Updated: 05/21/25) a running list of everything i’ve written— feel free to send in requests! if i have the inspo (or the willpower), i’ll get to them 🖤

main: @shawnshatosy | also on ao3 | editing accounts : insta & tiktok

₊˚‧꒰ঌ ✧ content key ✧ ໒꒱‧˚₊

‧₊꩜˚｡* 𓂃 angst ‧₊❤︎˚｡* 𓂃 smut / 18+ ‧₊✿︎˚｡* 𓂃 fluff

note : hi hi. just wanted to say a quick thank you—genuinely—to everyone who’s read, reblogged, commented, or sent asks about my fics. i’m so grateful and honestly kind of overwhelmed (in the best way). i’m terrible at responding (i have 400+ unread texts irl to prove it) and i never mean to ignore anyone. i read everything—i hold your words close. they keep me writing, even when school is chewing me up and spitting me out in pieces. thank you for being here. thank you for being feral. thank you for making this weird little corner of the internet feel like a good place to be. i love it here 🖤

₊˚⊹ ୨୧ andrew "pope" cody ୨୧ ⊹˚₊

one shots —for standalone fics (whether they were inspired by a request or not), typically 2k–5k+ words, fully fleshed out

✧ godless things · ❤︎ ꩜

✧ nsfw alphabet · ❤︎

✧ the house she left you · ❤︎ ꩜

₊˚⊹ ୨୧ jack abbot ୨୧ ⊹˚₊

one shots —for standalone fics (whether they were inspired by a request or not), typically 2k–5k+ words, fully fleshed out

✧ built for battle, never for me · ❤︎꩜

✧ nsfw alphabet · ❤︎

✧ i can't protect you from everything · ꩜ ❤︎

✧ don’t make me someone you can’t have · ꩜ ❤︎

✧ wounds unhealed · ꩜

✧ overtime (+ robby) · ❤︎

✧ the handoff · ✿︎

✧ wearing war · ❤︎

✧ you knocked, I let you in · ❤︎

✧ just passing through · ꩜

request mini-fics —for anything short, under ~2k

✧ he's away at a conference, so you call him · ❤︎

✧ jack is an ass man · ❤︎

✧ when he breaks · ❤︎

✧ when you call him 'sir' · ❤︎

✧ below the surface · ❤︎ ✿︎

✧ message received · ❤︎

✧ snapchat · ❤︎

✧ the letters· ✿︎

✧ the back tattoo · ❤︎

✧ put him on speaker· ❤︎

series

✧ this city doesn’t forget (timeline context) · ❤︎ ꩜

↳ part one: the wedding

↳ part two: 6:00 AM

✧ the life we grew · ❤︎ ✿︎ (check out this fanart for the series!)

prequel: irregularities

part one: he begins to notice

part two: the camouflage onesie

part three: a year of you

part four : sticky fingers, quiet mornings

₊˚⊹ ୨୧ michael robinavitch ୨୧ ⊹˚₊

one shots —for standalone fics (whether they were inspired by a request or not), typically 2k–5k+ words, fully fleshed out

✧ nsfw alphabet · ❤︎

✧ overtime (+ abbot) · ❤︎

✧ whatever you say, fruitcake · ✿︎

✧ booked for one · ❤︎

✧ and you came back to me · ꩜

request mini-fics —for anything short, under ~2k

✧ robby is a boobs man · ❤︎

✧ message received · ❤︎

₊˚⊹ ୨୧ frank langdon ୨୧ ⊹˚₊

one shots —for standalone fics (whether they were inspired by a request or not), typically 2k–5k+ words, fully fleshed out

✧ nsfw alphabet · ❤︎

#the pitt #jack abbot x reader #dr abbot x reader #dr robby #dr robby x reader #the pitt fanfiction #smut #angst #fanfiction

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sabrinajenre96 · 2 months ago

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Title: Instincts and Ice Cream

Pairing: Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x Wife!Reader

Rating: T (Teen)

Word Count: ~2.2k

Genre: Family Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Domestic

Summary:

Y/N is a doctor, but today she’s off-duty and soaking in rare quality time with her six-year-old twin daughters and their loyal Labrador, Kojo. A trip to the park turns into a medical emergency when one of the twins is hurt on the playground. Y/N’s maternal instincts collide with her clinical training as she rushes her daughter to the hospital—where her husband, the reserved and brilliant Dr. Michael Robinavitch, finds himself thrust into an all-too-personal case. Between juice boxes, casted arms, and late-night cuddles, this little family proves that love is a force of nature—even in chaos.

