“welcome to the pitt.”

requests are open!

[santosprincess]

⊹ masterlist

⊹ sar ── 21 | she / her | scorpio

⊹ queer / lover of all women & a few select dilfs

@ santosprincess2026 do not copy, translate, or plagiarize any of my work.

[bitchinbarzal]

Selfish | F Langdon

summary: even doctors can’t help the selfish thoughts that come with the job.

warnings: mentions of child death!

—

The room is too quiet when it’s over.

Not the busy, clinical quiet that follows a successful save. Not the controlled calm of paperwork and next steps. This is the kind of silence that settles in your bones and refuses to move, like the air itself is grieving.

Frank’s hands are still gloved when he lowers them. They shake, barely, but you see it. You always see it. You’re standing across from him, your shoulders touching, close enough that you can feel the rise and fall of his chest as he exhales through his nose, slow and controlled, the way he does when he’s holding himself together with discipline alone.

The monitor is flat.

The little girl is still.

You’d both known it was coming. You’d known ten minutes ago. Five. Thirty seconds before it happened. You had worked anyway. Because you always do. Because you’re doctors. Because sometimes miracles happen and you refuse to be the ones who gave up too early.

But this time, they didn’t.

Someone murmurs time of death. Someone else gently pulls the curtain. The room empties in that strange, respectful way it always does, like everyone knows they’re intruding on something sacred now.

You don’t move.

Frank doesn’t either.

It’s only when the door clicks shut that the weight crashes in fully, all at once. The child’s injuries replay in your head without permission. The bruising. The internal bleeding. The way their small body had felt impossibly fragile beneath your hands.

You swallow hard.

“I thought…” Your voice breaks before you can stop it. You don’t finish the sentence. You don’t have to.

Frank closes his eyes. Just for a second. When he opens them again, they’re wet, glassy, furious in that quiet way of his that scares people who don’t know him well.

“I know,” he says softly.

He pulls off his gloves with shaking fingers and drops them onto the tray like they weigh a thousand pounds. You do the same. Your hands are trembling now too, badly enough that you press them together, fingers lacing tight just to make it stop.

It doesn’t.

You feel him shift beside you. Then his arm is around your shoulders, solid and grounding, pulling you into his chest. You let yourself lean into him, forehead pressing against his collarbone, the smell of antiseptic and his familiar cologne mixing together in a way that makes your chest ache.

You’re doctors.

You’ve seen death before.

But you’re parents too.

And that changes everything.

“I can’t,” you whisper. “I can’t stop thinking about her. About how she looked when she was sleeping when we left this morning.“

Your breath stutters. Frank tightens his grip on you, his chin resting against the top of your head.

“I keep seeing gigi’s face instead of theirs,” he admits quietly. “And I hate myself for that. How selfish.”

You pull back just enough to look at him. His jaw is tight, eyes red rimmed, the kind of restraint that only cracks when he’s completely alone. You reach up without thinking, cupping his cheek, your thumb brushing just beneath his eye.

“You’re human, you’re a parent. We’re all a little selfish.” you say.

His hand comes up to cover yours, pressing it there like an anchor.

Neither of you says anything for a long moment.

Then, very quietly, Frank says, “I need to hear her voice.”

The words hit you like a lifeline.

You nod immediately, fumbling for your phone with clumsy fingers. Your hands are shaking so badly it takes you two tries to unlock it and find the babysitters number. You don’t even think about the time or the interruption. You just hit call and lift it between you, speaker on.

It rings once.

Twice.

The sitter, Laura, answers and goes to search for Gigi in her room.

“Mommy?” comes the small, sleepy voice on the other end. “Why are you calling?”

You clamp a hand over your mouth. The sound of her voice nearly drops you to your knees. Frank’s grip tightens instantly, his other hand coming up to brace your back.

“Hey, hey babygirl,” you manage, forcing your voice to stay steady. “Did we wake you?”

