recovering c.ai addict

|| he/she, 20, lesbian || current fandoms: the pitt, DC, criminal minds ||

[koza-rawr]

my fav crew

[maplemackintosh]

Stupid, Stupid Idea

“She talks you through it, for sure. Praises you like crazy.”

That’s all you can think about after Trinity told you, as you stare at Doctor Cassie McKay from across the Nurse’s station. Your elbow leans on the counter as the ER gets ready for Night Shift. Half of the trainees have already gone home, aside from you, obviously. You pretend to be very invested in the laminated chart taped to the counter, but your eyes keep drifting up anyway to her. 

Honestly? She terrifies you. You’re absolutely terrified of bothering her, of being too forward or inquisitive. You answer her when prompted, of course, but every time your heart beats tick up, and your hands begin to shake, which is not great if you’re cutting into someone as she stares down to make sure you’re doing it right. 

You’re often hypnotized by the way she gestures with her hands, and thinking about all the impossible things you want to know but can never ask. And heaven forbid the last thing you want to do is accidentally test her patience, which could possibly get you abandoned and pushed onto Langdon or Doctor Samira Mohan. You wouldn’t mind Mohan, however. 

McKay stands half-turned near the med cart, sleeves rolled up, hair pulled up with her bangs brushed out. She’s laughing at something a resident says—low, warm, and effortless—and the sound lands straight in your chest.

“I would pick your mouth up off the floor if you don’t want her to notice.” Perlah jokes, and you look down at yourself, realizing you’re practically drooling. 

“Fuck off, I wasn’t even staring.” You grumble, wiping off invisible dust from your scrubs before resuming your position at the nurse’s station. 

Perlah finally glances at you, one eyebrow raised in a way that says liar. “No, you weren’t staring. You were practically eye fucking her.” 

“I was not.”

“Mmm.” She clicks her pen. “Anyway, how was it with her today?”

You hesitate, and that gets her full attention. You lower your voice even though Cassie is clearly across the room and very busy, not paying attention to you. “She asked me if I needed a ride home.” You wince. 

She freezes for a moment before a smirk appears slowly on her face. “And you said…?” She asks, tidying up desks and papers, glancing at you from time to time. 

You begin to bite your thumbnail, your eyes watching Cassie before quickly going back to Perlah. “Haven’t said anything yet.” Perlah stares at you, and you are quick to add, “I mean, I didn’t say yes. Or no. I just—” You gesture uselessly with your hands. “I nodded. And said, like, ‘I’ll think about it.’ Or something equally dumb.” You sigh, planting your forehead on the counter. “I feel stupid.” 

Perlah bursts out laughing, head tipping back. “Oh my god. Just say yes!” Perlah wipes at her eyes. “She offered you a ride home, and you treated it like she asked you to refinance a mortgage.”

You lean your elbows on the counter, dropping your head into your hands. “I panicked.”

“Panicked about what?” Trinity asks, walking up to where both of you were standing around. Okay, well, you were standing around, and Perlah was actually trying to clean up.

You lift your head. “You know what.” 

Trinity grins. “Oh, yeah. Say it.”

“No.”

“Say it.”

“I can’t! I mean, I can, but—” You exhale hard. “I don’t know. It’s hard!”

Perlah’s smile softens just a fraction, but she doesn’t let you off the hook. “It’s a ride. Not a marriage proposal.”

Trinity tilts her head. “Is it just a ride, though?”

You groan and point at her. “Don’t.”

Cassie shifts across the room, glancing briefly toward the counter, and your stomach does a very unhelpful flip. You look away immediately, heart pounding.

Perlah and Trinity notice, and they both smile. 

“Okay,” Trinity says. “Let’s bring in a neutral party.”

You turn to Princess, who has also joined the group now. “What do you think, Princess?”

Princess blinks. “About…?”

Perlah sighs dramatically. “Alright…” She gestures between you and the general direction of Doctor McKay. “Our girl here has been silently pining since orientation. Doctor Cassie offered her a ride home. And instead of saying yes like a normal person, she said ‘I’ll think about it’ which is a very normal response, but when it’s your crush…”

Princess’s eyes widen a little. Then she looks at you. “Oh.”

“Don’t say it like that.”

Princess considers you carefully. “She asked you specifically?”

“Yes.”

“And you work together.”

“Yes.”

Princess nods slowly. “I get it,” she shrugs.

Thank you, you think. Finally, someone gets it.

Perlah rolls her eyes. “You’re both acting as if she asked you to elope.”

“She’s my supervisor,” you say weakly.

“Technically, Robby is our supervisor. Not Doctor McKay over there, but yeah, she’s still pretty up there.” Trinity comments. 

Perlah nods. “And she asked you for a ride. That’s casual.”

Princess tilts her head again. “Was it casual?”

You swallow. “She smiled.”

Perlah rolls her eyes but smiles anyway. “Oh, she smiled.”

You press your lips together, trying not to look across the room again. “I don’t want to make it weird,” you begin to bite your thumbnail again. 

Perlah leans in, voice dropping. “You already made it weird by not answering.”

Princess nods. “Honestly? If you say yes now, it’ll just seem… thoughtful. Like you did consider it.”

You glance toward Cassie once more. She catches your eye this time—just for a second—and gives you a small, patient smile, like she’s waiting.

Your chest tightens.

Perlah watches you, soft but firm. “Just say yes.”

You don’t answer, and Trinity decides to comment again. “I mean, you have to tell her now, she just smiled at you, waiting.” 

You go home imagining that smile. It’s on your mind when you pull into your apartment complex, exhausted and hungry. You try not to constantly replay the incredibly vivid memory of a patient saying something sexually obscene about you once, and how quickly the doctor whipped around and gave the person a deplorable look. 

“Uh…that was…” You remember saying, looking at the now closed door of the patient’s room, to which McKay replied, “Uncalled for, yeah. I would’ve punched him if it wasn’t malpractice,” before taking off towards another person’s room. 

You had to turn your head into your pillow to muffle the sounds you made from touching yourself later that night. 

Good God, you want her. You want to help her relax, give her something soft and warm to come home to after exhausting days spent in this place, after dealing with Chad. Sometimes, during shifts, and well, especially at night, you can’t think about anything else besides how hard she’d fuck, how much she desperately needs it, how sexy her voice would sound gasping your name. You’ve heard her speaking to Dana about how she needs to get laid. She deserves an award for dealing with her stupid ex and difficult patients. 

