broimdead

just a writer, man

[broimdead1]

i think i'm parasocial with the people on tumblr and ao3. like, "these are my friends, and they like my writing and the things i have to say." I see other people's posts like "look at my close personal friend go. they're so funny and relatable."

[broimdead1]

She Walks In Beauty

Pairing: Steven Meeks x Fem!Reader

Summary: 5 years later…

Notes: Heyyyy! It's been a while, I fear. This newest part is all thanks to @Giahedbarfe on Ao3. So everyone, say thank you! I wanted to leave this as a one-shot and kinda forget about it. These last few weeks have been really rough for me writing-wise. I have had no motivation, and all the work I started has NOT been inspiring. Then I got a comment from the lovely @Giahedbarfe, and they asked very nicely for a sequel. Something about that got the juices flowing, and here it is! It's not as long as the first part, but I hope people enjoy the story's finale. I will DEFINITELY be writing more Dead Poets stuff (especially Meeks bc he is my boy), so look forward to that. Love you all very much <3

Part 1

Word count: 1.4k

“COME ON! WE’RE GOING TO BE LATE!” Marissa yells from outside your dorm room. 

“I’m coming!” you say, putting the final touches on your hair and makeup in front of your little mirror. You couldn’t get your tassel to hang right; it was either in your eyes or bunched up in your hair, and it was driving you crazy.

“You look beautiful, babe, stop fussing,” Lily says, as if she can see you through the door. 

You sigh, do one more once over, and smile at yourself. The last four years flew by faster than you realized they would. You learned, you laughed, and you loved (a lot).

Someone bangs on your door one more time. “Coming!”  

~

The football field is full of graduating seniors, surrounded by friends and family in the stands. Around you, everyone is anxiously waiting for their time to walk the stage. Your eyes wandered, looking for someone. Lily notices and giggles, nudging your arm. You look over and follow her finger to a mop of red hair sitting a few rows in front of you. His eyes were focused on the stage, at the random speaker, like he always was. Just like you’d found him back at Welton. As if he could sense your eyes on him, he turns around in his seat. 

Your Meeks. The boy you’d been in love with since your third year at Welton. His eyes soften, and a smile creeps across his face. You give him a small wave, which he reciprocates with a smile and a wink. 

You feel your face flushing. Steven had become much bolder in your years together. The almost six years changed both of you for the better, from awkward teenagers to confident adults. And yet, looking at Steven still made you weak in the knees, and he was just as smitten with you, too. Your friends made fun of the two of you for it, but you both knew there was no one else you’d rather be with. 

College has been challenging for both of you. Steven majored in mechanical engineering, and you majored in psychology. He was very smart, but there had been many a late night spent quizzing him for his calculus class or his thermodynamics seminar. He was committed to his work, sometimes too committed. You had to practically drag him out of his dorm and away from his textbooks on the weekends to experience the social side of college. But, at the end of the day, he always made time for you, no matter what.  

For you, it took a lot of work to be respected in your field. You were one of the few women in your classes, and your professors made it obvious that they either didn’t believe in your intellect or didn’t spare you a second glance. There were days you spent in offices, trying to connect with professors, or arguing about grades. The worst of those days ended in you crying in Steven’s arms, debating dropping out. He was always there for you, just as you were always there for him. 

The sound of cheering snaps you out of your reminiscing. The speech was well over, and people had started walking across the stage. You watch each of your peers being rewarded for their hard work, cheering especially loudly for all your friends. Each of the \ Poets has their own little celebration as they walk the stage. Todd is first out of the group and sheepishly smiles at the crowd, giving a small wave to Neil, who is going nuts. Then Cameron waits until he gets to the end of the stage and clicks his heels. Charlie is surprisingly tame and only salutes with his signature smirk out to the crowd. 

After much anticipation, Steven crosses the stage. You stand up with the rest of the Poets, whooping and cheering. He thanks all the teachers and faculty on the stage, like the good student he is. At the end, he looks out to the crowd and finds you.

I love you, he mouths, his smile wide across his face. 

I love you more, you mouth, tears threatening to fall. 

The rest of the Poets shine with pure exuberance. Knox points to Chris up in the bleachers, Pitts thrusts his degree up in the air, and Neil yells out Carpe Diem. 

Before long, it was your time to go up. Waiting in line, excitement, and anxiety swirl inside your heart. This marks the end of a chapter of your life. There’s still more school in your future, but this feels different. Things will change whether you like it or not, a scary but comforting fact. You take one last deep breath and step up to the stage. You hear your friends and family in the audience, which makes you smile. Being surrounded by so many supportive, loving people made your four years much more bearable. You shake hands with the dean as he hands you your degree, offering sincere congratulations. You shake everyone else’s hand and look out, finding your college friends and the Poets on their feet, cheering their heads off. Your eyes snap to the curly red hair. Behind his glasses, his eyes are watery, but he smiles widely and yells, “THAT’S MY GIRL,” loud enough for the entire audience to hear. You laugh and blow him a kiss before making your way back to your seat, wiping your own tears away.   

Once everyone has received their diplomas, the Dean steps up to the podium. “Graduates, please rise. You may now move your tassels from the right to the left,” he says. Everyone stands and flips their tassels, and this time it lies perfectly next to your face. “Now, without further ado, I’d like to congratulate the new graduating class of ‘64.” 

With that, caps go flying, and cheers are the loudest they’ve been all day. You pick up your cap and hug everyone around you, celebrating and promising to stay in touch. Then you make your way to the aisle, frantically searching for your boys. After a minute of wandering, you spot them in a large hug. You practically run toward them, calling out Steven’s name. He breaks away from the group in time to catch you. His hands wrap around you, twirling you in the air. Your lips meet, and he kisses you with such fervor that the boys whistle and clap. 

“We did it, Stevie! We did it!” You cry as he sets you back down; his hands stay wrapped around you. 

“Yeah, we did. I knew we would,” He says, his hand coming up to wipe tears away from your eyes. 

“God, I love you so much,” you say, before pulling him back into a kiss. He kisses you back before pulling back, meeting your eyes, holding your hands in his. 

“Darling,” he starts, taking a deep breath, “I have loved you since I first saw you in our trigonometry class in third year.” You laugh at the memory, reminiscing. 

“You captured my heart, and it’s been yours ever since. I couldn’t have made it through Hellton and college without your love and your support.” His hand slides out of yours and into his back pocket. 

“Steven? What are you–oh my god.” The tears start as he gets down on one knee. 

“You walk in beauty, like the night of cloudless climes and starry skies. All that’s best of dark and bright. And on that cheek, and o’er that brow, so soft, so calm, yet eloquent. The smiles that win, the tints that glow. But tell of days in goodness spent, a mind at peace with all below. A heart whose love is innocent!” Your tears are hot as they run down your cheeks. The poem from the night in the cave. The night when you realized you loved Steven and Steven loved you just as much. He can barely keep it together as he continues, saying your full name. “Will you make me the happiest man in the world and marry me?” 

“Yes! Yes, of course I will.” He slides the ring onto your finger, an heirloom passed down from your great-grandmother. 

“Kiss her already!” Charlie shouts. Steven smiles and stands up, wrapping his arm around your waist and dipping you low into a kiss. The crowd around you erupts into cheers, claps, and whoops. This was exactly where you wanted to be. With the love of your life. With your best friends. At the start of a new chapter in your life. 