There’s a pause. Then a soft yawn. “A little. Daddy still at work?”

Frank leans closer, his forehead pressing against yours now, eyes closing as if the sound alone is too much.

“Yeah,” you say gently. “Daddy’s still working.”

“Tell him I love him,” she says easily, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “And that I need him to read the dinosaur book tomorrow. Not the short one.”

Frank lets out a sound that’s halfway between a laugh and a sob. He clears his throat and leans toward the phone.

“I hear you, kiddo,” he says softly. “I love you too. Dinosaur book tomorrow, promise.”

There’s a smile in her voice when she answers. You can hear it even without seeing her. “Love you the biggest.”

You lower the phone slowly. Neither of you moves for a second. Then Frank exhales, long and shaky, his forehead dropping fully to yours.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

You nod, tears finally spilling over. “We needed that.”

He pulls you closer, arms wrapping around you completely now, holding you like he’s afraid the world might take something else if he loosens his grip.

You stand there together in the quiet room, two doctors who did everything they could, two parents clinging to the sound of a child’s voice, reminding each other that even on the days you lose someone, there is still so much love waiting for you at home.

[seraphrain]

[santosprincess]

sorry i just can't get enough of him and i need him to put me in my place okay bye

part two of softdom!jack

— jack who swears he’s “not that guy” but remembers all the tiny details about you. your coffee order, the snack you only like when you’re stressed, which side you sleep on. he likes to act casual but his brain is a database filled with all of your habits and favorite things

— jack who uses touch as reassurance. hand on your thigh while he drives, thumb brushing your wrist when you’re talking, fingers lacing with yours when a room feels too overwhelming

— jack who lowkey likes when you steal his clothes even though he pretends to be annoyed, saying “i was gonna wear that” but he’s smiling because you look cute and you smell like his cologne

— jack who calls you out when you’re overdoing it, but not in a strict way, just that look and a quiet “you’re running on fumes, baby. and suddenly you’re sitting in a hot bath with him while he rubs your back and whispers sweet nothings into your ear

— jack who kisses your forehead without thinking. mid-conversation, mid-walk, mid-you-talking-shit about your day. he’s become so used to it he doesn’t even realize until someone else brings it up

— jack who’s patient when you’re moody. he lets you vent, lets you sulk and pout, then he starts with soft affection that he knows will make you crack. he catches that little smile you have when he says, “you still mad, baby?” and he knows he's won

— jack who leans down to murmur things in your ear in busy rooms, the closeness and his voice in your ear makes your brain go fuzzy and your thighs clench.

— jack who lets you sit on his lap while he’s reading or watching a show, his hands resting lightly on your hips to hold you in place, voice calm but low, whispering things like “stay still for me."

— jack who loves to give a playful little smack to your ass when you’re being bratty, just to see your cheeks heat up and your mouth go “ugh!”

— jack who slides behind you in the kitchen while you’re reaching for something high, presses himself against the back of you and whispers, “focus, baby,” and you can’t stop squirming

[santosprincess]

requesting literally anything with mel i love her 🙏

mel who finally gets the courage to ask you out. part one here!

mel doesn’t even realize she’s doing it at first. you’re both talking behind the nurses station when it happens. she’s mid-story, her hands moving, talking about this patient who kept asking for a doctor despite her stating she is one, and your eyes are on her like there’s nowhere else you’d rather be looking.

and mel just keeps going.

“and then dr. robby walks in like he’s gonna fix everything, which, of course, he does, and—” she cuts herself off with a soft huff, shaking her head, “sorry, i’m doing it again. i always just..talk.”

“i know,” you say, smiling. “i like it.”

her brain fully short-circuits for a second. she looks at you, really looks, and you’re so open, so sure, like this is the easiest thing in the world. like listening to her is not a chore, not background noise. it feels like something she’s never experienced before. she speaks a little quieter now, “even when i go on tangents about patients and movies and hospital policies?”