If she even returned your feelings by ten percent, it’d be gracious and far more than you probably deserve. 

You don’t remember deciding to move.

One second, you’re still leaning against the nurse’s counter, Perlah watching you like a hawk, Princess pretending not to, and Trinity making comments in your ear, and the next you’re pushing off the laminate and walking. Each step feels too loud, like the floor might announce your intentions before you do. You feel like it should also swallow you whole. 

Cassie McKay is by the break room now, leaning against the doorframe, talking to Matteo. He sees you coming over and quickly dismisses himself, probably mumbling something about having to clean up the break room or something. 

You stop a few feet away and clear your throat. “Uh—Dr. McKay?”

She looks up immediately. “Oh,” she says, surprised in a way that feels genuine. Her smile comes easy, like it always does when she sees you. “Hey!”

Your brain promptly forgets every prepared sentence. Your tongue feels too big for your mouth all of a sudden. You barely manage to squeak out a “Hi!”

She waits. She just tilts her head slightly, attentive in a way that makes your chest feel too small for your heart.

You take a breath. “About earlier. When you—um. Asked. If I wanted a ride?”

Cassie’s expression shifts—not alarmed, not awkward. Curious. Open. “Yeah?” she says gently.

You force yourself not to look back at the counter. You already know Perlah is watching. You don’t need the pressure. “I’d like a ride home. I had to take the bus this morning, and it can be really scary at night, well, at least for me anyway, and well, I guess for you too, ‘cause you’re also a woman, but you have a car, so you wouldn’t know. No-not saying you wouldn’t-” you blurt but cut yourself off when you see her smiling broadly at your word vomit. “If it’s still—if you still mean it. If it’s still available, I’d like the ride home.”

The words tumble out clumsy and honest and irreversible.

Cassie blinks once while that smile is still on her lips. “Yeah,” she says. “Of course I meant it. It’s still up for grabs, and honestly,” she leans into you, and you can smell her perfume. Vanilla. That and antiseptic. You and Trinity had an ongoing bet to see what exactly she smelled like. You had your money on either vanilla or pomegranate—Trinity bet jasmine or oak. You win. “If it wasn’t for you, I would’ve had to take Yolanda home, and by home, I mean Trinity and Dennis’ apartment, and it gets awkward.” 

You let out a breath. “Okay,” you say, quieter now. “Cool.”

Cassie’s smile widens just a little, something warm in her eyes. “Cool.” She shifts her weight, lowering her voice. “I’m parked in the south garage. I’ll be done in about ten minutes—does that work?”

“Yes,” you answer immediately, then cringe. “I mean—yeah. That works.”

She chuckles softly. The sound does things to you. “Alright,” she says. “Meet me there?”

You nod. “I’ll be there.”

Cassie hesitates, like she wants to say something else. Her gaze flicks briefly over your face, careful, thoughtful. “I’m glad you said yes,” she adds.

Your pulse stutters. “Me too.”

Another beat. Then she straightens, professional mask sliding back into place—not cold, just… contained. “I’ll see you in a bit,” she says.

“Yeah,” you reply, already smiling like an idiot. “See you.”

She turns and walks away, calm and unhurried, like she hasn’t just knocked the air out of your lungs. You stand there for a second too long, and then you pivot and head back to the counter.

Perlah is grinning so hard it’s almost unsettling.

“Say. It. Now,” she says.

You lean on the counter, dazed. “I said yes.”

Princess lifts her coffee in a toast. “Atta girl.”

Perlah beams. “Finally.”

You glance toward the south hallway where Cassie disappeared, your stomach fluttering with nerves and something dangerously close to excitement.

“Go get ‘em, tiger,” Trinity says. 

“Shut up,” you mumble, smiling.

The south garage smells like concrete and oil and the faint chill of evening air. Your shift bag hangs heavy on your shoulder as you pace near the elevators, trying not to look like you’re pacing.

You check your phone. No new notifications. You check the time. Too soon. You stop checking everything altogether at one point. You literally have to remind yourself to breathe.

Suddenly, footsteps echo from the stairwell, and you look up.

Cassie steps into view, coat draped over one arm now, hair slightly looser than it was upstairs. The fluorescent lights make her look out of this world, and her eyes find you almost instantly.

“Hey,” she says.

Your stomach flips. Again. Probably for the 100th time. “Hey,” you answer, suddenly aware of how small your voice sounds down here.

She walks over, relaxed but not careless, like she’s giving the moment the same respect you are. “Sorry—got pulled into a last-minute sign-off.”

“No, it’s okay,” you say quickly. “I just got here.”

Cassie nods, then gestures toward an old green Toyota Highlander a few spaces down. “This way.”

You fall into step beside her, close enough to feel her presence without touching. The silence is definitely awkward, but you can’t even begin to know what to say to fill the void. 

When she unlocks the car, the lights flash once. She opens the passenger door for you.

“Oh,” you say, surprised. “Thank you.” 

She smiles. “You’re welcome. It’s a habit by now.”

You slide in, nerves buzzing under your skin. The car smells clean, faintly like coffee and something clean, even if there are broken crayons and food crumbs in the seats. Cassie closes the door, then moves around to the driver’s side.

When she gets in, there’s a brief pause before she starts the engine. “So,” she says lightly, pulling out of the space. “Long shift.”

You huff a laugh. “That’s one way to put it.”

She glances over at you. “You held up okay.”

Something about the way she says it makes your chest warm. “Thanks.” 

However, she quickly changes the subject as she turns on the heat. “It’s pretty cold in here.” 

“Oh, yeah, yeah, it is. Freezing.” 

You drive in silence for a minute, the hum of the engine steady, the garage ramp spiraling upward. When you hit the street, the city lights spill across the windshield.

Cassie clears her throat. “I hope I didn’t put you on the spot earlier.”

Your heart stutters. “What do you mean?” You ask. “W-with the car ride thing? You’re good, don’t worry about it!” 

She smiles, eyes on the road. “Good.”

You hesitate, then add, “I just… didn’t want to be an inconvenience.”

McKay laughs. “Inconvenience? I was the one who asked you.” Another pause. Then, softer: “I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want to.”

You swallow. “I know,” you admit.

She chuckles. “Then don’t say you thought you’d be an inconvenience.”

“Yeah.”

The car rolls through a yellow light. The radio is low—something mellow, instrumental. Cassie’s hands are steady on the wheel, sleeves of her sweater pushed up just enough to show her wrists. You force yourself not to stare.

She glances at you anyway.