[scatteredsunshine]

i cannot deny it anymore… i am in love with steven meeks

[broimdead1]

welcome to the club. it’s an honor to have you with us 🫡

[broimdead1]

ok so in one of the fics i'm writing, I've made it a dual perspective back and forth from Robby to the reader. my dilemma is i don't wanna give the reader a name (obviously) but i'm struggling with how to refer to her during robby's perspective. any thoughts or ideas? should i just make them an oc? should i rewrite the entire thing from one perspective? i really wanna keep it the dual perspective bc i feel like its more interesting. UGGGGGGHHHH

[broimdead1]

do you ever sit down to write and think that everything you're writing is fucking awful and that you should never attempt to write again? or is that just a me thing?

all this to say, i have NOT been writing. i'm sorry. i'm trying

[kingsqveen]

maybe don’t watch the realistic medical burnout show if you can’t handle seeing people exhibit real negative signs of mental health issues and burnout without calling them evil and saying they should “just commit suicide already” ! crazy thought !

[broimdead1]

The Only Exception

  Chapter 4: Your POV

summary: after your unexpected encounter, robby comes in to apologize and you open up about your life, your band, and the truth about being famous. 

pairing: dr. robby x reader

tags: fluff, angst, reader is in a band, loosely inspired by paramore/hayley williams, age difference, older man younger woman, drug use, addiction, flirting

author's note: hi y'all! i'm back with another chapter of the only exception. i've been working on some other fics/one-shots that took up my time, but i finally got around to finishing this chapter. i really like where this story is going, and i have some ideas for future chapters which is exciting. if you're enjoying the story so far, feel free to like, repost, or comment; i love hearing from y'all. without further ado, here's chapter 4 <3. 

AO3

The door to the staff room opened slowly. You instinctively sank lower into your chair, but you relaxed a little seeing Robby on the other side. He slipped into the room before smiling at you apologetically. You grinned back at him. 

“Does he want an autograph?” you asked playfully. “Did he send you in here to get one because I’m happy to give him one?” 

Robby rolled his eyes. “No, he did not. I wanted to apologize. He—” 

“You don’t need to apologize. It was actually hilarious.” 

“Oh, really?” Robby raised his eyebrows. 

“Yeah, he came in, and it took him a minute to notice me. He walked over to grab some coffee, and he turned around and just stared at me.” You laughed lightly, “I tried asking him his name, but he just ran out without saying anything. Without his coffee.”

Robby looked over to see an abandoned disposable cup sitting next to the coffee pot. He rubbed his temple. 

“I thought people would be respectful, or they already knew you were here and wouldn’t bother you.”

“Robby, it’s genuinely fine. I really don’t mind,” you said sincerely. 

You both were silent for a moment, Robby was staring down at his shoes, before it clicked. “You must know now, huh?” 

“Yeah,” he looked up at you. “You’re a pretty big deal.” 

“Yeah, I am.” The words came out before you could stop them. “God. Conceited again, sorry.”

“You’re fine,” he said, amused. “You’re probably more humble than you should be.”

“I don’t know. I still feel like a high schooler fucking around in someone’s garage.” 

Robby walked up and sat in the other chair at the table. “But you’re not.” 

“No, I’m not,” you paused for a moment. “Sometimes I wish we were. Just a garage band that plays at dive bars and tiny venues for a crowd of people who don’t know who we are.” 

Robby nods. “The pressure must be intense.” 

“Yeah, it is. It feels like it’s not even about the music anymore. Just the business.” 

“That sucks, because your music is good.”

“You know Mirager?”

Robby smirked, leaning back slightly. “I’m in my late forties, not dead. And I work with a bunch of twenty-somethings. Your music… it’s hard to miss.”

Your expression fell. The connection that you thought you had made was crumbling in front of you, and Robby noticed immediately. “Hey—don’t think I recognized you when you came in. I didn’t lie to you, I swear.”

“Oh, thank god.” 

“I just know your band by the name. I’ve seen Mirager from the periphery, not as a fan.”

“Oh god, it sounds so weird coming out of your mouth.” You buried your head in your hands. 

“What? Why?” He asked, amusement creeping into his voice as he moved to sit down with you. 

“I don’t know,” you muttered, lifting your head to look at him sheepishly. “I haven’t spoken about the band to someone who wasn’t a fan or the press in…a really long time. It feels…weird.” 

A small smile tugged at his lips. “Well, I’m happy I got to see you as you, not just the lead singer of a band.”

“Me too,” you smiled back at him. You each sat in silence, enjoying the other until Robby’s expression shifted slightly, guilt creeping in. He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

“It also might have gotten out that we’re grabbing a drink after my shift. I’m sorry.” 

“How did that happen? I didn’t mention it to…”

“Mateo.” 

“Ah, Mateo, right.” 

“He asked me why you were here, and I told him you needed a place to wait. He asked what you were waiting for, and I…well…I couldn’t come up with a lie in time,” He said.  

“Did you want to keep it a secret?” You asked. 

Robby shook his head. A small, self-conscious smile tugged at his mouth. “Not necessarily. I just…wasn’t sure how you felt about people knowing. Figured the last thing you needed tonight was more attention.” 

You bit down on the inside of your cheek to stop a smile from forming. “You’re worried about my privacy?”

“Of course,” he admitted. “And about not making you uncomfortable. I didn’t know if this—” he gestured vaguely between the two of you, “—changes, now that I know who you are.” 

“It only changes things if you let it.”

“I don’t want it to change,” Robby said, an air of confidence exuding from him. 

“I don’t either.” 

After a moment of silence, Robby slapped his hands on his knees and stood up from his chair.

“Well, I have about–” he checks his watch, “twenty-ish minutes left on my shift. Let me wrap up a few things, and we can head out. Sounds good?”  

“Sounds great.” 

“Oh, and try not to mesmerize any of my other staff,” Robby says, pulling your sweater up onto your shoulder. The brush of his hand was warm against your collarbone.

“No promises.” 

Robby smirked and rolled his eyes before leaving. You sat for a moment, hand brushing up where his met your skin, reliving the feeling. Your phone buzzed, jolting you out of your head. You pull your phone from your jacket pocket and see a series of text messages from your manager. 

Any updates? Are you still at the hospital? Is Luke okay? 

You curse under your breath. You almost forgot that now you have to tell the rest of the band and your label that Luke was out. Under normal circumstances, you would’ve taken it to the other band members and your manager before a final decision was made. You didn’t care about the consequences. You did not want him in the band, and that was the end of it. You wiggled your thumbs, hovering over your screen, trying to figure out what on earth to say to him. 

I’m still at the hospital, but I’m leaving soon. Luke is fine. He ODed.

You sent the messages and checked a few more, mostly from your bandmates and some other friends who were at the show before you turned your phone off. You wanted to enjoy the rest of your evening before inevitably facing reality. You sat by yourself for another few minutes before exhaling and pushing yourself out of the chair. Sitting alone with your thoughts wasn’t doing you any favors, and it had definitely been more than twenty minutes. 

You slipped out of the break room, instinctively making yourself smaller. When you looked around, and no one was looking back at you. A relief. You shuffled over to the main desk, hovering awkwardly off to the side, unsure if you should just retreat back to the comfort of the break room. 

“Looking for somebody?”

You looked up to see who you assumed was Dana. She had greying blonde hair tied up into a messy ponytail. Glasses resting on the edge of her nose, her eyes peering from above them at you, expectantly. 

“Uh, just waiting for, uh, Dr. Robby.” 

“Ah.” She looked around at the ED. “Sorry, hun, he’ll be done soon.”

“Thank you.” 