“especially then.”

she smiles, the skin around her eyes crinkling as she does. she looks down at her hands, fiddling with a pen and then, because she’s already talking and momentum is a powerful thing, the words just...keep coming.

“i just—i don’t know. i feel like i talk more around you, which is saying something, because i already talk a lot,” she winces a little, a little scared at how vulnerable she's being, then pushes through, “it’s just easy being around you, like my brain doesn’t have to filter everything first and i don’t have to worry about bringing up the ‘right’ thing or talking too long.”

she risks a glance up at you, her cheeks pink.

“so, um,” she continues, voice rushing now but still kind of low, her nerves finally catching up, “i was thinking, maybe, if you wanted, we could—not here, obviously, because this isn’t really appropriate, or romantic, but like, maybe we can get coffee? somewhere normal? with real cups?” she lets out a breathy laugh, like she can’t believe she’s saying this. “like. a date. maybe. if you’d want that. with me.”

you’ve never said “yes” faster in your life.

[santosprincess]

emery walsh hc's based off of this fic!

— emery who is 100% the type to spoil you through actions instead of big flashy gifts or speeches. she acts tough but then your favorite snack magically appears in the cabinet, your phone’s charged, and your hoodie somehow smells like her perfume.

— emery whose long shifts make her quieter, but not mean. never mean. but, when she finally snaps a little, it’s less anger and more “i’m overstimulated and you’re poking the bear, babe." she likes control at home because work is chaos all day.

— emery who notices bratty behavior way earlier than she lets on. the unread texts, the dramatic “i miss you give me attention rn” clinginess, the “i'm pretending to be mad at you so you’ll put me in my place” attitude. she stores it for later when she has the energy to deal with you properly.

— emery who used eye contact as her weapon, both in and out of the bedroom. she doesn’t have to raise her voice. one look and you already know you pushed it. the calm low tone she uses is worse than yelling.

— emery who’s big on “use your words” when you’re needy. if you get whiny instead of actually saying what you want, she will absolutely make you slow down and try again. she wants to hear you loud and clear.

— emery who, despite her faked annoyance, likes when you get clingy. she won’t admit it because she likes to think she’s fine on her own, but she loves knowing that she’s needed & wanted.

— emery who uses “there’s my girl.” praise always feels different from her because she doesn’t overuse it. when she says you did good or listened well, she means it.

— emery who’s possessive in a protective way, not the isolating or toxic kind. like arm around your waist in public, subtle guiding hand on your back, always positioning herself between you and chaos. very much “that’s mine” but she's quiet about it.

— emery who loves to shower with you after a long shift. it’s her reset ritual. she doesn’t feel like she can fully wind down until she’s under the hot water with you, whispering and kissing each other all over.

[santosprincess]

sorry but i really do believe in trinity not giving af what anyone has to say (majority of the time) but especially if she knows you back her

literally anyone: trinity i think you should work on your passive aggresiveness, it comes off as—

trinity: well my GIRLFRIEND THINKS—

[the-kaelish-prince]

rewatching the pitt and just staring forlornly at emery walsh like she's my husband who's off at war

come back soon o' husband of mine

[santosprincess]

hiii congrats on 100! i love ur wlw pitt fics so much :)

thank u 🥹 they’re def my fav to write !!! <3

[dolloebaby]

the tiktok “i found your bsf on hinge” trend made me think of this scenario

“yeah, by the way did you know robby’s on tinder?”

jack reaches for the chart you’re holding out for him, shaking his head with a small smile. you lean further into the counter of the nurses station. dana swivels in her chair to look down her glasses at you.

“and you’d know that how, kid?” she’s definitely not instigating. she’s just curious.

jack doesn’t ask permission before lifting your styrofoam coffee cup to his lips, considering you’d pushed it towards him moments before.

you nod, like it’s obvious. jack looks between you and the first page of the binder, attention divided.

he takes a sip of the watered down macchiato.

the taste isn’t amazing on his palate, however the remnants of your lipstick on the side of the cup make his throat bob as he licks his bottom lip.