“Where am I dropping you?” she asks. “Forgot to ask before we started driving.” You give her your address. She repeats it back, committing it to memory, then nods. “That’s not far from me.”

Your brain latches onto from me like it’s a gift. “Oh,” you say, trying to sound normal. “Really?” 

Cassie smiles again, that easy warmth returning. “You live in a good area.”

You nod, then, without meaning to: “Do you like where you live?”

She considers the question. “Most days. It’s quiet. Which I appreciate more than I used to.”

You smile. “I can see that.”

She glances over. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say. “You seem like someone who values quiet.”

Her expression softens, something thoughtful in her eyes. “You’re observant.”

You shrug, suddenly shy. “Occupational hazard.”

She laughs—really laughs this time—and the sound fills the car. Cassie reaches for the console, adjusting the temperature. Her knuckles brush your hand as you also reach for the dial. It’s barely anything, but still, you feel it everywhere.

“Oh—sorry,” she says automatically, but she doesn’t pull her hand away right away.

“It’s okay,” you manage.

Her fingers linger for half a second longer than necessary before retreating. Your pulse spikes. She glances at you, just briefly. “Still cold?”

“A little,” you admit.

Cassie hums thoughtfully, then, without comment, reaches for something in the back seat. “I knew I left this in here for a reason.” She drapes a blanket over your lap, and her hand brushes your thigh.

This time, she doesn’t apologize.

Her palm rests there for a moment—warm, steady—like she’s grounding you. Like she’s checking something. You freeze, breath shallow.

Cassie keeps her eyes on the road, voice calm. “Let me know if that’s not okay.”

“It’s okay,” you say quickly. Too quickly.

Her thumb presses once, gentle, just above your knee—an almost-question.

Then she pulls her hand back and settles it on the wheel again, as if nothing happened.

But everything has changed.

You swallow, then glance at her. “Can I tell you something?”

Cassie smiles slightly. “Usually when someone says that, it’s not good.”

You laugh, nerves easing just enough. “I overheard you earlier. In the hall.”

She raises an eyebrow. “About what?”

“With Dana,” you say. “You said—” You hesitate, then decide to be brave. “Please don’t hate me for this. I heard you say you needed to get laid.”

Cassie actually laughs, low and surprised. “How did you hear that?”

“I didn’t mean to, honestly. But I was looking for you to report my theories for the stroke patient, and I had just turned the corner,” you’re panicking again. “I stopped when I heard it, figuring that was more of a private moment.” 

Cassie shakes her head, embarrassed but amused. “I guess it wasn’t as private a moment as I thought.” She glances at you, something unreadable in her expression. “So. Is this where you tell me I should watch what I say?”

You shrug. “I don’t know. I just thought it was…relatable.”

The car slows at a red light. Cassie stops, then turns toward you fully. “Oh really?” she says softly. Her hand lifts from the wheel and settles on your thigh again—deliberate this time. Grounding. Confident. “You wanna help me with that?”

Your breath stutters. “I-I-” you hesitate, looking at her facial expression for something like her pulling away. You don’t know what to say. You really don’t. It’s hard when she’s looking at you like that. 

She studies your face carefully, thumb brushing a small, reassuring circle against your leg. “I’m kidding,” she says gently. Then, quieter, “Unless you’re not.” The light turns green, but she doesn’t move right away. “I just want you comfortable,” she adds. “Always.”

You nod, pulse still hammering. “I am.” That earns you a smile—slow, knowing. “I promise.” 

“Even if you aren’t joking, baby, I’m too old for you.” 

“I don’t think so,” you say simply, shrugging. 

“I’m also your boss, technically.” 

“Oh, for fucks sake, I don’t care.” You tell her. 

She doesn’t remove her hand. She keeps driving, it’s about a 20-minute ride home from work, and it’s only been about 11 minutes so far that you’ve been in her car. She begins to slowly move her hand up, asking every time ‘Is this okay?’ and every time you nod your head. 

“If we’re gonna do this, I need a verbal word, honey.” 

“Yes, yes, it’s okay.” You look at her, but she’s not looking at you. She’s staring straight at the road. Which is fine because you’d rather not get into a car accident while finally hooking up with Doctor McKay. 

Her fingers are now playing with the tie of your scrubs, and you help her, quickly unfastening the bow and looking at her hesitantly before she nods, and you’re pushing your scrubs further down. It’s hard to do all of it with the seat belt still on, but you make it work. 

Good lord, this feels like a wet dream. This seriously cannot be happening. Trinity was right. This was not just a ride home. You just remember, however, that you hadn’t shaved your legs in a while, but McKay doesn’t seem like someone who’s bothered about hair like that. 

You sit in the passenger seat now with just your shirt on and underwear. You swallow nervously. Her hand is now back on the steering wheel. But you’re not left wondering for long, as Cassie’s hand slips between the fabric of your underwear and skin, and travels over your mound, reaching the slick in your folds. 

You gasp, your hand shooting out to hold the door handle. 

“I haven’t even started yet.” She teases, and the words you wanted to say back feel like lead in your mouth. “Open your legs a bit more.” 

It’s harder to do with the pants around your ankles, but you do it for her. She slowly begins to insert one finger, working you up for a second one. Your moans are quiet at first, you’re trying so hard not to beg her to look at you because you know she has to drive the car and get you to your destination point, but you want to so badly. 

“Fuck, sweetheart.” She murmurs. 

You are hyperventilating, you fear. You decide to help her, dragging your hand into your underwear and beginning to circle your clit. You let out a whine, your head falling back against the headrest. 

You whimper for her, feeling her fingers move in and out of you. She’s doing it slow, teasing you, working up your body over time. You lean to your side, leaning slightly into her, and you turn your head to bury it against her arm. 

She’s skilled with her hands, that’s for sure. She has to be. Being a doctor requires a lot of that. Her fingers soon find that sweet spot inside you, and it makes you roll your hips against her hand. 

“I-I don’t know how this is helping you get laid.” You tell her, your free hand coming to clamp around her upper arm. Not hard, but just to hold something. 

“It’s working, don’t worry.” Her voice is soft. “Just keep feeling good. Tell me if something doesn’t, okay?” 

“Okay.” You nod, propping your leg up on the seat. You’re breathing rapidly. You don’t know if it’s the way her fingers are working or your dream becoming a reality, but you already feel yourself reaching your peak. Warmth spreads from your lower tummy to really all over your body. 

Goosebumps appear on your skin. “C-Cassie, I’m gonna cum.” You warn her, and she shakes her head. 