She turned back to the computer, and you shifted on your feet. Your gaze drifted across the room, taking in the rhythm of it all. Everyone moved with purpose—slipping between curtained bays, scanning X-rays, sidestepping gurneys without breaking stride, calling out updates, passing off labs. It was controlled chaos. A lot like the controlled chaos of backstage before a gig. It was oddly comforting. 

“You can sit,” Dana said, nudging an empty chair near the desk with her foot. You looked back over at her and took a seat.

“So, you’re a singer?” Dana asked, her eyes still focused on her work.

“Yeah, I am.” 

“Mateo says you're famous?” She asks. You laugh to yourself. Unlike Robby, she doesn’t seem too interested in the details of your work. 

“Yeah, I would say so,” you said, your mouth quirking up slightly. 

“Very cool, kiddo,” Dana said, still typing away on the computer. She didn’t ask any other follow-up questions, and you were grateful for it. This day was exhausting enough, so a moment of silence was appreciated. You rested your elbows on the desk and your head in your hands. Your eyes fluttered closed, a relief from the bright lights of the ED. You drifted in and out of consciousness, letting your guard down. 

A large hand rested lightly on your shoulder in an attempt not to scare you. “You ready?” Robby’s voice was light and easy from behind you, bringing you back to the world around you. His thumb rubbed gently against your clothed shoulder, spreading a warmth through your body. 

“Yeah, I’m good.” You spun around in the chair and stood up. Your chest brushed against his, sending shock waves up your body. The two of you stood there for a moment before Robby took a step back, creating some distance between the two of you. Your instinct told you to take a step forward and savor his warmth, but you stood still, looking down at your shoes. 

“You leavin'?” Dana asked, interrupting the moment you two were having.

“Yeah, we’re heading out,” Robby said, walking in front of the desk. You trailed behind him, hiding in the cover of his large frame. You weren’t scared, but you wanted to get out of the hospital without being approached again for your own sanity. Just as Robby turned to leave, a woman walked past you, reaching out to put a hand on your shoulder. 

“I’m a big fan of you and Mirager—”

“Princess, leave it.” Dana snapped, her eyes staring daggers into the woman. 

“It’s fine,” You said to Dana before directing your attention to the woman. “Thank you, I appreciate it.” She smiled at you and scurried off to a woman in a hijab, standing a few feet away, whispering something to her in a language you didn’t understand. 

“Let’s go,” Robby says, wrapping his arm around your shoulders in an attempt to shield you from any curious eyes. 

“Thank you,” You mumbled, pulling your hood up. Robby led you through the ED and out a back entrance to avoid the people waiting to be seen. You didn’t look up until you were safely outside in a parking garage. You let out a large sigh, your shoulders sagging from the weight of the day. You pulled off your hood and shoved your hands inside your pockets, following Robby past all the cars. 

“That was…unnnerving,” Robby said. You looked up at him, startled. 

“What was?” You asked, confused. “Just the way you…I don’t know, turned on and off,” He tried to find the right words, looking down at you softly. “It was almost like you became a whole different person talking to Princess.” 

You realized what he was getting at, nodding in understanding. “Yeah. That’s what I have to do when I’m in public. I don’t usually let my guard down until I’m at home.” 

“That’s… Jesus, that’s shitty,” He said, processing it all. 

“That’s my life,” You laughed, not lightly. It carried a lot of weight. The years of fame and constant awareness of what you looked like and how you left the house. “I usually don’t let go like I did then, when I’m not at home. Something about it felt safe,” You paused for a moment, before looking back up at Robby. “You felt safe, I guess.” 

A warm smile washed over Robby’s face. “I’m glad I could do that for you.” He stopped in front of a beat-up green Honda. He rubbed his neck self-consciously. “Not riding in style like you’re used to. Sorry.”

You smiled widely, taking it in. “No, no, I…I love it. It’s amazing.” 

“I don’t think I’d call this piece of junk amazing,” Robby said, running his hand up the side of the car. 

“No, trust me, it is.” You walked over to the passenger’s side, your hand reaching for the rear door before stopping and opening the passenger side door instead. The two of you settled into the car, your hands rubbing against the faded leather seats. 

“So, where are we going?” You asked, looking over at Robby. He bit his lip, thinking. 

“Uh, well, there’s a small dive bar a few blocks from here. Should be pretty quiet,” He said, looking over at you. 

“Sounds good.” Robby nods and starts the car. 

[broimdead1]

I'm starting a new Dead Poets Society fic (Meeks x reader!!), and I just had to look up if they had water bottles in the 50s. Things you wouldn't think you'd ever need to know!

[broimdead1]

so update, you could not buy water bottles. it was all water fountains. knowledge brought to you by my grandfather :)

[broimdead1]

Just watched Season 6 episode 14 of ER. not doing well right now 🫠🥲

[broimdead1]

Followed it up with the newest pitt episode and damn…crazy night

[broimdead1]

Just watched Season 6 episode 14 of ER. not doing well right now 🫠🥲

[broimdead1]

I'm starting a new Dead Poets Society fic (Meeks x reader!!), and I just had to look up if they had water bottles in the 50s. Things you wouldn't think you'd ever need to know!

[broimdead1]

Fuck, Marry, Kill

Pairing: James Wilson x Reader, JamesWilson x pediatrician!reader

Summary: In the middle of a terrible shift, you're approached by Dr. House, insisting you answer the age-old question Fuck, Marry, Kill, with him, Cuddy, and Wilson. Your answer spreads through the entire hospital and inevitably makes its way back to Wilson, the man you've been into forever but never worked up the nerve to tell him.

word count: 2,785

Notes: hiya! this work is inspired by a comment by @wingspan2050 from FOREVER ago. sorry it took me so long, but it's a pretty long one-shot, so i hope it makes up for the delay. i really enjoyed writing this one a lot. i haven't engaged in anything house md in soooo long, but this made me realize how much i've missed my lovely rsl and dr. wilson. i hope y'all enjoy this one <3.

AO3

Nothing could help you escape a really shitty day. Usually, you loved being around kids. They were always so innocent and funny, but today you found yourself with the worst of the worst. One boy around the age of ten was aggressive, throwing things around his room, screaming at his parents and other nurses, and refusing to speak to you or any of your colleagues. It took three nurses and his parents to hold him down long enough to give him the shot he needed.  

An older teenage boy would not stop making passes at you. It was anything from a wink to a thinly veiled innuendo to a comment about your chest. His poor mother was mortified, attempting to get him to stop, but he was persistent and ignored every threat she threw at him. After checking his vitals, you went to walk away when he pinched your ass. You spun around in pure shock, your jaw dropped, and you were unable to come up with anything to say. All he did was wink, and it took every bit of strength in you not to slap him across his smug face. 

The final straw was a six-year-old girl. She seemed nice at first, but when you attempted to introduce yourself, she started crying and wouldn’t stop. You had to diagnose her while she was wailing uncontrollably. At one point, she finally stopped, giving everyone a moment of peace, but then she sucked in a breath and made the loudest, ear-piercing scream you’d ever heard in your entire career. Usually, you could handle a lot from children, but today, you were over the edge, and her screaming and crying made you run out of the room and sob on the floor of a bathroom stall. When you’d finally pulled yourself together, you made your way out of the bathroom and toward the doctor’s lounge to grab some much-needed caffeine. You could still feel how puffy your eyes were. Your gaze was low to the ground in an attempt to avoid eye contact with anyone. One “Are you ok?” might’ve made you break down all over again. 

Your distractedness led you to run straight into someone. 

You stumbled back, mid-apology, when you finally looked up. 