“i found his account the other day.”

PAUSE

your gaze casually travels to jack, searching his face. give it a minute. just as the lines in his forehead deepen with contemplation.

dana’s lips curl in, turning in her chair like the wall is suddenly more interesting. her eyes catch shen walking in with his dunkin, and the broad look of I slept well last night.

“anything exciting yet?” he jokes, affectionately bumping your shoulder as he passes to check the board.

jack blinks.

“nope!” you answer, stifling a laugh.

okay now he looks homicidal.

you can feel his eyes on the side of your face, shen staring at the interaction with brief amusement, having no idea what he’d walked into.

“you’re pulling my leg, right?” jack tips his chin forward, falling into your eye-line.

it’s hard to not smile. but you must persist.

“about?” you laugh. waving a hand at him.

you’ve never seen someone so composed look so utterly confused. the expression on his face was almost comical.

he says your name like you’re in trouble.

“you have a tinder?”

your brows furrow, mouth opening like a fish out of water.

“what makes you say that?”

jack blinks again, harder, like he’s hallucinating.

“you just said,” he pauses, inhaling as he places a hand on the counter, the other running through his silver curls, “you’re messing with me, right?”

okay well now he just looks sad. unfairly so.

your lips purse, you can feel warmth filling your cheeks as you notice two extra pairs of eyes on the two of you.

okay. whatever. it was funny until jack was looking at you like you killed his puppy.

“fine!” you concede, “it’s a trend!” your confession is followed by shen’s muffled laughter as you smack both hands over your face.

you didn’t even last 5 minutes.

you can feel a firm hand on your waist, hot breath against your ear as jack moves to pass you, patient chart in tow.

“maybe try something funny next time.”

[tasteofbld]

butch mel king, butch trinity santos and butch cassie mckay are all very real to me

[mortalfaerie]

pitt banter: when walsh is dating, then gets engaged to, and then marries her wife and her coworkers in surgery and the er get wind of it, it's immediately a new rebuttal for any of her sharp comments. like,

emery: (something something something snark about er physicians)

robby: (ignoring her comment) hey emery how's the mrs doing?

emery: ... wouldn't YOU like to know 🤨

[puppiegracie]

god Dana with the unhoused man ik her ass is still never letting them slip through the cracks. she's a little colder this season, maybe, obviously traumatized and not doing great, but that's mama. that's always been mama always will be mama. "we keep offering." please I'm so soft over her can she hold me can we hold each other

[prosperoisadiva]

Ladies, ladies one at a time 😔

[santosprincess]

before i watched the pitt, for some reason, i thought that jack abbot was this nerdy, quirky guy, and when i watched the first season…oh boy was i wrong.

jack abbot who’s basically a soft dom. 

— jack who’s always taking care of you without you having to ask. need new scrubs? already ordered. new shoes because your old ones are worn from countless busy shifts? he bought two in your favorite color with a new jacket to match.

— jack who keeps a close eye on you no matter where you are. he likes to know where you’re at and what you’re doing, in the least possessive and controlling way possible. he just feels more at peace knowing you’re safe.

— jack who has a really bad habit of spoiling you, always giving in to your puppy dog eyes and pouts with an “okay baby, whatever you want” he’s whipped and he doesn’t care.

— jack who actually likes pda. away from the hospital he’s as touchy as you’re comfortable with. at a restaurant he holds your hand across the table. walking downtown he’s always got a hand on your lower back, subtly guiding you.

— jack who’s so attentive and in tune with your emotional needs. he’s always checking in throughout the day, always taking the time to make sure you’re okay. he reads you so well he knows what you need before you say it.

— jack who does the “stand behind you and fix things” move. he adjusts your collar, straightens your badge, brushes lint off your shoulder, all while talking to robby like it’s nothing, like it's his second nature. you’d think you’d be used to it by now but you still get butterflies every time.