“No, you’re not.” Her lips are pressed tight together. 

“What? Why not?” You’re breathless, you realize as she removes her fingers, as do you. 

She points forward, and you look, realizing you’re at your apartment complex. You whine, feeling more than disappointed, but you pull up your scrub pants and re-tie the knot. But you get confused again as Cassie goes to the garage complex. 

“What’s your password?” She asks, and you look at her with a frown before saying, 

“281495. Why?” 

“You’ll see.” She shortly replies. She pulls into the parking garage, picking a spot secluded from the other vehicles. There aren’t a lot of people that live in your building anyway, but everyone, for some reason, loves to park as close as possible to one another. 

“What are you doing? You could’ve just dropped me off at the front, it’s not a big deal.” You smile at her. 

“Oh, we’re not done, honey. Just because I said you weren’t gonna cum, doesn’t mean I meant at all.” She puts her seat back and motions for you to come sit on her lap, so you do just that, but she soon stops you before you can even get out of your own seat. 

“What?” You ask with a little bit more annoyance than you intended. She raises an eyebrow, looking you up and down before you instantly apologize. “Sorry. I didn’t mean-” 

She cuts you off. “Take your shoes off. And pants. Keep your underwear on.” 

You do as she tells you and then join her in the driver’s seat. She doesn’t give you a chance to fucking breathe before she places her hands on your hips and makes you sit on her right thigh, making you groan at the feeling. 

“Put your hand on my chest.” She lowers your left hand to rest on her sternum, and then your right hand comes to place itself, clamped down onto her shoulder. 

“Can I move now?” You ask her genuinely, and she nods, her eyes coming to settle on where your cunt moves against her pants. You go ahead and begin to move up and down quite fast. She can’t stop herself from running up the backs of her thighs, loving the little whimpers and moans that leave your lips. 

“Feel good?” She asks you, and she feels your nails bite into her skin as you nod at her words. “Shh, slow down, sweetheart, slow down.” 

But you soon remember her rule when she stops you from moving completely. You nod at her, breathing out a ‘sorry’ as she lets you move again over her thigh, throwing your head back and basking in the feeling of it. 

She coaxes you to open your mouth, her thumb prodding softly at your chin, because you realize you’ve bit down on your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. 

Your eyes open, and you lean forward a little, looking at her before dropping your head into the crook of her neck. You let out whine after whine and whimper after whimper. You can practically hear the smile that’s on her face right now. 

“God, those sounds are amazing.” Cassie breathes out, rolling her hips in time with your own. It stimulates you more, making you whine and lurch forward closer to her, if that was even possible. “You’re doing so well. So good, honey. Just like that, there you go.” You feel her nudge her thigh in the apex of your thighs a few times, pressing against your clit as she does so, making you moan every time. 

She does it continuously, hitting the same spot over and over again before you start to tremble above her. 

“Cassie, oh god, fuck!” You moan out, pressing down hard onto her thigh. You pick yourself up off her, and you can feel your legs trembling on either side, so she doesn’t hesitate in jerking her leg up just a little bit, to meet your cunt hard, and it’s enough to make you let go. You were already worked up, of course, so it was just waiting to explode soon. 

“Cassie- shit!” You moan loudly, your head dropping back down to her neck. She holds you close and runs her fingers over your back, soothing you as you shake on top of her. 

“Shhh, it’s okay. You were so good.” She whispers in your ear, and you feel like you could cry. “Tell me when you’re ready to go.” 

You mumble out an ‘okay’ before she resumes running her hands up and down your back. Trinity was right about something; Cassie loves to talk you through it and praise like crazy. 

[sadmortician]

cassie mckay sketch dump for no reason whatsoever… (i need her)

[volusperr]

a favor for a stranger

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summary: Samira Mohan is tired of everyone telling her she needs to find a life outside of work. So, when the ED gets together for a casual dinner at Robby's (much too big) home, she impulsively decides to prove them all wrong... yes. it's fake dating.

cw: fluff! fake dating of course. Samira is a girly, high fem, y2k woman in my eyes. she is also a bit of a controlling mess internally. insecurities about dating and social life. reader is very butch in their personality (imo) but I don't give any real descriptions so fill in what you'd like. protective!reader. Robby is a small bit of an ass. Frank is a big bit of an ass. might be ooc to be honest cause I am struggling so much with this fic. reader is a flirt. reader also speaks (possibly bad) Spanish (sorry, im a no-sabo kid). minor drinking at the end during the dinner party

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Samira intensely stares at her computer, rereading the contents of her drafted post for the 10th time in a row. Her hair is messily thrown up in a claw clip with some strands falling out and dropping into her line of sight. She huffs and pushes the strands back with her free hand. The other hand is currently occupied, with Samira biting her thumbnail nervously. Her knitted sweater provides minimal comfort to her frayed nerves and her leg being pulled up to her chest, her foot perched on the edge of her chair, doesn't do much to separate her from the reality of what she has written on her computer.

Fake Partner needed for Work Gathering, $200

Hi! I know this is kind of crazy but, my coworkers constantly make comments about me not having a life or being married to my work and I just want to shut them up for once. Need someone around early 30s, preferably not a man, and someone who is good at acting. For more context, it will be a casual dinner and my coworkers and I work at a emergency department. You might hear medical things, so you can't be queasy. Dinner is in two weeks and we will need to meet up beforehand at least once so I know you're real.

Serious inquiries only please!!

Samira groans and rests her head on her knee while wrapping both of her arms around her propped up leg.

"This is stupid. You don't need to- to prove yourself to anybody. You're Dr. Samira Fucking Mohan. You save lives. You worked on the most severe victins during the Pittfest disaster. You are amazing."

Despite her pep-talk, though, that small nugget of insecurity eats at her.

"This job can't be your life Samira..." Cassie's voice echoes in Samira's mind.

"I don't understand why it's that big of a deal!"

Samira forces her head back up and looks at some spot across the room as she rants.

"I mean, everyone is acting so melodramatic about me actually enjoying my work. So what if I don't make time for socializing?! I socialize for 12 hours every shift. And our society places too much emphasis on romantic relationships anyways. I'm perfectly happy being single and focusing on myself!"

She's met with the silence of her small apartment in response. Her eyes flick down to the computer then, her body moves before her mind can protest.

Post published!

Samira freezes. Horror overtakes her, traveling from the crown of her head down to her toes.