“Sorry, I–”

Of course, it was House. It just had to be House. 

He rocked back on his cane in fake shock as if you’d done it on purpose. “Wow. If you wanted to throw yourself at me, you could’ve at least bought me dinner first.”

You groaned and attempted to walk past him. “Not today, House, I—”

He stuck his cane out at your hip level, stopping you from passing him and avoiding whatever insane conversation you were about to have. 

“Absolutely yes, today,” House said with a smirk. “What I’m about to ask you is much more enjoyable when you're already emotionally vulnerable.”

“Oh god,” you sigh, already annoyed at what's going to come out of his mouth. “Fine. What?” 

“Fuck, Marry, Kill.” 

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he said with a smirk, “Me, Cuddy, Wilson.” 

You stare at him, “I don’t have time for this—”

“No one has time for it,” he shrugs, “And yet, here you are. Answer the question.”

“House,” you warned, trying to push past him. He stuck his cane out and whacked you in the knees. 

“I’m not letting you go until you give me an answer.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I once put a patient in a full-body scanner because they annoyed me. I’m always serious.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. Your eyes still burned from crying earlier. You did not have the emotional bandwidth for this.

“Fine!” you burst out. “Wilson, Cuddy, you. Happy?”

House slapped a hand over his heart as if shot. “NO? Kill me? Kill me? After everything we’ve been through? After all the touching moments we’ve shared? I let you take the last cupcake that one time!”

“You asked the question. You can’t complain about the answer.” 

“Fine. Fine, keep your secrets.” He moved his cane out of the way, letting you pass. “Wilson’s gonna LOVE hearing about this!”

You froze mid-step.

“…What do you mean, hearing—House? House!”

He was already limping away, humming, which was how, two hours later, you discovered that yes, everyone knew.

~

You didn’t think that a day could get any worse, but somehow, House proved you wrong, because of course he did. He seemed to have told every single person in the hospital. Everywhere you went, doctors, nurses, and janitorial staff were all whispering and giggling or side-eyeing you. Every nurse's station on every floor either went silent when you walked by or burst out into a fit of giggles. It was humiliating and made you want to curl up and die, and the best part was that House was, of course, nowhere to be seen. 

But you were still a doctor, and your pager didn’t care that your personal life had spontaneously combusted. You forced yourself to straighten your coat, swallow the shame, and head to the next room on your list.

Pediatrics, Room 412.

Easy follow-up. Sweet kid. Zero emotional landmines.

You could do this.

You knocked gently, pushed the door open, and nearly sagged with relief when you saw only the patient, his mom, and a nurse finishing up vitals. The nurse glanced at you, smiled politely, and stepped aside to let you in.

No whispering.

No giggling.

No pointed stares.

Thank god. Finally, someone is acting normal.

You checked on your patient, listened to his lungs, and noted that his temperature was trending down. His mom thanked you. The kid gave you a sleepy thumbs up. Everything felt almost… normal. As the nurse finished logging vitals on her tablet, she headed toward the door. She passed behind you. For one blissful second, you thought you were safe. Then she paused in the doorway.

“Oh, and—” she said lightly, “tell Dr. Wilson congratulations.”

You froze, stethoscope halfway into your pocket. The kid’s mom looked confused. The kid giggled. Your soul practically left your body. The nurse gave you a cheerful little smile—just short of a wink—and walked out. You stared at the empty doorway in utter horror.

Nope. That was it. You were done. This had officially reached Cuddy-level intervention. Someone needed to muzzle House before he started printing wedding invitations.

Fine.

FINE.

If the entire hospital wanted to act like this was a telenovela, you were going straight to the showrunner.

~

You didn’t bother to knock politely. You tapped once, more of a warning than a request, and pushed the door open before Cuddy could answer.

She looked up from a stack of budget reports, eyebrows lifting at the sight of you: frazzled, red-faced, vibrating with righteous fury.

“Wow,” she said dryly. “Either someone coded twice or House did something.”

“House did something,” you snapped, eyes wide with rage. You dragged both hands through your hair. “House did everything. House has ruined my life!”

Cuddy sighed and set down her pen. “That’s a little dramatic.”

“No, it is in fact NOT dramatic,” you said, pacing in front of her desk. “Because now every single person in this stupid hospital thinks I’m—”

You broke off with a yelp of frustration, throwing your hands in the air in helpless mortification.

Cuddy pinched the bridge of her nose, bracing. “All right. Start from the beginning.”

You told her everything. The story and the mortification slipped out of your mouth, only stopping to catch your breath when you completely ran out of air. You paced back and forth, not even looking at her. The only thing that told you she was still there was an occasional hum, scoff, or laugh. Once you finally finished, your face was redder than when you came in, and you were catching your breath as if you’d just run a marathon. 

You finally stopped moving. “But… I guess it didn’t get to you yet,” you said hopefully. “So maybe Wilson hasn’t heard, right?”

Silence.

Cuddy stared at you, guilty, sympathetic, and very much like someone caught with insider knowledge she wished she didn’t have.

Your stomach dropped. “Cuddy?” you asked slowly. “Please tell me you haven’t heard.”

She winced. “Well…” she said, voice going sheepish, “at least I’m getting married.”

You blinked at her.

“What?”

Cuddy lifted both hands in a helpless gesture. “House was… VERY enthusiastic in his retelling. By the time he made it to my office, the story had evolved into a full romantic saga. With vows.” She pointed at her own chest. “Apparently, I’m the lucky bride.”

You stared at her in horror.

“So—you HAVE heard,” you said faintly.

“Oh, I’ve heard,” Cuddy confirmed. “And judging by how red Wilson got when House walked past him humming ‘Here Comes the Bride,’ I’m going to guess he heard too.”

You felt your soul depart your body. Just before you could say anything, the door to Cuddy’s office opens. 

“Cuddy, I need to—” You didn’t even need to turn around to know who it was. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.” 

You turned around to face him, your face still bright red from anger and now pure embarrassment. “It’s fine. I’m done.”

He nodded and turned to leave. 

“Actually,” Cuddy stood from her desk, “I think you two have something to discuss, and I’m late for a meeting.” She grabbed a file from her desk and made her way to the door. 

“Wait, Cuddy—” Wilson said. 

“Have fun.” 

And just like that, she’s gone, and you and Wilson are alone. 

“So…” you looked over to Wilson, “What do you know?”

Wilson paused for a long moment, looking anywhere but you. “What, uh, what do you know?”

“Well, I know what actually happened. I’m not sure what House decided to tell everyone.” You laughed, trying to relieve the tension engulfing the room. 

“Uh, well, all I know is that you said something about killing House, marrying Cuddy, and, well…” He trailed off, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Yeah, well, it was a stupid question.” You said quickly, your face getting hot. “I was just trying to get House off my back. He wouldn’t let me go if I didn’t give him an answer.”

Wilson nodded his head. “Yeah, of course. It’s not like it means anything. It's a-a juvenile game.” 

“Yeah. It’s dumb.” By now, both of you were staring at each other. You broke eye contact first, looking down at your feet. 

“Well, uh, I’m gonna get back to work. Busy…busy day,” Wilson said, footsteps moving toward the door. You didn’t want him to leave. Not yet. There was more you wanted to say, but you just couldn’t get yourself to say it. You hear the door open before you finally yell out. 

“WAIT!” Your head snapped up, meeting Wilson’s gaze. “I meant it.” 

His eyebrows shot up, but before he could say anything, you started to ramble.