Warnings: Injury to a child (non-graphic, playground accident), medical setting (ER, brief medical description), emotional parenting moments , soft domestic fluff that may melt your insides

The day had started like honey—warm, slow, and sweet. Y/N, blissfully off-duty for once, had let her guard down and allowed the sunshine to wrap around her and her six-year-old twin daughters like a familiar, loving quilt. Spencer and Aria were laughing, wild curls flying as they raced Kojo, their loyal coffee-brown Labrador, across the sun-drenched park.

It was a perfect day. Until it wasn’t.

Ice cream melted sticky down little fingers, the girls’ giggles harmonizing with Kojo’s excited barks. They had found their way to the swings, their legs pumping like miniature engines as they soared higher and higher. But paradise was always fragile, wasn’t it?

A sharp scream split the afternoon—raw, panicked, and unmistakably hers.

Y/N’s heart launched from her chest as she sprinted toward the swings, Kojo right at her heels. One twin lay on the mulch below the swing, her little face scrunched in pain, tiny hands clutching her arm. Spencer, pale as a ghost, trembled as she pointed to the two boys who had run off after shoving Aria mid-swing.

"Spencer, what happened?!" Y/N’s voice was taut with both worry and precision, already scanning Aria’s body like a heat-seeking missile. "Did she hit her head?"

"No—just her arm, Mama. She screamed when she fell. The boys pushed her..."

Doctor mode activated—like flipping a switch, her trembling mother-heart locked hands with her trained brain. Checking Aria’s pupils, pulse, breathing. Broken arm, likely. Bruising along the jaw. No signs of concussion, thank God.

She scooped Aria into her arms with a fierce gentleness that only a mother could master. "We’re going to the hospital. Now." Spencer grabbed Kojo’s leash, her small hand set with determination. The dog, sensing the shift, fell into step, solemn and alert.

---

At the hospital, Y/N’s car screeched into the lot like a storm warning. As she leapt out, Dana caught sight of them. Her break cut short as she jogged over, eyes wide.

"Y/N—what happened?!"

"Park accident. Swing. One of the twins—possible broken arm and jaw bruising."

Dana nodded without asking more. "I’ll help you get her in. Come on."

Langdon was already in the ER, standing with one of Michael’s interns—Dr. King—when Dana burst in with Y/N and the injured Aria.

"Langdon, you’re up. Y/N’s daughter took a bad fall."

Y/N reluctantly handed over her crying daughter, whispering reassurances before stepping back, her hand on Spencer’s shoulder, Kojo sitting obediently beside them.

Dana placed a comforting hand on Y/N’s arm. "Let me take them—Spencer and Kojo. You need a minute. Go grab a cappuccino. Breathe."

Y/N hesitated, her mother instincts at war with her common sense, then nodded. "Only a minute. Thank you, Dana."

Spencer was content with a juice box handed to her by a kind nurse, Kojo curled protectively at her feet as Dana kept a watchful eye.

---

Meanwhile, across the floor, Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch was signing off a patient chart when he heard the unmistakable pounding of small feet—and a familiar bark.

"Daddy!" Spencer launched herself at him, nearly knocking over his clipboard. Kojo padded in like royalty, tail wagging like a victory flag.

"Spencer? What on earth—?" He crouched beside her, hand smoothing her hair. "Why are you here, sweetheart?"

Kojo licked his cheek as if to answer, but it was the wide eyes of his daughter that filled him with dread. She looked too serious for a six-year-old.

Y/N returned then, clutching a lukewarm cappuccino, her eyes immediately landing on them. Her voice was quiet, but tired. "Aria had an accident. She’s with Langdon and one of your interns now."

Michael straightened like someone flipped a switch in him. Gone was the calm, almost aloof physician. In his place, a father, striding toward the ER with purpose. He found Langdon just finishing the initial exam.

"Busted arm," Langdon reported, sympathy in his tone. "Jaw's bruised, but no concussion. She’s a brave little one."

Relief sagged Michael’s shoulders. "Thank you. Can I see her?"

"Of course."

Minutes later, the little family reunited in the private room. Aria, teary-eyed but brave, clutched her daddy’s finger with her good hand. Spencer climbed onto the bed gently, snuggling beside her twin. Kojo curled up at their feet, ever the sentry.

Y/N stood beside Michael, her hand finding his. “She’s going to be okay.”

He kissed her temple, low and soft. “You both did good.”

The family shared a quiet moment, tangled in love, exhaustion, and gratitude. Outside the room, Dana and the nurses watched, smiles tugging at their lips. Few people knew about Michael and Y/N’s relationship—intensely private, fiercely protected. But in that moment, through the windowpane, it was written loud and clear in every glance, every gesture:

This was family.

#the pitt hbo max #dr robby #Muchael Robby Robinavitch #dr michael robinavitch #Dr Michael Robinavitch x reader #dr robby x you #dr robby x reader #Dr Robby x Y/N #the pitt

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