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck- no no no no-"

She frantically begins looking for a way to delete or archive the post. As she does, she gets her first response. Her actions cease while she focuses on the little red "1" by the inbox icon.

"1" soon becomes "2", then "3"...

"Okay... this is fine. Maybe, this'll be good. Yeah. Let's just be positive. We got this."

She smiles nervously to herself and sits up straight. Then, she begins looking through the messages.

~

It's nearing the end of the week and Samira has had no luck with her post. She finds herself checking her messages during her very short breaks at work. Most of them are from strange people that give her a weird feeling. She assumes that's what she gets for using a site that is notorious for weird people.

There have been a few promising chats but, all it takes is one wrong word and Samira is texting,

"Sorry. I don't think this is going to work."

If she's honest with herself, she knows she's being extremely picky. Someone accidentally using the wrong your/you're really doesn't matter because she isn't looking for a real partner. She just needs someone for a night.

And yet, this most recent chat is ended unceremoniously because the prospective fake partner said that they don't think Dev Patel is an attractive man.

She tries to reason with herself. If they didn't think Dev Patel is attractive (despite being attracted to men), then they must have some biases and she doesn't want that in her fake partner. Obviously. That's the only reason.

She's 10 hours into her shift when she breaks it off with that person. She's about to shove her phone back into her pocket when it buzzes again. With a resigned sigh, she opens her phone back up and reopens her messages.

Having been disappointed so much, she isn't expecting much. So, when she opens the chat and sees a picture of the most beautiful person she's ever seen (that wasn't some kind of celebrity), she forgets to breathe.

You sent a couple pictures of yourself and an introduction below. You give your name, your phone number in case she wants to move off of the app, your age, pronouns, occupation, and "qualifications". Those qualifications are just "theater kid" and "always committed to the bit".

Samira finds herself smiling at the way you've introduced yourself. You seem genuine, open, naturally charming, and witty. So, before she can pick apart your intro and look for why you won't work either, she copies your phone number and pastes it into her actual messages app.

Hi! Did you just respond to my ad about needing a partner for a dinner?

That was fast! Yeah I did. How are you?

I'm alright. I'm taking a break right now.

You said you work in an emergency room right? Is your shift going alright?

Yeah! I'm a resident actually. It's been a good day so far. None of my patients have died and that's all I ask for. 😅

Understandable. I'm happy to hear it's been a good day for you!

Thanks!

Samira realizes she's been smiling like an idiot at her phone and quickly cleats her throat. She straightens up and looks around. When she's sure no one is around, she looks back at the messages.

[Picture of schedule]

Here's my schedule for the upcoming week. Let me know when you want to meet and go over everything!

Oh okay, that's great! Thank you. I'll let you know when I get off of work.

Yeah, no rush. I hope the rest of your shift goes well. 😘

Samira didn't think she could ever be affected by a simple emoji. It's an emoji, after all. And yet, here she is, blushing because the pretty person on her phone sent her a kissy face.

Thanks! Talk to you soon! 🥰

She shoves her phone into her back pocket and takes a deep breath, trying to will the heat in her cheeks away. She brushes back any stray strands of hair and tucks them behind her ears. Then, she pushes these feelings down and refocuses on work.

~

Samira thinks that this will be the biggest regret of her life. She can see it now. You were so inept that you had to resort to a fake date? And then that fake date stood you up?

To be fair, you hadn't stood her up... yet. But, it's 2 minutes until the agreed upon time and Samira is a "if you're not early, you're late" type of person. This could be grounds for dismissal but, she doesn't have much time left and every time she thinks about your picture, she feels this flutter in her heart that she can't ignore.

There's just one minute to go before you're technically late when you walk in, head held high and holding a bouquet. Samira's eyes widen and she quickly stands up. The action causes her chair to screech, scraping against the floor. You look over and smile that brilliant smile you'd shown in your pictures. It's just as beautiful in person, Samira thinks.

"Hi. It's great to meet you. You look gorgeous," you compliment as you hand over the bouquet of lavender, white lilies, and bluebells.

Samira had spent an hour just on her outfit alone. She landed on a y2k halter top. The brown, slightly sparkly fabric becomes flowy after the bralette part of the top. While she's standing, you get a small glimpse of her belly button, her cool-toned, soft bronze skin adorned with a diamond piercing. Looking lower, her jeans are low-rise, dark wash, and have contrasting stitching. Her feet, freshly done with burgundy red toenails, are in gladiator-type sandals.

Beyond just the outfit, her curls are down and voluminous, her makeup is neutral but apparent, and she's wearing silver huggies. Her black and silver handbag is hooked on the chair, a nice, timeless brand that looks well loved.

In conclusion, she looks stunning.

"Oh and the um, the flowers may have specific meanings but i just choose ones I thought looked pretty," you clarify.

Samira finds herself letting out that little huff of air through her nose in amusement and smiles at you.

"They're beautiful. Thank you. And thank you for the compliment. You look amazing as well."

You both sit down as Samira puts the flowers in her lap. She looks up at you, sitting across from her looking cool and collected, and feels a twinge of nervousness.

"Have you done this before?"

You furrow your brows.

"What? The fake dating thing?"

Samira nods.

"No," you laugh. "Never. Why?"

"Oh... you just... seem so at ease."

Your laugh turns into a wide grin.

"Well, it won't be hard to act like I'm in love with you so, I don't see a reason to be nervous."

Samira nearly chokes on her own saliva.

"Too much?" you ask, clearly unapologetic.

"I uh... I guess not. Um. We should probably start getting our story straight..."

You snort at the word 'straight', which makes her laugh. She finds her body relaxing. How she's so comfortable in your presence, she isn't sure. But, she definitely won't complain.

"Right well, I already came up with some ideas if you'd like to hear them," Samira says while pulling out her phone.

"Came prepared huh? You like to have a plan in every situation or is this a special occasion?"

Samira can feel her face heating up thanks to the slight teasing tone in your voice but, she pushes it down. This is fake, she reminds herself. Pull yourself together Samira.

She looks up and smiles a little sheepishly.

"I have been called Type A."

You smile back, clearly amused.

"Got it. Well, lay it on me. I'm all ears, mi amor~"

"I- I um. I was thinking..."

Somehow she manages to get through this lunch but, she honestly thought she'd implode by about halfway. You shamelessly flirt and tease, but you always make sure she's okay with it. You're attentive. Like, more attentive than any of her actual partners. When she needed a bathroom break, you stood behind her while she adjusted her jeans so no one would look. Every word she spoke was obviously heard and processed by you. You noticed that she was cold and wordlessly put your jacket around her.