“Not about killing House or marrying Cuddy, but now I’m considering the latter. I was serious about you. Well, not just, uh, having sex with you. I do want to, god I would love to, but that's not—I mean, I don’t only want to have sex with you, I would want to go out and, uh, get to know—” 

You’re interrupted by Wilson’s hands cupping your face. You looked up at him. His smile was soft, and his eyes were warm and inviting. 

“Hey, breathe for me, yeah?” He asked softly. 

You matched his breathing. Slow and steady, bringing your heart rate back to normal. You hadn’t realized how worked up you’d gotten. You’d been agitated the entire day, and now you were finally getting some reprieve. Wilson’s warm hands and soft voice melted away the stress. 

“God, you’re good at that,” You said, smiling up at him. 

He matched your smile. “Comes with the job.”

You let your head fall against his chest, feeling his heartbeat against your forehead. Wilson’s hand stroked your hair gently while the other rested on your back, his thumb drawing small circles at the base of your neck. You let out a stifled laugh. And then another. And then another, until you descended into a fit of giggles.

“Are you okay?” He asked, confused. 

Your laughter started to calm down as you lifted your head from his chest. “Yeah, I just…It’s been a rough day.” 

“I understand. I’m sorry. House is an ass.”

“He’s a complete ass, but…” You trailed off for a moment, “I’m kind of…grateful for it, I guess.”

“Really? Why would you be grateful? He’s made today hell for you?” Wilson asked, shocked. 

You smile shyly. “If he hadn’t, we wouldn’t be here.” 

“Yeah, I’ll give him that.” A silence fell across the room. It was a comfortable silence, rather than a tense one like before. Wilson’s hand moved from the back of your head to cradle your cheek. Your eyes flitted between his eyes and his lips. 

“I would really like you to kiss me,” you said unabashedly. 

He laughed lightly, “I would really like to kiss you.” 

He leaned in, your eyes fluttering shut. His lips brushed against yours timidly. Your hands moved up his arms, holding softly onto his sleeve-covered biceps. He pulled away slightly, his breath warm on your lips.  

“Why’d you stop?” You asked, your words coming out in a breathless rush. 

“I’ve wanted this, you, for so long,” He smiled, sincerely. “I don’t wanna rush anything and mess it up.” 

“As much as I appreciate the respectfulness,” You gripped his biceps tighter, digging your nails into him, “I need you now. Please don’t make me beg.” 

Wilson’s eyes darken. “Fuck baby.”

Without a second thought, Wilson’s lips crash into yours. You met him with just as much fervor. His hand slipped under your lab coat and drifted down to the small of your back, tugging you into him, your bodies pressed together. He bit your lip, not hard enough to draw blood, but enough that you let out a soft moan, your mouth falling open. He glided his tongue into your mouth, swirling it around yours. Your hands slid down his chest, admiring every inch of him, stopping just above his belt. Your fingers drifted across the waistband of his slacks, tugging at the belt loops. Wilson let out a low moan, making you smile against his lips. He pulled away, letting out a shaky breath.

“You’re killing me,” Wilson murmured against your lips. 

“Yeah?” You purred. He let out a loud groan and pulled you back into a kiss. His hand on your cheek moved to fist your hair at the base of your now messy ponytail. His other hand gripped your ass through your pants, kneading gently. Your knees buckled, and Wilson was the only thing keeping you standing. 

You almost don’t notice the door swing open. 

“House, why are we—WOAH.” A woman’s voice calls out from the doorway. You and Wilson pull apart so suddenly that you almost end up on the floor. You stumbled back, and Wilson turned to find House leading Cameron, Chase, and Forman into Cuddy’s office. House looked smug, both hands resting on top of his cane. Cameron’s jaw was on the floor, Forman was staring intently at his shoes, and Chase’s eyes were wide. 

“See, I told you they’d be here,” House said, gesturing to you and Wilson. 

 “House, get out!” Wilson bellowed. 

“I mean, I’m not the one making out in Cuddy’s office.”

“House out NOW,” You snapped. 

“Fine, fine, let’s leave them to their debauchery,” House says, ushering the other three out. 

“Have fun,” House smirked, shutting the door behind them. 

“God, I’m so sorry. I don’t know how he knew we were here,” Wilson apologized. 

“It’s House. You can’t hide from him,” You sighed. “Well, I should probably get back to my patients.” 

“Yeah, me too,” Wilson’s voice trailed off. Neither of you moved, not wanting to leave the other. You reluctantly took a few steps toward the door before Wilson reached out and grabbed your waist, pulling you into another kiss. It was deep, but ended sooner than you wanted. 

“Sorry, I had to,” He smirked. 

“I know, I’m irresistible,” You laughed. 

“You really are.” He kissed you quickly before finally letting go. 

“Okay, now you can leave.” 

“Thank you.” You took a few steps to the door before looking over your shoulder. 

“Do you want to grab a drink?” You asked. 

“I would love to. Tonight?” 

“I can do tonight,” You smiled. Wilson smiled back at you. There was something about his smile that warmed your entire body. “I’ll stop by your office after my shift. I get done at eight-ish.” 

“I’ll be waiting.”

[broimdead1]

Kofi :)

Hi y'all. I hope you're enjoying The Only Exception. If you're enjoying my work, please head over to my Kofi and follow or show your support. I would really appreciate it! I want to get commissions up and running so if that's something you're interested in, let me know. Love y'all <3

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[broimdead1]

The Only Exception

  Chapter 3: His POV

summary: after breaking the news of Luke's drug use, Robby consoles you and learns about your complicated past. he sees past your public persona and gets to know you, rather than your fame. the two of you connect, and things get a little flirty. 

pairing: dr. robby x reader

tags: fluff, angst, reader is in a band, loosely inspired by paramore/hayley williams, age difference, older man younger woman, drug use, addiction, flirting

author's note: hi y'all. i hope everyone is doing well. here's another chapter for y'all. i'm working ahead, so right now i'm finishing chapter four and starting chapter five. i'm still trying to iron out the creases of what the timeline looks like, but i'm really enjoying the story and where it's leading me. feel free to leave kudos, comments, or reblog the story if you're liking it. i love hearing from y'all. enjoy <3

AO3

The door to Trauma 1 swung shut, leaving Robby to watch you storm out to the ambulance bay.

“Can–can you do something, man?” Luke shifted restlessly against the pillows 

Robby glanced back at him. “About what?”

“Her,” Luke said, gesturing weakly toward the door. “I don’t know—go talk to her. Make her change her mind or something.”

Robby let out a quiet breath through his nose. “You want me to fix your relationship?” he asked flatly.

Luke ran a hand through his hair, clearly irritated. “I’m just saying—she listens to you.”

Robby raised an eyebrow. “Does she?”

Luke didn’t answer that.

Robby folded his arms loosely across his chest. “Look, I met her about twenty minutes ago,” he said. “But even I can tell that wasn’t a new conversation for you two.”

Luke stared at the ceiling, jaw tight.

“People don’t usually blow up like that the first time they’re disappointed,” Robby adds.

Luke sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes before dropping back against the bed. “Yeah, whatever.”

Robby watched him for another moment, then pushed away from the counter. “Get some rest,” he said, already heading toward the door. “You’ve had enough excitement for one night.”

He stepped into the hallway, letting the door swing shut behind him. He was met with everyone, either looking at him and whispering or looking toward the ambulance bay and whispering. 

“Alright,” he said, his voice carrying easily across the ED. “Show’s over. Let’s get back to work, shall we?”

There was a brief pause before everyone quickly pretended they had been busy the whole time. Monitors beep, keyboards start clacking again, and conversations shift back to patients.