— jack who uses that calm doctor voice on you when you’re overwhelmed, keeping his voice low and steady: “hey sweet girl, breathe for me, yeah?” his hand rubbing your neck or upper back, thumb moving in slow, soft, soothing circles.

— jack who gives instructions in the softest way possible. “drink some water for me.” “text me when you get home.” it’s not a demand, and he’d never mean it in a “do what i say” way, but you still feel that pull to listen.

— jack who’s by your side instantly if someone makes you uncomfortable—perks of being watchful he doesn’t make a scene, he doesn’t have to. he's just suddenly there, with his hand on your waist, and the conversation that was bothering you is redirected.

— jack who loves when you sit on his lap and lean into him after a long shift, his big hands moving up and down your back while he listens to your steady heartbeat. it’s his favorite way to decompress.

— jack who gives you an eyebrow raise and a head tilt when you’re being stubborn about resting because you swear you’re “really not that tired” after working three days in a row. “c’mon. don’t make me put you to bed early,” with that smirk on his face.

— jack who’s big on aftercare vibes even outside the bedroom. snacks, water, checking if you’re sore, tucking you in, brushing hair out of your face like you’re fragile even though he knows you’re not. he just loves taking care of you.

[carmenlikeme]

—don't panic!

summary: when you get hurt but don't wanna go to the ED!

characters: michael "robby" robinavitch, jack abbot, mateo diaz, frank langdon, dennis whitaker, john shen.

a/n: why is it that everytime i wanna post something lifechanging happens, anyways!!! i cant guarantee to be back but ill try my best to post when i can!! again, this is a merge of like 5 different requests that had the same feeling hehe hope u like it!!

© CARMENLIKEME 2026. All rights reserved. Do not repost, modify or claim as yours . Tag for inspiration.

[santosprincess]

on three!

summary: a messy apartment, a bad fall, and one dislocated wrist land you back at ptmc on your day off, where trinity has to watch instead of fix.

word count: 1.2k!

masterlist!

your first thought was: trinity was going to freak. like actually.

it all started this morning. trinity went into work like normal, but you had the day off. you'd both been neglecting the housework, and your closet and apartment showed it. clothes were scattered everywhere to the point where you didn't know what was clean and what was dirty, takeout boxes and dishes were strewn around the kitchen, makeup and skincare and hair products were all over the bathroom counter, and you thought if you had to spend one more day looking at your dirty place, you were going to go insane. you started with the kitchen; you loaded the dishwasher and handwashed the dishes that needed to be, despite trinity always arguing that they'll be fine because "babe, who makes a dish and then says you can't put it in the dishwasher?" you cleaned up the bathroom and organized your skincare shelves, and then you had to move on to the most dreaded part: the laundry.

you gathered up one big load into a basket and tried to make your way down the stairs when everything went wrong. a stray sock fell out of the basket, or maybe it was a shoe left on the stairs, or maybe you just couldn't see over the top of the basket loaded down with scrubs, but either way, next thing you knew, you were face down on the floor, laundry scattered all around you, creating a bigger mess than the one you had just cleaned up. you took a minute to collect your bearings. your head felt okay, you knew you didn't lose consciousness, and you didn't feel any blood from your nose or lip, so you thought you were fine. it's when you rolled over from your stomach to sit up that you found the real problem: your wrist. you thought maybe you tweaked it, or that it was a small sprain that you could slap a brace on and go on with your day, but when you examined it closer, you knew you were fucked. it was bruised, swollen, and looking anything but normal. you irrationally thought you could just put some ice on it. maybe the swelling would go down and it wouldn't look as bad. your second thought, way more rational than the first, was to go to the hospital. preferably one you and your girlfriend didn't both work at, because you wanted the avoid the embarrassment, but you really didn't have much of a choice.