Over time, she found it harder and harder to remind herself that this was all fake. You are amazing at your role and she is falling, fast. Which is terrifying. Samira is not one to "fall." She is very particular about her partners and she chooses when to feel and what to feel with every action.

... Which she realizes sounds really bad but, she's a busy woman with real goals to achieve. She can't afford to have something as trivial as romance get in the way. So, she has always controlled her feelings for others. She moved with precise, calculated movements. She never let the relationship escape the two-step square she had allotted.

And then she made the stupid decision to put a fake dating ad on a website that led to the stupid decision to talk to you which then lead to all of these stupid, distracting feelings.

Thankfully, the dinner is in just a few days. After that, you'll be paid and Samira can go back to her simple, uncomplicated life.

Right?

~

There is about an hour before the dinner party officially starts, though she knows that Robby would prefer everyone to get there at least half an hour late. He's probably just now getting things into the oven, she thinks with a scoff.

She's in the middle of putting her hair in a messy bun for the fifth time in 3 minutes when her doorbell rings. Confused, she goes over to the front door and looks through the peephole.

There, she sees you standing in a well-tailored outfit, looking casual and put-together at the same time. You're holding a small box in your hand that has a ribbon wrapped around it as well and you seem to be patiently waiting for her. She looks in the entrance-way mirror, suddenly self-conscious, but she doesn't want to keep you waiting. So, she takes a deep breath and answers the door.

"Hey. Sorry. I'm still getting ready but you can definitely wait inside if you're okay with that," she says as soon as the door is open.

You blink in surprise? Maybe? She can't tell what's going on in your head right now. All she can tell is that your eyes are wide and you aren't saying anything flirty or... well, anything.

You clear your throat and apologize quietly.

"You look absolutely divine, Mira."

Mira... you had suggested the nickname during your meeting a few days ago. At first, she wasn't sure how she felt about it. She had never been the type to have nicknames. Or, at least, not nice nicknames. But then you cooed out "Mira mía, hermosa como la Luna de arriba" and suddenly she didn't mind nicknames anymore.

"Oh... wow. Um. Thank you. You look amazing too."

You step inside, carefully setting your jacket to the side and removing your shoes. You follow her to her bedroom and stand by her as she continues messing with her hair. Once she seems satisfied and you compliment the look, you bring up the box in your hand.

"I uh, got a gift for you. Figured we could say it was for our 3 month anniversary? You're a silver girl right?"

Samira nods wordlessly and looks down at the box. You open it to reveal a simple silver necklace with an engraved pendant. The engraving is of a bunny, leaping over the moon. It's simple, understated, and perfectly her style. Not to mention it fits perfectly on the bare skin shown by the cowl neckline of her shirt.

"May I put it on you?" you ask while pulling the necklace out of the box.

Once again she nods without speaking, too overwhelmed to say anything intelligent.

You move behind her and bring the necklace up to her neck. She feels your soft breath on the back of her neck, your fingers brushing against her top and skin as you click the necklace together. You look over her shoulder to see how the necklace looks in the mirror. It shimmers against her chest, beautifully reflecting the coolness of her skin.

"Beautiful, just like you..." you whisper.

Samira exhales sharply and looks away.

"Thank you... I should finish getting ready."

You nod and step back, giving her space to go to her bathroom so she can finish her makeup. You wait patiently on her bed, complimenting her every chance you get because you're "method acting," or so you claim. Truthfully, you don't know how Samira is able to get through a single day without being complimented by everyone she comes across.

Finally, she finishes and gives you a little spin. She's wearing a black, cowl neck halter top. The swoop of the neckline reveals her collarbones and perfectly frames the necklace you just gave her. Her hair is up in a messy bun and her makeup is a little smokier than usual. She is wearing a simple black midi skirt as well, decorated with a large, silver, statement belt. She's also wearing knee-high black boots and has accessorized with a burgundy purse. She looks like an It girl, made for New York City and the urban nightlife. She's gorgeous and a part of you aches thinking about how tonight is all you get.

So, you stand up and take her hand in yours. Gently, you spin her around, wanting her to feel treasured by you even if it is just for a few hours.

"You look amazing. Truly divine. You're really pulling out all the stops for tonight, huh?"

Samira laughs softly, her cheeks warming up like always when you're around.

"Yeah, guess so. Is it too much?"

"No. You're never too much, okay? Anyone who says or implies otherwise is projecting their own insecurities."

Samira looks into your eyes, her own filled with emotions, and bites her lip.

"Yeah..."

~

You put the car in park right outside of a cabin, which apparently belongs to your faux-girlfriend's boss. The two of you quickly go over everything once again, checking in on boundaries and code words so that you two can get through this night and convince everyone of your relationship. Once you both feel good, you get out of the car and walk around to her side to help her out. Then, you offer your arm and walk up to the door with Samira on your arm.

An older woman with kind eyes and who smells faintly of cigarettes opens the door.

"Hey! You made it! And you brought someone?" she exclaims, gesturing with a wine glass.

Samira introduces the two of you and you follow who you now know is Dana inside. You take Samira's jacket for her and put both of yours on some nearby hooks. As you do, several people come over and ask Samira about what she's doing here and what she's doing with someone.

Samira sighs with fond exasperation and introduces you to everyone at once. Of course, the questions only grow. You both go through your whole story, explaining when you met, how the relationship started, and how things are going now.

A ginger woman with a wide grin congratulates Samira with a genuine, "I'm proud of you Samira! I'm glad you found someone outside of work."

"It was a little bit of a struggle but, I managed to worm my way into her heart," you tease fondly, your hand resting on her waist.

Samira rolls her eyes and leans into your side.

"Didn't know you'd swing that way," another woman with sharp eyeliner and an even sharper wit says. "You never seemed interested in my trips to the local gay bar downtown."

"Bars are definitely not my... preferred... way to unwind," Samira replies.

"Hey, Huckleberry over here got used to it eventually. Now he's a regular," the other woman teases, pulling a slightly sheepish man over.

You chuckle, amused by the way the man and woman seem to banter. Soon after, though, all amusement disappears when you feel Samira stand a little straighter as she looks over at an older man with a beard and sad eyes.

You squeeze her waist once, a silent "are you okay?"

She turns to you and smiles but, you can tell it's strained. You lean in to murmur in her ear.

"Is that your boss? Robby?" you whisper

She nods and exhales slowly. Gently, she removes herself from you and walks over.