Robby walked toward the desk.

“What was all of that about?” he asked as he passed.

Dana looked up from the computer, her classes balanced at the end of her nose. “No idea,” she said with a shrug. “People love the drama, I guess.” 

“Apparently.” Robby nodded once and kept walking toward the ambulance bay. 

The night air was mild, and a slight breeze blew against Robby's face as the doors slid open. It’s that time in March when the winter seems like it’s letting up until it goes back to being cold. Robby rounded the corner and saw you sitting on the curb, elbows resting on your knees, staring at your feet. You turned around when you heard him approaching. 

“Oh—hey,” you said, standing and walking toward him. “I’m… sorry about earlier. For yelling. It was totally inappropriate.”

Robby shook his head. “You’re totally fine, I promise.” 

“No, I’m really not,” you said, rubbing the back of your neck. “That was…a lot.” 

“I’ve worked in emergency medicine for a long time. That barely cracks the top ten for today.” Robby said with a soft smirk. 

That earned a smile from you. It’s the first smile Robby had seen from you the whole time you’d been here. 

“I just feel…I honestly don’t know how I feel,” An exasperated laugh escaped your lips. 

“That’s reasonable given the circumstances. We have someone you could talk to, if you want.”

“Honestly,” you said, “this whole situation is… kind of normal for me, you know.”

Robby tilted his head. “I don’t know.”

Your eyebrows knitted together slightly.

“Do you not… actually—never mind.”

“What?” Robby asked.

You shook your head quickly, a small, amused smile creeping onto your face.

“Nothing,” you said. “It’s just… refreshing.”

“Oh?”

“Most people recognize me almost immediately." You paused, then let out a small laugh. “Wow. Saying that out loud makes me sound incredibly conceited." 

Robby shrugged lightly. “Confidence isn’t the worst quality to have.”

“Confidence is one thing,” you said. “Assuming strangers know who you are is another.”

“Well,” Robby said simply, “should I?”

You studied him for a moment, trying to see if he was joking. 

“You’re serious.”

“Very.”

Another small smile spread across your face.“Nope, you absolutely shouldn’t.” 

“Alright,” he said, “Mystery it is. Well, I’m Dr. Robinavitch, but most people just call me Robby.”

 You introduced yourself more enthusiastically than Robby expected.

“So,” Robby said after a beat, leaning casually against the wall, “what do you do 

when you’re not yelling at patients in the ER?”

You grinned. “Wow. Straight to the interrogation.”

“Simple curiosity.” 

You tilted your head, considering your answer. “I’m in a band.”

“That explains the outfit,” he said, gesturing lightly toward the boots and fishnets.

You glanced down at herself and laughed. “Yeah, I guess it does.”

“You play something?”

“I’m primarily a singer,” you said. “I play a little guitar. Mostly rhythm if I’m on stage.”

“You must be talented.”

You laughed, “Maybe a little.” 

You watched him for a second, clearly amused. “You’re really not curious at all, are you?”

“Oh, I’m curious,” Robby said. “I just figure if it’s important, you’ll tell me.”

Her gaze softened, “You don’t understand how much I appreciate that.”

“So how much longer are you stuck here tonight?” you asked.

Robby checked his watch. “About an hour.”

You nodded slowly, like you were thinking something through. Then you looked back at him. “Do you want to get a drink after?”

“You realize,” he said, “I technically just treated your… boyfr—.”

“Bandmate,” you corrected, cutting him off sharply.

“Sorry. Bandmate,” Robby repeated.

“And he’s fine,” you added quickly. “Annoyingly fine.” That earned a small huff of amusement from him.

“And I hate to point it out, but you are obviously at least ten years younger than me,” he looked you up and down, “and I think I’m being generous.”

“Is that a problem?” Your eyebrows lifted slightly. 

“Not necessarily,” he said. “Just making sure you noticed.”

“Oh, I noticed,” a grin spread across your face that made Robby’s eyebrows jump. 

“Alright,” he said, crossing his arms. “One drink.”

“Can I just hang out here? I’m not from around here,” you asked. 

“The ambulance bay isn’t the most ideal place to be,” Robby said. “But we have a staff lounge that you can hang out in. Does that work?” 

“Absolutely,” you gestured toward the door, “Lead the way.” 

You followed Robby through the ED. Robby noticed eyes following them. He glanced over at you, but you had pulled your hood over your head, and your arms were crossed in front of you, desperately trying to make yourself small. He rested a hand gently on your back, guiding you into the staff room. He held the door open as you slipped inside and let it close behind them. 

“You can hang out here. There’s some shitty coffee in the pot and probably something to snack on in one of the cupboards,” he said, looking around at the tiny breakroom. 

 “Thanks,” you said, settling into the chair, pulling your hood off. 

“If you need anything, come find me, or Dana, our lovely charge nurse. She’s the blonde woman at the main desk.”

“Ok.”

Robby turned to leave, but hesitated before opening the door. He turned back around to face you. “This room is staff only, so no one can come in here and bother you.” 

You smiled up at him and nodded. “Thank you, Robby.” 

“It’s no problem at all.” He turned back around and left to finish up his shift. The ED had settled back into its usual rhythm. He checked the board for another patient and headed to exam room 3 for an elderly woman with abdominal pain. The exam was quick and easy. Some questions, palpations, and ordering the standard set of labs. 

When he stepped back into the hallway, he caught sight of Mateo stepping into the staff room. He made his way back to the main desk, sitting at one of the computers to catch up on charting. 

“How’s the patient in Trauma 1?” Dana asked, rolling her chair over. 

“Fine,” Robby said, not looking up, “I think he’s learning his lesson.”

“What would that be?” Dana asked. 

“Don’t lie to people that care about you,” Robby replied, scrolling through the chart, “because they won’t put up with it every time.”

“Ah.” Dana nodded, “An important one to learn.” 

A few moments later, the door to the staff room swung open, and Mateo practically ran out. 

“You ok, kid?” Dana yelled over to him. 

He stood there, jaw half open, before he snapped out of it and booked it toward them. 

“Yeah—I, uh,” He leaned against the desk and whispered, “Why on earth is the lead singer of Mirager sitting in our break room?” 

Robby paused mid-typing. “...the what?” 

Mateo blinked at him. “The lead singer of Mirager,” he repeated. “You know. The band?”

Robby glanced at the closed staff room door. 

“What’s Mirager?” Dana asked. 

“How do you not—?”

“She did say she was in a band,” Robby said. 

Mateo looked between the two of them, completely horrified. “Do any of you know Mirager?!”

Dana shook her head.

“Jesus,” Mateo said, holding his nose, “Where have you been for the last like five years?”

“Working. Here,” Dana said, unamused. 

Robby glanced back toward the staff room door.

“…huh,” he said.

 Mateo let out a short laugh. “You just left her in there?” 

“She asked if she could wait,” Robby replied. 

Dana’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Wait for what?” 

Robby paused. “...a drink,” he said, slowly and carefully.

“Robby,” Mateo said, eyes wide. 

“Yes?” 

“Did you unknowingly pick up the lead singer of Mirager in the ambulance bay?” 

“Well, I…” He said, trailing off. 

“Holy shit,” Mateo said. 

“Alright, Mateo. This conversation is over. Go check on your patients,” she interrupted. 

“But I—” 

“Go. Now,” Dana said sternly. 

He ran off, probably to find someone to tell. Nothing stays a secret in the ED. Robby rubbed his eyes, sighing.