trinity was charting when she got your text, and she was so relieved to have an excuse to take a break. then she read your message.

you: how mad would you be if i came in today? trin: not mad at all, why? trin: is there a call coming in i should know about? trin: i told you to turn off that police scanner abbot got you.

your wrist hurt too badly to type, and it's hard to explain what you were doing and how you managed to probably dislocate your wrist one-handed, so you called instead. "okay, so, don't freak out" were your first words, and poor ones at that, but you were in a lot of pain, okay! there's barely a pause before she starts, "babe! that's the worst way to start a call! what's going on?" you explain your situation, and how you can probably fix it yourself, how you really don’t need (more like don’t want) to come in; but you know trinity, and you know she'll convince you to come in. that's how you found yourself back at work on your day off, in a room that you begged not to be in because other patients needed it more, waiting. trinity sat next to you, nervously blabbing about possible injuries and recovery times, and you were so close to snapping at her when samira showed up. she knocks once and steps in, looking around the room and catching how nervous trinity seems to be, despite her being the one who's completely fine. "as happy as i am to see you," samira says, looking at you, "i wish it was under better circumstances." trinity lets out a small "hmph" before standing up and pacing by the bed. she wishes she could be the one to treat you, no matter how small the injury, hospital policy be damned.

“hey,” samira says, looking at trinity, gentle but firm, just how she speaks to her patients. “i’ve got this.”

trinity stops, finally rejoining the chair by your bed. “yeah. i know. i know.” samira moves closer, pulling on gloves, and unwraps your wrist carefully. the second it’s exposed, her expression shifts into something more focused, the same one she uses with her patients. “hmm, yeah, that’s definitely a dislocation,” she says as she gives you a small, sympathetic smile. you sigh. “figures.” you almost forget trinity is there with how quiet she’s become, but she leans forward, interjecting, “okay but it’s not like, bad-bad, right?” samira looks from you to trinity, meeting her eyes. “it’s painful, for sure, but it’s not life-altering. it definitely needs to be reduced, though.” trinity nods too fast. “right, right. obviously. i knew that.” she absolutely did, and that almost makes it worse. if this were any other patient, she'd be embarrassed at how her mind went blank. but it’s not just any other patient, it's you. she doesn't care if it's not life-altering, or if it's not a huge injury that needs surgery. all she cares about is making sure you're okay. samira explains the plan the same way she would to a patient, same soft voice, same calm nature. meds, reduction, splint, follow-up.

when it’s time, you start to feel a little bit nervous. you've watched this be performed hundreds of times, and you've done several reductions yourself, but it's so much different when it's you. trinity picks up on the look on your face and grabs your good hand, running her thumb over it. “breathe,” she murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. “you’ve walked patients through worse than this.” “yeah,” you say with a nervous laugh and a pout on your lips, looking at her. “i've never been on the receiving end, though.”

samira looks up from your wrist to give a quiet warning. “on three.” you grip trinity's hand, preparing yourself. the pain is sharp, almost blinding for a second, and you let a small "fuck" slip out. then it’s over. samira straightens and gives you a small smile. “back in.” relief hits you almost immediately. you slump back, breathing hard, finally feeling some peace for the first time since this morning. trinity exhales like she’s been holding it in since your phone call, probably because she had been, her forehead dropping to the edge of the bed.“you’re banned from stairs,” she mutters. then, softer, “and laundry.” samira wraps your wrist, neat and practiced, just like everything she does. “you’ll be sore. and you’re not coming back to work for at least a couple days.” you open your mouth to argue, to explain how you can help with triage or help dana with charge nurse duties, even though you aren't one. trinity shoots you a look and speaks, “don’t.” samira smiles to herself, she likes this softer more protective side of trinity. “she’s right. take the time.” when samira leaves, trinity stays seated beside you, her hand still warm around yours.

“next time the apartment needs to be cleaned,” she says, looking at you, “i'm making whitaker do it.”