"Hey Robby! Thank you for inviting me. I hope you don't mind me bringing a plus-one."

Robby shakes his head with a tight smile.

"Not at all Mohan. I'm just... surprised. You have a partner now, huh?"

Samira smiles, believing his response to be approving.

"Yeah. We uh- Our three month anniversary is coming up."

"Surprised you lasted this long," he comments with a chuckle. "I mean, with the amount of overtime you take, I'm shocked you had time to meet someone."

Samira keeps her smile on her face but, her neck shows the tension her face doesn't. You're keeping your eye on the situation while chatting with some of the other guests.

"Yeah well, I've been trying to develop a better work-life balance."

Robby laughs out loud.

"Good luck with that, kid."

Samira internally bristles, always hating the term kid when it comes from Robby. It feels patronizing and, given the other ways he acts with her, part of her feels like it's intentional.

"The ER isn't known for balance of any kind, much less a work-life one. But you've always been more of a dreamer, yeah?" Robby continues while running his fingers through the hair on the back of his head.

"Many doctors are able to balance everything in their lives. Your individual experience is not the universal one, Robby."

Robby's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. He raises his hands, making a surrendering motion, and chuckles.

"Hey no judgement from me. You're completely right. I am probably not the best example of the average ER doctor."

Samira sighs and looks over to try and find me in the small crowd.

"Surprising, though, that you're bringing someone around at only 3 months... guess you're not that slow in all aspects of your life," he teases.

Samira's jaw clenches and she has to take a deep breath. You manage to catch her eye at the same time so, you politely excuse yourself from the passionate discussion you were having with Trinity and Dennis about mesh clothing for the club and walk over to Samira.

You wrap your arm around her waist and lay your hand on her hip.

"Is this the infamous Dr. Robby I've heard so much about?" you ask, your tone both coming off as friendly and as a gentle warning.

"You talk about me, Mohan?"

Samira forces another smile.

"Of course. I talk about all my coworkers with my partner."

"Only good things I hope," he chuckles and leans over, nudging your shoulder with his.

"Are there any bad things for me to hear about?" you retort.

He pulls back, slightly surprised, and pauses before shaking his head.

"No no... nothing like that. I uh... I'm gonna check on the chicken. Good to meet you."

He leaves with his hands on his face and a clearly awkward air hanging around him. You turn to Samira and give her waist a couple squeezes to check in again.

Samira smiles at you, genuinely this time, and nods.

"You scared him," she laughs.

"Good. Let's go back to the others, yeah?"

She nods and the two of you return to the other guests. After a surprisingly tasty dinner and a glass of wine, people go back to mingling. It's during this time that one of Samira's coworkers, someone you quickly find out is named Frank, decides to interrogate you and Samira's relationship.

You both try to answer the questions as naturally as possible but, he starts asking things that the two of you were not expecting. The slight hesitation causes doubt to ripple throughout the group. After all, these people love their drama and gossip. That's why you're even here. Samira was hoping that she'd finally be free of the rumors and gossip but... here we are.

"Y'know what I think?" Frank laughs. "I think Samira found herself a little actor friend. I mean, Cass's always teasing her about not having a life-"

"I am reminding her, not teasing her."

"Yeah yeah. Same difference. Either way, there's no way Samira actually found someone. She practically lives at the hospital. There''s no way."

"So because she is devoted to her very important work, Mira isn't capable of having anything else in her life?" you ask, your voice carefully controlled.

"Well, yeah," Frank replies, completely missing your irritation and the growing discomfort in the room. "Look, Samira's great but, there's no way this is real."

"Frank, just drop it-" Dana begins.

"What? I'm just saying what we're all thinking. There's just no way-"

"If you're incapable of doing things outside of work, that's something you need to work on yourself. No need to put it on my girlfriend."

Frank's jaw drops and he scoffs as if you are the one that's uncalled for.

"Look sweetheart, you've known Samira for what, 3 months? We..." he gestures at everyone in the room, "...know what she's really like. You'll see."

"Are you always a condescending asshole or is that just when you drink?"

Frank just laughs and takes another sip of his beer.

"I don't have to prove myself or my relationship to you, Frank," Samira adds on.

"Yeah sure. You don't have to but... it's pretty obvious why you actually won't."

Samira is usually controlled, mature, and above these petty statements. But, right now, she's pissed. She's pissed that everyone has this view of her as some straight-edged, no-fun workaholic. She loves her job and she's tired of everyone making fun of her for it. She's also tired of everyone acting like they never thought this---her having a relationship---would ever happen. So, she does something impulsive.

She reaches over and cups your face. Before you really know what's happening, her soft lips are on yours and you can taste the wine that she was having mix with the beer you were having. Without a second of hesitation, you gently hold her against your body and kiss her back, slipping your tongue between her lips for a quick taste before pulling back.

Samira looks over at Frank with fire in her eyes.

"There. Happy now?"

Before Frank can respond, she stands up and grabs your hand.

"We're leaving."

You get up immediately and walk her to the door. You put her jacket on her and grab your own before looking over at everyone's astonished expressions.

"Goodnight."

With that, you open the door for Samira and the two of you return to your car. Once inside, you turn on the heat and start driving back to Samira's apartment. She stares out the window the entire way, her body tense and her eyes watery. You decide not to say anything until you're at her front door, waiting as she grabs her keys from her purse.

"You okay Mira?"

The nickname rolls off your tongue without your permission and you cringe for a moment, worried that she doesn't want you to keep the act up anymore.

She pauses and looks up at you.

"... No. I- I'm aggravated. They see me like some... some loser. Even now they probably do. This idea I had about them seeing that I have a partner and then changing their opinions of me was idiotic and naive."

"It's not your fault that they can't see pass their own recreation of you that lives in their minds. You, Samira, are amazing. You are the complete opposite of a loser and I found that out in just a few days. The fact that they haven't caught on yet... well, it makes me worried for their patients."

She snorts and opens her front door.

"That's a bit dramatic, don't you think?"

You shrug, grinning unapologetically.

"Honestly... you make me feel a bit dramatic. It's only been a couple days and I'm enchanted. You have some sort of charm magic or something, don't you?"

She laughs and shakes her head while entering. You follow behind her and remove your shoes like you did earlier.

Once she has set her stuff down and taken off her shoes as well, you reach out and gently grab her by her waist.

"I'm serious. You have me bewitched. I want to make this, us, real. If you want that too, of course."

Samira blinks, clearly taken by surprise.