[broimdead1]

The Only Exception

  Chapter 2: Your POV

summary: after finding your bandmate (and occasional hookup) unconscious in the green room, you rush him to the ER, hoping the five months of sobriety he promised were real. when the toxicology results prove otherwise, years of lies finally push you to your breaking point—while one calm doctor becomes the only steady presence in the chaos.

pairing: dr. robby x reader

tags: fluff, angst, reader is in a band, loosely inspired by paramore/hayley williams, age difference, older man younger woman, drug use, addiction, flirting

author's note: heyyyy y'all! i was going to wait a little longer to post the next chapter, but i was too excited for you guys to read it. So here it is :). this one is from the reader's POV, so the pronouns will be "you" instead of "she". i hope this isn't too complicated. feel free to comment, like, or reblog if you're enjoying the story so far. love y'all <3

AO3

The lights of the trauma room were too bright. One of the nurses had pulled up a chair for you to sit at Luke’s bed. He had fallen asleep almost immediately after he was stabilized, his hand now weakly holding yours. He was breathing now, unlike when you found him collapsed on the floor of the green room. Memories of moments similar to that rushed back to you. Finding a spilled bottle of pills lying next to his unconscious body. His breath and heart rate were almost nonexistent. After the first time, you started carrying around Narcan with you wherever you went.   

He was almost five months sober after many fights. You begged him to go to rehab and get clean. He insisted that he didn’t need to. You tried to convince him that he needs to. That the band needed him. You needed him. He didn’t seem to care until he finally did. 

Your relationship was complicated from the very beginning. You met him and your other bandmates in high school. You made your music in your garage, posting it online for practically no one to hear. The summer before your senior year of college, you released a song, and it blew up. None of you could believe it until record companies started calling. You convinced your parents that this was worth it, and instead of finishing school, you started recording albums and touring for thousands of fans. Over the next eight years, your fanbase grew, and your success skyrocketed, and now you’re here, one of the most popular pop-punk bands.

You and Luke had an on-and-off fling. You hook up and have fun without strings. It’s easier than navigating the dating world when you’re famous. You were often approached by people in bars, developing what you thought was a real connection with a stranger, until they let it slip that they’re a fan. You would never hook up with a fan. It crossed a line that you had made early in your career. For Luke, it never phased him. At every tour stop, you’d find him making out or hooking up with a groupie in the Green Room or backstage, or one time, on the tour bus, which you would promptly tell him off for, and he never did it again. The rest of the band were not like Luke or you. They either had long-term girlfriends or were married. You were jealous of their success with partners. Every wedding you attended was another stake in your heart, making you more and more sure you’d never find someone. You’d be stuck hooking up with your guitarist forever. 

You come out of your daze when Luke stirs. His eyes flutter open, unfocused at first, then sharply land on the ceiling, the IVs, the monitors.

“What the—” he gasped, struggling to sit up.

“Easy,” you said quickly, standing and placing a hand lightly on his arm. “You’re okay. Just stay still.”

He yanked the oxygen mask from his face, coughing. “Where… where am I?”

“The hospital,” you reply, trying to keep your voice calm even as panic creeps back in. “You collapsed. You’re safe now.”

His gaze snaps to you, dark and accusatory. “You brought me here?”

You felt a stab of guilt. “I didn’t know what else to do. You weren’t breathing properly—”

“You could’ve just taken me home!” he snapped, voice rising, panic cutting through the hum of the monitors.

“Luke—” you started, but he cut you off.

“You know what this looks like, right? You know how this looks if anyone finds out!”

Your stomach twisted. “You almost died!” you yell louder than you intended to. 

“I was just… I was tired, okay? Maybe dehydrated or something!” he panted, gripping the sheets.

“Really? Dehydrated? That’s what you think this is?” Your voice cracked, tears welling.

“I’m fine. I don’t need… I don’t need this,” he snapped, trying to push himself up again. “You’re—ugh… you’re such a—fucking—bitch!”

The door swung open. Robby stepped in, calm but authoritative, taking in the room: Luke half-sitting, the monitors beeping, you tense beside him.

“Let’s slow it down,” he said evenly, moving closer. 

Luke glared at him. “I’m leaving,” he huffed.

“You’re not leaving yet,” Robby replied, his tone quiet but firm.

“I didn’t ask to be here,” Luke muttered, voice tight.

Robby doesn’t argue. Instead, he gently guides Luke back down onto the bed. “You were barely breathing when you arrived,” he said. “Why don’t you stay here until we’re sure that doesn’t happen again?”

Luke muttered something under his breath but leaned back, defeated for now. Robby turned to you.

“Can I talk to you for a moment?”

You glanced at Luke, unsure, but nodded. “Okay.”

Robby led you down the hall to a small family room. You sat, gripping the chair’s armrest. He sat across from you, expression calm, but his eyes held seriousness.

“The toxicology results came back,” he said.

“And?” You asked, your voice breaking. 

He stayed quiet for a moment. Then gently: “They found opioids in his system.”

Your heart lurched. “No… he’s sober—he’s been doing so well—”

“How long has he been sober?” Robby asked.

You swallowed hard. “Five months…”

He nodded, softly. “Relapse is unfortunately common in early recovery. I’m sorry.”

The weight of it hits you all at once. You wanted so badly to believe in him. To trust him. But why would you? 

“He was going to a program—I don’t… It doesn’t make sense,” your breath quickened, turning into hyperventilating.

Robby stood and took a step toward you, keeping his voice low and steady. “Hey… look at me,” he said, resting a hand lightly on your shoulder. “Breathe with me. In… and out.”

You struggled to follow, but his presence slowly steadied your breathing. He didn’t rush you. He just waited, giving you space to catch your breath.

“I know it doesn’t make sense,” he continued gently. “And I know you wanted to believe him. That’s okay. Wanting to trust someone doesn’t make you stupid. It just makes you human.”

You glanced at him, and for a fleeting second, you noticed a glimpse of something in his eyes. A small, almost imperceptible care. It made you feel seen. More seen than you had been in a long, long time. 

“We’re going to figure this out,” he said, keeping his hand on your shoulder, just enough to steady but not intrude. “Right now, all you need to do is breathe.”

After a few more deep breaths, you finally calmed down enough to think clearly. But calm doesn’t last long. The panic and fear you just rode through twist into anger. How dare he put you through that? How dare he make you feel helpless like that?

You stood abruptly, brushing past Robby without thinking. “I can’t just sit here,” you muttered to yourself, voice tight. “I can’t…”

He followed silently, hand just behind you, ready in case you stumble, but you hardly notice.

You stormed back into the trauma room, and Luke’s eyes widened at the sight of you. “What—what’s—”

“I’m done with this!” you yelled, cutting him off. “Do you have any idea what you just put me through?!”

He blinked, still half-dazed, then tried to sit up. “It’s nothing—”

“You think this is nothing? That collapsing in front of everyone, nearly dying, is nothing?” Your hands shook with adrenaline as you gestured toward him, toward the monitors, toward the chaos he caused.

“I was just tired—dehydrated, okay? I didn’t—”

“Oh really?! That’s your fucking excuse. Not the drugs you took?”

“I’m not—” 

“DON’T LIE TO ME! AGAIN!” You were screaming now. Loud enough for the entire ER to hear, but you didn’t care. “Enough with the lying, Luke! What was it this time, huh? Oxy? Heroin? Fucking fentanyl?” 

Luke glared at you, frustration and guilt battling in his expression, though he doesn’t admit anything. “I said I didn’t take anything! Why are you making this a big deal?”