"You... really? Even after hearing everyone tonight-"

"I don't care what they think about anything except for the fact that they think I don't actually want you when that's the furthest thing from the truth. I want to have been your partner for three months. I want to know what it's like to wake up next to you and to fall asleep by you. I want to know what you're like after a good shift and a bad shift. I want to argue about how much time you're spending at work because I'm worried and then I want to make up and kiss it all better. I've barely gotten a taste of you and I need more. But, it's all up to you. Whatever you want, okay?"

Samira is... speechless. She had been feeling a similarly strong feeling for you as well but, she didn't think she'd get to act on it. She thought it would be another feeling to assign to a box deep in her mind. She thought you'd ask for your paycheck and be on your way. Maybe you'd stay the night, just because you can, and then leave in the morning. But a relationship? A real one? Part of her is worried that everyone is right about her. Maybe she won't be able to do this. She'll choose work over you and you'll get tired and leave. Or maybe it'll be her perfectionism or her bluntness or...

You gently squeeze her, trying to get her out of her own head.

"Do you want to just try?" you ask.

Samira swallows deeply. She wants this. She wants someone to come home to, to miss, to love and to love her...

"Yeah. Let's try."

[volusperr]

okay guys i am stuck on this mohan fic but i SWEAR I'm not disappearing again. im just struggling 😭😭😭 i do have time sunday at the airport so i think im going to knock it out then? i have a short fic planned for Ellis next as well. i want to write all of the pitt ladies because we need more women-focused stuff in this fandom so if you have any ideas, let me know!

[volusperr]

OH I FORGOT!! i will not be writing about the newbies until the entire season comes out because i want to fully understand them. so unfortunately our beautiful new ladies will have to wait for some time

[santosprincess]

mel king with someone who’s actually interested in what she has to say

she knows she talks a lot, so she’s not surprised anymore when she turns around and langdon or trinity have disappeared into a patients room. or when robby has been swept up into the general hubbub of the hospital.

enter you, who loves listening to her ramble on and on about the mundane things, about the things she finds interesting, about anything at all. no more, “mel, you’re talking to yourself again.” from dana. no more interruptions from people trying to change the subject. instead she finds you and is pleasantly surprised to see you hanging on to every word she says. it almost (definitely) makes her flustered when she sees how much attention you’re paying to her. she’s so used to being the caretaker, the one people can rely on, she forgets that she’s worthy of attention too.

it starts to become your thing. whenever there’s a break, or it happens to be a slow day, you find each other and talk. most of the time it’s about your patients, but sometimes it’s about recent news, and sometimes you like to gossip about who’s dating who. you’re sure by now everyone can see how close you two are getting, and you’re sure people have added you both to the “who’s dating who” list. as for mel, she’s sure one of these days her rambles will turn into finally asking you out.

[volusperr]

okay guys i am stuck on this mohan fic but i SWEAR I'm not disappearing again. im just struggling 😭😭😭 i do have time sunday at the airport so i think im going to knock it out then? i have a short fic planned for Ellis next as well. i want to write all of the pitt ladies because we need more women-focused stuff in this fandom so if you have any ideas, let me know!

[volusperr]

reader having the absolute worst period of her life. idk if you wanna set this where reader and cassie are at work.. whatever you want but i just know cassie will be all over her the second she knows somethings wrong. like telling her to slow down and to breathe but reader just ignores her and moves on with her day. maybe reader like throws up or passes out from the pain and just fluffy cute tooth rotting fluff from cassie

ohhh my god yes. im working on something right now and i have another fic idea but i am adding that to the list rn

[night5hifts]

@dailypittwomen's season two countdown event ↳ favorite character: heather collins

[emmaharwoods]

@dailypittwomen's s2 countdown event day one — favorite character: samira mohan

[fadeintoyou1993]

@dailypittwomen's season 2 countdown event day one — favorite character: victoria javadi

[stemiwithme]

i love heather collins so fucking much. she starts her day off at work with morning sickness and dana is the one person who knows she’s pregnant. she shows dana a stroller she’s been wanting for a while and uses the money she won from BETTING ON A STOLEN AMBULANCE!!! (objectively hilarious) to finally splurge and get it. she alludes to having miscarried before (“not until i pass twelve weeks. not this time.”) and it’s so obvious how hopeful she is and how badly she doesn’t want to do anything to jinx it (see: testicular torsion case and the way she opens up to the mom). and then we see her have a few small stomach cramps and she brushes them off so quick but. she knows. and we know. and amidst all of this she helps a teenage girl get the abortion she wants and needs because she’s a damn good doctor. and immediately afterwards goes to the bathroom and confirms that she is indeed miscarrying. and then the 6 year old girl comes in after drowning and they can’t save her and you can see how close she is to crumbling but she steels herself and carries on because there are patients that need her. and THENNN she has to work the case with the surrogate mom !!! and the delivery gets dicey and the baby’s apgar is only 3 and the mom starts hemorrhaging and her mask starts to slip and robby sees it and he knows and they make it their mission to ensure that this mother and child make it out in one piece. and they fucking pull it off. and then she finally lets herself really cry in the ambulance bay. and it’s just so heartbreaking and raw and real. i have so much love for heather collins she is such an incredible character and she deserves the world

[drmelking]

The realism of Robby being a little bit of an unintentional misogynist is so, so important to me. Like he is a good boss and a great teacher, he is friends with women and works with women and teaches women and respects women greatly. And yet—it’s Langdon, and then Whitaker, who Robby adopts as his mentees. It’s David, not the girls on the kill list, who Robby prioritizes care for. It’s the dad accused of grooming his daughter who Robby refuses to report, while informing the authorities about the mother drugging him without a second thought. He reams Langdon out for berating Santos, but doesn’t check in on Santos until Langdon refuses to let it go and Robby becomes suspicious of there being an actual problem.

And obviously we are seeing Robby on the worst day of life, and maybe even calling him a “little bit of a misogynist” is a bit too much because he’s not, really. But he does have ingrained biases and he does seem to only be able to fully see himself in and completely empathize with other men. And that is just. So true of even the nicest, kindest, most wonderful and feminist men I know.

[starskytohutch]

Dana Evans from The Pitt… plssssssuhhh put a cigarette out on meeeeeee,,,, ohmygoddudfshhh

[detailspecialist]

i heart women

[enthyrea]

dr mohan, dr ellis, there is a man coding in room 332 can yall wrap this up or

[thepittsera]

if no one has got me I know the Pitt's women got me can I get an amen?