“Because it is a big deal!” your voice trembling with anger and fear. “You could have died! And you lied about it. I trusted you, Luke. I believed you.”

Robby watched quietly, noting every flinch, every hesitation in Luke’s eyes. His presence is steady, and though he doesn’t intervene directly, you feel a tiny anchor in the storm of your emotions.

Luke slumped back against the bed, muttering under his breath. “I didn’t lie. I’m fine. I don’t need this.”

You froze for a second, chest tightening. “No, Luke, I don’t need this,” you pointed at yourself, voice breaking. “I’m done with you.”

“Baby, please—” 

“Don’t.” You raised your hand sharply, cutting him off. “You’re out. I’m not dealing with you.”

“You can’t kick me out?!” his eyes widened.

“Oh yes, Luke, I can. And I did.” You turned towards the doors. 

“I’m gonna call the guys—they’ll back me up.” 

“I’d like to see you try.” You turned to look at him. “Goodbye, Luke.”

| chapter 1 | chapter 3 (coming soon) |

[broimdead1]

The Only Exception

  Chapter 1: His POV

summary: you're the lead singer of the most popular pop-punk band, Mirager. After your guitarist/hookup lands himself in the ER, a new relationship grows with The Pitt's Chief Attending, Dr. Robby.

pairing: Dr. Robby x reader

tags: fluff, angst, reader is in a band, loosely inspired by paramore/hayley williams, age difference, older man younger woman, drug use, addiction, flirting

author's note: HI Y'ALL, I'M BACK!! I'm really happy to be writing again. Sorry it's been so long, but I'm writing like crazy now, so expect a lot from me over the next few weeks. I have a new fic for y'all that's been floating around in my head since I started watching the Pitt. I finally decided to put it down on paper, and I'm really loving it. Just for reference, the first few chapters take place BEFORE season 1. There's gonna be some time jumps, but I will make it clear once we get to season 1. I'm also trying a new way of writing out, so bear with me if it's a little rough. I decided I wanted to do some POV switches which can be challenging with an x reader fic. All that to say, I hope y'all love it. Love you <3.

AO3

Today was a relatively slow day in the Pitt, all things considered. They still saw a steady stream of patients, but fewer traumas than usual. Mostly just frequent flyers, basic lacerations, and stomach pains. No one would say it out loud, but it was a needed reprieve from the usual chaos. 

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch leaned against the counter at the charge desk, flipping idly through a chart he’d already read twice, just giving his hands something to do. Dana sat at the desk typing away on the computer; what that was, Robby had no idea. Princess and Perlah were whispering about something in Tagalog. Every so often, Robby would catch them staring at him before they would quickly look away, muttering something he couldn’t understand. Dr. McKay and Dr. Collins sat at some of the miscellaneous computers, catching up on their charting.

“How long has it been since the last ambulance?” someone asked.

“Forty-five minutes,” another nurse replied.

Robby raised an eyebrow. “That can’t be right.”

“Check the board.”

He glanced up at the patient tracker mounted on the wall. Trauma 1 and Trauma 2 had been open for almost 30 minutes. 

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” Dana muttered.

Robby huffed a quiet laugh.

He’d worked in emergency medicine long enough to know exactly how this went. The moment someone acknowledged how slow things were, the universe took it personally. 

Right on cue, the radio at the desk crackled. Every head turned toward it.

“Incoming ambulance, five minutes out,” the dispatcher’s voice said through the speaker. “Male patient, mid-twenties, unresponsive. Suspected overdose.”

Robby straightened, already reaching for a pair of gloves. “Well,” he said, pushing away from the counter. “There it is.”

And just like that, the ER woke up. McKay and Robby both went to grab gloves and gown up while the nurses checked the Trauma rooms. Robby stood in front of the doors to the ambulance bay. He took one breath in, rejuvenizing him. Preparing him for the chaos. 

Only a minute later, the doors swung open. The paramedics pushed the stretcher through quickly, one of them already speaking as they crossed into the room.

“Male, mid-twenties. Found unresponsive about twenty minutes ago. Respirations: 6 per minute when we arrived; pinpoint pupils. Suspected opioid overdose. One dose of naloxone was given in the field with minimal response.” 

The ER team moved around the gurney like a well-oiled machine as they wheeled him to Trauma 1. Someone else caught Robby’s eye, trailing behind the paramedics. Her hair was messy, but it looked intentional. She had dark, slightly smudged makeup on, as if she were rubbing her eyes. She was in a short black mini dress with an oversized zip-up hanging off her shoulders. Tall black boots stopped just below her knees, and the rest of her legs were covered by torn fishnets. She didn’t look up from the man in the stretcher. 

“It’s not an overdose,” she said immediately, voice tight with panic, “He didn’t—he doesn’t do drugs.”

Robby nodded at her, then looked back at the paramedic. “Talk to me.”

The paramedic nodded toward the patient. “Name’s Luke Carter. Collapsed backstage about thirty minutes after their set.”

She shook her head quickly. “He didn’t take anything. He’s sober.” 

The team burst into Trauma 1, leaving the woman standing at the doors. “On my count,” Robby said, grabbing the stretcher, “One, two, three.” The team moved him over to the new bed and started hooking him up to their equipment and IVs.   

 “Please, you have to believe me. He didn’t take anything, I swear,” she said, tears welling up in her eyes.

“I hear you,” he said calmly. “Right now, we just need to stabilize him.”

Robby reached for his penlight and gently lifted one of the patient’s eyelids. His pupils were pinpoint. He glanced toward one of the nurses. “Let’s give another dose of naloxone.”

“He doesn’t need Narcan. He didn’t—”

“I know what you said,” he said more forcefully but still calmly. “We just need to rule it out.”

The nurse pushed the medication through the IV. The room stilled, waiting. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the patient’s body jerked. He sucked in a sharp breath, coughing as his eyes flew open.

“What the—”

“Easy,” Robby said, steadying him as he tried to sit up. “You’re in the emergency department. Try not to move.”

The woman rushed closer to the bedside. “Luke,” she breathed, relief flooding her voice. “Oh, my god.”

He blinked at her, disoriented. “What happened?”

“You collapsed in the Green Room,” she said quickly.

Robby checked the monitor again before speaking.

“You were having trouble breathing. Paramedics suspected an overdose.”

Luke frowned weakly. His eyes darted around the room. “That’s… not possible.”

The woman looked immediately at Robby. “See?”

Robby didn’t argue. He simply nodded toward the nurse. “Let’s send labs and a tox screen.”

Blood vials were already being filled.

Luke leaned back against the pillow, still looking dazed. “I didn’t take anything,” he muttered.

The woman squeezed his hand. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “I know.”

Robby watched the pair for another moment before taking off his gloves and gown and tossing them aside. “We’ll know more once the labs come back.”

“That’ll tell you what happened?” The woman asked. 

“Hopefully.”

| chapter 2 |

[broimdead1]

NEW FIC?!?

Hey y'all! I've finally gotten around to starting a new fic that's been bouncing around in my brain. Its a Robby x rockstar!reader fic. I have the first 2 chapters done, and I'm just editing them and trying to come up with a title (if anyone wants to help with that, PLEASE. I'm so bad at coming up with titles). I've been thinking about it since I saw season 1, but I haven't had the motivation to write it until now. Expect to see the first two chapters here and on my ao3 account (broimdead) very, very soon. Love y'all <3

p.s. if you're looking for a new chapter of clinical impression I'M SO SORRY it will come soon. i think there's gonna be one, maybe two more and then that story will be done. trust and believe that i'm not done writing for Wilson tho.